#it's like years without any chapters with him in them because. well. didja look at the news. and im like yeah oop that was embarassing

[drev-the-procrastinator]

i can't believe.... it's been... very nearly ten whole years... ten whole years near to the date.... for a sec i was like oh yeah i'm over that whole thing... and then there's a couple new chapters.... and the thing is as if it never left.... ten years of this brainrot...... ei perkele......

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Chapter Three - Smoke and Whiskey

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Contains: No Y/N, Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Generally creepy behaviour, Alcohol mention, Smoking mention (Tobacco, cannabis), plus-sized reader, female reader, There is something fucking wrong with these guys for real, More reader details given, but we're still pretty vague about it. Even though it is hard for me.

~3.2k

When you go back inside, you wind up wedged between John and Ghost on the bigger couch. Johnny’s stretched out on the smaller one, and Gaz claimed the chair that you’d been sitting in earlier, leaving you with no other option. Neither of them makes any effort to give you more space, even though they could. Ghost’s leg is pressed against yours from thigh to ankle, and John’s pinky finger keeps finding your thigh when he rests his tumbler against his knee. You want to curl up properly, tuck your feet up underneath yourself, but you can't without pressing even closer to at least one of them. At least Ghost isn’t quite as intimidating without his mask on.

After a while, Gaz and Ghost go out for a cigarette. The chair looks inviting, and you’d like to get a little space, but Price’s arm drops around your shoulders casually, pulling you in a little closer to his side. “Relax,” he says against the top of your head. “You’re alright, doll.”

The door opens again. “Soap, we’ve got a spliff, you want?” Gaz asks.

Johnny picks himself off the other couch, grinning. “Aye. An’ then cake?”

“Fuckin’ forgot about cake,” Ghost says. “Hey doll, d’you want some of this? Cap?”

“Who rolled it?” John asks. “Because I’m not smoking one of Gaz’s joints ever again.”

“Oh fuck off, Price, I can roll just fine.”

John looks at you and shakes his head slightly. “He really can’t.”

“I can roll,” you say. “I always do with my friends.”

You can see the calculation running behind John's eyes as he adds new information to what he knows and assumes about you. You want to laugh. You almost do. Most people take one look at you, with your big doe eyes and round face and and sunny disposition and think that you're some innocent little thing. Sure, you tend to live life with your arms open, and that might come across as naive to some, but you're not inexperienced by any means. You're nearly thirty years old, you're by no means a child.

"Let's see, then," he says. "Box on the coffee table has everything."

"Does tha' mean we can smoke inside again?" Soap asks. "It's startin' ta get pure Baltic out here."

John looks at you expectantly. "Up to you, doll."

"It's not my house."

He hums. "You're stayin' a while. Might as well be. It's important that you're comfortable."

You slide to the floor and reach for the box. "Well. You'd better open a window or two. But I don't mind."

Making a fuss over the semantics isn't worth doing. You probably are staying a while. Even if John really won't force you, you'll still need his cooperation to get all your stuff loaded back into the van, and all four of them are likely headed for hangovers.

John tells them to open the windows, and leans forward to watch you break up slightly sticky buds into the grinder. He brushes your hair behind your shoulders for you, and when you tip your head back to look at him, there's something in his eyes that makes your ears warm.

Johnny drops down to the floor on the other side of the table, a crumpled looking joint hanging out of his mouth. You can see what John means about not wanting to smoke it.

"You want a drink, doll?" Gaz asks. "More tea?"

You twist to look at him, hanging over the back of the couch, that handsome face smiling. "Have you got pop? Wouldn't mind a ginger ale."

"Got irn bru too," Soap suggests. "Ye've got some Scot in ye, aye?"

"Yes."

"Didja want more?"

You level an unimpressed look at him across the table. "I should've seen that one coming."

"I'd like to see ye com--"

"That'll do, Soap," John says firmly. "She's not goin' to have sex with you."

"Might feel a bit better if she did," Soap says, shrugging. "Ah'm just sayin'."

"You're not saying anything." Gaz sets an unopened can of ginger ale on the table next to you. "If you're gagging for it, we'll take care of you in a bit."

"And if you don't behave yourself you're not goin' to get anything," John rumbles from behind you. "She's been good. Surprised none of you have been slapped."

"Just the once." Gaz snags the joint from Johnny and sits back in the chair.

Ghost snorts. "What did you do?"

"Surprised her picking her up. My own fault."

You lean back and hold up the neat joint you've been rolling, hooking your arm over John's knee. He sets his whiskey to the side and takes it, holding it up for an inspection. "Nice work, doll," he says warmly. “Got a bit of a wild streak to you, eh?”

The praise makes you glow, despite yourself, and you laugh aloud at the second part, a real laugh, not nervous or bitter. All four of them shift their attention to you at the sound, snapping a tension you hadn’t noticed until you felt it’s absence. It’s important to them that you feel comfortable, and your genuine laughter is the first sign that you’re on your way. They really did think that they’d done you a favour.

Insane. But almost sweet, in a fucked up, unsettling way.

You pluck the joint out of John’s fingers and meet his dark blue eyes evenly, not missing the hunger that sparks into existence. “Got a light?”

John pulls his lighter out of his pocket, a little awkward with you leaning on his other leg, and holds the dancing flame out for you. You have to lean in a little to get to it, so you do, your eyes still locked on his as you inhale, the slight sizzle of paper and weed igniting clear in the otherwise silent room. You can hear the way his breath catches too, taken by surprise yet again. You offer the joint back to him, holding in a lungful of smoke.

“Shite,” Johnny hisses, breaking the heavy silence. “Yer absolutely sure ye dinnae want your cunt licked?”

You blow smoke at him from across the coffee table. “I’m sure.”

It doesn’t take long before drowsy complacency overtakes you. Curling up against John’s leg, your arm still hooked over his leg, you let conversation wash over your awareness, not paying enough attention to pick out one thing or another. John’s hand settles on your head, fingers threading into your dark hair, combing through soft strands idly. When you glance up at him, he’s watching you, blue eyes half-lidded but still plenty aware, a funny smile twisting the edges of his mouth upwards. He has nice lips under that bristling moustache of his, not as thin as you would have expected. His voice is a pleasant rumble when he speaks to the others,

He takes a sip of whiskey, and you follow the bob of his throat as he swallows, the way the tip of his tongue darting across his lips. It takes a moment for you to realize that he’s watching you study him.

“Hello, beautiful,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

For the first time since you’ve been there, you don’t feel scared. Just dozy and content, like a cat curled up next to a fireplace. “I’m alright,” you admit. “It’s been a strange day.”

His fingers flex, not quite gripping your hair, just holding you in place with the lightest pressure, encouraging you to keep facing him rather than turning away. “I imagine so.” His hand glides along to your ear, his thumb grazing over the shell, sending shivers down your spine. “It won’t be so strange tomorrow.”

“No more surprises planned?”

John glances up, looking at each of his men in turn, and then back to you. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“We do have cake, though,” Soap says. “Ye want some, bonnie?”

“Yes please.” You only turn to look at Soap for a moment before John is gently coaxing you back, curling his fingers around your jaw. Can he feel the way your heart leaps into your throat, thrumming like a hummingbird’s wings? It’s hard to look John in the eye, but harder still to pull yourself away. His touch leaves burning traces behind, and you’re all too aware of your body and the way you respond to him. It’s all too much, too soon and too strange.

He catches your hand when you try to brush his away. “Why don’t you come on back up here, doll?” he asks. “Be more comfortable than the floor, don’t you think?”

“No, I’m happy down here.” You tuck your knees to your chest, looping your arms around your legs, extricating yourself from his sphere of influence just a little. You’re still pressed up against his calf, but you don’t need to go that far, you just need to face forward so you won’t get pinned under that blue stare again.

John has a certain gravity, a magnetism that you can’t help but be drawn in by. It would be all too easy to sink into his arms, but the idea that you’d been given to him still bothers you, like a persistent, sharp little stone in your shoe, ruining what might have been something.

You perk up some when Soap hands you a plate with a slice of chocolate cake on it. It's not the prettiest thing you've ever seen, but it tastes incredible, rich dark chocolate and an icing that had so much whiskey in it that your teeth feel funny after a few bites.

"This is really good, Johnny," you tell him. "If the whole military thing doesn't work out, you could consider becoming a baker."

"Thanks, hen. And dinnae think I havena considered it. Gettin' closer to packin' it in awl the time. Just cannae leave Gaz until he's got a good team watchin' his back."

"We've got some good sergeants," Gaz says. "Nitro's got real promise."

"Shivs too. Little devil," Ghost adds. "You need a door smasher though. Those girls are tough as 'ell, but some occasions call for a big boot."

"Aye, ye'd say that, bein' the biggest fuckin' boot the Queen's army has ever seen."

"King now," John points out.

"Oh, fuck if I care which poncy arsed Windsor is sittin' in the big chair."

"Bloody leeches," Ghost agrees.

"I've got Sanderson in mind." Gaz winks at you, like you're in on some secret.

"Gary Sanderson? Is he no' dead?"

"No! Turns out he locked himself in a cryo chamber when the bomb went off. That facility was full of 'em, all kinds of experimental tech. It was finally safe to take a team in and we found him. Nitro started calling him Roach, and it's stuck."

"He's a damn good soldier. Be good for the taskforce," Price agrees. "Would've picked him ten years ago."

"Well, he's had a nice long nap, and he's hopping mad about missing so much. He'll make a good doorsmasher," Gaz says.

"How about that Lucky kid? Nitro’s brother.” Price asks. “He looked pretty promising. Unless his luck ran out.”

Gaz hums, licking frosting off his fork. “He’s a good kid, but his problem is that as soon as Nitro’s around he lets her do all his thinking for him. Splits her focus.”

You sigh, setting your half-finished slice of cake down on the table in front of you, and climb to your feet, wincing at the ache of not moving for so long. You edge between Ghost’s knees and the coffee table and skirt around the edge of the couch wordlessly. No one stops you, and there’s no falter to their conversation despite the eyes that follow you until you disappear upstairs to use the washroom.

As you wash your hands, you stare at your own face in the mirror. You look pretty, even with your eyeliner a little smudged, and your lipstick faded to nothing. The buzz of THC is your system makes you giggle. Pretty enough to kidnap, even.

You think about it for a long moment, and then take your makeup off and braid your hair back so you can wash your face properly, and brush your teeth too. All the weirdness of the day is catching up, and all you want to do is sleep it off. The low buzz of their voices carries up the stairs when you step out into the hallway again, seemingly unbothered by your absence. There's no reason for you to say goodnight-- you don't owe them any kind of civility. But you still hesitate.

Long enough that John appears at the bottom of the stairs. "You alright, doll?" He asks. "Comin' back down?" The stairs creak slightly under his weight as he starts coming up towards you.

"I was thinking-- I'm just tired, is all. It's been a long day."

He stops two steps down, so he's still looking up at you. "I understand. We can talk more in the morning."

"I'm sure there's a lot to discuss."

"If you say so. Already told you most of what I needed to tell."

"Just most?"

He nods, and beckons you closer, a conspiratorial smile on his face. You take one halting step toward him, and then another, until you stand right at the top of the stairs. His big hands catch yours, holding you in place when he moves one step up, taller than you once more.

You stare up at him, and your breathing is turned shallow, your heartbeat rapid and heady. His eyes glitter in the dim light as he leans close, the tip of his nose skimming yours, as if he means to kiss you. Like a deer pinned under the headlights of a rapidly approaching truck, you stand frozen, unsure if you even want to move, or if you welcome the inevitable collision.

He smells like smoke and whiskey when he speaks, his lips so close to yours you can feel the soft brush of breath on your skin. "Forgot to tell you how good you look in my shirt," he purrs. "Been thinkin' to say so all night."

Heat licks across your cheeks, his words waking something dangerous in your core, something that wants his hands on you more than anything else. It’s unfair, what he does to you already, barely more than a stranger, and you want him to be a good man so you can indulge that desire without fear of consequence. It’s been such a long time since someone looked at you the way he looks at you now, an almost indescribable fondness that you haven’t even begun to earn.

“It’s a nice shirt,” you say lamely. “Thank you for lending it to me.” You don’t mention that it smells very pleasantly like him, and how it’s been a bit difficult to keep yourself from sniffing at the flannel all evening.

“You’re welcome to anything I have,” he says, and you know he means it.

“I hope that includes your bed,” you say jokingly, trying (and failing) to diffuse the intensity in his eyes. “Because I think that’s where I’m headed now.”

“Of course it does.” His thumb rubs across your knuckles, the other hand coming up to cradle your cheek. You shake, all nerves, worried that he’ll close the distance and kiss you, but he just taps his forehead against yours instead, eyes smiling. “Off you go, sweet thing. You give us a shout if we get too loud, eh?”

You swallow nervously and nod, taking a step backwards. “Goodnight, John.”

"Goodnight, doll.”

You quickly shut yourself into the other room, flicking on the light while you strip down to your panties and wrap the flannel shirt around yourself again, and tuck yourself into bed. It’s been a bizarre day, and the room feels strange, too open and too dark, but it still doesn’t take long to fall asleep.

Hours later, you wake at the sound of the door opening and clicking shut again. You sit up before you’re fully alert, dreams shredding apart and solidifying into reality as you blink away sleep.

“Shh, s’just me,” John’s voice comes out of the darkness, slurring slightly. You can’t see anything in the darkness, until he crosses over to the window and opens the curtains, letting in a little light from the waxing moon outside. He turns towards her, his big frame silhouetted against the scant light, humming. “Bloody hell, you’re a pretty little thing.” The soft clink of his belt buckle is far too loud in the quiet room, as is the rustle of his clothes as he strips down to his boxers.

“John, what are you doing?” you ask nervously.

“Coming to bed,” he says, like it’s obvious. “M’too old to sleep on the floor, and Gaz is on the big couch.”

“Oh. I’ll move then. I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.” You throw back the sheets and swing your legs onto the floor.

“No, no, stay right where you are.” He swoops over and grips your legs gently, lifting them up and back onto the bed. He smells strongly of whiskey and mint toothpaste, and the clinging remnants of cigar smoke. “We can share tonight. Get things set up better tomorrow.”

“John…”

He slides into bed beside you and easily pulls you close, strong arms wrapping around you tightly, rolling so you’re half on top of him, one hand cradling your back and the other on your waist. “Yeah, doll?” he asks.

“John, we can’t— I can’t sleep like this.”

“Shh, just give me a minute to hold my pretty girl.” He nuzzles against the top of your head. “I’m gonna be so good to you, sweetheart. I promise.”

"You're drunk," you say, holding the flimsy excuse out for him, hoping that he'll take it. You don't want to think about him meaning it. It makes going home look all the more unlikely.

"A little," he admits. His hand drifts lower, fingers dipping below the soft lace of your panties to dig into soft skin around your hip. He groans. "You're perfect. Sweet and soft, so damn beautiful. I'll make you happy. I'll give you anything you want, if you stay with me."

"John! Stop that, we can talk later, just go to sleep."

"I know this all started wrong, doll. The lads got carried away. But this is right. You feel that too, don't you? We'll have to come up with a better story for our kids, hm? Something proper romantic." He kisses the top of your head, humming happily.

"Our kids?" you squeak. "Jesus, John, you can't be serious."

"Course I am. We can start trying whenever you're ready."

Well, at least now you know he's just as delusional as the rest of them. "You don't even know if I want kids."

"You do," he says confidently. "Tell me I'm wrong."

"You're drunk," you say firmly. "Go to sleep."

He chuckles. "You didn't say I'm wrong."

You push away and roll over so you don't have to look right at him. Even in the darkness, you're certain that your face betrays more than you'd like. It was none of his business if you wanted kids. You certainly weren't going to have them with him. "Go to sleep," you repeat.

"Yes ma'am," he says, looping his arms around you again, tugging you close to his chest. "Goodnight, doll."

Thanks for reading!

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Not What It’s Cracked Up To Be ch.5 (baon)

Summary: Edge and Stretch are finally getting back on an even keel. Edge’s broken leg is healing well, Spring is finally here and the flowers are close to blooming.

Be a shame if anything disturbed their domestic bliss.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Fluff, Chickens, Depression

Notes: As a heads up, this chapter includes a depiction of depression.

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

~~*~~

Read Chapter 5 on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Before Edge was willing to leave the house on what was likely a fool’s errand, he went back upstairs to peek in on Stretch. It was difficult to tell what was going on beneath the tangle of the blankets, but he seemed to be more relaxed from his tight, fetal curl of earlier. Probably sleeping and that was good.

Back in Underfell, his brother’s supposedly laziness used to drive him mad, but coming to the surface world brought a few humbling realizations. Depression was exhausting and so was low HP, and he no longer questioned the need for plenty of rest from any of those he cared about.

A closer inspection showed the blankets rising and falling in even rhythm, deep, slow breaths and Edge let out a near-silent, relieved sigh of his own, hoping that Stretch came out of the other side of sleep at least a little improved.

Edge hesitated at the bedside, wondering if he should leave a note. He decided against it. Stretch had his phone, he could text if he needed anything. Enough dithering about, whatever it was that Red was dragging him out of the house for must be at least a little important, the cameras Edge knew were hidden outside their house surely showed him what happened last night and—

Edge went stock-still on his way out the bedroom door, his hand still on the doorknob as suspicion along with sudden anger welled up in his soul. He closed the door with care and with slow deliberation, he pulled his phone out of his pocket to send a curt text back to his brother, Tell me what this is about.

No response and just as he was about to shove his phone back into his pocket came, awful slow these days, bro. hurry up and you can see for yourself.

His phone creaked in his hand and Edge forcibly loosened his grip, shoving it back into his pocket before he could give in to the childish urge to throw it against a wall. It wouldn’t change a thing except give him the extra headache of being without a phone until he could get a replacement. Red would have his fun and there wasn’t an angry text message in existence that would change that. There was only one way for his niggling suspicions to be confirmed and that was to play the game.

But he would have a thing or three to say once they were done, of that he was certain. Edge snagged his keys on the way out the door and headed out to his car.

The address Red sent him wasn’t more than a ten-minute drive to the mostly abandoned neighborhoods of Old New Home. As he pulled up to the abandoned lot, Red stepped out of a shortcut on the curb, hands in his pockets and his semi-permanent grin wide.

It set Edge’s emotions into a roiling conflict. On one hand, he was very annoyed with his brother, verging on furious if this turned out the way he suspected, and on the other…

On the other, the last time he’d seen his brother, it had started with him lying on Edge’s kitchen floor, bleeding out in his arms, and ended with Sans carrying him away. He looked tired, but that was more normal than not with Red.

Interesting to note that he was not wearing a matching collar to Sans, which meant either Sans had no idea what a single collar relationship symbolized, or he knew all too well and Edge wasn’t taking that thought any further. Brotherly concern was one thing, but he was not interesting in knowing the minute details of their relationship, so long as they were happy.

Speaking of happiness, Red’s grin was practically gleeful as Edge got out of the car. “awful slow, there, bro. gimp leg holding you back?”

“Shut up,” Edge said automatically, even as he limped over with cane in hand, “and start telling me why you dragged me out here.”

The mocking pout was all the more disturbing for being on Red’s face. “what, no hug?”

“I’d attempt it to prove a point,” Edge told him dryly, “but I have enough injuries without you literally stabbing me in the back. What. Do. You. Want.”

Red only shook his head, sighing as if with deep disappointment, ah, he was in a cheerful mood, wasn’t he. “all those years of you harping on manners and i ain’t even getting a how’s it going, how you been feeling, looking a lot better without all your marrow leakin’ out. no love at all, boss?”

If he wanted to play, Edge did still remember the rules. “Very well. How is Sans doing? He looked well when he brought me your report the other day. Is he taking care of any more of your work?”

That smile slipped a fraction. “he’s doin’ fine.”

Edge only looked at him, brow bone raised. If Red wasn’t going to discuss the elephant in the room, Edge would be more than happy to allow it to step on his foot. “I’m only asking as the Director of Operations, literally your boss, as you so enjoy pointing out. I’m sure you understand that it’s important for me to know what work my people are handling. In case there are any liabilities.”

That wide grin turned faintly wry, Red’s crimson eye lights gleaming his amusement. “yeah, fuck you, boss. he’s doin’ real good. decided for some dumbass reason he needs to move in. stupid fucking cat is having a fit.”

“Ah, yes, fuck you, only the very best comeback in your arsenal for me, I’m sure. And I can’t even begin to imagine why he’d want to move into that garbage pit you call a home.” Edge crossed his arms over his chest, glaring down at his brother. “All right, you’ve had your fun. Now, where is she?”

Red barked out a laugh. “oh, very good, little brother, already figured it out, didja.”

“Your puzzles haven’t improved since Junior Jumble, it was not that difficult.”

“not for you.” As far as he was out of his childhood years, hearing that rare tinge of pride in his brother’s voice still made him want to preen. Edge squashed the urge, following as Red jerked his head towards overgrown field behind him. “come on.”

The terrain would have been aggravating even with two perfectly working legs. Having one that sent up threatening warning twinges with every step made it all the worse and the soil was loose and muddy, hard for feet and the tip of his cane. Grimly, Edge follow his brother through the hip-deep weeds, taking sour enjoyment in the fact that they were nearly above his brother’s head.

“she was a bitch and a half to find, i tell you what,” Red said conversationally, shoving his way through the vegetation. Edge supposed he should be grateful Red hadn’t either gone all-out jungle trekking and brought a machete or worse, offered to shortcut them, if only to force Edge to refuse. The very thought of taking one of Red’s shortcuts made his gorge rise. His brother tromped on obliviously, or at least giving a remarkable appearance of it, “this little gal has some tricks. little chickie crossed a lotta roads to get here.”

“Care to explain how you even knew how to look for her?” Edge asked sardonically and it was just as well Red wasn’t looking at him, because Edge couldn’t hide his surprise when he answered.

“sure. i was the reason she was missing to begin with.”

Edge stopped, “What? What the fuck does that mean?!”

“keep your hair on, you want me to explain or not?” Red kept moving and after a moment, Edge followed him, hands clenched into painful fists to keep from reaching out and strangling him. All that would do was waste time and amuse Red all the more, and Edge was trying to keep his contributions to his brother’s sense of humor at a minimum. “motion sensor went off at your place in the wee hours last night.”

“Motion sensors that you are not supposed to have.”

“huh, strange thing,” Red mused aloud, “don’t remember anyone sayin’ i couldn’t.”

“I didn’t think I had to!”

“anywho, went over to check it out.” He paused, swearing under his breath as he picked several dried-up thistles from his jacket without even bothering to flick any in Edge’s direction and utterly ignoring Edge’s visibly simmering impatience. “and i saw some kinda animal with too much fur and not enough feathers to be in your coop. your little lady was outside in the fenced area and close to bein’ a midnight snack. so i scooped her up, but before i could deal with the toothy lil’ problem, your liability came swooping in like a fucking bare-ass bat out of hell, firing bones every which way. i shortcutted out before he could turn me into a kabob. didn’t really mean to take her along for the ride, but i didn’t exactly have a wide selection of options.” Red craned his head to look over his shoulder slyly, “’least the view wasn’t bad. he musta felt me getting ready to clean house and hightailed it down. honey bun has pretty good reaction time. better'n yours."

Edge ignored that. “And you didn’t bring her back afterward because?

Red only shrugged. “couldn’t. she weaseled her way loose the second we hit grass again and took off. spent half the night and all morning lookin’ for the little fucker. once i figured out where she was holed up, i messaged you.”

Edge exhaled slowly, struggling with his temper. “And why didn’t you simply tell me all this earlier? Stretch is sitting at home mourning her and you—"

“and if it turned out she got hit by a car or some shit?” Red countered sharply, “really wanted to go there? figured it’d be better to make sure she had her feathers intact before i got his hopes all up.”

That was surprisingly valid as excuses went, and yet, “You could have told me! At the very least I could have helped you search!”

“think so, little brother?” Red looked at him with enough scorn that Edge had to suppress a flinch, “or you think maybe you woulda told stretch, try and cheer him up a bit? i wanted you to look her over, make sure she's all right first, but hey, you go on and call him right now if that’s what you think is better.”

Edge ground his teeth and said nothing. All the arguing in the world couldn’t make Red understand that this might have been the last thin, straw that broke the back between Stretch and a very dark day. His brother coped with his issues in much different ways, in Edge’s experience usually copious amounts of alcohol. Perhaps Sans would have been able to explain it better. Or perhaps he would have already given in and slapped Red upside the head, it was a fair chance either way.

They kept up through the tall grass. It shushed around them in the light breeze, that rustle the only sound, surrounding them, and his car growing small and distant behind them. Red was panting when they came to a small clearing, leaning over with his hands braced on his knees as he panted out, “here we are.”

There, sitting happily in a trodden down area of grass, was Nugget. She cackled out a greeting, loud in the muffling hush of the grass, but concerningly she didn’t move when normally she would be dancing flirtatiously around Edge’s legs.

“Is she hurt?” Edge demanded. He reached for her, ready to carry her back to the car and straight to a veterinarian.

Red scratched at the back of his skull, “see, that’s the thing—”

Before Edge could pick her up, she let out a warning screech and tried to peck at his hands. He snatched them back, staring down at her in bemused shock.

“—she seems to be in a mood of some sort,” Red finished, “can’t figure it out, she ain’t bleeding and she hadta walk all the way over here on her own. i woulda brought her back to your place when i found her, but she was pretty insistent on stayin’ right there.”

Baffled, Edge ran a Check on her, ignoring how ridiculous it seemed to do on a chicken. Her HP was fine, and he thought it better not to question why she had a LV of 2. “She doesn’t seem hurt.”

He reached out again cautiously, ignoring her pinching little beak attacks against his gloves, and lifted her up. Beneath her, the grass was torn up and arranged into a sort of nest and inside it—

Red crouched down to peer into it, mouth twisting crookedly. “huh. where you figure she got the golf balls?”

“I have no idea.” Standing in a field questioning the intentions of a chicken was not where Edge ever expected to find himself.

Red reached in and pinched a small, white object between two sharpened fingertips, lifting it up from the pile to inspect it despite Nuggets increasingly loud squalls of betrayal. “there’s one egg, anyway. least she’s still layin’ for you.”

Tucking Nugget against his side to stop her squirms, Edge only stared at it, perplexed, and said slowly, “That isn’t one of her eggs. Nugget’s eggs are a pale green.”

“huh.” Red set it back gently into the pile of grass and golf balls, and scrubbed hand over his face. “lemme get this straight. your little mini liability found a random egg in a pile of golf balls and decided to settle in and play momma? that’s what we think’s happenin’ here?”

“Would you like me consult my crystal ball? I don’t speak chicken and you’re the one whose been spying on them.” Nugget was getting increasingly difficult to hold and her forlorn and angry cries were either too heartrending or too annoying for Red to ignore. He heaved a sigh, shaking his head.

“hang on to the little shit,” Red ordered, even as he stepped sideways into a shortcut. Leaving Edge alone in the tall grass with an increasingly distraught chicken.

“Hush, hush, come on now,” Edge soothed, gentle petting what he could reach of her feathers. Her loud clucks dissolved into unhappy coos, looking up at Edge with mournfully beady little eyes. How was this his life, Edge wondered, with weary amusement, catering to the whims of a bird that once he would have seen more as lunch than a pet. He gave her a gentle scritch underneath the chin and she crooned softly, her small eyes closing as she finally settled.

Only to squawk loudly as Red abruptly reappeared, “here we go.”

In his hands was a hanging basket with a spray of flowers only just beginning to bloom from the leafy tendrils. It was rather lovely, definitely expensive, and absolutely did not belong to Red.

“Where did you get that?” Edge demanded.

Red shrugged, “only thing that matters is they didn’t see me.” He dumped the flowers out onto the ground in a sad splatter of leaves and potting soil, then crouched down and began filling it with grass. “c’mon, the joke’s getting’ old and the crowd’s restless, let’s get the show on the road.”

Edge made a mental note to have a much nicer replacement sent discreetly to anyone who complained about a missing floral arrangement and started to crouch down to help. Only for his brother to brusquely wave him back.

“hold the fucking chicken, i got this,” Red snapped. He didn’t look up at Edge, stuffing grass into the basket furiously. “you been standing long enough, last thing you need is to get down here and not be able to get back up. bet that leg is singing an ava maria by now.”

Slowly, Edge straightened, watching silently as Red filled the basket and he didn’t protest his leg was fine, didn’t try to reassure him, only let him make a messy little nest in the basket. He added the golf balls, nestling them into the grass, then hesitated over the egg, finally giving Edge a side eye. “uh. so do we take it or leave it?”

“Take it,” Edge decided. “Perhaps Stretch can do some research and find out what kind of egg it is.”

“it’s your funeral, don’t blame me if you end up with pet crocodile or some shit.”

“Nonsense, crocodiles aren’t native to Ebott. Snakes, however—” He trailed off as Nugget renewed her struggles and leaned down to set her in the basket. She settled immediately, fluffing out her feathers and nestling in. “I suppose that’s that.”

“yep, take ‘er home.” Red stood and stretched, both hands pressed into the small of his back as the joints popped. “by the way, i saw you doing work on the coop. ain’t a bad idea, but you don’t have a fox problem, boss.” His brother straightened and tucked his hands into his pockets, his grin colder, sharper, and in that moment, he could have stepped dusty and damaged directly from Underfell. “’least not anymore.”

He was gone before Edge could even open his mouth to ask.

He was alone again in the tall grass with nothing but a contented chicken for company and his car a painfully long walk away, particularly when lugging said chicken along.

“Thank you, brother,” Edge said, with an equal measure of sincerity and sarcasm. There was nothing for it. Edge heaved up the basket in his free hand and started to struggle his way back through the field.

Time to head home. Home, yes, home, where Stretch was hopefully still asleep, and Edge could only hope that seeing Nugget would shake at least a little of his depression loose. The thought of even a faint smile from his love was enough to make the growing ache in his leg well worth it.

tbc

[nostalgic-pancakes]

Room 73- Chapter 2/8

Ghosts are met, friends are made, D&D is planned and Patton remains a fashion icon.

Pairings (Chapter specific now because this is how we do): Sibling-y Moceit, Platonic Loceit (eventual romance), platonic intruality (eventual queerplatonic), sibling-y Analogical, brotherly Creativitwins (Remrom don’t interact please)

Read on AO3

Word count: 2869

Warnings: Dissociative episode, minor panic attack, bullying implied, foster system mention, small description of cafeteria food (I think that’s it? tell me if there’s more)

Other notes: Ask me questions about this au! I like those! (I also take writing prompts)

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It turns out, the guy in a skirt’s name is Janus, like the Roman god, not Janice, like the stereotypical seventies name. This is something Logan only knows because apparently he said Janus’s name wrong, and the other felt the need to correct him. Does this happen frequently? Or is this just another one of those ‘Logan-Things’? He doesn’t really know the difference with new people, and Halry-Dove secondary is just full of those at the moment.

Well, Janus is in his next class, AP Chemistry, so he may as well get to know him better, so that the ‘new person’ designation can be removed, for better or for worse.

(please please please be better, he doesn’t know if he could go through that again)

The spotify playlist in his ear has gotten to the next ad cycle, and the ad voices are so filtered and saturated, that he has to take his earbud out. Logan’s twin bops his shoulder when he takes off the blue earbud, and shrugs a shoulder.

Are you okay? Virgil’s asking. He thinks he probably is. This much nervousness is normal because he can calm himself and think about other things to calm himself. He is, most probably, fine. Nodding to Virgil, who pulls the corner of his mouth up into a grin, Logan enters the chemistry classroom and his brother keeps walking to the next room- Creative Writing, with that one red person that was in front of him on the bus.

The chemistry classroom is almost exactly what he expected it to be, albeit a little less full than he thought. He’s not early, so he knows that this is the full class strength of about five. He rationalises this as the fact that Haley-Dove Secondary is a small school and will therefore not have many chemistry pupils.

Janus is there, occupying a seat with two extra chairs on either side, clearly meant for other people. However, the other people in this class have all sat down, and Nico Flores is already on one side. Logan stands, having no clue what to do.

“Logan? Logan?” he snaps awake from his ‘Think-Logan’ state and tries to find the source of the voice. It’s Janus, who’s pointing to the unoccupied seat on his left, motioning for him to sit down. Is this a trick?

This could be like before. Don’t.

That part of his mind has a point. But-

This could not be that.

The second part of Logan’s brain is louder. He sits next to Janus.

“Hi Logan!” says Nico, opening faer pencil case and digging around for their hexagonal drawing tool. Right. Organic Chemistry. He’d forgotten that. Logan doesn’t think he packed it, but he may as well check.

Nope, he did not pack the hexagonal drawing tool. For all intents and purposes, he is fucked. He hears the slamming locker from outside.

Suddenly, there’s a tap on his shoulder. He manages to resist the urge to flinch, and looks over at who tapped him. It was Janus, but Nico’s looking at him with a...friendly (?) expression, like the ones Virgil used to show to everyone when they were kids. Janus, however, has something in his hand- a hexagonal drawing tool. An extra, as shown by the fact that he has another, a bit more used than the one being offered to him, but a hexagonal drawing tool nonetheless.

“Are you sure?” he asks, and Nico looks at him as if he just said that he planned to inhale the sun someday. (that would be interesting, but he would die so no) Janus nods, a bit slowly, but it seems genuine. Mom usually thinks that kind of thing is, and she’s almost always right when it comes to this kind of thing. So Logan takes the hexagonal drawing tool, just barely not stuttering through a ‘thanks’.

Throughout the class, everyone seems to refer to their hexagonal drawing tools as ‘hexa’s’ or simply ‘tools’. Since both of these phrases are simpler to say than ‘hexagonal drawing tool’, Logan ends up sticking with tools. Janus keeps complaining, however, of an itch in the back of his neck coming from the seat behind him. Nico says the same, however not as frequently. Logan doesn’t feel it himself, though he refrains bringing up that it might be because both of them are wearing clothings which touches the backs of their necks, like the back of Janus’s cape (?) and Nico’s pink turtleneck. This goes on for most of the lecture, though the complaints taper out by the last ten minutes of the hour.

Most of the class had left the room by the end of the class period, though he and Janus had volunteered to stay behind to clear up the supplies and wipe the board. That’s when it happened.

“Hh...hisss-- HI-HissssSSss”

Janus had whipped his head around the second he heard the noise, cape swishing along with him and making the strange ‘ffwpph’ noise. Logan himself only turned around once Janus’s eyes widened, indicating that the object of his surprise was a little behind Logan, and a bit to his left.

Except, there wasn’t anything there. Not really. Not in a way that there should be something.

Instead, it looked like what the world did near a fire- a bit swirly, as if rippling in the air. Like what would happen if TV static had something resembling a physical form, except maybe without the unsettling ant feeling.

It kept hissing, like the TV static Logan hates so much, and based on what Janus’s facial expression looks like, both of them hate it. And neither of them know what to do, so they bolt. Well, it’s more of Janus snapping out of his stupor, grabbing Logan’s wrist and sprinting out into the hallway, but they manage to exit nonetheless.

It doesn’t really catch up to him, not really, not until Janus is waving with a shaky smile and getting off his stop, gripping a boy in a suspender skirt’s hand tightly enough for that hand to become even paler, and Virgil’s booped his arm for the fifth time in one bus ride asking if he’s okay, do you want water, how’re you feeling? and answering monosyllabically to each inquiry.

It really doesn’t hit him until he’s home and in his pyjamas frantically googling what he saw, because he saw it it wasn’t fake someone else did too and--

there’s a hand, Virgil’s hand, entering is vision and--

Wiping away a tear off of his face. Logan was apparently crying, then. Not a new sensation, but a markedly unpleasant one, either way. Virgil looks scared again, like he did back when--

No. Not today.

Logan takes his twin’s hand, tries to make it a hard touch that Virgil can feel, rather than something intangible. Logan’s head starts to clear with the more gentle touches- Virgil’s hand on his face, later on top of the one gripping his own, Mom running her seamstress hands through his hair and Amma Holding him from behind, keeping him upright, steady.

Why was Janus so nice?

Why would he lend Logan the tool? Does he want something?

What was that?

Was he dreaming?

Has he finally gone mad?

Was it real?

Logan doesn’t know. He doesn’t know and he hates the not-knowing so much because what if he makes a mistake? What if something goes wrong and he messes it up because he didn’t know enough, wasn’t good enough--

“Lo, what happened?” he asks, and Logan wants to tell him, but he’s scared that maybe he’ll be wrong, that Virgil will think it’s false. Virgil moves his hands up from Logan's, to his shoulders.

Wait. This entire town is a hive for supernatural activity.

The hands on shoulders becomes a hug.

Virgil’s best friend is a witch. Why wouldn’t his twin believe him?

You are worthy, Logan. You are worthy. You are worthy.

Logan steels himself. “I saw something, today.” he says, catching Virgil’s interest immediately.

“There was a...something? In the chemistry room? And...it hissed.” His twin furrows his eyebrows- not disbelieving, but contemplating, like he does with that tabletop game he likes so much. He’s thinking about it, properly.

Finally, Virgil looks up and bonks his forehead against Logan’s. “I’ll talk to Hildi and see if she knows anything, okay?”

Logan nods freverently, flopping onto the other side of the bed. Virgil laughs a bit, and pulls the duvet over Logan’s curled form, and Logan grins right back. It’s not at full strength like it’d be if he was happy, per se, but it’s getting there for sure.

Virgil smiles a bit wider at his twin’s face, and huddles right next to him. “Hey, can I tell you about the red guy in creative writing? His name’s Roman.” and he does. Roman seems nice- Logan hopes that that’s how Janus could be, maybe.

Right now Logan doesn’t need to worry about maybe-friends or scary things in chemistry classrooms, because his twin’s right here. What could possibly be there to worry about?

…

Patton thinks that this first week of school is going pretty well, thanks! His classes are all with people he knows at least to a surface level, nobody’s been outright mean so far (or even mildly mean, which is...new) and Janus made a new friend!

(Patton’s always been good at making friends, just not keeping them) (He always needs to leave, eventually. Who could want a fucked-up kid who’ll age out in a few years anyway?)

So all things considered, classes have been good and Remy and Emile have been nice so far! (even though that could change, stop getting COMFORTABLE!) Patton’s new friend, Remus, has also been pretty cool, even if he’s different from any other friends that Patton has had in his life.

Case in point, right now.

“Pat! Pat! Didja know that some frogs can FREEZE in the winter?” Is the conversation opener that Remus thinks is a good idea, dashing over to Patton’s side as soon as he has his food in tray and trying to get seated without his skirt flying up. It’s a pink poodle skirt today, with dark blue constellations on it, and it’s till his mid-shins, so Patton had thought that he wouldn’t need leggings or something.

Well, as Janus seems to be communicating through his eyes, bad luck.

Patton finally manages to get his skirt into the seat-slot and sit down, and puts up his smiley face again to face Remus, who almost seems to be vibrating. It makes the smile on his face a lot less fake-feeling.

“Yeah, Remus, I did. Even if they’re blood doesn’t freeze over, they’re mostly frozen for months!” and Remus visibly lights up again, glad to have engaged in his tangent. Does nobody else ask him this kind of thing?

The other people at the table end up joining in the conversation, though diverting it a bit to stay out of ‘disturbing’ and more into ‘mildly strange’. Logan, one of the other new kids, is talking to Janus about the whole point of the Trolley Problem, which Patton makes a point to look up once he gets back. He wants to know. Virgil and Remus’s brother, Roman, seem to be bickering as usual (whatever this new ‘usual’ is), but without any bite.

Lunch is going fine, whiling away the minutes eating school food which looks like it was made out of clay but tastes fine, at least.

“Okay, so when I came out, I realised that on the off-chance of me ever having a kid, I’d give them the most neutral name possible, so that it wouldn’t be too big of a deal.” started Virgil.

“Yeah, same here- I’ve never had to come out, but I just think that it’s such a terrible idea to subject anyone to hating their name, especially as a kid!” that’s him.

The conversation continues that way for a while, flitting from topic to topic, until Roman makes a joke ragging on the fact that Voltron took the definition of Paladin too far to make sense anymore.

“Hey! Why do paladins wear chainmail?” oh hey, Patton knows this one! It’s from some random D&D jokes page.

“Because it’s hole-y armor!” he replies, and immediately Virgil’s looking at the two of them like he has an idea. Logan’s not necessarily exasperated, per se, but he's clearly seen that look a couple of times before.

“Do you guys play Dungeons and Dragons?” Virgil asks, already fishing through his backpack for a notebook, half-eaten tray forgotten. Roman nods vehemently, like he was just looking for a reason for this conversation to come up, but not before hesitating a bit too long, deer-in-headlights style. It takes Remus elbowing his brother to calm him down and nod.

Virgil and Janus haven’t seemed to notice, but Logan’s looking at Roman strangely. Before Patton can say anything, Virgil’s found a blank page in his book and is jotting things down while talking really quickly, eyes gleaming like Remus’s when he finds something particularly gross to scar the entire Advanced Bio class (including Patton) for life. This one is more excited than scheme-y though.

“Okay so sincewealllike--”

“Slow down, Jack and Sullen, we have no idea what you’re saying.” quips Roman, and Virgil seems to gain a lot more awareness at that, proceeding to slow his roll, the gleam in his eyes never fading.

“Okay, Janus, Remus Patton- do any of you know what D&D is?” Patton nods, making himself grin a little wider, Remus sighs in affirmative, and Janus replies with a simple ‘‘Yes, and?”, while trying to look dignified, even though he’s bouncing his knee like mad. It’s adorable, really. Virgil starts grinning, something that Patton’s never seen and automatically makes his heart soar a bit like Flappy Bird.

“Okay, so we all know D&D and probably can learn how to play it, right? Right. How about we tried playing a campaign together?”

Roman squeals and Remus whoops, chattering on about not having played in ages and looking for a way to get back into it. Logan smiles, pushing his glasses up as Janus slowly unfurls his grin as they all make their affirmations. Virgil is positively bouncing in place now, eyebags no longer the most prominent thing on his face in comparison to that smile, radiant and making everything around patton feel less fake.

Virgil waits till he’s calmed down a bir before glancing at his (frankly incomprehensible, what is that handwriting?) notebook, and starts throwing around ideas with his twin, Janus and Roman, who are perking up more and more by the second, while Patton and Remus lean a bit closer, feeling slightly amused. It’s a dangerous thing to think about, that he and Janus could actually become close to these people.

Nothing lasts forever, anyway.

…

Janus didn’t really want to be back in the chemistry room, especially after everything that had gone down last time, but he was a highschooler and subject to the construct of education and schedule-keeping like everyone else, so it didn’t seem like he had a choice.

Well, at least he had Logan, who had (maybe? probably.) become his friend in the past week of school, for at least however long Jnaus had here. He wasn’t a good kid, so probably not long.

Either way, chemistry class was going as normal. There was still an itch on the back of his neck, and Logan felt it too, sitting where Nico was last time, while faer sat where Logan did. Class went normally, with the two of them trying to keep their cool while class happened and hopefully able to get out before anything else happened (again). It made sense, that with his luck, that would not work out.

Once again, everyone else left as soon as the bell rang, and Logan and Janus were the only people left to clean up. Brilliant. Absolutely peachy. Delightful. Maybe he should stop snarking so much. Nah, it’s fine.

So he and Logan were clearing out supplies, packing their own things and wiping the board, hoping to god that the hissing thing wouldn’t come back, when they heard a voice.

“Hello?” What the fuck.

Logan looks back first, this time and sees the static thing again. Except, it’s not? Well, it is, but it’s like the static took on the form of a person, maybe a teenager from what the two of them can make out. And that teenager? Looks very, very confused. What a mood.

With Logan a little it frozen into place, it’s Janus who eventually walks up to the thing (person? What is his life anymore?), and pauses.

“Hello.” but there’s no reply.

“You heard that, right?” Janus turns back to look at Logan, only to see him holding up his phone, presumably recording the whole ordeal. Logan widens his eyes and starts grinning, the way he did when he showed Janus his tool, spray-painted blue by his mom and Virgil.

“Virgil is about to have such a ball with this.” he relies, a bit awestruck, and sends it to his twin, and someone named Hildi. On that note…

What the fuck is Janus supposed to tell Patton?

[pilot-boi]

Missing In Action: Chapter Five

Grace Is Wasted

Take all the courage you have left, and waste it on fixing all the problems in your own head.

AO3 LINK

It’s day three. Or four, maybe. It’s the third time he’d woken up, at any rate. It was hard to tell how much time had passed without windows, and Commando and his lackeys would punish him if he asked any questions. 

That didn’t stop him from asking. The lack of information was driving him crazy. Although the fact that the torture wasn’t slowing down was probably also a major contributor to that. Not that they were any closer to getting answers out of him.

Every muscle ached. He’d had more trips to the Tub than he could count, and he was becoming concerningly used to the feeling of water in his lungs, and of waking up in places he didn’t remember traveling to. The lack of autonomy wasn’t helping things, but his legs weren’t really working properly. He couldn’t focus as well as he should be able to, and the general fuzziness in his brain was affecting his coordination.

That was probably the lack of food’s fault.

Jaune’s stomach rumbled in response, as if sensing that he was thinking about it. He glared down at it, silently willing it to shut up. Not that he could really see it, his cell was  pitch black after all.

The food was messing with his perception of time as well. Jaune wasn’t too proud to admit that his life was regimented into time before a meal, and time after a meal. He was a growing boy, food was a must. A requirement. And the lack of it was taking him out of the real world more than he’d like to admit.

The first day or so he’d been able to tell how much time was passing by when his stomach would grumble and protest or ache from lack of food, but now all of him ached and he was always hungry. So that was no help anymore.

Commando at least was providing him with water. Sour, mildewed water, but water nonetheless. So he was unlikely to die anytime soon. Just suffer. And wasn’t that just dandy?

Light peeked into the room as the door creaked open. Jaune squinted into it, wincing after the hours of darkness. “Is it morning already?” Jaune rasped, trying to sound casual. “I thought you guys might’ve forgotten about me.”

The tall man didn’t respond, he never did, but his companion chuckled darkly. That was all the response he ever got out of these two. Fear of Commando kept them from saying anything more to him. Honestly Jaune couldn’t blame them, he’d be scared of Commando, too.

Not that he was scared of the man. Nope. Not at all. And it wasn’t like he was likely to have a meaningful conversation with Rando and Blondie, but he was starving for human interaction. It was just another thing they were depriving him of.

Jaune had taken to talking to himself, if only to make sure that he still could talk. He was certain that that was perfectly fine. Nothing to worry about there.

Rando unlocked the chain from the wall and let Jaune drop onto the ground. Every time he’d see it coming, and he’d try his hardest to catch himself, but after who knew how many hours not using his arms… Well it would be easier to compare his arms to limp noodles than to actual arms. 

“Aw come on guys,” Jaune groaned, attempting to push himself back up off the floor, “Didja have to drop me? Every gods damned time.” Rando hefted him up from the floor and yanked him towards the door, perhaps more roughly than he normally would’ve done. 

The barely healing bruises and scrapes on his wrists flared with pain. His shoulder wasn’t pleased either, and was telling him so through a morse code message of lightning bolts and pain and throbbing. Fun stuff! Good stuff. “Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed today,” Jaune grumbled, and got clubbed in the side of the head for his trouble.

Blondie led the way down the hallway, twirling the keys on his finger and whistling merrily. Jaune glanced around the dark hall, trying to see if there was some sign posted to explain why Blondie seemed to cheery. Maybe it was the man’s birthday. Well too bad, Blondie, you weren’t gonna be getting a present from him, no-sir-ee bob.

Jaune belatedly realized that he was muttering this all under his breath when Blondie chuckled again. Dammit Jaune, keep it together. Can’t crack this early, he had a responsibility to everyone to keep it together. 

Tensing against his will as they approached the now too-familiar door in front of the room with the Tub, Jaune dug in his heels, anything to stop them from going in the room. And then they were passing by the door. Jaune sagged in relief, feet stumbling over themselves when Rando yanked the chain to get him moving again.

A new torture then? Jaune dreaded to think of what Commando could’ve come up with now. Lasers? Sharks? Laser sharks?! The possibilities were endless. 

Blondie was coming to a halt by a door now, and pulling it open to let Rando drag him in. Jaune followed cautiously, eyes roving the new space for any way to escape, or for any hint of what was coming.

It was a small room. Concrete walls, not a crack to be seen, and a single chair. The chair looked like one of those ones he’d seen in the hairdressers his mom and then his sisters would drag him to, the ones with the big globe thingies over them. This one looked far less welcoming though.

The straps on the arms, legs, and headrest would do that. Fat black wires were running to it from a metal rectangle of a machine in the corner. Commando was standing by the machine, fiddling with dials, flipping switches, pressing buttons. 

Jaune tried not to think of how much this set up looked like the vault in Beacon. He wouldn’t be able to help anyone if his mind got sucked back into the past.

Rando shoved him into the chair, and got one of the manacles locked over Jaune’s arm before he could jump up. Blondie got the other arm locked in, and then fastened the ones around his chest. “So, Boss Man, what’s the plan for today?” Jaune called over to the man, doing his best to ignore what the two men were doing.

He couldn’t move again. Great. Just dandy. 

“Tsk, tsk, Jauney,” Commando chided him from the controls, “What have we gone over about asking questions?” The helmet thing was lowered around Jaune’s head, where it sat menacingly. Or as menacingly as a helmet thingy could sit. 

“And the nicknames, those have gotta end, kid.” He pressed a button and a pair of somethings detached from inside the helmet and spiked into the skin at his temples with a sharp sting of pain. They...They actually broke through the skin! How the hell did they do that? What happened to his Aura?! “Insubordination is a big no-no around here.”

Commando pressed a button on his console, and sparks of electricity arced from the machine directly into Jaune’s scalp. 

Now, Jaune had been electrocuted before. He’d been an idiot teenager, and zapped his fingers with batteries. Once one of his younger sisters turned the lights back on while he was changing them and he fell off a ladder from the shock. And with being on a team with Nora the human lightning bolt, electrocution was an occupational hazard.

This was nothing like that.

He jumped as the electricity seemed to short circuit the neurons in his brain. His muscles spasmed and contracted involuntarily, receiving too many signals and too few signals simultaneously. And he could feel the skin around the electrodes burning and blistering. 

Jaune was used to passing, accidental charges. He was in no way prepared for a focused shock, meant to stun and hurt.

The shock only lasted a second, but even that was one second too long. Jaune sagged against his restraints, glaring up at Commando when the man chuckled. “Yeah that stings a bit doesn’t it, boy?” Commando took up the now familiar spot in front of Jaune and the shorter of the two henchmen took his place at the controls.

Jaune pulled against the restraints experimentally, but he couldn’t budge them an inch. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew what was coming now. Question time.

“Let’s begin,” Commando said, standing at attention before him and crossing his arms behind his back. “Where is the Relic of Knowledge?”

“Like I’d tell you that,” Jaune scoffed, and strained against his bonds when a jolt of energy shot through him, frying his nerve endings.

“What have I said about back talk, kid?” the man tsked, and nodded to Blondie at the controls. Blondie changed something, and the machine he was strapped into hummed a little louder. Jaune grimaced nervously and glanced over at the man. “Don’t worry about him, worry about me,” Commando interrupted, snapping his fingers. “Now, where is the Relic of Knowledge?”

“I don’t know-” he started, getting cut off by a longer, and somewhat stronger jolt of electricity. Jaune yelped in pain, biting his tongue to keep from crying out more, his muscles going rigid and his head pounding. His eyes were wide open, and he couldn’t close them if he wanted to. After a second that lasted an eternity, the pain stopped and he slumped against his bonds.

“Don’t lie to me.” Commando was speaking before the aftershocks even got out of his system. The machine hummed a little louder, and Jaune shifted in his restraints as well as he could. He squeezed his eyes shut, relying on years of doing that and having his headaches lessen. It didn’t help this time, but it had been worth a try. “Let’s try this again: Where is the Relic of Knowledge?” 

Jaune just shook his head, not trusting himself to not mouth off again. Commando must have given the signal, because his world exploded in pain again. Behind his closed eyelids, Jaune could swear he could see bolts of lightning shooting across his vision.

His mind was on fire, too many thoughts shooting along his neurons. Somebody was screaming, it might even be him. In an effort to stop, he bit down on his tongue until the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth, decided that he would rather lose his vocal chords than his tongue, and went right back to screaming.

“Okay, that’s gonna start to hurt pretty soon” Jaune stuttered, the aftershocks of electricity making the words feel sharp and pointed in his mouth.Or maybe that was from all the yelling. Who’s to say.

An image of the lamp sprang unbidden into Jaune’s mind. He could see it now. Intricate twirling gold framework like lace holding a softly glowing blue lamp. It would be on the table in the living room, or hung swinging from Ruby or Oscar’s belt. 

Jaune hesitated, pain pulsing in his head like a jackhammer. It would be so easy to just say where it was.

But he couldn’t. If they knew where the lamp was, they would know where his friends were. And he couldn’t risk their safety for anything.

“Go to hell,” he spat as defiantly as he could while strapped into an electric chair, delighting in the way that smile finally vanished from Commando’s face.

The two electrodes pressed into his temples and all thoughts fled his mind as the pain in his head increased a thousand-fold. Next thing he knew, he was screaming. His world blotted out, and all he could feel was the tormenting feel of mind-numbing agony. It hurt, oh gods it hurt. Stop. Stop it. Please just end it!

He’d answer any question they gave him now. Anything at all just to get out of this.They were still asking him things, he could see their mouths moving, but he couldn’t hear a thing over the world-ending mind-shattering pain. The knight couldn’t even bring himself to stop screaming long enough to beg for them to stop.

Jaune was dying. He was already dead. He’d always hoped that death was painless, but there was no way this much pain could exist in the living world.

Unable to bear the pain any longer, Jaune’s world went dark.

Commando stopped his line of questions when the boy went limp in the harness. Hm. How typical. But they’d found the upper limit of the boy’s pain tolerance at least. That would prove useful in the coming days, if the boy even lasted that long.

He had to admit, the boy had lasted longer than he’d expected, and had refused to give them any answers to boot. But no matter. He would break in time, they all did.

Jaune woke up again in his cell, chained to the wall. It was definitely colder than it had been before, his breath was fogging up in the darkness in front of him. His muscles were stiff with disuse, and his stomach ached with hunger.

The last thing he could remember was his insides singing.

His eyes were barely blinking open before he was being dragged back out of his cell. Jaune’s feet didn’t want to cooperate with him, but he did at least manage to stay upright.

Then he was back in the Chair. And it all started again. He managed to last a little long this time, because he knew it was coming, but eventually darkness covered his vision again.

The next time he woke up, he was already being dragged down the hallway. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get his legs to support his weight. His vision was blurred, and hunger was stabbing at his insides like hot knives. Or maybe that was just the after effects of the shocks.

And then the shock treatment again.The session ended sooner than usual that day. He mustered up the strength to throw a couple stinging insults back in Commando’s face. The man did not like that..

The third time he woke up already in the Chair. Maybe it was the next day, maybe it was still the same session. Jaune had no way of knowing, and what was the difference either way? The end result would be the same, none of it mattered.

Gods he was so tired. The weight of his hunger and exhaustion weighed down on his bones like a lead blanket.

Jaune learned pretty quickly that speaking out would only get him more pain. Nicknames would get him smacked hard enough that stars would blink into existence in front of his eyes. 

A few sessions in the Chair and many repetitions had him realizing that it was better for everyone if he just kept his mouth shut. Wasn’t like he was going to answer their questions anyway. Giving in and calling Commando “Sir” earned him the meal they’d been denying him, even if it turned his stomach to show that man anything even approaching respect. 

Didn’t help him at all that he wolfed down the food so fast that his starving body immediately rejected it. 

It became a routine. Wake up in his cell or already in one of the other rooms, pain and questioning, passing out, questioning and pain, and then back to his cell. And if he was especially good, then he’d get a scrap of food. Like a dog.

A poorly treated, blatantly abused, grossly underfed dog, but a dog nonetheless.

[mamabearcat]

All Fired Up Ch 6

Another chapter! If you’d prefer to read it on ff.net, you can find it here. I think we might have two, maybe three chapters to go. Next chapter is almost completed, so hopefully you won’t have to wait long!

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5

Lucy sniffed the aroma wafting up from the pan appreciatively as she tossed the chicken, vegetables and savoury sauce around the wok with the wooden spatula. It was her turn to cook tonight, and she was making one of her favourites, kung pao chicken. Living in the house with Natsu and Wendy, she’d rediscovered her love of cooking. Cooking for herself had seemed to be just too much effort when she’d lived alone, but now, with two housemates ready to devour whatever she made them, it was fun again.

 She glanced into the saucepan covered by a glass lid on the back of the stove. The rice had almost finished steaming, Wendy had texted to say she was on her way home, and Natsu was in the shower, having finished his shift an hour earlier. She grimaced, resisting the urge to scratch the intense itch in her forearms. She was still getting used to the tightness of the pressure garment sleeves she had been fitted with yesterday. She would have to wear these sleeves for the next eighteen months to minimise scarring where the burns were deepest from wrist to elbow, where she’d dragged herself forward on the burning carpet. It was worth it though, if it meant that she didn’t have to go through skin graft operations. Her physiotherapist had warned her about the itching. Thankfully, the rest of her burns were healing well, with only flat pale pink skin showing.

 Lucy smiled as she stirred with the spatula. She’d only been living here with Natsu and Wendy for a month, but it felt like forever. It felt like home. After the first week, filled with laughter filled games of Uno and Mario Kart, mock fights over what movies they should watch together, late night heart to hearts with Natsu while Wendy snored between them on the sofa, and a grocery shopping expedition where she swore Natsu had bought every type of chilli sauce known to man, there was no more talk of Lucy looking for somewhere else to live.

 She sighed happily. It had been a long time since she’d felt like she belonged somewhere. The building owners had contacted her and released her from her current rental contract, agreeing to contact her to see if she wanted to sign a new contract for the apartment once repairs were completed. She still hadn’t received a payout on her contents insurance, but she wasn’t too worried. She still had some savings and was making a small income doing human interest stories for Jason, enough to help pay for her share of groceries and her medication and treatment, thankfully mostly covered by insurance. Natsu and Wendy had flatly refused to let her pay any rent. They were so good to her. The longer she stayed in their home, the closer she’d felt to Natsu and Wendy. Natsu especially. She’d even met his mother, via Skype, currently travelling with friends in Italy, and she liked her. She could see where Natsu got a lot of his cheekiness from.

 Now that she’d got used to living with Natsu, they teased each other incessantly. She’d even pulled some pranks on him, hardly believing her own daring. He usually roared with laughter, chasing her around the house when he figured out she was responsible, tickling her in retribution. And he’d been there for her whenever she needed him. When she woke from nightmares, during that first week, he had been there, with calm words and comforting hugs. The first time he’d come home from work in his uniform, still reeking of smoke from a fire he’d attended and it had set off a panic attack, he’d talked her through it. Now he was careful to have a quick shower at work first if he’d attended a fire call out, bagging up his uniform and washing his work clothes separately. She couldn’t imagine what these last few weeks would have been like without him. For the time being, no matter what happened with her apartment, she was happy here.

 She was so engrossed in her cooking she didn’t even hear her housemate sneak up behind her until he’d propped his chin on her shoulder to look into the pan. She jumped slightly, smacking his knuckles with the wooden spatula as he tried to reach into the hot wok and snag a piece of chicken.

 “Fingers out Natsu!” she chided. “Wendy will be home any minute, you can have some then.”

 “Ouch! Aw, you’re no fun…”, he pouted, still leaning his chin on her shoulder. ”Didja put extra chilli in it this time?”

 “Nope. It’s already got two dried chillies and Sichuan peppercorn powder, that’s plenty. If you want it any hotter, you can put extra chillies on your own serving. Just because you’ve got a cast iron stomach, doesn’t mean Wendy and I need to suffer.”

 “Spoilsport”, muttered Natsu. He stepped back, giving her more elbow room to move the meat and vegetables around in the pan, watching her as she hummed happily. After a few minutes of silence, he opened his mouth as if to ask a question, and then closed it again. Lucy eyed him quizzically.

 “Something on your mind Natsu?”

 “Uh, yeah”, he smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m just a little nervous about askin’ ya.” Lucy bumped him playfully with her hip.

 “Pfft”, she grinned. She turned off the heat under both the wok and the rice to give him her full attention. “Since when have you been the nervous type, Natsu Dragneel?”

 Natsu swallowed. “Well… since I’ve been around you Lucy.”

 Lucy looked at him in concern. “What? Natsu, if I’ve done something to upset you, please tell me!”

 Natsu shook his head. “Nuh uh. Quite the opposite.” He took a deep breath and let it out again. “Lucy, how would you feel about goin’ on a date with me?”

 “A date?” said Lucy, shocked.

 “Yeah. Look, I know you’ve had a lot to deal with this past year, but… I like you. Really like you. And I’d like to get to know you even better. We can take things as slow as you want. Snail’s pace if that would make you feel comfortable. I just… I wanted to tell you how I feel about ya.”

 Lucy’s mind whirled. A date? With Natsu? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been on a date. She felt so close to him already, could see the idea of them being a couple would be something she might want, but… What if Natsu went out with her and then changed his mind? What if he got to know her and found her wanting? Would that make the house uncomfortable? And what would Wendy say? Would she have to move out? Be alone again? She was only just starting to feel comfortable in her own skin, after what felt like years of unhappiness. The dark cloud she’d been living under was finally starting to clear, and if she were honest with herself, it had a lot to do with the man standing in front of her. He was cute and funny and strong and brave; everything she could ever want. But… she couldn’t deny she was afraid. She bit her bottom lip, blinking anxiously.

 Natsu reached out his hand, stroking her arm. “Lucy, hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel uncomfortable”, he said softly. “I’ll just… yeah, I got washing to do so I’ll…”. He let his hand drop and turned away, striding off towards the laundry.

 Lucy hugged her arms, looking down at the steaming chicken in the wok, as if it could give her answers. What should she do?

 Natsu flung his work clothes into the washing machine, uncaring of how he did it, his heart pounding in his chest, his eyes burning. Stupid, stupid, he was so fucking stupid! Of course it was too soon. She’d just looked so beautiful, with the light above the stove shining on her, illuminating her golden hair like a halo. She was humming and smiling and… he buried his face in his hands. He hoped he hadn’t ruined everything. Maybe if he just pulled back, gave her space, maybe it would still be okay. If she just wanted his friendship, at the end of the day he’d rather have that than lose her entirely.

 “Natsu?” said an uncertain voice behind him.

 Uncovering his face and taking a deep breath, he turned, doing his best to smile for her, pleased that he managed to speak in an even tone without his voice cracking. “Hey Luce. Is dinner ready?”

 “Natsu” she murmured softly, her eyes shining in the dim light of the laundry, “I like you too. I really do. It’s just… I’m afraid.”

 Natsu’s gaze softened. “Luce, I would never do anything to hurt you.” Lucy shook her head.

 “No, that’s not it.” She grimaced, flapping her hands as she searched for the right words. “For a long time, it’s felt like my emotions haven’t really worked properly. Like they were broken, like I was broken. I felt a little bit happy or sad sometimes, but mostly I just felt nothing. And now, since I met you, they’re starting to come back and I just… what if you don’t like me?” Her voice squeaked, and she bit her bottom lip, abusing the soft flesh with her teeth.

 Natsu tilted his head to one side, confusion evident in his expression. “But Luce, this whole asking you out thing is because I do like you!”

 “Yes, but what if that changes?” she replied in a panicky voice. “What if you get to know the real me and I’m annoying? What if I’m irritating? What if the girl you like is the girl I was before, when I was quiet and did my best not to call attention to myself and get along with everyone? When I wasn’t me?” Lucy panted, looking at him with wide eyes.

 Natsu reached out and took her hand. “Hey”, he said gently. “That’s a lot of ‘what ifs’ Lucy. But do you know what? That girl that I’m starting to see? That one that pranked me by pairing all my odd socks together and who put chilli flakes in my coffee the other morning? The one that gave me a draw four followed by two draw twos last time we played Uno and crowed about it the whole evening? The one that talks to me when we sit on the sofa with a hot chocolate at night, like really talks, and is interested in what I have to say, and what I feel? I like her. So very much. And the more I see of her, the more I like.” He grinned at her, rubbing his thumb gently on her wrist. “We don’t have ta go on a date if you don’t wanna Luce. Just knowing that you like me a little is enough for now.”

 Lucy searched his face, feeling a warmth expanding in her chest. She was reminded of that time in the hospital when she had the first panic attack, and Natsu had helped her calm down. He’d been there for her constantly over the last month. And he had never let her down. She took in a deep calming breath.

 “Do you know what Natsu? Let’s do it. I’d like to go out on a date with you.”

 Natsu examined her expression with a worried look on his face. “You’re not just sayin’ that? I don’t wanna pressure you into anythin’ you’re not feelin’ ready for Lucy. That’s the last thing I want.”

 Lucy squeezed his hand, shaking her head. “Nope. I want to. I really do.” She smiled at him shyly. “Do you know, I feel brave when I’m with you, and more like me than I have for a very long time. When I’m with you, I feel strong enough to slay dragons.”

 Natsu chuckled. “Lucy the dragon slayer huh.” Grinning, he sketched a courtly bow, kissing her hand softly. “Will I be allowed to accompany you on this dangerous mission milady?”

 Lucy snorted. “Of course. I couldn’t possibly go anywhere without my court jester.” Natsu puffed out his cheeks, pouting his bottom lip.

 “Jester? I thought I’d rank at least a squire. Or maybe I could even be the dragon.” He grinned at her, tilting his head and showing the slightly sharp canine teeth that made his smile look a little dangerous. “Think you could tame a dragon Lucy?”

 Lucy took a step closer, a teasing smile on her face. “Maybe I could, if it were you…” Natsu’s eyes widened, and he took a step closer too. He reached out his other hand, stroking her cheek gently, then rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip. Both of them were breathing harder, leaning towards each other.

 “Hellooooo, I’m home! What did you cook Lucy? I’m starving!” At Wendy’s voice, both of them flinched, Natsu dropping his hand from Lucy’s face.

 “Um, I should…” said Lucy, pointing backwards over her shoulder towards the kitchen. Natsu gave her other hand a gentle squeeze, and let her go.

 “Sure Lucy. I’ll be there in a sec, okay?” Natsu grinned at her as she backed slowly out of the laundry, then turned and fled back to the kitchen. He sighed, turning to dump detergent on top of his dirty clothes and switching on the machine. “Dammit Wendy. Worst timing ever.”

Chapter 7

[girlbookwrm]

i DO recommend these fics, but this ISN’T actually a rec list

a while ago i did a meta about Bucky Barnes and the Winter Soldier and Hydra and the headcanons I put in The Terror of Knowing, and I mentioned that I wanted to compile a long-ass list of fics that inspired The Hundred Year Playlist and ppl (hi @conlatio and @marveluc) asked about it SO HERE, AT LONG FUCKING LAST, IT IS.

Fanfiction, like every other art form that has ever existed in the history of ever, is all about synthesis: combining pre-existing elements to make something new. It’s the making something new thing that’s exciting. (If you’re not making something new with your found material, that’s called plaigiarism and it’s distinctly uncool.)

When I was in college and grad school, if we used material from other scholars to make a new idea, we made sure to include a bibliography. 

Now this is fic, so like. Everyone knows that we’re using found material. We put the fandom in the tags and everything. But there’s a lot of unseen inspiration, because it’s harder to tag all the fics and metas you read that gave you ideas and inspiration along the way.

I’m... making an attempt.

These are some, SOME of the fics that inspired the headcanons and characterizations and whatnot that then got incorporated into THYP. I’ve been reading MCU fic since 2014 (possibly earlier) and I didn’t even start thinking about THYP until 2017, so there’s probably a lot of stuff that went into my subconscious that I’ve forgotten about. I’m @ing the authors and sources when I know them, but if any of yall want me to like, un-@you (is that a thing??) or if any of you know of authors who have tumblrs that I DIDN’T @ but should have, pls let me knoooowwww

A (Probably Incomplete, but at least Attempted) Fanfic Bibliography for The Hundred Year Playlist

by Seriously I Don’t Have More Important Things To Do? Astonishing.

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS IN THE FICS THEMSELVES. THYP may be rated T for Teen (and even that I debate about tbh, given all the swears and violence) but most of these fics are very emphatically not.  some of them will probably squick you out, some of them might be triggering, so take care of yourselves.

I’ve divided the list into sections by the story they inspired, but all of these stories inspired all the parts of THYP, this is a very very very rough categorization. Think of it as my fanfic n headcanon spice rack. some stories are going to have more or less of one spice or another.

Dreamers With Empty Hands

All the Angels and the Saints by @cesperanza

"You're a brutal person, you know that? You're always rummaging through my guts with your bare hands!" and then Bucky turned away, his long, muscled back curving as he sat on the edge of the bed, hunched and struggling for breath. Steve wanted to draw him, and he also wanted to blot the image from his memory: this picture of Bucky in despair.

Speranza’s Socialist Steve is deeply flawed in a way that people don’t usually write him and i love it so much??? He’s angry, and egotistical, and righteous in a way that’s hard on the people around him and I was like YESGOOD MORE PLS. It’s also a masterful example of how to write a story that’s ostensibly Steve-POV but still manages to make Bucky not only a main player, but a driving force. It’s about Steve, on the surface, sure. But it’s also about Bucky, because Steve is about Bucky and I just *clenches fist* love it.

cascades. 

This fic. THIS FIC. Hngh. Okay so this fic is good on so many levels, but for THYP, the takeaway was me very gently lifting the Bucky-Steve-Barnes Family dynamic and then adding more swears to get to my take on the Bucky-Steve-Barnes Family Dynamic. Namely: 

“Steve was a bit of a Barnes, too, wasn’t he,” she says.

“He was ours,” says Rebecca, shrugging. “We were his.”

i crie???

More Man Than You

“You’re very pretty,” she said, and Steve tensed up.

“I’m not a fairy.”

“No, you’re not, are you?”

this fic has a study guide. and that’s literally all I feel I need to say about it. It’s an exploration of queer culture and masculinity in the 30s and 40s, thinly veiled as stucky fanfiction. (It’s also pretty brutal so I’ll reiterate that you need to heed the goddamn warnings)

Also, lest yall think I came up with Billy Thompson in a vacuum, I didn’t. In this fic, there’s a violent mob runner called Duke, and Steve comes up with a plan to take him down, and Bucky makes sure that there’s a Different plan that Steve doesn’t know about.  It’s all executed a little differently in this fic, but the idea lodged in my brain and got reused in THYP, and kind of became a central theme.

Good Morning Heartache, What’s New?

The Night War by @praximeter

IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THIS WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH YOUR LIFE. This is... honestly, just one of the finest pieces of fiction i just 

HNNNNGH

I don’t know that I can point to any specific part of this fic and say “this gave me that idea” it was more the... the feel of it. The way the Normandy invasion is written and the way the trauma is handled and the way Steve is just slightly to the left of being a real soldier and especially this:

He asked me with a smile on his face what goes through my mind when I line up my shot—God and country? Pearl Harbor? Uncle Sam? —and I stared at him struck dumb from the question so long that I think he thought I was just plain stupid. The fact is that it is none of those things—not even close. It is sick, numb fear and careful, barely breathing so that I don’t miss. I must never miss. And then when I shoot, an awful thought curls up from my trigger finger to my heart “how many mothers must be praying I will miss?”

The Thirteen Letters

oh you didn’t really think that Not Easily Conquered wasn’t going to be on this list, didja? OF COURSE IT’S ON THE LIST. But possibly not for the reason you might think. That fic is legen-fucking-dary of course, and the scene where Steve gets stabbed was obviously very inspirational for that bit in GMHWN where Steve gets shot in the thigh, but the scene that really got teeth into my brain and Would Not Let Go was the one where the Howlies meet the Winged Victory of Samothrace and 

Bucky knows the truth now. It is a deep and insurmountable truth. She has no face. Like the operative whose head he beat in, like the boy who he killed one month into active duty, even like Bucky himself, Nike is faceless. Bucky feels unprepared, or like he should have brought an offering.

Beside him Steve quakes before the oldest and the only god.

look my fixation with statues didn’t come from nowhere is what i’m saying ok

Sincerely, Your Pal

This fic haunts me because i hate the ending. not because it’s not good (It IS good) or because it’s not the right ending for the story (it IS the right ending for the story) but just because i  h a t e  i t. I just like happy endings is all, and resolutions, and this fic is why THYP will have a happy ending.

But also, I really liked the way this fic dealt with Bucky in Basic and lines like this really caught in my brain:

And of course I want to kill some Nazis I guess but not because they’re people. Not because I actually want people to die because I don’t.

And that sentiment definitely fed into how I write Bucky especially.

The Terror of Knowing

there must have been a moment by @redstarwhitestar (magdaliny’s marvel sideblog)

Listen, I’ve been trying to make sure that there’s a good spread of writers on this list but magdaliny is the exception. Magdaliny is the exception for a lot of things and there must have been a moment when we could have said no is always the first fic I think of when I think of a fic about Bucky’s time as the Soldier. Which is ironic, because it’s very much about his time after that, but that first chapter made uhhhhhhhhhhh an impression.

The fractured nature of the narrative, the way that the reader can piece together a coherent timeline but the main character can’t... that was very influential on TTOK. example:

“Kill him,” the officer says.

The subject says: “Why?”

☙

“Kill him,” the officer says.

The subject makes a mess.

☙

“Kill him cleanly,” the officer says. “Good! Good lad.”

I’ll build a house inside of you

Another magdaliny G I F T, an AU where Nat is much younger and Bucky is her dad, and if you think that didn’t affect the way I write Bucky and Nat’s relationship in THYP, then you are dreaming. 

Past the praises of the handlers, above the hot wet smell of cordite and blood, Natalia can hear crashing and shouting down the hall.

“—goddamn animals, they're little girls, they're just kids, you fucking—”

Her father screams in English, in Mandarin, in Russian, and then he just screams.

I know that’s a super sad excerpt but listen and hear me when I say this fic is actually really good and wholesome and it’s got A+++ OCs and All The Widows and it’s just really good ok

Memory

Bucky is hard AF to write and very few people write him half so well as magdaliny but one of those people is emilyenrose and this fic is M A S T E R F U L. Bittersweet and achingly perfect. It contains this beautiful moment that really stuck with me, where Steve is comparing the post WS “James” to the Pre War “Bucky” and realizes... 

He truly hadn't known James all that well. James hadn't let him. Hadn't wanted him to. Hadn't wanted anyone near him, ever—

—the way Bucky went, when he was miserable, when he was angry...

and that, to me, was kind of key when I went on to write the Soldier, because the Soldier IS Bucky, even when he isn’t.

Fool For Sacrifice

Dona Nobis Pacem

THIS GODDAMN FIC came to me outta FUCKING NOWHERE, I’d already written the first draft for FFS, I’d already started posting it, for crying out loud. And then all of a sudden I stumble upon THIS and i just

It’s already fading, just hours after the skirmish.  And the wounds Sam stitched will heal without a mark.  And the welts on Steve’s chest will disappear.  Like all of it never happened. 

Fuck the serum. He keeps thinking it, saying it.  Maybe if there were some goddamn scars, it’d be easier to process the damage.

This fic is heavy af, it’s like the 65k word version of That Chapter in FFS Where Steve Hits Rock Bottom. This was the fic I read when I was ramping myself up to tackle That Moment

three white horses

This is the other fic I read to ramp up for That Scene, and I think that probably shows in the way I wrote it. It is also is a Strong Contender for the title of Heavyweight Fic That Convinced Me Buck Is Jewish. Honestly I cannot praise this fic enough.

I think the thing that stuck hardest about the Steve in three white horses is the way he feels ghostly himself, like he’s only drifting through the present, and somehow most of his living happens in the past. It’s very beautifully done, and very subtly done, and it’s my go to fic if I am in Dire Need of a Good Clean Crie.

It’s getting an extra long excerpt because This Is My List And Neither God Nor Man Can Stop Me.

Steve's fingers touch metal when he reaches into the second-to-last box, and he feels the blood drain out of his face even before he's looked down. He knows the feel of it too well. He'd know it blind, a hundred years from now. It's Bucky's not-a-medal.

It'd been Bucky's grandfather's, or maybe his great-grandfather's, made of the kind of sterling silver that tarnishes if you look at it funny, so Bucky had always been polishing it; he'd traded cigarettes to the mess staff for baking soda and vinegar, during the war, but the thing was still soot-black half the time, like it is now. It'd been a fool's errand, wearing a thing like that in Axis territory, but Bucky'd worn it on his chain like the rest of the guys wore their Christophers and Michaels, and HYDRA'd ignored it. It was a subtle thing, though: nothing like wearing a Magen David, or the implacable H on Bucky's tags, just a thin slice of metal with a stylized branch and an oblique squiggle Steve only knows is the Hebrew word for life because Bucky told him so.

Bucky'd had a curious mix of reverence and irreverence about it, the same mixture that seemed to colour the whole of his religious life. He'd teased Steve sometimes, saying, “No, wait, you gotta kiss it before you enter the building, you schmuck, what are you, some kinda heathen?” with his legs around Steve's waist. Bucky hadn't complained when Steve had carried on with an inch of silver between his teeth, but Steve had offhandedly called it Bucky's good luck charm once, and Bucky'd blown up; it's not a superstition, he said, it's not a fucking amulet. He'd apologized later, and he'd explained, and said it was a touchy subject, just ingrained. Jews weren't supposed to believe in luck. Bucky'd thought maybe it was the opposite: maybe luck didn't believe in Jews.

Sparked Up Like a Book of Matches

AH YES, THE FIC THAT TAUGHT ME ABOUT LIL AUDREY JOKES. SIPPY CUPS OF SUPERBOOZE! A ROBOT CALLED SHITCAN!! WHAT MORE COULD YOU NEED IN A FIC??? I really like the way it addresses Steve being in the future is all

This one could probably also fall into the list of fics that inspired DWEH, in part because of This, which stuck with me Hard and heavily influenced the opening:

“...You ever have scarlet fever?"

Sam shakes his head.

"It starts in your throat, like an itch, and as your fever starts to climb, your tongue swells up and turns white and that's when they know, really, even before the rash, that it's scarlet fever. You can't swallow, it hurts so much. You're freezing and your joints ache and your fever keeps spiking and you start to hallucinate. I, uh, I thought things were crawling on me and there were voices that I didn't recognize whispering things that didn't make any sense. My mom had to fight me just to get me to drink broth, but I threw it up most of the time, anyway. Then I got pneumonia from being so worn down from the scarlet fever and I was so lucky, Sam. Nobody seems to understand how I lucky I was to make it through. Talking to people today, to make them understand I'd have to tell them I survived bird flu only to fall sick with Ebola."

listen. For reasons I can’t fully explain, I really wanted to read that happening so i wrote it, and this is what being a writer is All About.

Actually, on a second thought, I might be able to explain it: it’s because an experience like that is Capital F Formative, and I really wanted to explore how there’s a tiny sick kid rattling around inside Captain Beefcake’s souped up bod.

(And an additional shoutout to Steve Rogers’ American Captain, a webcomic that now exists only in the Wayback Machine, but which was L O V E L Y and I sincerely hope that the artist knows that)

No Hope for the Weary

Strays

This fic? is so fluffy?? Like literally so fluffy. But this fic (and, obviously, Infinite Coffee) were very much behind the inclusion of the God Damn Starbucks, and also the source of a lot of my headcanons about Barnes & Rogers: Secret Millennials. For Example: Bucky’s Notes on How To Be A Millennial:

- Lots of coffee. Travel mugs or paper cups from Starbucks place. Often looks guilty for drinking, obv derive pleasure from doing so. Unknown as to why. Investigate further? Why is there one every two blocks if no one wants it there? 

Infinite Coffee and Protection Detail

This is another fandom classic that needs very little introduction. A+ characterization, A+ OCs, Utterly Charming from start to finish, and the originator of a very distinct way of talking that got very strongly coded in my brain as Winter Soldier Bucky.

He passes within 4 m of Barnes on his way back to his building. The mission imperative achieves a Doppler effect.

contactContactCONTACTContactcontact

Aw.

If They Haven’t Learned Your Name by @silentwalrus1

If I had to point to one (1) fic and say “Blame This Fic for THYP” it would be this one: the Fic that my roommate and The Gal Pal know as “The One With the USS Motherfucker.” This might seem like an odd statement, because if you’ve read them both, I don’t think you’d necessarily put them in the same class. silentwalrus is a genius of hilarity and THYP is a big pile of The Sads. ITHLYN is delightfully unassuming and I’m sometimes embarrassed by how pretentious THYP ended up being. 

I would technically put this under the list of fics that heavily influenced NHFTW on account of the way it portrays Bucky going by gradual degrees from murderbot to mostly human person, but listen I could never write Cryptid!Bucky the way Silentwalrus has. It’s magnificent. And TBH the level of Intensity in ITHLYN’s Steve has is something I aspire to, and the Sam Characterization is On Point, and both those things influenced FFS, 112%. Nat’s Chaotic Slav Energy in this fic is OFF THE GODDAMN CHARTS and I LOVE IT. Every single side character, down to the spaceship is given the kind of care, attention, and characterization that just... it cannot be beat, my dudes.

16/10 highest recommendation. I could not possibly pick a single paragraph from this behemoth but uhhhhh

Two minutes in there’s a grunt and a slippery, gritty noise somewhere to her left, and then the Soldier barrels past at breakneck speed, vanishing down another tunnel. A second later Steve careens around the corner, bounces off the opposite wall and crashes away after him, so fast he’s nearly a blur. Natasha’s brain, entirely of its own accord, provides her with the utterly unhelpful accompaniment of a Yakety Sax soundtrack.

that’s it. that’s the fic.

Also, this fic is Stoutly To Blame for the playlist aspect of the hundred year playlist? Silentwalrus really got me good with Grounds for Divorce by Elbow, one of my all time favorite songs, which was then paired with one of my all time favorite chapters. By the time Caravan Palace’s Lone Digger made an appearance, I was sunk. This fic introduced me to Lyube, and gave me a new appreciation(?) for dubstep. So many of the songs ITHLYN used ended up in my Very Long Stucky Playlist, though I think the only one that then went on to become part of the Hundred Year Playlist: Upside Down and Inside Out by OK GO.

And Finally, the Coup De What The Fuck Ever:

Ain’t No Grave by @spitandvinegar

yet another fandom classic... I wasn’t sure where to put this fic, but I couldn’t NOT include it in the list. Spitandvinegar’s Steve is charming and so? Sweet? and the ANG Bucky is a delightful foulmouthed mess of a person, and the Sam/Claire pairing is something I DIDN’T KNOW I NEEDED, BUT I VERY MUCH NEEDED IT and I don’t know that I can point to a single thing and be like: Ah Yes, This Bit, but this is definitely one of my faves:

Imagine you live in this country, right? And there's a brutal war, and you witness and maybe participate in a horrific amount of violence, and you lose absolutely everyone you care about. Then you end up in this other country, where the culture and ways of doing things are completely foreign to you, and random assholes make fun of you for how you dress and act and talk while you're still coming to grips with the fact that everyone you love is gone and you can never go home again. Meanwhile, everyone around you is like "smile, motherfucker, you're in the Land of Plenty now, where there's a Starbucks on every corner and 500 channels on TV. You should be grateful! Why aren't you acting more grateful?" So you have to pretend to be grateful while you're dying inside. Sound like an traumatized, orphaned refugee? Also sounds like Steve fucking Rogers, Captain Goddamn America. Except that most refugees were part of a community of other people who were going through the same thing. Steve is all alone, the last damn unicorn, if the last unicorn had horrible screaming nightmares about the time when it helped to liberate Buchenwald.

Usually this explanation yields a "huh." People don't want Sad Refugee Steve: they want Captain America, Indestructible Defender of Freedom. But that doesn't mean that Sam isn't right, because he is right, goddamnit. So yeah, Sam's a little protective of Steve. And if the last unicorn finds out that its best damn unicorn friend in the whole world is actually alive, then damn straight, Sam's heading out with a tranq gun and bringing that damn unicorn in and starting a goddamn unicorn wildlife refuge in his backyard. Or something like that: at a certain point the metaphor kind of gets away from him.

Til The End of the Timeline

I’ve recced this so many times you’ve probably all gotten sick of hearing about it, but it’s an invaluable goddamn resource and you should all check it out. 

A Shit Ton of Metas and Blogs, some of which are tagged with THYP Research but especially @steve-rogers-new-york and @hansbekhart‘s How To Brooklyn and @historicallyaccuratesteve

and last but certainly not least

LITERALLY EVERYTHING @quietnighty READS HOLY SHIT

If you’re looking for a common thread through all the above recs, it’s that almost all of them have podfics, and the vast majority of those podfics are by Quietnight. I am, and always have been, an audio learner. I read my writing aloud when I’m editing, I listen to audiobooks when I’m commuting, and when I’m cleaning, and when I’m playing computer games, because I like stories, and I especially like listening to stories. Quietnight’s podfics are Of The Highest Quality, and her taste in fic is Impeccable.

hooooly shit this post is long wow okay. I can’t promise I won’t add more to this later, but I’m leaving it for now because goddamn. it’s as complete as I can make it at this time. I’ve added a “THYP Fanfic Bibliography” tag in my bookmarks, and incidentally I really need to make sure I’ve gone through and kudosed all of these because goddamn.

[chemicalmagecraft]

The Gamer Hero, Deku Chapter 5

A/N: Thank you guys for all your likes and comments! I noticed that a few people might have been a little confused about The Gamer... it's an element from a Korean webcomic. The only reason why this wasn't listed as a crossover earlier is because I couldn't find it in the category thing. That being said, there are few other things I'd like to say to some of the commenters:

To Octopie21 and origamishishou: The reason why Midoriya hasn't put All Might, Bakugou, and Inko in his party is because he doesn't want to constantly have people in his party. And it simply didn't occur to him anyway... and it may or may not have not occurred to me as well...

To Spidja: +10 points!

To ZaynNaz: You're totally right, I'm sorry. I sometimes put more flowery words in my writing, so that just slipped in. Don't worry, I'll try to deflower Midoriya's internal monologue in the future!

To Shadow-DJ: ಠ◡ಠ

To sunsetskywrites: I'm probably not going to include any ships. There are pairings in BNHA that I ship, but I don't think I'd be able to add them in without it being forced, so... :/. I might eventually make a shipping fanfic, though.

And finally, to everyone who asked me to post another chapter of this fic: ಠ◡ಠ

xoxoxo

My alarm sounded. I yawned and turned it off. I hadn't had to sleep in a while, so that was a little weird. I blinked the sleep out of my eyes, then looked at the text box that greeted me.

You have slept in a bed! Your HP and MP have been restored, and any negative status effects have been cured!

"Huh," I said. "I'm probably never going to see that again. Good to know, though." I sat up and did a few stretches to get myself moving. Remembering what I had done last night, I whispered, "Halitus." My new elemental appeared from nowhere, sitting on my bed and now about as big as a regular eight-year-old boy. He was, at the moment, in his incorporeal form, which I now somehow knew would cost me nothing to use unless I started using him to control the air around me. I could summon him to a corporeal form, but that would require a steady mana cost. "H-hello," I said cautiously.

"Hello, master," he replied. His voice didn't seem to make any audible sound, but I could still hear it in my head. "What do you need of me?" he asked.

"Nothing, for the moment. I just wanted some company, and to maybe ask you a few questions." I looked at Summon Basic Elemental. The skill had gained a level off of the summoning ritual, but now it was ever-so-slightly increasing over time now that I had Halitus out, which was good.

"What do you need of me?" I got up and started to walk to the kitchen. Unfortunately, today was a school day, so I couldn't stay at the beach all day and grind no matter how much I wanted to. My training options were really limited at school, but I'd have to make do.

"What do you know about me?" I asked.

"You are Midoriya Izuku. You are my master. Our souls are one." He... did not waste words, did he?

I blinked. "Is that it?"

"Yes."

"What do you know about the world?"

"There is air. The air moves. People are noisy. This place used to look different." I idly wondered if the way he talked was something that all elementals did or if it was just Halitus.

"...What can you tell me about yourself?" I asked as I made myself breakfast.

"I am air. I move the air. Our souls are one." I sighed. This might be difficult.

"Who are you talking to, Izuku?" my mom asked.

"Oh, right," I said. I manifested Halitus, watching as air swirled around to give him a body. "You remember Halitus, right, mom?"

"Izuku, dear, I don't think I could ever forget what happened last night," she told me.

"Right," I said. "Sorry. I was just asking Halitus some questions about himself." Halitus gave a small nod of his head when I said his name.

"Oh, right. H-hello, Halitus?" she said uneasily.

"I am pleased to meet you, mother of master," he replied. Now that he was corporeal, his voice was audible.

"Please, call me Inko," she laughed.

"Of course, Inko-sama."

Mom sighed. "You... '-san' will do."

"Yes, Inko-san."

"Halitus, what exactly can you do to 'move the air,'" I asked.

"You give me mana and I can control the air in any way you want. My range currently has a radius of roughly one hundred meters, and it will increase as my power grows. My power will increase as your power grows."

"Okay," I said. "Do you know what my Quirk is?"

"I know not what a Quirk is. I know nothing of how the world is now."

"Oh," I said. "I'm going to have to fill you in on a lot, aren't I?"

"If that is what you wish, master."

xoxoxo

I ended up talking to Halitus as I walked to school. For whatever reason, Kacchan didn't meet me when I passed by his house like he'd started doing after we made up, so I just moved on. I'd made Halitus incorporeal before I left the house because I felt like maybe creating a sentient being made of air mana might be pushing public Quirk usage laws a little far. "...and that book was how I was able to summon you," I finished. He said nothing. I was about to say something when he suddenly jerked.

"Master, someone is rapidly approaching," he told me.

"HEY DEKU!" a familiar voice yelled. "WAIT UP!" Kacchan ran up to me, panting a bit. "You were just gonna leave without me, asshole?"

"I thought that maybe you were sick when you weren't waiting for me," I told him.

"Then check with that elemental of yours or something. He's gotta have some sort of air-sensing power."

"I only got Halitus last night," I told him. "I don't know everything about him yet. Why were you late anyway?"

He snarled. "Fucking alarm clocks. Sometimes they just spontaneously combust and shit."

"You blew up your alarm clock again, didn't you?" I sighed.

"Fuck off! This time it wasn't me!" Was it just me, or was he glaring at the air? "Well, not... directly me, anyway... Enough of that shit. Want your book back?" He handed my journal back to me.

I nodded. "Thanks, Kacchan."

He snorted. "What, didja think I was gonna fucking blow it up or drop it in a pond like some asshole?"

I gave him a blank look. "You did that to one of my hero journals."

"Shut up," he said. "Hey, I gotta talk to you about something after school."

"Okay. We can meet on the beach after you're done with detention." Kacchan had blown up at some bullies who were trying to taunt me about how long it took for my Quirk to develop and had ended up in detention because of it.

"Fuckin' detention," he sighed. "Meetcha there."

xoxoxo

School was boring, as usual. Because I had to study to increase my INT, I was already miles ahead of every class. My INT also meant that my memory was more or less eidetic, so I didn't have to worry about forgetting what it was. So long as I paid enough attention in class to know what was going on, I'd be free to let my mind wander to more exciting topics, like how I now had an air-controlling spirit for a minion. I'd figured out in Homeroom that I could communicate with Halitus telepathically, like he did, and used that to test the limits of what he could do throughout the next few periods without anybody asking me why I was muttering to the air... though to be fair I did mutter a lot, so they might have just dismissed it as "Deku being Deku." 

I found out that Halitus could passively sense all of the air within his range. While he couldn't transfer the information directly to my mind, he could just tell me where everything was. He could also tell how the air was moving, allowing him to not only feel the wind, but air temperature and sound traveling through the air as well. I discreetly figured out that one MP was worth about one newton of force when it came to Halitus' air moving, so I unfortunately couldn't use it for sustained flight yet. After I was done figuring out what Halitus' limits, I went back to what I normally did during my classes, thinking about my skills. "Maybe I could do something to change Healing Hands," I thought. "If I try to reverse the flow, maybe I'll get some sort of life-draining skill. If I put more mana into it and change how fast it heals, that'll make a regen spell. Actually, could it be possible to change the effect from healing to some kind of buff? If I could make buffs that'd be so useful, plus I could try to do it in reverse to make debu-"

"Midoriya-kun, stop muttering!" my eighth-period teacher yelled at me.

"Ah, sorry!" I said. "I've gotta stop doing that," I thought. A few minutes later, the bell rang and I was finally free to go to the beach and work on my skills.

xoxoxo

I concentrated on my glowing hand as I hauled the tire over to the edge of the beach. The mana in it was primed to flow into the body of whoever I touched it with, giving them life energy. I felt that power, concentrated on it, then forced it to invert. Ping!

A skill has been created through special action! By reversing the effects of 'Healing Hands,' the skill 'Draining Hands has been created!

Draining Hands (Active) LV1 EXP 0.00% MP 50

The power of a greedy soul to take life force from a victim's body, converting it to mana.

50 HP drained, removes minor positive conditions.

Any HP drained by this skill is added to the user's MP. The user can choose to gain any effects removed by this skill.

I stared at the ominous purple glow that my hand had taken. It wasn't the best skill, what with the fact that it cost as much as it healed, but I was sure I could train it up so that it was better. "What's that, young Midoriya?" All Might asked. He was sitting on a folding chair in his civilian form nearby.

"I just made a life-draining skill from my healing skill," I told him. "I wanted to test out a hypothesis that I had. I guess now I could use this on myself to train my Healing Hands skill."

"Of course, that's a good idea. Just make sure to keep an eye on your HP and don't use it on others unless you have to."

"I wasn't planning on it," I said hastily. "I was, however, planning on seeing if I could make new skills from Healing Hands. I'm going to try to do something else that I thought of." I canceled the Draining Hands and switched back to Healing Hands. I let the mana build up and concentrate, then thought of something. "If I'm using this much mana, then I can properly stabilize it into projectile form, like with Mana Bolt. Having a ranged healing skill would be even better than a touched base one." I made a few modifications, then said, "Can I test out a skill on you? It shouldn't do any damage."

"Sure, but could you please be careful just in case?" I nodded, then shot a pulse of green light from my hand at All Might, causing him to glow slightly green for a second. Thankfully, he didn't appear to be hurt. Ping!

You have made a new skill. What will you name it?

"Regeneration," I said.

Regeneration (Active) LV1 EXP 0.00% MP 200

A skill that causes the target's body to heal itself over time.

Target regains 5 HP every second for 2 minutes.

Skill can be fired with a range of 10m with an additional 10 MP.

"It worked!" I shouted. Ping! I stopped working. "Huh?"

For creating multiple skills, you have received the title 'Skilled Gamer!'

"What's wrong, young Midoriya?" All Might asked.

"I just got a title. Hang on, let me see something." I opened my status screen. My title was still The Gamer, but now there was now an arrow on the box with my title, like when you can click on the box to bring up more options. I pressed the arrow, and it showed a box that had two titles: The Gamer and Skilled Gamer. "It seems like I can get new titles by doing certain things. I'm going to see if it has some sort of bonus or something." I Observed both of the titles.

The Gamer

The first title bestowed upon the one with the power of The Gamer. Has no special effects.

Skilled Gamer

The title given to a gamer who likes to make new skills.

15% bonus to skill experience.

"And?" All Might asked.

I equipped Skilled Gamer. "The title that I just got gives me more skill experience and my original title, which would be the default title, did nothing. I'll probably get more titles with different effects by doing significant enough things, which means that I could get even more skills."

"That's excellent, young Midoriya, but for now could you get back to work? It seems that that's all that that is for now, so you should continue with your training."

I picked the tire back up. "Of course!" I remembered the other skills that I wanted to make. I concentrated on Regeneration, but this time, instead of making the mana heal, I tried to make it reinforce the body. It clicked, and I applied it to myself. A blue light spread over my body and I felt the protection come over me.

You have made a new skill. What would you like to call it?

"Defense Up."

Defense Up (Active) LV1 EXP 0.00% MP 150

A skill that uses mana to defend the target's body.

Reduces damage taken by 5% for 2 minutes.

Skill can be fired with a range of 10m with an additional 10 MP

I nodded to myself. "This will be useful. I should probably make other buffs to go with it." I concentrated.

You have made a new skill. What would you like to call it?

Attack Up (Active) LV1 EXP 0.00% MP 150

A skill that uses mana to strengthen the target's offensive power.

Increases damage dealt by 5% for 2 minutes.

Skill can be fired with a range of 10m with an additional 10 MP

You have made a new skill. What would you like to call it?

Speed Up (Active) LV1 EXP 0.00% MP 150

A skill that uses mana to increase the target's speed.

Increases movement and attack speed by 5% for 2 minutes.

Skill can be fired with a range of 10m with an additional 10 MP

Through the creation of multiple complex skills, your INT has increased by one!

I grinned. Even if it would be a drain on my mana to keep them all up simultaneously, the fact that I had them meant that I could increase my stats if I ever needed to, plus I could buff others. Not to mention, the fact that they had an alternate casting mode meant that they might have the potential to get more casting modes, which would be extra useful. "Still, even with these buffs, it might be good to also have debuffs just in case." Just like with Draining Hands, I inverted the mana effects to see if I could make them into debuffs.

You have made a new skill. What would you like to call it?

Defense Down (Active) LV1 EXP 0.00% MP 150

A skill that uses mana to weaken the target's body.

Increases damage taken by 5% for 2 minutes.

Skill can be fired with a range of 10m with an additional 10 MP

You have made a new skill. What would you like to call it?

Attack Down (Active) LV1 EXP 0.00% MP 150

You have made a new skill. What would you like to call it?

Speed Down (Active) LV1 EXP 0.00% MP 150

"I think I'm good on buffs and debuffs for the moment," I said. "What should I work on now?" Suddenly, the BGM changed to Kacchan's image song, followed by Kacchan greeting me.

"Sup, Deku! We gonna talk now?" he asked as he ran up to me.

"Ah, young Bakugou. Welcome back," All Might said.

"What did you need to talk about, Kacchan?" I asked. He grinned, then held up his hand. He made a small explosion, the fire of which somehow stayed after the explosion ended. The fire grew, then swirled down to the ground beside Kacchan, where it condensed into the form of a young girl. I gasped. "What?"

Kacchan grinned wider. "You remember what you said about how you felt like other people should be able to use mana and stuff? I just proved you fucking right!"

"Kacchan, that's amazing!" I exclaimed. "The implications of this... You might have just revolutionized everything!"

"I know I'm awesome, Deku, you don't need to tell me what I already know," Kacchan said smugly. Honestly, I think he was underselling what he did, if anything.

"Uh..." We both turned our heads to see the source of the noise. All Might was standing there, his mouth wide open and blood pouring out. I quickly walked over to him and used Healing Hands on him. "Thank you, young Midoriya. Young Bakugou, it seems that you've discovered that anyone can, with enough practice, use magic. This is something that I'm going to have to call in. You two don't have to worry about anything, though. For now, why don't the two of you get acquainted with your elemental powers?"

"Right," I said. I summoned Halitus to my side. "This is Halitus, as you know. What's her name?"

"Hello," the fire elemental said. "My name is Pyra. I'm pleased to meet you, Midoriya-san, Halitus-san." She gave a small curtsy.

"Greetings," Halitus said. "My name is Halitus."

Kacchan smirked. "Hey Deku, wanna have a spar using only elemental spells?" he asked.

"Sure, Kacchan," I said. We got on opposite ends of the part of the beach that we'd cleared away for sparring matches. "Let's begin," I said. Kacchan immediately lifted his hand up so that his palm faced me. An orangey glow began to come from his hand, and a ball of fire erupted from it and shot at me. I had Halitus block it with a small vacuum, causing it to snuff out mid-flight. "What was that?" I asked.

"How the fuck did I figure that out first?" he asked. "Use your affinity on your mana, dumbass!" I blinked, then slapped my forehead. Of course I could do that. I held my other hand at him and gathered air-charged mana. I shot a small ball of pressurized air at him, a popup telling me that I'd gotten the skill Air Shot. "Now you're getting it!" he yelled excitedly. He shot a volley of fireballs at me, which I dodged some of and had Halitus block the rest. Before I could breathe a sigh of relief, I got a notification from Sense Danger that reminded me that Kacchan also had an elemental. A fire elemental. And I just let him light a fire. I dodged out of the way of the lances of flame that shot at me from where the fireballs hit the ground. I needed to increase my speed, but I couldn't use Speed Up because it wasn't elemental. As I used an Air Shot to blow the fire back, I got an idea. I gathered some air mana and let it spread over my body, combining with it.

A skill has been created through a special action! Unifying the body with nature's power has created the skill 'Elemental Aura' to empower oneself with the elements!

Elemental Aura (Active) LV1 EXP 0.00% MP 100

The combining of one's body with elemental power grants abilities according to that element. Power changes as the caster's INT, WIS, skill level, and elemental affinity grow. Only possible for those attuned to the elements.

Additional 100 MP used per minute.

Air Aura: Increases movement speed by 30%, increases jump height by 15%, increases DEX by 10%, user can generate wind and expend more MP to increase wind generation.

I felt myself speed up as a green glow spread across my body. Unlike with Speed Up, the glow didn't stop after I cast the skill because it was still active. I charged toward Kacchan, a combination of my running and the wind I was generating creating a cloud of sand behind me that smothered and blocked the flames. I threw a punch at him before he could get the chance to cast any more spells. He caught my fist with one hand, then started laughing maniacally. "HAHAHAHAHA! That was a fucking good one, Izuku!" I blinked. Did he just use my real name? "Let me guess, you cloaked your body in air mana to give yourself some sort of elemental boost, huh?" He chuckled a bit, then his grin grew to a toothy smile. "Is this what it feels like to be proud of someone else? I'm gonna have to step up my fuckin' game if you keep pulling shit like this, you know? How 'bout I start..." as he said that, a fiery glow began to envelop his body, and I could feel sweltering heat from his hand. "WITH THIS!" With that, he threw my hand back and punched me in the chest, making me fly back farther than I'd have thought he could. While I was staggered, he darted forwards with a speed I could barely see, then started pummeling me when he got to me. I couldn't find any openings, but then I had an idea. I overcharged my Air Aura, causing it to explode in a burst of wind that sent Kacchan flying back.

A skill has been created through a special action! By overcharging the skill 'Elemental Aura' to the point of explosion, the skill 'Elemental Burst' has been created!

Elemental Burst (Active) LV1 EXP 0.00% MP 200

The power of the elements can be too much for one to handle in great enough amounts. This skill turns that weakness into a strength by generating a burst of elemental mana.

Elemental Burst is strengthened if used while Elemental Aura is active, but destroys Elemental Aura when used.

I dropped to the ground as Kacchan was sent flying. Air obviously wouldn't work on Kacchan's fire aura, so I needed to use something else. I concentrated on the sand beneath my fingers, feeling it interact with my mana.

Earth Affinity: 10

I grinned. Kacchan didn't specify that I had to use air magic, just elemental magic. I looked at my mana, seeing that it was still high enough for a fight. I cloaked myself in earth mana the same way I'd used Air Aura.

Earth Aura: Decreases damage taken by 30%, Increases damage dealt by 15%, increases VIT by 10%, user can generate shockwaves and expend more MP to increase shockwave force.

This time, the mana that enveloped me was brown and cream-colored, like desert camouflage. As soon as I was done, Kacchan came rushing at me again and threw a punch at me with a kiai. This time, I blocked it with my arm, causing him to wince as his fist met my hardened skin. I punched him in the gut in return, which knocked the wind out of him. I took a step forward as I backhanded him, the combination of the shockwave and the strike knocking him over. He did a move that looked almost like he was breakdancing when he hit the ground, except he generated a wave of fire with the sweeping movements as he got up. I stomped, sending up a wave of sand in front of me to block the fire. It gave me an idea, so I used earth mana to compress some of the sand into rocks, which gave me a popup that said that I got the skill Rock Throw. I shot the rocks at Kacchan so that he had to dodge them instead of charge at me again. As he dodged, I ran towards him. He saw me and smirked as he began to run towards me. When we met, we both punched each other in the face, knocking each other down. We groaned simultaneously. "Draw?" Kacchan asked.

"Draw," I agreed. I placed my hand on his chest and started to heal him. "Before you say anything about not needing it, I need to practice with Healing Hands with every opportunity to make it more powerful."

"That's fine," he said. He was quiet for a moment, then said, "I really am sorry, Izuku," without any of the usual prickliness in his voice. I was so startled at him using my real name that I almost shot him in the chest with a Mana Bolt.

I sat upright. "D-did you just use my real name, Kacchan?"

"'Course I did," he said. He didn't sit up, but just stared at me. "I'm trying to be serious. Yeah, I was trying to get you to give up on being a hero because I didn't want to see you get hurt, but that doesn't excuse how much of a fucking asshole I was about it!" He slammed his fist into the sand. "I just... I just got so angry when I thought about you getting hurt doin' shit like that, and I took it out on you. That was shitty of me, Izuku." He sighed. "I must be the fucking worst at being a hero."

"It's okay, Kacchan," I told him. "Yeah, it sucked, and yeah, nothing will change the fact that you did it, but at least now we can move forward and work on our problems together." I smiled at him. "Also, I'm pretty sure that the title of 'The Fucking Worst at Being a Hero' goes to Endeavor."

Kacchan cackled at that. "Fucking good one, De-Izuku. I needed to hear that."

"You can call me 'Deku' if you want to, Kacchan," I offered. "I don't mind. The name's actually kinda grown on me."

"Whatever you say, Deku." He got up and did a few stretches. "Now let's blow some of this junk up!" He punctuated his statement with a blast of his Quirk.

"Actually," I said as I got up, "I had an idea that I want to test out." I held out my hand and concentrated. If I could make a shield out of mana, then why couldn't I make a sword? The mana built up and solidified, forming a katana made of blue mana.

Bound Blade (Active) LV1 EXP 0.00% MP 50

Weaponry is certainly useful, but may not always be readily available. This skill allows the user to forge weapons from their own mana. This skill can only be used by those with excellent control over their mana.

Extra 50 MP used per minute per weapon.

Max number of weapons: 1

"Did you just make a sword out of mana, Deku?" Kacchan asked. "That's pretty fucking badass."

I nodded, then concentrated on the sword. "Maybe I could add elemental mana to it..." I muttered. I turned my Air Aura on, then made it extend to my sword.

Elemental Weaponry (Active) LV1 EXP 0.00% MP 50

The body is not the only thing that can be empowered by the elements. This skill allows the user to give the armaments they wield the power of the elements.

Additional 50 MP used per minute.

Air Aura: Increases cutting power by 30%, increases attack speed by 30%, allows user to generate wind from weapons as with Air Aura.

Earth Aura: Increases striking power by 30%, increases shock absorption by 30%, allows user to generate shockwaves from weapons as with Earth Aura.

I sped towards a nearby fridge and cut through it like it was made of butter. Two pop-ups told me that I'd gotten the skills Sword Mastery and Power Strike. "FUCK YEAH!" Kacchan yelled. "That's the sort of shit that makes me regret ever thinking you couldn't be a hero, Deku!"

I smiled. "Thanks, Kacchan. If you want, I could try teaching you some of my spells and see how good you are at them." The massive grin he gave was all I needed to know that he'd take me up on that offer.

xoxoxo

A/N: I feel like this might be obvious, but I really like element-based powers. To those of you who are wondering, the reason why Bakugou isn't being a total douche to Midoriya is because he didn't feel like Midoriya was lying about his Quirk. In canon, it was just dropped on him that Midoriya had a Quirk in the middle of Aizawa's test, no explanation. This time, he heard ahead of time that Midoriya found his Quirk and that he was a late bloomer, so he didn't feel as betrayed. That, and it's already been proven that Midoriya can bring out the best in others. *Pokes Todoroki and Iida in their cheeks.* Also, I tried to cut down on the amount of skill text there was, so I only put in text that I thought was necessary. Figured you guys didn't want to have to read all of that. And I didn't feel like it.

So yeah, that. Hope you all liked this chapter!

[lickstynine]

Misadventures of Kit: Chapter Twenty-Seven

written with @ocsickficsideblog

Kit and Siofra couldn’t have had more different methods of getting ready for a party. Back at her own flat, Siofra was wrapped in a towel, blow-drying her curls and digging through bathroom drawers in search of her red lipstick. Meanwhile, Kit was in his bathrobe, neurotically running a lint roller over his pressed suit for the tenth time.

He had showered this morning, spending nearly two hours washing, conditioning, and drying his own hair. Now it was carefully pinned up, safe and out of the way while he buttoned up his dress shirt. Along with the collar pins, he’d found rose gold cufflinks, clicking them onto his wrists and adding a sleek red vest and tie over his shirt.

“Al, are my pins even?” Kit asked, as if he hadn’t meticulously eyed each side of the collar, checking ten times before daring to poke through the fabric.

“Yes. For the millionth time,” Alistair said. He was the calmest of the lot, lounging back on the bed in his suit, jacket open, tie hanging loose. He’d never actually learned how to tie them properly, which was strange since he’d gone to a boarding school for six years where a tie was part of the uniform. He’d actually brushed his hair behind his ears for Kit’s sake, but it was already starting to wisp out around his face and stick upright again.

Once his own suit and tie were in place, Kit gestured for Alistair to come over, grabbing a dollop of pomade on his fingers to slick down the flyaways in Alistair’s messy mane. “Why don’t you just use product to keep it in place normally?” He asked, letting down his own hair to brush it again.

“Gross, don’t use that shit in my hair! Ugh, I hate pomade! And who even uses pomade anymore? Except octogenarians,” Alistair cried, his nose curling with disgust. He pulled a face at his reflection in the mirror. “I don’t even look like Alistair Renfrew anymore.”

“No, you look like an actual civilized human.” Kit replied, “And I would’ve had to wet your hair for gel to work well.” He just shook his head dismissively, sweeping his hair back to put in all his earrings.

“I hate hair gel. It’s sticky and cold and feels disgusting.”

Kit groaned in frustration. “I cannot deal with this today. Just shower as soon as we get back, if you hate it so much.” He leaned in closer to the mirror, dabbing concealer under his eyes, since they seemed to be perpetually shadowed these days. “I got a new burgundy mascara, but I’m a bit nervous to try it. Do you think it would look alright?”

“Of course it will. I’ll put it on you if you want. You’re shaking, Kit.”

“I'm not trying to!” Kit groaned. He handed the mascara tube to Alistair.

“I know, I wasn’t getting at you.” Alistair paused, going over to his cousin and wrapping his arms around him. “It’ll be okay.”

“Or it won't. What if Siofra and Father don't get along? What if I piss off both of them?” Kit fussed, twisting each ring as he put them on.

“Well, Siofra probably won’t get on with your father, but she knows from you not to stir up trouble. Siofra seems to like you, and besides, I’ve pissed her off and she forgave me. And your dad...just stay out of his way as much as possible,” Alistair said.

Kit nodded. “I want to go home. I like being home. I just… I can't be home when he's there, and it's stupid and I'm stupid and I hate it.” He continued to shake as he brushed over his hair one last time, spraying it in place. “Okay, we…We need to go. We have to pick up Siofra.”

Alistair sighed, wrapping an arm around Kit. “Come on then. I’ll look after you.”

Kit nodded, allowing Alistair to layer his coats over his suit before they left. He still shivered in the stairwell, pressing against the heated leather seats as soon as they got in Taddy's car.

“Evening, sirs.”

“Hey, Taddy,” Alistair said, not at all formal. He’d given up on telling Taddy not to call him sir - it was just a habit - but he was going to make it clear he didn’t have any airs and graces.

“We're off to pick up Miss Siofra now, yes?”

“Yeah.” Kit mumbled, though he didn't sound excited. As the car took off, he swallowed nervously, clutching Alistair's hand. Alistair squeezed Kit’s back, sitting close beside him protectively. When they pulled up outside, Kit texted Siofra, and she bustled out looking like a buff ginger Cinderella.

The dress really did look splendid on her, and she and Kit had found some red opera-length gloves, as well as a red and rose gold Louboutin clutch. The outfit was impeccable, head to toe, and her curls were smoother and glossier than ever, with an elaborate braid woven into some of the upper strands, collecting in a rose-shaped bun. Kit forced a smile as she climbed into the car.

“You look stunning.”

“You look terrified.” She replied. “You gonna be okay?”

Kit nodded, swallowing nervously. “I'll be fine after a glass or two of wine.”

“Didja eat at least?” Siofra eyed him worriedly. She didn't want to him drinking on an empty stomach.

Kit just nodded, deliberately leaving out the information that he puked his nervous guts up in the shower.

“You scrub up pretty nice, Siofra,” Alistair said, raising his eyebrows.

“And you figured out how to use a hairbrush.” She grinned.

“Kit did my hair.”

“That explains it.” Siofra laughed. “You actually look like an adult, it's fuckin’ weird.”

“So what do I normally look like?” Alistair asked.

“A high schooler that writes depressing poetry in a black notebook.”

“That’s more Jasper’s thing. I sketched depressing things in my black notebook.”

Siofra rolled her eyes. “Congratulations, you're special.” Taddy snickered from up front.

“That’s what they called the special needs kids,” Alistair said. “I used to have to go once a week to work on my shitty spelling. They all seemed baffled when I didn’t score very highly on the dyslexia test. Guess I just can’t fucking spell.”

Siofra snorted. “You're literally a professional idiot.”

“Then I should be as rich as Kit, because I’m doing an amazing fucking job of it.”

That actually got a weak laugh out of the older boy, and Siofra grinned. “Hey! You woke the dead.”

Alistair smiled a bit, wrapping his arm around Kit. “Help me protect him tonight, Siofra. He won’t be able to dance much without rests in between, but the girls love him.”

“He's got a fuckin’ date, they can dance with someone else!” Siofra huffed dramatically.

“It’s not really like that, you generally dance with lots of people. You just dance with the girl you brought the most,” Alistair said. “It’s like fucking Pride and Prejudice, trust me.”

Siofra scrunched her nose. “I'm not dancing with any skeevy older blokes.”

“There’ll be lots. I used to try to get Kit to join in counting the inappropriate ass-pats but he never did.”

“I'll break their fuckin’ fingers. Or just step on their feet. These heels are metal.” Siofra smirked.

Alistair grinned too. “Please do. That’ll provide the entertainment.”

Kit sighed. “If you could both not start a riot tonight, that'd be delightful.”

“I said I’d be good,” Alistair said.

“Mm.” Kit didn't seem reassured, and as the houses outside the window started getting nicer, he shifted nervously. Alistair wrapped an arm around him.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

“Mm.” Kit nodded, but when the car stopped, he didn't move to get out. Meanwhile, Siofra had climbed out, and she was gawking at the towering red-brick building, every floor glittering with Christmas lights.

“Fuckin’ hell! You said you lived in a manor, not a bleedin’ castle!”

“It's a manor.” Kit mumbled, still sunken into the leather seat.

“Castles are older,” Alistair said. “It’s just a big ass house.”

“Jaysus…” Siofra shook her head, then turned to tug on Kit's arm. “Oi. If we go in without you, we're gonna get booted right back out.”

Kit sighed, allowing her to pull him out of the car. His legs wobbled as he walked up the drive, and he hesitated to knock. Siofra banged on the door before he could run, and a servant girl let them in with a warm smile.

“Evening, Master Kit. It's good to see you.”

“You, too.” Kit mumbled. He shed his coats and handed them to her; Siofra did the same with her shimmery gold shawl. Alistair sighed but handed her his coat too, pulling a face. She smiled and carried their coats away. Kit shifted nervously on his feet, afraid to enter the ballroom. Alistair pressed close to his side protectively.

“Come on, no point hovering here getting more and more worried.”

Kit nodded, but his shoes dragged on the rug as he shuffled along. He again hesitated at the doors, but Siofra yanked them open. The ballroom was grand as ever, with a towering tree nearly touching the vaulted ceiling. There were lights and garlands on the walls, as well as live music and a massive spread of refreshments.

Alistair glanced around disdainfully. “Look at all this, Siofra. Do you think Reggie gives anything to any sort of charity?”

“Don't all rich old wankers donate? Just to look good or whatever?” she asked.

“Not the ones who were born into money. They don’t need public opinion on their side. My parents have to donate, because they want to sell their shit.”

“Slimy old cunts.” Siofra mumbled. Kit tried to slip away to the bar, but she grabbed his arm. “Come on, don't we have someone to see?”

“Don't remind me.” Kit groaned. He only had to look around for a moment to spot his father. Even in a room full of big heels and elaborate updos, Reggie towered over most of the crowd. He was standing by the snacks, chatting with a man about the same age who Kit recognized but couldn't have named to save his life. “Well, he's busy right now. We can see him later.”

“Oh, stuff it. You're going to say that all night.” Siofra tugged Kit through the crowd, towards the party's host. Alistair trailed along behind them, trying not to look like he loathed his uncle and everything he stood for. It was hard to ignore the beacon of red and gold that was Siofra, and Reggie turned to look at her before even noticing who she was with.

“Christian.” Reginald quickly smoothed out his face, trying to act like he hadn’t been staring at his son’s date’s cleavage. “Who is this with you?”

Kit was shaking where he stood, but he managed to keep his voice even when he spoke. “This is Siofra. I’ve been seeing her for about a month now.”

She lifted her skirt in a slight curtsey. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Reggie nodded, the gears in his brain turning in slow motion. “Siofra… what is that, Irish?”

“Yes, sir.” Siofra nodded. “Born and raised. I moved here for university.”

“Oh, you’re educated?” Reggie seemed surprised, as if it were 1953 and not 2018.

“Yes, sir. I have a bachelor’s in Music Theory and Composition.”

“You play any instruments?” Reggie asked.

“Violin, mostly, but I can do basics on piano and guitar.” Siofra said. Unlike Kit, she wasn’t at all intimidated, and she talked easily, answering more of Reginald’s questions and telling him about the orchestra her father played in. “They came through London recently, you might have seen them?”

Reggie nodded, though he had no idea whether he’d actually gone. “Yes, I think I did. Have you gotten anything to drink?”

“Not yet, we just came in.”

“Go find something you like. We have quite the selection.” Reggie told her. Siofra didn’t hesitate - free booze was great, free expensive booze was even better. Kit spun around to follow after her, but before he could take a step, a powerful hand latched onto his shoulder. “Not so fast, boy.”

Kit felt his heart stop in his chest. He took a shuddering breath, slowly turning to face Reggie again. To his shock and confusion, the older man was grinning.

“That’s a nice broad you’ve found there. Smart, cultured, great tits. I doubt you’ll be able to, but try to keep this one. She’s worlds better than the peasant faggot you had before.”

It was all Kit could do to nod, and he bolted for the drink table as soon as Reginald let go of him. A thousand confused thoughts were clamoring in his head, and he didn’t feel like listening to any of them. He nearly ran into a waiter, apologizing profusely and snatching a glass of champagne from the man’s tray. “Thank you.”

“Of course, sir.” The waiter walked off, and Kit emptied the flute in a single gulp, shuffling over to see Siofra, who was sipping a glass of whiskey and stacking hors d'oeuvres on a plate.

Alistair had been completely ignored, as usual. He was desperate to comment and start an argument with his uncle - but he’d promised Kit he’d behave. He contented himself with scowling as fiercely as he could at Reggie instead. Siofra patted Kit’s shoulder, offering him a snack cake.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Kit just shook his head, nudging the plate away and begging a waiter for more champagne. Alistair stomped over to them, still glowering. “God, I wish I could smack him one.”

“Did you talk to him?” Kit asked, gesturing for the waiter to stay.

“No. I wanted to tell him off. It was actually a real struggle to keep quiet and not start a row. I may have a problem.”

“May?” Siofra smirked.

“Shut up. You made a good impression. He liked your tits. Welcome to the family,” Alistair said dryly.

Siofra snorted. “Yeah, right charming bastard he is.”

“Isn’t he just? I didn’t even get a hello.”

“I don’t think he even saw you. He was too busy staring at Siofra’s chest.” Kit mumbled.

“Gross… She’s young enough to be his daughter.” Alistair paused. “I think…”

“How old d’you think I am?” Siofra cried.

“I dunno. Older than Kit.”

Siofra rolled her eyes. “Truly a professional idiot.”

Kit chuckled into his champagne, holding his flute out yet again for the waiter.

“Kit, slow down,” Alistair said. “Eat some bread or something.”

“I don't want to eat. I want to be drunk.” Kit argued, swiftly emptying his glass again.

“That won’t go down well.”

Kit rolled his eyes. “I’m not doing shots, it’s bloody champagne. I’ll be lucky if I’m buzzed before midnight.”

“Midnight? We're stayin’ that late?” Siofra asked.

“They’ll want Kit to stay for the long haul,” Alistair said. “Once when we were really little, nobody actually took us to bed. Kit’s mum found us at two in the morning asleep behind the curtains.”

“Oh… shit.” Siofra pulled out her clutch to check the time on her phone.

Kit frowned. “Are you that ready to leave?”

“No, I don’t hate it here. I just… I have to leave tonight.”

“Well, it might be late, but we won’t spend the night here.” Kit reassured her.

Siofra shook her head. “No, not leave the party. Leave the country. It’s an eight hour drive to Dublin, and I have to be at my gran’s for Christmas. Normally, we’d’ve left by now, but the lads agreed to wait for me.”

Kit looked horrified. “I wouldn’t have invited you if I’d known you were busy!”

“I coulda said no.” Siofra replied, struggling to type through her gloves. “I wanted to come, I just didn’t schedule it that well. Just lemme shoot my brothers a text.”

“You can go early. I’ll look after Kit,” Alistair said.

“I feel bad leavin’ ya here…” Siofra sighed. “Especially when your family is such a gaggle’o wankers.”

Alistair snorted at the phrasing. “We’re used to that.” Kit nodded in concession, though he didn’t look very happy. Siofra glanced back at her phone, seeming surprised by the answer on the screen.

“You two wanna come with me?”

Kit went from reluctant to baffled in the blink of an eye. “Excuse me?”

Siofra sipped nonchalantly at her drink. “I texted the family groupchat, told ‘em I’d be leavin’ late since I’m out with a guy I’m seein’. Dad said ‘Bring ‘im with, if he’s so important.’ So I’m askin’. You lads wanna come to Christmas with me?”

Alistair glanced at Kit. “Jules is going to that crazy grandma’s house with his family. He wouldn’t mind if I went with you.”

Kit looked completely stunned by the idea. “I've never been to a family Christmas before.” He obviously didn't consider the ball a family event, even if the Raycraft name was plastered on every invitation in gold leaf. “Do you want me to go?” He asked Siofra.

“Obviously, stupid.” She nudged his shoulder. “I wouldn't have said anything if I didn't.”

Kit turned back to his cousin, trying to pawn the decision off on literally anyone else. “Al? Do you want to go?”

“Maybe she didn’t mean I could come too,” Alistair said, glancing at her.

“No, I said you lads. Plural. I know your clingy arse is gonna follow Kit if he comes long.” Siofra smirked.

Alistair poked his tongue out at her. “Okay then. We’ll come.”

“I'll tell Riagán to make sure there's room in the car.” Siofra picked up her phone again.

Kit fished in his pockets for his own phone. “If you're going to be kind enough to have us, I can at least have Taddy drive us.”

“Is there room for all of us in his bougie little sedan?” Siofra asked.

“We have other vehicles.” Kit shrugged. “I'll send Taddy to get Al's and my things from the flat, then he can go help your brothers pack their things.”

“Damn… and suddenly I'm back to not feelin’ like the generous one.” Siofra mumbled.

“Please allow it. It's my only good quality.” Kit said, not looking up from his phone.

“You’ve got plenty of good qualities,” Alistair argued.

“My looks don't count.” Kit deadpanned.

“You're a pretty good shag.” Siofra offered.

“You’re no help, Siofra,” Alistair said.

She huffed and took a bite of a tiny cake. “I listed an example. What did you do?”

“I could list a hundred things.”

“You can count to a hundred?” Siofra feigned surprise.

Kit tried not to snicker. “Please bicker later. I need you two to protect me. Proper dancing will start any minute now.” He sucked down another flute of champagne in preparation.

“Then it’d be better if you could stand upright, you lush. Stop drinking,” Alistair said.

Kit rolled his eyes. “Way to make a boring party worse.”

“Hey, you’ll thank me when you don’t puke down the front of some poor girl’s dress.”

“That's more your wheelhouse, isn't it?”

Kit didn't get his question answered, as that was the moment the music picked up and guests swarmed the dancefloor. Siofra practically carried him along, doing her best to dance the girl's part while both holding Kit's weight and towering over him in her heels. Alistair paired up with some little sister who didn’t want to dance seriously either, and they twirled about on their own in the corner.

Kit rolled his eyes when he caught sight of his cousin. “He's always been like that.”

“An idiot?” Siofra asked.

“Well, yes, but I was going to say unique. He does what he wants no matter what, and he's proud of it. I've never had the courage to be like that.” Kit sighed.

Siofra shrugged. “Everybody has their faults. You're still the smart one. And the pretty one. And the charming one. And the rich one.”

Now Kit couldn't help smiling. “You really know how to stroke my ego.”

“And I can flatter ya, too.” Siofra grinned.

Kit scoffed, but he was grinning too. “You're filthy.”

“And you like it.”

Kit didn't argue with that, chuckling and pulling closer to Siofra as they drifted across the dance floor. As the song drew to a close, though, he felt a flutter of dread. Siofra gave his hand a reassuring squeeze as she let him go. “I'll be back for ya.” She promised, spinning around to find a swarm of older men vying eagerly for her hand.

Alistair wanted to go rescue Kit, but in the flurry of partner-swapping he was pushed towards a girl about his own age with a very long nose that she looked down in disgust. She clearly knew who Alistair was, because she scowled fiercely as she was prodded into asking him for the next dance, and took his hands gingerly, as if she thought he had fleas. Alistair caught Kit’s eye over his shoulder and pulled a hideous face.

Kit made a distressed face back. Not because his girl was hideous, but because she was athletic, and unlike Siofra, this stranger expected him to hold his own, spinning and sashaying in time with the upbeat music.

Alistair tried to watch him as they danced, not paying attention properly to his own partner. When he’d learned to ballroom dance at boarding school, there’d been no girls, and Alistair was usually paired with a tall boy to dance the female part. If he didn’t focus properly he was liable to start letting his partner lead him, and he soon stepped wrong and collided with the girl, both of them stumbling.

The girl fell on her hands and knees, scowling at him. “Oaf! What are you doing?”

“I haven’t done this in a while, okay?” Alistair hissed, blushing. He’d been about to help her up but now he just folded his arms.

“Clearly. This is why people talk about you.” She grumbled, climbing to her feet and smoothing her dress.

“Yeah, not really. You’re fine anyway.”

“No thanks to you.” She scowled. The music died down and she hurried away, while Kit and Siofra once again fought off a swarm of new partners.

The little sister came back to Alistair, dragging him off to a corner again. “Nice one.”

“Shut up,” Alistair said, grinning and peering through the crowd to make sure Kit wasn’t about to collapse. The older boy was too far away to see, save for the occasional flicker of red hair. He was surviving for now, but starting to get winded. Alistair couldn’t exactly yell for him across the hall - not when he’d promised Kit he’d behave - so he just sighed and hoped Siofra was taking care of him.

The next dance was a slow one, which gave Kit a chance to breathe, but three minutes’ reprieve was quickly wasted when the music picked back up. He started stumbling later in the dance, and the girl with him looked annoyed.

“Sorry. Sorry. I'm just a bit tired,” he mumbled, “Getting over a cold.”

The girl's face softened a bit, and she slowed her pace. Kit smiled gratefully, and they spun across the floor. His next partner wasn't quite as gentle, and within a few songs, he was stumbling and wheezing again. Siofra watched with worried eyes, trying to break through the crowd of thirsty men to rejoin him. When she tried to get close, another girl was reaching for Kit, but she shamelessly hip-checked the stranger away.

“Oi! That's my date. Get your own.”

Alistair snorted from behind her, and the crowd of children he was goofing around with all giggled too. Kit mouthed an apology to the girl, but he was secretly quite grateful, nearly collapsing in Siofra's arms. She caught him easily, but looked quite worried. “Jeez. You really need a lie-down.”

“This is exhausting.” Kit groaned.

“I know. Would ya get in trouble for sittin’ down a few minutes?”

Kit sucked his teeth. “Maybe?”

“Sit down, Kit. Fainting will get you in more trouble,” Alistair said.

“I suppose you’re right.” Kit sighed, letting Siofra drag him over to an empty chair. He sunk down at once, his legs limp as overcooked pasta and his lungs burning. “Oh, god, I don’t know how I survived this long. I feel like I’m dying.”

Siofra rolled her eyes. “Easy there, drama queen. Have some water, maybe actually eat somethin’. You’ll be alright.” She fanned him with her clutch, half to match his dramatic nature, and half because he actually looked close to fainting.

“Just have some bread or something. Even you can’t throw that up,” Alistair said.

Kit just nodded, looking at Alistair hopefully. “Can you bring some?”

“I guess,” he said grudgingly, weaving his way through the crowds to the food. It was mostly occupied by bored, hungry kids and those too old to dance. A tiny lady who looked old enough to be his great-grandmother gave him a crinkly smile, croaking at him about how handsome he was. Alistair was pretty confused, but it made a change from everyone saying he was a disappointment, so he smiled back. She patted his arm, sticking a cupcake on his plate and shuffling away.

Alistair took some of the fancy bread rolls to Kit, still looking confused. “Who’s that old woman, Kit?” He pointed her out through the crowd.

Kit squinted across the room, mumbling about needing new glasses. “Why are you asking me for someone’s name? I know she’s the wife of a Lord, so just look for Moses’ older brother and that’s probably who she’s here with.” He picked apart a roll, taking a tiny bite of one of the flakey corners. Siofra offered him a water she’d snatched from a passing waiter, and he sipped gratefully.

“Well she was actually nice to me. It was weird. Maybe she’s looking for healthy young organs.”

“Probably just senile.” Siofra shrugged. Kit chuckled into his water.

“Thanks a bunch,” Alistair said. “She said I look handsome.” He stuck his tongue out at Siofra.

“Definitely senile.” She grinned.

“Funny. You’ve done well tonight. Plenty of guys buzzing round you.”

“I wish most’o those creepy old bastards would piss off. I ain’t had my arse grabbed that many times in a skeevy pub.” Siofra grumbled.

“Told you,” Alistair mumbled.

“Sorry.” Kit sighed, picking at his bread.

Siofra rolled her eyes. “I ain’t really bothered. Just wish I could slap the fuckers like I do at the pub.”

“I’ll tell you from experience that it doesn’t go down too well if you do that,” Alistair said.

“Yeah, I figured.” Siofra scowled. She could see guys drifting towards her as the song playing drew to an end, and she made a point to sit down next to Kit with her back to them.

Alistair smirked. “God, his face was priceless then, Siofra.”

She grinned back. “Good, it can be priceless somewhere else. I gotta take care’o my princess.” She reached over and stole a piece of Kit’s roll, since he was tearing it apart more than eating it.

“Kit, eat some of that. Don’t let Miss Gannet eat it.”

“Oi! I’m not the one whose fat arse left for bread and came back with cake.” Siofra huffed.

Kit picked up one of the tiny morsels of roll, chewing slowly as if he needed to make it last.

“The woman gave me cake,” Alistair retorted.

“Probably cause your fat arse looked hungry.”

“Well I am. I’m eating one cupcake, Mother.”

“Don’t call me that unless ya want me to whoop your arse.” Siofra smirked.

“We can provide the entertainment.”

Siofra just rolled her eyes, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and sucking it down. “Come on, lads, we can’t hide at the table all night.” She stood back up and offered a hand to Kit. He sighed, not excited to dance again, but knowing she was right.

“Be careful with him,” Alistair said.

“I will. I’m keepin’ ‘im to myself this time. Those other whores had their chance.” Siofra scooped Kit up as easily as a child would lift a doll, twirling back onto the dance floor.

The rest of the night passed in relative peace, though Kit was nearly comatose with exhaustion by the time the clock struck midnight. Guests toasted and cheered, and he stumbled around on Siofra’s arm wishing everyone merry Christmas and farewell. They didn’t have to bother saying goodbye to Reggie - by now, he was so plastered, the Queen herself could’ve sung him a carol and he wouldn’t have remembered in the morning.

Though she’d had more to drink than her beau, Siofra was still quite steady on her feet, practically carrying the tired and tipsy Kit back to the front door. Alistair had only sipped one glass, so he held Kit by his other arm. The servant girl from earlier came bustling out with their coats, and Siofra made sure to bundle Kit up before they stepped outside. Taddy was loyally waiting in the drive, but today, he was sitting in the driver’s seat of a sleek black Volvo rather than his usual Bentley. The SUV had been packed to the brim with luggage (mostly Kit’s, along with a bag or two from everyone else), and the middle row seats were occupied by Riagán, Cillian, and Finny.

“Oi! Master Scrooge! Ready to attend the Cratchit family Christmas?” Riagán yelled out the window, grinning. Cillian was half asleep beside him, but Finny leaned out the window as well, barking happily.

Kit forced a weak laugh, but he just wanted to get into the car and fall asleep. The brothers scrambled out, allowing Siofra to climb into the back and trade her dress for a t-shirt and pyjama pants. She looked at Kit, “You gonna change before we get on the road?”

“Hm?” Kit had been dozing off on Alistair’s shoulder. Siofra just pulled him inside, deciding it would be easier to strip and redress him herself. Once he was bundled into pyjamas and a robe, Siofra buckled him into the middle row and climbed back out to gather her dog.

Alistair managed to dress himself, tugging Kit’s robe tighter around his shoulders. “Are you warm enough?”

Kit nodded, already nestling down in his heated seat. Now that he was back in the car, Finny was practically tackling Alistair, barking and wagging his tail. Siofra chuckled. “Sorry, he’s gonna be in the back with Cilli.”

Alistair squealed and embraced Finny’s furry neck. “Hello, Finny!” The dog licked his face, climbing into Alistair’s lap. Riagán had settled into the front seat (seeing as he was 5+ inches taller than everyone else, it was only fair), and Cillian in the far back. Siofra plopped down on the other side of Kit, rolling her eyes.

“I guess Fin can just sit at our feet.”

“Just as a warning, I haven’t got any travel tablets so I’m gonna puke at some point,” Alistair said, his voice muffled under a ton of dog. Siofra groaned in exasperation.

“You underestimate me, sir.” Taddy winked at the pile of fur covering Alistair. “Check the console.”

“God bless.” Siofra sighed in relief.

“Thanks, Taddy,” Alistair called. He knew Taddy had mopped his puke off the seats enough times to come prepared.

“Of course, sir. There should be water bottles in the cooler in the back.”

By the time they had left London, Kit was snoring away. Siofra had pulled out a spiral notebook, where she was scribbling notes and lyrics as they came to mind. Finny had settled on the floor of the middle row, his head on Alistair’s feet and his ass on Siofra’s; Kit would’ve complained about being a dog footrest, but he was too asleep to care. Despite his older brother belting along to the radio, Cillian was starting to doze off as well. Alistair doodled idly in his notebook, mostly little cartoons; he couldn’t focus on detailed art in the car, the looking down would make him queasy even with the pills.

Siofra leaned over Kit to peer at Alistair’s doodles. “Whatcha drawin’?”

“You’ll think it’s weird.”

She scoffed. “I always think you’re weird, just show me.”

He’d done a little doodle of Kit and Siofra in their party outfits, but their arms and legs and hair dripped with honey, while the old guys and women around them had little round wings and fuzzy bumblebee bodies. Siofra snorted.

“That’s great. You should make t-shirts or comics or somethin’.”

“I’d like to make comics. Never thought of t-shirts. That’d be even better.”

“Definitely make more money with shirts.” Siofra sat back in her own seat as she remembered she was squashing Kit. “You gonna nap soon?” She asked, stretching and yawning.

“Probably. I’m knackered.” He sighed. “Thanks for taking care of Kit tonight.”

Siofra shrugged. “I don’t mind. Besides, ‘e shelled out a couple thousand quid for my outfit. I’d be a bit’o a bitch if I didn’t at least defend ‘im from thirsty hags.”

“Money like that isn’t important to him. What he needs is someone who really cares. Besides me, ‘cause I’m always on the border of pissing him off.”

“Oh, I know. Don’t think I forgot the mall.” Siofra smirked.

Alistair grimaced. “I hate fighting with him.”

“I mean, he’s pretty fussy. It’s bound to happen, ain’t it?” She asked.

“Still. I can’t stand it.”

Siofra rolled her eyes. “That’s how family is. Ya love ‘em all the time, but ya don’t like ‘em all the time. If ya get along with somebody every minute’o every day, one or both o’ ya are fuckin’ mental.”

Alistair snorted. “Fair enough. I don’t know, I think I’m just sensitive to fights after growing up in our family.”

I think you’re both sensitive to everything, Siofra wanted to say. Instead she just nodded, reaching up to smack Riagán with her notebook. “Oi! X Factor! Stuff it! I wanna sleep.” He flipped her off, but quieted down nonetheless. Alistair stuffed his own notebook in his pocket, leaning on the window to sleep.

[sapphicscholar]

November 2024

“And CNN can now project that former Governor Catherine Grant will become the President Elect of the United States. By our estimates, she now has more than enough votes to become the 47th president, the country’s second female president, and the first out LGBTQ president. Folks, this is a historic moment.”

The rest of the commentator’s words were drowned out in a roar of cheering as Cat strode out on stage in front of a room packed full of her supporters. Miniature American flags waved in outstretched hands. Red, white, and blue balloons bobbed through the air above them and fell, scattering across the stage. And rainbow confetti—the one “fun” choice Cat had allowed Kara—floated down from the ceiling. Cat kept one hand on Carter’s arm, her other hand clutched in Kara’s, her fingers trembling slightly, still not quite sure whether she could believe the results. After all, it had only been four years ago when she had walked out on stage to give a rather different speech after a long night of contested results and too-close-to-call-it-yet moments that finally ended after 4 in the morning with a slightly uncertain calling of the election for General Lane.

“It’s real,” Kara murmured, and Cat squeezed her hand just a little harder at the reminder that Kara had always been the one to know exactly what she needed to hear. With a quick peck for Kara and a tight hug for Carter, Cat strode forward to the podium, waving at the crowds and calling out her thanks until the tumultuous applause finally died down. She smiled as it quieted, adjusting the microphone and glancing down at the speech she had prepared, hoping but not quite believing she would have reason for it this time.

“Thank you!” Cat shook her head the slightest amount, still wondering if perhaps it was all some dream she would wake up from, finding the election night still to come. “Thank you all for your support and your donations and your hours and hours of tireless campaigning. And now—now we’re here.”

Kara threw an arm around Carter’s shoulders as they watched and listened from the wings, cheering and laughing and clapping at the lines they had listened to Cat practice the night before. “She’s pretty great, huh?” Kara whispered, earning a low chuckle from Carter.

“Think I can get off work tomorrow since my mom’s president and all?”

Kara shrugged her shoulders. “I’m calling off work tomorrow with a case of First-Lady-itis.”

With a snort, Carter shook his head. “You’re the boss. Of course you can call out.”

Not that Kara took off many days. Or any days, really. After the last campaign ended, she had turned down several offers to return to the Senate as a chief of staff or to manage another campaign. The work with Cat had been enjoyable and meaningful, but after watching and living through the dirty smear campaigns and invasive personal attacks, Kara decided she needed to step back and return to the kind of work that had inspired her to turn to politics in the first place. After a year as a senior researcher at one of DC’s progressive think tanks, Kara had applied for grants and gotten seed money from L-Corp’s philanthropic arm to found an NGO dedicated to advancing alien rights and promoting interspecies dialogue—something she saw an increasingly urgent need for in the face of the Lane administration’s attempts to roll back protective measures like the Alien Amnesty Act. But now the country seemed ready to arc back toward justice, and Kara knew, no matter how late they were out that night, she would head into the office for at least an hour or two the next day to be sure they had put out a statement about Cat’s victory.

By the time Cat finished with the speech and started working her way through seemingly countless interviews with the press, most people finally headed home, leaving the large venue quiet after a night of nervous chatter and raucous applause. At a certain point, Carter snuck in for a hug and yet another congratulations while Cat was between interviews, excusing himself to get a nap in before he had to fly back to the West coast.

James likewise caught an early flight back to California after Cat sent him off with a teasing admonishment to “keep my legacy alive, Jimmy.” Even with assurances that he had CatCo’s best reporters on it and had vetted the proofs of the front page himself, James still ended up heading back out, sighing about how the work of a CEO was never done.

Around the time the sun was beginning to rise, bathing the city in a soft pink light, Kara found a very drunk Alex and an only marginally more sober Maggie making out behind the bar and celebrating the return of a liberal to the White House. After taking a few photos for posterity’s sake, Kara shuffled them outside and instructed two of the hired security guards to take them back to their house, leaving them both with stern reminders to drink plenty of water.

“Can you take us to Shake Shack?” Alex slurred as she flopped into the back seat behind Maggie. “They got great fries. Maggie likes fries. Didja know that? Veg’tarians can have fries at burger places.”

“We’ll get you fries at some point today,” Kara promised as she shut the door behind Alex, rolling her eyes as Maggie dropped her head into Alex’s lap, already half asleep.

While Kara waited for Cat to finish her final interviews, she scrolled through her texts and emails, smiling at all the happy messages waiting for her from Eliza, who promised that she had been watching live from the Grant campaign headquarters in California, and Winn, who included several photos of Americans following the coverage in Germany with the caption: “SO PROUD OF YOU!! Time to go: they’re buying shots. Gonna be so hungover for day 3 of the conference…”

Kara’s phone rang with a call from Lucy and Vasquez as Cat sat down with the last of the interviews that Jasmine had arranged. With a little wave to Cat, Kara gestured at her phone and the back corner of the room before wandering away from the cameras to take it. As she slid her finger across the screen, she couldn’t help the excited squeal. “Good news?”

“Double good news!” Vasquez cheered. “Don’t think we didn’t watch the coverage just because we couldn’t be there in person.”

“Little asshole had to choose the most inconvenient time to arrive,” Lucy grumbled in the background, earning a loud bark of laughter from Vasquez.

“Don’t mind her. She’s still a little grumpy from the 18 hours of labor.”

“‘A little grumpy?’” Kara had to hold the phone away from her face as Lucy yelled. “You try shoving a 7-pound lump out of your—”

“Congratulations!” Kara cut in.

“Thank you!” they both called back, and Kara had to chuckle at the dramatic shift in tone.

“Got a name?”

“Nope.”

“He’s baby X for now.”

“And he’s really fucking cute.”

“Okay, well, he’s kinda weird-looking, but they promise that he’ll be looking a little less alien in a couple of days. No offense, Kara.”

“None taken. I guess.”

“He’s so little. Did you know how little they are?”

“But he’s got, like, these itty-bitty fingernails and everything. Like…he’s a full human, only miniature.”

“But with big blue eyes. I don’t think they’ll stay blue, but they’re beautiful for now.”

“And so much hair. I kinda hope it falls out…might be nice to start again without a big shaggy mop of it.”

“They said it would.”

Kara snorted at the back-and-forth, wondering how long the two of them had been awake at that point. “I think Cat’s wrapping up, so I should probably go, but congratulations again!”

“Congrats to Cat too!” Vasquez cheered.

“Yes! About damn time.”

“Hopefully we’ll make it out to see the baby in the next couple of days, if you don’t mind a big team of security stalking out the perimeter of your house.”

“Go for it. And you know, if they want to take out the trash or pick up some diapers while they’re at it, I hear we’re gonna want all the extra help we can get.”

“Well I’m sure baby X’s godmothers will be more than happy to babysit once they’ve recovered from their collective hangover from hell,” Kara snickered.

“That bad?”

“Oh, I took pictures. Don’t worry.”

Lucy let out a little hum. “Can always count on you for that.”

“I think I might save these ones for the next big birthday party, though…” Kara grinned at the thought of the sheer number of humiliating photos she had saved up for that moment. “Anyway, I’ll let you go, but have a safe trip home from the hospital and give baby X a kiss for me okay?”

“Of course!”

Once Kara hung up, she ambled back over to where Cat was gathering her things and stretching after too many hours spent standing in heels. Throwing Cat’s bag over her shoulder, Kara extended her free hand. “Can I take you home, President Grant?”

“Please.”

December 2024

“God, accounting for a security detail for the president-elect is such a pain in the ass,” Alex grumbled as she pulled out the pegs of the seating chart for what felt like the hundredth time.

Maggie laughed as she wrapped her arms around Alex’s waist and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Still better than accounting for the security detail of the actual president, isn’t it?”

“Oh yes, because bumping up the timeline for the wedding by four months was so much easier.”

“You’re the one who insisted on having Kara as your maid of honor, and you can’t just not invite her wife.”

“We should have gotten married before them.”

“Please, you had so much fun giving Kara shit for U-Hauling with Cat after only a year. You wouldn’t have given that up for a slightly easier go of it ourselves.”

Alex let out a long sigh. “Maybe not.” After a moment she added, “But I still think Kara should be doing some of this work.”

“Well then tell her so over dinner.”

“Oh yeah, let’s think about how that’ll go. Hey, Kara? Be a dear. In between running an organization and preparing to move into the White House and making decisions about the inauguration and the ball, could you also figure out this seating chart?”

“You forgot to add in that we could really use the extra time for ourselves since your fiancée is kind of irresistible.”

“Mm yes. That too.” Alex’s eyes fluttered shut as Maggie kissed her softly, their hands twining together.

A knock at the door interrupted them. “Coming,” Alex called out, squeezing Maggie’s hand one last time before making her way over to the front door. She swung it open to reveal Lucy and Vasquez, both of them looking a little worn for wear. Lucy had a diaper bag slung over her shoulder, and Vasquez held an infant carseat in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other.

“Hey! Come in, come in, it’s so good to see you.”

They followed Alex inside, waving at Maggie as she rounded the corner. As Vasquez set the carseat on the ground, Lucy grimaced at the sound of a little whimper.

Alex leaned forward, unbuckling the straps and lifting the baby up, settling him into the crook of her elbow as she cooed at him. “Oh, come here, little Alex. Your godmother’s got you.”

Lucy pursed her lips and glared. “It’s A.J.”

“Mm, but I believe one of those names could be shorted to Alex. And really, I’m still so flattered that you named your son after me.”

Vasquez’s lips twitched as Lucy groaned. “It was a family name.”

“Say whatever you want to, Luce, but me and little Alex are always gonna know the truth.”

Lucy raised her eyebrows at Maggie. “She’s insufferable, you know that, right?”

“Considering we’re getting married in a couple weeks, I think I know that by now.” Maggie raised herself up to her tip-toes to kiss away the crinkle in Alex’s forehead. “But I love you more than anything.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re lucky I’m holding a baby.”

“And you’re welcome to borrow him anytime you want.”

Vasquez shook her head. “She says that now, but she’s secretly a big softie with him at home.”

Before Lucy could respond, the sound of several SUVs pulling up drew their attention outside. “Cat’s here!” Alex called out. “Maggie, can you deal with the security team?”

Eventually Cat and Kara made it inside, and after a round of passing A.J. around to everyone, Lucy got him to fall asleep in his carseat in time for dinner. When she got back, Vasquez patted the seat next to her, throwing her arm around Lucy’s shoulders and kissing her temple.  

Alex raised her glass in the air. “A toast to little Alex!”

“Also known as A.J.,” Maggie chimed in, winking at Vasquez across the table as they clinked their glasses.

“And to the soon-to-be-married couple for hosting us tonight,” Cat added, earning another round of clinking glasses.

“And, excuse me, let’s not fucking forget,” Lucy cut in, “to the next President of the United States of America.”

“Cheers!” the table chorused.

“Here’s to an overdue victory!”

“And eight long years in the White House!”

[takingtea-and-tellingtales]

thoughts while re-watching ep. 2x12 of Gotham

*ice puns intensify*

wow harvey, interrogating jim gordon at this trial is a little two-faced of you (i will never stop)

drink for “someone tries to say ‘oswald cobblepot’ and with gravitas” 

(and then drink like nine more times for the rest of the scene)

i watched a crack-vid that played “love crime” from the finale of Hannibal��over Jim and Oswald killing Galavan and now I can’t unhear it???? i also can’t find it again to leave a link here???? 

“detective, did you have anything to do with the murder of theo galavan?” “what? no. what? who’s galavan. never heard of him. is it hot in here? maybe you killed him, didja ever think of that???” BE A BETTER LIAR, JAMES

prosecutor voice: “jim gordon, is there perhaps a small shaky mobster being tortured in arkham for a crime YOU committed?” (yeah, yeah, oswald has committed upwards of 50 murders at this point i’m AWARE but he didn’t do this one)

okay, friends, let’s TALK about SOME THINGS: 

(1) I SEE YOU, JOKER-CULT SPRAY PAINT

CALLED. OUT. 

(2) This:

i should clarify. i know i’m generally very excited about pretty much everything oswald wears because he is STYLISH AF at all times. but this is different. everyone get out your shipper goggles and strap in, this is going to be a ride...

these are not oswald’s clothes. 

i know this for a few reasons

(1) oswald is a much better dresser than this

(2) oswald is a much less practical dresser than this

(3) that coat is too big for him

(i know this because @tigerinkangel and i spent way way way too long looking at the few shots of oswald in this coat in the episode and we determined that the coat is made for someone taller and with broader shoulders... gee. who was oswald just staying with who is taller and has broader shoulders? i wonder.)

these are ed’s clothes 

ed has given oswald not just a coat but THREE LAYERS OF CLOTHES so he DOESN’T GET COLD including a little checked scarf (that surely would match ed’s fab red coat from later this season) and a knitted toque (a hat for all you non-Canadians) 

this is PRECIOUS

i want you all to image how this went down:

“i have to go, ed, they’ll find me and you’ll get into trouble too”

“where will you go?”

“just lay low for a while”

“where?”

“around”

“you’re going to be cold and, frankly, recognizable in that getup” 

“i can’t exactly go back home and change now, can i?”

“well then you’ll take some of my clothes”

“your clothes?” 

“yes. i think i have some sweaters...” 

*cut of ed forcing ugly knit sweaters over oswald’s head as the grumpy little murder-bird complains the whole damn time*

*cut to ed making sure he has a walking stick because the umbrella is a dead giveaway but he needs something for his leg*

*smash-cut to me being trash. oh wait. that’s all the time.”

alright. rant kind of over for now. 

i am HERE FOR the moment in the lab where Ed has the police scanner running and he hears news of Oswald and drops the thing (tooth?) he is holding in his tweezers and stares at the radio. I AM HERE FOR IT. 

i’m slightly less here for butch’s drill-bit arm though it does give him a nice bond-villain vibe

otp: strangely enough i am kind of fond of you 

(Tabitha is me trying to flirt: “you don’t suck i guess whatever”)

come on, Mr. Fries, be cool 

chill out, Mr. Fries, no need for such a... frosty reception 

Harvey Bullock saying “you don’t deserve these lips” is now my preferred method of rejection

“froze her?” “told you it was weird” - oh my sweet summer child you don’t even KNOW how weird this is going to get

(when will there be live penguins wearing tiny rockets you cowards?????)

okay there’s a ton to unpack in this ed-explains-the-roses-and-liquid-nitrogen scene but i’m not going to unpack any of it because i spend a whole chapter doing that in my very long fanfic and i don’t want to spoil it for y’all... i promise it’s super extra, though, and very shippy. you’re welcome. 

i will, however, take a tiny moment to FREAK OUT about ed shattering the rose and saying “i don’t like being called names, detective” through gritted teeth because DAMN that’s a good moment

also harvey looking at ed in this scene is harvey staring into the void and the void staring back - i like to think he saw the riddler in that moment. i just really love it it’s super powerful okay??? 

jim: “what is your relationship with oswald cobblepot?” ed: “i believe the kids today refer to it as “endgame”? i admit the terminology is a little fuzzy...”

(i’m not sorry)

“saying the word ‘Cobblepot’ with gravitas: Ed Nygma edition” 

penguin looks so tiny being dragged through the GCPD bullpen in a coat that’s too big for him. 

also ed watching oswald get thrown in the holding cell #hearteyes

i LOVE this interrogation scene. oswald is beat up, cold, arrested, wearing borrowed clothes and he still has all the power in the scene. 

HOWEVER - why does he cover for jim, here? honest question. is he still kinda infatuated with jim? his he hoping this will pay off in the long run? what’s his game here? 

victor, your research is cold comfort in this hard time of illness (#i’llneverstop)

dear victor, being able to freeze someone without bringing them back is just murdering them more slowly. delayed-murder. 

hey it’s me, shipper trash, back again to talk about the scene where ed and oswald chat through the bars of the holding cell. 

first - the overhead shot of ed pretending to look through files and oswald sitting in the cell is awesome. just... awesome

“you doing okay? you look kind of funky” - ED STAHP he’s the head of the gotham mob - ugh he’s too cute i mean, normal things. i’m fine

sub-point: oswald’s tiny smile and laugh tell me that my above freakout is also his internal monologue

ed just wants to helpppppp they LOVE EACH OTHER (i’m FINE)

i wish we had a scene of ed leaving flowers on Gertrud’s grave that would have been nice i think

gee, i wish ed had gone to visit ed in Arkham so i didn’t have to write 100k of fanfic fixing that (jokes, i loved writing it)

Lucius Fox explaining cryogenics to Harvey is the epitome of patience. he is a better soul than any in Arkham

oh this scene in Arkham is so cringey i feel so bad for oswald (yes i know he killed lots of people just let me be sad about this)

“my name is oswald cobblepot” is gotham’s “harriet jones, prime minister”

*dalek voice* “we. know. who. you. are.”

Victor’s a cool customer in this tense lab experiment. #i’mhilarious

i’m having Fringe flashbacks watching this body melt and not in a good way

any fellow Fringe fans out there? yes? no? 

why the hell isn’t there a refill order on Nora’s medication? how did that happen? 

Alright let’s take a moment to appreciate the hell out of BD Wong as Hugo Strange because holy shit he knocks it out of the park. 

remember how i said earlier that oswald still has all the power in the scene with barnes? yeah this scene where he shakes hands with strange you can just see all the power gather around strange like - i was immediately genuinely afraid for oswald’s safety

he’s got to stand toe-to-toe with the worst of the worst in gotham and still have the upper hand and his presence on screen makes that happen from moment 1

those pink glasses are awesome and i love them 

i really like Mr. Freeze’s homemade outfit it’s adorable 

why is Freeze bothering to hide the bodies at this point? like he really should just run - he has the meds and doesn’t need the bodies

back to BD Wong because i love him

he’s so creepy i love the way he chuckles through the word “yes” 

he’s just got this low, rumbling voice - never yelling, never talking faster - that you absolutely have to listen to whenever he talks. such a great contrast to ozzie’s scream-crying 

oswald’s freckles are very cute in this scene which is a weird thing to focus on i realize but we don’t really see them much in other scenes and they are cute

the little power-play with the tea cup - i love it. oswald pouring tea for himself, hugo taking it away. so. much. intensity. and. passive. aggression. i. love. it. 

now, after all this time, nora finds the murder-basement - freaks out, then just sits there staring at the body. 

harvey and jim arguing over the name is pure though i love them they are absolute disasters. 

while conceptually i’m aware i’m supposed to be invested in victor fries as a character i’m just not - it was a good call to push him mostly to the background after this. 

jfc the guy in arkham gouging out his own eyes i forgot about that. did i mention i LOVE all the arkham plots it is my favourite setting in gotham 

ed doing a little crouch to check for the missing dead body under the table then just going “huh” is like... peak gotham. ed’s got the hang of this city 

“also seems to have had a rather unhealthy relationship with his deceased mother” - hugo strange, not afraid to tell the truth we all try not to talk about

everytime the newspapers give someone a nickname i headcanon it’s valerie vale, living her best life, naming literally every batman villain 

... alright folks i know it’s been a year since i finished one of these but i’m back at it on the regular now so, stay tuned if you enjoy this sort of nonsense. 

[timmyrx2000]

Dipper Steps Up: Chapter 3

Chapter Index: (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13)

Chapter 3

Dipper made two discoveries when Monday arrived: First, high-school freshmen were so determined not to be impressed by anything that, though some of them had seen Mabel's photo of him, the general reaction in home room was "Meh. I've seen funnier." The second discovery was that some of his teammates did give him strange looks.

One of them, sharing a table with Dipper during lunch period—Jayden Dufresne (or J.D.; he was the one guy on the team who didn't seem to think Dipper's real first name was odd)—said, "Dude, I saw the picture your sister posted online. Cut way down on the eyeblack, 'kay?"

"She put that on my face," Dipper confessed, his cheeks feeling hot. "It's kind of hard to tell Mabel not to do something. Well, and have it stick, anyway."

At that point Mabel, tray in hand, joined them at the table, sliding onto the seat next to Dipper. She was wearing a brand-new sweater, a Navy blue one embroidered with a baseball bat and ball. She nudged Dipper. "Hey, Broseph!" Then she blinked at J.D. "Ooh, you made the team too! I recognize you from tryouts. Dip, introduce us!"

So Dipper did, and Mabel, in between shoveling food in as though she were stoking a steam engine with coal, said, "J.D., huh? What position didja get?" Crumbs flew when she pronounced "position."

"Left field," J.D. said, watching her eat with a fascinated gaze. "I was kinda lucky to get it 'cause I'm just a fresh—"

Mabel stretched her arm across in front of Dipper. "Hey, J.D., you gonna eat that apple? No? I claim it!" She snatched it off his tray. "Freshman, huh? Do you know anything about Chuck Taylor, other than he's dreamy?"

J.D. blinked. "Drea—uh no, no I don't, I just met him for the first time at tryouts and practice. He, uh, well, I know that everybody likes him."

"No wonder, am I right?" Mabel said, crunching into the apple for emphasis. "Hey, Dip, it's OK for me to come and watch you practice tomorrow, isn't it?"

"No," Dipper said. "Practice is top-secret, because, uh, Coach doesn't want anybody stealing our plays."

"What?" J.D. asked, sounding surprised. "That's not true!"

"Ah-hah!" Mabel laughed, dribbling a little chewed-up apple as she did. "My brother is such a kidder!" She gave Dipper's shoulder a shove, making him swallow some milk the wrong way. He coughed it out through his nose, mostly. "And a sloppy eater! Don't worry, Dipper, I'll be there, cheering you on. Hey—is there a baseball cheerleading squad?"

"Uh, no," J.D. said. "Never has been."

"There will be from now on!" Mabel vowed. "Uh-oh! Gotta run. I hate these short lunch periods! See you on the bus, Brobro. And I will see you on the baseball field tomorrow, J.D. TDLFN!" She swept up her cleaned lunch tray—she hadn't even left an apple core-and swooped off to return it.

"Wow," J.D. said. "Your sister is . . . I mean, she's . . . Mabel is . . . "

"I know, right?" Dipper said.

"Yeah." Then J.D. added, "Uh—what did she say? TD something?"

"T-D-L-F-N. Short for Too-Dle-Loo For Now," Dipper explained. "It's one of her ways of saying 'see you later.'"

"She left early, though. We still have, like, nearly ten minutes left for lunch," J.D. said.

"Not on Mabel time," Dipper told him. "She probably wants to get to her next class early to talk to some of her friends. It's hard to explain Mabel. My sister is sort of intense."

"Yeah," J.D. said. Then, sounding faintly surprised, he added, "I like her."

Huh. Well, you couldn't explain things like that. Heck, Wendy had once liked Robbie Valentino, too, despite his obvious limitations as a human being.

Then again, no one claimed that Gravity Falls had a patent on human mysteries. People liking Mabel was like the Bottomless Pit. You had to admit it existed, but you couldn't explain it rationally.

The following afternoon Mabel did show up to watch practice. In fact, when Chuck blasted a home run over the left-field fence, she went running to retrieve the ball and after a short three-step run-up made a power throw all the way back to X-Man, the first-string second baseman.

On the bench, Coach Waylund asked Dipper, "Did your sister consider trying out?"

"Uh, no. I guess she's more artistic than sports-minded," Dipper told him.

Coach shook his head. "Too bad. Heck of an arm on the girl!"

Then Dipper had to step up to the plate to do his usual weak batting performance, popping out to Chuck on the third pitch.

All through the practice Mabel ran back and forth on the sidelines. She was the only spectator, and she continually gave out encouraging cheers and urged the team on—especially, Dipper noticed, whenever Chuck was on the mound or at bat.

Some of the other guys found her a little distracting—Bobby Adamsky, catching, got beaned by a pitch when he heard her yell, "Hey, catcher, that crouch really shows off your cute butt!"

Fortunately, Bobby's catcher's mask saved him from injury, though he looked a little upset. Coach Waylund kept chuckling, though, and he told the team, "Don't get rattled by a little thing like that, men. This is good practice for when you'll be playing and the spectators for the other team might razz you to try to shake you up. Keep your mind on the game and your eye on the ball!"

Wily Casen—the tallest player, known as "Big W"—muttered, "I'm more worried about where she's keepin' her eyes!"

However, when practice was nearly over and Dipper was sharing the bench with Jon Jacobs ("Jon J"), the first-string first baseman, Jon said to him, "Man, I saw that picture Mabel posted of you and I was kinda mad at first, 'cause I thought you were sort of making fun of the idea of playing baseball with those crazy stripes and all, you know? But it was all her, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Dipper admitted.

Jon clapped him on the shoulder. "I got an older sister man. I feel you."

Jon went on to tell Dipper a little story about when he was six, and his sister, who was then ten, talked him into climbing into a shiny new galvanized-steel garbage can, just to see if he would fit.

"I did fit," Jon said. "And next thing I knew, she clamped the lid on, kicked the can over, and rolled me down a long hill. Thought I was gonna die, man! She told me she wanted to show me what an astronaut feels like when a spaceship comes in for a rough landing."

"How did you feel?" Dipper asked.

"Mad!"

At least, Dipper thought, as annoying as she could sometimes be, Mabel had never done anything quite that bad to him! Though prancing around outside the fence and yelling until she was hoarse came pretty close.

Thursday's practice was about the same, except that afterward Mabel brought a couple of cold sodas onto the field, one for Dipper, one for Chuck. Chuck looked at the can. "Pitt Cola?" he asked. "I've never heard of it!"

"It's real common in Oregon!" Mabel told him. "I brought back a whole case! Did Dipper tell you we like to go spend summers in Gravity Falls?"

"Uh—never heard of that, either," Chuck said, popping the soda.

"It's not on any map that I've seen," Dipper told him. "Before you drink that—"

"But it's the site of the world-famous Mystery Shack!" Mabel said.

"Oh. Uh. OK," Chuck said. "Uh, what is the Mystery Shack?"

Mabel punched his arm. "Now you get it! Bumper sticker! Bomp!"

"Uh," Dipper said, "Chuck, you ought to know that every can—"

Too late. Chuck shrugged and took a big swig of Pitt's and started coughing, nearly choking on the pit. He was a guy with guts, though. He spat out the pit and actually finished the soda without complaining.

But he politely told Mabel that since Pitt Cola was so rare in California, she should keep the rest of her case and not share it with him.

Soon baseball practice on Tuesdays and Thursdays just became a part of school routine for the Mystery Twins. The team progressed through September, October, and November, coming together, developing camaraderie, and improving their play. Finally, just before Thanksgiving, Coach Waylund told the guys, "You men are shaping up. Everybody still has work to do, but that's what we expect. Taylor, you want to explain the upcoming schedule?"

Chuck stood up. More and more, the coach was giving him responsibilities, and one was to organize practices and decide on what playing strategies and skills they needed to work on.

Another was to do things like, well, what he was doing: "We don't practice in December, guys—that's so we can concentrate on academics and finals. Everybody carrying at least a B average? Good! Keep it up so you'll qualify to play. Drop below a B, you'll be cut."

He waited out the inevitable moans and groans and then continued, "So, our first game will come up on February 15, home game against the Pico Padres. To get ready, we'll resume practice as soon as we get back from break in January, and we'll pick up the frequency—Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. We're also gonna take a look at some game videos from last year to see what we're up against."

"They're wussies, man!" Big W hooted.

But Chuck disagreed: "I hear that the Padres have like a half-and-half team, sophomores and freshmen, so they have an edge on us in experience, but we're getting pretty good. Next few days, I'm gonna talk to each of you one-on-one to suggest where you need improvement, things to work on in practice starting in January, but so far, guys—good work!"

Mabel, who was never far from the team, cheered while doing a triple cartwheel off to the side. Everybody grinned. They'd got used to having her around, and sometimes they called her the team mascot. She'd even brought a few other spectators around to watch them practice—now ten or fifteen people usually showed up, more than they'd ever had watch practice, according to Coach, though Dipper suspected they came mainly to witness Mabel's antics, not the team's efforts.

The only thing, the one dark cloud on the horizon—as far as Mabel was concerned anyway—was that Chuck so far had not asked her out or complimented her attractiveness or tried to smooch her or anything, really, except to be polite and to laugh when she made a joke and to chat with her now and then.

"I'm not discouraged, though," she assured Dipper that afternoon after practice while they waited for their mom to pick them up. "My spies tell me that Chuck still doesn't have a girlfriend. The field is clear! Next February I'm planning the big move! Wait'll that first game—Chuck Taylor won't even know what hit him!"

And knowing his sister, Dipper was inclined to agree. Chuck, he thought, should be afraid. Very afraid. . . .

To Be Continued

Note from the Authors: This was just an idea I had but the one who really worked his magic and wrote almost all of this is none other than BillEase. He’s an amazing author who usually hangs out at fanfiction.net. Don’t pass up on a chance to check out his stuff. This guy is AMAZING. He wrote the story, I just gave the plot.

[terrifyingrenegadelibrary]

Volume 2, Chapter 2

Monopoly and the Long Game

Dee: Someone’s in the kitchen with Dinah. Really? Nothing?

Morgan: That song is older than all of us combined.

Dee: I know it.

Holly: I sort of got it, but not until right before I saw you.

Dee: Still!

Evan: Okay, ladies, we’re all getting very off-topic here.

-he presses the knife into Dee’s throat, and she stops talking-

Morgan: Evan, what are you doing?

Evan: Holding a friend of yours hostage for her god’s good behavior while Zaresi figures out how to use my ritual to kill them? I sort of thought that was obvious.

Morgan: What happened to no unnecessary killing?

Evan: Who told you that? Was it Laura? Did she find you already?

-he laughs-

Evan: Was it the happy reunion she was hoping for? I bet it wasn’t. Did you kill her, Morgan? Huh? Didja?

Morgan: No!

Evan: Hmph. I guess I have to go find her, then.

Holly: You know, I can do to you what I did to her.

Evan: Can you? Does that mean you’re a Magician now?

-his eyes narrow-

Evan: A Witch? Faker.

-he giggles a little-

Evan: Well? Going to do something? If you’re such a Magician, why don’t you attack me?

-Holly pauses-

Evan: Oh, right! It’s because I’ll slit Marian’s throat here if you try.

Holly: That’s a rather dated reference.

Evan: Well, turnabout’s fair play. Hey, Madame Librarian, you seem to know a lot, how do you say “Please don’t kill me” in…oh, let’s say, Serbian?

Dee: Um, actually, it’s—

Evan: Rhetorical. Be quiet.

-Dee shrugs-

Morgan: What do you want, Evan?

Evan: What does anyone want?

-he grins wickedly-

Evan: Nah, see, you’re thinking this is the kind of hostage situation where I want something out of it. I’m just waiting for Zaresi to figure things out, and then none of you will have any magic and I can go my merry way. So tell me, Morgan, did Laura give you the “I don’t want to hurt you” speech?

-Morgan winces-

Evan: I’ll take that as a yes. But see…I definitely want to hurt you. Badly. So once Tirali’s dead, I’m going to kill your sister, make you watch, and then kill you. Cool?

-Morgan summons a textbook-

Evan: Really? Is nobody noticing the knife here? Marian, all this callous disregard for your life must be terribly upsetting.

-Morgan grits her teeth, but dismisses the book-

Evan: Better!

Holly: Dee, do you have any rituals you could use without Evan noticing?

-Dee raises an eyebrow-

Holly: Right. You’d have used them.

Evan: Are you seriously planning your dramatic escape directly in front of me?

Morgan: Is there anything you can do about it? If you kill Dee, Tirali doesn’t have any reason not to fight back against Zaresi.

Evan: Like they could do anything.

-still, he doesn’t kill her-

-he taps his foot irritably-

Morgan: Getting bored?

Evan: Unimaginably.

-he turns off to the side-

Evan: Hey! Zaresi, are you almost—

Morgan: Distraction.

-and a book sends him flying across the room. Dee exhales with some relief. Evan whips himself to his feet, looking murderous-

Evan: You little—

Holly: Elucidate!

Dee: Eyewitness!

-the two rituals go off. Evan is shrouded in gray magic, and as it clears, he looks utterly befuddled-

Evan: fgsoep wkewk owi iwej ksls iaoqm nsn…

-Dee and Holly look at each other curiously-

Dee: What did yours do?

Holly: Temporarily forced his brain to track the movements of a couple electrons. I think he might be overloaded.

Dee: Ooh, bad combo with mine. I gave him compound vision.

-the two look at Evan, who still seems insensate-

Dee: So, um…you probably don’t have enough processing power to actually understand me right now, but the words you might be looking for are “Nemojte me ubiti.”

-a glowing eye forms in Dee’s palm. Evan stares sightlessly up at it-

-there’s then a scream from the other room-

-a loud hiss-

-and Dee’s eye disappears-

-there’s a stunned silence, broken only by Evan’s babbling-

Morgan: Oh no.

Holly: What? What just happened?

Morgan: Tirali’s dead! Our Contracts just got broken! We have to—

-and Zaresi appears behind them. She’s in a sized-down form, but the power billowing off her is enough to force Morgan and Holly to take a step back-

Zaresi: Too late.

-Morgan gulps-

Zaresi: Morgan. Holly. Good to see you again. Dinah, good to meet you.

-Dee glares at Zaresi-

Zaresi: Would you be interested in joining my ranks? We could use a Magician of your caliber.

Dee: Well, if they call off my interview in Hell on account of snow, I’ll consider it.

-she takes a pen from her pocket-

Dee: You may have killed my Contractor, but that doesn’t stop my rituals from working! Electric Company!

-Knowledge magic starts to build up around the pen-

Zaresi: No.

-Zaresi flicks out a hand, and the pen explodes with Death magic. Dee yelps and drops it-

Zaresi: None of that.

-Holly reaches into her pocket, and Zaresi’s attention flicks to her. A scythe suddenly forms at her throat-

Morgan: Leave her alone!

Zaresi: And why should I do that? Our Contract is voided. I owe you nothing.

-she tilts her head-

Zaresi: Unless, of course, you are interested in returning to my service, once again in exchange for your sister’s life?

Morgan: I—

Holly: Don’t you dare, Morgan.

Zaresi: Very well.

-she waves a hand, and a pulse of Death magic ripples over the three. Knowledge magic drains away from Holly and Dee’s various rituals and is burnt to nothing, and Evan suddenly recovers his senses-

Zaresi: I will leave you in Evan’s capable hands, then. If you will excuse me, I have a town to finish subjugating.

-she leaves the room, growing in size as she does, and the three turn around to see Evan picking himself up-

Evan: Hello again! Where were we?

-he draws his knife-

Evan: Right. I was killing the three of you.

Dee: That wasn’t where we were.

Evan: Fair point. It’s where we are, though. So, anyone volunteering to go first?

-he points his knife between the three, who back off-

Evan: Unbelievable. I have to do everything myself.

-he starts moving the knife between them-

Evan: Eeny, meanie, miney, Necrosyr—

-something flashes out of a ceiling vent and slams into Evan, sending him sprawling, before straightening up, revealing itself to be a humanoid figure, sans torso or head-

Dee: Wait a second. You’re—

-Evan leaps to his feet, grabbing his knife again-

Evan: Hey! No fifth wheels! This is strictly a four-person murder!

Figure: Sounds boring.

-it taps a finger against Evan’s chest, and a burst of electric blue magic sends him flying-

Figure: Hey, you two. Time to go.

Dee: Two?

-the figure tilts its body at Dee-

Figure: …Huh. I wasn’t told about you. Oh well, come along!

-it grabs the three, and there’s a rush of electric blue. The three are gone, leaving Evan alone-

Evan: …Damn it.

-he slams his knife into a table-

-cut to blackness. The figure reappears, towing the three-

Morgan: Where are we?

Holly: Who are you?

Dee: What’s going on?

Figure: Well, I can’t really answer the second one, not really knowing myself. I’m only a Spirit, after all.

-a light appears in the distance-

Figure: As for the first and third, however, welcome to my goddess’s domain!

-a series of lights flicker on, and reveal…-

Holly: Your goddess’s domain is a parking lot?

Morgan: Wait a minute.

Dee: Oh, yeah, we have a Parking Contractor here. Always thought she was kind of weird. Didn’t know she had any Spirits, but I suppose that explains the mysterious new Spirit wandering around.

Morgan: …You have a goddess of Parking?

Dee: Contractor. Why?

Morgan: …We had one too.

-a blue light approaches from offscreen-

???: The sisters, I presume?

-pan-

Novju: We have a lot to discuss.

-Morgan and Holly stare. Dee waves-

Novju: Oh, um. Dinah, isn’t it? What brings you here?

Dee: Your Spirit. And call me Dee; everyone does.

Novju: Really?

-she turns to the Spirit-

Spirit: She was with Morgan and Holly. It didn’t seem right to just let Evan kill her too.

Novju: Evan was there?

Dee: Zaresi too. Tirali’s dead. Xenn’s probably dead. When did you get a Spirit?

Novju: Quite recently, actually. I—

Morgan: Hold it!

-everyone turns to Morgan-

Novju: Yes?

Morgan: You’re dead.

Dee: Well, that’s not very poli—

Morgan: No, I mean, you’re dead. I saw you die, Novju.

Spirit: Wait, what?

Holly: No, it’s true. I mean, she told me it was true.

Dee: Wouldn’t that make you only a secondary source?

Holly: Yeah, but you’re a ternary source.

-Dee raises an eyebrow and points at Novju-

Holly: ...That’s irrelevant.

Novju: Let’s take a vote. Who here thinks I’m dead?

-Morgan and Holly raise their hands. The Spirit, Dee, and Novju herself don’t-

Novju: Looks like you’re outvoted.

Morgan: But…how?

Novju: Excellent segue. Have a seat.

-she waves a hand, and four mounds form out of the ground. Everyone sits down in front of her. Novju herself pulls herself into criss-cross applesauce, floating a few feet above the ground-

Novju: First off, I’m a tulpa.

-Morgan leaps to her feet. There’s a whisper of electric blue, and she’s sitting down again-

Novju: None of that! Time is limited, and we’ve wasted enough of it trying to determine whether or not I’m dead.

-she huffs-

Novju: First of all, when I say that I’m a tulpa, I mean that what you are seeing right now, and what you saw in your hometown, Morgan and Holly, was also a tulpa. A very, very complex tulpa, made using a ritual I’ve been perfecting over…oh, 5000 years or so?

Morgan: Wait, what? That would make you—

Novju: About 5000, yes. Now, with respect to Tirali—

-she inclines her head slightly in Dee’s direction-

Novju: I’ll attempt to forestall the obvious questions here. I don’t always look the same, and I don’t always lay a claim to the same domain. I’ve gone by Organization, Real Estate, Location, and more, and what it adds up to is me being the Goddess of Space in almost every city of every country in the world.

Dee: …Contractor.

Novju: Aren’t you brave?

Morgan: That has to be against the Convocation.

Novju: As a matter of fact, it’s not against the Convocation, which one of my several identities was involved in creating. Since I make no effort to attain any power beyond what I’ve skimmed away over my many lifetimes, and since my Domains are so uninspiring, nobody has ever bothered challenging me for my post. Somewhat ironically, I do my best to avoid taking up space in the world. I’ve never recruited Magicians, and this is the first Spirit I’ve ever felt the need to have in my service. In fairness, of course, I would call this an extreme situation.

-she gestures to the Spirit-

Novju: This…Poltergeist? Does that seem like a good name?

Morgan: I like it.

Poltergeist: I don’t.

Dee: Eh.

Holly: Is this the time?

Novju: This Poltergeist is the remains of one of the Magicians of your town.

-there’s a beat-

-Morgan flashes back through things that have happened, most notably Quinn’s death-

Morgan: …I know who you are.

Poltergeist: …Um.

Morgan: Qu—

Novju: No!

Morgan: What? But I--

Novju: It’s a new Spirit, and one formed under particularly unpleasant circumstances. Its memory is going to be spotty at best. It’s not going to know about itself, and if you try and remind it, it’ll only pollute what’s really there with what you think should be.

Morgan: She’s my friend! I—

Novju: Was that the only Magician who died there?

Morgan: …

Novju: What if this is Richard? Or Janice, or one of Nalis’s other people? If you fill its brain up with how it’s Quinn, it won’t be pretty. Trust me.

Morgan: I—

Novju: Drop it.

-Morgan slumps. The Poltergeist awkwardly pats her-

Morgan: I just thought…

-Novju’s expression becomes more sympathetic-

Novju: You thought you would get to see someone you knew again. I understand. But you can’t rush the formation of a Spirit, or it might never recover its original memories. Best to leave it alone for now.

-everyone looks between each other-

Morgan: ….Okay.

Novju: Excellent. Now, I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve rescued you.

Morgan: I kind of thought it was out of the goodness of your heart.

Novju: Maybe a little, but you also happen to be useful to me. See, the me from your hometown wasn’t aware enough of what happened to her to be of use, and of course my Poltergeist has no memories. Consequently, I’m going to need you to tell me exactly what happened.

Morgan: …Oh.

Novju: Please.

Morgan: Well, um…I worked for Zaresi, but she was secretly setting up some sort of ritual. So she absorbed the life of the entire town, and now she’s trying to conquer the world one city at a time.

Novju: …I see.

Holly: For what it’s worth, I had a hard time believing it too.

Novju: That’s not the issue. This simply requires a proportionate response.

Morgan: Meaning?

Novju: Meaning it’s time for a family reunion.

-Novju flicks a hand, and a watch forms out of nothing. She checks it-

Novju: Hmm. So, my proper form, who has been touring England, has already begun the recall of her many selves. I am currently 857th on the list, giving us approximately…32 minutes.

Holly: What?

-Holly appears to be doing math in her head-

Novju: I’ll teleport the four of you out of town before I go, don’t worry.

Morgan: Hang on.

Novju: Huh?

Morgan: What happens then?

Novju: Um… well, you go somewhere safe, I pull myself together, give Zaresi a personal lesson in her Domain, and…well. I’ll probably have a lot of explaining to do after that, but I’ll deal with that when the time comes.

-she shrugs-

Novju: Is that a problem?

Morgan: I want to help you!

-Holly and Dee stare. The Poltergeist tilts its body in a way that would suggest the same if it had a face-

-Novju bursts out laughing-

Novju: Help me? Really? I think you’re underestimating the amount of power we’re talking about here.

Morgan: But—

Novju: I’ve been skimming off the entire planet for five millennia, and Zaresi has the entire magic supply of a small town. Do you know how much magic a single human life contains?

Dee: Well, attempts to scientifically measure magical output have been limited in scope for obvious reasons, but there are a few obscure SI units, and the average output of a single human life has generally been considered—

Novju: The answer is a lot.

Dee: Yeah, that.

Novju: Any human Magician would be hopelessly out of their league. You’d burn out in moments trying to keep up.

Holly: Well, that sounds like that settles it.

Morgan: There has to be something we can do!

-Novju stops laughing-

Novju: There isn’t. This is beyond you. Just go. And take the Poltergeist with you, I think it’s taken a shine to you.

-Morgan turns to see the Poltergeist leaning over towards her-

Morgan: …You want me to travel with someone who is almost certainly my dead best friend, but I can’t acknowledge that in any way?

Dee: Aw, don’t be like that. It seems sweet.

-the Poltergeist hops over-

Morgan: What’s with the sudden attachment?

Holly: Do you suppose Spirits imprint?

Dee: Not that I’ve heard.

Poltergeist: I dunno. You seem stressed. I’m guessing you could use a friendly face. So to speak.

Morgan: …Seriously?

Poltergeist: And standoffish, too. But I’m sure you’ll get better about that.

Morgan: So, what? You’re going to haunt me into a better person?

Poltergeist: It’s like peer pressure, but it’s justifiable!

-the Poltergeist slumps over, and its manner becomes more sincere-

Poltergeist: Seriously, though, you think you know who I was? Maybe if I stay around you, I’ll get something back.

Morgan: …Good luck.

Holly: I’m sure you’ll be your old self in no time.

Morgan: So…what? I go off, I forget this happened, and I start a sitcom with my sister, a librarian, and a ghost?

Dee: (aside) I’d watch it.

Poltergeist: (aside) Spirit. Ghosts aren’t real.

Novju: That’s the general idea.

Holly: Is that so bad? You heard… Novju, right? This isn’t a fight we can be a part of anymore. We need to step aside, and let people who know what they’re doing handle this.

Morgan: I know what I’m doing.

Dee: Do you really?

Holly: You’re talking about picking a fight with a god. That’s not a course of action that generally works.

Dee: Contractor.

Holly: Not actually helping my case, Dee.

-she turns back to Morgan-

Holly: I get it. You feel betrayed. you feel like maybe you could have stopped this from happening, you think it’s your responsibility to solve things. But it’s not. At some point, we have to take a back seat.

Dee: That point is now, by the way.

Holly: Dee.

Dee: Just saying.

-the two turn expectantly to Morgan-

Morgan: …Yeah. You’re right.

Holly: Oh, I know.

Novju: Mm-hmm. Very nice. Now, if you’ll all be on your way, I can--

-there’s an explosion-

Novju: Oh dear.

-and the sound of arguing-

Laura: We’re trying to keep a low profile here!

Evan: Oh, please. They’ll just blame it on gas leaks or something.

-and the forces of Death enter the garage-

Novju: …Evening, Zaresi.

Zaresi: Novju. How surprising to see you. You are looking well.

Novju: You’re looking overblown as ever. Still think the “I can’t wash my bedsheets” look is in fashion?

-Evan takes a step forwards, brandishing his knife-

Evan: Speak with respect. I killed you once, I’ll do it again.

Novju: Certainly doesn’t look like you did a good job of it.

-she yawns-

-Evan snarls. Zaresi holds up a hand-

Morgan: You really don’t get any respect, do you?

Iggy: Now you know how I—

Evan, Laura, Morgan, and Holly: Quiet, Iggy.

Dee: Is your name Iggy?

Iggy: Um, actually, it’s—

Dee: Quiet, Iggy.

Iggy: Oh.

-Evan glares at Morgan, but doesn’t do anything-

Novju: What do you want?

Zaresi: To tie up loose ends.

Novju: Oh, Zaresi. As always, you think too small.

-she giggles just a little-

Novju: First, you think a single town is enough for you to challenge the world. The fact that you’re still grubbing around in cities one by one is really only the cherry on top of the absolute mediocrity that got you to this point.

Zaresi: How dare you—

Novju: Second, even with the great power you claim to have, you’re still working on the scale of a handful of Spirits and Magicians. I can think of a lot of ways I could cut your reign short right now, but unlike you I’ve got no interest in killing a whole city just to achieve something.

Zaresi: My goals are—

Novju: Oh, and finally…you really think I’m the only loose end here?

Zaresi: …What?

Novju: It didn’t occur to you to wonder why you couldn’t kill me? I’m a tulpa, Zaresi. The Novju you killed up north, that was a tulpa too. There are thousands of me, all around the world, we’re all linked, and now every single one of us knows what you did.

-she grins-

Novju: You weren’t around when they invented the printing press, but before the information age…let’s just say the rush of a good story never really gets old.

Zaresi: What have you done?

Novju: You have no allies. Anywhere. Not now, not ever. You broke the tenets of the Convocation, and every Spirit you see is going to be out for your blood.

-she gives Zaresi a thumbs-up-

Novju: One town is worth a lot of magic. But so’s a whole world. You wanted conquest, Zaresi? You better get conquering. And of course…I’ll be waiting for you when you do.

Zaresi: …Very well.

-she conjures up a scythe-

Zaresi: I will begin with your form here.

Novju: Might be tough.

-Novju flicks out a hand, and Zaresi vanishes-

Evan: What did you do to her?!

Novju: Sent her elsewhere.

-Evan gets on guard, but Laura steps forwards-

Laura: She can’t do it again, or she’d have done it. We don’t have to fight you, Novju.

Novju: How many times have you said that today, Laura? What kind of choice do you think you’re offering people?

-Laura purses her lips, but magic begins spiraling up from her palms. Evan, meanwhile, steps forwards-

Evan: You made a big mistake sending Lady Zaresi away.

-Novju holds up her hand again, but Evan ignores her, stalking up to Morgan and pointing his knife at her. She takes a step back-

Novju: Morgan, how many times do I have to tell you to run?

Evan: It’s too late for that. Sagittarius serpentarius!

-the knife glows with black light. Morgan steps out of slicing range, but dozens of spears of Death magic cascade around her, penning her, Holly, Dee, and the Poltergeist in-

Dee: Tell me, do you use rituals for things like that because you’re a weak spellcaster?

-Evan snaps his fingers in Dee’s direction, and more spikes appear. He turns back to Morgan, who glares at him-

Evan: You. Traitor. And you, other Morgan. Marian too. And what the hell, Spirit, you cost me my chance to kill the three of them back in the library, so you’re on my list too. I’m going to cut the four of you into tiny pieces.

-the spears push Morgan closer to him, and he places the knife at her throat-

Evan: I just want you to know…you got into this for your sister? Because I assure you, this ritual hurts a lot more than getting attacked by Dreamedge. Hey, Laura, want to watch?

Laura: No.

Evan: Oh well.

-he grins-

Evan: I don’t need witnesses to enjoy myself.

-throughout this, Novju has been watching impassively, her outline turning more and more hazy-

Novju: Hmm. Good luck with that. Morgan, you said you wanted to help?

Morgan: I do.

Novju: Then help.

-and power flows between the two-

-and Evan is immediately blasted backwards by a stream of electric blue light-

Evan: Nngh!

Dee: Hey, any chance I could get in on that? I’ve done a few studies on Space magic.

Novju: If you insist.

-Dee glows as well, and a small wormhole opens, allowing her, Holly, and the Poltergeist to exit the spear cage-

Novju: Holly? I suppose you want a Contract too?

Holly: I’ve been letting my sister fight my battles for me for too long now, I think.

Novju: An admirable sentiment.

-Holly glows as well-

Novju: Well then! That’s about it for this form, so Evan, tell your dime-store goddess that I’ll see her in… hm, London. Morgan, Dee, Holly, Poltergeist; fight well, and my orders stand. Keep yourselves safe.

-and she twists into a single point in space and vanishes-

Morgan: So, Team Zaresi. Still want that fight?

-the assembled Reapers and Laura eye the four, all of whom are pulsing with Space magic, and back off-

Evan: Argh…cowards!

-and the Reapers flee. Laura stays, but hangs far behind Evan, looking downcast-

Laura: …Evan, come on. These four aren’t important.

-she tries to make eye contact with Morgan, who ignores her-

Laura: We need to find Zaresi, regroup, and move on.

-Evan tilts his head, and then sighs, following Laura. Just before leaving, however, he turns around-

Evan: I want you to understand something. This isn’t over. Even if you never get in our way again…once Zaresi rules the world, I’ll come find you, and I’ll kill you.

-he smiles-

Evan: Just thought you should know.

-and he follows Laura out-

Dee: …Wow. And you said you were friends with him?

Morgan: No.

Holly: Is it just me, or is he getting worse?

Morgan: I can’t imagine killing people and living their entire lives is really making him more stable.

Dee: Seems unlikely.

Poltergeist: What a dick.

Morgan: A common sentiment, yes.

Holly: So, what now? Where do we go?

Morgan: That’s easy. Novju said she’s in London, so I’ll go to London.

Holly: Well, she also said specifically not to try and help because we’d all die. Don’t you think we should do that?

Morgan: No. I got into this to keep people safe. I can’t stand by until I know I’ve done what I can to help.

Holly: …

Morgan: What?

Holly: Did you want this to happen?

Morgan: What?!

Holly: Novju giving us the Contracts? I know you, Morgan. You were looking for an excuse to pick a fight with Zaresi from the start, right?

Morgan: So what if I was?

Holly: I can’t let you do that. There’s nothing we can do at this point.

Morgan: We can try.

Holly: Dee. You seem sensible.

Dee: Thank you for noticing.

Holly: You agree with Novju, right?

Dee: Now that you mention it, no, I don’t.

Holly: What?

Dee: Zaresi killed Tirali. My Contractor, and more to the point my friend. I’d be willing to bet she killed every Contractor and Spirit here. Even if our efforts are token, I quite frankly want revenge. I can understand if you don’t feel similarly, but I have to support Morgan’s plan.

Holly: I—but—

Morgan: Zaresi killed our parents, killed Allen and Jacob, killed Quinn!

-she eyes the Poltergeist, who doesn’t react-

Morgan: We can’t just leave this to other people to fix.

Holly: …Poltergeist?

Poltergeist: I’m going with Morgan.

Holly: …Well. I guess I’m outvoted then. Let’s find an airport.

Morgan: Whoa, wait. You’re not coming.

Holly: What?

Morgan: You’re going to get as far away from here as possible. I’ll give you a call when this is over.

Holly: What? No!

Morgan: I got into this to keep you safe, Holly. I can’t stand to the side, but I’m not going to let you get any more involved in this than you already are.

Holly: You can’t stop me. I’m not going to be shut out again.

Morgan: …Sorry about this.

-a wormhole opens to the motel room. Morgan nudges Holly through it, and closes it-

Morgan: I’ll see you when this is over.

-she looks back to Dee and the Poltergeist-

Poltergeist: …You don’t think that was a little cold?

Morgan: I almost lost her once. It’s not going to happen again.

Dee: Let’s hope you’re right.

Morgan: Now come on. Let’s get to the airport.

-cut to the airport, with the three boarding a plane-

Morgan: You’d think things would go a little faster, the fate of the world being at stake and all.

Dee: Eh.

Poltergeist: You should try being incorporeal.

-it occupies a seat next to the two, not bothering with the seatbelt-

-this makes it very awkward when a portal appears in the same seat, and Holly climbs into the plane, intersecting the Poltergeist-

Poltergeist: ...Um.

Morgan: Holly?!

Holly: Did you really think you could just ditch me?

Dee: I do think that was the plan.

Holly: Come on.

-she parks herself next to Morgan-

Holly: You sent me back to the motel room, and you left some of your books there. So I did a little more research, and I learned how to trace your portal back.

Dee: Oh, impressive. Really, Morgan? You didn’t think to hide them?

Morgan: I…

Holly: I’m your sister, Morgan. That means I’m with you.

-she grabs Morgan’s hand-

Holly: Maybe you got into this to keep me safe, but you can’t leave me out of it anymore.

-she stares at Morgan-

Holly: We’re in this together.

-there’s a long pause. The Poltergeist turns between the two-

Morgan: …I guess there’s no choice left. We’re going to London.

[undertalesacrifices]

Sacrifices: Twenty-Three

Sans's POV:

(Everything that happened on the guys side that happened at the same time on the girls’ side.)

   We headed back to the table. Grilby and Muffet were already there. He waved me over and I sat by him. I nudged Grilby.

   "so, didja confess?"

   The place where his cheeks would be began to turn flame blue.

   "Y-Yeah..."

   "and?"

   "We're, ah, as she put it, an item, now."

   "heh. looks like ya won this time," I winked at Grilby.

   "I take it you didn't confess then?"

   "nope,"

   "At least you danced with her. It looked like you two were having fun."

   I smiled. "yeah, we did."

   "HEY, GUYS," My brothers voice came from behind me. "I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS HAS ARRIVED. WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?"

   "you," I grinned mischievously.

   "REALLY?!"

   "of course! particularly about what's going on with ya and undyne."

   "OH..." Pap's usually loud demeanor quieted. His voiced dropped to a whisper, which for him was basically talking at a normal level.

   "Yes," Grilby chimed in. "That's exactly what we were talking about. What's happening between the two of you?"

   "WELL," Papyrus started, voice still lowered. "WE'VE BEEN TOGETHER FOR A LITTLE WHILE NOW... I MEANT TO TELL YOU, BROTHER, BUT I DIDN'T KNOW HOW YOU WOULD TAKE IT. I WAS... AFRAID."

   My skull shut down for about two seconds before I was able to process what Papyrus had just said.

   "Bravo, good sir! Way to capture the affections of Miss Undyne."

   "SANS? SANS, ARE YOU ALRIGHT?" Papyrus looked at me worriedly. I snapped out of my daze and looked at him.

   "i'm alright bro, jus’ needed a second. i was shocked a bit is all. i'm happy fer ya. i trust undyne to make sure nothing happens to you,"

   "AREN'T I SUPPOSED TO BE THE ONE WHO MAKES SURE NOTHING HAPPENS TO HER?"

   I shrugged. "it goes both ways."

   "IF YOU SAY SO, BROTHER."

Frisk's POV:

(Everything that happened on the girls’ side that happened at the same time on the guys side. Plus the rest of the chapter story. xD)

   When we got back to the table, everyone else began to join us. Chara was to my left and Toriel was on my right. Alphys and Undyne sat across from each other and Muffet was next to Alphys. All the guys were on the other end of the table with good amount of space between the groups. Perfect for grilling each other without the opposite sex overhearing anything.

   "So," Chara gave me a knowing look. "You and the skeleton have fun dancing? You seemed really into it,"

   "Right back at you, partner," I stuck my tongue out at her. "Asriel actually got you on the dance floor. Is it because you liiiiiiike him?" I smiled coyly.

   Chara blushed and glared at me. "No! He's like my little brother! Kid-next-door kind of thing. Brother from another mother. I could never see him that way,"

   "Sure," I rolled my eyes. "Your blush states otherwise."

   "I s-ship it," Alphys giggled.

   "You ship everyone, Alphys." Undyne chided.

   "N-No I don't!" The lizard like monster protested.

   "Oh? What's this, my child? You have a crush on Asriel?" Toriel looked at Chara curiously.

   "I do not!" Chara exclaimed.

   Toriel put he rose over her mouth and giggled. "My goat mom sense is tingling. I'm quite certain you like my kid." We both chuckled at her pun while Chara fumed.

   "Excuse me," Someone cleared their throat. We all turned our attention to the woman dressed in a waiter’s garb. "Would any of you care for some sparkling tea?"

   I nodded and the others voiced their agreement. The waitress went around the table passing out glasses. I was about to take a sip from my glass when a string of web suddenly engulfed the glass and my hand.

   "Don't drink that!" Muffet shrieked.

   I looked up, horrified. Everyone else in the room was staring at our table now.

   "What's wrong, Muffet?" Toriel asked worriedly.

   "The waitress put something in Frisk's drink!" Our attention returned to the waitress who now looked angry.

   "Tch," She clicked her tongue. "Plan B it is." The waitress whipped out a radio and spoke incoherently into it. Suddenly, gun shots range throughout the ballroom as figures completely shrouded in black materialized all around the room, pouring in from various doors. Several monsters cried out in fear, others in pain from being wounded.

   "EVERYBODY OUT!" A rough male voice called out from the center of the room. The floor trembled as people stampeded towards the door.  Before I could react, the phony waitress grabbed my wrist and maneuvered me into a head lock. I squirmed and tried to get out, but she pulled out a knife, pressing it against my throat. I quickly stilled.

   "Unhand my child this instant!" Toriel's eyes gleamed dangerously, her fire magic gathering on her paws.

   "Don't move an inch, or your precious ambassador dies!" She growled.

   "It'll be okay," I signed in an attempt to calm Toriel down. "You—

   "Not one more word out of you, you monster-loving whelp." I felt the knife's pressure increase. My hands ceased to move. I could see a familiar glowing blue eye out of my peripheral vision. My eyes widened as the realized what Sans was planning to do. Amongst all the ruckus, I could hear Asgore shouting orders to protect the monsters and for everyone to leave. Some monsters had taken it upon themselves to try and attempt to subdue the black cloaked humans, but to no avail. Dust, so much dust was beginning to scatter around the room. I watched in horror as monsters around me crumbled before my eyes.

   "Don't let them take the souls!" Undyne cried out. One of the figures scoffed.

   "As if we would want any of you filthy things to become a part of us," They spat.

   The woman forced me to walk backwards. We were headed towards an exit near the back of the ballroom.

   "P-Please don't hurt a-anyone else," I pleaded. "I'll come quietly, just please, stop this pointless bloodshed!"

   She looked down at me, a sick look in her eyes. "So, the rumors were true. Frisk Dreemurr, monster ambassador, pacifist. Don't worry, little angle of death, we won't do more than necessary."

   "if ya dun wanna have a bad time, i suggest ya unhand her," Sans' voice sounded from behind. The phony waitress whipped around, twisting me painfully with her.

   "Or what?" Defiance flared in her eyes.

   "or this,"

   Suddenly, Sans teleported right in front of us, grabbing my shoulder. I felt a sting and then my vision turned blue. Sans teleported us away, but not before the woman had left a shallow cut in my neck. Sans quickly undid his tie, muttering unintelligible things as he fastened it around my neck.

   "that should work fer now," He looked into my eyes. "are ya alright?"

   I nodded, eyes wide and in shock.

   "YARGH!"

   Sans quickly spun around and threw up a wall of bones. The woman who had captured me slashed a knife through them. Memories of my Genocide run flashed through my mind. Sans built a barrier of blue bones around me.

   "stay here,"

   "Sans, wait!" I cried out, cringing at the pain. He looked back at me, but only for a moment.

   "You're going to have to do better that that, skeleton!" The waitress barked.

   "ya haven't even seen what i can dish out yet, lady," Sans grinned menacingly. The two battled on for what seemed forever. And I was trapped here, helpless.

   "Don't kill her Sans! She just doesn't understand!"

   "Oh, I understand plenty!"

   "not sure that ya do," He gritted out as he blocked off another attack. "can't promise i won't kill her, sweetheart, tha way this is goin'."

   I bit my lip, desperately wanting to help. Suddenly, the human threw out a smoke bomb. The area was soon covered in a haze. I couldn't see anything, save blue flashes from Sans' magic.

   "Argh!" I heard a sickening sound as bone crushed bone. The same sound that graced my ears when Sans had killed me all those years ago. The smoke cleared and I could see Sans bent over, panting. He turned towards me and waved his hand, making my cage disappear.

   "sorry, kiddo, i—"

   "SANS, LOOK OUT!" I shrieked, running towards him.

   His eye socket flashed and he turned, dodging the strike.

   "ya mis—"

   Sans's eye sockets widened and he looked down at his chest. A knife point was sticking out. With great effort, Sans created a bone and hit his attacker with it in the head, causing them to be knocked out. He reached behind his back and pulled the knife out, dropping it. The moment his attacker was out, all the other blacked clothed figures retreated. Sirens could be heard in the distance.

   I rushed over to him as he collapsed. I lifted him up and place Sans on my lap. What little HP he had was draining quickly. His blood stained my dress, turning it into a deep magenta.  I placed my hands over the wound, applying pressure. This couldn't be happening. It just couldn't! I won't allow it.

   "h-heya, sweet pea," Sans coughed, causing blood to trickle from his mouth.

   "No, no, no, no," I sobbed. "Sans, you can't die. You're not allowed to."

   "doesn't seem like ya have much of a choice there," he grinned weakly. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I could hear footsteps pounding towards me. Probably Toriel. I didn't care. She was too late. I could already feel Sans turning into dust. "sweetheart?" Sans brushed the tears from my eyes with a shaky skeletal hand.

   "Yes?"

   "this isn't yer fault, okay?"

   "But it is!"

   "it's not. i made... my decision.... ta protect ya." Sans' breath grew shallower. "yer gonna haveta... let... me go,"

   "I don't want to!" Tears threatened to spill over once again.

   "shh, shh, dun cry, Frisk," He out made a labored effort to say my name. Enough to where the first letter was capitalized. "i suppose, if this is tha last chance i'm goin' ta get,"

   "No, don't say that. I can fix this!"

   "Frisk," Sans' lower half was almost completely gone. "i love you." My eyes widened in shock. "i've loved... ya fer a... very... long time now... i'm sorry... fer only now... working up tha guts... ta tell ya..."

   "I can't believe you just made a pun," My voice cracked. "You're dying. This is no time for jokes."

   "heh... yer right."

   "Hey," I whispered.

   "yes, Frisk?"

   "I love you, too."

   Sans' eye sockets slid shut.

   "i'm glad... ta hear that..."

   And with that, the rest of Sans turned to dust. His remains were scattered all over my hands and were clenched in my hands. An unearthly sound ripped out of my throat as I mourned. Amidst my tears, I spoke softly to his dust.

   "It's going to be hard to let go, you know. I didn't just like you. Your wit and charm, your annoying antics, your kindness, and gentleness. I fell in love with all of that. I fell in love... With you."

   I remained sitting there in silence, clutching Sans' jacket, for what seemed to be an eternity. I felt a gentle hand touch my shoulder. I turned and looked up.

   "Toriel," My voice cracked. She said nothing and pulled me into her arms. I heard the others gather around me.

   "B-BROTHER?" Papyrus' heartbroken cry wrecked my heart.

   The footsteps and shouts of police soon echoed through the ballroom. I loosened my arms around Toriel's waist and pulled back. A hard look set in my eyes.

   "I have to fix this," I stated, determined. "Even if it means breaking the promise I made to Sans all those years ago."

   "B-but, Frisk!" Alphys exclaimed. She knew what I meant. "S-Sans sacrificed his life for you! You can't just throw that away. What about Chara and A-Asriel?"

   I turned to look at her. "What do you mean," I gave her a challenging look.

   "You c-can't reset without your whole soul,"

   "Reset?" Toriel questioned me. I ignored her.

   "They'll have to give the shards back, won't they?"

   Alphys shuffled nervously.

   "Y-Yes... And then..."

   "They will disappear. Forever." I finished her statement.

   "Think about it Frisk. You k-know Sans wouldn't want you to reset.

   "I," I paused, broken. "I know but..." I grew silent. Everyone looked at me expectantly. I looked at every one of them, seeking their counsel. Starting with Papyrus.

   "RESETTING... I ASSUME THAT IS A WAY TO BRING MY BROTHER BACK. BUT, I-IF WHAT ALPHYS SAID IS TRUE, I TRULY BELIEVE SANS WOULD WANT IT TO BE THIS WAY, HUMAN. DON'T RESET."

   I turned my attention towards Toriel and Asgore. Toriel spoke in their stead.

   "We cannot make the decision for you, my child. Whatever you decide, you must commit and be ready to deal with the consequences."

   My gaze landed on Undyne next.

   "I... I'll have to agree with Asgore and Toriel... I'm sorry, Frisk." Undyne lowered her head and Papyrus wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

   "Grilby? Muffet?"

   "Don't waste what he's done for you, Frisk," Grilby said, blowing off his usually formalities. "It's not what he would want."

   "I don't have much of a say in this, Frisk. I've never known you or Sans that well. I'll have to abstain." Muffet looked away.

   "It's alright, Muffet. I understand."

   My attention turned to the final two of everyone I held near and dear.

   "Frisk... I... We... Asriel and I want you to take the soul shards back..." Chara mumbled quietly.

   "But then you would die!" I frowned. "I want to bring back Sans, but I also want you two to stay and be alive. I can't just let you go. Not after everything I did to bring you back."

   "Frisk," Asriel started. "Chara and I have had a good second run. I mean, we both already died once. In all honesty, we shouldn't even be here." Chara continued for him.

   "We've both had our second chances. I think the smiley— I mean, I think Sans deserves one now."

   I was silent. I didn't know what to do. I was torn in what decision to make. I played everything back in my mind. Everything that had happened. Everything that led up to this point. Holding Sans' jacket close, I decided.

   "Alright, everyone," I vocalized. "I've come to a decision. I'm going to—"