#i realize that some of these are kind of morbid but hey its part of my job

[redjaybathood]

Honestly idle rambling on my part but the "Jason finds out Dick killed Joker" thing made me imagine like.

Stephanie and Red Hood had an understanding.

If they had some kind of common enemy, they'd be fine with collaborating, share info and the like. Jason would ensure to not make her an accessory to anything, and she'd not involve herself with cases against him.

The other didn't like it, even Cass tended to be a bit grumpy with her but barring Bruce rambling about manipulation and morality and unreliability nothing much came of it. He'd worked with Bane over a faux familial connection after all, and all of them had nominal enemies they could share a drink with, Catwoman not withstanding.

Thus, how Steph had found herself fighting King Shark to destroy some weapons shipments with Red Hood. And more to the point, how she found herself after the fact having a bobba tea with him as they wrapped up the traffickers files.

She couldn't say exactly what brought it out, something to do with gangs and wars and death led to her death and...

"It doesn't bother you? That thy let him walk? Not even a memorial in the cave." Bruce would say this was manipulation, Stephanie would say Jason picked morbid conversation topics with people he vibed with and not realize it was weird.

Stephanie threw back a cola stolen from the traffickers minifridge and answered. "I mean the last one pisses me off sure, but the others... Well I'm kinda pissy at the second one, we're vigilantes, nothing was stopping B from putting Mask in hospital once he got his shit together but that might have started another war so..." She waved her hand. "As to the first one, I made the call not to kill him, kinda regret it some days, but it was an honest decision at the time."

Jason hums, not seeming sure what to say or maybe realizing this was a weird topic to broach. "Fair enough I suppose, still always struck me as 'rude' though, not that its a surprise."

Stephanie arched her brow and without thinking said, "Hey you know Nightwing killed Joker over you right?"

Jason spat out his drink.

"wHaT!?"

"Oh shit you didn't know?"

Jason was staring at her intently, through two laters of material sure but it was still a stare.

"I was like fifteen, Joker was on some semi suicidial chaos spree and he'd caught then Robin. Nightwing beat him senseless but stopped himself till the Joker threw out your name and was all, 'I hit him harder than that, that was his name right?'" Stephanie at least had the good manners not to throw out people's real names in public.

She leaned back, arms folding, "At which point Nightwing lost his motherfucking mind. Pounced on him and just started beating him while howling like a beast, I have never seen such blood spatters outside of like, car crashes and Meta."

She shrugged, "Anyway Joker's heart gave out somehow and Nightwing sort of started having a breakdown about it. I didn't get it I was like, 'hey everyone who was alive before this is alive now and Joker's dead, cool right' But apparently I was the only one."

Jason nodded slowly, "Batman brought him back then?"

"Got it one one outlaw, some shit about not forcing him to live with it, which sounds weird to me but technically Robin the previous has killed a guy but cos he didn't actually die it didn't count I guess? I mean legally speaking sure but I figured this was always an ethics issue."

Jason shook his head not really paying attention to the forms anymore.

"You OK man?"

He shrugged, "I mean it doesn't mean anything now, Joker's still around, still killing people, but it was a nice sentiment. I definitely wouldn't have been making cracks about him if I'd known that."

"Fair enough, anyway if we're cool I'm gonna go hand these off to some worthwhile reporters."

"Sure, I got my own stuff to do, deniability for you an all that though."

"Yeah, yeah, have a good one man," She clapped him on the shoulder and he seemed steady so she left.

A week later Joker died in an Arkham break out attempt.

Also Dick got a very nice fruit basket several days before that.

Stephanie was the only one who knew the connection, but she kept her peace.

Things that I love: Stephanie and Jason partnering up, Joker dying, and this. Thank you for sharing!

[letme-sleep-please]

To give y’all some background our lobby is closed due to being too small to maintain proper social distancing standards. Appointments are drop off only. People have no patience. Have some client stories:

We lock the doors when we aren’t talking to clients outside so they don’t barge in. One of my coworkers goes outside to discuss with another client about their pets care. A different sees the opportunity to walk in the lobby DESPITE THE GIANT FUCKING STOP SIGN THAT TELLS THEM NOT TO. Then they proceed to get mad at me when I tell them to wait outside and I’ll meet them out there and that our lobby is closed. “But I’m already inside,” yeah but still get out. If one client goes in they will all want to go in. We only let euthanasia’s in or clients that need to see like abnormal xrays or whatnot. Get out.

A client complaining to me about the whole mask situation. I just straight up told them I’m having to wear mine for nine hours (don’t worry I change it about every two to three hours depending). I’m so done with people and the mask argument when they complain about going into the store for five minutes.

A different client today who, again saw the opportunity and walked into the lobby when a coworker was outside, then got mad at me for telling them to go back outside I will talk to them then. Client then proceeded to tell me about how our ER wasn’t even that strict and I do wanted to tell them that they are even stricter because when I went there I was temperature checked at the door, required to wear a mask, then (due to my symptoms at this point) brought into a room that recycled my own air back to me, and anyone who stepped into that room was in full blown PPE. I mean we are having clients wear masks if they come into the building but we aren’t temperature checking or going through the entire process the ER is making you do for even stepping into the waiting room.

We pull bags and cases of food aside for our clients and label them that way when they arrive it’s ready to go and we don’t have to hunt in the back for it. We had a client come up to the door, knock, look through and see that my coworker was putting on her mask to greet her, before angrily knocking maybe five seconds later. When my coworker opens the door the lady gets in my coworkers personal space and just says “dog food”. To which my coworker asked if she called in beforehand and she replies “what do you want me to go to my truck and call you guys? That’s ridiculous.” My coworker explained that it was in case it had been pulled already and then she almost pushed past my coworker to point at the dog food stand in our lobby saying “it’s right there let me just go get it.” Of course we can’t do that because lobby closure you know so my coworker grabs the food and asks for a last name. The lady says Smith and is mad when we ask for further information to find her account. Pretty much the rest of the interaction she’s short with us in general.

Client yells at me because they can’t be there to hold their pet for an exam. There are multiple things wrong with this first of all. 1. We cannot legally have a client hold their pet for liability reasons. If they hold incorrectly and injure their pet, it’s our fault. If they hold incorrectly and their pet bites either us or them, our fault. So this wouldn’t happen anyways and hasn’t happened for years. 2. There’s a pandemic going on and holding a pet requires you to be sometimes mere inches from the vet. So obviously you can’t social distance. It’s impossible. 3. This dog has a history of being aggressive with its owner in the room. We have to take the dog out of the room regardless to safely and calmly look in it’s ears or teeth or whatever we’re doing to it. The dog is perfectly fine without it’s owner there and actually pretty loveable. When I explain all of the above reasons (except for three though because she believes that her dog does better with her and will only listen to the vet.) she then gets mad at me and asks when I expect the lobby to be open. I tell her I don’t know because pandemic. She tells me that that isn’t a good reason and I should just know. She holds off on the appointment until she can be there.

Client tries to push past coworkers to enter lobby and when they get told no they begin to tell coworkers that this whole thing is a conspiracy. When my coworkers tell them that it’s for their safety they respond with “I bet you don’t even know anyone who had it.” My coworkers say actually one of the receptionists (yo it’s me!) had it and now has recovered and been clear for a month now but this is why those precautions are in place. The clients go from “This is a conspiracy” to “you we’re trying to kill us.”

The people who get mad when I tell them that we are doing drop off appointments only and they respond with “well how do I know that you’re going to take care of my dog?” We are a vets office??? It’s our job to take care of your animals???? If you don’t trust to leave your animal with your vet maybe you should get a different one. Trust me. Behind closed doors it’s all baby talk and petting the cute animals. More baby talk and less petting with the aggressive ones though.

Just in general the clients who incorrectly wear masks or you know take off the mask to talk to us or even better the client who TAKES OFF THEIR MASK TO SNEEZE. WHAT???

The client who saw the opportunity to get other clients to sign a petition in the parking lot to ban more comprehensive sex education in our state and continue to only teach abstinence. (I wish I was joking)

The many clients who knock, peek through the window, try the door handle three or four times and when I go out to greet them they ask why it was locked despite the many signs on the door and their appointment reminder telling them that the lobby is closed due to being unable to maintain proper social distancing standards. We’ve also gotten into the habit of telling them that when we schedule appointments too.

The client who pulls up where they aren’t visible to us and honks. We are right by a highway inside a pretty well insulated brick building. It sounds like someone honking from the highway so odds are we will just ignore it. Then said client comes and keeps rattling the doorknob until we come up and ask how we can help them. You can still see us through the door, if you feel that it’s locked and see us coming why would you still try it?

A different client than the one I was working with outside driving up and interrupting me to tell me that she had their puppy there for an appointment and was tired of waiting. The best part about this was (sarcasm) the client I was working with was crying as I was handing her back her carrier with her dead cat we just euthanized inside (don’t worry she was wrapped up nicely in her favorite blankie and other clients couldn’t see inside). Why on earth would you interrupt a conversation with an employee and a crying client??? Also she just drove up, she wasn’t waiting at all.

The client who drove up, parked, and I was on the phone so I couldn’t greet them immediately. A different coworker comes up front and sees them, then she goes to see how we can help them. This client had the audacity to say that she had been waiting there for thirty minutes and all I did was just stare at her. No. Also if you read our sign it says if you aren’t helped promptly to knock.

The client who tried to tell us that it was their right to be in the building during a phone call to remind them about their pets appointment. They then cancelled the appointment but still showed up to it and tried to get into the lobby. The client then told us that they never cancelled their appointment and that “they would be going to elsewhere” and requested their animals records. My coworker was more than happy to get the copies for them so that we no longer have to deal with them as a client.

The person who yelled at me at the beginning of the pandemic when I told them that a dog neuter was considered an elective surgery according to the state and was not emergent therefore we could not perform it at that time. Client replied, “well it’s an emergency to me.” The dog was three and did not have an emergency.

Dog grooming just got cleared to open up along with elective surgeries (spays, neuters, the like). Before it opened up though I lost count of how many people asked me when it would and when I didn’t know because it’s up to the state then promptly get mad at me. I don’t have a crystal ball.

So as you can see, people have been perfectly sane about this entire pandemic. Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

[yamayuandadu]

Weekly Wikipedia repairs roundup

Kassite deities - not even a topic I am very interested in, but this article had so much utter nonsense in it - articles from 1885(!), Nanaya and Laguda as deities of Kassite origin, Mesopotamian symbols from the Kassite period as culturally Kassite symbols, Indo-European speculative nonsense, a book using the word “Armenoid” (sic) as a source - that I had no choice but to put it out of its misery, and resurrect in a new, better (and considerably extended) form. Learn all there is to learn about Harbe, Sah, Kamulla and friends - which is not much, but hey! Feat. special cameos from the ethnic stereotype goddess Kaššītu and “Kassite Yarikh” from Ugarit.

Dumuzi-abzu - the OTHER, female, Dumuzi who might be the ORIGINAL Dumuzi. Has no real connection to Dumuzi (male) in terms of function, other than that one love poem apparently confused them (for grammatical reasons I could not include it in my blog article about Ninshubur and plausible gay moments in Mesopotamian literature). Page created from scratch.

Manuzi - a small time Hurrian mountain god slash minor weather god with a pet eagle. There isn’t all that much to say about him, I just realized that if I won’t fix nobody else will, and I want every Hurrian deity’s page to be more or less credible for the sake of my planned Hurrian god list article.

Barama - wife of Kura, the head god of Ebla. Her name might mean something like “full of color,” and there isn’t exactly much info about her since all we have to rely on is one explanatory text for a romantic royal date in the family mausoleum which apparently was necessary to annually renew Barama and her husband, and some offering lists. Page made from scratch, for completion’s sake.

Kura - the head god of Ebla. You know, the article ended up being surprisingly long, considering how little evidence from Ebla has theological character. Page originally made by me last summer, and only expanded now.

Ninegal aka Belet Ekalli(m) aka Pentikalli - goddess of palaces, with a name which is not exactly creative, but which definitely does the trick. The name can function as an epithet of Inanna, but when treated as a separate goddess, Ninegal instead seems to operate rather closely to Nungal, the goddess of prisons, whose page I took care of in february.  

Shul-utula - another god I do not really have much interest in whose page I only fixed because I’m tired of Michael Jordan, ''Encyclopedia of Gods,'' Kyle Cathie Limited, 2002.

Laguda - while it is not incorrect to say that for the most part there was no such a thing as a major Mesopotamian sea god, and that the sea was more of a religious concern among the Hurrians or in Ugarit, Laguda is one of the three most notable exceptions from this rule (you can stretch it a bit by adding gods associated with fishing but that’s a matter for another day), the other two being Sirsir and Lugal’abba. He was seemingly the god of the Persian Gulf. Page created from scratch to make sure nobody can revert my removal of Laguda from among Kassite deities.

Sirsir - the god of sailors, possibly depicted as a slightly morbid looking boat-snake-human hybrid. I had to link his article in Laguda’s and as a result learned that the only source it uses is an atrocious hoax, Simon Necronomicon, so I had no choice but to fix it. Fifteen years had passed without anyone doing something about this! FIFTEEN!

Annunitum -  I called Nanaya the bootleg Inanna par excellence but you know what, I think “epithet of Ishtar from Sargonic royal inscriptions turned separate deity” might actually be a better candidate for this title. Article created from scratch.

Tashmishu - brother of Teshub (the Hurrian king of gods) and Shaushka (Shaushka). Addresses own brother as “my lord” which is kind of funny. He is also his sukkal, at least in myths, though he has to compete for that spot with the god Tenu. There’s a mildly gruesome brief description of mutilation in the myth section so careful out there if that might bug you. Article created from scratch. 

[journalxxx]

By Hook or by Crook (4)

Oh God, there’s another one.

The thought came unbidden to Toshinori’s mind, and it engulfed him in the closest thing to pure dread he had felt in years. It had taken two centuries, the sacrifice of seven One For All users, and two of his own major organs to take down a single All For One wielder, and now a brand new one had somehow sprouted right in front of him.

Now. Now that he had finally decided to tackle the hurdle of entrusting a relatively stable Japan to a successor, now that he was weaker and less capable than ever of defending it from a new threat. Now that the deadline of Nighteye’s prophecy was drawing closer and closer. His own gruesome death on the battlefield, and the sudden reappearance of All For One’s quirk. The unavoidable connection between the two facts almost robbed him of his breath.

Toshinori couldn’t tear his eyes away from the boy’s hand. It looked diminutive in comparison to his own, and completely inoffensive. It had the soft, unblemished appearance that suited someone who had never hit anything bigger than a fly, whereas the hero’s skin had long since been roughened by calluses, and his joints slightly thwarted by the occasional fracture. Yet, that single, unassuming dimple in the middle of its palm made it more potentially destructive than a hundred of Smashes combined.

A sort of choked whimper made Toshinori finally raise his gaze. He realized he had stopped trying to school his expression only when he saw his own strung-out stupor mirrored in Midoriya’s features. 

“I-I… Sorry, I r-really have t-to…” The boy took a step back, his hand slipping from the man’s grasp, then he suddenly turned on his heels and motioned to sprint away.

“Hey, hey!” Toshinori reached forward, grabbing Midoriya’s wrist by sheer reflex. He had already wasted enough time and energy chasing slimy villains and rash teenagers all over the town that day, thank you very much. “Where are you going?”

Midoriya froze on the spot, as if shocked by an electric current. His arm was rigid in Toshinori’s grasp, pulling away from it but without any real conviction. His head turned slowly towards the hero but not fully, letting him see only half of the boy’s face. The unmistakable terror etched in those wide eyes made something constrict in Toshinori’s chest.

“I-I’m… I’m so sorry…” The boy’s voice was down a trembling, barely audible whisper.“I didn’t mean to d-do that… I’ve never… I won’t do it again, I swear, j-just…” 

Midoriya’s free hand hovered over the hero’s, maybe having half a mind of prying it open, but he didn’t even dare to touch it. Toshinori let go of him immediately. The kid wasn’t expecting it, judging by his flabbergasted expression, and all he did with his regained freedom was backing away from him with a couple of uncertain steps, bumping into a nearby electric pole with his backpack and just standing there, pretty much like a cornered mouse cowering before a lion.

The sight jolted Toshinori back to reality with brutal efficiency. God, what was wrong with him today? He was handling this abysmally. That was no two-hundred-year-old manipulative slaughterer, that was a child. A child rapidly working himself into a panic, if his onsetting tremors were of any indication. Ironically, the realization grounded Toshinori even more. Frightened victims and distraught relatives were a daily occurrence in his line of work, and his professional composure slipped back in place almost subconsciously.

“You don’t need to apologize. Quite the opposite. You saved everyone. The hostage, the bystanders… even me. I’m not sure I’d have had the energy to keep up appearances after another smash.” He put up his hands and showed his palms with slow movements, keeping his voice low and level. “You did nothing wrong back there.”

Midoriya slowly slumped down the pole, his limbs huddled in a distressed heap. He blinked quickly as his eyes shied away from Toshinori’s, hands bunching up the fabric of his trousers nervously. “...I-I can give it back. The quirk. I want to give it back to its owner.”

“That can be easily arranged.” Something about the whole situation was nagging at Toshinori, but he pushed that feeling aside for the moment. The boy wasn’t holding himself in any way that hinted at specific injuries, but fear could be one hell of an anesthetic. He gazed up and down the road, finding it completely deserted. He still felt slightly abuzz with the adrenaline rush caused by his second encounter with the sludge villain and the recent revelation of Midoriya’s quirk. He gauged that he could probably (possibly, maybe, hopefully) abuse One For All for another twenty seconds or so if need be, just the time to scoop up the boy in his arms and power run back to the ambulances at the site of the accident. That was likely to cause even more distress to the poor kid though, so he’d rather hold off on it unless clearly necessary. “Are you sure you aren’t in any pain?”

“I-I’m f-fine.” The boy wiggled the backpack off his shoulders and rummaged through it shakily, a few tears rolling down his cheeks and his hiccups becoming harder to contain. “I’m fine…”

“Hey, kid. Look at me. Deep breaths.” Toshinori finally ventured a step and a half towards Midoriya, squatting at a reasonable distance to his side instead of right in front of him, to make sure he wouldn’t feel too crowded. Toshinori offered him a couple of tissues (always plentiful in his pockets) while the boy tried to regain a semblance of calm. “It’s all right. I am here.”

That got the boy’s attention. The catchphrase had slipped out of him automatically, without his trademark panache or blinding smile or overflowing optimism, but Midoriya looked at him like he’d been thrown a lifeline nonetheless. The dam broke and big, shiny tears erupted from his eyes as he accepted the tissues and buried his sobs in them. They remained like that for a while, the kid quietly working through his sniffles while Toshinori sat cross-legged on the dusty asphalt, reminding him to take his time whenever he got a little fidgety.

“Sorry if I spooked you.“ Toshinori eventually offered with a small smile, after Midoriya had finally settled down. “I’m a little out of it myself, today. Not the most auspicious first day in my new neighborhood, but what can you do?”

“Uh? Do you mean you’re moving here?” Midoriya asked while he accepted the fourth tissue and wiped away the remaining dampness from his face.

“Mh-hm.” After the debacle on the rooftop, this didn’t feel like too much of a sensitive bit of information to share. Besides, the kid was a fan, so maybe throwing him a bone would help him relax a little more.

“Why? Isn’t it inconvenient for you? I thought you lived in a penthouse above Might Tower, in Tokyo’s Minato Ward, Roppongi 6-12-”

...Ah, he was that kind of fan. Obviously. “Indeed, but I’ve decided to move to… broaden my professional horizons, so to speak.”

“Oh! Are you planning to open a branch of your agency here? Or are you joining some local long-term operation?“ That spark of morbid curiosity in the boy’s eyes made Toshinori regret bringing up the topic in two seconds flat.

“I’m afraid that’s all I can say on the matter, everything’s still under tight wraps. You’ll hear all about it from the news, eventually.” He stood up and patted some dirt off his hands and pants. “Do you live far from here? I’ll walk you home if you’re feeling better.”

“Oh, uh…” The boy gaped at him in surprise. “Thank you, but there’s no need for you to go out of your way! I’m fine, really!”

“Think nothing of it.” Toshinori hooked three fingers under the strap of the boy’s backpack and hauled it over his own shoulder. It hit his back with unexpected oomph. What did kids even put in those things, weren’t textbooks all digital these days? “Clearly this isn’t your lucky day either. I’ll sleep better tonight knowing that you reached your house safely without being run over by a truck or abducted by aliens.”

The joke got a half-smile out of Midoriya, at long last. He held out his hand to the boy to help him back on his feet. The obvious hesitation and near disbelief he couldn’t hide before gingerly accepting the proffered hand gave Toshinori another small wave of unease. There was definitely something strange about all this, aside from the obvious. He gestured for the kid to lead the way, and they set off towards their new destination.

Toshinori granted him a few minutes of silence before breaching the pivotal subject. “So… you have quite the interesting quirk.”

“...Mh.” Midoriya visibly stiffened. So it had been the quirk talk to give him cold feet, rather than a generic reaction to the day’s stress...

“Why didn’t you use it against the villain the first time he attacked you?” Toshinori asked, opting for a more roundabout approach.

“Ah… I’m sorry. I really should have. You wouldn’t have had to waste your power if I’d-”

“Forget about me! Why didn’t you use it to defend yourself? Did you panic?”

“Uh, well, not too much.” The kid shoved his hands in his pockets and dropped his gaze to the ground, his voice lowering to a droning mutter. “I can take quirks, but I don’t automatically learn how to use them. The villain’s quirk looked like it may be difficult to handle. What if I couldn’t maintain a solid form and just turned myself into a puddle of goo? What if some parts of my slime got detached from the main body during the scuffle, and I found myself missing chunks of flesh upon turning back human? What if the sludge was only an outer layer over my body, and without fine control I ended up drowning in it? Stuff like that… I should have just taken the villain’s quirk without activating it, but I was afraid that he’d get even angrier and he’d just beat me up anyway. I’m not, uh, strong. Or fast. At all. I didn’t consider that he might freak out long enough for me to run away…”

Toshinori blinked. “...Sorry, how long had that guy been harassing you before I showed up?”

“Oh, not long at all. Twenty or thirty seconds, I think.”

“And you went through all of that in twenty seconds. While being ambushed and choked.”

Midoriya just shrugged.

“That is… some quick thinking, all right.” Toshinori commented. He omitted the fact that it was a brand of quick thinking that was more likely to get you killed rather than saving your skin during an emergency. Apparently Midoriya would hesitate to protect himself from a violent attacker, but he’d run for the hills the moment the Symbol of Peace gave him a bit of an odd look. The kid’s fight-or-flight response was all over the place.

“I would have used my quirk to fight back eventually, if you hadn’t arrived so soon… probably…”

“...But?” Toshinori encouraged, sensing the unspoken addition.

“But… not many people know about my quirk. Very few, actually. And I’d like to keep it that way. If it’s possible.”

“Why?”

“...It’s not a good quirk.” Midoriya frowned, hunching his shoulders a bit. “One could do really bad things with it.”

“I could squash a man’s skull with my thumb and level a city block with a punch.” Toshinori countered plainly. “It doesn’t mean I’m going to.”

“It’s… it’s different. You can choose to use your quirk only for good, but mine requires…” The boy trailed off, then hazarded a glance at the hero. “You know what I mean. You understood as soon as I told you, I saw it.”

Toshinori couldn’t argue on that point, unfortunately. Still… 

There could be a perfectly innocent explanation for Midoriya to wield All For One. For one, it could be a different quirk altogether, one that simply mimicked Toshinori’s nemesis’, but that wasn’t quite the same, maybe with some unmentioned limitations (although the palm marks made for quite the uncanny similarity). Moreover, much like look-alikes, duplicate quirks between unrelated people weren’t unheard of, although said quirks were usually quite simple ones, like basic physical enhancers or elemental emitters.

What really bothered Toshinori were the boy’s evident sense of guilt and fear of exposure. Virtually any moderately powerful quirk could be employed to ‘do really bad things’, but hardly any children grew up to be so blatantly scared and ashamed of their own abilities. Family and school usually nurtured a degree of confidence and trust in their own capabilities. Toshinori’s knee-jerk reaction was a byproduct of specific knowledge and experience, but Midoriya’s? If only few people knew about his quirk, it must mean he hadn’t used it much, if at all, in the past, ruling out peer pressure as well. What explanation, what innocent explanation could there be for such a strong negative bias, aside from knowledge and experience he wasn’t supposed to have?

“At least your parents know about your quirk, I hope?”

“My mother doesn’t. My father… isn’t really around.” Toshinori couldn’t decide if that last bit of information was a good or a bad sign.

“So… who did you tell?”

“Just one friend and my father.” Ah, we had one likely culprit then. A father that was around but not really. Suspicious. “And now you, I guess. And… everyone who saw what I did to that villain… including the police…” Midoriya looked just about ready to dig a ditch and roll in it. 

“Well, as I said, everyone seemed to think I took care of the matter, so-”

Midoriya shook his head, utterly demoralized. “Kacchan will tell them.”

“Kacchan?”

“Ah, the hostage. He’s my friend, the one who knows about my quirk. I don’t think he’ll lie to the police for my sake.”

“Ah, I see. I hadn’t realized you two were acquainted.” Toshinori offered him a supportive smile. “I guess that explains your burst of heroism.”

“...No one else was doing anything. I saw you among the crowd, but… I thought you couldn’t help.”

The boy had an almost tortured expression, which reignited the deep-seated guilt that had plagued Toshinori in those harrowing minutes. “...I thought I couldn’t help either.” 

“But you did jump in though. Even though… it hurts you?” Midoriya scanned him from head to toe in concern, as if looking for unnoticed signs of damage. “Why?”

“Why did you decide to intervene, despite your fear?”

“I… I just couldn’t let my friend suffer because I messed up.”

“Well, there you have it.” Toshinori simply said. The boy stared at him thoughtfully, apparently weighing his words carefully, before nodding slowly and resuming his perusal of the ground. Toshinori let the silence stretch for a minute. There was still plenty he wanted to ask, especially regarding Midoriya’s father, but-

“I really do want to give the quirk back.” The kid mumbled. “Should I just… go to the police and ask them? They’ll come looking for me anyway, I guess, but…”

Toshinori pondered the issue for a moment, then he pulled his phone out of his pocket. The least he could do was make this whole ordeal as smooth as possible for the kid. “I think I can help with that. Give me your number. I’ll text you to let you know when we can visit the villain. If we’re lucky, it may be as early as tomorrow.” 

Toshinori registered the boy’s contact information as they entered a quaint residential area with neat little rows of numbered buildings, pleasantly tinged with the warm hues of the sunset.

“Ah, that’s where I live.” Midoriya said afterwards, pointing at a nearby apartment complex. “Thank you for everything, All-”

Toshinori shushed him with a sharp gesture as he gazed around the street nervously. “Please, don’t call me that when I’m in this form.”

Midoriya froze, then bowed respectfully. “R-Right! Thank you, sir! I’m sorry for causing you so much trouble, and taking so much of your time, and-”

Toshinori waved the upcoming barrage of apologies off and bid him a good evening, waiting for the boy to leave. Which he didn’t do.

“Uhm.” Midoriya pointed at Toshinori’s shoulder with an awkward smile. “I need that…”

Oh, right, backpack. “Whoops, there you go.” He tossed Midoriya’s belongings to their owner and watched the kid bustle up the stairs of the building and into one of the apartments. Then he fetched his phone and picked the third number on speed-dial.

“Tsukauchi? Do you have a moment? ….Ah, fine, thank you. Listen, can I drop by your place this evening? Something’s come up and I’d rather not discuss it on the phone… No, but definitely worth looking into sooner rather than later…”

He hung up a couple of exchanges later, after agreeing on the time for the meeting. Toshinori decided he had enough time to make his way back home, shower and have some sort of passable dinner before ruining his friend’s evening. And then he would head back home and he would sleep, even if he had to repeatedly bash his head against a wall to achieve that. He inhaled deeply and let out a long-overdue, exhausted sigh. 

What a day. 

Hopefully tomorrow wouldn’t be quite as taxing.

“THIEF”

Izuku was stuck on the spot, his feet and ankles wrapped in a thick layer of sludge that stretched on the ground as far as the eye could see. The faint light filtering from both ends of the underpass gave it flickering, changing hues, now green like bile, now brown like vomit, now black like tar. It smelled like sewer and dirty toilets. 

“BASTARD”

The slime clung to the walls of the underpass, climbing on them as if endowed with its own will. It crawled up higher and higher, and then went on to expand onto the ceiling. Its surface boiled and squirmed producing disgusting squelching sounds. Izuku looked away from the revolting goo-coated structure he was boxed in, he looked towards the exit, hoping that something, someone would show up to drag him out of that hell.

“GIVE IT BACK”

Someone emerged from the sludge, a few meters ahead of him. A man. A flabby, hairless, mucky man, with haunted eyes and a mouth open in a silent scream. He sweated slime, cried slime, drooled slime, from every orifice and every pore of his body. He waded towards Izuku slowly, an arm extended before him as if to grab him. Izuku couldn’t stand that sight either. He aimed his gaze at the ceiling, right when a huge bubble of gunk popped right above him, and chunky dollops of filth splashed on his face, into his nose and mouth.

“OR I’LL RIP IT OUT OF YOU”

Izuku coughed and heaved, trying to expel the repulsive substance from his pipes, but two cold, slick hands clamped around his throat, trapping it in his body. He could feel the ooze drip down into his lungs, his stomach- he could feel it wiggle and push, like a living parasite trying to break free from the flesh constraining it. Izuku scrambled to tear the man’s hands off him, but those too melted under his fingers like the same fluid that was everywhere, closing down on him, choking him, pulling him apart from the inside-

 Izuku woke up with a whole-body lurch that nearly sent him rolling off the bed, sweaty and breathless. He took in the familiar shadows of his room, and the red numbers of his alarm clock floating in the darkness at his eye level. 

6:20 AM.

Izuku turned on his belly with a frustrated groan, sinking his face into the pillow. Sure, he’d had a pretty harrowing day yesterday. It was bound to leave him a little shaken and maybe disturb his sleep for a while. But seven nightmares in the span of as many hours seemed slightly excessive. Especially seven instances of the exact same nightmare, sentient goo and Munch-like villain and all. The boy fumbled blindly for his phone to check if he’d received any new messages in the last fifty-five minutes. He hadn’t, of course. He prayed that All Might would contact him soon, it didn’t take a degree in psychology to guess the nature of the ‘unfinished business’ his subconscious was so keen on grilling him about.

He stared at the screen blankly, wondering, for roughly the hundredth time, if he should call his father. On one hand, he very probably should. If the man had deemed that little scuffle with Kacchan emergency-worthy, surely a mess this humongous in size warranted a call as well. On the other hand… Izuku didn’t really want to. 

The previous night’s news broadcast had covered the sludge villain incident rather haphazardly, it being a relatively contained accident with no serious consequences or injuries. Izuku was sure they had bothered to touch on the fact in the first place just because All Might had been involved, and the number one hero would receive prime time coverage even for something as trivial as being spotted buying soda at a convenience store. Curiously, Izuku hadn’t been mentioned at all, not even indirectly. Kacchan had been named and shown as the victim, the other heroes had been acknowledged, but All Might had been appointed as the sole person responsible for the resolution of the mishap. Not a word about any irresponsible middle schoolers joining the fray.

Izuku had taken it as a promising sign. All Might had likely interceded for him with the police and obtained a modicum of discretion about his involvement, at least in regards to the media. The hero had been so very understanding the previous day - just thinking about it made the boy almost tear up anew. He had barely reacted to the shocking revelation of his quirk, he had tolerated his unseemly outburst, he had spoken to him as if… as if Izuku was just another innocent victim caught up in a bad situation, rather than a potential menace. He hadn’t hesitated even for a second to offer him his hand, despite knowing the threat that Izuku’s own hands posed. He had… he had made him feel safe, and trusted. He had allowed Izuku to hope that maybe, just maybe, this whole thing could be fixed, that Izuku could handle it with his help, even without subjecting his father to undue sniveling.

And, objectively speaking, what could Izuku’s father do at this point? Izuku doubted that, regardless of his governmental position, the man could prevent the truth from spreading once it had reached both the police and the number one hero. Izuku could make an educated guess about his reaction too, and it wasn’t all that encouraging. It was too late for stern recommendations about secrecy, or for disappointed sighs and gratuitous snark about Izuku’s blind faith in All Might’s mediation skills. And, to be perfectly honest, Izuku dreaded the possibility of finally and completely alienating the sympathy of the one person that had supported and advised him for his whole life, in his own peculiar way. Yes, it was childish of him. Yes, he would have to tell his father anyway, eventually. But he’d rather do it after the matter had been settled, hopefully for the best, and after he’d had a little more time to gather his thoughts and figure out how to word it a little less unfavorably for himself. So, there. It was the 28th of April too, he could wait another day or two, at least. No biggie.

By breakfast time, Izuku had reviewed the issue three more times, had another nightmare, and accepted the fact that this was going to be a long day. 

School went by in that typical hazy fashion that was the result of intellectual activities synergizing poorly with a sleep-deprived brain. Izuku kept eyeing Kacchan warily throughout the first three classes, harboring the half-baked notion of addressing yesterday’s events. He regretted doing it the very moment he opened his mouth to greet him during recess.

“What?” Kacchan growled without sparing him a single glance.

“Uh, ah, I…” How are you was one possible conversation starter. A bad one, for sure. Worrying about Kacchan’s well-being implied that he may not be okay, which implied weakness, which invited aggression as a counter-argument. Did you tell anyone else about what I did yesterday was downright rude, as if Izuku’s quirk was more important than his friend being almost murdered. In fact, any reference to the villain incident was a minefield. Braver classmates than Izuku had already made their inquiries during homeroom, and Kacchan hadn’t taken kindly to their snooping. This really was a bad-

“WHAT?” Kacchan barked, turning sharply towards Izuku and banging his fist on his desk for emphasis.

“Uh, nothing! Just saying hello! Hi! Bye!” Izuku fled the classroom without looking back before Kacchan decided to force-feed him his own shoes.

The first bit of good news of the day reached him during lunch, under the guise of a text.

Hey kid! We can drop by the police station this afternoon at 5 if you’re free

Izuku brought up the virtual keyboard to reply, but he stopped with his finger poised over the screen. He blinked at the unlabeled string of digits identifying the sender.

He had All Might’s phone number. One of many, probably. Definitely one of the lowest priority lines. Or maybe just some sort of burner phone for communications with civilians only. Still. He had All Might’s phone number. All Might was texting him. The realization made him half-choke on his rice.

Should he save it? Would that be a breach of confidentiality? Even if he used a not-too-obvious handle? N1? SP? AM? Ante Meridiem? ...That would just make it more suspicious, wouldn’t it? He’d just… commit it to memory for now. In case he ever needed it again. For purely altruistic reasons.

Sure, I’m free! Thank you very much for the help!

Izuku’s phone chimed again a couple of minutes later.

We’ll come pick you up at your place

That ‘we’ raised a small wave of anxiety in Izuku, but he willed himself to suppress it. He couldn’t expect All Might to shield him from any and all interactions with the force. It’d be fine. He could handle this.

The perspective of visiting the villain revived Izuku’s attention for the remaining lessons, only for him to crash back into fidgety inactivity as soon as he got home and found himself without anything to do for almost two hours before the agreed time. Homework was out of the question, he was too distracted. He figured a nap would be the most inoffensive way to while away the time while also recovering some higher brain functions. And so it was only with a mild heart attack that Izuku was roused by the ringing of the doorbell at 4.50 PM.

“Young Midoriya! Good afternoon!” Even at a glance, Izuku could tell that All Might was in better shape than the previous day. He stood a bit straighter, his smile was a bit wider, his hair was slightly less chaotic. He was also wearing slacks and a button up shirt that, while still dramatically oversized, made him look a bit less like a phthisic hospital runaway. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes! Thank you so much for going out of your way to take care of me!” Izuku declared with a rigid bow to All Might and to the other man standing by his side - definitely a detective, judging by his stereotypical trench coat.

All Might patted the man on the back with an even bigger grin. “This is Naomasa Tsukauchi, my favorite detective on the force! You may speak freely before him, you won’t find anyone more trustworthy in the whole of Japan!”

“A pleasure to meet you, Midoriya.” Tsukauchi politely removed his hat and shook the boy’s hand with an amused smirk, a sign that he was probably familiar with the hero’s odd choice of an introduction. He then peeked behind Izuku’s shoulders towards the inside of the house. “Isn’t your mother going to join us?”

“Ah no, she had a doctor’s appointment booked for today. It’s fine though, I’ll just send her a text to let her know where I’m going.” Izuku had warned his mother that he may have to visit the precinct soon. He had had to justify his singed and grimy school uniform the day before, so he had told her that he’d been marginally involved in the sludge villain incident, and the police was likely to want to collect his statement on the matter. It was only by pure chance that the news broadcast hadn’t outed his abridgment of the facts.

“Ah… We were hoping to have a few words with her too, actually.” Tsukauchi glanced at All Might, whose eyes darted briefly between the detective and the boy.

“I… may have forgotten to mention that.” All Might scratched the back of his neck with an apologetic grimace. “Well, I guess it can’t be helped. We’ll catch up with her another time, if necessary.”

Izuku had the sneaking suspicion that being All Might’s favorite detective came at a price. Tsukauchi just sighed, before regarding him with a gentle smile. “Well, if you are sure you don’t mind coming with us all by yourself…”

“I don’t mind at all!” Izuku hurried to reassure them. 

A minute later he was in the backseat of Tsukauchi’s speeding car, typing a message to his mother and struggling to suppress a monstrous yawn, courtesy of his interrupted nap.

“Tired?” All Might asked, intercepting his gaze in the rearview mirror.

“A bit. I didn't sleep well last night.”

“Ah, I know that feeling.” The hero’s expression mellowed in sympathy. “I’m sure you’ll rest more easily once this is over and done with.”

“I hope so.” Izuku pocketed his phone and gazed at the moving buildings out of the car window, mostly just to break eye contact. Somehow All Might’s open kindness felt undeserved, especially for something as trivial as a bunch of spooky dreams. He focused on more urgent matters. “So, uh… how are we going to do this? Does the villain know I’m coming, will I explain things to him? Will you, uh, keep an eye on things from outside or accompany me...?”

“Well, we were thinking of throwing you into his cell, locking the door and letting the two of you fight for dominance and ownership over the quirk- “ All Might grinned widely in response to Izuku’s exasperated gape.

“Yagi!” The detective reprimanded him, only mildly scandalized. The name bounced a few times around Izuku’s brain, plain and mystifying at the same time.

“Sorry, just trying to lift his spirits.” 

“You have nothing to worry about, it’ll be perfectly safe.” Tsukauchi provided, clearly having a much better understanding of the state of Izuku’s spirits despite knowing him for a scant ten minutes. “The villain will be in his cell and we will escort you inside, of course. You won’t really interact with each other, as he’ll likely be deeply asleep.”

“Asleep?”

“Yes. The apparent loss of his quirk has upset him greatly. He’s barely spoken since we took him into custody, and he’s spent the whole night in severe emotional distress. We would have transferred him to a hospital this morning if you hadn’t agreed to help so promptly. As things stood, we simply had a doctor prescribe him a strong sedative. Hopefully he’ll settle down spontaneously after you return his quirk.”

The man’s words weighed on Izuku’s heart like a ton of bricks. Damn, that was… horrible. He’d been holding onto someone else’s quirk for barely a day, and it had already caused that much sorrow. That wasn’t how Izuku’s power was supposed to be used. It would never be, as far as he was concerned.

“I’m sure he will.” All Might commented, all traces of humour vanished from his demeanor. “Don’t worry, kid. It’ll be a matter of a minute.”

Izuku nodded, and didn’t speak again for the rest of the trip. When they reached their destination, he let All Might guide him towards the detention area of the complex while Tsukauchi wandered off somewhere else, probably taking care of the bureaucratic side of things. He reappeared relatively soon, and they entered one of the cells all together.

The cell was small and mostly barren, furnished with only the most essential goods and surfaces for a relatively short stay. Idly, Izuku wondered what systems they had in place to prevent a… slippery criminal such as the current occupant from escaping from toilets or sinks. Surely they were prepared to- he realized he was spacing out. He should just get on with it.

The villain was indeed sleeping, huddled in a small foldable bedding on the floor. Izuku had barely caught a glimpse of the man’s human form the previous day, yet he was identical to how he’d envisioned him in his dreams. His subconscious was just that observant, apparently. It suddenly occurred to Izuku that he hadn’t even asked for the man’s name yet. The news broadcast hadn’t reported- he was procrastinating again. Just do it, Izuku.

The boy glanced questioningly at the detective, who made a small gesture to indicate that he was free to proceed. He approached his assailant and crouched beside him. The villain’s hand was sticking out from under the blanket, next to his head. Izuku rested his palm against the back of it, and simply willed the quirk out. 

Just like that, it was done. Izuku stood up and stepped back as the man’s body swiftly changed its texture and color, morphing and rearranging itself until a vaguely man-shaped, green heap of goo had replaced the slumbering human. The villain remained dead to the world throughout the entire process.

“...I’m done.” Izuku whispered, quite redundantly. He peered back at the two men at the opposite side of the room, and he didn’t miss the quick, sharp side-glance they’d just quietly exchanged.

“Thank you very much for your cooperation.” Tsukauchi said with the utmost honesty once they were again in the hallway. “While you’re here, would you mind if I collected your statement about the incident? It won’t take long, we already have a clear picture of the situation thanks to All Might.”

“Uh… Okay.” Izuku had hoped, rather optimistically, to skip that part, but he had no reasonable excuse to refuse. Tsukauchi led them to an empty room a couple of corridors further ahead, and held the door open for them. All Might lingered on the threshold.

“May I sit in?” His question was aimed at Izuku for some reason, rather than at his friend. 

“Of course!” Izuku confirmed, when both adults just stared at him in silence, clearly waiting for his permission. The hero thanked him with a small nod and an equally small smile.

They all sat around the desk in the middle of the room, Tsukauchi on one side, and Izuku and All Might on the other. It struck Izuku as a little strange, automatically expecting the two upholders of the law to face him side by side. He wondered if it may be a setup for some sort of good-cop-bad-cop routine. Not that either of them seemed especially suited to the latter role. Tsukauchi was very much the embodiment of professionalism, and All Might… All Might looked especially non-threatening in that moment, almost meek. He was sitting very tidily, big hands folded in his lap and long legs pressed against each other, occupying a remarkably small space considering the size of his frame. It made Izuku straighten his back and sit more neatly by reflex.

The questioning did proceed very smoothly at first. Tsukauchi let Izuku narrate his version of the events without interrupting at all, just humming and jotting down a few lines in his notepad now and then. All Might was just as unobtrusive, volunteering a sentence or two when Izuku happened to stumble on his words, or when he openly allowed him to recount the little scene on the rooftop, since the detective was already in on the big secret. Smooth sailing all round, until the point when Izuku had to bring up his quirk.

“On the subject of your quirk… when did it first manifest, exactly?” Tsukauchi asked.

“A little less than two years ago.”

“Ah, you’re quite the late bloomer! And you’ve only shared that fact with your friend Bakugo and your father, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And your father is one... Hisashi Midoriya, right?” Tsukauchi fished out a sheet of paper from the folder he’d retrieved before beginning the interrogation. He slid it across the table so that the boy could read it.

“Yes.” Izuku blinked, an undefined sense of unease gripping him all of a sudden. “...Why did you bother printing his personal details?”

“You’ve been filed as quirkless in the national registry after a routine medical examination when you were four years old. Your registration hasn’t been updated since then, as far as I could ascertain.” Tsukauchi explained calmly.

“Y-Yeah. I know.”

“...That is a punishable offense, I’m afraid. An accurate quirk registration is mandatory for all citizens.” Tsukauchi’s expression softened when Izuku utterly failed to hide his dismay. “This has no consequence on you, as minors aren’t expected to take care of these things by themselves, especially since quirk recording is often carried out when they’re extremely young. Your mother bears no blame either if, as you say, she’s as clueless about it as the rest of the world. But if your father knew and neglected to sort out the necessary paperwork for so long-”

“Oh.” Oh. Oh crap. Izuku had never thought of that. Why on earth had he never thought of that? Why, in almost two years, had he never considered the legal implications of all that secrecy? Why hadn’t his father? “Are you going to press charges against him?”

“Not yet. We’re at least going to get in touch with him and hear him out before taking any further steps.” The detective gave him a genuinely reassuring smile. “But even if we did, there is no cause for concern. These bureaucratic hitches are usually settled with a small fine.”

“I-I see.” Izuku gulped. He wasn’t going to wait until May. He was going to call his father as soon as he was alone. This probably wasn’t going to snowball into a lengthy legal conundrum, but still…

“What’s his occupation? I’m reading ‘administrative assistant’ here, which is a bit generic…”

“I don’t know much about that. He works for the government, I think, and he always says that all his activities are classified, so I try not to pry... Too much…”

“That is very judicious of you. I wish you could teach some of that tact to my sister…” Tsukauchi sighed, only half-jokingly. All Might let out a low chuckle at that. “Does your father know that you’ve been so reserved about your quirk so far?”

“Yes.”

“And he didn’t find it odd in the slightest?”

“...No.” 

“Why do you think that is?” Izuku was suddenly very aware of both adults observing him quite intently. He really didn’t want to make things look any worse for his father. He could… slightly reframe the truth, maybe.

“I, uhm… Mine is a bit of a unique quirk. Difficult to use without, uh, stepping on other people’s toes. And I’ve been quirkless for most of my life, and… it’s no mystery that I envied other kids a lot because of that. I was worried that my schoolmates could be wary of me if they knew that I could… act on that envy now.”

Tsukauchi hummed, twirling his pen slowly between his fingers. “I can understand your concern. But quirk counselling is specifically designed to help children cope with such issues, and you’ve been missing out on it because of this extreme discretion. Your father should have realized he was doing you more harm than good by letting these fears fester in your mind.”

Izuku dropped his gaze on his father’s profile sheet. Detective Tsukauchi had a point, but… the matter was more complicated than that, as well as intricately intertwined with his father’s job and the troubled history of their quirk, and… Izuku didn’t want to delve into any of that at the moment. 

“We’ll definitely schedule some counselling sessions for you in the future, I’m sure you’ll find them beneficial.” Tsukauchi hesitated. “...Did something catch your attention?”

Something did, in fact. Izuku was idly skimming through the content of his father’s profile, and a couple of details were giving him pause. The first was, unsurprisingly, his father’s listed quirk. Fire Breathing.

...nor do I have it printed in bold letters in my personal documents…

Yeah, Izuku wasn’t going to bring that up. The other thing, a little more surprisingly, was his photo.

“Oh, it’s nothing, just… I haven’t seen any photos of my father in a long time.”

“You haven’t seen ‘any photos’ of him?” Tsukauchi cocked his head curiously.

“Yeah… I’ve never met him in person, he travels a lot because of his job and he never has enough time to stop by. I only know what he looks like because of an old photo my mother showed me. I haven’t seen it in years too, so…”

“Only a single photo, uh? And this picture here doesn’t strike you as familiar?”

Izuku observed it more closely... No, he was surely mistaken. “No no, there’s… there’s definitely a resemblance. Mine was a very old photo, taken before I was born. And it wasn’t even a photo of him specifically, he just happened to be in it, at an odd angle and in the middle of a crowd… I’m sure this one is more accurate.”

“Are you still in possession of that photo, by any chance?” All Might chimed in unexpectedly, his bright eyes narrowing slightly.

“Yes, I think so… Hang on, let me check.” Izuku fetched his phone, opened the internet browser… Crap, it really had been a long time since he’d looked at the thing. Back then, he’d saved the file his mother had passed him on a free online storage site that… hopefully still existed? He hadn’t used it in at least four years. Was his account still active? Could he even retrieve the credentials with his current email address? “Uh… Actually, I don’t think I can get it right away. But I printed a copy of it once, it should be at home… somewhere…” Stashed in one of those boxes of old notebooks and magazines on top of his wardrobe, right? Or had it been thrown away when they had moved to their current apartment…? He fiddled with his phone with growing discomfort, acutely aware of the utter unhelpfulness of his babbling.

“We’d certainly be grateful if you could retrieve that photo for us, when you have a minute.” All Might finally conceded, taking pity on Izuku's floundering.

“Sure! I’ll try to find it as soon as I get home.”

“Much obliged.” Tsukauchi flipped quickly through his folder. Izuku was about to ask why the mention of that photo had sparked their interest so much, when Tsukauchi put Hisashi's file back into the folder and closed it with a snap. “Well, I think we’ve covered everything. Again, you’ve been immensely valuable to us, Midoriya.”

Izuku let out a breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding. All Might positively beamed at him and flashed him a thumbs up, which was its own, heart-warming reward. They all stood up and made to leave, when Izuku remembered he owed the two men a proper thanks.

“Ah, I really appreciate that you used your influence to… to get the papers off my back. It was… unreasonable of me to ask, but I  really  appreciate you humoring my hope for discretion anyway. I hope that it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience.”

Tsukauchi and All Might traded a puzzled glance. 

“We did nothing of the sort, kid. What makes you-” All Might stopped, as if struck by a sudden thought. “Ah! You did mention it yesterday, didn’t you? That you were expecting your friend to expose your quirk…”

“Yes. I… I imagine Kacchan told the journalists, and you took care of, uh, correcting his version?”

“No, no, there was no need to.” All Might waved his hand dismissively. “Your friend didn’t mention you at all. He was on the verge of fainting when you rushed in, he’d been strenuously fighting back against the villain for a while by that time. He was too exhausted to notice your intervention, and you bolted immediately afterwards. He never realized you were there.”

Izuku’s jaw dropped half-way open, but he shut it immediately with an audible click. 

“...Ah.” Kacchan hadn’t realized. The bystanders hadn’t realized. The police hadn’t realized. All Might hadn’t really realized. That meant that no one, no one, would know about his quirk right now… if he hadn’t gone and spilled the beans about it himself. If he hadn’t dumped an unnecessary confession to the number one hero out of sheer, emotional anxiety.

...Boy, that next phone call was going to be one for the ages.

[persephone-plasmids]

Debriefing

Deacon and Sole fanfic.

[AO3]

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

Debriefing

Deacon and Sole walked in complete  silence through the abandoned Nuka-World park. Not because they were worried they’d attract the attention of ferals, but because neither of them seemed to be mature enough to address the incredible kiss they’d both just shared. Of course, nearly having Sole kill him when she got poisoned by HalluciGen and meeting a super dramatic Ghoul named Oswald had also distracted them. But Deacon was fairly certain the kiss was the real reason for the silent treatment he was currently getting.

I shouldn’t have done it, Deacon thought to himself. Although even as he thought this, his mind replayed the sensation of Sole’s lips against his and he felt his cheeks flush.

Sole was walking ever-so-slightly ahead of him, her hips swaying back and forth in a way that Deacon tried to ignore.

Right. He needed to fix this. To get things back to normal.

“Hey Charmer, did I ever tell you about the time I went undercover as Magnolia for an entire week?”

Sole slowed her pace a bit so that Deacon could fall in step beside her. “Go on,” she said, raising an eyebrow with an amused look in her eye.

“I did the whole shebang. Donned the red dress, wore a black wig, sang all the songs.”

“Flirted with the patrons?” She asked.

“That was my favorite part,” Deacon said. “You wouldn't believe how many free drinks I got that week. It’s amazing what people will do for a pretty face.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Sole’s lips, but the action just brought Deacon’s attention right back to the very area he was trying to forget.

He cleared his throat nervously before continuing. “I'll tell you, though. I’m not a fan of shaving my legs. I could never quite get that little area behind my knee.”

At this, Sole snorted, trying to suppress her laugh and failing miserably. “How do you even come up with these ridiculous lies?”

She still wasn’t looking at him, but he preferred it that way. If she wasn’t looking at him, then they weren’t in danger of suddenly kissing each other.

“Who says that’s a lie?” Deacon asked, his voice easily slipping back into its smooth unconcerned cadence.

“Literally anyone who’s ever met you,” she said, looking down at the ground as they walked. “I can read you most of the time. But I’m finding it harder and harder these days.”

“Oh?” Deacon asked.

He wanted to know what she’d meant by that, but he never did get his answer. Instead, he heard the familiar clomp, clomp, clomp of power armor approaching them. Deacon rolled his eyes at the Paladin’s lack of subtlety and Sole moved a bit further away from Deacon.

The motion would have been almost imperceptible to anyone but him. But it still gave him complicated feelings. Was he hurt that she didn’t want to be seen being this familiar with him? Or did it give him hope that she was feeling that same connection to him, even if she was trying to ignore it.

“Soldier,” Danse said, nodding to Sole before turning to Deacon. “Liar.”

“Ouch,” Deacon said, placing a hand over his heart and stumbling back a few paces dramatically. “Shots fired, Paladin. Right out the gate too.”

“Told you everyone knows you’re a liar,” Sole said under her breath, grinning as she looked at Danse.

MacCready appeared suddenly beside Danse, out of breath and wiping blood from his hands. “There’s a serious Bloodworm infestation here. I think we should get out of Dry Rock Gulch. It’s not worth the effort.”

“That’s just as well,” Sole said. “The Synth isn’t in Nuka-World. They’ve already made it out of The Commonwealth.”

“Is that so?” Danse asked. “Outstanding!”

“Bingo!” Deacon shouted.

Everyone stopped and turned to look at him in confusion.

“Danse said ‘outstanding’. That’s the last square I needed on my boy scout bingo card.”

No one said anything. Instead, Sole’s cheeks immediately flushed a dark shade of scarlet as her eyes grew as wide as saucers. She stared at Deacon in horror and had she not immediately looked away from him again, he would have thought there was a Deathclaw behind him.

Danse cleared his throat uncomfortably before Sole began loudly speaking. “So, I think we’re all done here. The Synth is safe and we’re all alive. Let’s head out.”

Sole’s voice sounded unnatural. And the way Danse turned away from Deacon with a stronger look of annoyance on his face than normal, told him that something was wrong.

As Sole and Danse began walking away, Mac sidled up beside Deacon and said in a low voice, “Not really your color, is it?” Before snickering and joining Sole and the tin can.

Deacon brought his hand up to his lips. When he pulled them away, he could see that they were stained with Sole’s red lipstick.

“Perfect,” he groaned.

--------

Things back at Railroad HQ had been normal when Sole and Deacon returned to report to Desdamona. Painfully normal. The kind of normal you got when you were trying too hard to make things seem normal. Sole was still avoiding eye contact with Deacon, but when she thought he wasn’t looking, he’d catch her staring.

Again, his sunglasses proved beneficial for more than just his Railroad missions.

“Thank you both for your continued efforts on behalf of The Railroad,” Desdemona said, after they’d given her the news concerning the Synth in Nuka-World. “Charmer, you’re getting much more efficient in your debriefings.”

“Charmer can debrief me any time,” Deacon said, giving her finger guns as Sole just shook her head in exasperation.

“Deacon, do I need to refresh your memory on the no fraternization rule?” Desdamona asked.

“Oh come on, that was funny,” Deacon insisted.

“Deacon?” Desdamona was still waiting for him to answer.

“No Des. I’ll do my best to shield your ears from my incredible wit. But just know you’ll be missing out.”

“I think I’ll survive,” Des said shortly. “You’re both dismissed.”

And with that, the imposing woman walked away.

“Sheesh, tough crowd,” Deacon said, pulling on the collar of his white shirt for effect as he smiled over at Sole.

“I mean… she is right though,” Sole said, looking down at her hands instead of at Deacon. “We probably shouldn’t joke about stuff like that.”

“Are you… we joke about that kind of stuff all the time,” Deacon said incredulously. “I mean… if it makes you uncomfortable of course I’ll stop. I just… thought that was sort of our thing.”

Deacon could feel his cheeks heating up as he desperately tried to save the situation. If Sole was uncomfortable with their joking, it was news to him. She was usually the one to start the innuendos. But he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.

The kiss may have tarnished their friendship a bit, mostly because it made it impossible for Deacon to keep lying to himself about his feelings. But he didn’t want it to completely ruin what they already had.

“I just… don’t want people to talk,” Sole said simply, still looking down at her hands.

“Yeah, of course, Boss. Whatever you say,” Deacon answered, rubbing the back of his neck before trying to assume a nonchalant posture. “Just trying to keep things light. I’ll resort to the old failsafes instead. You know… the nuclear apocalypse… the hopelessness of our existence… Danse’s extensive grooming routine.”

Sole almost smiled at this last bit. He could tell from the way her jaw tensed. But instead of smiling she just nodded. “Thanks, Deeks.”

Without another word, Sole gave Deacon a curt smile, turned on her heel, and walked away, leaving him totally and utterly confused about where they stood.

Idiot, he thought. Did I seriously think I could kiss Sole without things getting weird? Do I really want to throw away my closest friendship just because I… what? Feel something for her? Big deal. I feel something for Fancy Lad Snack Cakes and I’m not making moves on them.

Deacon refrained from letting out the gigantic sigh that had settled in his chest, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Instead, he ducked into the escape tunnel and out the back door into the small underground room just beyond the main section of Railroad HQ.

Pulling out a cigarette, Deacon nearly jumped out of his skin when Sole lit a match beside him.

“Geez! Are you kidding me?” Deacon whisper-shouted at her, jumping back against the wall and hitting his head in the process.

He dropped his unlit cigarette to the ground and rubbed the back of his head where it had made contact with the bricks.

“I thought you were always aware of your surroundings.”

“And I thought you were a baby Deathclaw about to drag me off to mommy like a bleeding morbid trophy,” he said, still whisper-shouting. “Why are you back here, Sole?”

“I needed some alone time,” she said, her face slightly amused as she watched him come down from his scare. “And then you just followed right behind me.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Deacon said. “I didn’t even see you come back here. Trust me, I don’t go around looking for humiliation more than once a day.”

“Excuse me?” Sole asked, her eyes narrowing at his words.

Deacon swallowed, realizing he was being too honest again. He didn’t want her to know he was hurt. Hell, he didn’t even want her to know he had actual feelings for her.

“I mean… I have gone looking for humiliation in the past,” he began, trying to think up a lie funny enough to distract Sole from his honesty. “Like this one time--.”

“Deacon, stop,” Sole said, shaking her head. “Sorry, I just… I can’t do this.”

“Yep, no problem,” Deacon said automatically, without really knowing what she was talking about specifically.

Odds were, he probably didn’t want to know. He’d made a point of detaching himself from the people around him. It was a necessity in The Railroad. But it had also been crucial for his survival after Barbara. Sole broke down that resolve and made him feel out of control in a way that he both loved and hated.

Sole turned to leave but stopped herself and instead faced Deacon once more, looking at the ground with a deep sigh.

“I’m just going to say it, okay?” she began, now looking up to meet his eyes before frowning. “Geez, Deeks, will you please take those sunglasses off so I can actually see you?”

Panic.

He needed his sunglasses. Otherwise Sole might find out just what a terrible bluffer he actually was.

“You know what? Never mind. This might actually be easier if I can’t see you.”

Her words were doing nothing to comfort him and he was desperately trying to quell the mild panic attack that was rising in his chest. “Sole, if I’m dying, you really need to just rip off the bandaid and tell me.”

He grinned at her, but they both knew it was a facade to mask his panic.

“I appreciate you telling me about Barbara. That took a lot of trust to open up to me about her.”

Well this wasn’t looking good.

“And I felt instantly connected to you because of it. We… we both knew what it was like to experience loss.” Sole frowned but pushed through it. “And honestly, after everything with Nate, I didn’t think I’d ever… feel anything for someone again.”

Deacon had to stop this conversation. He’d made her uncomfortable. And he hated himself for that.

“You don’t need to say anything else, Boss. I got it loud and clear,” Deacon said.

But Sole wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily.

“I don’t think you do,” Sole said. “I get that you flirt. It’s what you do. And it was always fine with me but… I can’t keep putting myself out there just to find out that this whole thing is a big joke to you. I’m not like that. It… it hurts too much.”

Deacon’s heart twisted inside of him. Had he misunderstood this situation completely? There was no way. Because as much as he’d dreamed about Sole reciprocating his feelings, he never thought it would actually happen.

Deacon had been a bigot back in his youth. Someone had died. He’d been a violent man. Sure he’d changed, but there was no way someone as good as Sole would be able to look completely past that. She may say his past wasn’t important, but she was just being polite. That’s who Sole was.

There was no way she could ever truly forgive him. He knew that. And he didn’t think he’d deserve that kind of forgiveness even if she did offer it.

“I respect you too much to break up our team, because we really do work well together… I just need the flirting to stop,” Sole said, looking down at her hands again as she twisted them together. “I want… I want you, Deacon. And it’s fine that I can’t have you. Really. I can learn to live with that. I’m a big girl. But… I’m not good at differentiating your joking with what’s real. I never have been. You know that.”

Deacon was staring at Sole now with the most shocked expression he’d ever worn.

She was saying that she had feelings for him. Wasn’t she?

Of course, he could just ask her for clarification, but that went against every instinct inside of him that was screaming at him to make a joke.

He realized a bit too late that he had been staring at her in silence for quite a while. She looked up at him uncomfortably with a wince. “So… are we good?” she asked. “Even though… you know… I just told you I have a crush on you like some five-year-old on the playground?”

There it was. The confirmation.

Deacon’s mouth might have actually dropped open in shock. He wasn’t sure.

“Okay, well… this has been sufficiently awkward. But I said what I needed to say. So…” she gave him a soft awkward slug on the shoulder. “Good talk, Sport.”

She instantly shook her head in embarrassment at her own words.

“Yeah, I’m going to leave now,” she mumbled, ducking her head down and turning to walk away.

“Wait, hold up just a minute,” Deacon said, finally regaining control of his brain. At least partially.

Sole turned around slowly and reluctantly.

“I swear if you make fun of me for this, Deeks, I will fill your pillowcase with cayenne pepper while you sleep.”

“Whoa,” he said, raising his hands up in surrender. “That escalated way faster than it probably should have.”

Deacon reached down and hesitantly took Sole’s hand in his own.

“I just… are you actually saying you have feelings for me?” Deacon asked.

Sole’s cheeks flushed at his straightforward words. Deacon was never straightforward. Except for the time he’d told Sole about Barbara.

“Seriously, Deacon? You’re going to make me say it again?”

“You feel things for me?” Deacon repeated, trying to rephrase his question so that there was no confusion. He wasn’t doing a great job. “Not like the way Danse has feelings for his power armor, right?”

“I mean, I’ve seen the way he looks at his power armor. So, maybe,” Sole said, that ghost of a smile returning to her lips. “Seriously, can I go now? I don’t know that I’ve ever felt this humiliated. This is worse than the dream where I show up to school naked.”

Deacon’s eyes grew wide behind his sunglasses at this statement. “Okay, well I’d definitely like to hear more about that in a minute,” Deacon began. “But I just… I feel like I need to be absolutely certain. You, the perfect, beautiful, compassionate, smart, brave, sexy, savior of The Commonwealth, have romantic feelings towards a former-bigot, current-man-child, broken, immature, and hopelessly lost human?”

Realization seemed to dawn on Sole in that moment. At his words she could see the insecurity dripping off of him, cleverly disguised by jokes and a devil-may-care attitude.

He felt the shift between them. Felt the way she squeezed his hand with confidence now, knowing that his flirting wasn’t a joke. That his casual contact wasn’t all that casual.

“Well… the jury’s still out on whether or not you’re a human or a synth,” she whispered with a grin. “I still haven’t tried your recall code on you.”

With that, Sole pressed her lips to Deacon’s. He hadn’t kissed Sole many times, so he didn’t have much to compare it to, but this kiss definitely felt different. Her hesitation was gone. Her lips were confident as they moved over his, and he smiled at her touch.

“Can we go back to that whole, dream business you were talking about a second ago?” Deacon asked, but Sole instantly silenced him with another kiss, which he was just fine with.

Her hands roamed slowly up his chest, as if she were taking her time to enjoy the moment. Goosebumps erupted all over his skin at her touch.

As she gently bit his bottom lip, something he definitely hadn’t expected from her, he couldn’t stop himself from being too aware of their surroundings. He wanted to melt into the kiss. He wanted to thoroughly enjoy this moment. There weren’t any more questions between them. They both understood each other finally.

But they were also in Railroad HQ. Anti-fraternization Zone Number 1. They may have been in the escape tunnel, but agents regularly used it as an overflow for the headquarters.

“Hey,” Deacon said, pulling away from Sole regretfully. Confusion lined her features. “So… I want this. You have absolutely no idea how much,” he began. “But… we’re not really in the best place for… grown up bonding time.”

Sole smiled up at him. “Doesn’t that sort of make it more exciting?” she asked.

What? Where had this Sole come from?

Not waiting for his response, she kissed him again, harder this time. He tried to exercise restraint.

He failed.

Instead, he pushed Sole up against the wall, parting her lips with his tongue and pressing his body against hers. Every fiber of his being burned to be even closer to her, but even with this bold new Sole that stood before him, he knew she wasn’t that type. She’d want to take things somewhat slow. And he was fine with that.

Besides, after years of being completely touch-starved, any contact was like a revelation for Deacon.

His hands found her waist, softly kneading the smooth skin there as his mouth moved against hers. She made a little noise that encouraged him further, prompting him to trail his kisses down to her collarbone instead.

She grabbed his hair in a slightly painful manner, but he didn’t mind. Instead, he focused on the very important work he was doing on her neck while her hands pulled him more firmly against her.

“Deeks,” she said breathlessly, though he hardly heard her. His lips were too preoccupied with just how perfect her neck seemed to be. How had he not noticed before? “Dea-con,” she said again, still just as breathless.

This time he heard her. And he loved the way his name sounded when she was the one saying it. The way her breath hitched at the end of the first syllable when he’d nipped at her neck. That desperate quality to her voice.

“Mmm?” he mumbled, now slowly moving his lips back towards hers.

“You…” but her words were cut off by another kiss. “Said we should be careful here?” she finally managed, between kisses. “About Des?”

This was more like the reserved Sole he knew. But he was enjoying himself too much. He was finally kissing her. Really kissing her. Not just for fun. Not as part of a ruse for a mission. Not in some psychotic funhouse where he wasn’t sure if she really wanted to or if it was just some weird trick of the drugs in Kiddie Kingdom.

Being able to touch someone after so long was like an oasis in a desert. And she saw him. Really saw him. That was normally the last thing he wanted from someone. But it was all he wanted with Sole.

“Screw it,” Sole said between another kiss before she wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him harder against her body, shuddering as they crashed together.

“I already told you, I left a backup in the escape tunnel,” Tinker Tom said from somewhere near the room’s entrance. “Now if y’all would give me two seconds, I could actually go get it.”

Sole instantly broke the kiss, looking wide-eyed at Deacon in a panic. He pressed a finger against her lips and grabbed her hand. Without a word, Deacon pulled her towards the exit at the far end of the room. It would lead them out into the cool night air of The Commonwealth.

As he held her hand and pulled her behind him, he couldn’t stop the embarrassing little smile that broke across his face. He heard Sole giggle behind him and it only added to the pure unadulterated joy that was beginning to permeate his very being.

She saw him. She saw all of him. And she still wanted him.

------

Note: This fic makes me seem like I don’t like Danse. I actually love him! I just like to make fun of him :)

Also, if you enjoy my writing, I’m an author IRL. I’ve got 13 published books, but my favorite is Parrish. You should check it out if you like ghosts and love stories between weirdos.

[soyforramen]

Whoops, I slipped into a follow up of this prompt.

--

“How’s the wrist?”

Such an innocuous question. It rings flat in the sharp crags that line the chasm between them, echoing hollowly between them. But it’s still more than he’d said Saturday night. More than he thought he’d say.

Betty, never one to let any pain shine through, smiles at him. Her face morphs into that perfect Cooper mask, no crack or wrinkle to suggest anything was out of the ordinary. It pierces his soul to realize that he doesn’t know how to read her anymore.

To him, she looks just as happy and carefree as the first day they’d met in third grade.

“Still sore, but no lasting damage,” she says, rolling her wrist as proof. Even her voice is peppy and varnished to perfection. “How’s your head?”

His hand moves without thought to his forehead, his fingertips grazing the ugly red mess. Jughead jerks his head to the right, a move practiced in the mirror this morning to ensure his hair covered the welt.

“Nothing an aspirin can’t take care of,” he mutters.

He raises his coffee cup to his lips to keep from mentioning the whisky and rye he’d fallen headfirst into, a palliative cure after she’d disappeared up the stairs, leaving nothing but confusion and nadir in her wake. The lingering hangover was still a symphony of banging pots and pans along his temples, a never-ending reminder of his regret (relief?) of doing nothing.

They sip their coffee in silence, waiting for the meeting to begin. The artificial bridge he’d thrown across the chasm between them frays, its tethers loosening. In less than a minute, it’s fallen into the yawning black hole that now lies between them.

Betty's words… no. Not that. It was his inaction. His confusion. His uncertainty that created this false rift between them. The gravity of it tugging and pulling at every second between them, every atom, every conceivable future between them, each a warped, stretched snapshot of a future never to be.

It was enough to make him want to crawl back into the bottle and never come out again. His hand shakes, an aftereffect of the late night drinking, and he shoves it deep into his pocket. Betty’s eyebrows draw too close together, too close to concern for his tastes.

Toni claps her hands together, and Betty shoots him one last curious look. He refuses to look at her, turning to refill his mug. When he turns back around, Betty is in her usual seat next to Archie, a plastic smile on her face. Jughead slouches against the counter, too lost in his own morbid thoughts to pay much attention to the upcoming game to notice the increasingly concerned glances Betty sends his way.

Jughead watches as his students shuffle in, the twins he affectionately calls Bill and Ted the only two showing any trace of life. The bell rings, a clanging, offensive noise that makes everyone wince. It’s doubtful he’s the only one nursing a hangover.

“How many of you did the reading?” he asks when they settle in.

A collective groan ripples throughout the room. He can’t blame them; he’d never been able to finish The Odyssey in high school either.

“Pop quiz time,” he says.

Another groan, this time with a rousing argument against it, echoes through his already pounding head. Jughead holds his hands up in a conciliatory gesture.

“I want you to write about betrayal.”

The class quiets, some exchanging glances. It’s a sharp turn, a quick 180 that throws all off them off balance. Jughead has been ruthless so far, both in his grading and in his push to get them to learn critical thinking skills. Even he’s surprised at this course of action.

“Any kind of betrayal you can think of. You can talk about personal betrayal, family betrayal. Maybe one of your friends kissed your girlfriend, or maybe your mother chose your sister’s side over yours. Or maybe you write about a fictional betrayal. Hamlet and Ophelia, Brutus and Julius Caesar, Edward Pensieve and the Turkish delight.”

Wynnie’s hand shoots up, and Jughead inwardly winces. She’s always been the one to push back against any assignment, the one who questions everything he expects from them and makes class ten times longer.

“Can we write about a made up betrayal? With characters on, like, TV or something?”

Breathing a sigh of relief, he nods. “Anything is fair game, as long as you write it in a way that someone not familiar with the show, or book, or whatever, can understand what’s going on.”

“What about poetry?” another student asks.

“So long as you put the effort in, poetry is fine. Text threads, short stories, poems, letters, anything written.”

“Can we work together?” one of the twins asks.

“Sure, as long as you don’t bother the other students,” Jughead says with a shrug.

Bill and Ted high five before dragging their desks together.

Jughead is surprised at how well they’re taking this assignment. Every last thing has been a fight with them, from getting their attention to taking a test. Betrayal, though, seems to be something everyone can relate to.

As the class begins to write, Jughead sits down at his own desk. For a moment, he watches his students, kids in the same position he was once in, and wonders why he’s even here. Riverdale offered him little more than characters he could mold into his own, a setting for the decline of small town America.

Today, though, his mind wanders along words and phrases, glimpses into a different sort of reality. One ravaged by decay and rot, left to perish alone. And yet, he can’t help but see the small, green shoots of the future poke out of the ashes, tiny hints of hope for what’s to come. Perhaps nothing is ever static and unchanging. Perhaps things can turn around.

Jughead reaches into his bag for his own blank notebook.

He’s sitting on the porch that afternoon, struggling with the illegibly written translation. It’s a shame the state requires them to teach only the recommended books; Jughead would love to see how the story unfolds when thrown onto a fire.

“Hey.”

Jughead starts. When he sees it’s only Betty (only?), he stands abruptly, his entire body on fire, his legs jittery and ready to run.

“Hey,” he repeats. “Archie’s not here, but –“

Betty shakes her head and shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “Can we talk?”

He swallows. Stupid of him to think he’d get away from this conversation. Jughead waves to the chair next to him. As Betty passes, her perfume tickles his nose. Long gone is the strawberry body spray she used in high school, a sweet, cloying smell. Now it’s a perfume, one that tickles his nose and clogs his sinuses.

They sit there quietly, neither willing to speak first. He’s lost for words, unable to start.

She sits patiently, calmly. Betty seems as if she hasn’t a care in the world, as if they were there to talk about the weather. Part of her training, he realizes. She’s no longer as impulsive as she once was, reaching and grasping and desperate for an immediate answer. This Betty Cooper is a reminder of the past, but only that.

“I’m sorry,” he manages, starting with the simplest of things.

Next to him, Betty shifts. He thinks he hears her sniffle (crying? allergies? derision at his lame start?), and he has to quash his immediately reaction. All he wants to do is reach out to her, to comfort her, to promise her the world to keep her from suffering.

But he’d done that before, long ago, in a completely different world. And he’d been trod upon, brushed aside in favor of her own cruel form of betrayal. Nothing he could have done after would have fixed the wound she’d carved in his soul. Even now, seven years distanced from the teenage woes, it lay between them, still raw and sore and bleeding from the continued betrayals of his life.

He wonders how he would have responded to her if he hadn’t known. If he hadn’t come home one night early to hear her and Archie upstairs. If he hadn’t turned to the Wyrm and listened to Sweet Peas acidic sniping just to get lost among the agave pinas and the juniper berries.

“It’s not,” he stutters, trying to find his footing, unsure of what he wants to say. “I couldn’t stop loving the Betty Cooper I knew. But I also never stopped hating what she did to me.”

The admission is the first emotionally honest thing he’s said in years. It’s painful to realize how deep it lay inside him, how long it took to finally cut out this festering, putrid thing that burrowed into him. Like a tumor, it could only grow, fed by hate and anger and depression. Hate and anger for both of them. It hadn’t turned out like it was supposed to.

Now that it lay out in the open between them, he felt different. Heavier, in some ways. But there was also a release. The pressure that had been building for so long was slowly lowering, as if he’d finally found the valve that would bring things back to normal.

“And I don’t know you,” he said, the words pouring out now. “Seven years, and only a handful of texts, a few voicemails. You’re not the person I remember. Hell, everyone is different from who they were, who I thought they were.”

He pauses to run a hand through his hair. He can feel Betty’s bright eyes staring at him, pleading with him for something, anything, that will make this better.

“We’re both different now, and there’s no way you can still love me. You don’t know me, you know who I was. We can’t just pick up where we left off, even if we wanted to. There’s too much between… Even if we were stupid enough to try,” he trails off, his words meandering as they try to find footing in the rocky space between them.

“We didn’t leave things in a good place,” Betty murmurs in agreement.

She shifts, and he looks at her for the first time since they sat down. Her legs are tucked up against her body, arms wrapped around them. It’s a protective stance. Against him, perhaps, or against the bare truth that he’s put in the open. He can’t blame her, not since he’s protected himself against most of his own life in other, less healthy ways.

Jughead sighs, empty of anything else to say. He stares at the fading light glowing through the leaves. It’s the perfect, picturesque scene of two high school sweethearts reuniting. At least, it was supposed to be. He didn’t know if he ever could do that to himself again.

Archie’s old truck chugs up the street, and Jughead stands. He scrapes the palms of his free hand along his pants, the other hand gripping his book. Archie waves through the windshield with a bright grin, and Jughead gives a half-hearted wave back before going inside.

He’s exhausted; after being mad for so long, it’s strange to be so empty of feeling. He’d give the world to be able to retreat back to Alphabet City and it’s various loan sharks. There, at least, he’d know the pain was no one’s fault but his own.

Jughead closes the bedroom door behind him, shutting out the rest of the world. It wasn’t his business what Betty did despite her attempts to bring him back into her life. He didn’t know if he was ready for that, or if he’d ever be. Ever since he’d been back, her presence gnaws at him, chipping away at the walls he’d built up over the years against her presence, and it frightens him that she’s stepped back into his thoughts so quickly and easily.

Thoughts and ideas collide and churn violently in his head. He throws himself down on his bed, determined to fall asleep despite the chaos.

But this time, sleep doesn’t come as easily as it always has. Words and feelings and phrases splatter against the back of his eyelids, graffiti tattooing images of a world never known. He pushes back against the cacophony until he can stand it no longer. Desperate to empty his thoughts, Jughead turns on the bedside lamp, pulls his laptop out from under the bed, and begins to write more than he’s been able to for years.

[surveillance-0011]

TBOI Headcanons: Horsemen

Death

He/him

He’s...nice. Not a good person by any means but he’s the most polite of the bunch. Kind of strange though. Creepily calm, a bit sarcastic, and he has a pretty morbid view on the world.

Reserved and usually grumpy. He can be rather chipper off-duty, though. Putting up with the others takes a lot of energy from him.

Tired....

A bit neurotic but good at coming off as a down-to-earth guy.

He’s the most book-smart of the bunch and he’s fairly wise. A bit emotionally stunted, but he tries his best to be mature and make the right choices.

Death is more than a bit nihilistic and pessimistic. He has a hard time just... caring, mostly about himself.

Not to say he’s completely apathetic, he can be pretty empathetic but he tries not to act on that too much because if he did his job would have broken him by now.

He likes to think he’s got it all under control, but he does not. He’s more prone to pettiness and stupid decisions than he’d like to admit.

That being said he’s been pretty good with like. Growing and maturing though. He’s changed more than he realizes in just in the past.... decade or so ago. A bit of a late start for an immortal but hey at least he’s slightly less of a scumbag.

It’s usually not easy to anger him unless he’s really tired or something’s already set him off. When something does piss him off badly he’s a bit prone to freaking out. He’s not very good at handling his emotions. 

Sees his own job as a necessary evil, because hey, someone’s gotta do it.

Interested in botany/gardening, as well as literature.

Genuinely nice- or at least polite- to the kids when he’s not supposed to be murdering them. He sees no reason to go out of his way to do so, especially since unwarranted cruelty towards others has only bit him in the ass.

Famine’s older brother. The two have always had each other’s backs.

Diligent, and always considers the logistics to things instead of acting on emotion alone.

Protective of the other horsemen.

Pretty short tbh

His horse’s name is Chili.

Famine

She/he (bigender). You can use both interchangeably or only use one set, she doesn’t care. Fine with they/them too but it’s never really clicked w/ him enough to be preferred.

Usually prefers more masculine terms (brother, sir, mr...) but fine with anything.

.Flips between bouncing off the walls and having no energy whatsoever.

Impulsive, she’s got terrible judgement and has the most idiotic of ideas sometimes.

Fairly easygoing, tries to forgive and forget and doesn’t let little transgressions get to her

Actually pretty damn sad. Needs some self care but never looks after herself.

I mean she’s optimistic and usually happy but like. There’s always just a bit of sadness, you know? He’s dealt with a lot and it’s definitely taken its toll on him.

Disaster Lesbian

Tries to be a graceful loser but she can get a bit more competitive than she’d like to admit.

Has a hard time relating to others and considering how they feel, at least when it comes to anything more complex than “bad thing happened now I’m sad/mad” He’s a drifter by nature, always onto the next big thing for a quick thrill.

Eats a lot. It’s never enough.

Plants and a good deal of food will decay if she touches them, or even gets too close to them.

Like his brother he has some interest in nature. Famine is more on the adventurous side, though. She’s tried to live off the land a few times with varying success.

Named her horse Frisk

Pestilence

He/him

Calm, quiet, but also a pessimistic jackass.

Always in a bad mood. I mean, he’s permanently sick with just about everything contagious and deadly. You’d be grumpy, too!

Surprisingly high pain tolerance. A good deal of his nerves have probably just.. shut down or something. Or maybe he’s just numb to everything after a lifetime of pain.

Sleeps a lot

Dislikes his situation a lot, but doesn’t mind the company of the others.

Lazarus is terrified of this dude. The other kids are mostly grossed out or annoyed by him.

Likes to be alone.

Fairly smart, but comes off as absent minded bc he’s pretty much too sick to function. He slips up a lot and he’s pretty damn clumsy

Probably the most rational of the bunch, when he’s not in airplane mode. 

He’s also got a fairly strong moral compass. He doesn’t really like fighting the kids unlike War and Famine. Or just having to go up against people in general. Hell he hates the fact people get sick because of him. At the very least Pest has higher standards and is fairly transparent

But that isn’t to say he’s a good person. Yeah he doesn’t go out of his way to hurt others for shits and giggles and He’s Not Conquest but he doesn’t ever object to any of the shit the kids are put through and well. Yknow he still does kill them. He will also encourage some of War’s antics when it’s against someone he dislikes.

Tries to be as supportive as he can for the others. He knows he can’t do too much without overexerting so he tries to be encouraging and comforting as he can.

This compassion usually isn’t extended to humans, though.

Not very emotive, the only emotions he ever really expresses would be disdain and mild concern.

Not very fond of Conquest but they don’t hate each other. They actually work together well, too.

Friends with Mahalath. They’re pretty close!

His horse’s name is Moses.

War

He/it

He’s not very friendly, he’s pretty defensive and always on edge.

Out of all the horsemen, he’s probably the one closest with the Beast.

Lots of scars n injuries, it’s practically stitched together

One gold tooth

Impulsive, prefers solving issues through violence than through reason.

He can be fairly clever, though.

Intentionally angers/upsets others, likes causing problems and ruining things for people.

Desires wealth and power

Gets burnt out pretty quickly.

Emotional, insecure, and sensitive, and he hates this part of him. Definitely overcompensates for it.

Explosive temper, quite literally. Catches fire when upset and explodes if it’s more intense. Damage done to him also makes it happen. It’s not entirely voluntary but can be held off, and his “sobbing” sprite is him doing exactly that (but he’s probably also trying not to cry lmao). In the Ultra War fight, however...

Its daily routine leaves a lot to be desired. It wakes up, goes to work, then it goes home and just. Sits and rots.

Also, his diet is god awful. Please just eat a fruit or vegetable for once maybe you’d feel better goddamn.

He cannot remember if his horse is actually a horse or not but uhh he named her Bellum.

Conquest

He/they.

High and mighty sort of attitude. Can be very selfish. Stubborn, set in his ways. Gets defensive if you call him out or tell him he’s wrong.

Gay + nonbinary but in the closet (and denial) about both of those things. They’re trying to unlearn years’ worth of internalized bigotry.

Used to be worse, now trying to unlearn his toxic behaviors. But he’s still awful.

Doesn’t remember anything before their death. However they’ve held very strong Christian (specifically Catholic) beliefs all their life and they have a pretty black and white way of thinking.

Very cold and clinical. He has a bit of a temper but there’s a sort of calmness to everything he does even when he’s pissed.

Just as argumentative and aggressive as War but like more of a threat.

The others call him Connie sometimes, especially Death, who practically almost always calls him by this nickname.

Doesn’t harbor ill will towards Pestilence. They might have been overshadowed, but it’s not Pestilence’s own fault. If anything, being out of the spotlight has been good for Conquest, even if they do miss the attention sometimes. The only reason the two dislike each other is because their personalities clash.

Now if there’s anyone he hates that would be the Headless Horseman. Fuck that guy amiright

Very protective of Death. The two are close, Death is probably the only person who is consistently nice to him.

Utterly terrified of needles (hypodermic, not sewing needles, though he’s not good with sharp objects tbh) and medical stuff makes him anxious

Seems very... off. Just weird vibes but no one can pin point what about him is wrong.

Oh uh and his horse’s name is Josephine.

[ampleappleamble]

The Elf and the Orlan's Wedding

—

"Hey. You'll marry me, won't you?"

Aloth had spent the last five years of his life honing his skills and reflexes in his mission to hunt down and destroy one of the most dangerous cults on the face of Eora, but somehow he still couldn't help but be utterly bested by just a few little words. Axa had a way of doing that– cutting past all his pretense and politesse, punching through all his meticulously constructed defenses with just a few simple words, striking at the very heart of him. It was part of why he loved her, and no small part, either.

He pulled her closer as he attempted to sit up in her spacious sleeping berth, struggling to scrape enough of his brain back together from the one-two punch of vigorous, passionate lovemaking followed up by that question to formulate an answer for her. But despite his best efforts, he found that the best he could manage was a feeble, "I beg your pardon?"

She laughed and nuzzled her face into his chest, his bare skin warm against her brow. She'd known the question would shock him, but she also knew that no matter how carefully she phrased it, there really was no way to ask a man like Aloth a question like that without shocking him. "Sorry to surprise you. But it's something I've been thinking about for a while now," she continued. "After we've arrived back in the Dyrwood and settled a few matters, gotten Caed Nua's reconstruction properly underway, taken some time to recover from all this– there'd really be nothing stopping us." She snuggled closer. "And I know the challenges we'll be facing in this new, uncertain world would feel a lot less daunting with you by my side. So... why not get married?"

Axa paused, then, tensed up in Aloth's arms. "That is, if you'd like to." She lifted her head to look at him, her violet eyes soft and glittering in the lamplight. "Would you like to?"

He studied her face, rosy and gorgeous and full of hope. Her proposal wasn't entirely unexpected– after all, it was only natural that she should want to take their relationship further, especially after all they'd been through together in the Deadfire– but it was still a bit overwhelming, actually experiencing such a thing himself instead of merely reading about it in a novel or watching strangers act it out in a stageplay. His head was swimming, his heart was hammering in his chest, his stomach was fluttering madly– but all the same, he couldn't help but smile at her.

"Of course. Of course I would," he murmured at last, brushing a lock of hair from her brow. "I can think of no greater pleasure."

The tears finally came, welled in her eyes as she beamed up at him. "Oh, Aloth," she whispered, pressing her face into his shoulder and squeezing him tight. "You have no idea how happy you've just made me."

"How happy I've made you?" He laughed, surprised to find himself blinking away tears as well. "I'm to be the consort of the Lady of Caed Nua! The brave, kind, beautiful heroine who uncovered the cause of the Hollowborn Crisis and saved the Dyrwood, the indomitable spirit who defies death and deities alike– and of all people, you want to be mine, to be my– my–"

My bride. Axa. My bride, my love, my wife. The reality of it suddenly struck him with its full gravitas, and an indescribable emotion washed over him. "I love you, Axa. Truly."

Giggles mingled with her sobs, and she scrubbed at her wet eyes with a fuzzy fist. "And I love you," she replied softly. She looked up at him again, grinning. "You'll plan everything, right? I was never very good at that sort of thing."

Aloth sighed, slumping back down against the pillows as Axa cackled. "I should have known," he groaned, shaking his head good- naturedly at his newly-betrothed.

"Yes, you should have," she agreed, spreading out on top of him, making herself comfortable. "Planning a fancy formal event– such as, say, the wedding of a landed thaynu who is returning triumphantly from a world-shaking, death-defying mission in the Deadfire– plays much more to your strengths than to mine. Of course, I'll help as much as I'm able. How about I find us an officiant?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Xoti, then? Or were you thinking of asking Vatnir?"

She paused for a moment, her brow furrowed in consternation. "Gods, are those two the only priests I know?" she muttered, resting her chin again Aloth's sternum, and she sighed. "Typical of me, I suppose, to shun all clergy but the most death-obsessed misfits. Even my resident cleric at Caed Nua was a morose Berathian."

Was. Axa's smile faltered, and she abruptly went quiet, unfixing her gaze, lowering her eyelids.

"Well, given what we know of the gods, is it any surprise our priestly acquaintances gravitate toward the morbid?" Aloth tucked a lock of her burgundy hair behind her ear, let his hand linger on her cheek. He'd noticed the sudden chill in her demeanor– reminded of Caed Nua, no doubt, of her myriad responsibilities back at home, the dead waiting to be buried– and had hoped he could warm her back up a bit, but it appeared that even his wry musings weren't enough to soothe her melancholia.

"We're going to be alright, aren't we?" Axa's voice was soft and serious, and she reflexively curled in on herself, clinging to her lover as she contemplated the future ahead of them. "Kith, I mean."

He wrapped her in his arms, warm and steady, and let out a shaky sigh. "I don't know. With the Wheel destroyed and the cycle of reincarnation stalled indefinitely, we'll certainly have our work cut out for us. But if there's one thing in common between all peoples and cultures on Eora, I would posit that it is our stubbornness." Aloth smiled, ran a hand through her thick, soft hair. "With people like you working to guide and support us, kith may yet learn to band together and channel that indefatigable will of ours into finding an equitable solution for all this mess. In any case, I can't really see us all just... giving up. Especially not after all we've seen, all we've been through."

The two lay together in silence for a while, his hand in her hair, her ear pressed to his heart. It had always fascinated her, how elf hearts beat so much more slowly than orlans'.

"The Elf and the Orlan's Wedding," she murmured.

"I... do hope you're not intending to have me write that on the invitations." He allowed himself a small smile. When she hadn't responded, he was sure he'd failed to cheer her, but maybe he'd conceded too soon?

"It's a children's song," she laughed, propping herself up a bit, "that I was just now reminded of. It's about an elf and an orlan at their wedding, and everyone in attendance is bemoaning the foolishness of such a union. 'She'll outlive you by two centuries, it's a waste of time for you both'... That sort of sentiment."

"Charming," Aloth deadpanned.

"Oh, yes," she chuckled, "very much so. Of course, by the end, the lyrics reveal that the titular elf and orlan are well aware of the vast disparity in their lifespans, but they've decided they love each other too much to let something like that get in the way of enjoying their time together."

He smiled knowingly. "Sounds familiar."

She smiled back. "The moral of the story, of course, is that one cannot waste one's life worrying about what others think, about the 'proper' ways of going about this or that, and that it's better to live in the moment and enjoy what you have while you have it."

"Sounds very familiar," Aloth sighed. "But if kith spend too much energy on enjoying the present, we won't be able to prepare for the troubles of the future until they're upon us."

"Ah, but that's just another reason the title characters chose to marry," Axa grinned. "It's easy to miss the significance when you're a child, but there are a few lines in the song regarding the orlan's horrible estranged family complaining about how the orlan's assets will now be bequeathed to his elf wife upon his death, thus keeping it out of their greedy paws for at least 200 more years, if not forever."

He cocked an eyebrow. "That's not your reason for proposing, is it?"

"No!" She laughed, lightly swatting at his chest with the back of one hand. "Although it'll be damned funny, I have to admit, sticking it to all the little Dyrwoodan lordlings with their eyes on my land who were just planning on waiting for me to die in a few decades." A wicked grin spread across her little face, and Aloth couldn't help but laugh.

"Pray tell, then," he smiled, running a hand up and down her back, ruffling her fur and smoothing it back down, "what exactly is the point you're trying to make by bringing up this song, my dear?"

Axa toyed with a lock of his hair, biting her lip and staring at nothing in particular, before finally admitting: "You know, I'm not sure. I definitely lost the plot somewhere along the line, there. I suppose I was trying to draw some sort of parallel between The Elf and the Orlan's Wedding, and our wedding, and... and the challenges ahead of us all in regards to repairing the cycle of reincarnation... something about planning for the future while still making sure to enjoy the present..." She scoffed at herself, resting her chin on Aloth's breast again. "Maybe I was simply randomly reminded of a silly song from my youth and I'm trying too hard to stretch it to link it to current events. Or I'm just tired and rambling and not making any sense at all."

"No," Aloth assured her, "you definitely had a reason for bringing it up, even if you can't quite articulate why." He stroked the back of her ear, staring pensively at the ceiling. "I think, perhaps, you wanted to reassure yourself that even if some new version of the Wheel ends up never getting built, even if it turns out that the days of kith are truly numbered and our end is inevitable... that doesn't mean you need to mourn every day yet to come as if it's already been lived in vain. As a Chanter, and given the subject we'd been discussing, it's only natural the realization would come to you in the form of a song about marriage."

She snuggled close to him, sighing contentedly. "You see why I want you to plan the wedding?" she murmured. "You make everything make sense."

"I learned it from you, you know," he replied, nuzzling the top of her head. "Funny how that works, isn't it? Like a two-piece puzzle. We complete each other."

"Thought that advice sounded familiar," Axa giggled. "Should listen to myself– and you– more often."

"That's a given." Aloth went to kiss her forehead, and she surprised him yet again by scooting forward and craning her neck to press her lips to his instead.

"What about Engrim?" she whispered sweetly, her smile still brushing his. "He's a priest of Magran. If we kept the booze away from him until after the ceremony–"

"Absolutely not, my love." His breath tickled her nose. "No wedding of mine will utilize a Magranite ceremony, and certainly not one conducted by a lush."

The little woman laughed, pressing her face to his neck. "Come on, I'm running out of priests!"

"You truly can't think of any others?" He kissed her temple, sighing with a mix of contendedness and exasperation at his little bride.

"Well, I do know a certain Glamfellen who's a priest of Wael, but we're not exactly on speaking terms." She tried a wry grin, but it morphed into a grimace halfway through. "Ugh. Not as funny as I thought it'd be. Sorry."

Aloth chuckled. "It's decided, then. We'll have a secular wedding."

"Sounds good to me, actually," Axa replied. "Never had much need of the gods anyway."

—

[notfivefives]

Clonetober 2021, Day 3 & Whumptober 2021, No. 16

Prompts: 

Day 3- Inhibitor Chip Removal for @clonetober

No. 16- On a Need to Know Basis: Recovery | Scars | Aftermath for             @whumptober2021

Title: Stable

Content Warnings: None 

Word Count: 2,209

Characters: Gregor & Wolffe

Summary: Gregor has misgivings about looking after Wolffe after the Commander’s inhibitor chip is removed. 

Read here, or on AO3

The excision of Wolffe’s chip had been conditional on Rex’s agreement to leave with the medic - a Twi’Lek woman whose clientele base was mostly comprised of outlaws and anyone else who required discreet clinical services - on a job. It was non-negotiable, and though Gregor had vehemently made the argument that it would be better for Wolffe to wake up to a familiar face, Rex had sighed and given Gregor a small, resigned smile and told Gregor that his face was familiar.

Gregor had laughed even as he’d shot Rex a dirty look that said, You know what I meant.

And Rex had nodded. Because he did know. But that didn’t change their circumstances.

The medic, with a twitch of her violet lekku, had assured Gregor that her 2-1B medical droid - she’d won it from Cid - would be more than sufficient to help care for Wollfe.

And then they’d left them in the little place on the outskirts of Ord Mantell that was part dwelling, part infirmary.

Gregor’s teeth worried at his lower lip as he sat, watching the smooth rise and fall of Wolffe’s chest. It hadn’t been so long ago that Gregor had been on that same cot, an identical incision on his head.

“How is he?”

The med droid’s head swivelled to where Gregor sat in a threadbare chair. Its eyes, or the two sets of three yellow lights that represented each of them, regarded him.

“The patient is stable.”

Gregor couldn’t decide if its voice was condescending, or merely dispassionate, but its words were as succinct as they were unhelpful and Gregor felt annoyance and frustration welling within him. A more nuanced answer would require a more specific question and Gregor wasn’t sure how to ask.

How will he be? He wanted to say. But he knew the question would make even less sense to the droid than it did to him. Droids couldn’t see the future, they could only extrapolate based on data, and the data said “stable.”

Gregor let out a vexed huff, crossed his arms and slouched in his chair. To the credit of his seat, it was at least comfortable. That didn’t mean he didn’t resent sitting in it. Pacing the confines of the medic’s home and workspace, and leaning against a wall were, however, slightly less attractive options.

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs. His fingertips grazed the still-pink scar tissue on his right temple.

His own waking after his chip had been removed hadn’t been so slow. But his procedure had fallen under the “just in case” category. It had also been entirely voluntary. Who knew what complications could arise with Wolffe.

Going by the reports Rex and Gregor had read on Wolffe while they searched for him, Wolffe had, like his namesake, hunted and killed with the ruthless efficiency of a persistence predator. Did that begin with the flick of the Order 66 switch, and would it continue despite his chip’s removal?

“My readings indicate that the patient will soon return to consciousness.”

Gregor straightened.

Wolffe’s breathing wasn’t as deep as it had been, and Gregor could see a crease in his brow, and the beginnings of a frown on his lips. Wolffe’s eyes slid open and Gregor remained still.  From where he was sitting, Gregor could only see the pale, cybernetic one, but when Wolffe’s head turned in his direction he could see his mismatched gaze evolve from dull to questioning, and then to hostile.

Unsurprising, considering his last memory was likely of being taken down with stun rounds.

Wolffe’s frown became a sneer as he studied Gregor and Gregor rose, though he was unsure if it was to offer comfort or to take a defensive stance.

Wolffe rolled onto his side and Gregor lifted a hand to caution him against any sudden movements.

Too late.

The muscles in Wolffe’s face bunched and he closed his eyes. He reached a hand up to his temple and sucked in air through his teeth when he found the bandage-covered incision there.

“Wolffe…” Gregor said as he took several steps toward him. He stopped in his tracks when Wolffe’s eyes flashed open. There was hurt beneath the anger and mistrust. “I’m Gregor. You’re safe here.”

“What in hells did you do to me?” Wolffe rasped out the words, but they weren’t lacking in venom. The scar on the right side of his face added to the ferocity of his appearance, and even stripped of his armor and weapons, Wolffe looked battle-ready.

“Rex and I found you, and-”

“Found me?” Wolffe spat as he lifted himself and moved his legs over the side of the cot. Gregor could see Wolffe’s eyes go a little unfocused with the movement, but after he blinked again and moved his head from side to side, Wolffe rose on unsteady legs. “That’s a funny way of saying-”

“Please be calm,” the 2-1B unit said as it took several mechanical steps closer to Wolffe.

Wolffe divided his attention and his ire between the droid and Gregor.

“Does that ever help?” Gregor asked the droid, without taking his eyes off of Wolffe, who took a step toward the door.

“My master has programmed me to be proactive where potentially combative patients are concerned. If he does not regain his composure, I will be forced to administer medication to achieve that end.”

“Try it,” Wolffe said. He turned toward the droid and squared his shoulders, but took a sensible step away from it when he caught sight of the needle at the end of the droid’s left appendage.

“Hey, whoah, stop!” Gregor said when it looked as though the droid was going to oblige Wolffe. Part of Gregor admired the medic’s forethought, considering her line of work, but the other, more significant part of him was actively cursing her. “I’ll get pretty combative, too, if you go near him. What do you think your chances are of taking down two Republic clones?”

All three of them were still. Gregor didn’t know how, but the droid seemed to actually be calculating an answer to his question. For his part, Gregor tried to estimate how much worse he’d just made the situation. He’d been in higher stakes impasses, to be sure, but this one seemed more delicate.

“Not optimal,” the droid admitted, at last, as it lowered its arms.

“That’s what I thought,” Gregor said as he let out a breath and looked at Wolffe to see if he’d garnered any favor.

Or that he hadn’t provoked an attack.

Wolffe eyed him. The wariness and anger were there, but beneath them was an unmistakable weariness. It was the same tiredness Gregor saw in Rex every day. The same kind he knew he’d see if he looked in a mirror. He felt morbid laughter bubbling up when he thought that they were all reflections of one another and that he didn’t need the benefit of a mirror. He kept it at bay, though, and he and Wolffe stood in silence.

Wolffe rested the small of his back against the cot and swallowed. Gregor thought to offer him some water, but Wolffe spoke before he could.

“Rex is dead, and so is the Republic.”

“Well, the Republic is,” Gregor conceded with an upward tilt of the lip, “But Rex is alive.”

Wolffe shook his head again, but this time he broke eye contact. Gregor wasn’t sure what he’d expected from the Commander. Relief? Disbelief?

“Then he’s a traitor,” Wolffe said, his voice a hoarse, uncertain whisper. “And so are you. You’re in violation of...I should...I should…”

“The patient is distressed,” the med droid reported.

“He’s allowed to be,” Gregor snapped. He sounded more petulant than he would have cared to, but the droid fell silent again, so it was entirely worth it.

Wolffe’s shoulders slumped and he crossed his arms over his stomach as he took his weight off the bed again. Gregor took a half step forward and decided to gamble.

“Is that what you want?” he asked. He kept his tone as conversational as he could, as though it made no difference to him if he found himself in another cell, awaiting stars knew what fate. “To turn us in to the Empire?”

Wolffe was silent for a long while. He wrapped his arms tighter around his middle and bowed his head. His gaze was dark and distant. Gregor wondered what realizations were filtering in, what memories. Memories - or what Gregor thought were memories - came rattling back in his dreams, or resurfaced in flashes with scents  or sensations. For Wolffe’s sake, Gregor hoped the memories were kinder, but he doubted they were.

“I...I don’t…” Wolffe trailed off.

Gregor hadn’t expected Wolffe’s shoulders to start shaking, or his breath to start hitching.

But they did. Oh, they did.

“What did I do?” Wolffe asked. “What did I-”

His words broke off in a ragged sob.

“It’s okay,” Gregor offered.

Wolffe shook his head and screwed his eyes shut. A tear glinted down his cheek and Gregor hazarded another step closer, though he had no idea what exactly he was doing.

“The General,” Wolffe said, his voice thick. “When I read the report, all I could think was ‘Good. Good the traitor’s dead,’ and I was...I was…”

Wolffe’s knees buckled and he dropped. Hard.

Gregor nearly tried to catch him, nearly tried to break the fall that had probably been inevitable. But what could he do, really? He considered walking out and closing the door behind him. Not to assuage his own discomfort, or because he didn’t care, but because it seemed wrong to see Wolffe like this, suffocating on the emotions the chip had kept at bay. The chip he and Rex had had removed.

Something unpleasant lanced its way into Gregor’s gut. Could they have afforded to give Wolffe a choice?

No, Gregor thought as he shoved the guilt down. With the chip, Wolffe didn’t have a choice. Now he did.

The heels of Wolffe’s hands were on the floor and his nails were digging into it as though he could scrape some semblance of reason from the tatty carpet beneath him.

Gregor wished his practical knowledge of weapons and infiltration would do him and Wolffe any good. He wished he could spare Wolffe the pain. Most of all, Gregor wished Rex were there.

But Gregor did what he’d never been trained to do, what the Kaminoans hadn’t deemed necessary for their creations to learn.

He knelt down beside Wolffe and put a hand on one of his shoulders.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said. The words felt ridiculous coming from his mouth, but his conviction was genuine. “It is.”

“No,” Wolffe croaked.

“Ssh,” Gregor shushed, wondering if Wolffe even heard him. He rubbed Wolffe’s shoulder and down his back. The feel of the quaking muscle beneath his palm hurt Gregor’s heart. He couldn’t begin to imagine what was going through Wolffe’s head. Gregor felt a deep, heated hatred for the Empire and the Kaminoans begin to constrict his chest. He couldn’t recall feeling it so intensely before. But Kamino was gone now  and they were still here. Used, then cast aside. “Shshshsh.”

“Please listen, Wolffe,” Gregor said. “There was nothing you could have done. You couldn’t help it. There was a chip in your head, in all of our heads, but it’s gone now. We got it out.”

“Y-you don’t u-understand what I d-di-id.”

“Hey, hey,” Gregor said as he shifted so he was directly in front of Wolffe. He was grateful Wolffe remained pliant enough that he could draw him into a hug. “You couldn’t help it, Wolffe.”

“No,” Wolffe said again. “Nononono.”

Wolffe chanted that single, miserable note into Gregor’s shoulder until it devolved into a wild sound that pitched and cracked and went on and on until Gregor thought Wolffe’s lungs would give out.

“I know, Wolffe. I know. I’m so sorry,” Gregor said as he put a calloused, uncertain hand on the back of Wolffe’s head and hugged him closer.

Wolffe’s arms remained slack at his sides as he choked and wept, and Gregor held him.

The sobs wracking Wolffe’s body lessened in intensity.

Eventually.

Wolffe’s chest rested heavily against Gregor’s, and he could feel each hectic little sniffle and each groan that worked its way loose from Wolffe’s throat.

Gregor didn’t know if he was helping, or if Wolffe was simply exhausting himself. He rubbed warm, gentle circles between Wolffe’s shoulder blades. He didn’t know how long they sat like that, but he ignored the ache in his knees and the pins and needles in his feet.

Wolffe took in a slow, steady breath and tensed back ever so slightly. Gregor allowed him to list backwards, but he kept a steadying hand on his shoulder and the back of his neck. Wolffe still didn't look at Gregor, but Gregor could see how lost he looked, how hurt.

“Hey,” Gregor said. He was surprised how rough his own voice sounded. There was no response, but he leaned forward and touched his forehead to Wolffe’s. He couldn’t make any of this make sense, but he could try his best to anchor Wolffe. “I’ve got you, Wolffe. I’ve got you.”

. 

[scaredyships]

Renegades (Din Djarin x gn!Reader) | pt. I

y’know what, it probably makes more sense to crosspost the entire chapters rather than just post links. :v So here we go! 

summary: You're used to your job as an infochant sponsored by the Bounty Hunters' Guild bringing you the occasional violent incident. But when a certain Mandalorian you've helped out before comes to you for help and accidentally brings his very dangerous problems along with him, it's all you can do to let yourself get dragged into it.

word count: 4.3k 

author’s notes: If other people are allowed to write reader-inserts where the reader character has specific qualities about them then I’m allowed to as well. :v This is going to be a big multi-part reader-insert fic following the show, starting almost immediately after Mando escapes with the Child from the Guild. With how much I’m churning out per part, it’s going to be a long fic. Slow burn, mutual pining, the works - however, no smut. No allusions to it either. I’m ace and this is my own personal indulgent work where Mando is also asexual to some degree, as is Reader. 

Reader is very mildly Force-sensitive, but doesn’t know it. The sensitivity manifests in them being able to sense the presence of people, impending danger, and being a little luckier than usual when it comes to anticipating oncoming attacks. They can also vaguely pick up on others that are Force-sensitive, but it comes off as a weird sense of familiarity. Grogu can tell what's going on, but there's no way for that to be communicated.

Part 1 (you are here) // ao3 link

---

It wasn’t every day that you’d get a Guild member coming through your doors. Granted, you’d get all sorts of customers as an informant, but Guild members tended to be the proud sort that would rather start their hunts from scratch and not bother trying to get help from anyone. Even if that help was in the form of extensive galactic maps and planetary inhabitants that held more detail than most databases - courtesy some archives from a long-established library somewhere on Coruscant - and would come in handy once they determined what direction they were going.

It was even less often that a Guild member would try to sneak in and take you by surprise, trying to keep the knowledge that they’d even been there hidden from anyone that may be watching. Or to try and intimidate information out of you for the fee of letting you live, if they were new to the bounty-hunting field and were preoccupied with maintaining the reputation of a mercenary. Those types annoyed you to no end.

Today seemed to be one of those days.

Without fail, you always got a strange niggling in the back of your mind when someone was around that shouldn’t be. You never could explain why it was that you could do that, but it came in handy and in turn took the visitors by surprise that you knew they were there. You liked to think that’s part of why you were able to maintain your reputation within the Guild as a preferred informant.

The strange sensation was there. But it was… different somehow. You stood from your desk and brought a hand to hover near your temple, focusing on it. No, this was stronger. Not just in the way that you felt when there was more than one person, either. It was stronger, and despite being so foreign, it had an almost familiar sense to it. You furrowed your brow, eyes darting aimlessly as you tried to process it.

You stepped out from behind your desk, the work you’d been doing double-checking and updating your own archives forgotten as you cautiously reached for a hold-out blaster you kept within hand’s reach. You could never be too careful with potential clientele.

There really weren’t many places in your “office building” to go from where you were. A hallway with a small set of stairs that led to your living space, and the front door. There was a back door to the living area and a few windows that would every so often have to have their grating replaced on, and if someone was feeling especially sneaky there was an air vent that dropped into the center of the hallway.

You turned your eyes towards the ceiling, where just above was the modest kitchen area. Whoever was setting off your stranger senses, was there, even though they weren’t making noise. You sighed quietly to yourself and padded your way towards the stairs and the doorframe that led to the area, blaster ready in your hand.

Rounding the corner slowly, face blank, you glanced up and watched for any shadows or other movement on the walls ahead of you. Still no sound - though you swear there was an almost sub-audial humming that wasn’t there before, the kind you’d expect from idle machinery. You hadn’t left anything on, you knew that much.

You rolled your eyes at the thought of some meathead bringing some convoluted contraption to interrogate you with. Wouldn’t be the first time.

Might as well get this over with.

“Hey, I know someone’s up there. Your sneaking isn’t going to work on me. State your business.”

You stepped up the stairs, blaster slightly raised, not trying to be silent anymore.

You barely made it to the top step when a pair of hands grabbed you, one slamming over your mouth and the other wrenching your arm just enough to make you drop your weapon, and you were bodily lifted and pinned against the wall just to the side of where you’d been entering the room. You pushed back instinctively, trying to wrench your arm free and thinking about how effective it would be to try and bite the glove-clad hand over your mouth—

“Y/N.”

The modulated hiss of your name burst through the fight-or-flight haze that had taken over, and with a jolt you registered the Beskar helmet in front of you. All your movements stopped as you stared, dumbfounded. There was no forgetting that “face”, no matter how long it had been since you last saw it.

To be truthful, even though you’d only met him a few times before, this Mandalorian was by far the most bearable of the Guild that came to you for information. To-the-point with what he needed, no awkward attempts at small-talk, and despite how blunt he was, surprisingly polite. It made those few encounters memorable and had you wishing for more in the future over other clients. Of course fate would have it be like this.

In all honesty, the physical closeness of the whole thing was throwing you for a loop and your mind was choosing now of all times to remind you of how touch-deprived you were, and bringing back to the surface those old vaguely fond feelings for this man that occasionally crossed your path. But you were still lucid enough not to let that be at the forefront of your mind.

You quirked your eyebrow at him as he carefully released your arm, motioning for you to stay quiet. You were just barely able to nod your head enough to indicate you understood. He slowly removed his hand from your face, moving as if he went too fast you’d spook like a trapped animal and lash out.

Something was very off if Mando of all people was sneaking around your place and trying to keep you quiet. He was the last person to care about what the rest of the Guild thought about what they saw him doing, he just cared about getting jobs done and doing so as efficiently as possible. You’d heard enough about his reputation to know that much.

This predicament all but confirmed the talk you’d heard around town that Mando had gone and broken some big rules, something about going back on a bounty after turning it in, and now had a price of his own on his head.

You swept your hands out to the sides in your most “what the hell” motion you could muster. You didn’t miss the very slight sag in Mando’s posture, like he had quietly sighed.

And that’s when you noticed it.

You stared at the egg-shaped pod floating in the middle of the room. The source of the humming you’d heard earlier, no doubt. What was he carting around that was so valuable he had to take it with him instead of leaving it on his ship?

The quiet noise that came from it made you start. It almost sounded like… something alive was inside.

You gave Mando a sidelong stare. The Beskar warrior tilted his head in your direction, just enough to indicate he was looking back at you.

“Mando… what did you do.”

You watched with baited breath as he approached the pod, standing close by its side as he keyed in something on his wrist panel to open it. You knew he was honorable, but some morbid part of your mind expected something viscerally upsetting to greet you.

What was actually inside, took you more by surprise than anything you could have imagined.

Sitting up amongst a pile of blankets and peering at you with curious dark eyes and perked oversized ears, was a baby unlike any you’d ever seen. You were pretty well-versed on the galaxy’s species, but this one escaped you entirely. And somehow, you still felt some kind of familiarity towards it. This was what was causing that other strange sensation earlier.

You blinked owlishly at it. It blinked back.

“...he’s just a kid.”

It was a low murmur, one you barely caught, but it struck you with the force of a thunderclap. The last two minutes alone had completely upturned any previous conceptions you may have had about the bounty hunter and what kind of person he was.

You did not understand why he was trusting you with this. At all. Yet here you were, and there he was.

You didn’t realize you’d been slowly moving towards the pod until you were arm’s length from the child and it chirped at you, reaching up with a curious hand in your direction, his eyes bright and watching you expectantly. Your hand drifted upwards and you cautiously let the little one grasp your finger, transfixed.

A familiar voice brought you back to reality.

“I need options for lying low, somewhere off the grid. You’re currently my best option for getting them.”

You turned your head to look at the Mandalorian. It was a simple enough request, but the circumstances being what they were, he was clearly pressed for time and needed to be as discreet as possible with his actions.

Glancing back at the child and carefully removing your hand from its grasp, you didn’t miss the way he seemed somewhat disappointed to no longer be the center of your attention. Sparing a glance at Mando, you motioned for him to follow you back to the office room, stopping momentarily to retrieve your blaster from the ground. He’d been there enough to know that there were no windows to be spied upon through in the lower area. With a quick tap to his wrist panel, he trudged carefully after you, the child’s pod drifting along close behind.

“How extensive are you hoping for?”

“As much as you can manage, as quickly as you can manage.”

You casually toggled on the earpiece you were never without - com link, translation device, and a handy little neural connection that let you activate and sift through your databanks hands-free. It was expensive, but very worth the investment. As soon as you entered the room, numerous holoscreens came to life around you and began pulling up planets based on various criteria - remoteness, levels of inhabitants, general hostility levels, neutrality with the New Republic, to name a few. Your eyes flitted between screens, highlighting the more promising results and using a slight swiping motion of your hand to dismiss the less promising ones.

“I’ve got a handful you can look at, if they’re good I can download more of the information about the actual planetary ongoings for you onto a data stick.”

You glance towards the bounty hunter when you see him nod his head, but notice he’s not paying as much attention to the actual selections as you anticipated. He seemed... on edge. More so than he did when you found yourself trying to fight him after he snuck into your home. The child, meanwhile, paid no attention at all to the armored man and was mesmerized by the kaleidoscope of screens and their data streams, ears swiveling and gaze darting about, the colorful reflections dancing across the black of his eyes.

You weren’t one to fawn over kids, but you had to admit, this one could be pretty cute.

On your way to pull a blank data stick from the storage space in your desk, you froze. All the hairs on your body stood on end and something at the base of the skull felt like it was writhing, yelling at you to get out, get far away, now.

“What’s wrong.”

You rounded on the Mandalorian faster than you’d done anything in your life, data stick falling from your grip and clattering to the ground so you could instead pull out your blaster for the second time that day. This actually seemed to startle him as he backed up a step. The screens around you shut down, plunging the room into darkness now that the only light source were the small lights on some of the machinery and the dim lamp on the desk. The child whimpered, shrinking down into the safety of his pod.

“We need to leave. Right now. No time. Someone’s coming and it’s not gonna be good.”

That was all he needed to hear. With a quick look at the child, he closed the pod and unholstered his own blaster, stance wary but leaving nothing to the imagination about how often he must’ve found himself in similar situations before this and come out the victor. If you weren’t so on edge and consumed with the need to get out, you might have been able to admire the sight before you of the broad-shouldered, Beskar-clad warrior.

Another time.

Noises of someone trying to force entry echoed from the upstairs area before you even made it a step past the doorway to the office. The front door was closer, and while it seemed counterintuitive to go there versus the back door, something told you you’d have more luck that way.

You snatched your outerwear and pouched belts from their hanging hook in the hall, knowing you’d have to be lying low yourself for at least a few days before you could consider coming back home. You were an infochant, you knew of all the possible places in the immediate area that would be good for that.

There was hardly any time to react when the front door was forced open, and an unruly-looking individual aimed a blaster down the hall and began firing. How you managed to twist to the side and avoid getting hit, you’ll never know. You’ll also never know how you managed to shoot off your stun blaster at the same time Mando fired his, so the man was not just stunned into unconsciousness but hit squarely in the stomach by the blaster fire. He fell to the ground with no sound other than the thunk of his weight against the floor. You blinked in slight shock at it, turning briefly to look at the equally-taken-by-surprise bounty hunter.

Hey, you’ll take it.

He nodded briskly and brushed past you to go out the door first, and he was barely through the frame before he was effortlessly dodging and striking out at two more assailants. You almost felt sorry for them as he knocked them to the ground, the Beskar armor rendering their attempts to strike back useless, and used some well-placed blaster shots to ensure they wouldn’t get back up.

Again, there was no time for you to properly be in awe. The intruders in the upper area were making their way towards where you were, and you had to keep moving. As soon as he signaled it was safe you dashed outside, slinging your belt over your shoulder and making sure the pod with the child inside was unmarked. You didn’t doubt Mando’s ability, but you felt like now that you were in this mess, if anything did happen, it would be on you.

And you just saw what he was capable of doing to anyone on his bad side.

None of you stopped until you were several buildings away, but within view of your place. You watched from your hiding place as at least three people moved from the two different entrances, some kicking at the corpses of their accomplices and motioning to the ones going back inside, their words too distant to be made out. You could see some items haphazardly being tossed through the door, mostly your equipment. Your personal databanks were heavily encrypted and couldn’t be accessed without your genetic signature, so they’d find they were useless sooner or later. At least you had backups in storage, so it wasn’t a total loss.

They had possibly realized this, as they left the equipment, and after what looked like a brief regrouping, the vandals parted to scour the streets for any sign of where you had went,

“I think I may have to follow you on your way out of the city. I can hole up somewhere  until things calm down-“

The explosion brought your thoughts to a grinding halt.

Fire, horrifically beautiful, burst through what was once your front door and upper windows as if they were made of foam and not the reinforced durasteel that all buildings in the area were required to have. Everything was simultaneously in slow motion but happening far too fast for you to truly register anything. It didn’t even feel like you were in your body anymore, it felt like you were looking through a pair of scopes from another planet. You could only stare dumbly at the smoke laced with embers as it billowed into the sky above.

“Hey, we need to move.”

A brief clap on your shoulder shocked you free of the spell. You glanced at the gloved hand, and up at its owner. There was no time to try and decipher any further meaning in Mando’s stance, if there was any sympathy expressed towards you in the hand that rested shortly on your shoulder. He motioned quickly with his head to follow him, and briskly moved to retreat from the area. With a small sigh, you hurried after him.

The three of you only stopped once you’d gone past the outskirts of the city, taking cover in an outcropping of rocks.

You didn’t need to tap into any chatter frequencies to know your name was now amongst those that you’d help bounty hunters track down.

Well… used to. That avenue was as burnt up as your home was now.

You scrubbed a hand over your face, eyes closed, now that you had a second to stop.

“If you need a ride, I can help.”

Your eyes fluttered open and you looked over your fingers at the man that just turned your life upside down. You could tell he was trying to be nonchalant about it, stance casual and visor pointed steadily in your direction, but you could feel a sense of guilt through the way he couldn’t stop shifting on his feet every so often and the way he couldn’t figure out where to settle his fingers on his belt. Must’ve been unusual for him to find himself in this kind of predicament.

“...sure. I don’t really have any other options right now.”

It was quiet on the Razor Crest. The Mandalorian sat at the helm, charting a route through hyperspace. The Child had been let out of his pod and was freely wandering the cramped cockpit, but you couldn’t be bothered to even idly watch what he may have been doing. All you could do was stare blankly at the space ahead of you.

It was gone. All of it.

Your archives you had meticulously compiled over the years. Your collection of plants from various systems that made living on the dusty rock you called home more bearable. Personal things you had held onto since your childhood, things that had been passed on to you from generations past. All that was left was what you’d managed to grab on your way out the door, thinking you’d have a chance to come back and resume life there in maybe a day or two.

And you were a fugitive now, too, for aiding Mando and fleeing rather than let yourself be captured and punished. You weren’t even able to get any of the information Mando had come to you for. You reached up and ran your fingers over your earpiece, the only thing left of your once-extensive setup. At least it was still useful.

Your brooding was interrupted by a small tug on your pant leg. Looking down, you met a pair of big, dark eyes peering up over your knees.

“Uh...hi?”

The Child cooed, tiny clawed hands gripping into the fabric, tilting his head like he expected something from you.

Kids were weird.

You hesitantly reached out, awkwardly patting his head and thinking to yourself how the combination of the grooves in his head and his thin, downy hair felt strange. His eyes crinkled at the corners in a smile. You glanced up at where Mando was sitting, to see that he had turned to watch you and the kid. You couldn’t see his eyes but his gaze still burned into you nonetheless.

You quickly turned back to the Child, letting him grab your hand and begin inspecting it thoroughly like it was an interesting toy.

This seemed like as good an opportunity as any to ask a question that had been bothering you.

“So, uh, Mando… why didn’t you try to hide the kid back at my place? You had no way to know I wouldn’t tell someone once you left.”

There really wasn’t any reason for him to trust you like that that you could come up with. The odd consult for planetary guides wasn’t nearly enough interaction for either of you to really say that you knew the other, beyond impressions. You sold information, you had no loyalty to one client over another, and knowing Mando had the kid with him at that very moment could have ended with you possibly… doing something rash, if you really wanted to. You wouldn’t. But he had no way of knowing that. Right?

There was a quiet modulated sigh from the bounty hunter. You changed looking in his direction again, and let out a small breath you’d been holding when you saw he wasn’t watching you anymore. Rather, he was watching the kid playing with your hand.

“...you’re trustworthy.”

And before you could try and get him to elaborate on what he meant, he turned back to the controls.

That wasn’t something you were expecting to hear.

You looked back at the Child, who had moved past your hand and was now pulling at the shiny silver latch tucked into your wrist piece that had your keycard attached to it. All that was left of your old residence. You pulled it out and let him take it, watching him pick at the etched grooves and writing with his claws.

You felt something akin to pain and grim amusement that something that used to be so important in your life, was now relegated to a baby toy. He could keep it, you didn’t need it anymore where you were headed.

...wait, where were you going?

“Mando, what system are we headed towards?”

“Don’t know yet. I’m getting as far as we can go first.”

Oh, good. You closed your eyes to suppress an eyeroll.

“Well, when we have some idea, let me know so I can figure out just what degree of screwed I am for starting over at everything.”

Silence from the pilot. It wasn’t his fault that he was followed, not his fault that the assailants had decided to ransack and then destroy your abode and livelihood. But you could still tell he carried the guilt as if it were. You hadn’t meant to sound like you blamed him, but your irritated tone of voice at the situation at hand could certainly be interpreted that way.

“Sorry, Mando, I just… don’t know what I’m going to do now.”

You sighed softly, absent-mindedly messing with your hands. The Child watched you, his ears drooping at your defeated tone.

“I could use an extra set of eyes around, with watching out for the kid.”

He was facing you again, this time turned in the pilot’s chair with an arm partly draped over the armrest. He was trying to look nonchalant again. The way he peered over his shoulder made you want to hide away, and you prayed he didn’t notice the flustered flush trying to creep its way onto your face.

The Child made a noise of agreement to Mando’s suggestion, looking enthusiastically from the armored man back to you, eyes bright and ears angled high in anticipation of you answering. Why this kid seemed to be so interested in you, you had no idea. You’d only just met him, why was he so excited? The only thing you could think of was that strange, familiar vibe he gave you, maybe it was a two-way thing?

Mando suggesting you stay around to help with the kid at all took you by surprise as well. You slowly turned your head to stare at him head-on. He didn’t exactly state he wanted a babysitter, but with your understanding of his profession you would probably be saddled with a lot of doing just that. You knew if anyone decided to try and come after you for information, if you were traveling with the Mandalorian you’d be safer than anywhere you might settle down. But at the same time, a nomadic lifestyle such as his relying on hunting down troublesome quarry was equally dangerous. But it wouldn’t just be you by your lonesome, and, hell, it could make for some interesting experiences.

“Are you being serious?”

All he had to do was incline his head. You looked back down at the kid, who seemed to be holding his breath waiting for an answer.

“...I don’t know the first thing about kids. But I’ll help out where I can, with him or anywhere else.”

The Child squealed, clutching the keycard he was still holding close. That earned a small chuckle from you.

You looked back up at the Mandalorian watching you both, not needing to see his face under his helmet to know he was also being affected by the small green child’s charm. He finally turned away, back to his controls, looking through the ship’s navigation to plot the next leg of whatever journey you were on.

This was going to be one hell of a ride.

[weeklyfangirl]

Frat Boy Pt. 21

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 (1), part 7 (2), part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13 , part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 18, part 19 , part 20

HI LOVIES. Please enjoy a Friday update on the Frat Boy universe. This one is a bit of a breather after the TUMULTUOUS ANGST of the last chappie. Shorter than my usual, but it’s all the chapter needed. Tons more y/n and Harry interaction on the way in the next! Have a safe and happy day loves xx

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Things I want:

Live a life that helps others

Financial freedom

Experience a great love

Visit the the Pincio Gardens in Italy

To have more dreams and fewer nightmares

Doodle more

Acquire a first edition book, either because an old  friendly man who owns an antique bookshop decides to give it to me in a bonding moment, or because I have accomplished #2 and I am celebrating being a Boss Bitch

To be happy

Please note: not necessarily in that order

 It was taped above my desk, waiting for me to bring it in to the next session. I hesitated to write number 6. It was a dream I hardly entertained after committing my scholarly life to pursue medicine. I used to love to doodle. All the time. Since elementary school. I doodled so much my mom dedicated a wall in the house to my illustrations. She hung a sign above it that affectionately said “Y/N’s Doodles.” Seriously, you couldn’t get me to stop. Even if it was gross sappy sketches of my crush Billy who I would NEVER show on the playground at recess.   

 My doodling stopped how these things normally do. Because life grew busier than anything else, and the sketchpad and easel my dad had bought for me at a garage sale became ignored, collecting dust in the corner of my room. At some point, it’d become a year since I’d drawn anything, and then it was two, and three, and by this point I’d realized I was the one who’d need to create her own stability in life and medicine was the more logical fit. It wasn’t that I didn’t see the value in drawing anymore, I just had other things take up my time. It became a comfort just knowing I used to draw. Paul had paved his way, and now I was on my way to do the same. At least with medicine, my soul felt fed. It was almost comfort enough. 

  “oH WE GOT A ROGUE ONE.” 

 A flying toenail hit my eye. 

 “WHAT THE-” I flailed my arms, as though there were a thousand more coming. Renny’s mouth opened in shock, her guilty body hunched over her bent leg. Clippers in hand.  

 “Sorry!!” Renny burst up laughing.

 “oH MY GOSH CAN YOU DO THAT OVER A TRASH CAN OR SOMETHING?!” 

 “IT HAD A MIND OF ITS OWN!!” she screamed back. 

 I blinked rapidly, my left eye watering up and spilling painless tears. “Well I’m going to have conjunctivitis at the studio later. Or I’ll be stumbling in blind.” I wiped it away.

 I heard another clip and she put up her hands with another giggle. 

 “All done. And you won’t stumble, I’m going to be there.” Renny extended her leg, her perfectly trimmed foot nearly touching the ceiling.

 “You’re just going to solicit Zayn to be his next subject.” 

 “Maybe,” her grin grew devious. “But also because I want to see if he captured the angelic beauty and complex nymph nuances of my best friend.” 

 I put a hand to my chest, still aching from uncertainty. “Honored.” 

 “Want to watch another episode until it’s time to go?” 

 This whole lazy morning had been an OC Housewives bingefest. She’d seen it on my homepage and had a complete spazz, twitching whilst proclaiming but i’ve been trying to get you to watch this show for YEARS!! When she saw the old season I was on, though, she didn’t have to question why her pestering had miraculously worked. She didn’t mention him aloud besides giving me a pointed look. And so, we watched it, even though I wasn’t really in the mood to see anything about Harry right now. It’d hurt more than I thought to walk away from him last night, and to see how sad he looked when I did. 

 After last night, he hadn’t posted anything to social media. He’d called, twice, but I knew he was drunk, or worse, and I was tired, and whatever he would say he could tell me in the morning. Even though I knew he wouldn’t. 

 And he didn’t. 

 And therein lay the problem. 

 It hurt to see his family on my little box of a computer screen, weird to see his life and get glimpses of his childhood. I felt like a hacker spying on home videos. But then I reminded myself that thousands of people had already done the same. At this point, it was just… morbid curiosity.

 “Nah, I don’t know if I can handle any more of that right now. Dr. Rhinecuff is going to yell at me if I don’t return these scanned copies to him by Monday.” 

 “Ew, he smells like meat.” 

 “RENNY!!” 

 “I’m just saying. That one time I went with you it smelled like pastrami in his office. He has a PhD, but isn’t with-it enough to buy air freshener.”

 “He likes pastrami sandwiches, let him live.” 

 She scrolled on her phone, not bothering to respond, and my gaze turned to the window. 

 “Hey Renny?” 

 “Hm.” 

 A bird flew close to the glass, halting just before it hit it, then zooming off in the opposite direction. “What’d you do when your parents were fighting?” 

 “Ummm…” I knew the question registered in her mind when she stopped scrolling, suddenly concerned. “Are your parents okay?”

 “Yeah. I mean, kind of.” I glossed over it, not caring to get into the bitter details. “I was just curious.” 

 “Uhh..” She plucked at the soft cotton of her cotton candy pajamas that were fraying at the knees. “I lost my virginity to Zach,” she half-laughed.   

 “Zach? Neighbor boy Zach?” 

 Renny nodded. She always sounded a little sad when she talked about him. Zach was the hot college boy who shared a backyard fence with Renny, the girl who may or may not have used her kitchen stool to peak over and see him workout on the grass every summer he came home. I’d known they’d slept together. I just didn’t think he was her first. 

 “I just tried to be out of the house as much as I could,” she said. “Found my true love Mary J.” 

 “Oh.” 

 “It was shitty, but I’m glad I got it over with.”

 “The divorce or your virginity.” 

 “Both,” she chortled. “Why what’s up? Are you sad or something? I have a j in my drawer.” 

 “No, no, I’m fine.” Mostly I was just wondering what it must be like to feel so sexually liberated. In my house sex wasn’t talked about. At all. The inevitable sex scene in every other movie would result in my dad blaring out “WHAT KIND OF MOVIE IS THIS!” in an attempt to make it less awwkard, but having it backfire and only make it horrendously more awkward. I wasn’t saving my virginity for anyone in particular, but after all those romance novels, I wanted it to be… something. I wanted to feel something towards the person where it would justify something I’ve kept to myself for so long. I wanted it to be intense. I wanted it to be like the books. Like a Frank Sinatra song that swept up your heart and transported you back to a time of gentlemen and cigars and women in long evening gowns with fur coats and martinis. 

 “I wish I could just get it over with,” I confessed. One half of me screamed YOU’RE IN YOUR TWENTIES HAVE ALL THE SEX while the other half said YOU’VE WAITED THIS LONG DAMN IT HOLD OUT A LITTLE LONGER. I didn’t know which part of me was compromising more. 

 Renny leaned in, quick. “Would you do it with Harry?” 

 Like the flip of a switch, I remembered the sensuous heat of his body against mine, wrapping me up and pressing me against him where we just fit. And I couldn’t imagine how much better it’d feel to be even more connected to him. 

 “Maybeeee…?” 

 But then there was last night. 

 I cringed. No matter how with me he’d seemed… he couldn’t have been present after mixing whatever the hell he took and a handle of alcohol. Did I really want someone like that? Someone who could only give a shell of themselves? 

 “No, I wouldn’t. Or- ugh, I don’t know. I don’t know if it could ever mean as much to him.” 

 Renny nodded. “I mean, don’t let him pressure you, obviously. If he does, I’ll kick his baby maker smack into his prostate. Prostate. See, anatomy. You taught me that.” 

 “Haha, no, he’s not like that.” My brows stitched. I was confused why he wasn’t more like that, actually. We’d known each other for several months now and he hadn’t even put a finger in me. When I thought about it, it actually frustrated me. Don’t pressure me to do anything, but I wanted to be pushed to do something. I was never the bold one in areas like this. 

 Not that I should be so willing to do anything with him anymore anyways. Something shifted in me when I’d seen him last night. It wasn’t a shift I could easily describe, but it’d set me a foot apart from my heart. A bit of me was shocked that it had happened so suddenly. 

 But this shift was new, and my heart still wanted what it wanted. I knew that if I watched any more OC Housewives with Harry’s toddler curls and surfer tan, I’d be sucked right back into speculating about what our future kids could look like. And if I saw him? 

 You were right, Harry. You are fucked. 

 I cringed again. That was harsh. That was very very harsh. 

 I didn’t know if I’d have the courage to apologize. What if my pheromones went berserk and magnetized me to his side??

 Renny was right.

 I needed therapy. 

 The clippers were tossed back on my desk.

 “Thanks,” she said. “Have you started on your DG Double P yet?” 

 DG Double P = Renny Speak for DG Pretty Please. 

 I groaned. “No. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, honestly. I have to-”

 “NO!!! Don’t tell me. We’re not supposed to tell each other.” Her hand extended in panic.

 “Fine. I can keep a secret.” 

 I was getting a little too good at that lately.

 She moved onto her belly, splaying her arms out in a dramatic fashion, face squished against the comforter. “Isn’t it just killing you inside.” She was dead serious. 

 “Yeah, more than you know.” 

 And I was serious, too. 

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

 I wasn’t expecting people to dress up as much as they did. Donned in my only pair of yoga pants and a chunky white sweater, I walked arm-in-arm with Renny past girls in cocktail dresses and guys in button-downs. 

 Something that sounded like a baby’s cry filled my ears, but it was gone as soon as we walked through the doors to the on-campus gallery.  . 

 “Woah did you hear that?” 

 Renny nodded, tossing her head back. “There’s a baby somewhere.” 

 It reminded me of the bodiless screams in my nightmare. In my chunky sweater, I shivered undetectably.

 The on-campus gallery rotated exhibits throughout the year, but this time, student sculptures were on pedestals, nightmarish portraits hung on the walls, and red and orange tapestries swooped down and across the ceiling in a cirque-du-soleil moment as if to secure us beneath fire. Some students had separate booths, but other pieces of work trailed seamlessly into the next. 

 A tree made from photographs and newspaper took up the center of the space. Zayn had been so adamant about his muse having life, I wondered if that was the focus of this exhibit - to capture natural life. But I suppose all art did. 

 “It’s the circle of life exhibit,” Renny stated, as if reading my thoughts. 

 “How’d you know that?” 

 She held up a pamphlet she must’ve grabbed from the entrance. 

 I quickly scanned the room, hoping to find Zayn quickly so I could skip out just as quick. 

 Several of my professors were here, including Dr. Rhinecuff. When he saw me, I raised my hand, but he raised his cup of red wine awkwardly and looked away. 

 My hand wavered. 

 Odd. 

 Zayn was standing by the tree, speaking with an older woman. Her skin was a rich brown, short hair hidden beneath a chic scarf. The man beside her looked around the same age with graying facial hair, a pocket hanky, and beaded bracelets. Art professors. 

 I caught his gaze, and he gestured me over. 

 “Y/N, these are my instructors. David and Ebony.”   

 Their eyes lit up in recognition. “He did you a great justice,” David said, gray moustache twitching with the words.

 Ebony beamed. “Oh yes, a piece was already sold. He’s going to be the next big wig before he graduates,” she gushed. “Zayn, I’m sure you’ll be splitting the profits with the heart of the piece.”

 She gestured to me and his smile widened, but my stomach sank faster. 

 “I didn’t know these pieces were going to be sold.”

 Ebony sensed my concern. The wine in her glass swirled. “We thought allowing the pieces to be shown and auctioned was a good way to replicate what many of them should be doing once they graduate. The whole department gets involved, and these kids put in a lot of work, and the reputation of starving artists isn’t something we want to buy into here.”

 I nodded. “I mean, that’s great. That’s… really amazing.” 

 Zayn couldn’t meet my eyes. He knew. He could sense my hesitance, too. 

 “Now he can finally afford a nice dinner to take you out!” David proclaimed. 

 We were all quiet for a minute. “You know, for a thank you dinner,” David covered up. Zayn’s brows scrunched and he shook his head a bit, not knowing where David’s comment came from. 

 “Do you do this regularly?” Ebony asked, steering the conversation away from an awkward moment. 

 My ears pricked up when I realized she was looking at me. “Excuse me?” 

 “Well I was just thinking…” a light laugh lifted as if her idea would be outrageous. “Would you mind sitting in for one of my classes on Monday? Our model had a sudden death-” 

 “My God,” David proclaimed. 

 Ebony waved her hand. “-in his family. I haven’t called to replace him yet.”

 It quieted as they looked at me, waiting for a response. “Oh, I don’t… I don’t usually do this. At all. It was a chance thing.” 

 “Luck be the artist.” David raised his glass. 

 Ebony followed suit, looking at my empty hand. “You just going to let her stand there without a drink?”

 “Yeah, Zayn. What kind of treatment is this?” I teased. 

 He did a slight bow. “Apologies. We’ll walk to drinks, immediately.” He pulled us away, leading us further into the showroom as his head dipped low to my ear. “Renny just passed us to meet Felix and them. They’re through here.” 

 We stepped under an archway that led into a darker-lit room, but his hand stopped me beneath the nook. “Did yeh notice anything?”

 Yeah. I was noticing how close we were in this archway. He saw my eyes start to squint in thought and he turned me around to face the room we’d just left. 

 “Look closer.” 

 My eyes roamed the crowd, trying to find some sort of person, or pattern he could be referring to. With a brief seize of my heart, I expected to see somebody from the gang. 

 “Look at the artwork, Y/N.” His breath warmed my skin. 

 The paintings all seemed to be bright, though sticking to red, orange, blacks, and grays. Wait, forget a pallette pattern. The next painting had blue and purple, too. One sculpture looked like a writhing ghost, twisting and reaching for something above. Or maybe it was an unearthed tree root. Despite all the bold colors, there was something off-putting about how bright they all were. It wasn’t a soothing brightness. It was almost violent. The orange and red writhing tapestries warped the ceiling into something hot. 

 “Is it hell?” I chortled, but quickly quieted. I expected him to take offense, but his hand went lightly around my waist with a small smile.

 “Could be. See-” his arm extended out to scan the perimeter “-all this art is supposed to represent death, but challenge the notion of it through color.” 

 “How so?” 

 “Yeh know it’s usually your blacks, and your grays, s’depressing shit. But we’re born from death. Before life, there was nothing, but something. It’s bold and necessary and there, and no one really knows whatever comes before. Or after.” He looked at the room, taking a sip of wine. I watched as he swallowed, and I imagined the wine running down. “What is death but an uncertain existence.” He said the thought almost happily, looking at me with a slight smirk. “Could be anythin’.” 

 He took a deep breath, letting his hand touch the top of the archway. It was then that I noticed it wasn’t just plain drywall. A collage of photographs ran all along the inside. 

 He wasn’t as tall as Harry, but his hand still reached the top, scuffing across a picture of an African landscape taped over a toddler eating fruity pebbles. 

 “They’re pictures. Everyone donated one,” he said. 

 A strand of words were painted over the collage, running from one end of the archway to the other, and I tilted my head back to read it. “Things... that…. make... m..e …...feel alive.” 

 “Everyone was able to design their space in order to control, to some extent, how their art was perceived. Everyone was a part of the transition space.” 

 “Very nice,” I noted, slightly put-off. I hadn’t been expecting this art show to be so… professional. “Zayn, this is amazing. Like, really, truly, professional-grade stuff is happening. The presentation, the pieces, everything.”

 His smile grew wider, putting cool hands over my eyes. I flinched, but let him. 

 I felt him come closer. 

“Listen now,” he urged. 

 I listened, but I wasn’t sure for what. There was the familiar busy rumble of people mingling, parents visiting their kids, and professors droning on about the talent of their students. But it was chatter. I couldn’t make out one conversation over another. I shrugged up against his other hand that was atop my shoulder. 

 “Sometimes you need to change where you’re planted to understand.” 

 I hoped he could see my cross expression because I couldn’t tell if he was bullshitting me right now. It’d been a day. It’d been a night. And I wasn’t in the mood for more philosophical ramblings - especially about death. “I don’t know what you mean,” I sighed. 

 “Meaning I have to move you closer to the speakers.” He let out a breathy laugh. “Jus’ keep your eyes closed, okay?” 

 I nodded. His hand moved, tilting my head to its side. Eyes still closed, I became self-conscious imagining people trying to move past me, and here I was, planted, eyes closed in the middle of the archway. My cheeks heated. It was unnerving knowing people could see me when I couldn’t see them. And anyway, I must’ve looked ridiculous. 

 “What do you hear?” he urged. 

 “I hear a lot of people talking,” I griped. 

But right when I was about to open my eyes-  

 I heard a familiar chirping through the chatter. 

 “Birds?” I opened my eyes. 

 “Observance can be taught, sometimes.” Zayn leant back, looking mighty proud of himself. 

 “Why are there birds?” 

 “We’re entering life,” he smiled, backing into the space. I tipped my wine back, several long gulps lightening my step as I followed him. Immediately, I noticed much more natural, earthier tones. For being a room of life, it was surprisingly darker than the prior room.

 Renny, Felix, and Andre were huddled in the center where a makeshift wall-on-wheels covered in vines divided the room in half. 

 My eyes widened, trying to adjust to the dimness. “It’s a lot darker in here.” 

 “All intentional. They decided to play with light in here. People usually think of life being bright ‘n that, but it’s also when we experience varying degrees of darkness. There’s a balance to things and the trouble is finding it.” Understanding laced his voice as his dark eyes bore into mine, almost completely black. One look from Zayn and I was reminded of all the weight I’d been carrying. I fidgeted, uncomfortable seeing myself in his eyes. 

 “Y/N, get over here!” Renny called. My shoulders visibly relaxed. My saving grace. “You didn’t tell me you did this,” she said lowly as soon as I got close enough, shocked excitement barely contained. Her giddy smile gave it away though. “Miss sexy secret keeper over here.” 

 “What do you mean?” 

 She playfully poked my sides, but Andre and Felix avoided my gaze. Something wasn’t right. And it stirred my stomach, my body already knowing, somehow. 

 I turned in slow motion, the charcoal drawings in my peripherals stopping me in place. Framed amidst the vines, my face was etched onto paper, scrunching and twisting in various expressions. But my body was attached and twisting, too. And it was bare, bent over, spread out, laying down… My eyes scanned over them a dozen times in a second. 

 I was naked. 

 In all of them. 

 One was titled “21st Century Love.” In this one, I faced the viewer, but looked past them, sorrowful eyes, brows furrowed, breasts I’d never shown on full display. A hickey or two on my neck. A painful sting gripped my chest. I looked sad. I looked so sad.  

 Tunnel vision, a blurred Renny rushed down to the floor, and a distant part of me registered something wet splatter on my feet. 

 The wine had dropped.

 I’d dropped it. 

 I was trapped in a shell. My body was numb. 

 “Babes, you okay?” Renny asked, her voice somewhere far away. Somewhere outside the shell, her voice drowned in the busy rumbling, with the birds, with the watchers. People were watching me now. I was being watched. “Felix, grab some towels!” she barked. 

 I looked horrified, towards Zayn, but changed my mind just as fast. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t even breathe. 

 He didn’t know me at all. He could stare at me for a thousand sessions and paint every crevice, sunspot, blemish, and mole and still not see me. How was an artist this blind? How could he not know that this was the last thing I could ever want? How could he picture me so… intimately?

 The paintings seemed to swirl into one before bouncing back out into their separate exposees. 

 Because that’s what it was. 

 An exposure. 

 A stranger could pay to have me in their home. 

 The floor spun, vision spotting. 

 My lungs tightened, tearing me away from Renny, from Felix, from Andre. From Zayn, the artist who painted a confused girl so unashamed. So honestly. Savagely and Unabashedly. 

 “I didn’t want this.” 

 And it was when I was halfway out the door that I realized the voice had come from me, a mantra pushing my shell all the way home. 

part 22

[glumpiglet]

A Misunderstanding (F!ReaderxBeetlejuice)

So I made another one of these, I’m a greedy little bottom and only the thought of bug boi can satisfy me….. This is the point where I tell you I’m shamelessly self-inserting myself as the reader at this point. I’ve not done a lot of Xreader writing, so I’m learning I’m not great at making characters neutral, there are multiple things that just uh ... seemed to serve where I wanted the story to go so I used it XD sorry peeps I’m so bad

p.s thanks again to @boopeen for making the prompt post. I’m sure this wasn’t what they were thinking it would be used for XD

p.p.s my requests are open so slide into them if you feel so inclined. Love you guys <3

TW: Swearing, Drug Use, sprinkle of angst.

Angst: “I don’t want to do this anymore,”

Fluff: “please hug me, I really need it.”

Walking through your front door, you had to expel a sigh in relief, another long day at work done. Hanging up your purse and keys, you expected to be ambushed. Confused at the lack of.. Well any life in your apartment. The irony wasn’t lost on you. 

Calling out for the company who you left this morning; you weren’t summoning him half as much lately. It seems to be he was just….. Sticking around.

“Hello?” 

Where the hell was he? Inspecting the apartment for any trace, you came up empty. Part of you didn’t want to risk bothering him if he was actually busy with something. 

On the other hand, you were selfish. There was only one way you wanted to spend your evening.

“Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice.” As per usual, you braced yourself for the explosion that was the arrival of your BFF from beyond the grave.

Silence.

Shrugging, you turned towards your bedroom. He was either actually busy, or trying to scare you. Most likely the latter, you weren’t exactly in the mood for a spook right now. You voiced that opinion out loud, and got no response.

The lights were off in your room, a chill in the air causing goosebumps on your arms. 

In the corner, you could see two glowing orbs in the blackness. 

You always were a jumpy person. You could run into a stranger turning a corner on a sidestreet, and scream bloody murder. A certain someone loved to use that to his advantage. 

Nerves tense, you turned on the light. Ready for any amount of shock and horror that awaited you. Your eyes took in your normal bedroom. Rolling them, you took a step forward into the room, ready to call out once again.

“Boo.” 

Luckily you were able to stop yourself from making any sound other than a gasp, whirling around to almost bump noses with Beetlejuice. Heart pounding, you reached out to shove him in the chest. 

“Asshole!” Scooped up tight in his cold embrace, it was impossible to not feel the flush of utter happiness of seeing him after the day you had. All he had to do was give you that earnest crooked smile and you were already forgiving him.  

“Mmm.. Watch your language, babes. Or I might have to spank you.” Chuckling in his arms, you took stock of Beetlejuice practically glowing green. Someone was feeling good.

“Hello, BJ. How was your day?”

“Great! I spent the morning scaring people in your hallway, I think I permanently scarred the guy two doors down, it was so hilarious!” Continuing to giggle as you extracted yourself from his grip, you turned towards the vanity, beginning the task of taking make-up off, removing your jewelry. 

BJ watched you in the mirror, as always invading your personal space, murmuring into your hair.  

“Then I had to...Go back for something..” The vagueness of his demeanor made you pause. Beetlejuice was always open and honest, perhaps a bit too much, actually definitely too much at all times. It was a trait that in equal parts you admired while simultaneously it annoyed you. 

“Yeah, I got home and I was like, ‘where is he?’” Finished, you gently pulled him by his lapels. Taking the short trip through the hallway to the living room, depositing him on your sofa and sitting beside him. Taking his arm to wrap around your shoulder, you made yourself comfortable, knowing for a fact Beetlejuice would not mind in the slightest. 

“Aw, miss me that much, babes?”

“Maybe…” Reaching out to take the remote. You turned the t.v on just for the background noise, some episode of a show you had seen multiple times. Snuggling further into BJ, you couldn’t stop your heart racing once more as his hands began to wander, running down your sides to rub at your thighs.

“Hell yeah, this is what I’m talking about,” Scoffing at how he could take any affectionate moment and instantly make it sexual, not that you were helping matters by throwing yourself over him. Before he got too carried away, you linked your fingers with his and held them in your lap.

“Be quiet please,”

This was the part of your day you could always look forward to, BJ had been teaching himself to chill out recently. It was hard to come home from work daily to a feral, sexually charged adolescent bouncing off your walls. You weren’t trying to change BJ, god no it was completely give and take, you were good for each other. He gave you spontaneous fun, letting you not take things too seriously. In contrast, you were trying to explain to him why some things were important to breathers, why you had to go to work everyday, pay the bills, etc.  

It was becoming difficult to keep your eyes open. Feeling yourself slowly drifting off, you were dozing off on your friend…

**

Very few ‘friendships’ you had ever had involved as much cuddling as you did with Beetlejuice. Sure, nothing was ever run of the mill when it came to the demonic hurricane that was the self proclaimed ghost with the most. Not to mention the flirting. And long, quiet moments just gazing at each other, so close your breaths would intermingle…

Beetlejuice’s scent was one of the first hurdles you had to deal with in the beginning. You did realize you were hanging out with a dead guy, nothing could be done for his overall awful appearance. 

In your youth, you had briefly wanted to be a mortician, morbid change of topic nonetheless, but you had the chance to experience a lot of dead bodies in that time. You didn’t ultimately go through with the career, but those memories always stuck with you. 

So you were horrified when you first came in close contact with him, which was within the first two seconds of meeting, for he truly smelt dead. The association of it was the oddest sense of deja vu. The pungent, off smell was something you tried to ignore for as long as you could, not wanting to appear rude.

One time, the two of you were just sitting around the house all day, and you were asking him questions. About Death. The Netherworld. His life before you had known each other.

When you broached the topic of if he ever bathed, it seemed to confuse him. You knew it had been a stupid question, why would he? He had never been alive. Nor did he ever stay corporeal for long, before he met you. Stupid breather things like hygiene didn’t matter in the Netherworld.

“Would….you want me to start?” The question had been so tentative, you immediately felt bad for opening your mouth. 

“No..No Beetlejuice, you’re right. You’ve never had to before, you don’t have to start now. I’ll get used to it.”

The matter was dropped and you had pulled him closer, insistence on squeezing tighter to prove to him it didn’t truly matter. 

The next day you came home to your house in chaos. It looked like there had been a flood, water was everywhere and clones were on hands and knees with towels. At your appearance, there was a brief moment in time where everything stood still. You were standing in the doorway with eight pairs of eyes on you.

Then they attacked.

“She’s not supposed to be home yet!”

“Boss is gonna kill us!” 

“Shut up, idiot!”

“Hey babes! Lookin’ good today.”

“Funny story, sweetness. Just a little accident,”

Hands grabbed at your arms, curving along your back as they led you into your living room, where the water luckily had not reached. 

“Wait-wait. Everybody calm down. What’s happened?” Confusion did not abate as you saw Beetlejuice shuffle in from the hallway, looking unbelievably contrite. His head turned down, he wouldn’t even meet your eye as he mumbled out a:

“Hey,”

Expressing your bewilderment again, you shooed the hands off of you. You weren’t angry, but you were beginning to feel your hair begin to rise at the fact  no one was actually giving you an answer. 

“Sorry..We uh..might of kind of….floodedyourbathtub.” Not catching the whispered end, you stayed puzzled. Realizing something else was different, other than the disorder, you finally took notice of him.

He looked….Well he looked hot as fuck. You had never seen him in such a state of undress. His jacket and tie was gone, his cuffs rolled up to expose masculine forearms. He was also… surprisingly clean. His shirt was still dirt ridden, but the skin underneath shined porcelain. The sight of him without the usual grime that accompanied him made you pause.

Nothing could stop the flush you felt working its way over your face, if he knew he was making you blush you’d never hear the end of it, you had to stop before he noticed.

Eyes snapped back to his face. 

“Your hair’s wet...Why-....Did you shower?” Looking from clone to clone, you noticed them all in different states of wetness/cleanliness. Some looked like they didn’t even get washed. 

“You’re all wet…..Did you guys all shower together?”

The picture was beginning to form in your head, you couldn’t stop the incredulous giggle from the image of them all cramming into your one person bathroom.

“....Are you mad?”

Looking at Beetlejuice, you saw the anxious, fidgety demon trying to appear remorseful. He was too fucking cute, were you mad about him trying to clean himself up after you had selfishly told him he stunk? Opening up the floodgates, you began to laugh heartily, reaching out to hug him. 

It was weird. He smelt the same, but different. His usual pungent stench you associated with death wasn’t gone completely, but it definitely wasn’t making your eyes water. Mostly, he smelt earthy, like a field after it rained. There was another familiar smell that was making you feel nostalgic, you realized it was probably because he used he Irish Spring you kept for emergencies, of course he would use the big green bottle, your silly bug. 

“You’re so funny. Why would I get mad? It was an accident,” Shaking your head, you tried not to give a name to the fluttering in your stomach, and turned towards the nearest clone, running your hand through his damp locks, listening to him preen into your palm. 

“Maybe next time, just do it one by one please,” Grabbing the towel from the clone’s grip, you walked to the edge of the puddle in your house and dropped the towel, soaking up the water. 

Turning around, you felt the prickle of discomfort on your skin as you saw them all still staring. You loved the clones, thought they all had their own personalities and had more fun hanging out with them than your actual friends most times. 

It still never failed to make you uneasy when they did this, observing you like prey. You couldn’t tell what they were collectively thinking, and their boss certainly wasn’t helping.

“Seriously, it’s just water guys, really it’s fine. Look nothing was even damaged.”

“Come on, I’ll help you finish.”

So that’s how you spent the rest of your day, mopping and rotating the towels they used until the floor was just damp, and called it good enough. That night, you had a full cuddle puddle with them all as you watched scary movies till dawn.

He had even started brushing his teeth for you. The first time you had walked in on him, fangs and droopy tongue covered in foam as it looked like he was attempting to choke himself with the extra toothbrush you kept in your cabinet. Not that you ever expected anyone else to use it other than yourself when your old one had lost the bristles, but the idea of BJ taking the second slot in your toothbrush holder made you pause. The heavy feeling in your chest coupled with the affection you couldn’t help but feel. You knew you were in trouble.

You were in love with Beetlejuice.

**

Being shook, you jolted out of your slumber. Opening your eyes, you realized you had fallen asleep on him. You expected him to maybe make some snarky comment that he wasn’t a pillow, but he just looked at you with an expression hard to place.

Mumbling out an apology, you remove yourself from on top of him, walking out of your room into the kitchen, catching sight of BJ floating beside you.

“Tired?” 

“Just a long week, thank god tomorrow Friday.” Opening your fridge, you grimaced. It was time for some grocery shopping. Just deciding on an apple for the moment, you heard Beetlejuice rasp over your shoulder.

“It’s okay, sweet cheeks. I got just the thing for you to suck on.” 

Spinning around, poised to throw a jab, the momentum left when you took sight of BJ looking at you mischievously, hand outstretched with a large joint between his pale fingers.

No amount of stubbornness could stop the smile on your face. Beetlejuice was incorrigible.

You snatched it from his hands as he giggled as mischievous as a child, you opened up your living room window and sat on the nook you so love to habitat often. Amused as BJ, just as you had on the couch, practically circled into your lap like a house cat. Not being able to fit himself, he huffed and settled his head on your legs instead.

Your landlord luckily was a 60 year old hippie that grew in your community backyard, you still didn’t need your place reeking of weed. Especially with the potent Netherworld shit he brought around.

Passing the joint back and forth, BJ blew intricate smoke rings around your head. Shaking your head, loving it, shifting through your hair. Blaming the high, gaining courage from the stuff, you began to attempt your own rings, amused at how they couldn’t keep shape. You loved the blanketing feeling that was passing over you. 

Beetlejuice was practically purring, nuzzling into your legs. Without thinking, you began to scratch at his head. You really didn’t need a pet when you had BJ around. Watching as pink peeked through his roots, Beetlejuice butted the roach into the ashtray, setting his sights on you.

The air was thick with tension, unconsciously you lifted your legs, bringing his face closer, eyes bouncing between his, trying to figure him out.  

This was a favourite game between the two of you. The classic game of chicken. It didn’t help that you were always the one to break first. It was just a lot of conflicting feelings. 

It would be so easy to say yes to Beetlejuice, give into his obvious advances, but you didn’t want to be some breather booty call. Sure, the two of you had a great friendship, the thought of ruining it with your dumb feelings scared the shit out of you. 

But you were only human. And an incredibly high one at the moment.

Sighing, turning your head away, you mumbled. “I don’t want to do this anymore,”

You were happy to get this off your shoulders, sad at the idea of his rejection and unbelievably ripped. Letting slip a pathetic giggle, the multiple emotions were causing tears to well in your eyes. This. He was just so important to you. You couldn’t believe you were about to do this and you were so nervous what his reaction would be. 

“I see. I knew this was gonna happen eventually….Bye (Y/N).” 

Wait, what? 

Tilting your head up, you saw Beetlejuice standing up, shoulders slumped in defeat. 

“Huh? No! BJ look at me please.” You jumped up, snatching at his jacket sleeve, forcing him to turn, but he wouldn’t look at you. What the hell just happened? 

You felt your mouth go dry as you realized the way he had interpreted what you said. Oh no..

“I didn’t mean it that way at all. I mean.. I’m over just being friends, playing this game with you…. Not that it isn’t fun!”

You were digging yourself deeper, the words you wanted to say weren’t coming out. 

What you wanted to say was ‘I love you Beetlejuice. I want you to move in with me and become more than friends.’ The weed was causing your mind to move in slow motion, this was the absolute worst timing for this. What the fuck were you doing? 

No, no more of this. You weren’t backing down from this.

Beetlejuice wasn’t helping. In the midst of your freak out, someone was also happening to him. His hair had gone black as night. You had never seen him so...Blank. It would have been better if he was angry or obviously upset, you could deal with that. You had seen that before. 

This was more terrifying than anything.

“No.. Not game as in I don’t take us seriously….I’m fucking this up so bad..” Babbling to him, he wasn’t saying anything. Continuing to just look in the distance, like you weren’t even speaking to him.

“Calm down BJ, please. I’m so sorry for just blurting that out. Let me explain.”

There was a quiet, tense moment you thought he was going to say no, leave you still. Hurt eyes slowly turned to look at you as he backed away, distancing himself from you. 

Taking a deep breath, collecting your thoughts.  

“When I said that, I meant that...done. I want us to… Be more to each other. Have a relationship.”

There. You had said it out loud. Still, you couldn’t stop the word vomit from continuing.

“I’m just… If that isn’t what you want Beetlejuice, you can tell me.. I want you to tell me-”

“Babes?”

“Yes, BJ?”

“Please hug me, I really need it.” Without speaking you rush over, climbing onto him, clutching desperately at his back, not believing how close you came from losing him. Unbelievably lucky that everything turned out Beetlejuice breathed your scent in deeply, muttering something into your neck.

Pulling back, you can’t help but continue the tears tracking down your face as you see his own glittering like amber. 

“You scared me.”

Sniffling, you hide your face into his shoulder. That’s the worst thing he could have said to you. The fact that once again, boring, average you was reminded how much this powerful creature’s world revolved around you. It was the most humbling experience imaginable. 

Striving to keep your mouth shut, you just breathed in the quiet moment. Basking in each other. No secrets, no hidden feelings. 

“Woah. I’ve…..Never felt that before,” 

“I know, honey. I’m so dumb. If I were just more honest with you, we could have been doing this so much sooner,”

“You’re not dumb, babes. I know i can be…. A lot.” Scoffing, you cover his mouth with your hand, watching his expression become one of surprise.

“Thank you, BJ. You are not too much..” Giggling, you lean towards him, “You’re just right.”

Not wanting to speak anymore, needing to finally show him how much you wanted him. You kissed Beetlejuice for the first time. You expected him to be eager, sloppy and immediately hot and bothered. Nothing could have prepared you for him to be so sweet and gentle. It made your heart hurt with regret. Why didn’t you want to tell him how you felt? There was still a lot to talk about, but there was something else you needed to show him first.

Pulling away, the two of you were flushed and panting, you licked your lips and watched as his eyes flitted to them. 

“But it’s okay. I know a perfect way I could make it up to you.”

[windstormwielding]

{ ooc } Can I just say “thank you guys” for all the positive feedback I got from you all on Yumiko there-? Because seeing some of you getting smitten with her so fast got me feeling all warm and fuzzy in my inside parts.

As thanks, how about a not so teensy bit of trivia behind my creation process for her? Because guess what I am not done rambling about Kōta’s feral but doting mom. Dropping it all under the cut for length!

Goroawase! The Japanese language has an entire pun system dedicated to matching certain numbers together to create phrases, and you can find them in everything from phone numbers and advertisements to dates on the calendar. For Yumiko’s birthday, June 26 was not chosen at random, because with a minor tweak, the date itself can be read as “rotenburo-no-hi.” Translation? Open-air bath day. What was her zanpakutō’s special ability again? Steam!  

Yūgiri! The zanpakutō shares its name with a few Japanese warships down to the Kanji, but relevantly I named it after a Fire Emblem Fates character. Hailing from Hoshido, Reina is a Kinshi Knight who serves Queen Mikoto. She is a bloodthirsty warrior who’s eager to indulge in the morbid pleasures of the battlefield, but in sharp contrast to her sadistic side, she also happens to be quite the motherly sort towards her allies! Reina was her English-localized name, but in the original Japanese release? It’s Yūgiri.  

Steam! Reading Yūgiri as “Evening Mist,” I figured it would be fun if Yumiko had a zanpakutō power that leaned on the meaning, so I went hard with the steam concept since I don’t think there’s a Bleach character that works with such a power to an explicit extent? As for her ultimate attack, Jyōki Bakusatsu (蒸汽爆炸), the Chinese characters are pulled from the mythical Steam Pokémon Volcanion’s signature move “Steam Eruption” – while it works serviceably enough as Kanji, turns out Pokémon moves tend to use Katakana more over Kanji or Hiragana for their naming, in this case reading as “Steam Burst.” Who knew! I wonder if her own Pokémon team would consist of Fire and Water types...  

Sukeban! I’m quite fond of delinquent/boss girl-type characters and realized Bleach had a distinct lack of exactly that sort of archetype amidst its cast of badass ladies, and the only real “delinquent” presence in the series were all the nameless banchō bullies Ichigo put up with. From there, my brain turned to the 11th Division and its own distinct lack of ladies; aside from Yachiru Kusajishi who is too adorable for words, and Retsu/Yachiru Unohana as Division founder and first Kenpachi, it’s a bit of a sausage fest. Isn’t that the kind of squad where a delinquent girl would be a perfect fit though? So, looking at Kōtarō’s mom who raised him a dangerous place like Kusajishi and taught him how to fight with a sword, I thought “Hey, but what if...” until I settled on Yumiko’s physical appearance!  

Bleach itself! Regardless of however one may feel about some elements of the novels, I just plain love world-building (because it’s not like we’ve got much else to gush or theorize about since the series proper ended). I welcome further attempts to bring in elements from anime filler and other media into the main canon with Kubo’s seal of approval, because god damn I love me some added cohesion towards a bigger and more developed world. I’ve actually got full-on written notes with my own ideas at doing the same; including the premise of the Sealed Sword Frenzy OVA (plus elements of Spirits Are Always With You) as part of Yumiko’s own backstory, and headcanoning the OVA’s villain Baishin as a former Captain and Kenpachi, is just the tippy top of the iceberg of expanded concepts I jotted down for my own personal pleasure and use!  

Undertale! To add to the above, one of my big inspirations in creating her was Undyne the Undying, the boss fight from the game’s Genocide route, hence Yumiko’s character theme being “Battle Against a True Hero.” Just as the Determination-fuelled Undyne defied her own death to take on the murder-happy player character in order to protect the world, leading to the hardest boss battle in Undertale shy of Sans himself, I like to play out a similar battle in my head between Yumiko and Baishin after he turned into a crazed shinigami-zanpakutō fusion. She would’ve been 64th to his kill count of seated officers, but—at the cost of her own powers—she would be the one to succeed in pushing him back and forcing him to flee to the world of the living. Yumiko doesn’t just got it going on; she’s a genuine, fiercely determined badass, and a true hero... though she’s one of Kōta’s biggest heroes above all else. Sidenote, I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I listened to BAaTH on loop for the past week, from the original to remixes and covers with lyrics, just to get a proper feel for Yumiko’s past self-  

Kōtarō himself! I wanted to expand his own backstory a bit and really build on the woman who raised him, but going full ham in drawing more parallels between him and Yumiko than I initially counted on was so much fun. Similar doting and goofy personas towards those they care about! Parallels in their zanpakutō elements! Her teaching him how to fight like she used to! Wholesomeness just warms my heart so friggin’ much.

[tw-anchor]

39. Trust Your Abilities

Anchor

Stiles Stilinski x Original Character

Episode: 3x15: Galvanize

Word Count: 6,559

Warning(s): Mature language, canon violence + gore, dramatic Stiles, Peter’s severed finger

Author’s Note: Y’all I have had the worst luck these past couple of months. I must have broken a mirror or something without knowing. Please enjoy! Make sure you reblog, like, and tell me what you think!

Masterlink in Pinned Post!

Peter was lucky to have Olivia and Derek. Most people wouldn't help someone who had murdered and injured more than one of their family members. In fact, if Peter wasn't her father, Olivia wouldn't even be in the same vicinity as him, let alone help Derek sew his finger back on.

But, that's where she found herself. She hovered behind Derek as he and Peter sat at the table in Derek's loft; Derek had taken upon himself to sew Peter's finger back on after the Calaveras' head honcho cut it off. Thankfully, Peter put the finger on ice once Braeden got the two of them out of the hunters' grasp.

Olivia wasn't afraid of blood, but even the sight of her cousin sewing on her father's finger caused some nausea. Thankfully, it was over soon; Derek worked quickly, ignoring Peter's complaints in a way that Olivia couldn't. If she hadn't known the year Peter was born, she would have thought he was six years old. Peter Hale could dish out the pain without a problem, but he certainly couldn't take it.

"Ow," Peter hissed as Derek finished up his almost-perfect sutures. "Don't you have any anesthetic?"

Derek gave him a blank look, setting the small pair of medical scissors on the table next to him. "Yep."

Olivia snickered. "You know, I really thought you'd have a higher pain tolerance,"

Peter rolled his eyes at her. "Shut up," he turned back to Derek and with a whine to his voice, asked, "Are you at least going to tell me what I risked life and digit for?"

"Yeah, actually, I'd like to know that, too," Olivia added, crossing her arms over her chest. "And, you know, why I had to hire a mercenary to get you guys out of there..."

"I'm going to show you," Derek got up from his seat and took only a minute or so while he went up to his room and came back down. He carried a cylinder box made out of some sort of wood, with a triskele carved into the lid; he opened it and carefully slid out its contents. "After the fire, that's all that was left of her."

Talia Hale's claws clattered onto the table and Olivia almost flinched. Even though Talia was long dead, she could still feel power radiating off the claws. And that power? It felt like her Aunt Talia. It wasn't necessarily a tether like her pack members, but there was a slight glow to them on her mental map that caused her pause.

That's why Derek went, she realized privately.

Peter's eyes narrowed in recognition as he looked at his sister's claws. "Talia. I can't decide if that's touching or morbid," he raised an eyebrow at Derek. "I guess the real question is, what are you planning on doing with them?"

Derek hesitated before answering. "I have to ask her something," he finally revealed. "and from what I've heard, this is the only way possible."

Realization dawned on Peter's face. "You gotta be kidding me."

"Why do you think I sewed your finger back on?" Derek's lips turned up slightly into a smirk.

Olivia wrinkled her nose. She hadn't known what Derek was going to do with Talia's claws, but from context clues, she figured it out. Peter would connect to Talia's claws and then do the alpha ritual on Derek, where he peaked into Derek's subconsciousness through his spinal cord. It was a painful procedure and each time Olivia witnessed it, some part of her heart ached.

Even though she did want to know what Derek spoke to Talia about, she couldn't watch him go through with the ritual. It honestly didn't matter much, either way, because she had to get going in order to fetch Stiles from his house so they could get to school on time.

"That's my cue," she patted Derek on the shoulder before heading to the door. "I'll call you later, Der."

"Have fun at school," he mumbled in reply.

Much to her surprise, when she got to her car, Isaac was waiting for her in the passenger seat.

"What are you doing here?" she wasn't upset about his presence, but merely curious.

She slid into her seat and buckled her seatbelt, starting her car. She pulled away from Derek's building and took a left, heading into town so she could pick them up some breakfast. It would butter Stiles up to Isaac's attendance.

Isaac shrugged. "Scott took his bike, so I thought I'd get a ride with you."

"You walked all the way to Derek's loft from Scott's house to get a ride to school?" Olivia laughed.

"Well, any opportunity to annoy Stiles, and I'm there," Isaac chuckled with her.

Olivia shook her head in amusement. Only Isaac...

After a quick stop at the McDonald's drive-through, Olivia was pulling to a stop at the curb in front of Stiles' house. Isaac clambered into the backseat, almost hitting her in the face two separate times with his long legs, as Stiles bounced out of the front door and made his way down the sidewalk.

"Good morning, beautiful!" he was very cheerful today and Olivia knew it wasn't because it was from his lack of nightmares—because he certainly had one. No, he was happy because today was Mischief Day, the day before Halloween. "Mwah!"

The placement of his lips against her cheek with a noisy kiss made Olivia grin. "Morning, sweetcheeks."

"Good morning!"

As soon as Stiles heard Isaac's voice, he deflated. He whipped around and faced the backseat, a scowl on his face. "Ugh, what are you doing here?" he complained; as he reached for the handle of his door, Olivia locked the doors and pulled away from the curb. "Livvy, let me out. I'll drive myself."

"No, you won't," she said firmly. "Wednesdays are my days to drive."

"Well, why'd you bring Isaac?"

"I brought myself," Isaac told him smugly. He reached into the McDonald's bag and pulled out Stiles' breakfast sandwich amongst the wrappers from his biscuit and Olivia's bagel, tossing it at him. "Breakfast."

"Thank you," Stiles grumbled at Olivia as he turned to face the front once again. He unwrapped his sandwich with a grouchy look on his face. "Now Mischief Day is ruined."

"No, it isn't, Mr. Mischief," Olivia rolled her eyes. "If anything, Isaac riding with us is mischief..."

"That doesn't make me feel any better."

"Oh, get over yourself," Isaac rolled his eyes; Olivia caught the action through her rear-view mirror and tried to hide her grin.

"You get over yourself."

"No, you get over your—"

"Okay, both of you, shut it," Olivia interrupted their ridiculous argument. "I don't want to hear another word from either of you until we get to school."

"But—"

"Shush."

"Yes, Mom."

"Isaac Lahey."

Olivia wasn't as annoyed as she portrayed herself. It was actually kind of amusing to see Isaac and Stiles fully chastised for their little spat. Nevertheless, the only noise throughout the rest of the drive to the school was some alternative song that Stiles had turned on

"Look," Isaac spoke as Olivia was parking. "the twins are here."

Olivia and Stiles followed his gaze and saw that he was right. Ethan and Aiden's bikes were parked neatly in the two spaces next to Scott's. Scott had already abandoned his bike and was talking to them, looking affronted.

Stiles' face hardened and in that moment, he and Isaac had something to agree on; they both could not stand Ethan and Aiden.

Stiles and Isaac rushed out of the car and Olivia briskly followed them, making sure that her car was locked securely.

"You're back in school?" they heard Scott ask the twins.

"No, just to talk," Ethan answered him.

"Oh, that's kind of a change of pace for you guys," Stiles snarked as he came to a stop on Scott's right; Isaac joined the alpha's other side. "Usually you're just hurting, maiming, and killing."

Aiden chose to ignore Stiles, keeping his eyes on Scott. "You need a pack, we need an alpha."

"Yeah, absolutely not," Stiles answered for Scott. "That's hilarious, though."

Aiden narrowed his eyes at Stiles while reminding Scott, "You came to use for help. We helped."

"You beat him up, two to one," Olivia spoke up, her voice hardening. "And then when he was down, you had to be stopped by your brother."

"Yeah, in my opinion, that was actually counter-productive," Stiles added as he took her hand, intertwining their fingers.

"Why would I say yes?" Scott asked, though he looked to be humoring the twins, more than actually considering them as pack members.

"We add strength, we'd make you more powerful," Aiden pitched. "There's no reason to say no."

Stiles rolled his eyes, Olivia scoffed, and Isaac sneered at them, "I can think of one. Like the two of your holding Derek's claws while Kali impaled Boyd." Olivia nodded in agreement with Isaac, her heart aching at the thought of her dead pack mate. "In fact, I don't know why we're not impaling them right now."

Aiden growled at them, his eyes glowing ice-blue. "You wanna try?"

Olivia couldn't believe his audacity. She held out a firm hand, sending her own purple-tinted glare at him. "You need to back up," she ordered firmly, allowing her voice to shift and take control of him.

Aiden's eyes dimed back to their normal brown, but his glare stayed.

"Sorry, but they don't trust you," Scott glanced between Ethan and Aiden, his gaze lingering on the latter and his wicked temper. "And neither do I."

The four of them walked past the twins without another word—though, Isaac did send them a triumphant smirk as he passed.

As soon as they walked into the school, Stiles was decked in the face with a roll of toilet paper.

"All right, that's my fucking face!" he growled as he whipped the roll back at Greenberg. He patted Scott on the chest as they continued on to his locker. "Hey, dude, good decision, buddy. Good alpha decision."

Scott winced sheepishly. "I hope so."

"No, you know so," Olivia loved Scott, but he wished that he would see people the way they were, not the way he hoped them to be. Ethan and Aiden had a large part in Boyd's death, like Isaac had just mentioned, and they were also part of the pack who killed Erica. Sometimes, people couldn't be redeemed.

"Exactly," Isaac pointed at her in agreement.

Stiles, who had successfully closed the door to his mind after Malia's transformation back to a human girl, easily dialed his combination and unlocked his locker. He started unpacking his very full backpack, unloading his various Mischief Day pranks.

Scott nudged Olivia while Stiles was focused on his bag. "Hey, what did you say her name was again?" he nodded down the hall and Olivia saw that he was looking at Kira, who was at her own locker.

"Kira Yukimura," she informed him. "She's really sweet. Why?"

Scott shrugged. "Just wondering."

Isaac and Olivia exchanged an amused look. "Right, okay."

Stiles glanced at them. "What are you guys looking at?" he followed their gaze, saw Kira, and then looked back at Scott, "You looking at her?"

Scott immediately looked away from Kira, flustered. "Her? Who her?"

"Her-her," Stiles rolled his eyes. "Kira. You like her?"

"I thought you were into Lydia now," Isaac mentioned idly; Olivia smirked when Scott's eyes widened in shock.

"What? No!" he shook his head quickly. "I mean, may—no! She's okay, they're both okay...Kira's new."

Stiles shook his head and carefully placed a carton of eggs into his locker. "Yeah, that made a lot of sense, buddy. Just ask her out."

"Who, Lydia?"

Olivia rolled her eyes. "He meant Kira, Scott."

"Now?"

"Yes, now," Isaac encouraged him.

"Right now?"

"Right now," Stiles slammed his locker shut after grabbing his econ textbook and turned to face Scott head on. "Scott, I don't think you get it yet. You're an alpha. You're the apex predator—"

"Please don't call him a predator while trying to convince him to ask Kira out," Olivia interjected with a gentle shudder.

"Makes sense," Stiles nodded at her before going back to Scott. "My point is, everyone wants you. You're like the hot girl that every guy wants."

Scott raised his eyebrows, confused. "The hot girl?"

"You are the hottest girl," Stiles poked him in the chest with a wink.

His words must have finally gotten through to Scott, because the alpha nodded with a small, but cute smile on his face. He looked up at Isaac and announced, "I'm the hot girl."

Isaac nodded seriously. "Yes, you are."

Scott giggled cutely before walking away.

Olivia watched him go, shaking her head. "You three are the oddest people I've ever met."

Isaac laughed at her and followed Scott while Stiles scoffed, "Says you," he grabbed her hand as they walked down the hallway to her locker. "Aren't you the teenager whose favorite ice cream is vanilla?"

"You know I don't like ice cream that much," they reached her locker and she swiftly unlocked it. "Now, should I be jealous that you called Scott the hottest girl while I was standing right next to you, or...?"

"No," Stiles leaned against her neighbor's locker, smiling down at her. "Want to know why?"

"Why, Stiles?"

"Because hot doesn't even begin to describe you, Livvy," he cooed sweetly, making her giggle.

"You're lucky I love you," she poked his cheek. "otherwise, you'd be too cheesy for me."

"You like cheese."

"On my pizza," Olivia shut her locker with a laugh, cradling her econ textbook in the crook of her right arm. "Now, did you want to catch the show are you gonna sit around all day and miss it?"

Stiles' eyes lit up at the reminder. Last night, or early this morning, Stiles and Scott had come to the school to prank Coach. It was his birthday and apparently the best friend duo had been pranking him on Mischief Day since they entered high school. It was a sort of tradition for them and Stiles said it was always good fun, but Olivia had never witnessed one of these pranks herself.

She would never tell Stiles, but she was kind of excited about it.

"Yes!" he grabbed her free hand and started pulling her down the hall.

When they entered Coach's classroom, Stiles had insisted on sitting in the front row, so he had a good seat for all the chaos that he and Scott had reined upon Coach. Olivia sat behind him and when Lydia and Scott came into the classroom together, a moment or so later, they sat next to them. The bell rang and there was still no sign of Coach—but then, they heard what was going on next door.

What sounded like furniture collapsing to the floor came from Coach's office. Not a second later, they heard him shout, "Son of a bitch!"

Stiles broke out into a round of snickers, his whole body shaking, and Scott grinned in amusement. Olivia let a smile appear on her lips as she glanced at Lydia, who shook her head, an expression that somehow held both annoyance and amusement painted on her face.

The door that connected Coach's office and the classroom was forced open and then slammed quickly as Coach entered the room. "Mischief Night, Devil's Night," he grumbled, glaring at the students as most of them laughed. "I don't care what you call it. You little punks are evil. You think it's funny that every Halloween my house gets egged?"

The general consensus was yes, everyone thought that Coach's house getting egged was funny.

"A man's house is supposed to be his castle! Mine's a freakin' omelet..." Coach turned to his desk and spotted the wrapped gift that Greenberg had deposited before he took his seat. "Oh, this? We're gonna do this again? I don't think so!"

Coach whipped the present onto the ground and stomped on it. A surprised look flashed onto his face when he heard glass breaking; Stiles' laughter increased into a small roar.

Coach picked up the present, a mug with his picture on it, which was now broken, and glanced at the card. "Happy birthday," he read. "Love, Greenberg."

The slightly chastised look on Coach's face made Olivia laugh. Her giggles died down when Lydia's tether pulsed. She turned to her cousin and saw her on her phone, swatting the air around her head.

"Lyds, what are you doing?" she leaned over to her desk and whispered.

"There's a fly," Lydia mumbled in response.

Olivia narrowed her eyes and looked around; she didn't see any flies.

-

-

When Stiles had gone to get his wallet out of his backpack so he could buy his lunch, he definitely didn't expect the police to walk into the school. Many of the deputies were led by his dad, while some of the suited agents walking around were brought by Agent McCall. Even more shocking than the force's appearance was the reason for their visit.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Stiles rushed after Noah after being given a distracted response about why they were at the school. "The William Barrow? The shrapnel bomber? He was spotted nearby?"

Noah turned and stopped, giving the students who were on their lunch break and surrounded the hallways a nervous look. "A little closer than nearby, actually," he corrected Stiles, lowering his voice.

Agent McCall walked by them, the vice-principal at his side. "How do we get down to the basement? I need to know where every entrance is. I don't want anybody coming in or out of the school."

This was more serious than Stiles thought.

"Dad," he looked at his dad with wide eyes. "what's really going on here?"

It didn't take long to discover what was happening. Noah quickly explained that William Barrow had come into the hospital for surgery but had instead escaped. They followed him to the school and they were trying to find him before he ended up killing more people. The scariest part about William Barrow was the fact that he went after kids with glowing eyes.

That meant that Olivia, Scott, and Isaac were in trouble.

He quickly found his friends at the table in the cafeteria where he left them and ushed them out of the overcrowded room. Scott wasn't with them, but he told Olivia, Lydia, Isaac, and Allison what was going on and what—or who—William Barrow was after.

"Barrow went after kids with glowing eyes?" Isaac repeated in disbelief as the five of them wandered along an empty hallway on the second floor of the school. "He said those exact words?"

"Yeah," Stiles squeezed Olivia's hand, assuring himself that she was safe next to him. "and no one knows how he woke up from anesthesia. Just that when they opened him up, they found a tumor full of live flies—which, in any other circumstance, would be all kinds of awesome."

"Maggots coming from the body is a thing, but I've never heard of flies in the stomach," Olivia muttered thoughtfully.

Lydia stopped walking abruptly. "Did you say flies?"

The rest of them stopped with her.

"Lydia?" Allison prompted an explanation from the redhead.

"All day I have been hearing this sound," Lydia explained, pressing her lips together in frustration. "It's like this...buzzing..."

Olivia frowned in realization while Allison asked, "Like the sound of flies?"

That's why Lydia's tether lit up in econ, Olivia realized in dismay, her banshee powers were picking up Barrow at the school.

Lydia nodded grimly. "Exactly like the sound of flies."

It was quickly decided that they needed to split up and find Scott, since he was missing in action. With three floors to search, Allison and Isaac took the top, Lydia and Olivia took the second, and Stiles took the floor level. While they were trying to find Scott, they also had to avoid the police, who were doing their own search for Barrow.

Five minutes before the lunch period was over, Stiles found Scott outside of Mr. Yukimura's classroom. "Hey, dude, where the fuck have you been?"

Scott opened his mouth, but didn't get to answer, as Olivia and Lydia came storming up to them.

"The police are leaving," Lydia told them. "Why are they leaving?"

Scott winced in surprise. "The police?"

"They must have cleared the building and grounds, which means he's not here," Stiles told her.

Olivia shook her head in disagreement. "No, he has to be here," she insisted, her eyes traveling to her cousin. "Tell him, Lydia."

Stiles gave the redhead an expectant look.

"The sound, the buzzing I've been hearing? It's getting louder."

Stiles heart sank. "How loud?"

Olivia's eyes flashed purple. "Loud enough that I can hear it."

Yeah, okay, Stiles glanced between them, that's pretty loud.

Within minutes, Stiles found himself chasing his dad and Agent McCall—along with other deputies and FBI agents—to the parking lot. "Dad, Dad, you can't leave yet!"

"We got an eyewitness that puts Barrow by the train station," he dad explained.

"Let's go, Stilinski!"

Noah went to follow McCall, but Stiles stopped him.

"Dad, please...Lydia said that he's still here."

Noah's eyes widened slightly. "Did she see him?"

"Not exactly, no," Stiles grimaced; he hadn't exactly told him what Lydia was yet. "Well, not at all, actually. But she has a feeling. A supernatural feeling."

Noah turned his eyes away from Stiles in order to look at Olivia and Lydia, who had followed Stiles out of the school. While Lydia looked away, acting like she wasn't listening to their conversation, Olivia slapped on a sweet smile and waved at him.

He waved back at her and then looked back at Stiles. "Lydia wasn't on the chess board."

"She is now."

"Kanima?"

Why did his dad think everyone was a kanima? "Banshee."

"Oh, God."

"I know how it sounds, but basically, it means that she can sense when someone's close to death," Stiles explained rapidly. "And you know what Livvy is, okay, and she's got a bad feeling, too."

"Do these feelings tell them that I'm about to kill you?" Noah retorted, raising his eyebrows.

"I don't know," Stiles looked back at Olivia and Lydia, and this time, it was Lydia who waved at Noah.

"All right, look," Noah leveled him with a calm, yet stern, stare. "I'm not saying I don't believe, but right now, I'm going with eyewitness over banshee and anchoram. We're leaving the deputies here. The school's on lockdown till three o'clock. Nobody come in, nobody comes out. Buddy, that's the best I've got right now. That's the best I can give you."

"You're leaving me here," Stiles objected as Noah turned and ran away from him, joining McCall and his agents. "That is not—that is the worst!"

Betrayal, in its purest form. That's what he was feeling at the moment. How dare his dad just leave him here, ignoring his warning about Barrow? Why didn't he just drop him off at the firehouse when he was an infant? It was the same type of abandonment!

Okay, he was being dramatic, but still...

Well, finding William Barrow was up to them, now.

-

-

Olivia, Stiles, and Lydia met with Allison in an empty classroom. While Scott and Isaac, along with Ethan and Aiden, would search the basement and floor level, and Olivia, Lydia, and Stiles would search the upper levels, Allison would be sneaking out of school in order to go home and search through the Argent's bestiary for some kind of explanation on Barrow's stomach flies and ability to wake up from full-blown anesthesia.

"The bestiary is literally a thousand pages long," Allison stated as she opened one of the windows leading to outside. "if I'm going to find anything about flies coming out of people's bodies, it could take me all night."

"If you go to the find button in the word document, you should be able to search for flies," Olivia pointed out.

Lydia nodded in agreement. "And remember, the word in archaic Latin for fly is musca."

"Got it," Allison climbed out the window.

Lydia turned to Olivia and Stiles. "Where do we start?"

"Upstairs," Stiles answered. "Let's go."

An hour later, after searching the second floor for any sign of Barrow, they moved onto the third floor. The drawing room was the second room they searched on the floor, right after the room that was reserved for painting.

Olivia soon received a text message from Isaac, informing her that he and Scott were moving onto the floor level while Aiden and Ethan finished up the basement.

"Are they still in the basement?" Lydia asked her.

"Scott and Isaac moved on, but Ethan and Aiden are," Olivia answered, slipping her phone back into her bag. "The twins had to search the boiler room and then they're meeting up with Scott and Isaac."

"Fuck!" Stiles' sudden curse caught Olivia and Lydia's attention. "All the wolves, the majority of the students with glowing eyes are either in the basement or the first floor. An engineer could use a boiler room to blow up the whole fucking school."

Olivia cocked her head and disappeared into her mental map. There were no whispers warning her about her or her pack mates, no names floating through her head. Every tether on her map was safe, other than the slight pulsing from Peter and Derek's—which she assumed was because they were either still doing the alpha ritual or they were recovering from it. So, they were safe from Barrow, right?

But Lydia was still hearing that buzzing. She could hear it, too, if she dived into her cousin's tether. Barrow was still in the school, somewhere, but her powers weren't warning her about anything...

Why aren't there any warnings? She thought, almost frantically. William Barrow is here.

While lost in her head, Olivia missed the significant look that Lydia and Stiles shared. "We have to get them out," Stiles proclaimed. "We have to get everyone out."

"How do we do that?"

Like any other problem in their very problematic lives, Stiles had an answer. Within the next few minutes, he had pulled the fire alarm and was caught by Coach, who claimed that if he was younger, he would have punched him. He had also earned himself a week full of detention.

School ended while students piled out of the building for the drill, which meant that the lockdown was over. Olivia, Stiles, and Lydia joined Scott, Isaac, Ethan, and Aiden near the parking lot to see if they found any sign of Barrow.

"We didn't find anything," Aiden reported.

Scott nodded in agreement. "Not even a scent."

"It's three o'clock, so school's over," Stiles sighed. "If there was a bomb, wouldn't he have set it off by now?"

"I've got nothing," Olivia clenched her jaw, wishing that her abilities were giving her something to work with. "I'm not getting any warnings..."

Ethan raised his eyebrows. "Does that mean everybody's safe?"

"That's what she means," Isaac snapped at him in Olivia's defense. He then glanced at Lydia, thoughtfully. "but if you are hearing the flies..."

Lydia shook her head, just as lost as everyone else. "I don't know," she said sadly. "I just don't know."

-

Sirius knew that something was wrong with his girls. Lydia was hiding in her room and Olivia's face was snuggled into his fur as the two of them laid on her bed. The way her dog squirmed underneath her ear gave Olivia the hint that her anxiety was rubbing off on him. It made her feel bad; she rolled away from Sirius and onto her stomach, resting her chin on her forearms as her eyes landed on her boyfriend's figure across the room.

Stiles had opted to come over to her house instead of his, even though he would have been more comfortable in his house, with his own walls made up like a crime board. Even though Olivia had objected at first, it hadn't taken much coaxing for Stiles to convince her to allow him to set up a brand-new crime board on the large corkboard of her wall, which usually held pictures of her friends and family. She just couldn't resist the weirdo, especially when he pulled out four different balls of colored string—blue, yellow, green, and red—out of his backpack.

"Do you always keep those in there?" she had asked him. He had blinked back at her, almost innocently, and answered, "Yeah, why?"

So, now she watched the love of her life in his element; solving cases was what he was best at. Like her own personal, sexy Sherlock Holmes—she much preferred him to Benedict Cumberbatch.

"Okay, so green is solved, yellow is to-be-determined, and red is unsolved," Olivia hummed as Stiles pinned yet another piece of red string to connect a picture of William Barrow and one of the Eichen House. "What does blue mean?"

There were about three pieces of blue string that hadn't made much sense to her. The rest, she could somewhat follow.

"Blue is pretty," Stiles turned and winked at her. Her heart warmed, remembering the last time he told her that—his favorite color was blue, like her eyes.

"Well, yeah," she smiled as he sauntered over to her, plopping down onto the bed beside her. Sirius scurried off the bed, unnerved by the bounciness of the mattress. "but what does it mean in term of the investigation?"

"Nothing really," Stiles admitted. He leaned closer to her and brushed his lips on her forehead, just above her right eyebrow; her heart started racing. "It's different for each crime board. Today, it's the same as red."

Olivia pressed her lips against his, pulling back quickly. "You only have red on the board."

"Yes," Stiles rolled his eyes and laid on his back with a sigh. "I'm aware of that, thanks, baby."

Olivia shuffled closer to him and shifted so half of her body leaned against his. "I don't get it," she admitted, resting her chin on his chest as she studied his face. "Lydia felt Barrow at the school. And I did, too, it's just...I feel like my powers weren't working."

Stiles frowned and brushed his thumbs over her flushed cheeks. "What do you mean?"

"The tethers, none of them were giving any hint of trouble. When I looked at them, I knew that everyone in the pack was safe. Yet, when I dived into Lydia's, I could hear the flies buzzing. Just like her," she sighed in frustration. "It's so contradicting, it's maddening. And we didn't even find any physical proof of Barrow being there."

"Livvy, you've been right about this kind of stuff before. So has Lydia," Stiles comforted her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders to pull her closer against him. "and maybe the fact that you weren't feeling anything and Lydia was is a hint."

"What do you mean?"

"You know if your pack members are in trouble...What if someone who's not in the pack is who Barrow was after?"

Olivia cocked her head thoughtfully. "That makes sense," she mused. "but still, if he was at the school, the wolves didn't scent him."

"What if he didn't smell like himself? What if he changed his scent somehow?" Stiles bounced another idea off of her. "I mean, you said yourself that Lydia was right. Barrow was there. What if he, fuck, what if he changed into someone's gym clothes. Or he used some girl's perfume...What if he—"

Olivia sat up, her eyes widening in realization. "The chemistry lab. He could use chemicals to completely hide his scent. If they were strong enough, it'd be like he never stepped foot into the school."

Stiles grinned widely at her. "We are geniuses," he pecked her on the lips and then patted her butt. "Get Lydia. We need to go to the school."

-

Since Mr. Harris' tragic death, there hadn't been a science department head. If he was still alive, getting into the large closet of the school's chemicals would be infinitely harder because Harris was known to stay late after school. Now, though, with Stiles' lock-picking skills, it was easy to break into the senior chemistry lab where the closet was located.

Now, Mr. Harris was a dick, but he was the only science teacher who knew what he was doing at Beacon Hills High School. With science being Olivia's favorite subject, he had been her favorite teacher, of sorts—she purely respected him for his knowledge, not his attitude. For the first time since his death, Olivia didn't mind that he was gone.

Yeah, she knew how horrible that sounded. Ultimately, though, Mr. Harris had helped Kate Argent set the Hale house on fire—who went around telling random women ways to get away with arson? —and the fire led to most of the things that had gone wrong in her life.

"So, what are we looking for?" Lydia asked as they entered the room. Though Stiles and Olivia had brought her up to speed on why they were going to the school, some of the details were still kind of lost on her. She watched as Olivia frowned at the chemical closet and opened it, the key already in the doorknob. "That's supposed to be locked."

"Yeah, exactly," Stiles muttered, walking into the closet. "Notice anything else?"

Lydia inhaled and studied the closet. "It smells like chemicals," she realized. "You guys were right, they wouldn't have been able to catch his scent."

Olivia hummed and pulled out her phone, turning on its flashlight and pointing it at the floor. The three of them flinched when they saw the small puddle of blood on the floor; Stiles even got a little green around the gills, which wasn't surprising due to his slight fear of blood.

"Gross," he groaned quietly. "He was here, preforming very minor surgery on himself."

"Lydia, you were right," Olivia reached for her cousin's hand, squeezing it lightly. "Your instincts were right."

"Then why don't I feel good about this?"

"Probably because he was here to kill somebody."

"Kids with glowing eyes," Olivia mused. "but they're not part of the pack. Which narrows it down it down to..."

Lydia shrugged. "I have no idea."

"We gotta figure it out," Stiles decided. "Spread out, start looking for anything."

The girls did as he said, leaving the chemical closet. While Stiles started on one side of the classroom, looking through some of the lab tables, Lydia walked toward the teacher's desk, and Olivia searched some of the cabinets that held the lab equipment.

"Lydia," Stiles noticed that Lydia drifted toward the chalk board absentmindedly and saw that she was staring at a set of three numbers. "what are those?"

19. 53. 88.

"Atomic numbers," Lydia answered as he and Olivia moved to her side.

"Is it a formula?"

"No," it was Olivia who spoke this time. "Nineteen's Potassium. Fifty-three is Iodine. Eighty-eight is Radium. The first two make Potassium Iodide."

Olivia picked up a piece of chalk and started writing the atomic symbols next to their corresponding numbers.

19��K

"Potassium is K?" Stiles interrupted her writing.

Olivia nodded. "From Kalium, the scientific neo-Latin name."

53—I

"What's Radium?"

88—RA

"RA."

KIRA.

"Kira," Olivia breathed, her heart starting to race. "That's why none of the tethers were giving me anything."

"Guys," Lydia spoke up, giving them a horrified look. "Scott went to Kira's house for dinner."

-

When they got to Kira's house, Scott was knocked out, laying on the street next to his bike. Kira was no where to be found and when Stiles was finally able to wake Scott, he confirmed their suspicions.

"Barrow, he took Kira!" he exclaimed breathlessly as Stiles and Lydia helped him to his feet.

"We know. He was after her the whole time," Stiles patted him on the back. He glanced at Olivia, who had been talking to Isaac on the phone to see if he and Allison found anything in the bestiary. "What'd he say?"

"They didn't find anything," she reported, ending the call. "Just some stuff about flies and the dead. Nothing else."

"Well, we have to think of something," Scott said nervously. "He's going to kill her."

"I knew he was there," Lydia's voice deepened when it shook from the anxiety she was feeling. "How did I know that?"

"You heard the flies," Stiles said. "What do you hear now?"

Lydia was silent for a moment, listening, before she shook her head. "Nothing," she scoffed, disappointed in herself. "I feel like I can do this. But I don't know what to do. It's like it's on the tip of my tongue, and I don't know how to trigger it. I just—I sweat to God, it literally makes me want to scream."

Screaming, the most known way of communication from a banshee. "Then scream, Lydia," Olivia urged her. "Scream."

The scream that burst from Lydia's lips was the loudest any of them had been yet. While Olivia covered her ears and flinched back, she mused that it might have been because it was the first time Lydia was actually cooperating with her abilities. Despite the pain that being a banshee could bring her cousin, she was proud of Lydia for using her powers for good.

Lydia's tether flared and shook, but it held strong. Lydia was strong.

A full minute later, Lydia's screamed died down. The redhead didn't move, still turned away from Olivia, Stiles, and Scott. A noise caught her attention, the buzzing noise. She followed it, looking up at the streetlight hanging above her. She quickly turned around, causing Stiles to flinch.

"It's not flies," she told them. "it's electricity."

As Scott looked up at the light, Stiles twisted his lips. "Wait a second," he thought aloud. "Barrow was an electrical engineer. He worked at a power substation."

"What substation?"

He squinted, trying to remember the information from some of the papers he pinned to the crime board in Olivia's room. "The one by the Iron Works."

-

Scott drove ahead of them on his bike, arriving at the power substation in the Iron works couple minutes before Olivia pulled up with Stiles and Lydia in her car. Scott had already run into the building and Stiles was jumping out of his seat the second Olivia shifted into park.

"Okay, wait here," he told Olivia and Lydia. "Just wait for the cops to come."

"Stiles, I'm coming with you—"

Stiles cut Olivia off before she could protest more. "I have only one bat, Livvy. Please, please just wait."

Olivia felt her heart starting to ache from the panic pumping through her. "Stiles, if you die, I'll kill you."

Stiles only winked at her before running off into the building. Lydia climbed into the passenger seat while they waited, tightly squeezing her hand. It wasn't long before Scott's red tether was pulsing painfully and seconds later, Stiles' and Isaac's started up, too.

Scott, Stiles, Isaac...Scott, Scott, Scott...Isaac, Isaac, Isaac...Stiles, Stiles, Stiles...

There was an explosion; bright lights came from the inside of the substation and then everything went black.

"SCOTT? ISAAC? STILES?"

(Gif is not mine)

[songfell-ut]

Chapter 9 is done, urgh

This one was quite the exercise in rewriting All The Phrasing. Stoopid fortunes. I ended up splitting it off again. Here it is! Hi, @lostmypotatoes! Next one very soon!

Sans and Frisk did not have a slumber party that night.

No, once they returned from the festival and she finished telling Sans exactly what she thought of his behavior, Frisk sent him to his room, then went to the office and stayed there. Not on the couch: she sat down at her desk to make a few notes while the fortunes were still fresh in her mind. By the time she was done, it was after dawn, her hand was one solid cramp, she'd lost all feeling in her rear, and she had filled up five sheets of paper.

Regarding the child – the one from her nightmares – there wasn't much to write, just key phrases that she suspected would be more intelligible when she'd tracked down the man who spoke in hands. Would Sans have mentioned it if he knew some way in which he didn't belong here? It could simply be his stay in the castle, but it felt bigger than that. She'd had nightmares about that horrible child throughout her entire life, and it had never wanted her to do anything before; had it known she'd meet him, and would its "business" be finished if she killed him?

For now, it was all morbid conjecture. She'd put it aside until she could talk to Sans without wanting to pull his arm off and slap him with it.

So. If she didn't open the box, her life would be adequate. There was a lot to be said for adequacy. Her children would have wealthy, loving parents, and never suffer from hunger, loneliness, beatings—the kind of pain that was all behind her now, the same way a loaded wagon is behind the horse pulling it. Staying busy with her lessons in the strict, orderly convent and then her duties as High Priestess had kept Frisk going, preventing her from having to look over her shoulder. Would marrying Luke keep it that way?

She had gone years without really thinking of her life before St. Brigid's, except for fleeting apprehensions about having to explain the scars to her future husband. Why in God's name would she want to dig that up in the course of remembering something even worse?

By definition, she didn't know the exact contents of the rosewood box. She just knew that when she was about thirteen, one of her teachers had finally explained to Frisk why she couldn't recall anything between her tenth birthday and her second month at the convent: "We could do nothing with you when you first arrived. No food, no rest, just tears and 'Take me back, please' for weeks on end," Sister Clair had told her, almost accusingly. "Your father came to see you for himself, and he was so distraught that he gave the Mother Superior his blessing to do whatever she thought needful."

Frisk had always accepted that the sisters knew best; her father's influence had probably been a factor, but it wouldn't have pushed them to take such a drastic step if it hadn't been absolutely necessary. She herself had done her fair share of comforting frightened or homesick new arrivals, and no matter how distressed they were, none of them had had their memories removed.

She also had come to terms with her father returning home from his visit without her. Her first solid recollection at the convent was of the Mother Superior taking her aside to tell her exactly who her father was, ensuring she understood why he hadn't been a more direct part of her life and why she would be staying here from now on. Accustomed to receiving girls born out of wedlock, the Mother had emphasized how lucky Frisk was that her father had come forward – discreetly – to acknowledge her and pay for her education, and that he would ensure she had everything she needed from then on. Even as a child, Frisk had appreciated how superior the convent was to her prior circumstances, and agreed that she was fine at St. Brigid's.

The only mystery to Frisk was why she had initially been so desperate to leave. She couldn't have been crying for her father; she'd always been told that he was dead, and never thought to question it. Frisk had seen over and over again that mistreated children never wanted to leave their parents, no matter how awful they were, but her mother had only visited her every few months throughout her early life, and once Frisk realized that Mama was never going to keep her promise to take her with her, Frisk had grown to hate seeing her. She hadn't been attached to anyone at the group home where she'd stayed as a very little girl, and when she was old enough to work in the castle kitchens, her only goal had been to avoid being noticed. What had she wanted so badly?

Since Sans had arrived, she had been more and more tempted to try something stupid and just crack the orb or chip off a few figuratively bite-sized pieces. But that wasn't how the magic worked, was it? The sisters had been very specific on how to take the memories back if she so chose, and her fortune had also made it clear that this was an all-or-nothing proposition. She would fully open the box and reclaim the contents, or throw them away for good, no peeking allowed.

At that point, Frisk almost stopped writing and tossed her notes into the fireplace. What was she doing? Why wouldn't she choose a long life with a respectable husband and four children? True, her efforts to free monsters from slavery wouldn't work, but that didn't mean she'd be totally useless. Besides helping humans – always a full-time job – there was still plenty she could do for monsters in captivity, and she'd lay the groundwork for others to finish what she'd started. After centuries of hatred and mistrust, it made sense that humanity wasn't ready yet to accept monsters as equals; she couldn't change the entire world on her own, so—

Except that she could. She could change the world for the better if she worked hard enough to achieve her goal, which she knew in her bones to be humans and monsters living in peace. But how could her lost memories possibly be the one thing that made the difference? And if they were, how was she supposed to deal with that much pain, knowing it would also affect at least one other person?

...But what about the joy, the love, the power, also to be shared? What about the child she'd bear in time for next year's All Souls festival?

That was another worry: the ferryman had said "your husband" for the first future, but "your child's father" in the second. That didn't seem accidental. Frisk knew herself, and she had no idea what would induce her to conceive a child with someone she wouldn't or couldn't marry, no matter how attractive he was or how lonely she might be. With her own morals and her mother's example to go on, she'd sooner die than let a married man near her, and she'd kill him if she found out after the fact!

Surely the fortune-teller would've mentioned the child resulting from violence or coercion? Its wry tone had implied that the father would be unable to talk her out of going to the festival, not that she'd escape from his clutches, which also eliminated the possibility of one night with someone she'd never see again or a man who would die before the baby was born.

So, in summary, she would have little triumphs, large regrets, old age, a decent husband, money, kids, in-laws, and grandkids. Very simple.

...Granted, it...didn't sound quite like the life she'd always craved, with joy and love, real parents, a huge family, and monsters freed in her lifetime, not to mention a man she loved enough to have his illegitimate child...and maybe Frisk could see Luke assuring her with a straight face that he'd "take an interest in her happiness," and maybe it was already making her cringe. Maybe she was already wealthy enough to marry anyone she wanted. Maybe she intended to keep working hard enough that, when she thought it over, she found she would much rather have one child than divide her attention between four who could very well end up being raised by servants. Maybe all these things were true.

...What was she trying to say again?

Right. Maybe all these things were true. There was still no avoiding the fact that she'd be exchanging a life of peace and stability for every bit of the heartbreak that had nearly killed her as a child, and somehow also share it with someone else. Was she stupid enough to open the box anyway out of curiosity, like the woman in the fable?

A treacherous little voice whispered in reply: Are you selfish enough to keep monsters enslaved because you're afraid of being hurt?

Frisk shoved the papers into a drawer and eased out of her chair, shaking her hand vigorously as the sun peeped in through the high window. It'd be time for breakfast soon. She wouldn't take Sans to pieces; she'd let him sleep in, then have him experiment with the alfalfa mixtures while she napped, though they'd need fresh seedlings before he could really get started. The supplies she had already ordered should be arriving this afternoon, which would enable them to try even more—

Sans was not sleeping. Sans was sitting in the middle of the workroom floor with no clothes on. He was holding a book up over his head and squinting at the words as though he'd never seen letters before, and gave a very elongated "Heyyyy" when he heard the door open.

Frisk stopped dead. "Hey," she responded. "What are you doing, Sans?"

"Wheeee," the skeleton said, and demonstrated by falling onto his back. The book stayed up, and his legs fell every which way, one bumping into a chair pulled away from the worktable and the other almost hitting the bedroom door. "'s hot in here," he explained, pointing at the ceiling.

Frisk looked at the ceiling, then at the windows. They were all wide open, and the workroom was freezing. She had the completely irrational urge to cover her eyes, and compromised by turning her back and heading to the windows. "We're going to pretend that it's not hot in here," she said carefully. What on earth was wrong with him?

In the time it took for her to shut one window and place her hand on the latch, Sans had appeared inches away. One enormous phalange wobbled its way up to push her hand aside. "No, 's hot," he explained.

The priestess was equal parts annoyed and concerned now, especially when he teetered against the wall. "Sans, if I did not know better, I would say you were drunk. Have you been mixing things without telling me?" She eased away from him, just in case.

The skeleton seemed to take umbrage: his eyes lit up. "Ya don' know better. I am absolutely drunk!" Just as quickly, his sockets were blank. He peered at the tiny-looking book in his hand and turned it to her, tapping a random word. "How d'ya say this? It's human. How do you human. Please."

Frisk eased back a little more, trying not to look at his pelvis, which was far too close to her eye level. "That's the word 'the,' Sans. If that's not the one you mean, I will have to ask you to be more specific." Should she make a break for the bedroom, or just put up a barrier while she had the chance?

Sans laughed. "Damn, yer cute! Lessee." He dropped the book and continued trying to flip pages in midair. A moment later, he realized his mistake, scowled, and lifted the book on a wisp of red. "Hold on. 's tryin' ta get away." Even the magic had trouble staying steady, she noted uneasily.

Someone knocked on the double doors, and Frisk heaved a sigh of relief. "You can find the word while I answer that, all right?" She lifted a foot to step around him.

Unbelievably quick, Sans sat down, extended a hand, and caught her around the middle in a loose, ironclad grip. Across the workroom, the bar on the doors glowed red and lifted; the doors swung open. "There," said the boss monster, tugging her closer and frowning at the book. "Who's what y'want?"

It was Dr. Serif, who stopped on the threshold, raised an eyebrow as high as it would go, and closed the doors behind him. "Good morning?" he inquired.

"Hands," the skeleton replied, still searching the pages for that errant word.

The priestess was still trying to comprehend what was happening. Was this some kind of bizarre prank, or a distraction from talking about last night? The longer he held on, the less likely either possibility seemed—he was too calm and too comfortable, as if this was something he was doing simply because he wanted to do it.

Here they were, then. With Sans seated and her standing, the giant skeleton could fold his arm and hold Frisk against him like a child cuddling a teddy bear, fingers spread across her upper legs and torso, her shoulders resting on his clavicle. This wasn't quite as scary as the last time he'd grabbed her, but...

Frisk tested his grip and was unsurprised to find that, though his phalanges were angled not to dig into her, they were about as movable as solid rock. "We're having a very interesting morning," she said to Dr. Serif, and mouthed Help!

"I can see that," said the doctor, who gestured for her not to move, then came forward a few steps. Sans' head swiveled, eyes fully lit, and the royal sorcerer turned his next step into a half bow. "I am glad to hear that you had a good time at the festival last night, my lady. Rumors are brewing about a woman with a highly interesting fortune who was called 'Your Eminence,' but no one is willing to swear that it was you."

That sounded like one problem too many. "Good" was all she could think to say.

"I can't find it," complained Sans. He tossed the book out the window. "Gimme another one, pl's."

"You can have it later," Frisk said acidly. That was her old science textbook from the convent, with her notes and doodles in the margins!

"Sans," said the doctor, "where are your clothes?"

The skeleton blinked at him, sockets still wide orange. "Off," he said, as though the sorcerer was being stupid.

"Of course. How silly of me." Dr. Serif bowed vigorously, letting the motion carry him forward. "Tell me, what did you have to drink at the festival?"

"This asshole was comin' onta her." The skeleton's now-free hand patted Frisk very lightly on the head. Despite her irritation, the priestess couldn't help smiling. "I hit 'im with cider," said Sans. "Damn good cider. 'sat why those people were goin' at it, Frisk?" he asked curiously.

The priestess was no longer smiling. "Sans intervened on my behalf when a man wouldn't leave me alone," she explained to the straight-faced doctor. "We tried some apple cider—why can I still smell it on you, Sans? And yes, we saw a couple who couldn't wait until they found somewhere private. I have no idea what they'd been drinking, but it wasn't what we were having."

"Hmmm." Dr. Serif watched Sans, who was examining the back of Frisk's head, then produced a scroll from his robe pocket. "The monster Snowdrake has been confiscated from his owners, effective immediately. I've brought the paperwork for you to take official custody, my lady. He will be here once the captain of the guards has finished questioning him."

Sans started. Frisk tugged at the skeleton's enormous metacarpals. "Let me go, Sans, please."

Very reluctantly, his hand uncurled to let her wriggle free. Trust the doctor to be a step ahead of everyone, she thought as she accepted the scroll, unaware that Sans was staring fixedly at him. The priestess smoothed out the papers on the worktable and began skimming through it.

Sans turned around so that he stretch out on the floor lengthwise. The doctor wrinkled his nose at the colossal skeleton, then peered over Frisk's shoulder as she came to several blank lines for an address. "Where is that, my lady?" he asked as she began writing.

"It's a house I own on the edge of the city. I've been renting it out, but the current tenants have already moved for the winter, so I'm putting it down as Snowdrake's official residence."

"Well done." Dr. Serif glanced at Sans, then suddenly flicked his fingers across Frisk's back. "Forgive me, Your Eminence," he said as she jumped, "there was a spider. We'll have to have your rooms cleaned soon."

The High Priestess scratched her back, gave him a terse nod, and went back to the scroll, moving away from him.

Sans was on his feet. He said to Frisk, "'Scuse us, kitten," then grabbed the doctor and vanished.

She wondered why he was so upset, and why he'd teleported Dr. Serif just a few feet away into the office. Well, at least he'd let go of her without a fight. Should she check on him to be sure he wouldn't hurt the doctor?

After a moment, she shook her head. She'd have to let them hash it out. What was the worst that could happen?

 ~

 The moment they reached the office, Gaster dropped his disguise, summoned six extra hands, and gripped the boss monster's arms before Sans could dismember him. "Easy, now," the older skeleton cautioned him. "Don't disrupt Her Eminence any more than you already have."

"Oh yeah? 'll disrupt yer fuckin'—"

Smack. "Hold still," the doctor rasped, and Sans jerked convulsively as a hand gripped the back of his skull. A moment later, the hand disappeared and left Sans with his eyes shut tight. "Can you think now, insofar as you are capable of it?" snapped Gaster.

Sans blinked at the hands grasping his arms. They disappeared, too, and Sans looked down at himself. "What." He twisted around to look at his backside. "The hell are my clothes? What'd ya do?"

"I sped up the metabolism of the ethanol molecules that were causing you to lose track of your clothing and treat the High Priestess like a toddler with his favorite toy. In short, you were drunk, and you no longer are. Would you care to tell me how much alcohol it took to inebriate someone your size so many hours after the fact, and how you did so without the lady knowing?"

Sans had gone red. "All I had last night was turkey an' cider!" he protested. "She wouldn't let me try anythin' else! She had the exact same stuff, 'n she didn't get plastered!"

The older skeleton regarded him with narrowed eyes, which was extremely creepy. It made Sans think of Frisk's first question, the one about the child from her nightmares—had Frisk been talking about him? If so, then how did he not belong here? Did the kid's unfinished business with him involve murder? Why?

Why should they beware the man who spoke in hands?

Gaster started to speak, and Sans cut him off: "Were you tryin' ta piss me off back there? Are ya after Frisk, or d'you just wanna screw with me? Whaddya want?"

"To help," the doctor said calmly.

Sans sat down with a mighty thmp. "Ta help. Of course. Why didn't I realize that already?" He tapped his phalanges on the carpet. "Who are you helpin', besides yerself?"

"That is a very large question." Gaster also sat down, on the edge of the desk. "My most immediate goal since Frisk became High Priestess has been to aid her in restoring peace between monsters and humans. The longer I have worked with her, the more I find that, frankly, I like her, and I would like her to be happy if possible." No sooner had the words left him than a hand sprang up in front of Sans, who was already fully aglow. The hand held up a finger long enough for Gaster to add, "Which is to say, I admire her caring heart, her singing voice, her magical prowess...her determination. Would you agree?"

Sans' eyes felt ready to burn clean through his skull. Frisk would get even more upset with him if her office was destroyed, so he tried to say something civil, or at least something okay, or something that wouldn't get him smacked again. But he couldn't.

The hand waggled again, then vanished. "Everything I say and do is for one ultimate purpose, my boy: to gather data. I can help no one if I have insufficient information. Take you, for example." The older skeleton folded an extra set of hands in the air over his lap, like a lecturer settling in at the start of class. "Since the High Priestess made you her apprentice, I have considered your intractability to be an impediment to her plan. I ensured that she had a means of preventing your escape, and I have been monitoring your relationship to see if you were developing any kind of rapport. Now that you have, though, you have become a very different sort of problem."

The boss monster was still at a loss. Gaster was quiet, but it didn't feel as if he was trying to antagonize him again; this seemed more careful, almost sad, thought Sans. "In that respect, I have all the data I need," the doctor said. "I assure you that I have no personal designs on Her Eminence, and I will not imply anything further to that effect." He was looking through Sans now, almost talking to himself. "The more I resolve to be of use, the more difficult it becomes to discern where usefulness ends and interference begins. I am more inclined to let matters go where they will from here on, especially after the advice Her Eminence received last night. But..." The slashes on Gaster's face deepened. "It cannot hurt to exchange information. For example, did you notice that the 'ferryman' is a monster?"

"I..." Sans got his thoughts back in order, contemplated the fortune-teller and his cat-shaped table, and found himself nodding slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I kinda did. He didn't seem very human."

Gaster chuckled. "It's strange how these things work. Where I come from, he is the ferryman in the Underground."

"Where you come from?" A chill crept down Sans' spine. He tried to force a laugh. "We just have a coupla Royal Guards runnin' our ferry. Wha, is there more'n one Underground 'round here?"

"No. There is not." The smile faded. "Now, my turn. None of the people who heard Frisk's fortunes told were listening closely to her first question, or the answer. What exactly were they?"

Sans still had that prickly feeling, like someone had held a door open too long and he'd glimpsed something he couldn't unsee. He probably shouldn't tell the man who speaks in hands that they were supposed to beware of him, should he? "Yeah, she asked about something from her nightmares that wanted her to hurt somebody. He said it's a child who wants Frisk to kill someone who doesn't belong here, something about it having 'unfinished business,' and that Frisk was its connection."

The doctor waited patiently as Sans hesitated. "I'm pretty much positive she meant me," the boss monster continued. "I saw the kid once, and I could tell it hates my guts." The boss monster took a moment to indicate that he didn't have guts, ha ha, but Gaster was unamused. "So that means I don't belong here, and some freaky little ghost wants Frisk t'finish me off? I guess? Any chance ya know what any of that means?" He scratched his patella, wondering if it was his imagination or if his body was feeling a little more touch-sensitive than usual, like his human self.

Come to think of it, he could sort of smell the air in here, though it wasn't as strong as any of the ones he'd encountered at the festival. And now he could vaguely remember Frisk being right up against him a minute ago, and that her hair had smelled like...a smell. All he knew was that he had liked it, and letting her go had sucked.

...Crap. What were they talking about again?

"I see," murmured Gaster. He looked down at his extra hands. "Forgive me if this sounds dramatic, or if it's very personal, but have you ever felt especially out of place, or dreamed vividly of things that you are sure never happened to you?"

It was more than a chill this time. "Yeah, but I figured everybody feels like that sometimes. I've had the same nightmares my whole damn life, over and over. They stopped when I came here and started sleepin' inside her barrier. So..." He scowled, trying to cover his fear. "Somethin' is makin' us both see things? Is that it?" He suddenly sprang to his feet. "Is that why I used ta dream about ya? Are you behind all this shit?!"

Two skeletal hands flew at him and stopped just short of his eye sockets. Sans froze, feeling sick and cold inside as he stared through the holes in the palms. Those hands, coming at him—

Gaster gave a long, tired, defeated sigh. "Data. I am sorry, Sans. This will be very unpleasant, but I need to know if it is familiar to you. Hold still, please."

Before the boss monster could react, a third hand dropped onto the top of his skull and—

 ~

 It was cold. Dark, darker, yet darker.

Papyrus wasn't moving. Sans struggled out of the restraints, threw himself onto the tiles and screamed at his brother, trying to shake the little skeleton awake, but pieces were already flaking off. Helpless tears streamed from Sans' sockets, soaking the dust into pink mud.

"Messy."

Sans whirled around, choking with grief and rage. He'd always promised himself he would kill the bastard before he let him hurt Pap! Why hadn't he—

Hands smashed into his spine, his ribs, and one square over his face, the palm large enough for both his sockets to see out through the hole. "I never could fix that design flaw," their creator said in distaste, poking at the red streaking Sans' cheekbones. "Strange...I always thought you'd break first. Ah, well." A philosophical sigh. "Now, the question of whether to finish with you and create a better set, or try a fresh copy of that one first. What do you think, Sans?"

There was a deep sound from behind Dr. Gaster, almost a snarl. It was Gaster's turn to whip around, his face contorted in surprise and every one of his hands flung up to defend himself. A flash of light, searing pain—

Footsteps. A dark figure bent over him. Sans whimpered as Gaster loomed back into his field of view. He should have known better than to hope he was dead!

But...Gaster seemed different, almost another person—paler, the cracks in his face more shallow and less splintered than the ones Sans had stared down his whole life. The hand that rested on Sans' forehead was...gentle? "I am so sorry, child," the scientist said quietly. "Forgive me."

Sans couldn't answer. He felt as if his bones were getting softer, his body lighter. When Gaster sighed, Sans watched tiny bits of himself blow away in the puff of breath. It was almost a relief to feel his SOUL flicker out like a candle and finally die.

 ~

 Sans clawed his way back to consciousness, sitting up so hard that he nearly banged his head on the desk. He looked around, but there was no laboratory equipment, no tile floors or piles of murky dust, just the desk in her office.

Frisk's office. He was here. He wasn't dead, Pap wasn't dead, Gaster wasn't—

"Please do not move."

The boss monster froze in place. "Now, tell me," the doctor said, shutting the door. "Have you had that nightmare before?"

Sans nodded imperceptibly. "Yeah. Long...a long time ago." He couldn't stop shaking.

He flinched as Gaster patted his shoulder blade. "Please don't be frightened, Sans. It was only a dream. I have never hurt you or your brother, and I have no intention of ever doing so." A black coat drifted past Sans' peripheral vision as the royal sorcerer went behind the desk. "To answer your last question, no, I have not sent any of your nightmares, or hers. As I said, I am here to acquire information. I try to avoid collateral damage in the pursuit thereof, but it is not always possible. For that, I sincerely apologize. I've asked Frisk for her help in calming you down."

Sure enough, a sound was coming through the door behind him. It was faint, but as Sans listened, he recognized her humming a slow, sweet little song. Out of her entire repertoire, that one was probably his favorite; he hadn't heard it in so long that he'd been on the verge of swallowing his pride and asking her to do it again. Had Gaster requested that one specifically, or did she know?

Gaster watched the tension fade from the boss monster's massive frame, and the smallest movements of his skull as he bobbed his head along. The doctor examined the center of Sans' chest, his eyes going very wide. Sans was too mellow to ask what he was looking at...probably his SOUL. Eh, whatever.

Presently, the royal sorcerer said, "Snowdrake should be en route now. Her Eminence is still checking that the papers are in order, as well as the deposit she will have to put down until the Church finds another buyer for him." A dry chuckle. "If I know Frisk, Snowdrake will not be sold again. In the unlikely event that someone discovers she's lost track of him, she will be rebuked and lose her deposit, and that will be all."

Sans moved his shoulder back. "She's not gonna get fired or locked up?"

"They wouldn't dare. Not for her first offense, and not for neglecting a single low-ranked monster. Our High Priestess is protected by very powerful connections."

That word took Sans right back to the child from her nightmares. "Why'd you show me that horrible thing with me 'n Pap, and how? I didn't see the ghost kid anywhere. Is the little psycho mad about that dream 'cause it wanted ta kill me first? What the hell is it, anyway?"

"One thing at a time, please. Overall, you may be on the right track, but that's a matter I would rather discuss with Frisk. I—"

"Quit callin' 'er by name. I thought you weren't gonna pull that crap anymore."

Gaster merely smiled. "If you'll bear with me for a moment, the best answer I can give you is that the mind is a terrifyingly powerful thing." Sans bit back his impatience as the doctor settled himself again. "When someone has suffered greatly, especially early in life, it is natural to try to move past those experiences as quickly as possible. But if the mind is active, intelligent, and magically gifted, failure to properly acknowledge these experiences can backfire very badly. Inner demons may become reality, or outside forces with malevolent intent take notice, or both."

"Geez." Sans rubbed the corners of his eyes, wondering where the hanky was. "Yeah, that'd explain why I never got any sleep before I shacked up with someone who could block 'em for me."

A beat of cold silence. "I am not talking about you."

The giant skeleton paused mid-rub. "Ya mean—"

"Most people in a great deal of pain will express it as destructive behavior toward themselves or others. It takes remarkable determination to turn that negativity into the drive to protect other people, rather than lashing out." The doctor shook his head. "I am impressed that she has not seen anything worse than the specter of an evil child. The fact that it can be stopped with a barrier suggests it is primarily external in nature, and her recognizing its intent without acting upon it is also a good sign."

Sans winced. "So, is she seeing it 'cause she's mad at me? Am I in any actual danger?"

Gaster laced his fingers together. "Its power and its ability to work through her will depend both on her intrinsic strength and the energy she has left after dealing with other problems—say, a protege who interrupts an expensive fortune-teller with crude questions in front of dozens of people, and then says 'See you next year' as she tries to get him away."

At this point, Sans would have been surprised if word of that incident hadn't gotten around. "Ya think she's still mad at me?" he asked sheepishly.

"I am not her, so I cannot say for certain, but I can ask you whether you've apologized yet."

"I didn't get a chance! She reamed me out 'n made me go straight t'bed!"

"After which you were drunk this morning, which I still do not understand, and during which you took sizable liberties." A hand popped up to rap Sans on the skull. "At the risk of interfering further, I strongly advise you to ask yourself whether you want to be a friend or a problem."

Sans digested this in silence. The royal sorcerer glanced at the door. "We have a few more minutes. I'd like to ask you a few more questions—nothing terrible, just some odds and ends I've wanted to discuss for some time now. You may do the same."

The boss monster thought it over for a moment. "What's everyone sayin' about her second fortune, the one with the box?"

"Your turn is already over." Two more hands appeared over Gaster's head, one holding a pen and the other a small notepad. "Now, you were a normal skeleton for most of your life, correct? And Papyrus remains as he was?" The hand with the pen swooped down and tapped on Sans' upper leftmost fang, then the top of his skull. "Hm. Intact. How interesting."

Sans swatted at the hand, which evaded him as nimbly as a bug and swooped back up to scratch something on the notepad. "Yeah, Pap's still Pap, and I wasn't born a big ol' freak. Don't ask how that happened, 'cause I don't wanna talk about it."

"Fair enough. Tell me, Sans, do you or have you ever smoked?"

"Smoked? From where?"

The doctor laughed. "I'll take that as a no." Scritch, scritch went the pen. "Do you have a predilection for violence? If so, is it against other monsters, humans, or both?"

"Uh...yes? Humans?"

"I see." Scriscritch. "What is your favorite food? Do you prefer any condiments in particular?"

"My favorite food's whatever I can eat! Haven't you heard what's happenin' in the Underground? Where the hell are you from, exactly?"

Gaster tsked. "In that vein, have any monsters besides yourself become more violent than usual?"

"Not...really. Undyne's more psycho than ever, but I think that's just her."

"Is the situation such that anyone has contemplated resorting to cannibalism?"

"Hell no! Don't even joke about that!"

"I am not joking, Sans. Has the Underground seen a marked increase in sexual activity?"

Great, now he was baffled and embarrassed. "Weren't you listening? There's no damn food! Why would anybody want to have kids right now?"

"A valid point, but to your knowledge, have any of the monsters been engaging in indiscriminate, non-procreative sexual activities?"

"Wha—why the fuck would I know that?!"

That earned him another smack on the head, though not very hard. "Language." Scriscritch. "Now, please be honest. Have you ever contemplated keeping a human as a pet? If so, do you believe you would treat her well, or would you—"

"That does it!" Sans lurched to his feet, eyes and face blazing. "I dunno what kinda sick fantasies ya got goin', buddy, but I'm not gonna play along!"

The royal sorcerer held up his hands, and the extras holding the pen and notepad vanished. "Let's move on, then. Tell me whether this is correct: the second fortune explained the consequences of Her Eminence either opening or disposing of a box. One result is a very dull and safe future, while the other would be shorter and more painful, but ultimately much more fulfilling. Yes?"

Sans sat back down, poking at a scuff mark on the carpet. "Yeah, that's pretty much it."

"Unsurprisingly, many people are fixated on the latter possibility, because it would result in the High Priestess – if it is her, of course, which no one will say for certain, though they're certainly saying it – having a child by this time next year." One side of Gaster's mouth lifted. "It is a very popular misconception that human gestation lasts nine months, but in reality, medical experts consider a full-term pregnancy to be roughly forty weeks, or ten months. I will not contribute any sordid conjectures to the narrative, but if this aspect of her fortune is accurate, the necessary timing of certain events is self-evident."

"If?" Sans sat forward eagerly. "Ya mean it might not happen? No boring husband sometime soonish, no havin' a kid right away?"

Gaster stared at him for a little too long. "Where do you see yourself in this, Sans? Where would you like to be?"

Sans blinked. "Wha?"

"You escorted her to the festival, and mutual convenience led you to present yourselves as a couple, but you are not her husband. You are her apprentice and personal guard for the next twenty or so days, after which she will return to the usual course of her duties, and you will return to the Underground to report to King Asgore that the humans are interested in reopening diplomatic relations."

"Actually," Sans said, trying not to sound smug, "once my time's up, she's probably gonna come back Underground with me. She's got this big plan ta have monsters work with humans instead of bein' slaves, and it's too much fer me t'decide on, so—"

"So you would risk her life by bringing her directly to Asgore?" The doctor stood slowly, and the room seemed to grow darker as he glared down at Sans. "You idiot! Do you have any idea what will happen if the High Priestess is delivered to your King as he is now?"

"You mean, if he doesn't like her idea? Then I'll...uh..."

"You'll what?" Gaster's voice dripped with such scorn that Sans couldn't muster a response. "King Asgore is not interested in making peace! He would only meet with her in order to take her SOUL!"

The boss monster's mouth opened and closed. "But...if I didn't—"

"Asgore's sole aim is to become powerful enough to take vengeance on humanity. The King knows very well that only women with strong inborn magic may become High Priestess, and the moment he saw Frisk's SOUL for himself, he would be willing to fight her, you, and perhaps even Toriel to acquire it. Do you understand?"

Sans had never felt so small and stupid. Why hadn't it occurred to him that Asgore would notice how powerful Frisk was without being told? All he had thought of was the excuse to take her with him, not even bothering to remember how he had immediately noticed her SOUL and tried to kill her for it. He was smarter than this!

There was no time to beat himself up. He had to think. Her first fortune had said her efforts wouldn't bear fruit, and Gaster had mentioned Asgore "as he is now"; for the second future to come to pass, with Frisk changing the world and achieving her goal, the King would have to be more like his old, sweet-natured self, who would never have killed someone without at least hearing her out. "Whaddya think is in the box?" Sans asked abruptly.

Gaster frowned. "That's an excellent question. I couldn't even venture a guess without seeing the box myself, but I doubt Her Eminence would be willing to show me. After what you said last night, I don't think she would be receptive to you asking, either."

Sans let himself fall onto his back, staring at the wallpapered ceiling. Who the hell put wallpaper on the ceiling? "Nope. She'd kick my ass from here to the Underground and back."

"Crude, but accurate." Gaster sighed, twiddling his thumbs in elaborate swirls. "How very frustrating. We have so much information, but the most crucial component may be forever beyond our gr—"

The door banged open. "Excuse me," Frisk said to Sans, who got up and watched her shove the couch aside.

Gaster quickly resumed his disguise; luckily, the priestess was so fixated on the couch that she hadn't noticed. "May we help you, my lady?" asked Dr. Serif.

"No." The young woman yanked at a floorboard, and both monsters watched in astonishment as she pulled it up to reveal a makeshift safe. She removed the barrier and rummaged through the safe, extracting a thickly folded paper. "Here we are." Frisk scowled as she tried to remove the packet: the safe was so small that the paper was stuck lengthwise against something. The priestess dug downward and shoved the offending object up and onto the floor. "Here is the deed to my house in Riverview, and here's the key. You and Snowdrake will be able to stop there on your way, and no one will...Sans? Hello?"

The men weren't listening to her. They were looking at what had tumbled out of the safe: a rosewood box.

Frisk slapped at it, sending it tumbling back into the safe, which she resealed and covered with the floorboard and couch in rapid succession. "Don't even think about it," she said to them, dangerously calm, and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

The royal sorcerer scratched his cheek. "Memories."

"Hm?" Sans glanced at him. "What about 'em?"

"That type of wood is useful for preserving magical objects, but that shape and size are not common. Given the context of her second fortune and the emotional pain therein, it must contain at least one memory." Dr. Serif drummed his fingers on the desk. "How curious. Memory excision has historically been so abused that it was outlawed by King Stephin's great-grandfather. Nowadays, the procedure can only be authorized on a case-by-case basis by a Church official higher than an archdeacon, or the very highest ranks of the nobility or royalty."

Sans suddenly remembered a night not long after he'd arrived where Frisk had mentioned her father, and how loyal her mother had been to the duke she worked for. Just for grins, he'd looked up the hierarchy of nobility in one of Frisk's books, and a duke was the next best thing to being a royal. It all fit, except for the fact that what the hell was in the box? How did you keep memories sitting around like that? Why would you need to carve something like that out of someone's head, and how would getting it back make the difference between a future of "stupid perfect husband she didn't even like" and "monsters going free" plus "having sex sometime soon"?

One more thing came to mind, and before he could stop himself, Sans said, "Hey, Gaster. Doctor. Whatever you are right now. You say you're from another Underground or something?"

The doctor narrowed his eyes at him again. Even with a human face, it gave Sans the creeps. "Why do you ask?"

Sans almost said "Never mind," but the air still faintly smelled of Frisk – he'd have to ask her what it was, exactly – and he wouldn't get a chance to ask anyone else who might know, so, fuck it. "D'ya know if it's possible for a monster and a human to have a kid together? Biologically?"

The royal scientist raised his eyebrows. "Well," he said after a painfully long moment. "It is quite rare, but I am aware of several instances where a human woman married and had at least one child with a monster." He coughed. "With a skeleton."

But before Sans could even start feeling things about that, much less sort through them, the doctor half-smiled. "None of them, however, involved a boss monster." He stood, and walked to the door. "I'm sorry." He slipped out, leaving Sans to stare up at the wallpaper ceiling.

[grayseekerswritinglife]

Tricks & Treats 3/5

Chapter Three: Pocket Valley

“They’re gonna kill him,” Thundercracker said, not for the first time.

“They can’t,” Starscream pointed out, also not for the first time. “If they kill him, they’ll lose all the gold that’s in his subspace.”

“Why would Autobots care about that?”

“Because the humans do, and Autobots always put humans ahead of anything else.” It was a baffling, if occasionally useful tendency. If one wished for the Autobots to see things a certain way, one had only to threaten a human. Sadly, Starscream and Thundercracker had left human settlements behind a while ago. They were flying above a mountain range, and the only visible sign that humans even existed on this planet was a haze of brown smog, indicating a city just beyond the horizon.

“I don’t think he’s here,” Thundercracker said at length.

Starscream groaned. “What do you mean, he isn’t here? You said you could sense him through your bond!”

“Yeah, but it was just a blip,” Thundercracker replied. “He might have teleported here, then vopped away again. Somewhere else, I mean.”

“And you’re not picking anything up?”

“Nah. Either he’s blocking me, or…” Thundercracker let the thought hang.

Starscream was just as glad. This was already bringing up enough memories. Memories of flying above this wretched planet, searching endlessly for someone who couldn’t be found. It was getting to be a pattern; one he’d just as soon break.

“Um. Starscream?”

“What?”

“There’s something else I was thinkin' about.”

“Yes?” Starscream could already tell he wouldn’t like it.

“When he teleported, did it sound… weird to you?”

“Weird?”

“Yeah. Like… not the usual ‘vop’ sound. More like… I dunno. Something breaking.”

So it hadn’t been Starscream’s imagination. Frag.

“Um. Scream?”

“Yes—what?”

“D’you think it’s possible he didn’t make it? Like… could he be stuck in the middle of teleporting?”

Starscream stopped flying and transformed. Thundercracker did too. They stared at each other.

“Are you serious?” The thought of Skywarp stuck in some kind of limbo between two teleportation coordinates was appalling.

“Look, I dunno,” Thundercracker said with an anxious shrug. “You’re the gee… scientist. Tell me it isn’t possible, and I’ll believe you.”

“It’s… not,” Starscream said, though with more conviction than he felt. He didn’t want it to be possible. There were too many other horrifying potentialities crowding his mind. Images of Skywarp re-materializing inside solid rock, for example. He didn’t need more nightmare fuel. “We’ll find him,” he said determinedly, transforming back into his jet form. Thundercracker followed suit, resuming his standard ‘perch’ position above Starscream’s left wing.

“If you say so,” Thundercracker muttered, and for once, Starscream regretted being Trineleader. Thundercracker already thought this was Starscream’s fault. What if it was? And what if they couldn’t find Skywarp?

“They’re gonna kill him,” Thundercracker muttered, bringing the conversation full circle. Starscream stifled a growl, and was about to shut off his comm when Thundercracker suddenly exclaimed, “Hey! Down there!”

“Down where?”

Thundercracker transformed and pointed at a mountainside. “There. Something yellow. D'you see it?”

Starscream transformed and flew to hover beside Thundercracker, squinting in the direction indicated. Sure enough, something was glinting against the backdrop of a mountain meadow. Something gold. Starscream dove toward it and scooped it from the tall grass. It was a gold brick. Starscream did a scan of the mountainside, his sensors tuned to detect gold, and spotted a second brick further up the mountain. “Well, what do you know?” he said, levitating toward it. “There really is a yellow brick road!”

"A what?”

“Never mind.”

Near the mountain’s summit, they discovered a third brick. It had dropped from above, shearing a branch from a sturdy mountain shrub on its way down. The broken branch was pointing over the lip of what appeared to be a hole in the mountaintop. It wasn’t a volcano, as far as Starscream could tell. It looked more like a pocket valley, formed by the collapse of an underground cavern in the far distant past. Its nearly vertical sides were covered in a thick growth of shrubbery and wildflowers. A thicket of trees hid the floor of the depression from view, but not from Starscream’s scanners. He was picking up gold; a lot of it. Starscream raised a finger to his lips, motioning for silence as he stepped from the edge. Thundercracker followed without a word. They descended as quietly as their antigravs would allow and landed among the trees.

::Seems like a good hiding spot,:: Thundercracker remarked over comms.

::If you enjoy coffins,:: Starscream replied, glaring upward at the small, roughly circular patch of sky above them. That was the only way out, and it would be all too easy to block it off. He could only hope they’d lost the Aerialbots, because if not, they were as good as dead.

::Hey,:: Thundercracker said, interrupting Starscream’s morbid train of thought. ::Do you hear something?::

Starscream listened. At first all he heard was the trill of birdsong, the rustle of leaves, and a distant, musical sound that might have been water. But a shift of the wind brought another sound to his attention, and he realized this must have been what Thundercracker meant. It was a low, gravelly voice, singing off-key.

“Skywarp!”

Starscream forgot all about stealth. He broke into a run, smashing through a stand of poplars to reach the source of the voice. If he’d heard right—if Skywarp was singing—he must be okay. Mustn’t he? The last of the poplars gave way under his assault, and he found himself at the edge of a clear, sparkling pool of water. A spring. Beyond that, sprawled on the grassy shore, was Skywarp. He’d picked the worst possible spot, at least from a strategic perspective. The sun, just past its zenith, was shining directly on him. It was also shining directly on the gold. And there was rather a lot of gold. It was heaped all around him, and he was lying on a carpet of the stuff, his dark wings draped limply over the pile as if to hide it. He’d clasped his hands over his belly, which looked suspiciously distended, and he gave no sign of having noticed either Starscream or Thundercracker.

“I want somethin' sticky an' sweet,” he intoned, grinning up at the sky. “Don’t want a trick, want somethin' to eat. Wish Halloween wasn’t just one night; then we’d have candy all the time. I want cannndy! I want cannndy! I want can—”

“Warp!” Thundercracker leaped over the pool and made a grab for Skywarp, who sat up, optics wide.

“Yikes!” Skywarp's form went transparent, his outlines rippling like heat-shimmers on a hot day, and Thundercracker’s hand slipped through his arm. Skywarp re-solidified. He glanced down at himself with a look of surprise, as if wondering why he hadn’t teleported, and then vanished in a puff of thick dark smoke. “Trick or treat!” he shouted, his footsteps pounding as he attempted to run away.

Starscream lunged into his path. He couldn’t see Skywarp through all the smoke—those smoke-bombs were highly effective, a detached part of his mind noted—but he could track his movements easily with all the noise he was making. He made a grab for Skywarp. His hand connected with something solid, but it slipped away with another blast of that awful, hinge-wrenching sound he’d heard earlier. He swore.

“Skywarp, you idiot! If you dare teleport again, I'm going to personally—”

He never got to finish the threat because something big and solid smashed into him just then, flinging him backwards. He landed on a hard surface with something almost unimaginably heavy pinning him down. Something that felt a lot like…

“Oh, frag—Skywarp?”

As the smoke cleared, he found he was lying underneath his Trinemate, who was flailing about in an apparently futile attempt to rise. Starscream flailed too, because Skywarp weighed at least twice as much as Starscream thought he should, and with every movement, he was grinding Starscream further down into the muddy soil. Thundercracker came to both their rescue, capturing Skywarp around his waist.

“Nice try, moron,” he said, hauling Skywarp up. He paused with a grunt. “Whoa. How many of those bricks did you eat?”

If Skywarp had an answer for that question, it was lost in the tinny whine of laserfire. A beam zipped past Thundercracker’s shoulder and bit into the mud beside Starscream’s head. “Surrender, Decepticons!” someone shouted from above. With a groan of resignation, Starscream craned his neck to look up, past his struggling Trinemates, to the rim of the pocket valley. There, as he might have predicted, were all five of the Aerialbots, along with the unwelcome bonus presence of Skylynx. This would not go well.

“We… surrender!” Starscream choked, as loudly as the weight on his chest would allow. He dropped his head back to the mud and stared at the sky, dimly aware of a throbbing, pulsating ache behind his optics.

~~~~~~~

This was written for @darkstarofchaos​ for the @transform-or-treat​ Halloween gift exchange. There are five chapters of it in all, and I will be posting a chapter a day until Halloween! Many, many thanks to @justawayninja or being my awesome beta. Your suggestions helped me get the story to the next level.