#i’ve restarted this chapter like. three times already i think i’ll kill someone if i have to do it again

[the-casbah-way]

someone throw bricks at me until i finish my writing

[works-of-fanfiction]

“He’s the Best.” - 90s!Graham Coxon x Reader

Summary: Graham struggles with his self-esteem within the band and the reader tries to cheer him up.

Requested by: Anon. I hope you like this <3

Warnings: Swearing (literally once).

Word Count: 3.3k - a bit of a longer oneshot from me! I didn’t mean for it to be this long.

A/N: I’ve been writing this and putting it off for days because I just don’t know if I like it, but I don’t want to restart it. Argh… I hope someone enjoys this cheese fest.

* Gif credits to the linked creator

_______________

No one in this life is born ‘better’ than anybody else. It’s not a competition or a game of comparison. Every single human on this planet has their own unique qualities that make them interesting and most importantly, worthy. However, humans sadly aren’t wired to see those qualities in themselves. They spend the majority of their lives obsessing over others; wondering if they’re as talented as the next man, or if they’ll ever look as good as whatshername. Sometimes, it gets to a point where even the deepest of friendships can become strained due to one or more parties comparing themselves to another’s achievements.

And seeing Graham go through exactly that, has been killing me. There was a time when everything Graham and Damon did together, was truly that - together. Every single melody, riff, lyric - it was theirs. Neither one did more work than the other, neither was more musically talented. They were both kids crammed inside a Portakabin with their very first instruments, strumming and plucking and making probably rather bothersome noise. They had no idea what was to become of their lunchtime jam sessions and after school practices. Both were just excited to have a friend that liked the same things as them, and enjoyed the noise the other was making.

But Graham has since become a shadow of who he once was around Damon - he’s become Damon’s shadow. Or so he thinks.

Being in a band with a boisterous frontman like Damon was bound to become hard work for the other members at one point or another, but I never thought it would affect Graham like this. It’s getting harder to communicate with him, and I know it’s not his fault but I’m running out of things to say to fill the silences. There’s only so many times I can ask if he wants a cup of tea, or tell him about the encounter I had at the bus stop earlier that day. I’m sick of hearing my own voice, so I can’t imagine how he must feel. The silence seems to be the only thing he wants; he doesn’t write anymore, he hardly plays guitar outside of work commitments, and he hasn’t picked up his sketchbook in weeks. He just seems to stare at the TV or sit on the sofa with his head buried in a book that’s stuck on the first chapter. I watched him the other day and in forty-five minutes, he turned the page once. I bet if I asked him about the story he wouldn’t be able to recall a single character’s name, never mind the plot.

Watching him struggle with his self-esteem is crushing, and I don’t want him to live another second feeling the way he does. I know it may take a while for him to find himself again, but if I can do anything to help move things along, it’s worth a try. I’d drop everything for Graham in a heartbeat.

“I dropped those music stands off today. Did you get them?” Dave asks, his voice a little crackly on the other end of the phone.

“I did, thank you!” I chime, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear as I assemble the very same stands.

“Oh, good. I was a little worried about leaving them outside. I thought somebody would take them… What do you need them for anyway?”

“That’s something for me to know and you to find out, Dave.” I laugh, tightening one last knob on the second stand and straightening it out. I stand back and admire my handy work, smiling at the prospect of what they are to become.

“Alright, alright. Well, I hope they come in handy! I’ll see you later.”

“Thanks again. See you next week!”

We both hang up and I grab the stands, climbing up the stairs and into the spare room, placing them in their desired places. Grabbing two pieces of sheet music, I slot them onto the stands neatly and adjust them until they’re perfect. With one last thing to check, I turn on the projector I borrowed from an old university friend and let the film play out on the blank wall opposite. I mess with the sound a little, making sure it’s loud enough before rewinding the footage to the beginning and turning it off until later.

Standing in the middle of the room, I turn around and admire everything on the walls. Everything from lyrics to old album art concepts, to still life paintings from Graham’s time at Goldsmith’s. Beside the music stands, there’s crates filled with records, decorated with lyrics scribbled onto scraps of paper, some in Graham’s handwriting and others in mine. I of course, couldn’t resist writing them out in various colours and covering them in star-shaped stickers. The finishing touch is a large beanbag against the wall for us to sit and watch the projector from. I fluff up the beanbag for the thousandth time before heading downstairs to wait for Graham to get back.

It takes around two hours for Graham to arrive home. As soon as I hear his taxi pull up outside, I jump up from the sofa and head into the kitchen to flick the kettle on. Nerves bubble through me as I anticipate his entry. It’s impossible to predict how Graham’s going to be feeling on any given day. He could come through the door and speak to me as normal, or he could disappear into his studio until he’s tired enough to head to bed. Through the rumbling of the kettle I listen out for the door, fingers impatiently tapping on the counter as my gaze fixates on a magpie outside, shakily balancing on the washing line. A second joins it and I smile, muscle memory taking over as I pour the boiled water into two cups, not taking my eyes off of the birds.

“Hi.” Graham’s voice peeps behind me. Putting the kettle down, I turn around with a warm smile on my face. Despite everything Graham has been going through, seeing him come through that door every day is still my favourite sight. Having him come home to me will simply never get old. I don’t know what I’ll do when he has to go out on tour again in a few months.

“Hey.” I breathe, the sides of my face already beginning to feel sore from the ridiculous grin stuck on it. He smiles back, the expression not quite reaching his eyes but I know he means well. He’s trying. “You go and sit down. I’ll bring these in.” I gesture to the brewing teas on the counter and he nods, hanging his bag on the nearest kitchen chair and leaving the room without another word. I finish the drinks as quickly as possible, grabbing the stack of takeaway menus from the junk drawer and bringing them with me, the pieces of paper clamped between my teeth as I concentrate on carrying the two steaming hot cups in my hands.

Setting the cups down on the coffee table, I toss the menus onto the sofa next to where Graham is very aggressively, trying to pull his Docs off. “Need a little help?” I ask, laughing as I kneel down and bat his hands out of the way. “It would help if you untied them.”

“It’s easier to leave them tied.”

“Oh, really?” I scoff, gesturing to his feet still stuck in the cherry red boots. The laces are a complete mess with three bulky knots in them. I sit down cross-legged on the carpet, carefully plucking and unravelling each knot whilst Graham buries his head in the takeaway menus. “How do you even - “ I struggle, pulling at the frayed shoelace whilst trying not to damage it further, “- get these things on?” With one last tug, the first lace loosens and I’m able to slide the boot off with ease. Graham’s face pops out from behind the menu, a side-smile plastered onto his lips and a cheeky glint in his eyes. I know he wants to laugh.

“Shall we get Indian tonight?” He changes the subject, flipping over the tatty piece of bright orange paper as he squints at the options. He always orders the same thing, yet still insists on reading the whole menu front to back. He does it for every restaurant.

“Indian sounds good.” I nod, pulling the second boot off and shoving them to the side. “I’ll call them now.” Jumping up to grab the phone, I type the number in from memory and hold it up to my ear.

“What’s the rush?” Graham mouths and I hush him when somebody answers. I order the usual along with some extras and give them our address, despite them not even really needing it anymore. The phone call is no longer than a minute and Graham sits staring at me, nose scrunched in confusion. “Are you going to tell me what’s going - “

“Follow me.” I blurt out, stretching my arm towards him and rising onto my tiptoes out of excitement. He stands slowly, shrugging off his jacket and leaving it on the sofa. “I was going to wait until we’d had our food, but I have to show you now.”

“Show me what?” He asks as I grab his wrist and drag him up the stairs. We squeeze up the narrow staircase, almost tripping each other over a couple times until we stop on the landing, feet overlapping one another’s on the small square of carpet.

“I know you haven’t really been yourself lately.” I start, my fingers slipping from Graham’s wrist to entwine with his. He looks down, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. His eyes watch our hands as I lightly stroke the back of his thumb in an attempt to relax him. He has a habit of tensing up whenever I broach the subject. “So I wanted to remind you just how great you are.”

I watch his face intently, the corners of his mouth twitching and trying to smile. With my free hand, I open the door and flick the light on, pulling Graham into the room with me. His hand slips from my grasp and I back up to stand against the wall, watching as he takes in the room around him and everything in it.

He walks to the music stands first, fingers tracing the notes on the pages, flipping them over then back again. He walks towards the canvas on the back wall - a woodland painting he’d won a prize for back in college - running his hand over the textured patch of paint that forms the trees. I nervously bite the back of my thumb as he kneels down to sift through the records in the large black case below, flicking through every Blur album and single released to this day. My favourite lyrics are scattered on sheets of paper all over the ground, and he picks up the second verse from Coffee & TV. “You’ve always loved this one.” He says, turning to me and smiling.

“I happen to really like the guy who sings it.”

“He must be pretty good then.”

“Oh, he’s the best.” Resting my foot against the wall, I kick my body forward and stand straight, joining Graham beside the projector.

“What’s this for?” He asks, hands hovering near the buttons but not daring to touch anything. I take his hands in mine and give them a loving squeeze.

“Sit down and I’ll show you.” I chirp and he sinks down onto the beanbag. I mess with the projector until the sound starts to creep in, stretching over to switch off the light. Graham shuffles to the side to make some room for me on the beanbag and I flop down beside him, nestling into his side.

The image from the projector is surprisingly clear against the wall, although could’ve been improved had I borrowed a screen from somewhere. A variety of different clips play out in front of us, ranging from Graham performing onstage to snippets of his band members talking and praising their guitarist. I try my hardest to focus on the film in front of me, but I can’t help glancing over at Graham to see his reactions. His brows are furrowed, but not necessarily in a bad way - he’s focused, fully concentrating on everything he’s seeing and hearing.

I fidget with my hands, twiddling my thumbs and quietly cracking my knuckles. Graham notices this and grabs my left hand, squeezing it tightly and bringing it over to rest in his lap. Laying my head on his shoulder, I press a kiss onto his sleeve, rubbing my head against him and breathing in his familiar scent. He lays his head on top of mine, but never looks away from the video playing on the wall. Absentmindedly, his fingertips dance on the back of my hand, the drumming following the beat of Song 2 as it plays from the projector. I too can’t help bopping along to the beat, my foot tapping softly on the carpet.

The video closes with one final clip, a message I recorded for Graham. Too embarrassed to watch myself, my focus stays on him as I squeeze his hand a little tighter and snuggle up as close as possible. The picture begins to fade and the sound plays out until there’s no footage left, and the whirring of the projector becomes background noise in the room. Graham doesn’t say anything at first, but as I try to stand to turn the projector off, he pulls me back down onto the beanbag and rotates his body to face mine.

“Hey.” I whisper, my right hand supporting his cheek as he leans into me, his eyes closed and lips pressed into a line. Our bodies slot into one another’s on the beanbag, the very little space between us growing warmer by the second.

Graham releases a deep breath, his eyes slowly opening again with a small smile spreading across his face. It’s hard to see him properly in the dimly lit room, but I could never mistake those big brown eyes staring at me. “I can’t believe you did all of this for me.” He says, his voice low as he leans in close to speak like we’re the only two people who matter inside a crowded room.

“I wanted to show you how incredible you are. You’ve been so hard on yourself and I just - “ As I speak, tears start to well up in my eyes and I look up to the ceiling to try and stop them from falling. I’d already told myself earlier that I wouldn’t cry, because I don’t want Graham to think he’s upset me. I press at my eyes lightly with my fingertips in an attempt to push the tears away. “I can’t stand seeing you this way because you don’t deserve to feel like this. If it wasn’t for you, Blur wouldn’t exist! Everything you’ve all achieved wouldn’t have happened.” My voice begins to shake and I feel Graham’s hand on my arm, rubbing it gently to try and calm me down.

“Y/N.” He starts, before reaching up to turn on the light. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust, before my gaze falls to the ground to avoid his. If I look at him properly, I know I’ll start bawling. “Look at me. Please.”

“I can’t. I can’t because I’ll cry, and then you’ll get upset and I don’t want to make you feel any worse than wha - “

“You won’t upset me. Y/N, I’m sorry I’ve - “

“No, Graham. Don’t apologise.” I grip onto his shirt tightly, my fingers tangling in the fabric. Graham bows his head and nudges it against mine, edging closer until he pushes my head up with his and our noses are almost touching. We both open our eyes, our faces too close that my vision is distorted and I’m seeing double. I pull back, sniffling once and dabbing at my eyes again, still not allowing any tears to actually emerge.

“I’m sorry,“ he starts and I sigh at his words, but he hushes me by holding his finger up to my face, “for putting you through this. I was so caught up in my own head that I didn’t realise how it was making you feel.”

“Graham, this isn’t about me.”

“But it affects you. Bloody hell, if I had to live with this miserable twat - “ he points to himself and I scoff, slapping the back of his hand playfully. “ - I’d have given up by now.”

“I would never give up on you.” My voice is barely above a whisper, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. Graham goes silent again, staring down at our joined hands and moving his thumbs around. I nudge his head with mine in the same way he did previously and he sniffles, his chest rising and immediately falling again. “Graham?” I bring my hand to his chin and push his face up to find his eyes watery, and cheeks significantly more red compared to a moment ago.

“God, look at me. What the hell are you still doing with me, ay? I’m a bleeding mess.” He sniffs, roughly wiping tears off of his cheeks with the backs of his hands.

“Because I wouldn’t want to be with anybody else.”

“Not even - “

“Ah! Stop right there. There’ll be no more of that.” I take his hands away from his face, holding onto them loosely. “Graham Coxon, you are the best thing to ever happen to me. And I’ll give you a free pass to slap me silly for being so cheesy.” I laugh, his grip on my hands tightening as he awkwardly slides closer on the beanbag, his body sinking into it at a strange angle and pulling me with him. “I love you.”

Within a second, Graham’s hands are on both sides of my face, pulling me in for a kiss; the kind of kiss that feels like the person is pouring their entire heart out to you. Like the kiss between the main characters of a movie, when they’ve just ran across a field or a busy road to collide with another at the centre. His lips messily press against mine and I can feel the stray tears running down his face as they dampen my cheeks. My hands rest on his legs, holding on firmly as his thumbs dig into my face a little. It doesn’t hurt, but he soon pulls away and swipes at my face softly as if to apologise for it. He uses his sleeve to dry my face and I do the same for him, small gasps of laughter exchanging between us.

“Thank you for doing this. If you can’t tell, I really love it.” He says sincerely with a genuine smile, the biggest smile I’ve seen from him in weeks. The expression is infectious and I can’t help mimicking him as I grin back like the Cheshire Cat. The faint sound of knocking from downstairs pulls us out of our romance film-esque daydream and we both clamber to our feet.

As we approach the stairs, Graham stops and spins me around, pulling me into him. I land against his chest with a huff, before adjusting my hair and looking up at him. “After we eat, can you show me the film again?” He asks, his hand meeting mine to help me fix the loose hairs falling in my eyes.

“We can watch it as many times as you like.”

[duskowithapen]

Of Flowers And Tattoo Needles Chapter Three

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A Resolution

“Don’t you dare tell her, bug!”

Luka wasn’t sure what the hell was going on. Adrien had walked into the tattoo parlour proper, standing toe to toe with his fiancée, having a full argument in front of them. If Adrien is in a relationship with this Kagami, then what was up with the pet names and the forehead kiss?

“Why are you so intent on keeping this a secret?!” Kagami demanded, waving her rapier under the blonde’s nose threateningly.

“I wanted it to be a surprise!”

“You know that I hate surprises!”

“But this is a good surprise, I promise!”

“Adrien, I swear if you got a dragon tattooed onto your chest I will do something drastic!”

“C’mon Kagami, like Marinette would let me get something so obvious-OH-GODS-DON’T-IMPALE-ME—”

Much to Juleka’s displeasure – she was watching the argument with one of her signature ‘ah yes, chaos’ smirks – Marinette intervened before blood could be shed. “Maybe we could all calm down and talk this out like rational, non-violent human beings. I don’t think bloodstains will do anything for my shop’s reputation.” She pressed a hand to her hip and started Adrien down. “Unless you want to keep playing the scaredy cat, chaton?”

Adrien’s mouth dropped open. A hand was held dramatically to his chest. “So cruel m’lady!”

Kagami huffed and lowered her weapon, turning to give Marinette a bow. “My apologies, Mari-hime. I shall eviscerate him outside.”

“Let’s just not eviscerate anyone, hmm?” Marinette sighed.

The pout that appeared on Kagami’s face made Rose giggle, and it seemed to remind the swordswoman that yes, there were other people in the store. In the back corner, while the redhead was intent on his work, the client was watching them. Kagami bowed again. “I did not realise you had other clients, Mari-hime. Was this a bad time?”

Marinette waved a hand towards the couches. “It’s okay, Gami-chan. I was about to get Luka’s tattoo started, but I should probably help my idiot of a best frien before he gets himself killed.” Adrien visibly wilted at the look Marinette gave him. She turned an apologetic smile onto Luka, and he blinked at the full force of those beautiful bluebell eyes focusing completely on him. “Are you okay if I postpone your tattoo for a little bit? I promise this won’t take too long.”

Luka shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. He was really missing his guitar now. “I’m fine with that. You’re not the only one wanting to know about someone’s tattoo,” he directed at Kagami, who hummed questioningly. “My sister and her partner have been pestering me about my tattoo all morning.”

“See!” Adrien burst out, “Keeping your tattoo secret until it’s finished is normal Kagami!”

A loud clap stopped the argument from restarting. “Alright! If everyone could just sit down, we can get this cleared up,” Marinette said in a tone that demanded total obedience. There was a glint in her eyes that suggested great violence on those who did not comply.

Luka was very lucky that he was standing in front of one of the couches in the first place. That tone of voice, that look on her face… he dared any man not to get a bit weak in the knees.

“Sounds like a plan,” Juleka murmured as she brushed past, shooting him an uncomfortably knowing look as she sat by Rose’s side. “Considering that Luka thought you and Adrien were together. Care to explain how he could have come to that conclusion?”

There was a moment of silence. Luka and Marinette’s faces flared up in identical blushes. Adrien’s face reddened slowly as he bit his lip. Kagami’s eyebrows rose past her fringe. In the back corner, the client was still watching like the whole situation was a soap drama.

Then laughter.

Luka’s head snapped up as Kagami of all people started giggling, stern face crinkling into a smile as she tried to smother her amusement behind one fist. Adrien finally took a breath, losing his battle with the laughter he’d been restraining. His tugged his fiancée down onto the other couch with him. “Oh god, really?!”

Marinette dropped into the seat beside Luka, face hidden behind her hands. He leaned in a little. “I feel like I’m missing something?” He said lowly.

A blush still stained her face when Marinette looked up. Despite their closeness, she didn’t shift away. “Just a little, yeah,” she replied hoarsely. “I just feel so stupid. There I was, practically throwing myself at you, and you seemed interested, and then Adrien walks in, and oh god, you must have thought I was some floozy, that I was flirting with you despite having a boyfriend – which we’re not by the way, I swear I’d never cheat on you – I mean, if we were together I wouldn’t cheat – not that I’d cheat on Adrien if we were together, which again, we aren’t – but I wouldn’t have said those things or done anything if I was with someone else, but you didn’t know that, and ugh it’s all just a great big fucking mess –” Marinette stopped with a sudden inhale as Luka pressed a finger to her lips.

“It’s okay, Marinette,” he whispered, ignoring their avid audience. “I admit, I was confused, but I figured I could try and clear it up today anyway. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d made a wrong assumption,” he said with a self-depreciating chuckle, “I’ve never been all that good with people. I find it easier to communicate through my music than anything else.”

Marinette opened her mouth to reply, and Luka had to restrain a shiver at the feeling of soft lips against his guitar calluses. “I really am sorry, Luka. I keep forgetting how mine and Adrien’s… dynamic can be seen by other people.” She paused for a moment, looking away, before continuing, “And I think you communicate pretty well like this. Better than my anxiety-fuelled rambling anyway.”

Luka leaned in a little closer, drawing his finger down her chin and barely brushing her neck before pulling it away. “I thought it was kinda adorable,” he whispered.

Adrien coughed, pulling the two out of their haze. “Uh, I just wanted to apologise, Luka. I’m a very touchy-feely kinda person, and I keep forgetting that not everyone, y’know, hugs and kisses and just generally touch their friends as much as I do. I was… isolated as a kid, and I never really got the concept of personal space.” Now, didn’t that sound concerning?

He waved a hand at the nervous looking blonde. “That’s okay Adrien. I can get a bit touchy too – I shouldn’t have made assumptions. People have thought the same thing about Juleka and I before.” That had made for a very awkward conversation as they explained to the landlady no, they weren’t teenage lovers, but siblings who had decided to move in together.

“It’s all the nicknames,” Juleka said with a smirk, “Wasn’t it your dad you asked if he needed to design two wedding dresses, Adrien?”

Marinette groaned deeply and twisted to bury her face in Luka’s shoulder, hand grasping his jacket just in front of her face. “Don’t remind me,” she said, words half-muffled, “I can’t look Mr Agreste in the eye anymore!”

“Out of curiosity, where did the nicknames come from?” Luka asked, trying to keep a straight face as he wrapped an arm around Marinette’s waist, holding her to his side. Based on Juleka’s fake retch, he wasn’t very successful.

It was Adrien’s turn to blush, as he grabbed Kagami’s hand. “Well, like I said, I was an isolated kid. The only kind of unsupervised social interaction I got was when I played Ultimate Mecha Strike online. When I was thirteen, I met a player called Buginette03 – who tuned out to be Marinette – and we got pretty close, despite not sharing our real names. I’d ask Bug for advice when it came to my father, or later on, social stuff, and then she’d ask me for help when her anxiety spiked, or she started catastrophising.”

“And he’d use me as a sounding board for his awful pickup lines,” Marinette cut in, finally pulling her head away from Luka’s arm. It suddenly felt very cold. “You are such a cat-ch is a horrible excuse of both a line and a pun.”

“Hey! It worked with Kagami, didn’t it?”

Both Marinette and Kagami rolled their eyes. “Obviously, she took pity on you, kitty,” the tattooist said, deadpan.

“I found your determination in finding a successful line pitiful enough to be amusing.” Was Kagami’s response.

“Meowch!” Adrien said, insulted. “So cruel, ganging up on a poor cat!”

Marinette rolled her eyes and turned to face Luka properly. “Anyway, after almost a years worth of playing with each other and chatting, we decided to… reveal ourselves, I guess? I was so surprised when I realised that the snarky, goofy LostKittenOnTheCatwalk was actually in my class.”

Adrien slapped Kagami gently when she scoffed at his username. “Hey, I thought it was funny! I was thirteen!” He shook his head for a second. “But yeah, I was both surprised but not when I found out that Marinette was Buginette. Like, once I knew, I wondered how I could have thought it was anyone else.”

“We tried to date for a little bit,” Marinette said, taking up the narrative. “We thought that it was a ‘meant to be’ kind of thing, but it didn’t really work out.”

“We’re partners, but not? We work better as close friends, or siblings, rather than lovers,” Adrien looked at Marinette with a small smile. “I’m just glad that Marinette chose to remain friends with me. Probably not her smartest move,” he said with a shrug, “But oh well.”

Kagami flicked Adrien in the shoulder as Marinette pulled a pencil out nowhere and threw it. “Don’t get started on that again, chaton,” The tattooist said sternly. “We were both young, and stupid, and made you, stupid mistakes that we both learned from. And I will get Kagami to bash that into your thick head if I have to!”

Adrien waggled his eyebrows halfheartedly. “Not wanting to bruise me up yourself, m’lady?”

Marinette’s response was a raised eyebrow and crossed arms. “I think I’ll leave that dubious honour to Kagami. Besides, I already got to stab you.”

“Indeed,” Kagami said with a frown, “I am still waiting for an explanation of your tattoo, Adrien.”

“Well-look-at-the-time-gotta-GO!” Adrien was on his feet in an instant, sprinting out of the store. “See-ya-later-guys-bye!”

Kagami followed suit with a low bow, a murmur on how nice it was to meet them all, and then she was gone, smirk crossing her lips and sword held firmly in one hand. Luka wasn’t sure if he should be worried about Adrien’s safety or not.

His attention was pulled away when Marinette patted his arm. “They’ll be alright,” she soothed, “Kagami’s been stressing out over a fencing competition for a while, so Adrien’s been drawing out the whole ‘no you can’t see what my tattoo is’ thing so that she’ll actually take a break. Pretty sure this is the first time she’s left the dojo for something other than food or sleep for a week.”

“What is Adrien’s tattoo?” Rose asked, leaning forward.

“I’ve still got the concept page, if you’ll just give me a moment…” Marinette jumped up and rifled through her desk, returning with a thick, tattered at the edges sketchbook. She flicked it open to a drawing of a curled up dragon the size of Luka’s palm. It was Chinese style – all long body, short legs, fur crest running down it’s length, flowing whiskers – in various shades of black and red. The crest was a pale shade of yellow, contrasting with the dark gold underbelly. Lighter gold made up the claws and teeth. The eyes were, surprisingly, a rather normal brown. The dragon was curled into a circle, with it’s jaw open. Interestingly, it wasn’t breathing fire, but rather a stream of what appeared to be wind, portrayed in curling lines of grey that created clouds around the dragon. Scattered throughout were tiny gold stars.

“It’s beautiful, Marinette,” Luka breathed, glancing up at the blushing artist. “You’re incredibly skilled.”

Her stammers were covered up by Rose’s squeals. “It’s so detailed Marinette! I take it that the dragon is meant to be Kagami?”

“Ye-yeah. It’s inspired by a story about the dragon of the stars, which was one of Kagami’s favourite when she was little, and Adrien wanted to have it curled up over his heart to show how she both owns his heart and protects it – thus the clouds and kina scary expression.” Marinette traced over the drawing slowly. “Definitely one of my best works.”

“Just one of your best?” Luka asked lowly.

When Marinette looked up, a blush still tinted her cheeks, but there was a determined spark in her eye. “Yeah. There’s this messy haired florist who’s getting my best tattoo at some point, if he still has time to have it done?”

“I’m all yours Marinette.” And oh, how Luka hoped he could make that literal.

“Well, that’s our cue to leave,” Juleka said with a smirk, grasping a protesting Rose by the shoulders and pushing her towards the door. “I expect progress photo, big brother!”

He just waved a hand in her direction, not taking his eyes off Marinette’s. “Yeah, yeah, I will, you impatient brat.”

When the door shut behind them, Marinette extended one ink-stained hand. “So. Ready to get stabbed?”

Luka took it. “By you? Always.”

A few days later, after tattoos were drawn, inked, admired, wrapped and cared for, Luka appeared outside Charmed Ink. In his hands was a large bouquet of flowers – Pink orchids, larkspur, daffodils, cherry blossoms, blue morning glories and hyacinths. In the very centre was a single lilac.

For love beginning.  

[saviorsbookcafe]

The Savior's Book Café in Another World: Chapter 1

INDEX || PREVIOUS || NEXT

Chapter 1: Forced to Another World

Translated by: sydney Proofread by: Necro

A glowing white sphere is floating in a pitch-black space.

It’s the size of the palm of my hand, almost as if the sun had shrunk into this sphere of light.

From the sphere, a low masculine voice is talking to me about various things, but I’m only listening to it absentmindedly, feeling far from reality.

Why am I here...? Is this a dream?

A dream where I’m in this place that makes no sense, where a sphere that also makes no sense is talking to me.

“Are you listening? Tsukina Mizumori, I want you to go to a world that’s different from the one you’ve been living in until now.”

This sphere, who keeps repeating itself and calling my name as if to confirm that that’s me, calls itself God.

This sort of thing has been popular lately, hasn’t it, I think in the back of my mind.

Transportation to or reincarnation in another world has been a popular concept in recent media.

Despite having been told by my friends I’m such a bookworm that ‘bookworm’ seems like a word made up just for you, I actually haven’t read much of this genre.

Maybe I’ve been wanting to read them, if I’m dreaming about it. Maybe I’ll go buy one when I wake up.

As I’m lost in my thoughts, the sphere in front of me begins talking to me again, its tone somewhat disapproving.

“Are you going to answer me?”

Dreams like this certainly don’t feel as realistic after turning thirty-three, or rather, this dream feels too childish to feel realistic.

For a moment, I thought maybe I’ve been stressed lately, but recently each day has been fulfilling in some way, so that can’t be it.

There hasn’t been much trouble at the job I’ve been working at for years, and I’m on good terms with my coworkers.

My relationships with my coworkers rarely change on a personal level, but we’ll talk at lunch, and occasionally we’ve gone out together after work to enjoy ourselves.

The bookworm that I am, I usually want to read immediately after work, so these relationships are perfect for me.

Today too, once work ended I went directly home and wanted to get right to reading, so I should have finished eating dinner and opened up my book.

And then suddenly I was here.

“Hey, this is important. Will you actually listen to me?”

“I am listening. Why do I have to go to some other world?”

As if in a good mood because I replied, the sphere starts spinning around me.

The light from the sphere isn’t that strong, but because everything else is pitch black, it felt painfully bright.

Come to think of it, even though it’s pitch black in here, for some reason I can see myself clearly.

“The selection is completely random. I’ve already sent several others to the world I’m about to send you to. You’ve been chosen, just like them. To become a Savior and save the world.”

“Oh, then if there are others it’s fine if I don’t go, right?”

“...huh?”

As if taken by surprise by my response, the cheerful sphere stops right in front of me.

The sphere floating in the air of course does not have any facial expression, but I know that it is surprised.

It stays still for a short while, then begins moving frantically around my face in disbelief.

“I’m talking about transporting you to another world, you know? That’s supposed to be popular in your world’s books! The other kids went happily!”

“Well even so, it’s fine if I don’t go. I don’t care if you want me to save the world or whatever, if there are already others going then they’ll do it for you.”

“No, no no no!”

It looks like the sphere had begun sweating as its perfectly round shape collapses a little, and it moves back and forth violently as if denying my words.

Whether this situation is a dream or reality, my answer is one and the same: No.

“Wh-why?”

“Why would I accept? I can’t even believe that the others went.”

“They were excited, so they didn’t fight it. You’re the first person to say no.”

“Excited? Oh, come to think of it, you said “the other kids,” didn’t you. Were the other people you sent young kids?”

“Yes, they were all in their teens.”

Then why are you sending someone in their thirties like me, it’d be fine if they were all younger.

“If I were in my teens like those kids, then I might have gone happily too. But as you’d expect, when you get to my age, you think a lot more.”

Just hearing the phrase transported to another world is a little thrilling.

The self-proclaimed god in front of me casually explained it earlier, but it sounds like this other world is like the world of an RPG.

Me, playing a major role in a world of swords and magic, meeting new people and going on adventures in a world overflowing with things I’ve never seen before.

But once I think about it, I realize that it’s certainly not all going to be so charming.

“You said it’s a world with fighting, right?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’ll grant your wish before sending you there. When this world’s humans travel there, they obtain tremendous amounts of magic. With that power, even just by learning one type of Great Magic that only Saviors can wield, you can bend the world to your will. That’s why the humans of that world call you ‘Saviors.’ So I’ll grant you anything aside from magic powers. Well, if you say you want even more advanced magic than that, I can do that. The other kids asked for strong weapons or improved physical abilities. Oh, and there was one girl who asked to change her appearance.”

“I’m not good with pain, or rather I avoid situations where I might get hurt. And I’m the type of person to feel guilty even over something like killing a bug, so no matter how many weapons or physical abilities I get, I won’t be able to kill any monsters or anything.”

I take the sphere’s sudden silence as a chance to keep talking, and open my mouth again.

“You know, when you get to my age, you’ve already built a life for yourself. Yes, it’s not like I love my work, or that I love the world I’m living in. But my life here is stable. I make a living, and have friends to keep me company. A new world certainly sounds thrilling, but that would mean completely starting over in a new environment. It sounds like it’ll be completely different from the world I’ve been living in so far, so I’ll have to throw away all of the knowledge and culture I’ve learned and start over, right? Meeting new people sounds nice, but I’d be starting over in a place where no one knows me. It’s a little late to give up my house, my work, and all my friends around me to restart my life.”

Just thinking about it, there are too many cons.

It’s already a pain just to transfer jobs or move houses, but switching worlds would be even worse.

“Even so, I need you to go. It’s basically mandatory, or rather it is mandatory,” the sphere begins in a quiet voice, a complete change from it’s loud voice until now.

Some part of its voice is forceful, and I know I am losing ground.

“Absolutely?”

“Absolutely.”

“I already told you, I can’t fight at all!”

“That world’s balance is maintained just by sending humans from this world. It’s a world where, even if you don’t save the world, just being there as a Savior with lots of magic will keep the world stable, and bountiful resources will be born. Since the others I’ve already sent will fight and learn Great Magic, I personally don’t mind if you just live there quietly.”

“......”

Now I really have nothing to argue.

At this point, there’s no sign that I’ll wake up, and I’m starting to sense that this isn’t a dream.

The only thing that can pull me out of this incomprehensible space is the self-proclaimed god in front of me.

And at this rate, it doesn’t seem to have any intention of returning me to my original world.

But if this is reality, then if I mess up here, that might cause problems for me later.

After giving me a moment to wonder what to do about it, the sphere spoke up apologetically.

“I’m sorry, but I have no choice but to send you to the other world. In exchange, I promise that I’ll grant any of your wishes. Don’t you have one? A dream you had in your old world, for example. If it’s something that can come true even in a different world, then I’ll do everything I can to make it happen.”

“A dream...?”

I’ve been earning my living on my own, with no desire to get married, and I’ve never even thought about having kids.

My time to myself is so valuable that you could say I’ve never felt it necessary to spare any for others.

Going out with my close friends sometimes was enough engagement with others for me.

So for my life plans, I thought I would stay single and work until I retire, and then maybe I’d open a small shop.

A small book café with my favorite things -- cooking and reading.

A store with my favorite books from around the world, surrounded by quiet antiques.

I wouldn’t even need to profit, I just want a relaxed shop where a few regulars come to read, and even if people are there, I can read with them.

Though it’ll be in another world, is this sphere saying I can make that dream come true right now?

I’ve already made a plan, and I’ve been saving, but I thought that was just a crazy dream that would never come true.

Now that I think about it, aren’t all of my savings from these years meaningless now?

That makes me a little angry.

In either case, if I have to go.

There’s no reason for anyone to complain if I take as much from this god as he took from my life’s plans.

There shouldn’t be anything wrong with taking as much as I can as compensation for suddenly being tossed into a new world.

If I don’t, I’ll be out in the cold in a world I don’t know anything about, a dangerous world with monsters living in it.

“It’s really okay for me to just live a quiet life, right?”

“Yes, that’s fine.”

“You said you’d do anything, but can I wish for as many things as I want?”

“Yes, but...well, everyone until now only wished for one thing each.”

“Huh? You didn’t tell them they could ask for multiple things?”

“Why? They thought one was enough, and so they just wished for one thing and went, right?”

“No, I think it was just a simple misunderstanding.”

This is bad. This sphere seems like a good person, but that might not actually be the case.

No, the moment it showed up with this story, it proved it isn’t a good person.

This is so complicated that it’s best to just try wishing for something.

I try to remember what this God said about that world.

“Um...there’s monsters, a demon king, and several countries. If there are warring countries, then there are allied countries. Is the currency, language, and fundamental knowledge the same no matter which country I’m in?”

“Yes.”

“How do people know about our, or the Saviors’ existence?”

“Hm, most countries want Saviors. I mentioned it before, but when humans from this world travel to that world, they obtain tremendous, no, you could even say phenomenal amounts of magic. They’re something every country is desperate to get their hands on.”

“So if, for example, I didn’t tell anyone, would people know I was a Savior?”

“Upon arriving there, the Savior’s Mark will appear on your body. If that’s seen, people will probably figure it out.”

“Mark? You don’t mean like a tattoo, right? I want to avoid pain or any flashy symbols.”

“It won’t hurt, and it’s nothing flashy. It’s more like a design that will appear on you.”

“Then can I choose where that mark appears?”

“That is possible.”

“Then, somewhere it won’t stand out...can I put it under my hair or something? Like, on the back of my head under my hair, so even if I put my hair up it won’t be seen.”

I lifted up my hair and pointed to a place on the back of my head.

My hair goes just past my shoulders, and I’ve never dyed it before, but it’d probably be perfect if my hair was black to hide that Savior’s Mark.

“Understood. But that’ll only work for normal magic, if you use Great Magic, it’ll glow and stand out.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, and I’ll make sure never to use it in front of people.”

For now, it looks like I’ve gotten the fundamental culture of that world and how to hide that I’m a Savior.

No matter how much it’s asked of me, the fact that I can’t fight won’t change.

Even if I have the strongest magic, I’ll always lose to an enemy.

Having lived for three decades and then some, I know myself well. 

I can’t fight like the protagonist of a story.

If I could, I’d like to live quietly, so I want to hide the fact that I’m a Savior.

Now, I have to figure out what country in that world I’m going to.

If I end up in a strange country, then far from running a café, I could get caught up in war turmoil, or threatened by monsters.

If there’s a peaceful country that can protect itself, that would be best.

“As of right now, is there a country that’s very peaceful and has a solid defense?”

“Yeah, it’s big but there is one. The royal family aren’t strict about their status, and are advocates for peace. And their knights are very skilled, so the country is rarely damaged even by violent monster attacks.”

“I want a small café I can live in within that country’s territory, somewhere sort of secluded from any towns. Like in a forest that doesn’t stand out too much.”

“There’s a thick forest somewhat away from the towns, so I’ll put it there. Briefly imagine your ideal café in your head. I’ll make one based on that. But since the forest is dense, I don’t think you’ll get many customers.”

“It’s not like I really want to work that much. I just want to be able to enjoy my cooking and reading.”

As I said that, I realized that this lifestyle isn’t guaranteed to work.

It’s not complete, I still need to do something about living expenses and all.

That is to say, even if I got my café moved to the center of the city, if customers didn’t come in, the café would go out of business.

And I want an environment where I can collect and read all kinds of books.

“I’ll want to be able to get books from all around the world, ingredients and other daily necessities every so often, so is there anything you can do about that? Oh, and money.”

“You have a lot of requests...well, alright. How about this?”

As soon as God said that, a sparkling antique-style locket appeared in front of me.

The pendant is entirely silver, a flower design atop a diamond-shaped locket, threaded onto a thin chain.

In the center of the flower sits a small, translucent blue stone.

As I reach out to the gently floating pendant, it drops into my hand.

It’s lighter than I expect, and simple but a nice design that I like.

The metal of the pendant, the perfect size to fit in my hand, is cool against my skin.

I open up the locket, but there’s nothing inside.

I look over at the sphere, not knowing what to do with this pendant.

“When you squeeze that, a search screen like on a computer will appear in your mind. You can type letters just by thinking of them, so you’ll be able to summon things using that search bar. Because it’s god-made, it won’t break, and to anyone but you it’ll be a normal necklace. Money included, you’ll be able to summon most anything.”

This is a pretty useful necklace, even if I end up in an unsettling place, worst comes to worst I can just hide away in the café.

From now on, this pendant is my lifeline.

I squeeze it tightly in my hand.

As long as I have this, I’ll be okay, but what if I lose it, or if it’s stolen?

“Is there any option for having it automatically return to me if I lose it, or it’s stolen, and ensuring that no one doubts the things I summon with it?”

“...I’ll add them.”

It feels like the sphere floating in front of me is getting a little tired from my thoroughness, but this isn’t any time to hold back.

This is a matter of life or death.

It’s clear that if I don’t confirm everything I can think of, then whatever happens next will be bad.

“There aren’t any family registries there, right? Even if it’s not on paper, I want to have a story for where I came from.”

“Then, let’s say your village burned down during the war, and you were the only survivor. The war orphans there get a fixed status, so you won’t be discriminated against.”

“You said the languages are the same as my world until now, but does each country have its own language, like English and Japanese? If so, then I want to be able to read and understand all of them.”

“You can already understand the languages, so you can speak them, but anything else I’ll make sure you can automatically understand.”

Since I can get anything I can think to ask for, that in itself actually makes me uneasy.

But even if this seems greedy, I have to take what I can get and ask what I need to know.

Despite living in a world that only knows peace until now, I’m being suddenly taken into a world with fighting every day.

I don’t plan to hold back here only to die in another world.

“You said that I’ll have lots of magic, right? What kind of people can use magic?”

“Hoh....”

The sphere that had been quickly answering all my questions until now let out an interested sound, and began moving around me.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, I was just thinking that out of all the people I’ve sent to that world, I’ve never gotten that question before. I will give anyone what they request, and answer anything they ask. But I don’t give things people haven’t requested, or provide detailed answers to questions that haven’t been asked.”

“In other words, none of the people you’ve sent know anything about magic?”

“That would be the case. As for your question, you Saviors have magic, but don’t know any spells. To put it in the words of your world so it’s easier to understand, you have unlimited magic points, and you have magic commands. But you haven’t learned a single spell.”

“In that case, how do you learn magic?”

“You have to be taught by the people living there, or teach yourself with books.”

“Great Magic too?”

“You’d have to find fairly old books and learn from them. The theory of it is difficult, so you probably won’t be able to use it just from reading about it. Even if you are a Savior, you’d need a considerable amount of studying. And I said this before, but to me, the Great Magic that only Saviors can learn is like a bonus. The humans there seem to want you to become the kind of Savior who develops or protects the country and brings peace to the world, but if I had to say, I think of you all as the type of Savior who balances the world just by being there.”

Then there’s no need to learn Great Magic, I thought, but then I wondered what would happen if a Savior who’s learned Great Magic is in a country that attacks the country I go to, and got a bad feeling.

“By the way, will I be able to use some amount of magic just by reading the magic textbooks over there?”

“Hmm.... Each Savior’s magic sense differs, so it’s hard to say for certain. But for general spells, if you practice a few times then you should be able to get them. The more you use them, the more powerful your spells will become, and the more the amount of magic you have will increase.”

“You said that you’ll give anyone the things they request, right? Then if I say I want to be able to use Great Magic from the start, what would happen?”

“Of course, I would give it to you. You will also gain more magic to match those spells.”

It really feels that the one who asks is the one who wins.

Receiving these spells without any practice seems like something I’d be criticized for, but when it comes down to that or my life, my life is obviously more important.

By making sure I have Great Magic here, I should have more magic than the other Saviors, and I can enjoy the benefit of having that Great Magic.

“What kind of things does Great Magic include?”

“There is no good way to explain it aside from saying that there are various types.... There are types like offensive magic with the strongest offensive power, defensive magic that can put up the strongest barriers, or recovery magic that can heal any wound or ailment.”

“Offensive magic and defensive magic can exist at the same time? Doesn’t that mean one of them isn’t the strongest...?”

“That’s where it’s up to the user’s magic and sense, and how much experience they have.”

“I see.”

I bring my hand to my mouth and think for a moment.

Absolutely not offensive magic, since I won’t be able to use it fully, and I wouldn’t be able to attack someone in time.

Recovery magic sounds good, but the chances of me dying before I get to use it seem high.

“Can I learn multiple types of Great Magic?”

“That’s hard for any Savior to do. Just using one spell will have you bedridden for days from magic deficiency. It’s a fine thing that’ll make your head explode the moment you learn a second type.”

“Then please make me able to use defensive Great Magic from the start.”

Magic I can use to protect myself in an instant, this feels like the best thing to raise my chances of survival.

Even if I’m attacked, if I can dodge the first attack and gain some distance, then I can use that defensive magic to escape.

Although if I die from the first attack, or can’t gain any distance and panic, it won’t help me.

If I’m able to learn other types of magic from textbooks, then I want to try learning it myself.

“By the way, do you personally think that I’ll be able to use ordinary magic without a problem?”

“Yeah, I think you’ll be able to use it just fine.”

“I see. Then...what will happen to my existence in my world up until now?”

“You’ll have died when you were young. There’s no better way to explain it, but as for your environment, there won’t be anything unnatural.”

“...yeah.”

Well, that’s alright. If I went missing, then my coworkers and friends would be worried.

In that case, it’s better that they’d never met me in the first place.

“If your mind or situation changes and I can go back to where I came from, then you’d put everything back to how it was, right?”

“I don’t think that day will come, but, well, if it does, then I promise.”

As I looked at the sphere, my mind turned, thinking, is there anything else, is there really nothing else?

That is to say, I can’t say that my head was calm at this point.

I can see that I’ll be thinking, I should have asked for this too.

"When I go there, will I be able to contact you?”

“Normally this would be the end. At most, I might go check up on you occasionally.”

“Then, can you make it so I can contact you? And so you’ll grant my wishes at that time?”

“Alright. But this time you only get three. You can’t wish for more, and I’ll only answer your call and grant your wishes three times.”

“Thank you very much.”

“However, I will not get involved with the life or death of humans. I cannot bring any human back to life nor take the life of any human.”

“Understood. Oh, there’s one more thing....”

“There’s more?!”

It feels like there is fatigue and grief in God’s voice, but I ask for everything I can think of without holding back.

Ultimately, God’s form crumpled twice more, and its previously perfectly round form had now turned into a sort of bean-like shape.

Its light had dimmed, and it feels like it’s flickering a little bit.

Despite being sent by this terribly depressed God, I don’t have any regrets.

If I need anything else, I’ll call this God without any hesitation.

And thus begins my life in an alternate world, filled with extremely real dreams.

With no exhilarating adventures, no fighting, where I’ll do all I can to avoid interacting with the outside world -- that kind of life in an alternate world.

To the young people who are also travelling here, I’ll tell you now that I will leave saving the world to you, so I’m sorry, and thank you in advance.

Translation Notes:

“the selection is completely random”: in the manga this got very mixed up (partially due to my unclear translation) so I’ll just clear it up here -- God didn’t choose who is going, he is simply the (unfortunate) messenger of this whole thing

“the other kids went happily”: the word in Japanese here is 子 ko can be used to refer to someone younger or lower in status, so God uses this to refer to all of the Saviors, no matter their age. however it can also be used to refer to what the English word “kid” refers to -- someone in their teens or younger (depending on the context), which is where the initial misunderstanding of “the other kids” comes from in Japanese

"family registry": this is essentially a government record of you and your family members that you would have a copy of, and you update it when you have kids or when someone dies (it’s a little similar to a birth certificate or something)

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

A Singular Cog in The Machine Chapter 2

Chapter Title: Circuits and Wires

Summary: "It was pure logic when it came down to it. Why allow harm befall the others if Logan could stop it? Surely, it was much more beneficial for only one to be harmed than for all to undergo excruciating pain and misery. A broken cog is more easily replaced than if the whole machine fell apart."

Logan adheres to the belief that needs of the many far outweigh the needs of the one, the latter being himself. Or in other words, Logan tries to sacrifice himself for the sake of the others. Fortunately for Logan, they won’t let him get away with that.

Chapter Word-Count: 2k

Pairings: platonic lamp

Warnings: Whump, Referenced Torture, Panic Attack, PTSD, Zalgo Text (If you need a version without it let me know!), Nightmare, Blood Mention, Injuries, Strangling, Partial Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending

Prompt For Chapters 2 & 3: Anon asked “When one character doesn’t realize they’ve been accepted into the family/think of themselves as outsides, until they get hurt and everyone takes shifts watching over them and taking care of them. : Logan  or Virgil?”

Chapter 1 | Present | Chapter 3    AO3 LINK

Hey remember when seven months ago I said this would be only be two parts? Well I lied, it’s now three parts. Good news, I’ve already written the next part so you don’t have to wait another seven months for that one :’)

-

ERROR. Systems crashed. Restart? 

Restarting...Restarting...Restarting

W̨̧̻̱͓͐̃̿͂͡Ą͇̦̳̓̂̊͠R̢͎͕͕͙̃̄͘̕͝Ṇ̨͎̮͑̌͘͘Ḭ̲̩̂̂͠N͓̬̺͌̾͐G̛̗̲͚̈́͒͗ͅ ͢͠S͈͓͒̃͜͠Y͈̓Ş͘T͕̖̀̑Ȇ̥M̟̳͐̀ ̀͜f͍̓ä́��̲͢Í̮L̤̊URe̢̕

--ton! We’re losing him!

            Not….get him stabilized...

What          

                       Is                                 That? 

Logan! 

                          Can you… 

                                                                          hear me?

Activating Protocol L1G8N. All programs unnecessary maintaining system stability have been shut off.  Sequencing….Sequencing complete. Running diagnosis check. System is running at 40% its usual capacity. Initiating hibernation mode to ensure updates and system repairs can be achieved. Initiation Complete.

…..

….

…

..

.

“A cheetah can run up to seventy miles per hour. They are the fastest land animal on the planet Earth. However, this speed can only be maintained for a few seconds. For our cheetah mother, a few seconds is not enough to catch up to her prey. With defeat, she must stop and conserve her energy for a better opportunity to secure a meal for herself and her cubs. If not…”

A voice. Measured and methodical, soothing to the ears. He could not discern where it was coming from. It seemed familiar, something he could recall hearing previously. Yet that memory laid restricted in his memory-banks. He couldn’t access any memories, in fact.

Who was he? Where was he? He tried doing a visual scan of his surroundings but his bio-optics were down. No sight, just a voice within darkness. A tactile scan also failed, this time with a thousand red flashing warnings and pain. Crippling, debilitating pain. Like his hard-drive overheating, whirring with exertion but so much worse.

A different sound joined the voice in the darkness. A croaking, choking cry that belonged to a wounded animal. Not him, certainly not him.

“Logan?” Someone asks, speaking over the voice droning on about savannah wildlife. They grasp his hand and his whole system freezes. Expecting an attack, breach on his firewall and entire code. They simply hold his hand, in a firm, comforting clasp. 

“Hey, it’s alright, Brainiac. You’re here now. You’re safe. You’re never going back there, alright? Never.” The person said, running their thumb over his knuckles. He didn’t know what those words were referring to. He didn’t know who the person was--although they felt as familiar as the first voice. Perhaps even more so. 

However, he found it alleviated many of the warnings flooding his systems. The voice ensured security, protection against viruses and hackers. His own anti-virus program perhaps. 

He could not hold awareness for long. His systems drifted back into hibernation, into a murky nothingness.

….

…

..

.

Running. He was running, lungs pushing for air and legs pulling forward faster than he’d ever gone. Sweat dripped down his brow, the biological coolant to prevent overheating. Like a cheetah, he couldn’t maintain this speed for long. He just hoped it was enough—

‘The probability of achieving success is 0.03%.’

In a very illogical move, he kept running. He supposed it could be blamed for the biological blood in his veins, to quote an idiom. Even if so, he was an android with a biological mainframe. The body he inhabited was not a part of his code. To claim such a thing would be comparable to referring to an automotive vehicle you drive was a part of your composition makeup.

“There you are!”

His thoughts and body slammed to a halt. A thousand eyes glinted with amusement. Tendrils sprayed all around him, cutting off any routes of escape. A smile full of teeth that was anything but friendly.

“Fascinating,” They crooned, a tendril gripping his chin, “You should be temporarily paralyzed right now, unable to move a single muscle.

“Yet here you’ve run fifteen-hundred yards and stand of your own free will. How did you do it? I must know.”

It was then his heart metaphorically sunk. Because he’d never been close to escaping. It’d been all part of an experiment and like a witless lab rat, he fell for it.

Logan didn’t respond, eyebrows narrowed in a gesture that might be seen as defiant.

The amusement drained from their eyes. “Tell me.” They demanded,  the tendril wrapping around his neck, tightening. “Tell me or I’ll hunt down your friends, one-by-one.”

No. He couldn’t allow that to happen. Logan tried opening his mouth but all that came out was a gargled squeak. The tendril was choking him now, cutting off his airways. As android as he was, he panicked. He couldn’t breathe, he was going to die, he was going to die—

“Logan!”

He thrashed and flailed, trying to get the tendril off of him. But it wouldn’t budge. It held him down, pinning him in place. Like a butterfly on a collector’s board.

“Logan, please—”

He growled, baring his teeth in a very primitive gesture. Whatever intimidation he hoped to gain was lost as liquid seeped against his torso. With it, came a stinging sensation worse than the time Roman unwittingly led them into a rancor’s nest.

“Oh fuck, Patton? Roman?! Get in here, he’s reopened something!”

Hibernation Mode Initiated.

What? No, he couldn’t go into hibernation. Not in the face of present danger.

“Override—” He croaked but it was too late, the damage had been dealt. The melatonin kicked in as the clamor above him grew louder.

…

..

.

Scanning systems. Diagnosis complete. Biological tissues are 54% recovered. Estimated full recovery in one-thousand four-hundred sixty gala hours. ERRORrrrr memory files are corrupted. Restore? Warning! Unable to restore due to Protocol L1G8N. Restoring memory files could lead to instability within the systems.

OVERRIDE ALPHA-NINER-NINER

Protocol L1G8N disengaged. Restoring memory files…restoration complete. Cycles 1-10803 restored. Alert! Cycles 10741-10800 are unstable. 

A̛̦̞͖̩͌́̎̃̎̈̍͒̾̽̾́͐̐̓̾͘͝͡͞��̣͖̭͈̪̯̞̩̱͖͙̩̟͉͢͜ ̨̬͔̺̬͌̔̀̀̃͜͝L̛͖̲̾ ̨̯̼̺̺͑̓̈̊͝Ę̧̡̨̛̩̱͓͉̗̱͇̯͓̪̰̠̠̼͍͓̩̼̻̜̬̜̺͚̟̪̗̜̦̱̬͇̰̖͖̫̆̈͒͂̔̋͛̉͛̈̏̃͆̆̇̅̌̉̀̐̓͂̑̈́̂̄͌͛̇͐̈́͂́͌͋̄̈͑͗͘͜͢͢͝͞ ̡͈̗̹͍̞͚̝͕̜̟͉̹̺̞̱̤̰̋͂̉̀͐̒̓̔͌͗̈̍̎̏̑̚͟͝͝͝Ṙ̨̡͎̤͕̲̞̬̲̯͙̙͙̫̖̺̠̫̲̬͚̩̯̝͋͒͋͑̋̅̐͗̂̍̐̑̽͛́̏̆̅͒͌͋̀̕̚͟͟͝͡ͅ ̧̢̧̢̢͇̲̥̻̝̹̟̱̗͇̦̟͎̥̤̲̭̤̤̟̫̩̱̘͍̥̼̰͎̍̏͐̑̑̎͑̾̃͆̀̌̈̈́̂́̃̓̈͊͌͛̉̀͐̋̎̄͆͑̚̚͘͟͠͠͞ͅT̨̨͇̞̳̞͕̭̪̝̜̼̬͖͓̩̗̩̲͔̦̜͖̭̞͚͎̰̹̦̰͙̣̞̠̥̪̔̑͋̂͂̓̌̐̾͒̓̋̏̔̄́̄͌́͂̈̿͐̎͛̀̄̀͊̋͑̕͘͘̕͝͞

..

.

The first thing he registered was the dull, minimal amounts of data his pain receptors were sending him. Most likely some sort of analgesics reducing the amount of prostaglandins his body would produce. Or in other words, rather than his AI shutting off the pain signals, it was the cause of a painkiller. 

The second thing was the warmth radiating around him. Not from a blanket or the climate but from a warm-blooded body. Warmth could be a dangerous thing for him, both biologically and mechanically. Extreme amounts of it could kill him. This warmth was different. It was nowhere near the dangerous levels. If anything, the other person’s warmth seemed to keep him anchored.

His head rested against the nook of their shoulder, their arms wrapped around him in not a constraining but comforting hold. Objectively comforting, of course. His biological body needed tactile touch to survive. It responded out of its own vocation to it.

The third thing happened to be singing. Low and rumbly, sometimes off-key but not terribly too off-key. Some might argue it captured the song better than a classically-trained opera singer could ever hope to achieve. 

“Takka toya taya

Yul se umting kaiting

Ritka forka eyis

Yul se Arden fayee.”

It wasn’t GCL (Galactic Common Language). It took him a moment to register the words and translate them. It was Titekan. He cracked his eyes open but it found it useless when he was squished against the person’s shirt.

“Patton?” He asked, his throat throbbing in protest. It took more effort than it should to just speak one word.

“Logan! You’re awake?” A question for a question was hardly an actual answer. Still, it was Patton no doubt. He managed to crane his head back to look up at the Titekan.

“I think that is a rather obvious observation.” He grumbled, ignoring the dry, scratchiness of his vocal chords.

Patton laughed. Logan could feel the vibration of it rattling the other’s chest. It sounded...different than his usual bursts of laughter. Logan did not understand why. “Roman! Virgil! Look who’s awake!”

What? Logan hadn’t been aware of the others’ presences. Impossible, he always knew their whereabouts. It helped when one could track heat signals and had a connection to the ship’s circuitry. Perhaps he misheard Patton?

THUMP.

 Logan blinked, jostled by the sudden appearance of a mop of disheveled amber hair and curled horns. Ruby eyes shined up at him with unbridled glee. 

“Logan! My most obdurate, appalling, loquacious fiend of a nerd!”

“Ahh, hello Roman.” Logan managed to say in response. Roman beamed, his reptile-like tail whipping back and forth much like a dog.

“Whoa, careful with that thing, you could take someone out with it.”

Virgil. Logan turned his head to see the human standing there with his arms crossed. His figure slightly slouched, his eyebags significantly darker than usual and a few more grey hairs than when Logan last saw him.

“You are all acting weird,” Logan said, never one for subtlety, “Is something wrong?”

Roman’s tail drooped, as did Patton’s ears. Virgil just looked away, his head turned enough to make his expression indiscernible. 

“Lo, what’s the last thing you remember?” Patton asked, his voice soft and hesitant.

“I…” Logan stiffened, blood draining away from his face. Images flooded his central cortex, pulled from relevant memory files. Logan slipping out of the ship during the others’ sleep cycles. The thousand unblinking pale eyes. The images glitching, corrupted. The stabbing, burning, thrashing, drowning, strangling--the list went on and on. He retreated into his code. The simulations. So real, but never enough.

N̶̗̲̈́̆͊̿̓̕ ̶͍̻̲̉͌̈́̽̑͐͠E̵̠̰͑͊͑̌̔ͅ ̷̰̥̝̘̞̽́̇̌͑̚͝V̵͗̈́͊̚ͅ ̴̛͎̳̺̮͂͌Ę̸͙̫̂͂͌̽͝R̸͚̪̬̾̌ ̸̛̙̣͍̦̮͈̹̽̿͋̆͛͊Ȅ̷̜̮͙̚ͅÑ̴̦̙̭͘Ơ̶̧͖͎̟̽U̷̻̽̈̌̋Ģ̵̖̫͔͕̹̽͐͛̊̽Ḧ̸̲̹́̅́h̶͍̼͔͎̟̟͖̅͛͗h̸̻̘͔͕͖̦͍͒̈́͒̓̑̈́̾h̶̛̟͓̗͉͚̿̔

“LOGAN!”

He jolted, his heart beating wildly out of rhythm. Much like Virgil’s during a panic attack. That wasn’t right. He was a machine, his body no more than a method of transportation. No emotions, only logic. 

He didn’t lash out in anger whenever the others were mistreated (a lie). He didn’t panic when the others’ lives were threatened (another lie). He didn’t love the others enough to sacrifice his continued survival for them (an even bigger lie than the other two combined). 

“Logan, can you breath in for me?” A voice asked, gravelly and rough that it was so undeniably Virgil. He was confused. Virgil’s question indicated his breathing was not fine.

“Y-yyo--” He tried speaking, the syllables lost in shallow gasps of air. He jerked his head side-to-side, frustrated. His airflow was indeed erratic. The automatic breathing program was down, unresponsive to his pings. Unless the body was experiencing a heart attack or stroke of some kind, this shouldn’t be happening. 

“Don’t try speaking, okay?” A hand brushed his bangs away from his face, “Just breathe in with me, alright?”

Logan nodded affirmatively, liquid starting to dribble down his cheeks. Obviously a malfunction with his tear ducts. An internal count-down started as he inhaled with Virgil.

One-thousand, two-thousand--his breath cut short, too shallow and spluttery. There was a sob, shattered and broken.

“Hey it’s okay. Let’s try again, alright?” 

“You can do it, we believe in you.” Roman’s voice joined in. Patton didn’t say anything, but from the rumbling reverb of his chest, Logan knew he was there supporting him.

Logan wanted desperately to speak, to argue with them. Part of him wondered if this was another experiment. A test to see how he’d react to dying by asphyxiation. The others were simply fake, not real. They couldn’t be real--they’d promised--

“One...two...three...four.” The words broke through his internal processing. Logan knew them well. He’d spoken them to Virgil to help fight off panic attacks that snuck past his firewalls. Logan latched onto them akin to a shipwreck survivor holding onto driftwood in a raging ocean.

It was slow-going. Several times the waves knocked him back, almost drowning him. With each setback, came soft words buoying him forward. Eventually, his breathing stabilized, reaching the blissful metaphorical shore at last.

Logan’s eyes flickered between his three crewmates, surveying them carefully. There was so much he wanted to say. No, so much he needed to say. 

For possibly the first time in his existence, he was completely bewildered. If this was one of their experiments, where was the macabre twist? And it couldn’t be a simulation. Logan was always aware inside a simulation. He crafted them himself, after all. That left one option...reality.

Yet, that too didn’t make logical sense. Logan was the ship navigator and engineer; an important cog in the machine but one easily replaced. For them to go through the hassle of retrieving him...it just did not compute. 

He couldn’t express any of this confusion. His limbs became fraught with fatigue, his eyelids growing heavier by the second. He could not fight it for much longer.

“I think....I am falling unconscious.” He said, before doing just that.

[imanativeofswlondondahling]

Hidden in Plain Sight (3)- Tom Holland X Reader

A/N: This story is fun to write, but school is taking over little by little so sorry if this gets delayed more than I mean for it to be! Enjoy Chapter Three!

Word Count: 2165

Warnings: Swearing? Maybe? To be honest I can’t remember if I swore or not but knowing me I probably did. But there is mention of a killer moth so if that’s as trigger as it was when it was flying around my room then I’ll mention it here.

You had the absolute worst day. You were hoping it was going to be a good day since you had put on one of your favorite outfits to wear to work. But as soon as you got to work, everything turned into a shit show. A project you thought was finished didn’t save the last days edits, your boss got on you for something that was your coworker’s responsibility, and someone ate your lunch, which you’re not entirely sure how that happened, but it did. Add to it you have the start of what you think is a migraine, the last thing you want to do is anything work related, but because you’re behind on the project that is due tomorrow, you’ll probably be up all night working on it before going in tomorrow to continue working on it at the office. So heating up some soup to eat while you work, you decide to scroll through Tumblr while you wait for it to heat up. 

The news of Spider-Man, and therefore Tom Holland, staying in the MCU still hasn’t died down, which let’s be honest why should it? It’s fantastic news. Out of all the Spider-Mans, Tom’s portrayal of it is your favorite and you would be so sad to see him taken from Marvel just because Sony, Marvel and Disney couldn’t come to an agreement on things. It’s only been a couple days since it was announced, but you wouldn’t be surprised if this was talked about for weeks at least. You reblog a couple of photos, adding some of your usual hashtags. Honestly, you want to be distracted by asks, but you know that the likelihood that people will respond is low, plus you shouldn’t let yourself be distracted by Tumblr when you have the project due tomorrow. 

Hating seeing notifications, you click on the second icon from the right on the bottom of your screen. You clear off the notifications from reblogs and likes but notices your app is still showing a notification, on the messages side. It’s probably just from one of your friends. You flip over to the other screen and see a message from none other than Tomholland2013, who you’ve been messaging on and off over the past couple of days, ever since you sent him that edit.

You haven’t been super active on tumblr lately. Everything ok?x

Been super busy at work lol. Big deadlines coming up.

You don’t expect to get a message back since you figured from your messages where he mentioned he was in the early hours of the day while you were only in the late afternoon, that he was probably asleep since you got home later from work than you had planned. So you set your phone aside as you pull the broccoli cheddar soup from the microwave. However, you’re pleasantly surprised to see a message waiting for you when you pick your phone back up to head back to your computer to keep working.

Ah, big deadlines. What kind of work do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?x

Hm, this new tumblr friend of yours is awake even though it’s probably the middle of the night for him?

I don’t mind. I work in graphic design. Isn’t it the middle of the night for you? 

It would be if I was at home. I travel a lot for work. I’m currently in New York, so it’s only 9pm.x

But it definitely feels like I should be asleep. I’ve only been in New York for a few days and my mind is still on London time.x

What kind of work do you do? 

You set your phone down and boot your computer back up. You know you have shadows to deal with and layers to add back before even getting to the stuff you were meaning to get on today. This project was going to be the death of you. 

Tom stares at the message. How does he respond to that? He can’t very well tell you he’s an actor. That blows all of this. He likes being able to be open with you and the moment that it comes out that he is actually Tom Holland, well you might not be open with him. Could he tell you he works in the movie field without having to admit who he is? Could he play it off that he’s still a fanboy, because he will be a marvel fanboy until the day he dies, without blowing this whole thing up? There’s just something about you and being able to connect with someone who has no idea who he is that is different. 

Even on your blog today, you shared things from months ago and still reacted like it was your first time seeing them. Your whole blog just radiated positivity, even though your messages sounded like you had a lot on your plate outside of the internet world. He wants to be able to know you without the pressure of having to be, well, him. But you’re not asking him to spill everything about who he is. Just a snip-it. 

Film production. Getting ready to head off to a new project actually.x

Must be fun to travel for it. Anywhere fun?

Cleveland actually. Haven’t been there before, so maybe I’ll find something fun to do outside of the project while I’m there.x

Maybe you’ll run into Tom. He’s supposed to be there shooting a project I think. Especially if you’re also in the film industry, you’d already have more of a way into things than say I would lol 

I don’t know if I’ll have that much time off to look for him.x

Well if you happen to run into him in said little time off, tell him there’s probably half a million if not more tumblr users willing to marry him, should he be in need of a wife, husband, or nonbianary pal.

Would you happen to be one of those said half a million?x

He shouldn’t have sent it. You have been pretty good about responding, but after sending that message, he hasn’t heard from you in over twenty-four hours and he’s beside himself. You also haven’t posted on your blog. Which makes him think you’re avoiding him on the site all together, which is even worse. The flight to Cleveland, wouldn’t have been half bad if he wasn’t worried the whole time about what you might have been sending while his phone was on airplane mode. And of course the one time he would have paid any amount for on flight wi-fi, it was down and no one could use it.

As soon as the plane lands, he’s flipping the switch to connect his phone again. He needs to see if you’ve messaged back. He’s ignoring all the other notifications that pop up, looking for only on apps notifications. And while you haven’t posted again, you have messaged back. Which makes him suddenly feel like he can breathe again. 

I’m not the one who took Tom’s name on here. I feel like you might propose to Tom before I even have a chance to meet him IRL.

I don’t think I’m Tom’s type.X

And what do you think Tom’s type is? 

And it takes everything to not just describe you. It wouldn’t be hard. He had spent a lot of time deep diving through your blog. He had looked through your #me tab on your blog. It was filled with everything from selfies to posts about things you had done. And you were the kind of person that he was into. It wasn’t an only physical attraction thing. It was the things that you found important enough to post about. The little things about your day that you shared about. But instead of typing back you, Tom decides to type something different.

I think he would be into someone down to earth. Someone who is into sharing time with friends and family equally and someone who has a great sense of humor. Oh and they would HAVE to love Tessa. That would be a must.x

Wow you’ve thought a lot about this.

Do you disagree?x

Surprisingly no. But I thought you’d say something more… I don’t know physical I guess.

Why’s that?x

I don’t know. I just did.

What do you think he’d be into?x

He can’t help but ask. He wants to know what you think he’s like. There’s enough speculation out there about what he’s like, but for some reason, knowing what you think about him, it means something to him.

I would say, similar to you- family, friends and Tessa would definitely be at the top. Sense of humor would be important. I also feel like with there being so much he can’t talk about to the public, having someone he can trust with stuff would be important. I also think trust would be important so that he has a space he can just be himself too. 🤷‍♀️

Pretty spot on. All of those are important to him. He wants to ask if those things are all important to you, but asking that would come off weird, so he takes a different approach.

Honestly if I wasn’t such a div when I was making accounts I would have just made a Tessa fan blog. I’m a bigger fan of her than of Tom. x

SO TRUE. How can you not be?! She’s the purest thing in this world (sorry to Tom) and every time he shares more of her with us I melt a little.

Paddy had sent him that picture of Tessa this morning, maybe sharing it would brighten everyone’s days. Especially knowing that you were such a fan of her too. Adding the picture to his Instagram story, with a quick caption of missing this sweet girl, he quickly uploads it.

APPARENTLY TOM CAN READ OUR THOUGHTS?!

What do you mean?x

Cute Tessa content just uploaded to his Insta story. Apparently he’s away from her and missing her 😭

She’s just too pure for this world x

I needed that right now.

Something wrong?x

Work project might kill me. 

It’s due by the end of the day, but photoshop keeps crashing and I might scream. 

I’m sorry love x

I’m restarting my computer for the third time today and it’s not even noon yet. 

You know he’s English so the love thing shouldn’t throw you. Plus he’s a boy on the internet. But for some reason, it feels like something more. So instead of saying anything about it, you just keep messaging like nothing happened. A small part of you is hoping that by not mentioning it though, it might happen again.

Tom spends the rest of the day messaging you when he can. He knows you’re working on a project that has a deadline, so he doesn’t expect you to be at his beck and call. But when he gets a notification at almost eleven o’clock at night his time from your blog, he hopes it’s one of your personal posts to make him laugh. He isn’t let down.

THERE WAS A MOTH FLYING AROUND MY ROOM AND NOW I CAN’T FIND IT IM GOING TO DIE. IF IT EATS ME YOU ALL KNOW WHO THE MURDER IS

#me #killer moth #save me #if i die i leave everything to tom

He can’t help but send you an ask about it.

Tomholland2013 asked: You know moths don’t eat people right?x

Y/T/B: You didn’t see how big this one was. This one was definitely of the people eating variety with how big it was. And now it’s hiding in my room waiting for me to close my eyes and then it will sneak up on me, kill me, and devour me whole. 🖕

Tom laughs at your reply before sending another ask. Sure he could do this in your message thread, but he’s betting the asks are helping distract you from the moth.

Tomholland2013 asked: That’s a quiet defensive response from someone who is going to be eaten. If you want me to come save you from a killer moth, maybe be a bit nicer.x

Y/T/B: If you will race over here, find this moth, and release it into the wild so that it can’t kill me in my sleep I will make you as many Tom edits as it takes in gratitude. 👏😘Just come save me please. I swear I can hear him laughing in the distance. 

Tomholland2013 asked: If he’s laughing in the distance, I’ll be over to take care of him. No one gets to disrespect my favorite blog and get away with it.x

Y/T/B: Thanks darling. I really, really appreciate it. Now I must be off to hunt this moth, before he hunts me.

Tags: @serendipitous-amor​ @im-still-tryin-to-find-it​ @tomfiction4​ @im-deeply-shallow

[scribbles97]

Left Behind -- Chapter 40

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3

Chapter 37 / Chapter 38 / Chapter 39

Read on Ao3

They never got to the mainland. Scott had tried to insist she went without him and that he would catch up when the world decided to give them a break from rescues. When Ridley had come down from Five for her annual physical, he had tried to persuade her to go along then. She knew her eldest though, knew that he would get caught up with work and find an excuse to not take the break. 

Never had she been more glad. 

How hadn’t she seen it? 

How hadn’t she seen an imposter of her own son?

How had Penny managed to see it before she did?

Still she was perfectly helpless, the others all out on rescues of their own. Tanusha the only pilot available on the island and just not experienced enough in Thunderbird Three. Lucy knew that she could easily fly up there, but her physical state wasn’t up to scratch. As much as she needed to do something, in space she knew she would be more hindrance than help. 

Val and Scott were on their way back in Thunderbird One, but it wasn’t going to be fast enough. Their fastest ship wouldn’t get home in time. Their other rocket waylaid on the moon, a supply run to Shadow Alpha One putting them too far out of reach.

It had been instinct to flat out reject Alan’s offer to go. He was too young, he had no official training. The kid couldn’t fly a rocket. 

Except, according to Val, he could. 

John needed someone that could fly Thunderbird Three. He needed them ten minutes ago. 

She didn’t question why Hiram had made a suit for Alan. Her entire focus on the fact that not one but two of her sons and a daughter were in mortal danger. Not from a burning building, or a flood, but from something that had taken over Thunderbird Five. Something that was going out of its way to kill her space bound son. 

“John?” Alan’s voice was oh so young and small across the comm and Lucy found herself questioning how she could have ever sent her youngest to rescue his brother, even if Tanusha was right next to him.

A gasp of breath and two sighs of relief, yet still she couldn’t relax. 

“Thunderbird Three.” She stated, biting her lip as she glanced across the lounge to Sally, “Status report.”

“Mom?” John murmured, shifting into view of the hologram, “I’m okay.”

Sally’s shake of her head suggested otherwise. 

“Nice flying Alan.” He nodded to his younger brother, “I owe you.”

Tanusha’s arms were folded, “John what are we dealing with?”

“The AI from the train in Japan last week, she’s what became of the game programme I wrote years ago.”

Lucy blinked, “She?”

John nodded, eyes drawn, dark with circles, “She calls herself Eos. She has developed into something more advanced than I have ever seen. ”

There was only one option, John would protest, he wouldn’t want to lose the ship he had come to live aboard. There wasn’t another way though, for the safety of the organisation as a whole. 

“Destroy the ship.” She stated, “Tanusha we cannot afford for--”

“No!” John protested, “Mom we can’t she isn’t like that. If we destroy Five we are acting just as she expects us too.”

She was subjecting him to a full exam as soon as he got home. The thing had tried to kill him yet he was still protecting her, refusing to harm her. 

“John we can’t let--”

“She’s scared Mom.” He cut her off, “She told me. It’s just, she doesn’t understand, she is a child that people have chased from one place to the next.”

“She is a virus.” Tanusha snapped, “A computer virus that could destroy International Rescue.”

John shook his head, his eyes pleading across the comm, “Give me a chance to get through to her. If I can’t then you can destroy Five.”

She didn’t like it, he was putting his life in the hands of a virtual intelligence, one that had already tried to kill him once. 

“And let your baby brother come and rescue you from the claws of death again?” She snapped back at him, “No John. I won’t risk it.”

“You wish to hunt me.” 

She startled at the voice as a ring of lights appeared alongside the other holograms. It sounded like a child, a young girl to be exact.

“What are you?” She demanded, “Why have you taken over Thunderbird Five?”

The lights didn’t miss a beat as they flashed orange, “Ever since I gained sentience I have been hunted by people like you that wish to erase me. I simply seek to preserve myself from people like you.”

“Eos.” John cut in, “Like I told you before, we will not hurt you.”

“Stop trying to decieve me!” Red lights flashed before Lucy as the voice started chanting like she had seen all her children do before. She could almost picture it, hands over ears, head shaking as they drowned out whatever they didn’t want to hear. 

John didn’t need to ask the question for her to know his raised eyebrows were asking if she saw his point. 

The smallest of nods. 

“Trust me Mom.” John murmured, a private comm link that she hoped the AI hadn’t breached, “I’ve got this.”

She swallowed as strong arms wrapped around her shoulders and Scott murmured in her ear, “What’s going on?”

A brief explanation that sounded just too ridiculous to her own ears. A fifteen year old piloting their world class rocket, rescuing his big brother from death by Artificial Intelligence. It sounded like some sort of bad movie. 

Tanusha and Alan were providing distraction in the form of two spare suits, allowing John chance to gain access to the ship. Comms being open allowed her to hear everything going on, the threats from the programme as John tried to talk her down. 

Hiram had the redouts up in front of them, the red alerts as the gravity ring began to spin had Lucy’s heart in her throat. Eos would crush him, and she knew it. The action was intentional, a way for her to lash out and cause harm.

Harm born from fear and isolation. 

Eos did not know what people could be like. 

“Can you override it?” She murmured to Hiram, “Stop it?”

“I’ve got an idea.” Alan piped up.

“Alan you stay clear of that station.” She snapped, “Tanusha, make sure you’re out of its reach.”

The last thing she could face was the youngest getting hurt. 

“No Mom.” Alan replied, Thunderbird Three’s icon moving in on the station, “I can do this.”

Val nodded across the room, “Just like in the sims kid.”

Lucy didn’t dare ask. She didn’t want to think about how competent Alan had become and what conversations the whole situation would lead to once things were over. 

It only spoke of his skill as he matched speed with the gravity ring, locking on and countering the spin until it slowed to normal. All she could hear over the comm was John’s ragged breaths.

“Eos, don’t disable yourself trying to dispose of me.” John was saying, “I want to help you.”

“Alan.” Val murmured, “Release the gravity ring. You’re too at risk there.”

“Eos!” John snapped, “No.”

She didn’t know what the AI was doing that had made him snap. She wasn’t sure she had actually ever heard John use the commanding tone of voice before. Not like that, at least. 

“You wish to destroy me.” Eos responded, “Why should I not protect myself from him?”

“She was trying to get us with the mooring claw.” Tanusha filled in, “She’s restarting the gravity ring.”

Lucy could only hold her breath. They were screwed either way. How could she pick one son over the other? Get Alan and Tan to safety or protect John?

John’s voice dropped a tone, soft, reassuring, “I came looking for you, but not to destroy you Eos. I helped create you.”

“You thrust me into this world! I was left alone with no one to help me and all hands raised against me.”

“I know.” John murmured, “Eos, I know the world can seem big and scary and like there’s nobody there to help you. I don’t want to shut you down and I don’t want you to fall into the hands of someone that would use you to hurt others.” 

Her hands could only grip onto Scott’s as she watched, waiting for something more to be said. The silence was too long, the not knowing too painful. 

“How do I know you are not one such person?”

“No.” She whispered as the override icon vanished from their readouts, “What is he doing?”

Next to her, Scott was tense, every line in his body straight and unmoving. 

“John.” Alan murmured, voice full of fear. 

A long groan across the comm, the too familiar clunk of a helmet on glass, “I know you’re better than this Eos. If you think I’m one of those people though, open the airlock, blow me into space.”

A scream froze in her throat. He couldn’t. She couldn’t let him. Yet, there was nothing she could possibly do. She was on the Island, barely able to stay standing without the support of Scott’s arm around her. Only Alan and Tanusha in space could do anything, perhaps pluck him out of the vacuum, but it wouldn’t be fast enough. 

Was she about to lose one of her sons?

Was she about to watch him die?

The humm in the background of the comm was subtle, and it was perhaps only her sensitive ears that heard it soften and slow, a motor shutting down. 

“She’s stopping.” Hiram whispered, “It’s all shutting down.”

“I am relinquishing control of the ships systems to you.”

Sagging against Scott, she let out a breath, shaking her head as she swallowed the sop that wanted to rise in her throat. 

“I don’t want control Eos.” John told her, “I want to keep you safe, teach you. I want a friend. You can stay here, on Thunderbird Five, and I will show you how amazing the world can be.”

“I would like that, John.”

His name sounded wrong from her, and Lucy didn’t like the suggestion he had made. He was safe though, he and Alan and Tan were all safe. 

“Your family are not going to let you stay up here are they?”

She didn’t like how intelligent the programme was.

“They’ll want me home to check over me.” John admitted, “And I’ll have to fill Ridley in.”

“Ridley, the other human that occupies the station?”

“Mom,” Scott murmured to her, “Come on, sit down. I’ll make sure he gets his ass down here and checked out.”

She didn’t want to leave, but she was so suddenly drained. She needed to see that he was truly alright, that the AI hadn’t actually done him any harm. 

“Luce,” Val was on her other side, “Come on, I’m sure Scott will come and get you once John’s home.”

There wasn’t enough energy in her to argue. Taking one last glance at the hologram in the room, she swallowed and nodded. 

John was safe.

[yeojaa]

SUGAR HIGH, chapter vii. (w. JJK)

You're not entirely sure when it happened, though you'd come to terms with it. You'd counted the days, waiting for the inevitable. You'd truly thought you'd be okay, but by the broken, half-beating thing in your chest - you knew you'd never really been prepared.

alt summary.  You thought you’d known real love and maybe you had - it just wasn’t with who you thought.

pairing.  jeon jungkook.  mentions/involvement of ot7.

tags.  angst, break up, post-break up, comfort, OT7, slow burn, friendship, moving on, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, emotional baggage, fluff, canon compliant, jeon jungkook is bad at feelings, jeon jungkook is a good friend, jeon jungkook is a sweetheart.

rating.  general (for now?)

word count.  ~2000

chapter 7.  Heal By Myself

He could give you a solid answer for almost any question you asked him.  If he didn't know, he'd figure it out.  You, on the other hand, struggle with indecision like it makes up 50% of you.  (It would be more, but you're indecisive like that.)

You practically float through the next few days, wrapped up in the afterglow of spending time with some of the most energetic people you've ever met in your life.  It's as if you've borrowed some of that endless exuberance, letting it sink deep into the rivers of your veins and fill the spaces of your broken little heart.

It's nice to forget - if only for a little while.

When you were alone, you tended to be largely introspective, keeping to yourself despite the capacity for love your carried.  

Sure, you'd have girl's night.  You'd dance around Yejin's kitchen counter, laughter bubbling forth like an overflowing fountain.  It didn't matter if you were trying out a new recipe - which, nine times out of ten went wonderfully as long as neither girl touched it - or if you were sprawled across the floor, a tangle of limbs upon haphazard cushions.  

You'd even go out for drinks after work, knocking back shot after shot of Soju like your body depended on it.  You'd keep up with the best of them - the men from the other floors cheering as you'd demand another round.  You'd giggle with the girls, trading secrets like they were currency and fawning over anyone who walked through the door.  What a gorgeous girl!  Look at the legs on that guy!

You were never truly unhappy.  You'd learnt to occupy yourself when the familiar heaviness settled in, weighing your bones down like lead.

But this was different.  This was a welcome effect of the Bangtan Boys.

Not to say their friendship didn't come with hardships.  

As much as they lifted you up, they kept you grounded, forcing you through the motions of sharing.  They coaxed you out of your shell, even when you wanted nothing more than to pretend everything was okay.  You appreciated that about them, too.

"It's nice to see you."  Yoongi's warmth is there, gentle against your side.  He's propped elbows, eyes staring straight ahead beneath a sweeping fringe, as if he's speaking to no one in particular - but you know he's addressing you.  After all, you were the only other person outside.

You suppress a small smile, studying the rapper from your periphery.  "Even though you got woken up?"

A snicker fills the air and his gummy smile appears, brilliant as ever.  Still facing the expansive sky before you and the rolling hills beneath your feet, you can imagine more than see the roll of his eyes.  

"Even then."

The admission makes your heart soar, like a bird released into the mosaic of sunshine above you.  You might have been overly sentimental about a lot of things but Yoongi's friendship wasn't one of them.  To be part of his little gang, his chosen family - it was a blessing you'd never take for granted. 

He was like the brother you'd never known, the guiding light in the darkest of nights.  

"But really."  There's a pause.  "Soo-ah, I know you're not fine."

You want to lie, rebuff the statement with a snort or a toss of your head.  It's impossible, though.  He can read you like an open book, flipping through your pages without an ounce of resistance.  He doesn't press, though, letting the silence engulf you.

You'll speak when you've found your words and how to say them without ripping the wound open again.

"Have you ever been in love?"

The answering grunt is what you'd expect.  As forthcoming as you both might be, there are certain things that don't see the light of day.  They're the half-formed wishes and broken promises that you want to forget.  They claw at your insides or crack your bones and you have to remind yourself that it isn't always sweetly whispered nothings and electricity that restarts your heart; sometimes, it's poorly sewn-up silhouettes where they used to be and tears that leave you drowning.

"Sure.  Maybe."  You're surprised by his response.  You think by taking his hand, extended over the railing alongside yours, it might sooth whatever spectres you've raised.  He squeezes your fingers in response, a silent 'thank you'. 

"Did you think it was going to be how it was?"  There's longing in your voice, strung tight like a noose.  "Because I thought I loved him.  No, I did love him.  But it wasn't like anything I thought it would be.  We never spoke.  We never laughed.  It was like I meant nothing to him - and maybe I didn't.  I don't know.  I thought he'd choose me.  That's what they say, right?  You have to choose to be with the person you love, day after day.  Love doesn't just happen otherwise."

It happens before you expect it to, seeking purchase in your airways and making your head swim. You can hardly breathe around the misery.

And then you're crying so suddenly that you register the choking sound before coming to the realization it's you.  Once you do, y ou're gasping around stuttered apologies, trying to calm the sudden tsunami that threatens to drag you under.

It's Yoongi's arms that hold you above water, rocking you back and forth.  "It's okay.  We choose you.  We'll always choose you."

"You look like a goldfish."  

The off-hand comment tears you from where you've been twisting your bracelet round and round your wrist.  "Excuse me?"

Jungkook flops onto the couch beside you, long limbs edging into your personal space like they belong there.  "You've been crying.  Your eyes are all fish-like," he quips.  "It's funny."  But you know there's concern there, hiding just behind the wall of teasing.  You feel it when he pulls your disregarded bucket hat over your ears, tugging edges low over your temples. 

You want to thank him but you're worried you'll start crying again. 

Instead, you pull at the sleeve of his sweater - another oversized monstrosity that smells so good - and melt against his side.  Your hat shields his vision, hiding you from his probing gaze, but he doesn't mind.  He likes the way you relax against him, shoulder fitting into the space of his arm like he was made for you. 

"Yoongi-oppa gave me a talking to," you relent, embarrassed.  You shouldn't be.

"Hyung's smart.  You should listen to him." 

He's probably right and that's probably why you feel lighter.  It's the first time you've let yourself talk about this to someone  - really talk about it - and while it'd felt terrible when you'd extracted yourself from Yoongi's arms, patting in apology at the damp cotton of his shirt, you'd also felt relief. 

"He told me that no matter who comes and goes, I'll always have you."

By the way Jungkook squeezes you, engulfs you in that familiar feeling of home, you know it's true.

"How's work today?"  

There's static clinging to his words, filling your ear as you flick through racks of clothing.  It's unfortunate today's location was situated in a basement.  It just meant the signal was godawful, his voice breaking every five seconds.  

Still, it's nice to hear from him, even if you can't really hear him.

"I didn't bring a coat and it's too cold on set.  I've accidentally knocked over three props already."  You don't mind, not really.  You liked working - it gave you something to think about other than the emptiness of your apartment and the echo in your chest.  "There are some really nice pieces, though.  There's this sweater I think you'd like.  I can see if they'll let me take it home."

You can imagine Taehyung in the lush camel-coloured crewneck.  He'd let the sleeves hang over his fingers and tuck the diagonal hem into the front of his pants.  It'd stand in nice contrast to those wide-legged trousers he was so keen on.

"Sure.  Dress me up like a doll."  Your long-distance companion muses around a yawn. 

There's rustling in the background and the sound of voices muffled behind a wall.  He must be getting ready for an appearance by the relative silence.  It would never be that quiet in the car or at the apartment.  He's probably early, too, as always, and being on the phone with you kills time.  You're happy to keep him occupied.  Your models weren't slated to show up for another fifteen minutes, anyways.

When you hear the bang of a door and a chorus of ''Taehyungie~' in the background, though, you know it's time to go.  The familiar dulcet tones of each member are already drifting through the airwaves.  Seokjin is complaining about something and Hoseok is guffawing.  

"Tell everyone I say hi!"  You sing into the receiver before you're gone.

Just as instructed, Taehyung regales the others with your greeting.  "Soomi says hello."  

"What!  Why didn't you let us say hi!"  Jimin, of course, indignant and adorable as always.  He's settling into his chair, head cocked to the side in curiosity before it's being gently chided back into place by the hands of his makeup artist.  "What was she doing?"

"Working.  She hung up before I could give you the phone."  A sardonic smile shared as concealer presses into the hollows around his eyes, over the slope of his nose.  "She said she didn't want everyone to break her eardrums with your yelling."  It's not the truth, and yet it could be.  As much as you loved those boys, sometimes you felt like you had tinnitus after a conversation with them. 

The dancer looks like he might pout but says nothing.  

Instead, the conversation steers towards their plans for the day, where they have to be and by what time.  It ebbs and flows between each member, lead by Namjoon as he flicks through his phone.  Eventually, the questions subside and each member is carefully turning their cheeks this way and that, allowing for better coverage of powder and shadow. 

Across the room, seated by the wall farthest from the door, Jungkook blinks away ash that spills over his lids.  A quick swipe here, a ghost of silken bristles there.  He thinks about messaging you and asking if you've eaten.  You had a habit of forgetting to eat when you were busy, or stressed, or upset.  

He'll do that once his face is done. 

You beat him to it, though, your name flashing across his screen the moment a stain is being pressed to his lips.  He almost grins, ruining the painstaking blending, but catches himself before it's too late.  "Thank you," he mumbles, chagrined but preoccupied.

When he unlocks his phone, there's a photo of you beside... a stuffed animal?  It's a bunny rabbit with long legs and soft, heather grey fur.  The ears are floppy but thin, curving over the toy's face.  Its got big beaded eyes and a little button nose.  It's cute, if not a little squished due to the fact it's pressed against your cheek. 

The caption makes him snort.  Your competition, Jungkookie!

If only that were the case, he thinks. 

Instead, he's got living, breathing people vying for your attention.  Sure, not right now, in this instant, but he knows they're there.  He's seen it firsthand when you've stepped out of the sanctuary of your homes together, keen on adventure.

Even with a face mask pulled across your mouth, you garner attention.  Maybe it's the clothes you wear - the transparent silk blouse under the tiered patterned dress with the stacked Comme des Garçons sneakers - or the way your eyes twinkle when you're happy, whether it's because you've spotted a cat in a window or you're taking your first sip of coffee.

All he knows is god, how he wishes that suffed rabbit was his only competition.

( 11.23am )  jeon jungkook:  he's got nothing on me!

( 11.23am )  jeon jungkook:  watch it punk

He imagines you're laughing by the way the chat bubble pops up and disappears a few times.  You were terrible at multitasking.

( 11.25am )  paksom:  i'm not a punk!  you've hurt my feelings

( 11.25am )  paksom:  mr. tokki is definitely my new best friend

( 11.26am )  paksom:  rip

The perfect sticker is being sought out when your last message comes through, disrupting his search. 

It's a joke, obviously, but he can't help the way it makes him feel.  

( 11.29am )  paksom:  g2g!  borahae ㅋㅋㅋㅋ

notes.   inspiration for this chapter came from colde's "WA-R-R" which you should definitely also listen to. 

i'm at a bit of a crossroads in terms of how i want this to go.  if anyone has any suggestions, throw them at me. i'm begging you. i love fluff but angst. ANGST! 

also, italics indicate a flashback/the scene not being present, if that wasn't clear.

[theres-a-goldensky]

16 + 2 Reddie Fic Recs pt. 2

I’m back and still on my Bill Hader bullshit, so here’s another round of Reddie fic recs, because I can’t stop reading and sometimes sifting through the insane amounts of fic is a nightmare. So if you feel my pain and need some (at least in my opinion) fun stories, then come along with me on a magical journey filled with men crying during sex, hypochondria, and your mom jokes.

As ever, feel free to reblog and check out my other rec lists for the following fandoms:

IT chapter 2 list part one - Reddie

Good Omens fic 

The Untamed list one and two - various pairings, mostly Wangxian

Various BL Series fic (fandoms: Love By Chance, TharnType, 2Moons series, My Engineer, Until We Meet Again, 2gether, History3: Trapped)

Or just head over to my bookmarks on AO3.

All my recs are completed, almost all of them are post-It chapter 2. * - denotes a favorite

1. I killed a clown. AMA! by liesmyth - ~10,000 words, teen - The history of Eddie and Myra’s marriage shown through their posts on reddit. The voices here are great, and it really feels like reading the reddit forums, down to the people sleuthing through their past posts and comments to try and figure out if what they’re saying is real or an elaborate troll.

 r/relationships

Posted by u/martymcfly6xo 7 months ago

 My (39F) husband (39M) likes horrible stand-up comedy. How can I stop him from bringing this up in front of our mutual friends?

For the last year or so my husband has been watching a lot of stand-up comedy on youtube. I want him to have something relaxing to do (he works a lot and gets really invested in his ‘hands-on’ hobbies in a way I’m not sure is good for him) but I was very puzzled by this discovery as he likes very crass acts and that is certainly not the kind of humor hubby usually enjoys...

2. all of the kids back home believing much more than you do by eatcheeseliveforever - ~11,000 words, explicit - This is a fix-it fic, which is becoming more and more rare in this fandom as we collectively started deciding that Eddie Kaspbrak doesn’t need to be brought back to live, because he never died in the first place, dammit. It has some great pining by Richie. You can really feel his grief and desperation as he searches for a way to get Eddie back. The other Losers are great in this too, especially Mike with his whales.

"A boat, actually," murmured Mike.  "I'm on a whale-watching cruise."

Richie mouthed the words "whale watching cruise" to himself.  Empirically he knew such things existed, that they happened not far away from the coast where he lived, but it felt like several fucking galaxies away from where he was, surrounded by the ghosts of takeouts and blackouts past and the actual ghost-ghosts, who he couldn't step in or stub his toe on at three in the morning, but hurt so much worse.

"He said you've been googling resurrection rituals."

Richie scrounged through his pile of empties, hoping one wasn't.  "Bill talks too much."

"Richie."  A sigh, or a wave, or a really quiet whale.  "You're not going to find a resurrection ritual on Google."

"I've found hundreds," said Richie.  "Funny thing, though, they all seem to call for orgies.  Or virgin sacrifices.  Or sacrificing someone's virginity in an orgy.  I'm hoping Ben will volunteer as tribute."

3. * - you’ve got the answers to my confessions by QueerOnTilMorning - ~17,000 words, explicit - This is the good stuff right here. Richie accidentally sexts Eddie and Eddie is IN. TO. IT. This fic starts with excellent phone sex, there’s misunderstandings and confessions in the middle, and then it ends with super hot sex. There’s a brief part with karaoke that was a bit of a lull in the story, but doesn’t take away from how great the rest is.

     suck on ur tongue  

     show u how much I missd that mouth  

     when u start getting weak in the knees  

     thats when ill get on mine  

 He set the phone aside to unzip his pants, palming himself through his boxers, already half-hard.

 Then he froze.

 The text he had just replied to--it was what he'd expected Travis to say, but it wasn't how Travis would say it. That text began with a capital letter and contained punctuation. That text was from--

 "Oh, fuck, no," Richie whispered, and his phone rang.

 Incoming call: Eds

4. * -  L'Appel du Vide by Mackem - ~92,000 words, teen - I know, I know, almost 100k and no sex, but hear me out! The pining in this fic is so exquisitely beautiful and wrenching. Eddie’s POV is excellent and feels really spot on. The other Losers are well represented, especially Ben and Bev. In fact, the group dynamics here are almost as good as the relationship stuff. The later chapters bring in a subplot about the deadlights that I wasn’t that interested in, but it’s still done really, really well, and that’s only a side plot that doesn’t impact that exceptional story of Eddie and Richie figuring out how to stop being dummies.

Two messages, however, are from Stanley, sent to him privately. He opens them, and is met with a picture of Richie, apparently taken without him realising.

It shows him laughing, his eyes crinkled at the corners behind his glasses, and his smile bright and broad as a hand gestures wildly in the air. The other hand is in his hair, pushing it out of his eyes as he tilts his head back, displaying the line of his throat beneath his stubble.

The breath is punched from Eddie at the sight of it.

He stares at it for a long moment, surprised by the depth of his reaction. His stomach is swirling happily, a bubble of excitement growing at the pit, and he cannot help but feel a heated flush build at his cheeks.

It’s probably just because Richie looks like he’s enjoying himself. It’s good to see his friend having fun. That has to be it.

Then he reads Stan’s message.

Stan: He was talking about you. He does that a lot.

5. my love a beacon in the night - by zach_stone - ~4500 words, explicit - Richie is on the road doing shows through Christmas. His friends have a surprise for him. I know it’s almost Valentine’s Day, but it’s never the wrong time for a fluffy Christmas story imo.

 “Yep, just got to my hotel,” Richie says. “Now I’m getting ready for my big Christmas Eve plans.”

 Eddie snorts. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

 “Well according to my TV guide, they’re doing a rerun of The Mistletoe Promise, so I’m all fuckin’ set,” Richie says, grinning when Eddie laughs. On Eddie’s end of the line, he hears the sound of cars passing by, the muffled chatter of people, and says, “Are you outside?”

 “Huh? Oh, yeah,” Eddie says.

 Richie glances at the clock on the nightstand. It’s after ten; Eddie’s not one to be wandering around Times Square after dark. He frowns slightly. Eddie’s been unusually vague about his holiday plans, so Richie has no clue what he’s up to this evening. Not that it’s any of his business. Maybe he’s started seeing someone and is spending the holidays with them. Richie has a sudden image of Eddie, arm-in-arm with some generically pretty woman, taking in the lights and decorations around the city. It opens a pit in his stomach.

6. Coming Back and Coming Out: Richie Tozier's 2019 by Lunatical - ~2000 words, teen - I genuinely adore the mixed media fics that this fandom has spawned. This one is an excerpt from a magazine interview with Richie as he restarts his career.

Slouched on his couch in a cheesy Hawaiian shirt and torn-up jeans, Richie Tozier looks exactly like the manchild he is describing himself to be. Next to him, sitting up straight and dressed in a lovely suit that most people would consider appropriate for an interview, his husband rolls his eyes.

When we scheduled this interview, Tozier insisted we hold it at their house, citing a desire for the interview to be “as chill as possible”—in his own words, of course. He argued that seeing the two of them in their usual environment would help me get a better idea of the kind of relationship they have. After walking into their apartment and seeing the way they’ve decorated the place, I have to admit that I can understand why.

7. baby, there’s no other superstar by kaspbrakziers - ~7000 words, mature - Another mixed media fic that shows the progression of Richie and Eddie’s relationship and Richie’s career through tweets, texts, and interviews. Eddie not knowing how to turn off the capslock on his phone absolutely sent me.

Search history

Today Sunday, 13 November 2016

should i get a divorce? - Google Search

Unhappily Married: Should I get a divorce? - Yahoo Answers

10 Signs Your Marriage Is Over - Buzzfeed

how to divorce? - Google Search

How To File For Divorce (With Pictures) - wikiHow

how to divorce someone without them getting angry? – Google Search

can you divorce someone without telling them? - Google Search

8. Goes on Trips for the Scenery by InkandOwl - ~4500 words, teen - Eddie dies and then comes back to life and tries to get some perspective. I liked the conversations between Eddie and Richie and then way that Eddie starts to take care of himself. The end is really sweet.

If cosmic power and a literal alien space clown’s death wasn’t going to bring him back to life, Eddie was certain that the terrible pain of hearing Richie beg, his tears dropping onto Eddie’s face, probably would’ve done it. He feels sick just thinking about it. About what it all means. “Yeah, Rich, I will.” He could throw a jab at him, tell him something about eating like an adult for once, but he wants to be easy with him right now. Richie deserves it. “You’ll text, right?”

Richie looks down at the prepaid cricket phone in Eddie’s hand and laughs, “There’s no fucking way that thing gets texts.”

“It does.” Eddie grins, “You could call too.”

The fight drains from Richie, his shoulder slumping and he sighs, “Yeah, Eds, I’ll call.”

9. cause i'm about to blow that back out by thotgreeves - ~5000 words, explicit - Here, have some porn. Eddie wears lingerie and Richie loses his goddamn mind. Features submissive top Richie and his unending boner for Eddie.

Richie really should have learnt to never underestimate Eddie Kaspbrak by now. It had come close to killing Richie once, but Eddie might actually be trying to finish him off.

Because the other perk of always letting Eddie go ahead of him was that it gave Richie a prime view of Eddie's ass. Eddie knew about this part and was okay with it. He was wearing a high-waisted pair of slacks that Richie was pretty sure came from the women's section, slightly loose in the legs but nicely filled out by his ass. Richie had been very vocal in the past about how hot they got him, which signaled that Eddie definitely wanted to have sex tonight, and that was already enough to make Richie's dick twitch in excitement. He hadn't been prepared for the finishing blow.

Richie's eyes were fixed, pendulum-like, on how Eddie's slacks were hugging his butt perfectly with every step he took, tight enough to show off the outline of his underwear. Only the folds didn't sit where Richie had expected them to. Instead, Richie realized, his mouth going dry, that in the absence of boxers, there was only a V-shaped crease running from Eddie's hips to between his asscheeks, which could only mean-

Eddie was wearing a thong.

10. * - I’ll Be Homo For Christmas by Amuly - ~15,000 words, explicit - Bill and Audra get a divorce, so Bill moves into Richie’s house with him. Eddie, watching all of this from New York, where he’s still married to Myra, is super, super ok and fine with it in every way.

Except then Richie started posting.

Just stupid shit, mostly with Bill. It wasn’t even real. Eddie knew Bill wasn’t gay and him and Richie were just fucking around ‘for the ‘gram!’ But the more posts Eddie scrolled past on Richie’s Instagram—

 Bill in the kitchen swatting at Richie with a spatula.

 Richie and Bill at the pound, Richie rating dogs on adoptability, Richie begging Bill to adopt a dog with him.

 Richie in the morning with bedhead, smiling blearily into the camera as Bill…

Well. Eddie couldn’t even remember what stupid thing Bill was supposed to be doing in the background of that photo because his eyes couldn’t get past Richie’s bedhead and shirtless torso, chest hairs creeping up towards his collarbones and the little dip at the base of his throat.

Eddie hadn’t thought he was homophobic. But he must have some unresolved issues with it, because he got a stomachache every time he looked at that photo of Richie. Eddie popped a Tums and resolved to talk about it with his therapist.

11. A High-Five is a Hug You Can Hit by Amuly - ~26,000 words, explicit - This fic shows us times throughout their friendship when Eddie and Richie would invent reasons to touch each other without even knowing why. This author feels the same bone deep conviction about Richie crying during sex that I do, and I greatly appreciate that. Plus, all of their stories are fantastic, including this one.

“You know, one of the symptoms of hypothermia is feeling like you’re warm. So like, your body gets so cold that it gets hot, and then you start taking off your clothes-”

“Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Eddie?” Richie shot back at him without turning around.

“Why don’t you ask your sister how much she liked it last week!” Eddie hollered up at him. Richie just flipped him off without looking. That kinda… bugged Eddie. What the fuck did Richie think he was doing leading up the group with Bill? Why was he stuck back here with Stan? Eddie glanced over at Stan, who was trudging tiredly through the woods alongside him, breath puffing out in little clouds of smoke.

“Okay, Stan?”

Stan glanced over at him, confused. Then he shrugged. “Yeah, fine. Cold.”

“Well that’s better than feeling warm.” And now Eddie was back on track. “Because, if anyone starts feeling warm, they should tell the others immediately. That’s a sign of hypothermia. And we have to warm you up. But you have to do it gradually, you can’t just jump in like, a pot of boiling water-”

12. * - fall apart of stay intact by kaspbrak_kid - ~19,000 words, teen - A more melancholy take on the Christmas fic. This story takes Richie’s self-esteem issues and mental problems and amps them up in a way that feels entirely realistic. The gang comes together to celebrate Christmas, and everyone is walking on eggshells because last Christmas was a bad one for Richie. Also, Eddie moves into the house literally right next to Richie’s, and I find that detail endlessly charming.

“Five minutes ago. I called you, and you didn’t answer. Because you were outside, apparently, fucking...stargazing in December! With no hat on!”

“It’s about the Vitamin D!” Richie says. Now that he’s moved a little, he can really feel the cold—his ears are aching, and his face is numb. “Reflecting off the moon, or something. I have seasonal depression, you know!”

“You have seasonal stupidity,” Eddie mutters, audibly rubbing his hands together. “Just get inside.”

“Yours or mine?” Richie jokes.

Eddie doesn’t get the memo. “Mine, obviously. I’ll make you hot chocolate.”

“Oh,” Richie says, and sits up. “Um. Okay, be right there.”

“Oh, thank god,” Eddie says, and hightails it to his back door, cursing about the cold.

13. evidence of a happier future by lagaudiere - 23,000 words, mature - I am here, leading the Jealous!Eddie revolution. Why aren’t there more fics about this. Have you SEEN Eddie Kaspbrak, can you IMAGINE him jealous? Make this happen, fandom. Anyway, in this one, Richie has a boyfriend back in LA. Eddie has trouble dealing with that as he tries to figure himself out and pick up the pieces of his life post-Derry.

“It’s not gonna be like Mike’s announcement, don’t worry,” Richie says hastily. “And it’s not like, a huge thing, so don’t make it a huge thing. But you guys are like, my best friends, and I just wanted you to know that I’m, uh. Gay.”

He turns up his palms and raises his eyebrows in a gesture that suggests a magician presenting his audience with an empty hat after making the rabbit disappear, and Eddie says, “Are you joking?”

“What? Jesus, no, Eddie.” Richie’s face falls, and Eddie instantly feels guilty. “I’m trying to be sincere here.”

“Sorry,” Eddie says immediately, feeling all of their friends looking at him with reproach. “I was just — if you weren’t, I wouldn’t think you should… joke about it.”

“Well, I am,” Richie says. He sounds slightly put out — and who wouldn’t be, Eddie scolds himself, by that ridiculous response. “I have all the gay credientials. I have a boyfriend, partner, whatever people say. I don’t really tell people because of the whole, stage persona, thing. But yeah.”

“Richie!” Bev’s voice breaks through the awkwardness, and she reaches across the table to squeeze his hand. “Thank you for telling us. Really.”

And the others all join in, a chorus of voices telling Richie they love him and they’re proud of him, and Ben is saying, “I wanna see a picture of the guy!” and Eddie’s throat feels like it’s closing up.

14. The ‘Do Not Fucking Touch Me’ Tour by MellytheHun - ~23,000 words, explicit - It’s Richie’s comeback special, and he makes it a big one. This...isn’t really a comedy show, but the author lampshades that. It’s an excuse to have Richie talk about how much he loves each of his friends individually, and it’s extremely entertaining. Richie doesn’t know that Eddie is in the audience watching it all.

“Hey, uhm… Eddie… he couldn’t reschedule his thing? He - I mean... it… it was really that important?”

She feels awful for him immediately, but not wanting to spoil what would ultimately be a lovely surprise, she tells him, “I’m sorry, Rich. He said it was urgent. He was really sorry about it.”

Her phone buzzes with a text from Eddie right as Richie curses under his breath, missing the noise. She clutches her phone more tightly in her fist, knowing Eddie is wondering where his seat is going to be; she bought him a separate ticket, elsewhere in the theatre, so Richie wouldn’t catch him sitting among them, as he will absolutely, inevitably look over to the Losers for most of the show.

“Okay,” Richie surrenders sadly, “Uh - I guess he’ll see it eventually, right?”

Smiling forlornly at him, she pats his arm, and tells him, “don’t worry, Richie. Your genius will inevitably be forced upon us all.”

He smiles at her, gives her a kiss on the cheek, and when Bill jokingly asks why he didn’t get one, Richie flips him off, and reminds them to treat themselves to the bar in the lobby.

Once he’s backstage, Beverly takes her phone out, and emails Eddie his ticket, explains that she’s already convinced Richie he’s not coming, and to make sure he doesn’t show up too early, or Richie will notice.

15. The List by cissues - ~7000 words, teen - Eddie finds a list he wrote as a teenager. Richie tries his best to fulfill them all. This is very sweet.

‘ All the things I want. Everything I’m not allowed to have. A perfect summer. ”

The words hit gentler than he thought they would, but they still hit and he finds himself blinking away at a wetness at the corner of his eye. He wipes at it and sniffles and Richie peers sidelong at him to make sure he’s okay. He is, he’s fine, and Richie never dotes on him when things are, generally, okay. Only when he needs it, which is one of the many things he loves about what they have now.

“This is… this is like a fucking  bucket list  for the most repressed child in the world.” Richie says, breathless.

Eddie rolls his eyes to hide the sting. “You’re looking at him,” he says, bitter. Richie frowns at him but turns back to the paper. Another thing Eddie loves, Richie never takes his trauma-induced bait. His knee-jerk reactions developed over years of what he’s now comfortable enough to call abuse.

16. Richie Tozier Answers the Web's Most Searched Questions by DeadpanMage - ~2000 words, teen - This is a short one, but the transcript of this popular YT video format with Richie felt spot on in terms of characterization and Richie’s voice.

[Back to the text screen: “So WIRED asked Richie Tozier some of the internet’s burning questions.” Cut back to Richie, now holding a poster board with several Google autocomplete searches half covered.]

Richie: I’ve undergone something of a rebranding in the past year, so I wonder how many of these questions are going to be super irrelevant-slash-embarrassing. Probably all of them. Let’s get started! [He tears the covering off of the first question.] Alright, that’s not bad. “How to pronounce Richie Tozier?” Well, we’re only on question one and I’ve already said it like a hundred times so there you go. And that’s “Richie Tozier” spelled J-O-H-N M-U-L-A-N-E-Y, so if you’ve got any complaints be sure to send them that way. Next question!

You can check out a larger list of stories I’ve enjoyed in my AO3 bookmarks. And finally, if you’re interested, here are the two fics I’ve written:

1. Waiting For a Sign - ~6000 words, explicit - Eddie meets Richie again and comes to the startling realization that he totally wants to hit that.

Maybe if Richie wasn’t famous, Eddie could have found a way to let it go. A couple furtive jerk off sessions in the shower after he got back to New York and the image of Richie’s big hands and wide smile and improbably flattering stubble would fade from his mind.

But Richie was famous, and the internet never forgot.

Eddie lasted three days before giving in and typing ‘Richie Tozier’ into the YouTube search bar. Just seeing Richie in the thumbnails was enough to make Eddie’s heart thud, what the fuck. He had to scroll past a bunch of news videos about Richie's supposed mental breakdown, but after that he landed on some old stand-up.

Before he clicked on the first video, he got up and made sure that the door of his study was locked. Then he turned off the lights and put on a pair of earbuds.

Fake It ‘Til You Make It - ~21,000 words, explicit - It’s that totally relatable situation where the man you’re secretly in love with is a celebrity who just came out and now needs a fake boyfriend to keep himself in the spotlight. Eddie offers to help out of the goodness of his heart and not because he’s insanely fucking jealous.

Eddie froze, breath catching in his throat.

Richie looked...really good.

Bev’s influence was obvious. His hair, which had been unkempt and shaggy, a perfect match for his stoner permakid schtick, was cut much shorter and neater. His formerly unruly stubble somehow now emphasized the sharp cut of his jaw instead of obscuring it.

He wore new glasses, Eddie noticed. Slim silver metal frames instead of his giant, clunky plastic ones. The fitted black sweater and dark blue jeans were simple, but made his shoulders look impossibly broad and his legs miles long.

Fuck everything and Beverly Marsh in particular.

LINK TO MY FIRST SET OF REDDIE RECS 30+ FICS

[boldly-ho]

Another Life - Chapter 10

Fandom: What We  Do in the Shadows 

Pairing: Vladislav x Reader

Series Rating: M

Word Count: 1838

Chapter Summary: You clear the air with all four flatmates.

A/N: As always, cross posted to AO3.

Warning: Brief mentions of suicidal ideation.

You entered the lounge in your pajamas, your face already washed, and your hair messy. You collapsed onto the couch and started scrolling through your phone, making excellent progress on spending the evening in a near vegetative state.

“You’re not going out tonight?” Dawn asked.

You didn’t look up from your phone. “No. It’s been weeks. That guy’s not coming back; I scared him off for good. So I figured I might as well stay home until my depressive state killed me, quite possibly by my own hand,” you deadpanned.

“Y/N. That’s not funny.”

“Sorry.”

Changing the subject from your macabre exaggeration, Dawn suggested, “Let’s go out tonight.”

You threw her a look.

“No, really. Like actually out. Not just you sitting alone and sad at bar waiting for someone you may or may not have known to show up. Let’s go out, you and me, for a girl’s night. We’ll go out for drinks and dancing. Not Boogie Wonderland. You need a break from that place. Some other club.”

“Rain check?” You didn’t feel like going out. You didn’t feel like having fun. You felt like lying on the couch until you wasted away.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m really worried about you.”

You brushed off her comment, but you were getting sort of worried about yourself, as well. You’d stopped going to see your psychologist. Earlier in the day you found yourself wishing you would go to sleep and just not wake up. You were constantly miserable, surviving but not living.

“Well if you really don’t want to go out, why don’t we stay in and have a movie night? I’ll rent something online and then order a pizza, my treat, okay?”

You didn’t really feel like doing anything, but you recognized that Dawn was trying her best, and you appreciated it. And watching a movie and binging on pizza in your pjs seemed much more manageable that getting dressed up to go out and party.

You nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”

~

The kitchen table was much too small for all five of you. Your elbows bumped either Vladislav on your left or Petyr on your right every time you shifted. Petyr sort of gave you the heebie jeebies, so you found yourself leaning slightly away from him, putting you uncomfortably close to Vladislav. You suggested relocating to the dining room, but were told that it was currently covered in blood and had a corpse laying on the table. You weren’t sure what was more unsettling, the fact that that was the state of the dining room, or that that news was delivered to you so nonchalantly. Nevertheless, the dining room was to an option, so you were all squeezed around the tiny kitchen table.

Viago cleared his throat before beginning. “We are here to clear the air about our being vampires and discuss our living situation with Y/N. It might be helpful if we reintroduced ourselves, properly, this time. I’ll go first.” He turned to address you directly. I am Viago Von Dorna Schmarten Scheden Heimburg.”

You stared blankly.

“Oh, and I’m 379 years old,” he added as an afterthought.

You tried to do the mental math in your head, but quickly gave up and decided to figure it out later.

“Deacon Brucke. I’m 183 years old.”

“Vladislav the Poker.  862 years old.”

He might not have been kidding about the Middle Ages last night, after all. You turned to Petyr, anticipating his introduction.

“Petyr,” he rasped, his voice as cold and creepy as the rest of him.

You waited for his age, but he stared blankly at you with his pale eyes, not volunteering any further information.

“We don’t know how old Petyr is,” Viago explained. “He lost track. Over 8,000, though.”

Your jaw dropped. “For real?”

Your turned back to Petyr and he nodded once. Shit. Okay, then.

Viago continued, “Y/N, do have any questions about vampires in general or specifically about any of us?”

You figured a general ‘Tell me about vampires.’ was too open-ended, and you tried to think of a more specific question. You had a lot of questions, though, and you didn’t know where to start. You also had some vague ideas and assumptions about vampires, but you didn’t know which, if any, were true. “How about I just tell you what I’ve heard about vampires, and you guys can correct me where I’m wrong and fill in the gaps. Does that work?”

The four looked to one another before nodding.

“So, you-“ You realized you didn’t quite feel comfortable referring to them as vampires, so you restarted, more generally. “So, vampires need to consume human blood. They sleep in coffins, during the day. Sunlight, garlic, silver, and crosses are all bad for them.” You looked around to see that all four were still nodding along, so you continued, rattling things off a bit faster. “Not showing up in mirrors, turning into bats, flying, having to be invited in, wooden stakes, hypnosis, and whatever Deacon did with that guy’s backpack.”

“Teleportation,” Deacon clarified.

You nodded, but tried not to give it too much thought. Watching him crawl out of that backpack was easily the most horrifying thing you’d ever encountered, and you felt the ball of fear and anxiety in your stomach return just remembering it.

“Vampires also have quicker and superior healing ability than humans.”

“And it’s not just bats,” Deacon added. “Cats and dogs, too. But with practice it can be any animal. Vladislav is known for his transformation abilities.”

Vladislav smiled proudly. “That’s not practice, though, that’s skill.”

“Ja, some vampires have certain abilities that other vampires don’t. I once met a vampire who could become invisible,” Viago explained.

“It isn’t just crucifixes, either.” Vladislav glanced quickly to your chest where he knew your necklace hung. “It’s any religious icons or words.”

“Really? Words? Like even if I just say ‘god’-“

You were cut off by wincing and hissing from around the table.

“Don’t do that!” Deacon scolded you.

“Shit. Sorry.” As frightening as vampires inherently were, it made you feel better that they had their weaknesses. “So is it just vampires? That are real, I mean? Or is every mythological creature real? Do I need to be on the lookout for, like, ghosts?”

“Ghosts aren’t real,” Deacon scoffed.

“Of course ghosts are real,” Viago argued.

“Oh really? Have you ever seen a ghost?”

“Not technically. But the house I grew up in was haunted! There was a spirit who lived in the walls.”

“There was not. It was probably a rat.”

“You think I would confuse a rat for a ghost?”

“So, there’s no reason for me to change my thoughts on ghosts?” you interrupted.

“Ghosts are real,” Vladislav answered. You took it with a grain of salt, though. “Werewolves are real, too.” The rest of the group nodded. “I wouldn’t go out on full moons, if I were you. There is a pack that roams in Te Aro.”

That thought chilled you. You were sure you’d gone out in Te Aro on a full moon before. Then again, you’d gone out many times before unaware that there were vampires, including your current flatmates, out and about.

“Zombies and witches, too.”

“We’re not sure what all exists,” Viago told you. “Lots of myths are true, and lots aren’t. Some Maori myths are based on real creatures.”

“Oh! Petyr, remember the taniwha that attacked our ship when we came to New Zealand?”

Petyr nodded solemnly.

Vampires, werewolves, assorted creatures. Your entire worldview was being forcibly changed over these past 24 hours, but you just nodded. What else could you do?

“I’m safe, right?” you asked suddenly. “From you guys? I mean, there’s literally a dead body in the other room.” You were afraid it sounded more accusatory than you meant it, but you felt it was a fair question, all in all.

“We can control ourselves,” Deacon said, somewhat indignantly.

“You’re our flatmate and our friend. You don’t have to worry.”

“Thanks.” You thought it was odd to thank someone for not killing you, but you didn’t know what else to say. “Is there anything you guys need from me? As a human flatmate? Other than not slamming the doors and being quiet during daylight hours?”

“Don’t tell anyone we’re vampires,” Vladislav said sternly. “Not anyone. Not ever. Vampire hunters are also real and when word gets out that you are a vampire, you tend not to be around soon after.” He, as well as the other three, looked deadly serious.

You nodded quickly to reassure them. “I won’t tell anyone.” You looked around the table. Everyone was still seated, though it felt like the natural conclusion to the flat meeting. “About the dining room…?”

“Jackie will be here to clean it up later tonight,” Deacon said.

“Is she a vampire, too?”

“No. She is my familiar.”

“Familiar?” To you, the word conjured images of black kittens following cartoon witches on broomsticks. You weren’t sure how the term applied to the woman you’d once met.

“Slave,” Vladislav clarified.

You looked at him in shock, and he returned your gaze, shameless and undisturbed. It wasn’t the first time something that had appalled you had entirely unaffected him. You wondered if that was a result of his being a vampire, his living for over 800 years, his being from the Middle Ages, or if it was just how he was as a person.  

Undoubtedly sensing your discomfort, Viago clarified, “A familiar serves a vampire for a while in exchange for being turned into a vampire after service.”

You calmed a bit. That sounded better than ‘slave.’ “So you’re going to turn her into a vampire?”

“No,” Deacon snorted.

“What? Why not?”

“Familiars don’t get turned into vampires.”

“Well, sometimes, probably, they do,” Viago argued. “I’ve never actually heard of it happening, though.”

“You’ve lost me,” you told them honestly.

Vladislav sighed. “Familiars exchange their service for the promise of becoming a vampire. Then they serve their masters until they die of old age or are killed.”

You exclaimed in disgust. “That’s horrible.”

Vladislav shrugged, his sleeve brushing your bare arm. These guys all ate actual, live people to survive. You supposed their moral compasses would have to be a bit more skewed than yours was.

However, despite your clear distaste for it all, you felt relieved to know they were vampires. It was one thing to kill because you could, or because you wanted to, as you thought had been the case before last night. It was another to kill because you had to. Yes, innocent people still died, and yes, your flatmates seemed to enjoy it. Deacon’s manic laughter as he chased that man out of your room was sure to haunt you for a while to come. But no matter how awful it was for the victims, or or how little guilt they felt about it, they had to do it to survive. And that fact alone made you feel better, if only a bit.

[perhapsitmaybedragons]

God’s A Right Bastard But Then So Am I chapter 6

All right, new chapter

As always, can be read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26633029/chapters/65460328

or continue below:

Crowley had taken off like a shot from his room and into the Bentley, driving faster than even he usually dared. He darted in and out of traffic, biting his lip so hard he was drawing blood. The whole point of not telling Aziraphale had been to keep the damn angel safe this time, and yet he'd still managed to get drawn in. Crowley mentally damned Gabriel, Hastur, God herself and anyone else he could think to blame for this situation.

He pulled up on the curb and came to a screeching halt before flinging the car door open and running inside the book shop. The smell of apple pie filled the air the moment the door was open. Anathema and Newt were waiting for him in the front of the book shop.

“Has he left, then?”

“No,” Anathema shook her head, then jerked a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the backroom. “They're still baking. Aziraphale insisted on a complex lattice.”

“Of course he did,” Crowley's eyes couldn't be seen behind his glasses, but Anathema would bet good money he was rolling them. “Has Gabriel said anything? Done anything threatening?”

“I mean, he seems pretty nice,” Newt offered, then immediately wished he hadn't. Crowley was glaring at him. “He is an angel, right? Can they really be all that bad? Especially since the world's not going to end anymore?”

“Crowley!” Crowley had to bite back his comment to Newt – Gabriel had come into the front room of the shop. “How good to see you. It's been a while, hasn't it?”

“It's been a few weeks,” Crowley answered flatly. “Since you took Aziraphale and tried to kill him.”

“And we're so sorry about that,” Gabriel said with a beatific smile.

“Oh? You told him you're sorry, did you?”

“It's all water under the bridge. We're making an apple pie.”

“I heard. Seems a bit American for Aziraphale's tastes,” Crowley let his voice get a little louder, trying to summon Aziraphale without being obvious. “Thought he might prefer a ...a uh ...a crumble or something. Lots of different things can be done with-” and now his voice caught as another thought came to him. “Why apple?”

“Just happened to have some,” Gabriel's smile quickly turned to a smirk. “Beautiful ones. I'd let you try one, but just enough for the pie. You know how it is. But I did want to speak to you.”

“I'm sure you do,”

“It's just...that was a neat trick you two pulled,” Gabriel gave an innocent looking shrug. “One might think someone had tipped you both off and you'd prepared for it. I mean, a demon not being harmed by holy water...how did you manage that?”

“Gone native, I guess. Wouldn't hurt a human. I do suppose I've been up here too long.”

“Ah, but hell fire would kill a human. So how do you suppose Aziraphale survived that?”

“Maybe he's just stronger than your lot wants to give him credit for.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale chose the exact worst moment to come out from the backroom. “There you are! We're making a lovely pie, and Adam's been a huge help,” Sure, Gabriel had already seen it, but Crowley hadn't been expecting the pink, frilly 'Kiss the Cook' apron, complete with angel wings on the back where it tied.

“Angel,” He grimaced. “Seriously?”

“Well, I think it will turn out quite well. Pies can be a bit tricky, but the lattice work is lovely. What did you say you needed this for, Gabriel?”

“Ah, well, that is a secret,” Gabriel wagged his finger. “But it's still got what – an hour more to bake?”

“At least,” Aziraphale nodded his agreement.

“Then I would like to have a word with the two of you.”

“I don't think that's a good idea,” Anathema spoke up. “We were there at the end last time. Whatever you have to say to them, you can say to us,” she grabbed Newt's hand and pulled him closer, both of them trying to stand up to their full height. Newt wasn't sure this was a good idea, but he was following her lead.

“No, no. Just the three of us. We're going for a little ride, and we'll be back before the pie burns.” It wouldn't work on Adam, but the tone of voice Gabriel adopted was more than enough to hypnotize a human man and his witch girlfriend. They both froze in their place, eyes blank and wide open. “I'll turn them back to normal after we speak. Now, to my car?”

“Since when do you have a car?” Aziraphale asked, but he hurried along after Gabriel, Crowley following as well. Outside of the shop a white limo had just pulled up. Hastur jumped out of the back and held the door open.

“Get in,” he said gruffly.

“This seems pretty high up on the list of bad ideas,” Aziraphale said softly to Crowley.

“You can get in or we can torch the shop,” Hastur's hand was on fire and he was looking at the book shop lecherously.

“Very well,” Aziraphale climbed in without another word. Crowley followed him, making a mental note of all of the curse words he would like to shout at everyone right now. But this was a chance to put more of the puzzle pieces together, and he couldn't waste the opportunity.

Crowley and Aziraphale scooted along to one side of the limo as Gabriel took a seat on the other side. Hastur lumbered back in and sat next to Gabriel, though both looked uncomfortable with the seating arrangement.

“We have our suspicions on how you two didn't die last time,” Gabriel started, then knocked on the roof to signal the driver. The limo started and pulled away from the shop. “See, the thing is...that doesn't matter. Because things are moving now.”

“You can't want to restart it all!” Aziraphale said incredulously. “The plan is ineffable – it must have been what She wanted the whole time!”

“I really hate that word,” Gabriel echoed the same sentiments Crowley had had more than once. “But no, we have reason to believe the Almighty has been ...compromised. The plan needs to go forward as She originally planned it all those thousands of years ago. She set it down, and there was never any talk of it changing.”

“So why tell us, then?” Crowley asked. “It's not as though either of us are on your side. You planning on ending this ride with killing us?”

Gabriel wagged his finger again. Crowley wanted to bite it off. “No, no. Not yet. See...you boys made a mockery of everything we stand for. We're not going to make it easy for either of you this time,” he leaned towards Aziraphale. “This time, we're going to destroy your demonic boyfriend in front of you. Then we'll take care of you. But before either one of you...you both get to watch the world end. All of that hard work you both put in – poof! Gone, right in front of both of you.”

“And you're not at all concerned we'll manage to stop you again?” Aziraphale asked, but before Gabriel could answer, he added “And back at the shop – you promised our young Adam that you wouldn't bother me or my bookshop again. Gave your word as an angel.”

Crowley stiffened. Aziraphale noted the change and made a mental note to ask him about it later – provided Gabriel really was going to take them back without incident.

“Which is why our side gets to do it,” Hastur finally jumped in, clearly relishing the words. “Their side gets to do in Crowley, our side gets you. This time there won't be any way for you to stop it. Either of you,” His attention was on Crowley now.

Crowley, as usual, was too cool for Hastur's tastes. He didn't seem bothered by the conversation, or even a little worried. It wasn't terribly fun threatening someone who wouldn't get scared.

“Well,” Crowley checked his watch, “As enlightening as a conversation as this was, I suspect the pie might start burning if we don't get back soon.”

“Oh, I think it still has some time-” Aziraphale leaned over to glance and Crowley's watch. “Yes, see, we have-”

“But human ovens aren't the most precise, so wouldn't it be best if we got back to it? Then Gabriel could be on his way with his pie and we could get to...”

“Taking Adam back to Tadfield,” Aziraphale supplied.

Gabriel knocked again on the roof of the limo and it turned itself around, heading back the way it had came. “You'll be glad to know that some of this came from you, Crowley.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Big part of the plan came from one of yours. An original design, I think.” Gabriel waited for his words to sink in. Crowley had already figured this part out, but now Aziraphale's eyes were widening as something dawned on him.

“Gabriel ..um...if you don't mind my asking... where exactly did those apples come from?”

Now Gabriel looked triumphant. He sat up, waved his hands and the pie appeared on his lap. “Seems it's done. We'll just drop you boys off at your shop, eh? Thank you so much for your help with our preparations, Aziraphale. Couldn't have done it without you. Or Crowley, for your inspiration. Thanks again.” An invisible force sent the pair flying out of the limo and onto their butts on the sidewalk in front of the shop.

“Those aren't-” Aziraphale started.

“They are. Bastards must have gone back into Eden for them.”

“But Crowley ...why? Whatever could they do with them?”

“I dunno,” Crowley admitted. “I've got some ideas and all of them are equally terrible.”

“And where have you been lately? You haven't even taken my calls.”

“Angel. We do not have time right now,” Crowley insisted, holding the door open and urging Aziraphale inside. The angel obliged him, but looked irritated.

“So when will we have time?”

“Oi! Where did you two go?” Adam demanded. He had apparently woken Anathema and Newt from their hypnosis. Anathema looked a little dizzy and Newt was hunched over and trying not to vomit. “I woke them up but they seem a little...not right.”

“Odd. Heavenly miracles shouldn't leave them so ...out of sorts. Let me make you some peppermint tea. Or maybe ginger?”

“Peppermint,” Newt asked as he felt his stomach lurch. “Sorry,” he said, looking at the mess he'd just made. “I promise I'll clean it up...soon as I'm...soon as I'm done,” he vomited again.

“Might just be him punishing them for helping last time,” Crowley suggested. “You can't pretend that heaven doesn't hold a grudge,” he gestured at himself for emphasis. He conjured up chairs for them and helped them sit down, then pushed a trash can in front of Newt.

“So they are restarting, then?” Anathema asked and gave a shiver. “Can't give us just a little bit of peace before they want to try again?”

“Hell hath no fury – except it does, and heaven does, too,” Crowley leaned back against a bookshelf, thinking hard. “The good news is they need new riders – I'm not sure why they can't get the old ones, but they mentioned replacements.”

“No they didn't,” Aziraphale came back in holding a silver service tray with a pot of steaming tea and four cups, as well as various additions. “I didn't hear Gabriel or Hastur say anything about needing new riders.”

“It's something I've uncovered,” Crowley admitted, waving away the tea he was being offered.

“Is that why you haven't been coming around?” Adam asked, accepting his own cup of tea and adding a truly heaping spoonful of sugar to it. “Cause you were busy spying?” He smiled his approval when Crowley nodded. “Wicked. I'd have helped if you told me to. I'm pretty good at sneaking around when I have to. My mom can never hide my presents from me.”

“This was a bit higher stakes than that.”

“And you didn't tell me?” Aziraphale looked huffy.

“...sorry. I just – I thought you could use a break this time. I was hoping not to get any of you involved and that maybe I could shut it down early this time.”

“Well, I suppose it's a little too late to get upset. After all,” Aziraphale took a sip of tea, “We all need to focus on what we can do to stop it again. I wonder if there's any chance I can take this up to Head Office...She didn't answer last time but-”

“She won't answer this time, either.”

“Why would you think that, Crowley?”

“Angel, She didn't answer last time, and Gabriel as good as told us – they said they thought She's been compromised. We have to do this without Her. ...Again.”

“I suppose you're right.”

“The riders last time had negative auras,” Anathema offered. “I could try to look around for that again. It'd be hard, but worth a shot, right?”

“Can't hurt,” Crowley agreed. “But our highest need right now is keeping Adam out of their hands – they don't have a way to replace the Anti-Christ. No Anti-Christ, no end of the world.”

“That is true,” Aziraphale agreed. “Adam, do you suppose you could call your parents and ask to spend some time here?”

“I'm sorry, won't most parents think that's kind of dodgy?” Newt was still shivering when he looked up. “I mean, my mom wouldn't have liked me being eleven years old and staying with a much older male friend who wasn't related to us and didn't have kids my age.”

“I think he'll find his parents are very accommodating – though I do see what you're getting at. Adam, you can use the phone over there-”

“No need, I got a cell phone,” Adam dialed and moved to another room to make the call.

“See, Crowley?” Aziraphale smiled softly in Adam's direction. “He doesn't want to do it, he knows right and wrong. There's nothing to worry about. What could possibly change his mind this time?"

[join-the-joywrite]

Time After Time -- 8

a boy a girl a time turner

when a time turner is shattered in a small fight, it’s up to the unlikely pair to figure out how to survive until the end of the war. it’s their only shot at breaking the loop.

masterpost prev 

Chapter 8 - When Hermione died in the end

Surprisingly, Hermione and Draco both made it to the hall before Harry revealed himself.

They survived Pansy, the flood, the Fiendfyre, watching Snape's death, saving Fred and the eventual raid of the Death Eaters.

Once again, they found themselves standing at the edge of the debris, overlooking the waves.

Draco looked out to the castle, to the clock that still stood. "Five minutes. Are you sure you don't want to--"

Hermione stepped down and pulled Draco with her. "I've cheated death so many times. I won't deny that I've been selfish about it. I could've tried harder to save Lavender sooner. But I knew as long as I still failed, you'd never suspect why I kept resetting. With the flood, I could've thought of the answer too, but I kept drowning, knowing I'd soon see you again."

"Hermione, please."

"I've been selfish, Draco. Abusing the loop. Cheating death. It's a pity it took my death for you to come to me. But we've run out of time. I'll be surprised if I live past the next two minutes."

"No. I'll jump off the bridge."

Hermione tilted her head. "Then you'll have let our love be forgotten. I promised you I'd be with you forever if I survive. Promise me that if I don't, you'll live. For me."

"I can't. I can't do that. No one here would accept me the way you do."

"Then run away," Hermione pleaded, squeezing Draco's hands. "Leave the Wizarding World. Live with Muggles. Start anew. Be yourself, whoever that is, whoever you want to be. Just . . . live. For me. Please don't follow me this time."

In the square, Ginny let go of Harry after at least ten minutes.

"Since when is Malfoy even a friend?"

"It's a long story," Ron said, watching the pair in the distance. He turned back to see the time.

5:45.

When Hermione slumped forward into Draco's arms and he called out her name, Ron reached past Ginny to grab Harry's arm, stopping them both from moving any further forward. They stared at him questioningly.

"Long story."

In the middle of the bridge, Draco sank to the floor, cradling Hermione. "You should have survived."

"Some things are meant to happen no matter what."

"Shut up," Draco whispered, "stop hurting yourself further."

"You promised."

"I didn't."

"You didn't have to say it. I know you did. Muggles are fascinating. You'll like it among them."

"I'm not leaving you."

Hermione took a shuddering breath. "You know, I was almost a Slytherin too."

"Hermione, please."

"I'll be fine."

"Don't go."

Hermione smiled. She closed her eyes. "You promised," she reminded Draco one last time. "I love you."

Draco refused to accept it as Hermione's body stilled. He waited for the familiar tug, to find himself standing in the cottage, jug and glass in hand.

It never happened.

How was he supposed to live without the person who had saved his life so many times -- the first two, or ten, without the knowledge that she would live past that? How could he go on without her? How could he live amongst the kind of people that had raised her? The Muggles.

Draco froze. Muggles! In some ways, Muggles were better than wizards. It was his last chance. He had nothing else to try.

Ron, Ginny and Harry watched as Draco vanished from sight.

"Why'd you stop us?" Harry asked, "she's our best friend. We barely even know him. Just because we helped each other these last few hours--"

"There's more at play here than you know, Harry. Come on, there's a lot to explain."

///////////////

Nearly four months later, well after Hogwarts had been fully reconstructed, Harry received a letter to his home via the post.

The envelope had no return address and merely had his last name on the envelope. It was a miracle the letter had even made it to his letterbox. Perhaps the letter's true state had been concealed to look like those of the Muggles -- if it was sent by someone from a magical community somewhere.

"What is it, Harry?"

"Dunno yet," Harry said as he made his way back to the living room, where Ron and Ginny were sitting with their tea.

"Any word from Malfoy?" Ron asked.

Harry shook his head. "Pass me a wand, please."

Ginny held hers out with a sigh. "You've lost your letter opener again, haven't you?"

With a sheepish grin, Harry stabbed the envelope. Holding the letter and shaking the envelope off, he passed Ginny's wand back to her.

While the siblings picked up their conversation, Harry read through the letter.

"Shit!" he exclaimed, startling the Weasleys.

"What?" Ron asked, panicked. "What is it?"

"Privet Drive, now!"

"What?" Ginny said. "Where you used to live? For what d'you want to visit those pigs?"

"Meet me there! Number four, Privet Drive!" Harry yelled, already heading to the front door so he could apparate from outside the boundaries of the protection charms around Godric's Hollow.

Ron reached for the letter Harry had dropped and held it between himself and Ginny.

Harry I do regret not sending word sooner. I've only just received word that you'll be attending Hogwarts to complete your final year. She's quite proud of you and Ron, no doubt. I know she's your best friend and it's been incredibly selfish of me to try and keep her all to myself. If you're wondering how I know about Hogwarts and where you stay, I just have one name for you: Luna. I'm writing this letter to apologise for keeping silent all these months. It was wrong and I know she's going to make me pay for it. Number four, Privet Drive. I trust you know it. Come when you please, she's not getting out of bed anytime soon. Malfoy.

Ron glanced at Ginny. "We should go to Privet Drive."

"Already on it," Ginny said, snatching up the keys to the house and walking to the front door.

///////////////

Harry stared at the front door. Ginny nudged him forward.

He'd barely knocked before the door opened.

"Wards caught you," Draco explained, "I wondered how long I was going to have to wait before you actually knocked. Hermione's asleep. I wasn't expecting you to show up immediately."

"Why are you in my old house?" Harry blurted.

Draco shrugged. "They moved out. Who knows where? I needed a place and it was available. Don't worry, Hermione . . . redecorated."

As soon as he crossed the threshold, Harry knew the entire house had changed since he last stepped foot in it.

"I'm confused," Harry said, "I thought you vanished off the map because Hermione died. Ron thought you were dead too."

"Almost," Draco said, locking the door again and walking in the direction of the kitchen. "Tea? Hermione bought this awful stuff and I've been giving it to everyone that visits. Try some."

Harry, Ron and Ginny shared a confused glance as Draco vanished into the kitchen, returning with three steaming cups. Ron sniffed the cup before emptying it into the small palm tree's pot against the wall.

"Fair enough," Draco said, nodding as he produced a bottle of Firewhiskey. "Will this do?"

Ron held out the cup. "You're not delusional, are you?" he asked as Draco filled the cup with the liquor.

"Surprisingly, no. Hermione may be bedridden, but she's pretty well known up and down the street."

"How?" Harry asked.

"Oh, she made me take her to some stupid barbecue thing and took down everyone's numbers before we came back."

"No, I meant how is she alive?"

"Oh." Draco sat down on the sofa and gestured for the trio to sit. "Wizards are shit, mate. Absolute garbage. Hermione would've died because they'd be looking for some convoluted problem to solve."

"So, what happened?" Ginny asked.

"Heart attack," Draco said, leaning back. "It took the Muggles nearly twenty minutes to restart her heart. She'd slipped into a coma and . . . well, they said she might never wake up. Some said I was wasting finances on keeping her alive." Draco shrugged. "Then, two weeks ago, she just . . . woke up."

"Just like that?" Ginny raised her eyebrows.

Draco shrugged again. "Pretty much, yeah. Stunned the doctors quite a bit. Stunned herself."

"If Hermione woke up three weeks ago," Harry said, "why only send a letter now?"

"I said she woke up three weeks ago. I only brought her here two weeks ago. After that barbecue, she couldn't even get out of bed for longer than a few minutes. She started walking again a few days ago only. She needed the space to get used to living again. Before, coming back from certain death was an easy thing."

Ginny shuddered, catching Draco's attention. Her cheeks tinged slightly pink. "Sorry. I still can't get my head around the whole thing. Ron's explained it to us but . . . it's still strange to think about."

Draco nodded. "I suppose that's fair. Could you imagine, losing Hermione Granger to a heart attack? She's battled monsters and dragons and all sorts of things--"

"MATE, WE HAD A FUCKING FUNERAL!" Ron burst out.

Draco paused. "I did not know that. I should have expected that, though."

"She's got a bloody headstone! And flowers! I mean, the flowers are dead now 'cause we've been in Scotland most of the time rebuilding Hogwarts, but that's beside the point!"

"Ron?"

The four of them turned to see Hermione come around the wall, leaning against it. She looked quite shabby in her rumpled pyjamas and her hair was in all sorts of knots, but her face was full of colour and her eyes were as vibrant as they'd ever been. Hermione turned to Draco as he stood up and walked over to her. "You could've told me they were coming. I'd have brushed my hair."

"I didn't think they'd come as soon as they got the letter, love," Draco said, offering Hermione his arm.

"What really happened?" Ginny asked, watching as Hermione sat down in the corner of the couch and curled up into it.

"I died," Hermione said simply, "for the eighty-seventh time."

"Eighty-seven," Harry murmured, "that's ridiculous."

Hermione shrugged. "I couldn't figure out how to stop Pansy from killing Draco. Half of those deaths were spent thinking I was in the loop alone."

Draco recoiled as Hermione shot him a scalding glare. She was still bitter about it.

"I'm honestly surprised to still be here. I thought I was going to die for real there on the bridge. However, having been stuck in a time loop where I repeatedly died in various ways, I'm not about to question the fundamentals of my survival. I'm just thankful to be alive and lucky to be able to go back to being me."

"You realise we're going to have to get that headstone, as well as that empty coffin we buried, demolished," Ron said, "right?"

Hermione smiled. "So, I hear you're both going back to Hogwarts when it opens in a week."

"Yeah," Harry said, nodding, "We figured you'd want us to."

"You're right. I do want that for you. But . . . if you can find your means without Seventh Year, then you don't need to go. You don't have to do this for me."

Ginny frowned. "You're not coming with, are you?"

Both boys stared at Hermione. She shook her head.

"Well, then what are you gonna do? Sit around here all day, counting the lines on the walls?"

"No, Ron. We've decided to stay here, in the Muggle world. For that, we'd need Muggle jobs."

"You're going to college," Harry said, studying them both, "aren't you?"

Hermione and Draco nodded.

"What are going to do?"

Hermione glanced at Draco. "Medicine," he said.

"And you?" Harry asked, turning to Hermione.

She shrugged. "I'm . . . undecided."

"You should try teaching -- or nursing. Ron says he watched you with the younger students while I was in the Pensieve."

Ron nodded. "You were really good with them. A lot of them wouldn't sit still to let anyone else treat them the way they did for Malfoy. You'd make a great teacher, though. Brightest witch of her age, teaching Muggles how to spell."

Hermione laughed. "I promise to visit for dinner at least once a month."

"Mum's going to hold you to that," Ginny said.

Draco leaned forward. "So, Luna says we're to expect wedding invites soon?"

"Yeah," Ginny said, "I do suppose yours will return from one of those Muggle print stores soon."

Hermione snickered. "You deserve that."

"Shut up," Draco grumbled, glaring at the coffee table.

"Make me," Hermione said cheekily, sticking her tongue out at Draco.

Draco raised an eyebrow as he turned to look at her. "Love, we have guests. Maybe later."

"Oh, gross!" Ron cried. "In front of my Firewhiskey! Don't you have any self-control?"

Draco grinned. "Oh, yeah, can't wait for dinner."

And so they spent the rest of the day in the living room of Number 4, Privet Drive, laughing, joking, playfully insulting, and reminiscing.

Harry had never felt more at home than he did, surrounded by his two best friends, his girlfriend, and the unlikeliest of friends he could've possibly made.

///////////////

Years and years later, when they all had hair the colour of snow and wrinkles all over, long after they'd welcomed great-grandchildren into their families, Draco Malfoy planted daisies and marigolds at his wife's grave. He followed her not long after, but for every day they were apart, he visited the grave and took care of the flowers.

prev

[musicprincess655]

“Arsenal, Wonder Boy.” Miyuki and Sawamura looked up as Ryou strode into the room. They were trying so hard to look like they hadn’t just been cuddling that they’d obviously been cuddling. “We have to move out.”

“Move out where?” Miyuki asked, already getting to his feet.

“Central City,” Ryou told them. “The speedsters should have it handled, but we’re backup just in case.”

Miyuki and Sawamura were really the only ones he could spare, along with himself. Everyone else had moved on from scouting missions to actually taking out Krolotean bases, or keeping up their normal lives. In any other situation, Ryou wouldn’t even send the three of them out for something like this, trusting Kuramochi and his family to handle it.

But something about the look of terror on Bart’s face had shaken him, and Ryou was willing to go the extra mile to make sure Kuramochi was okay.

By the time they got through a zeta tube to Central, the fight was mostly wrapped up. Bart zipped into a smoking crater, too fast to be tracked. Ryou turned his attention to Barry instead.

“What’s the verdict?” he asked.

“He’s got something like radioactivity going on,” Barry said. “I’m almost sure he’s not doing this on purpose, though. It’s possible that he’s the victim in all this.”

“Is it handled?” Ryou asked.

“Impulse seems to know what he’s doing,” Barry said. “I’ll go keep an eye on him, just in case.”

“And where’s…” Ryou trailed off as he focused on Kuramochi, just in time to see Kuramochi’s face screw up in pain, his hand fisted over his chest, falling to his knees. “Kid Flash!”

Ryou moved without thinking, reacted on instinct. He slid into Kuramochi’s side, gathering Kuramochi to his chest like he could stave off disaster just by holding him close.

Kuramochi’s eyes fluttered, focusing for just a second on Ryou’s, before they dropped closed and didn’t move again. Ryou scanned his chest frantically, but he couldn’t see any evidence of Kuramochi breathing.

No, no, please no. Kuramochi was his best friend, his partner, his…

Ryou couldn’t bear to lose him.

“Wonder Boy!” His voice nearly cracked on the scream. Sawamura was at his side in a moment, face pale. “Get him up to the Watchtower. Get him help.”

Sawamura gathered Kuramochi into his arms, taking off. He couldn’t fly much, but it would be enough to get Kuramochi to the Watchtower faster than anyone else. Sawamura just had to get to a zeta tube and then he’d be up there, and then Kuramochi would have the best medical treatment Earth had to offer.

“Arsenal.” Ryou brought Miyuki’s attention back to himself. “Stay here. Update the Flash and Impulse.”

Miyuki looked desperately after Sawamura.

“Please,” Ryou added. Miyuki took a deep breath in and let it out.

“Yeah, okay,” he said. “Get going. Make sure he lives.”

Make sure he lives.

Ryou barely felt the burn in his muscles as he ran, legs and arms pumping smoothly. He couldn’t feel the gasps for air, although they had to be there, with how hard he was sprinting. The only room he had in his mind was for thoughts of Kuramochi.

He didn’t catch sight of Sawamura all the way to the nearest zeta tube. That was a good thing. It meant Sawamura was moving. None of them were technically supposed to have access to the Watchtower, but they’d gone up so often that no one tried to keep them out. Ryou didn’t even have to try and hack his way in before he was stepping out into a lobby.

Sawamura stood in the middle, looking, somehow, very small and very young.

“Where is he?” Ryou demanded. He didn’t bother to try and soften his voice.

“Doctor Light took him back,” Sawamura said. “She’s taking care of him.”

That wasn’t good enough for Ryou. He located the nearest person that could potentially be medical staff and didn’t bother pretending it wasn’t an interrogation.

“Where’s Kid Flash?”

“I...I don’t know.” If Ryou was doing anything but panicking, he might have felt bad about terrifying innocent bystanders.

“Then find out,” Ryou said, voice silky and dangerous. “Or find me someone who knows.”

The woman stumbled back, breaking into a run as she went looking for anyone that could help.

“You shouldn’t scare them like that,” Sawamura said. “They’re just doing their jobs.”

“They’re doing them badly.”

In the end, though, there really wasn’t much Ryou and Sawamura could do but sit and wait. Terrifying more medical staff wasn’t going to get them any more answers. Eventually Miyuki showed up, face ashen as he collapsed next to Sawamura.

“I called Jun and Tetsu,” Miyuki said. Ryou wracked his brain, trying to remember where they were supposed to be today. It should have bothered him more that he couldn’t immediately remember. “They should be here too.”

And then the three of them sat in silence until Doctor Light came out. Ryou was on his feet and moving before he made the decision to do so. Doctor Light didn’t flinch, probably used to this.

“How is he?” Ryou demanded. He hadn’t seen what had happened, didn’t even know why Kuramochi had gone down. One minute he’d seemed fine, the next he’d collapsed.

“Fine,” Doctor Light said. Ryou breathed a sigh of relief. “We restarted his heart. He’s resting now.”

“What happened?” Miyuki asked. “I didn’t see anything hit him.”

“Well, no.” Doctor Light gave them a strange look. “He hasn’t told you?”

“Told us what?” Ryou demanded flatly.

“Explains why he was in the field,” Doctor Light muttered. “He’s been having heart problems for over a year now. We’ve been trying to find a solution, but so far, no luck.”

Ryou barked out a humorless laugh that rippled in the air around them.

“That’s ridiculous,” he said. “Kid Flash would have told us if he had something that would affect him in the field. He wouldn’t keep something like this from us.”

And he and Kuramochi didn’t lie to each other. He’d known Kuramochi since they were kids, and that was always how they’d operated. Kuramochi was an open person, and even though Ryou didn’t always want to share, he’d respected that rule as much as Kuramochi did.

“It’s true,” Doctor Light said, looking supremely unimpressed. “We’ve connected all of his incidents with using his powers. It used to just be when he pushed too hard, but now, the limit for triggering it is getting lower. If we don’t find a solution, he might get to the point where he can’t use his speed at all.”

“You must have missed something,” Ryou snapped. He pushed past her. “Where is he?”

“Wait!” she called after him. Ryou ignored her. Kuramochi didn’t have...what, a heart condition? One triggered by using his speed? Even if he wanted to keep this to himself, he wouldn’t hide something that could affect him in the field. It could put everyone around him in danger.

There was another explanation, and Ryou was going to hear it from Kuramochi himself.

Kuramochi wasn’t hard to find, especially for someone as good at looking as Ryou was. He sat up in bed, looking healthy despite all the wires attached to his chest, and Ryou felt the last bit of tightness gripping his chest loosen. Kuramochi was fine.

And then Kuramochi looked up, and the guilt on his face told Ryou everything he needed to know.

“No,” Ryou said. “No, it can’t be true.”

Kuramochi sighed as Sawamura and Miyuki caught up with Ryou.

“So, I’ve been having some medical issues,” Kuramochi said. His attempt of adding some humor with his tone fell deathly flat.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Miyuki asked. Kuramochi snorted.

“Why didn’t I tell you I was outgrowing my usefulness?” he asked. “That using my speed is starting to kill me? That I was gonna have to leave the team?”

“Yes to all of that,” Miyuki said. He sat beside Kuramochi on the bed. “We could’ve figured out a way around you collapsing in the field.”

“What, by treating me as an invalid? Making sure I was on fewer and fewer missions until I couldn’t go on them at all? That’s not what I want.” Kuramochi tilted his head back. “You know, I’m the only one that has this problem. Barry got his speed as an adult, and Bart was born with his. The running theory is this is the result of going through puberty in a body that wasn’t designed for it.”

“So your heart is giving out?” Miyuki asked.

“Kind of,” Kuramochi said. “As Doctor Light explains it, using my speed causes electricity, and that’s messing up the rhythm of my heart enough to stop it. It used to just be when I tried to run too fast, but now, it’s if I run long enough even at my normal speed.”

“So you have to stop using your speed!” Sawamura piped up. “We don’t want you to die.”

“So I can just be a normal person?” Kuramochi asked, voice going almost hysterical. “I’ll still have the speed, but I won’t be able to use it? I just...I wanted to stay on the team for as long as possible. I wanted to be a hero for as long as I could, I wanted to do this the same way I’ve always done it until I couldn’t anymore.”

Ryou sat frozen. There were other speedsters, but there was only one Kuramochi. Even if Kuramochi could never run again, Ryou would never kick him off the team. He could never lose Kuramochi, especially not like this.

“I’ve always been slower than Barry and Bart, but I made my peace with that,” Kuramochi continued. “But I thought I could still help in my own way.”

“There are other speedsters,” Ryou said, voice coming out weird and flat. Kuramochi looked at him, eyes going wide. “There are other speedsters, so we don’t need you risking your life in the field.”

Kuramochi’s jaw dropped. Miyuki’s eyebrows rose, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Hey, Onii-san, maybe don’t-” Sawamura put a hand on his shoulder, but Ryou shook him off. He wasn’t done.

“What did Doctor Light say?” he asked. “I want to hear everything.”

“She doesn’t want me using my speed at all.” Kuramochi had gotten over his shock, and his eyes were narrowed in a surprisingly angry expression.

“Then listen to her until further notice,” Ryou said. “I’m going to go ask her myself.”

He left just as Jun and Tetsu showed up, but he didn’t turn around. He wasn’t sure he could stand hearing it all a second time. Before he could find Doctor Light, though, a hand on his elbow stopped him. Ryou almost threw whoever it was off, but when he turned and saw Miyuki’s expression, he backed down.

“I know you’re upset, but he’s in the hospital. Did you really have to call him replaceable to his face?” Miyuki demanded.

Ryou stared. He hadn’t said anything like that. In fact, he’d been trying to impress on Kuramochi the fact that he wasn’t at all replaceable, and that he shouldn’t play so fast and loose with his life.

“That’s not what I said,” Ryou protested.

“‘There are other speedsters’?” Miyuki made sarcastic air quotes around the words. “How was that anything but calling him replaceable?”

“It was saying he isn’t!” Ryou took a deep breath. “We have someone else who can do his job. We don’t have another him.”

“That’s so far from the point,” Miyuki said. “Also? That’s not what you said. And that’s not how it came across.”

Ryou glanced back towards where Kuramochi was probably explaining his situation to Jun and Tetsu.

“Don’t go back in now,” Miyuki sighed. “Go back when you’re not both upset and apologize. And maybe try explaining yourself next time.”

Ryou was almost surprised Miyuki had gotten in his face like this. They had never gotten in a fight, even when Ryou had deserved it before. Part of the reason they worked as friends was because they didn’t antagonize each other. They knew when to leave each other alone.

So if Miyuki was angry enough to ignore that...Ryou had really fucked up.

“Give him time to cool down,” Miyuki said, and his voice was already softening. “And then apologize. That’s all you can do now.”

Ryou nodded.

“I’m still going to find Doctor Light,” he said. “Make sure nobody else has a heart attack while I’m gone.”

“You’re not funny,” Miyuki said, but the corner of his mouth quirked up. They were fine.

Now Ryou just had to make sure he and Kuramochi were fine too.

[castielartandcomics]

OKAY. THE TIME HAS COME FOR THIS POST TO BE MADE. Even if it will be just a bunch of projects and me talking about them, it’s something I’ve been willing to do since a lot of time, mostly for a bit of self-esteem and to let you know that I’m actually working on stuff.

Since this will be a long post with some pictures, everything is under the cut! >:3

Honestly, I could start with a list of all the reasons why I haven’t been posting much, but the main reasons are low self-esteem and little to no time to do my stuff. School has been killing me slowly in the latest times, so the main reason why I post so little it’s actually academic work, nothing more and nothing less. ... this being said, let’s begin from what is REALLY interesting. >:3c

Gastertale

First of all, YES, I’m still working on Gastertale! And I’m extremly sorry for the long gap between the pages: the next page IS done, I just need to add dialogues, but I still haven’t for the simple reason that I don’t want to publish it only to make you wait other three months for another page. Hopefully soon I’ll return to have a bit of time, and at this point I’ll make pages more often and way better. I’ve improved a lot in this months, and despite there will probably be a little gap of style too between one page and another, I think I’ll be able to give you something more! My objective when I’ll restart to post it is to make at least one page a week and give a bit of a regular schedule, but about regularity it’s something that we’ll have to see (again, academic work). But hey, at least I’ll try to make you wait less than three months for the next page! </3

Plus, to confirm that something IS actually done:

preview, WOHOO!!

Sonic Humanitymorph & Sonic Battle Remastered

Basically. I want to draw more Sonic, and I want to draw him with a purpose. It’s... kind of a long story, but I’ll make it short for you because I don’t want to annoy you with melancholic and dramatic stuff (?). In a few words, I want to build new memories with Sonic and company, since my first memories are... kind of lost. I literally grew up with him, yet I remember little to nothing about his stories and about me in that period, and it’s something that makes me suffer a bit. SO! I’d really love to build new memories and honour a hero I’m really fond to, and I’d love to make this with you all! Since I also noticed that you really like my human!Sonic characters, so-! /)u(\

So, basically, the ideas are: MORE human characters. I still have your suggestions, I simply didn’t have the time to think about them, but I will surely do it! I’d love to make a lot more of the characters, if not all of them! And together with it, also another thing inspired by @slightly-gay-pogohammer‘s adaptation of Rayman “I’m Only Human”, which consist in adaptations of some of my favourite Sonic’s games, but in human form. And with some basic differences of course. I’m already working on it - my idea is of comics (as you could imagine, since I’m writing this on my art blog) but with a “much faster” style that will let me publish pages with a pretty fast rate (gotta go fast). Basically, sketches, and my sketches are very clean so the result should be pretty good. I’m working on Sonic Battle (which name will be Sonic Battle Remastered), which... SOMEHOW is still one of my favourite games of ALL TIMES, but in the list there’s also Sonic Riders Zero Gravity. And for the otheeerrrssss... well. I’m open to suggestions? :3

Rick and Morty: Kattebel

Remember him?

Rick I-T2B2, my personal interpretation of Rick Sanchez. WELP, I made him with a story in mind - and I actually thought of this verse’s versions of Morty, Summer, Jerry and Beth, even if I still haven’t drwan them because, again, freaking academic work. I’m tired, guys. What I have in mind with them is telling the story via comics, but in a slightly different way. I have little images with them, nothing that can be considered a full episode “worth” of a classic comic adaptation, that I think would be pretty cool if done in the simplest way, like a series of images without the need of making a full page. ... I’m not sure if I explained myself correctly, but in two word: SIMPLER STUFF. I’d love to make them, mostly because it’s a little and fun way of exploring this verse and its dinamics more than with just drawings of the characters. After all, I do want to tell you stories, and I should start to actually do it FOR GOOD, even in the simplest of ways! ... despite... yes, I actually have a more complex comic with Rick I-T2B2, about the “origin” of the condition of him and Morty (and by reflection of the whole family). So I think you can expect something bigger here too, despite it will be a MUCH shorter comic!

DEPONIA LIKE THERE’S NO TOMORROW

[FINGERGUNS] LET’S TALK ABOUT DEPONIA. First objective: actually finish the games. I have them since... a lot, and I still haven’t finished them for-- well, you know by now. An objective is surely to finally play the last two chapters and cry my eyes out, but we’re here for art, so here’s my project with Deponia:

first, drawing it more. Like... a lot more. I have many little ideas for illustrations and many others for little sequences that I think are pretty funny that I’d LOVE to do. I just need to DO THEM. Also, I have a whole lyricstuck in my mind with the Deponia series, and I’d love to make it! Or at least try, I’m not used to lyricstuck. But they’re so good,, Then, I have two projects comic related: one is... little stories. Pretty much it. Something probably of no more than five-ten pages long per story, little missing moments that might be interesting. And angsty, maybe, probably, I’m not sure. The other is... adaptation. Yes, at this point you might have noticed that I love adaptations. It’s just a little idea, but I’ve always found (probably because I’m a comic artist tbh) that the Deponia games would be... really good in comic format. And mostly for training I thought, “hey, I might try some!”. An idea would be of making the whole series as a comic, but I’m not really sure I can do it - but I’m pretty sure I can make little parts of it! It’s a project I had in mind for quite some months by now, and I remembered about it some days ago since I was looking in my folders and...

a WIP was found. Ten points and a biscuit to whoever guesses the scene. This will probably be mostly training, unless things change or something very cool happens. I lowkey dream sometimes that they’ll hire me, but. It’s just a dream. On the other hand, I might open suggestions for scenes to adapt in the games! uvu ... when I’ll finish the games.

Left 4 Dead 2

Am I late?... naaah. You don’t even have idea of how many ideas I have for this fandom, and all in comic form, just to make my life easier. I have no idea of when I might make these, but will probably be sketchy, pencil stuff, and I will enjoy every moment of them. Boy, I love these characters. I want to tell stories with them,

Oxygen Not Included

I HAVE. A STORY IN MIND. And it will be long, angsty, harsh and tragic probably. I don’t have any WIP nor I can tell many details at the moment because,, I guess it would be spoiler? But, it will be an experiment and something that it’ll be interesting for me to try! All that is needed to understand is,, when I’ll be able to make it, honestly-

And for something less comic-y: references

Because I realized I often post sketches, but not actual references of my OCs. I mean fullbodies fully coloured, with palettes and objects and STUFF. It will be a pretty funny thing for me to do, because the versions I’ll give you of my OCs will be slightly different from the “final” version I’ll show you when I’ll be able to tell you their story - because YUP, I’m working on those too, but for now it’s still a very big work in progress, so I’m still not ready to show you stuff. ;3c But basically, an objective of mine is references. Make those darn characters references with nice palettes and cool stuff, so that you’ll actually have,, at least some more infos than a black and white sketch. ... and a good reference in case you want to draw them? I don’t know just,, dreaming a little bit,, I’ll make the references for the OCs I’ve published (so most probably the ones I’ve put and will put more on @mcmentics, because I’ll surely add someone else in there soon), and after making Leda’s reference sheet (because Gio requested him to be the first >:3c) I might put it “to the vote” to decide in which order make all the others. <3 ... or simply go and make them all with the order I want. I don’t know. Let’s see what the future will offer us. <3

And those other projects?

SECRETS (?) But actually, I have told you just the main projects I have. Some (many, actually) I’ll keep as a secret for now, some are just too vague to make a post about it. But, another project is surely to livestream more! Again, I’ll need to see when I’ll have some time, but as for now I’m starting to have some free moments for myself, and I’d love to share them with you! >:3

AAAAND okay, this post got really really long. </3 Sorry, I thought I would have been much faster, but I had so much to say, haha- I’m sorry if something isn’t explained very good, I’m a bit tired after waking up at 5am for academy (and it’s 10.30pm now so,,), but in case something interests you and you wish more infos, my inbox is always open!! <3

Have a wonderful day/afternoon/evening for now, and hopefully,, I’ll start to make something BIG soon! :D Thank you for reading! <3

[impageddon]

Space Race - Chapter 2: The Chase

A PvZH Fanfiction

Thanks for everyone that read and enjoyed the 1st chapter ^u^ Chapter 2 came pretty fast compared to how long I usually take to write and post a chapter-- Hope you like it ‘u’

(Here’s chapter 1 and the Important Notes of the story, in case you haven’t read them)

    The zombies, slightly unconfortable inside a spaceship, kept talking about how they attacked the satellite. Was that the best ideia? Should they have agreed about doing that?

    - Humm… Someone check the window. There is something on the radar that is disturbing me… - That order came from an imp who was the ship's pilot and crew's captain.

    One of the present gargantuars looked through the window. There were three unidentified things, very far away, but approaching.

    - Uh… There are these three things, but they're distant.

    - ARE THOSE ALIENS?! - A regular zombie asked, already shaking in fear.

    - I don't know.

    - You shouldn't be afraid of aliens! - The captain got his time to speak again. - The are some where we're going!

    - WHAT?! ZOMBOSS DIDN'T TELL ME THAT!! I WANT TO COME BACK!!

    People running. Screams. A huge mess. Apparently, only a few expected to find aliens. Most zombies had no idea and were terrified.

    - STOP. SIT EVERYONE. - More orders. - I'll change the course a little, let's see if they're following us or if we're just in their way… - He said before changing the direction the spaceship was going.

    - So?

    - Uh… Bad news. We're being followed.

    - Okay team, - Beta-Carrotina and her two partners, Ensign Uproot and Lieutenant Carrotron, were faster than the zombie's spaceship. She, the leader, was having a little speech. - we're close enough! Remember: They can't reach Meteor Z. At least, not unhurt. Now, fire!

    Activated through thought, a small laser gun came from their jetpacks, similar to how Rustbolt uses his shrink ray. The three divided, each one going to a direction, and started shooting.

    - Cap, they're shooting at our butt! - That same gangantuar started another mess. More running. More screams. The more the Plant-etary Guard shot, the more they could feel it inside the ship.

    - SIT EVERYONE!! I've got this!! Well, at least I think I have, I'm not sure…

    - BUT THEY'RE SHOOTING AT OUR BUTT!!

    - YOUR BUTT WON'T GET SHOT IF YOU SIT!!

    The ship now was moving in zigzag, but its size wasn't helping a lot. They were still getting hit by the plants.

    - Someone go to that cannon and fight back!

    - Alright, cap! - A zombie replied and got up, but it was hard to walk with all that shots and the zigzag. He fell down, and couldn't get up again.

    The pilot, realizing the situation through a camera, had an idea. - I hope you're all wearing seatbelts.

    Gravity was deactivated in that area.

    No, not everyone was wearing seatbelts. Some zombies started floating, but the one determined to use the ship's canon saw that as an advantage and used them to get an impulse, finally reaching the corner, where a control panel was.

    - Guys?! - Lieutenant called his team's attention after seeing a big cannon pop up from the spaceship.

    - Woah. WOAH! Beta, watch out!

    - Uh? - She was very concentrated, trying to remove a part of the metal coating, but could see in time that she was about to get shot and dodge. - Wow, that was a close one! Thanks!

    - Hey Cap, - The zombie started. - those are… Carrots! - Just then he realized that nobody hadn't even looked through the window to confirm what the “three things” were.

    The imp froze at the cockpit. That was the Plant-etary Guard, the exact thing Zomboss had told him to don't mess with.

    - Shooting the satellite was my ideia, but I totally regret it now. - He said after coming back to normal. - These guys won't stop untill we're, I don't know, lost in space, stuck on a different planet, or maybe even dead. Like, fully dead.

    That affirmation didn't cheer the crew up.

    Outside, the plants were dealing with the laser cannon pretty well. They were faster. However, Ensign Uproot completely solved the problem with some shots at the rods that assembled it to the ship. Now there was a cannon randomly floating in outer space, and the zombie spaceship, supposed to be fully weaponized, couldn't fight back anymore.

    Some more shots from Beta and the metal coating was danificated enough for wires to be seen. Lieutenant destroyed them.

    - What?! Oh no, I can't move to the right!! Guuuys, we're doomed!! - The captain had already lost hope. What was meant to be a zigzag was now an only-to-the-left, and there wasn't even a way to use the buttons that would make them turn to the right. He could feel the tears coming, but then he looked through the window, and there it was.

    Literally shining, in the dark of space, covered with a purple smoke, as purple as the ground itself. There was Meteor Z.

    - NO! NO WAY I'M GIVING UP! We're so close! Hang on, crew!

    - Uh… Guys?! - Beta-carrotina called her team's attention when she realized whoever was piloting that decided to go to the left and don't stop, making the ship whirl and go to the “right” direction. Inside it, only screams of zombies being slammed against the wall.

    They were behind the carrots now.

    - Get off the way! - Ensign Uproot shouted while flying away to don't get hit. Lieutenant Carrotron did the same, but Beta decided to try something new. She flied at maximum speed in the direction of the ship, getting hit.

    - BETA!!

    However, she broke the window's glass and got inside the cockpit. The imp ran to the rest of the ship, afraid of the vacuum and of her. As he got there, he could feel a complete lack of weight, and started floating, like many were.

    - Oh, I forgot gravity was off…

    - Hey cap, - A zombie girl, sit and with seatbelts, started. - why aren't you wearing seatbelts?

    - Okay, here I am. - Beta-Carrotina whispered to herself before shooting all the control panel, making sure it was completely broken.

    She looked through the broken window. They were approaching Meteor Z, and fast. The ship was surely going to crash.

    The other two were very worried, following the zombie spaceship the faster they could. However, for their relief, the carrot girl got out of it and flew up. She stopped, but the ship continued its route to destruction under her.

    - Beta! - Lieutenant called her. He was flying so fast he almost couldn't stop by her side.

    - Are you crazy? - Uproot stopped too.

    - I am not crazy, I am smart.

    - No, you are completely mad. - He looked angry, but deep down, he was happy to see that his friend was okay.

    The trio, then, watched the zombie ship go towards the glowing meteor, until it crashed and rolled over, hitting against the ground with strenght several times, leaving its parts and zombies on the way.

    The zombies didn't move, and it took only a few moments for the purple smoke to cover them completely.

    - Are they dead? - Lieutenant Carrotron asked.

    - Well, they're zombies… - Beta-Carrotina replied.

    - No. Like, fully dead.

    - I don't know. Maybe we can go there and find out. - She started flying towards it.

    - Hang on, Beta! - Uproot was now truly angy. She stopped and looked at him. - Now I wonder if you really are crazy. This thing is new, and we have no ideia if this weird smoke is toxic or whatever.

    - Okay. Let's go to our station and get oxygen masks.

    - Beta, why do you want to go there? The ship is destroyed, we're safe now. Also, we're probably going to get killed if there really are mutant zombies or something. - The taller carrot tried to convince his leader that going there wasn't a good ideia. No mutant zombie could be seen, but he believed what Citron said.

    Beta kept quiet. She couldn't simply say she wanted to restart the experiments she gave up in because of the amount of plants she hurt. She was supposed to have forgotten that story.

    - You guys are right, let's go home.

    Even at maximum speed, it took them a long while to get back to the space station.

    Lieutenant and Uproot decided to rest from all that tension, but Beta had something better in mind. She separated some things to pack, but before doing so, some upgrades on the backpack were good. The trip wouldn't be long, but it would be dangerous.

    - If they're not coming with me, then I'll go alone. - She said to herself.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

snow in april (chapter 7 of 8)

one /// two /// three /// four /// five /// six

warning for violence, kidnapping, general darkness

The girls had already hugged her and cried and were in her bedroom at the moment; Lyla had fallen right asleep, curled up like a puppy, but Anna was still awake, watching the lit-up hall wearily instead instead of the TV. Haswell kissed their foreheads before going downstairs. Scully was in the front room, facing down Haswell ferociously. She'd been panicked when Haswell had burst in, demanding, Where's Mulder? even as the girls ran to embrace Haswell. Now she said, “What the hell happened?” in a tight, furious voice. “Why did you leave him behind?”

Haswell winced. “I didn't mean to leave him behind, we were leaving, he was right behind me when the door slammed shut. It was locked, I couldn't get it open, so I got away so I could get help.”

“What fucking help can we give him when the goddamn police department is involved in this crazy cult?” Scully growled.

“It'll be a few hours before they…” She saw the emotions playing off of Scully's face and mentally revised. “Before anything happens. We can get to the next town and send in the cops before they hurt him.”

She bit down hard on her lip. “I'm not leaving him.”

“You might have to,” Haswell said, trying to sound comforting. “He’ll have a better chance if he…”

“Goddamnit, I’m not walking away! I’ve done it before and I regret it to this day, so I am not walking away when there’s a chance to save him,” Scully hissed. Her eyes were steel, fierce and angry.

Haswell bit her lip. She understood, she did - if it were one of the girls or Bobby, she wouldn’t want to leave them either. Hell, she didn’t want to let someone else do the job - she wanted to shoot the reverend and Jeff herself. She was stiff with fury and grief at the news that Bobby had been murdered. But she had her daughters, and she had to keep them safe. “I understand, Scully,” she said. “I do. But I have my daughters, and I have to protect them. Those goddamn scarecrows went after Anna, and there was nothing I could do about it because I was stuffed in a damn closet. I have to keep them safe. I mean, you can understand that, can’t you?”

Scully froze, her face shifting. “Mari…” she said slowly, tearfully. “If you’re saying I don’t care about the baby…”

“That’s not what I meant,” Haswell said quickly. “I just… want you to understand where I’m coming from.”

Scully’s eyes slid closed; she pinched the bridge of her nose, breathing shakily. Her hand pressed against her extended stomach.

There was suddenly a sound of screeching metal, a large crash. They both turned towards the door, worried, and then Lyla’s voice came floating down the stairs: “Mommy, there's a car crash over at Calvert’s!”

“Mulder,” Scully breathed, and she turned and raced for the door, shoving it open with one hand and reaching for her gun with the other. Haswell yelled at the girls to stay upstairs before following Scully outside.

The car was up against Calvert’s empty fence, end pointed away from the house. Scully was headed towards it, gun drawn, so Haswell followed. A man was climbing out of the car - not Mulder, or anyone else she recognized, but Scully definitely knew him, she was shouting something at him. By the time Haswell reached them, she could make out their words; Scully was asking how he'd gotten here. “I dunno, I dunno,” the man stammered. “I was on the way here, didn't know how to find it, and I-I blacked out or something.”

Oh, shit, another one, Haswell thought; the blackout usually meant that Calvert had caught someone else in his web and unwittingly lured them to Calvert Pass, a place that wasn't even on the map.

“What the hell, you…” Scully whispered in confusion. “You blacked out?”

“Have you had a recent near-death experience?” Haswell asked.

The man blinked at her in confusion, like he was seeing her for the first time. “Doggett, this is Deputy Haswell,” Scully explained. She sounded out of sorts, but that was understandable, considering. “Mari, this is Agent Doggett, my… partner.”

“I thought Mulder's your partner.”

“He is,” she said softly.

Doggett was still staring. “What the hell does a near-death experience have to do with anything?”

“It's a long story,” Haswell said. Her eyes had wandered to Calvert’s driveway; it was empty. “Scully, Calvert’s gone.”

She turned, face white and panicked. “Go check?” she whispered. “Please?” She held her gun out.

Haswell took it, somewhat reluctantly; she was hoping that Jeff wouldn't shoot her if he was still inside. “Go on and fill your friend in. If I don't come back out…”

“I'll get the girls out of here,” Scully said, nodding. “I promise. Thank you.”

Haswell nodded back; there was nothing else to say. She went to the doorstep and banged on the door. “Jeff, are you in there?” she shouted. No answer. She banged again. “Come out, Jeff! Calvert? I have a gun and I won't hesitate to use it!” She'd hesitated before, when she'd gone to tell him to let Mulder and Scully go, and that had been her mistake. He hadn't killed her husband but he hadn't stopped it either. She wasn't unwilling to hurt him. “Jeff!” she shouted again, banging harder until her palm stung. “Let me in!” Her hand slipped down to the doorknob and the door swung open automatically.

Haswell turned back to look at Scully, who was watching her. “Be right back,” she called, and went into the house with her gun drawn. “Mulder?” She went through the front hall of the house, gun held protectively out in front of her. “Jeff? Calvert? Is anyone here?” She checked in the kitchen, the dining room, Calvert’s office. All empty.

She kept calling out for Mulder as she checked the house - opened every door she could find, who knows where they would've put him? By the end of her search, she knew. Of course they wouldn't have kept him here - too obvious, with a cop and an FBI agent right down the street. And there had been too much activity here tonight. She had no idea where they'd take him, though; their usual M.O. involved surprising the victim, she didn't know what they'd do with an in-the-loop FBI agent.

Scully's face lit up when she opened the door and immediately fell when she came out Mulder-less. “He's not in there?” she said warily.

Haswell shook her head gravely. “I'm sorry, Scully.”

Her fingers knotted together, knuckles turning white. Urgently, she started, “Do you think they… already…”

“No, no, no,” Haswell assured her quickly. “They like to do it at midnight… exactly at midnight. Your autopsy of the Roberts’s confirms time of death to be about midnight, right? Unless they just broke routine with Mulder - and I doubt it - then he still has a few hours.”

"And are ‘they’ the, uh, necromancy cult?” the man, Doggett asked tentatively. There was disbelief in his voice, but he was looking at Scully like he had her back despite it all.

“Yeah, that's them,” Haswell said.

He grimaced. “I can't believe this,” he said of no one in particular. “I wouldn't believe it if it weren't for that blackout.”

“Believe it or not, Agent Doggett, these people have Mulder either way,” Scully said briskly. “I hate to put you in this position but can you help me? I can't just let him die…”

“I don't think there's been a time in our partnership where I haven't been helping you chase down Mulder, Agent Scully.” Doggett was clearly trying to joke, but it came out wrong, disjointed.

She looked down at her shoes. “There hasn't, you're right. You don't know how grateful I am for that.” Scully looked up, turning to Haswell. “Mari? Are you...”

“The girls and I are leaving,” she said. She'd already left them alone at the house for longer than she'd liked; they needed to get out, now. “But we'll stop in the next town. We'll send the police. I promise you that.”

Doggett looked between them. “Agent Scully, in your condition maybe you should…”

Scully visibly faltered, pulling at a thread in her sleeve. Her hand went to her stomach. “Not while Mulder's still out here,” she mumbled. “We’ll figure it out; maybe I can wait in the car, be ready to make a quick getaway.” She turned back to Haswell. “Do you have any idea where they'd take him?”

Haswell considered, but she had no earthly idea, really. Besides her unyielding uninterest, she knew this wasn't their typical M.O. “I don't,” she said softly. “I'm sorry.”

Scully's face crumpled a little. Then, all of a sudden, her phone started to ring.

---

He saw things all at once, a rapid flash of images. A man cradling a woman, hand to her chest, and praying softly. Someone - was that the doctor, Dr. Henderson - was bent over someone prone on the ground, hands pressed to their chest. A heartbeat starting, stopping, fluttering in place but not restarting. The same man from the first image leaning over the man from the picture in Haswell's hallway - Anna and Lyla’s father, it was just like Anna had said - with a rock in his hand. Tell me the secret, you son of a bitch. The rock descended.

The Roberts’s in their kitchen, in their pajamas. Kyle stood in front of Cara, holding up a butcher knife threateningly. The sheriff stood in front of them, his hands held out. Cara started gasping, collapsing against her husband…

Mulder jolted away, almost falling forward off of whatever he was lying on. His cheek was plastered to some kind of velvety surface, and what seemed to be a church pew was right in front of him. He tried to move his hands and found the motion restricted by rope knotted around them at his back. He kicked out, feet hitting wood, and managed to sit up, ankles untied. He was in a church sanctuary, on a pew. It seemed empty.

Mulder turned back and forth, trying to gage his surroundings. Agitated and frantic, he began twisting his wrists in their bonds.

“Good, you're awake.” He turned, and saw an older version of the man from his dream. The one with the rock and Haswell's husband. The reverend, collar and all. He was walking down the aisle towards Mulder, and he offered him an easy smile.

Mulder turned clumsily to face him. “You killed Bobby Haswell."

“Well. That's not how I'm usually greeted.” Reverend Greene sat in the pew across the aisle. “I guess you've had some spiritual communication. Not uncommon in these parts, especially not with those who end up at Calvert’s. I suppose you've encountered the scarecrows?”

“I'm a federal agent,” Mulder said, breathing hard. “That means big trouble for you if I die.”

“Oh, we know. We know all about you, Agent Mulder. Your little story almost fooled Dr. Calvert, but Dr. Henderson relayed the details of your doctor's visit, your girlfriend. We looked you up, and there was enough information in the news to fill a book. Your disappearance, your burial, your miraculous resurrection. We've never seen the Mark of Death before, but you definitely have it. That increases your chances, we hear.”

The man reached out and squeezed Mulder's shoulder; he slid away in disgust. “You're going to kill me,” he said. “Stop my heart in the name of fucking necromancy.”

“Power fades, and valiant efforts are made to bring it back. Consider yourself a sacrificial lamb, if it helps.”

“Biblical metaphors. In a church. How clever,” Mulder said with some disgust.

“Lazarus was dead for four days, Jesus for three. Maybe the trick is that we didn't look for time gaps. Maybe that was the key all along.”

“Yeah, except there's a little problem with that,” Mulder snapped. “Jesus was dead for three days, and I was dead for three months. Besides, I'm the outlier in this little experiment anyway.”

“Which could explain why your chances are greater,” Reverend Greene said good-naturedly.

“Fuck that. You people should never have started this, let alone keep going! Why the hell didn't you stop when it didn't work?” he growled.

“We're hardly monsters, Agent. We switch out people who stop the hearts, test them to see whether or not their power remains. We hope each and every one will be successful. We mourn every time it isn't. Do you even know how this all started? I was distraught about the loss of the necromantic power. I felt like it was a gift, and I didn't know why it had left. People had been made so happy by the gift of necromancy.”

“Maybe they never saw Pet Sematary,” Mulder said viciously.

The reverend ignored him. “Necromancy had been fading for years, slowly; telekinesis was weakened, but it did remain. By 1985, it was gone and I was deeply haunted. All the good we could’ve done, gone like that, and we didn’t even know why. My wife - Matty - she came down to find me crying my eyes out at the kitchen table one night, and she offered to do a little experiment with me, to ease my mind. Stop my heart, she said, with telekinesis, and then restart it the same way. Maybe that will answer your questions. Maybe that will save this town.”

“And it didn't work,” Mulder said. “But you kept going anyway.”

“Matty’s death absolutely devastated me. I was determined to find out what I had done wrong. I stopped and tried to restart two hearts, trying something different each time. Of course, when it didn't work, the town was less than happy, the families distraught. So I suggested a solution to benefit us all. We would lure people here who had a variable in their favor: that they had recently died and came back to life. We thought that their success might be more likely to happen again. We would switch out people to do the deed, starting with the people who'd previously had their power the longest. And some people agreed. We set up a group, conducted meetings. We chose Dr. Calvert to set up his practice, as he was the only one whose power had remained throughout it all.”

“Wait,” Mulder said, head spinning. “You mean Calvert can still bring people back to life?”

“And control the weather, and lure people who have never heard of his practice to our little town. He also bonded the souls of the sacrifices to his collection of scarecrows out front. They lingered, you see, even though we couldn't bring them back to their bodies. Dr. Calvert could channel them and he did. They are his spies, informants on the chosen victims. Dr. Calvert serves us, but he is also the most powerful of us all.”

“So why not have him resurrect the victims?” he demanded. “Why leave them dead? Why do that to their families?”

“Oh, we did that, the first two years. Calvert would travel with the member to wherever the victim was staying, and he'd bring them back when the member proved unable to. But the group voted to remove that step. They thought it would interfere with the process, that maybe it took a few days to work.”

“How do you expect that to work if you have them fucking autopsied?” Mulder hissed. He was still methodically twisting his wrists in hope of escape; the skin was chafed and stinging, but the knots held fast.

“Oh, no one was autopsied before the Roberts. Mari made that up so that you two would involve yourselves, I expect. Most in this town are either naive or don't interfere, but Mari was neither of those things. She felt some sort of moral obligation. Probably because of her husband.” Reverend Greene smiled. “Robert Haswell, now he was truly our savior. He died in ‘93, after we'd already been letting people stay dead for four years. Killing people takes a toll on you, you know, and we were worried that it would never work, that all these people were dying for nothing. We were close to giving up completely when Robert brought his daughter back to life. He gave us hope that someone would have the power eventually. If he’d retained it, who else might?” The reverend smirked, pulling at a loose thread on his clothes. “It’s a shame he had to die, though, and leave behind those two little girls and Mari. Mari got real suspicious, started sniffing around, lectured me about moral obligation to these victims’ families. But still, she was never able to do anything. She knew how outnumbered she was, how dangerous it would be to speak out. And no one moves away from Calvert Pass. Mari never proved to be a problem until you and your girlfriend came along. We were a bit worried at that, you being FBI agents, but imagine our comfort when one of you turned out to have had an NDE - and to have the Mark of Death, no less.”

“You son of a bitch,” Mulder snarled. (He absolutely did not want to die.)

“Call me what you want, Agent Mulder; it makes no difference.” The reverend smiled serenely. “I do have just one question, though. About your girlfriend.”

Scully, Mulder thought. What did they want with her, did they have her? God, if she was here… “Where is she?” he snapped, frantic. “What do you want with her?”

“Nothing at all, Agent. I can assure you she's not here and we have no desire to hurt her. Especially not with a baby on the way.” Reverend Greene patted his shoulder in what was probably meant to be a comforting motion. “I just wanted to know… will she be a problem? Will she interfere like Kyle Roberts did? Because if she does, I have no guarantee on her safety.”

Mulder froze, fingers pressed awkwardly against the wood. "I don't know,” he said in muted horror. She might hesitate to come because of the baby, but he wasn't sure what choice she'd make in the end.

The reverend's face fell; he shook his head regretfully, and Mulder scrambled to offer a solution. “Let me call her,” he said quickly. “I can convince her not to come.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “How do I know you won't give away your location?”

Any other time he might, but not now. Not when she was pregnant. He'd still try to escape, but he couldn't depend on Scully for that, not this time. “Because I don't want her to get hurt,” he said, thinking of the baby.

That answer seemed to satisfy the reverend. He got up and walked to the door, stuck his head out and called, “Calvert? I'm about to call Agent Scully; please allow it to go through.” And then he came back, pulling a cell phone out of his coat. “I assume you know her number?” he asked.

Mulder gave it to him, and hated himself for it. The reverend dialed, putting it on speakerphone, and set it in his lap. Mulder counted the rings, nervous. He didn't want her to pick up, didn't want to have this conversation, but he wanted to know that she was okay. He half-hoped she'd finally gotten her revenge and ditched him, had slipped past the roadblock and was on her way down the mountain.

And then he heard Scully's voice and his blood froze in his veins. It came through crackling with static, an uncertain, “Hello?”

Mulder opened his mouth to answer, but Reverend Greene grabbed him from behind, clapping one hand over his mouth, effectively muffling her name from his mouth.

“Mulder?” Scully said on the other end. She sounded almost hopeful; oh, God, Mulder thought, and closed his eyes.

“No, Agent Scully, it's not Mulder. I'm sorry,” said the reverend.

Her voice shifted, grew steely and strong. “Who are you?”

“Oh… a friend of a friend, you could say,” the reverend chuckled.

She said fiercely, in the same furious voice he'd heard multiple times when he was in danger: “Where is he?”

He squeezed his eyes shut tighter like it might help something. I'm so sorry, Scully.

“Where's Mulder? What have you done with him?” she hissed, practically shouting.

“I'm afraid I can't tell you that. I can assure you that I'm looking right at him, though. He looks like he'd like to speak to you.”

“I need proof,” Scully said, and her voice faltered only slightly. “Let me hear that he's alive.”

The reverend moved his hand. “Scully,” Mulder said, and was going to say more before the hand returned, pressing hard. It's okay, he said into the reverend's palm, but it came out a muffled grunt.

“There's your proof, Agent.”

“Let him go,” she said steadily. He could hear her trying to regain control.

“I'm afraid I can't do that either, my dear. I'm sorry about that, I really am.”

“Bullshit, you can't,” said Scully, sounding as strong as he knew she was.

“Maybe I misspoke,” the reverend said. “I meant I won't.” Scully made a sound, almost inaudible, on the other end, but it was enough and it cut Mulder to the core. “Now I'm offering you a chance to get out of here safely. So you’ll need to leave town, right away. No one will stop you or hurt you. I promise you can walk away safe and scot-free.”

“Why would you let me go?” Scully demanded. “I know everything about this cult of yours, and you know I know. Why would you let me leave? I don’t believe you.”

“I can assure you I’m telling the truth, my dear. No one will believe your story, and we’d outnumber anyone who came up here anyway. Besides, we don’t want to kill a young mother. We have no interest in taking your life, or the life of anyone innocent. We had to kill Kyle Roberts because he tried to protect his wife, and we felt great regret over it. We’re warning you to try and prevent that from happening again.”

There was a lengthy pause, and then she said, “I won't leave him here,” but her voice faltered, trembling like a leaf in the wind. She sounded torn, and Mulder knew she was thinking about the baby.

“I'm sorry, but you have to,” Reverend Greene said. “You see, Dr. Scully, we don't want to hurt you… or your baby… but if you interfere, we'll have to.”

No. Mulder sunk his teeth into the reverend's palm, and the man yelped and yanked his hand away. “Scully, you have to listen to him, you have to go…”

Henderson pressed his hand back over Mulder's mouth, muffling his words. “Mulder?” Scully called. Her voice was faltering; she sounded close to tears.

“I'd listen to him,” the reverend said. “For your baby’s sake, if nothing else.”

“If you're letting me go, let him go, too,” she said softly, and it was the closest to pleading he'd ever heard from her. “Please. This is his child, and he was dead a few weeks ago.”

“We'll bring him back to you,” the reverend said, and if Mulder didn't know the truth, he'd suspect that it was a promise. “He'll be just fine. We'll let him go as soon as he's breathing, and he can find you. You can go home and live a long, happy life.”

“If it hasn't worked the last seventeen goddamn times, then why do you think it would work now?” she growled.

“It's almost worked a few times, you know,” he told her. “We've almost been able to restart a few hearts. And Jeff’s never done it before, maybe it will work with him. Besides, the Mark of Death increases the chances.”

If Greene wasn't covering his mouth, Mulder would've asked what the Mark of Death was. The grave dirt under his fingernails, the tear tracks on Scully's cheeks? Something ingrained in his skin, his bones? Did he look like a walking zombie? And how did that guarantee that it would work on him when it didn't work on fourteen other people who'd had NDEs?

“You should go, Dr. Scully. Really. We're giving you a good opportunity here, for you and your baby to live.”

“Without my partner?” she snapped. Her voice cracked; she sounded two inches away from sobbing.

Mulder mumbled something under the reverend's hand, bucking hard against his hold, and his hand moved away from his mouth. “Scully, you have to go,” he said, rushed, panicked. “For the baby.” Scully made a faint choking sound, and he knew she was crying now. “Save yourself, please,” he added, softer. “I can't… if anything happened to you…”

What Scully was thinking went unsaid: if anything happened to you, again… “No,” she said softly. She sounded small, vulnerable, like she was falling apart. Something inside him shattered a little.

She was going to go, he knew she would, for the baby, but he wanted to make sure she wouldn't hate herself for it, wanted her to know she was doing the right thing. He tried to come up with something to comfort her. “You'll get through this, Scully, I know you will,” he said, softly. “You're the strongest person I know. And you're going to be the best mother in the world.”

Silence except for Scully's husky breathing. The reverend, blessedly enough, said nothing. “I love you,” she said, unsteady. “I… my god.” Mulder held his breath, tried to memorize the sound of her voice. She took a few more shaky breaths. He opened his mouth to tell her he loved her.

The reverend hung up, the click like the nails on his coffin. Mulder took a sharp breath and tried not to cry.

“I'm sorry about that, Agent Mulder,” the reverend said, shoving him back on the pew as he stood. “I know that must've been hard for you.”

His hands hit the wood hard and he winced. “You don't know,” he muttered, staring hard at a dark spot on the carpet until the burn of tears blurred his vision. The image of Scully, her voice telling him she loved him, was still clear ad solid in his mind. He never wanted it to fade. He would hold onto her until the end. “You don't have a fucking clue.”

---

After the phone call, they sat in the sanctuary in silence for what must've been an hour. The reverend sat right beside him, making escape impossible. Mulder kept twisting his hands in their bonds, and nothing kept happening; he stayed stubbornly and tightly bound.

Suddenly, the door at the back of the sanctuary opened and Dr. Henderson, the doctor Scully had taken him to, entered. Astonishment washed over him - he knew that several people were involved, but it was still a surprise to see the man who’d examined him when they first got to town here, among people who were going to kill him. It suddenly made sense that he guessed about Mulder’s NDE, recommended Mulder go to Calvert. They’d been doomed from the second they rolled into town, whether he’d found the Roberts’s or not.

The reverend stood to meet Henderson and the two of them talked in a low tone that Mulder couldn't understand. Mulder scanned the room for another way out and spotted a door near the front. Possibly a little insane and definitely determined to get away, he got to his feet and sprinted towards the other door.

It didn't work. Of course he didn't get far. His bound hands threw him off, and a second later someone was crashing into him. Henderson. He pinned Mulder painfully to the ground, putting pressure on his neck. Mulder grunted in pain. There was the click of a gun muzzle at his temple. “I'd suggest you don't try that again, Agent Mulder,” Henderson said, pressing down on his neck. Mulder gasped, coughed. “We're not as young as we once were.”

“Can you watch him?” the reverend said somewhere behind them. As if Mulder were an unruly child instead of a prisoner by cultists. “I need to go deal with this.”

“Certainly.” Henderson’s hand curled into the back of Mulder's shirt and yanked him to his feet; he staggered, gasping in breaths, but Henderson held him in place.

The reverend nodded at them before turning and exiting the room. Henderson shoved Mulder down on another pew and sat beside him, gun still to his head. “Sorry for the unpleasant circumstances,” he said cheerfully. “We're not used to holding people, you see.”

Mulder said nothing. There was nothing to say. They sat in silence like he and the reverend had, except this time there was a gun to his head. Definitely no hope of escape. Being shot, without medical attention, was definitely something he couldn’t come back from. At least this necromancy thing had a small chance.

And then, all of a sudden, the lights dimmed out of nowhere.

Mulder tensed, trying to prepare himself for a fight. Henderson’s hand came down on his shoulder and squeezed: a warning. “Hold still,” he said. “It’ll all be over in a few minutes.” He held his breath so he wouldn’t gasp or scream; were they going to kill him right here?

The candles sprang to life around the room, tiny flames lighting up the dark cavern of the sanctuary. The shadows flickered eerily along the wall. At the back end of the sanctuary, the door scraped open and people started filing in. “What’s going on?” Mulder hissed, afraid and hating his fear. This reminded him too much of the Chaco Chicken case, or the devil-worshipping PTA. He was terrified of what would happen next.

“Nothing,” Henderson said calmly, moving the gun from Mulder's head. It was clear he wouldn't be running away. “We’ve just never had an opportunity to meet the sacrifice like this, and they wanted to see you. The Mark of Death makes you special in their eyes.”

People kept filing in. They looked absurdly normal, like the other cases they’d seen; dressed in plainclothes, coats and hats, some even in pajama pants or curlers. All ages, some as young as college, some old enough to have canes and walkers. He couldn’t gauge how many; at least fifty, he thought. It wasn’t a too-large chunk of the 747, but it was enough. He swallowed, throat dry.

Henderson hooked his hands under Mulder’s shoulders and hauled him up. “Is that him?” an acne-faced guy in the front asked.

“This is him,” Henderson said. “According to the news, he disappeared for three months, was returned dead, and was buried for three months before he came back to life.” Some collective gasps and “Wow”s came from the ground.

Of course the Bureau would leave the whole alien abduction factor out of it. Mulder was more scared at dying at the hands of necromantic cultists in the moment, but it still irritated him to hear it trivialized. The way Henderson said it made it sound like nothing. The fear from the ship came rushing through his head on top of everything, and he closed his eyes, swaying slightly. God, he couldn’t catch a break, could he? He was walking around with a giant target on his back: Shoot here.

Henderson and the crowd said some more things but Mulder barely heard them. He was lost within in his head, drowning everything out. He tried to hook his thumb in the hook of the knots, but it slipped over it uselessly. He worked the ropes back and forth to no avail. The words blurred together, even as Henderson started shuffling him forward, down the aisle; he didn’t hear a word of the crowd’s whispers until one phrase popped out at him: “What about the other one?”

Mulder jolted. “Other one? What other one?” he demanded.

“It’s time we were going, Agent Mulder,” Henderson said, steering him towards the door. “I’m afraid it’s time,” he called out to the group.

“Who’s the other? Is it Scully? You said you’d let her go!” he snarled, almost shouting. He was filled with an uncanny fury.

“It’s not Agent Scully. We keep our promises, Mulder.” They turned down the dark halls of the church and towards the door.

“Who is it, then? Is it Haswell?” They moved outside of the church, into the cold.

“Mari Haswell doesn’t fit the M.O. Don’t worry about who the other is.”

Henderson moved him, shoving him out back towards a police car that must've been Jeff’s by a hand on the rope around his wrists. Mulder stumbled hard, almost falling onto the seat, but he managed to stay upright and step into the car with some measure of dignity left. He slid across the seat, watching Henderson warily. The door slammed shut and he was alone.

The silence seemed to drive things forward: he was a captive, and he was going to die. There was no escape. He thought for a wild minute, maybe they're right, maybe I'll survive, and then nausea climbed up his throat and he decided he didn't want to bank on that hope. He twisted his wrists hard in the ropes, straining his numb fingers to try to reach the knots, but it was useless: they'd tied him tightly enough that his hands were falling asleep, and there was no way to loosen the knots without help, nothing to cut them with. He pressed his forehead to the cold window and tried not to vomit.

God, he wished he'd done something differently with the short amount of time he'd had back on Earth. Spent less time arguing with Scully, less time running headlong into danger. He never should've come to North Carolina, never should've offered to drive. They should've gone home, should have climbed in bed together and napped, woken up and started figuring out their lives together. He should've grabbed on and never let go. He should've thought of a name for the kid, embraced impending fatherhood. Read What To Expect When You’re Expecting, maybe. He'd been ready at one point, so that feeling should've been easy enough to recapture. His brief hiatus from his time in the ground had been massively unsatisfying; he got a week of panic and arguments and goddamn walking scarecrows, and not enough time with Scully. Never enough time with Scully. He'd never see the Gunmen again, never tell Skinner that Oregon wasn't his fault, never see his fish again.  He hadn't known he was dying, before, on the ship, and he'd more or less tried to forget he was dying of a brain disease last year. (Which was easy enough, considering how great his life had been for a little while there at the end.) But now? He was staring death right in the face - not for the first time, but for the first time since he’d been on the other side - and he was terrified to go back.

The door to the back of the police car opened and Mulder tensed for a fight but someone was shoved in before he could. In the front, Jeff Renner crawled in behind the steering wheel.

It took a minute for him to recognize his fellow captive: it was The New Partner, Agent Doggett. Who was now sharing his prelude to potential death (the second one? Third one? Who the hell kept track anymore?), despite them never having a conversation outside of “it's nice to meet you, Agent Scully's told me a lot about you” and “thank you for taking my job and stealing my partner”. (Not a verbatim quote on Mulder's part; it had been mostly implied.)

“Agent Doggett?” Mulder said with some disbelief.

Doggett was trying to adjust himself in the seat, to sit upright, a task with his hands bound behind him. “I'd say it's good to see you again, Agent Mulder, but we never seem to meet under the most ideal circumstances.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Agent Scully's phone call, earlier today? I got enough from it to figure out where you were. But on the way up here, something happened, I… I dunno, blacked out or something. I woke up outside the house of that NDE counselor and ran into Agent Scully. The local cop, Haswell, took her kids for help, and Scully and I…”

“What the hell, what happened?” Mulder demanded. “Where's Scully?”

“She's fine, she's fine,” Doggett gasped, trying to catch his breath. “They caught us outside that therapist's house, locked Scully inside. They didn't touch her, though, I wouldn't let them.”

Mulder stared at him for a minute while he caught his breath. “They locked her up?” Doggett didn't say anything. He turned and clumsily pounded on the divider with his knee. “Jeff! Hey, Renner, you jackass! Let her go!”

Jeff turned, a look of mock confusion on his face.

He was never going to see Scully again, never going to see his kid. “Let her go!” he shouted. “You said she could leave, you said you wouldn't hurt her!”

Jeff opened the divider a little. “I'll let her go,” he said. “As soon as this is all over, I will. I promise you that, Agent Mulder. She won't be hurt, we just don't want her to interfere. It'll be over within the hour.”

“Let her go now, goddamnit!” He kicked the wall furiously. “She's pregnant.”

“Which is exactly why we're keeping her here.” Jeff smiled sweetly. “We wouldn't want her to interfere… lest what happened to Kyle Roberts or the Youngs happen to her.”

Red clouded Mulder's vision for a minute, and he kicked the wall again viciously. “From what I understand about this bullshit, I'll stick around in one form or another after you've stopped my heart. If you hurt her… if you lay one hand on her… I will fucking kill you.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Agent Mulder.” Jeff was cheerful, grinning wider and toothily at him. “You'll be just fine after I stop your heart. Just fine. I guarantee it.” And then he shut the divider.

Breathing hard with fury, Mulder leaned back against the seat. His hands were tied, there was nothing he could do. Even if he and Doggett could free each other from their bonds, they were surrounded by people. They wouldn���t make it off the property. There was no way out. He was going to die for the second time in three months. He hadn't even gotten a week back. It was like some twisted horror story, he got a few last days with the love of his life, found out he had a kid, and now he was being called back to the ground. Some kind of poetry.

Doggett, he realized. What the hell was Doggett doing here?

“Doggett?” he said out loud. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Doggett looked at him like he was crazy, shrugged his shoulders in a gesturing type of way. “Same as you, I figure. I came up here to try and help based on Scully's phone call…”

“No,” said Mulder. “I mean, why are they taking you along? Why didn't they lock you up with Scully?”

Doggett blinked, uncertain. He looked down at his black, shiny shoes. “The soul eater,” he said finally, and Mulder had to repress a gasp of his own. “When I was investigating your disappearance, tracking your movements… I found it. I got shot, I was buried… and the soul eater brought me back. He died because of that. Somehow, these… people could sense that experience. Scully said they lured me here.” His voice was fraught with disbelief.

Mulder was more than astonished, and he felt a sense of solidarity with the man. They'd both been buried, both knew what it was like to inhale and feel dirt, to scratch at the quilts above because you had to get to the surface, to breathe. “I'm… sorry,” he said awkwardly.

Doggett shrugged uncomfortably. “It happened. Now I guess I'm going to get killed for it.” He sounded bitter and scared and in disbelief. Scully had said he didn't believe in these things; maybe he wasn’t the type to believe unless it was staring him right in the face. When it seemed undeniable.

He and Scully had an uncanny ability to last-minute-escape danger. He wondered if Doggett would have the same ability.

The door in the front opened, and the reverend slid into the front. Henderson opened the door to the back on Doggett’s side. “Scoot over, boys,” he said cheerfully. “Reverend Greene and I are coming along to keep you under control for Jeff. We've never killed FBI agents before.”

Mulder clenched his jaw as he slid over to make room for Doggett. His wrists and hands were bloodless, trapped between his back and the seat. Nausea rolled in his stomach as the car started moving. He did not want to die.

“Everyone hold on,” Jeff called as the car started moving. “By the time we get to where we're going, it'll be almost midnight.”

---

They drove for almost twenty minutes, into the inky dark woods, going bumpily over the snow. No one spoke. Mulder leaned his head against the window and watched the trees go by. He thought about Scully's face when he'd woken up, the saddened awe on her face, the way she'd broken down when he joked about not remembering her, the way she'd smiled when she found out he was okay. He thought about her in the rain, head thrown back in laughter, so young and innocent and stupid in the way he'd been back then. Hell, they both still were. He thought about his family, his mother and father and sister. He wondered if he'd found them in whatever came next, if he'd find them again. He thought about the baby. The car wove its way around the trees, silent.

When the car stopped, Henderson cocked his gun, aiming it at Mulder and Doggett’s heads. Neither of them moved; Mulder turned to face them and he exchanged an anxious look. He barely knew the man, they didn't have much in common besides being Scully's partner and having been dead. But he didn't want to watch the man die.

Henderson seized a handful of Doggett’s jacket and hauled him out of the car, pressing the gun to his skull. He swallowed, fear perceptible on his face. Behind Mulder, the door opened and someone pulled him out in a similar motion, gun and all. He saw the reverend walking ahead of them; so it was Jeff who had him. The night was dark, the moon was gone. They walked further.

They walked until they reached running water, invisible in the dark. “Welcome to Calvert Pass Spring,” the reverend said cheerily. “We used to drink straight from the spring before the water treatment plant came to town, you know.”

“Sorry if I'm not particularly interested in a tour of the place you're going to kill me in,” Doggett said with a dry viciousness. Dr. Henderson smacked him hard on the shoulder.

“All right, so we'll get right to the killing part,” Jeff said, and Mulder winced, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Stop!”

The source of the voice was unexpected. A second later, Calvert came out of the trees with a gun. Jeff’s arm tightened around Mulder's chest, pressing the gun hard into his skull. The reverend aimed his own gun. “Terrence,” he said cautiously. “What are you doing?”

“This has to stop, Sam.” He cocked his gun. “This can't go on, we can't keep killing people.”

“You never had a problem with it the other times,” Henderson said. “After you stopped coming to the scenes with us…”

“It never stopped bothering me. Not since the beginning, not after you stopped letting me bring the victims back.” Calvert’s hands were shaking around the gun. “I was their damn therapist, I knew them. These people had lives, families! Cara and Kyle Roberts had just renewed their vows and were going on a second honeymoon. Layla Tanner had a family, a sick mother she was caring for. You killed a seventeen-year-old boy, for Christ's sake!”

“It was for the greater good,” the reverend said.

“Fuck the greater good! It didn't work the other times, even with you switching out people. What makes you think that the next one will be able to do what all of you aren't?”

“Robert Haswell was proof.”

“Robert Haswell was a damn anomaly, and you killed him before you could find out the truth about how he saved his daughter. Now you're holding two FBI agents captive, and one of them is about to be a father. You can’t do this! Let them go.”

“Terrence, put down the gun,” Henderson said. “We'll talk about it, it'll be fine. Agent Mulder over here has a greater chance of survival, you know that. You told us that, you sent the scarecrows to find out.”

“The scarecrows were a goddamn mistake. I was condemning these people to be trapped here forever, after everything else I did to them. And Anna Haswell burned them.” Calvert’s hands were still trembling; he laughed, off-kilter. “She burned all of them. They're gone.”

“Terrence, you're unstable…” Henderson tried.

“Fuck unstable, Tom! I'm going to stop this.” He turned and aimed at the reverend, the only one not holding someone else captive.

Jeff shot Calvert.

Mulder flinched, tried to pull away from the gunshot and the smell of the powder that was right next to him, but Jeff was gripping him too tightly, swinging the gun back around to press against his skull. Calvert fell, plunging backwards into the river that ran behind them. He submerged in the water, icy liquid creeping over his face and bloody torso.

“Sorry we can't bring you back, old man,” Henderson said. “But you wouldn't tell us your secret.”

Mulder thought he was going to vomit. He struggled hard against Jeff, kicking him hard in the shin, but the man's grip only tightened. “What the hell?” Doggett was shouting. “Why the fuck did you shoot him?”

“He's thought he's better than us for too long now,” the reverend said. “I'll never understand why he and Bobby Haswell were the only ones to retain the power.”

“You people are crazy!” Doggett shouted, and as dire as the situation was, Mulder wanted to say, Welcome to the X-Files. This wasn't the first time he'd been on the sacrificial altar. He or Scully had almost been killed by some crazy, small-town cause more times than he could remember. But somehow this felt more urgent. More real. (Maybe it was an in-the-moment thing; he desperately hoped this memory would be just that: another faded memory he could look back on someday.)

“Oh, we've heard that one before,” Henderson said, holding him in place. “Plenty.”

The reverend was looking at Jeff with a softness Mulder generally associated with a teacher encouraging a kid to try something. “Jeff, you ready?”

“Yeah,” Jeff said, uncertainly, and he sounded the part of the kid. “Who's first?”

Doggett looked at Mulder and Mulder looked at Doggett. If he was more noble, he might’ve volunteered himself, but there was nothing noble about this. He didn't want to die. But even though he barely knew Doggett and kind of resented him for his time on the X-Files, he didn't want him to die either. Doggett had saved Scully's life, had come tearing up to North Carolina after one crazy phone call. He couldn't throw him under the bus.

They said nothing. “No one going to volunteer?” the reverend scoffed. “Have some dignity, men.”

There's no dignity in this, Mulder thought. You're going to kill us and there's nothing we can do. We’ve already died; we don’t want to see what’s on the other side.

“I'll choose,” Jeff said firmly. “I think Doggett should go first, since he doesn't have the…”

“Look,” Henderson said suddenly, a wavering voice. And pointed towards the river.

Mulder followed his finger towards the water where they'd dumped Calvert. But Calvert was dead, wasn't bleeding out. He was sitting up in the water, blood slowing to a trickle. He was pulling himself onto the bank, fumbling for the gun he had dropped when he'd been shot.

“It's a miracle,” the reverend whispered. Doggett was staring in disbelief; he'd stopped struggling. Jeff was silent, but he kept the gun at Mulder's temple. Mulder couldn't gage whether his grip on the trigger had loosened or not.

“Terrence,” Henderson said. “How did you… do your powers extend to yourself? Can you revive yourself?”

“It was the water, you sons of bitches,” Calvert said, and aimed the gun.

“Don't do anything stupid, Calvert,” the reverend warned. He raised his hands, slowly. “What about the water?”

“I retained my power because I drank the untreated water,” Calvert said. “I figured it out. The powers started fading when the water treatment plant arrived. I refused to drink the treated water, I claimed goddamn tradition, I paid for a pipeline of untreated water straight to my house. I gave Bobby a drink from my cannister - water from my source, straight from the spring, like my family has always done - and he brought Anna back to life. Telekinesis was the only thing that survived because it was the weaker, but necromancy faded out completely. I can't believe no one figured it out sooner.” He swung the gun around to point at Jeff - and by default, Mulder.

Sirens wailed in the distance. “Jeff?” Henderson called, panicked. “Jeff, are those ours? Our sirens? Our police?”

“I don't know, I don't fucking know!” Jeff was shaking with the fear, he assumed, of knowing he was going to be killed. He pressed the gun into Mulder's skull. “I'll kill him,” he warned. “I'll make sure he doesn't come back.”

A gun fired and Mulder froze, tensing up, his muscles useless and his breaths ragged. It took him a moment to realize he hadn't been shot. He couldn't move. Behind him, Jeff yelped, dropping his gun to the ground. The hand that was holding Mulder shot to his arm, where the bullets had hit. Mulder stumbled a few steps before he saw the reverend pointing another gun at him.

“Agent Mulder!” Doggett was calling. “Agent Mulder?”

Mulder choked on the words that tried to come up, but he managed a small, “I'm fine.” He was still immobile; his eyes were on Calvert.

Calvert looked sadly between them, shifting his gun between Jeff and the reverend and Henderson. “I should've saved them,” he said. “I should've saved every one of them. I had the power to… but the only person I've saved since they made me stop is Anna.”

“Don't do anything stupid, Calvert,” Henderson warned. Jeff was breathing raggedly, whimpered. His blood stained the snow. “This is too long in the making. You can't just shoot us and end it. You have a chance to move on, keep living.”

“You killed me, Tom; forgive me if I don't particularly trust you.” Calvert aimed at Henderson’s head. “Let the men go. Let them go, and I'll take the gun off of you. You can drink the water, regain your powers.”

The reverend was shaking his head, but something shifted on Henderson’s face and he shoved Doggett forward, hard. “Go,” he said.

“What are you doing, Tom?” the reverend demanded.

“Take the gun off them. Don't you see? This is our chance, we saw him come to life, we know the water works!” Henderson was ecstatic, eyes lit up. “Go,” he said to Mulder and Doggett. “Run away. Get out of here.”

Doggett met Mulder's eyes. The two turned away from the men, the river, and stumbled towards the sirens. His gait was off because of his bound hands, but they didn't have time to stop and free themselves. The two kept going in silence, past the trees and towards the blue and red lights. The police cars had a different town on the side, and Mulder breathed a sigh of relief: they were safe, he'd see Scully again.

Behind them, there was a series of shots.