#like i know so many couples that are nowhere near the level of attached they are

[blossoms-phan]

with all the love in my heart they must be so SOOOO annoying to know irl like everyone knows the joke of oh dan and phil they’re just attached at the hip and it was like that even in the 2014 bros era but it’s so SO much worse now like. if you’re getting something you’re getting it for the both of them. phil asking if he can try the easter treats his mum sent without dan there. dan can’t have chocolate in his birthday cake or in general ever I guess because phil can’t have it. you can’t have one without the other. package deal. do not separate.

[justwinginglife]

Heaven

At request of @chiniyuss, Demon Slayer/Kaiju no 8 fanfic.

The infinity palace was collapsing.

It seemed like the war between demons and demon slayers was finally over. As you wandered through the slowly disintegrating ruins of the palace, watching the demons decaying all around you, you wondered what you could even do with your life from here on out. What good was a Hashira with no war to fight?

You'd never even contemplated settling down; in fact, you never even let yourself get close to other members of the Demon Slayer Corp, for fear that they might not make it to the next sunrise. You were significantly stronger than many of the people around you, but you didn't have the strength to continuously watch the people you loved die so you just didn't form any attachments. You wondered if you were allowed to let your walls down now.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a piercing scream. Before your mind could even process what was going on, your reflexes had already positioned you in attack formation, your double swords at the ready. Your eyes had found the source of the noise- Nakime was writhing on the ground in pain a couple feet away.

You cautiously approached her but even as a higher level Hashira, you still felt a chill run down your spine when your gaze finally met hers. Her piercing glare made your blood run cold.

"You. Hashira." She spat. "This- this is all your fault."

You scoffed, your uneasiness fading. She wasn't a threat, she was just desperate to pin blame on someone as she faced her permanent erasure from this world. You were more than happy to take credit for her misery.

You leaned down, your face mere inches away from her, meeting her icy glare with a fiery one of your own. "When you find yourself in the abyss, I hope you remember that it was me who sent you." You said with a snarl.

Then suddenly, she smirked, and the poisonous smile now dripping from her face had you paralyzed. Somehow her sinister smile was worse than her frigid glare, and you couldn't help but feel your muscles tense up as that same uneasy feeling flooded your veins again, this time tenfold. She leaned in close to you and whispered, "And when you make it to the hell I'm going to send you to, make sure you remember me as well."

The pluck of her strings ran clear one last time and when you blinked, the entire world around you had shifted, morphed into something unrecognizable. There were enormous buildings around you, so high they almost seemed to touch the sky. The forest you'd just been in was nowhere in sight. And the people walking by wore such strange clothes it was hard to imagine they weren't aliens. Suddenly, a beast you'd never seen before crashed through a nearby building. You didn't know what kind of demon this was, but you were happy to distract yourself with it.

You ran after it, a sense of purpose instilled in you, as you unsheathed your blades, ready to draw blood. 

You felt the presence of someone keeping pace beside you, running along the rooftops, but you didn’t dare look away from your opponent. Whoever your shadow was, they were human and could be dealt with later. 

You swung your blades eagerly, claiming chunks of the beast’s flesh. You wondered if it also needed to be decapitated. The fight was happening in broad daylight and the monster was nowhere near vanishing, so it must’ve been some sort of evolved demon. You lunged for the head, but the beast swatted you away. After regaining your composure, you threw yourself at it again, slicing clean through its neck this time.

Then you leaped backwards, surveilling the body and waiting cautiously; you’d seen demons survive decapitation before and you never celebrated your wins before they were confirmed. As if to reaffirm your suspicions, the beast’s body began to shudder and then, in no time at all, its head materialized atop its neck again, with not a single scratch on it. 

“Good try, but its core is in its back. Impressive swordsmanship though.” 

Before you could even process that your shadow had spoke to you, the monster’s back split open, chopped into pieces like nothing more than sashimi. 

You covered your face as the blood rained down on you and then, when the action had subsided, you found yourself face to face with another swordsman. Though you immediately felt akin to him, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something off about him. About this place. Or maybe it was you that was off- you didn’t belong here after all. Just where had Nakime sent you? She called it hell and you wondered just how accurate that depiction of it was. You did find yourself in a fight within two minutes of arriving, maybe a constant battle was what she had doomed you to. If that was true, you could hardly call it hell, it was just another day in the life of a swordsman. If anything, she had saved you from having to live the rest of your life with no purpose. 

But still, it was hard not to be weary of this place, not when the man in front of you wore the strangest clothes. They seemed to be made out of the very monster you had just fought. And when his comrades flooded the scene, they were all holding what appeared to be significantly more advanced guns. You’d always found guns very crude weapons and had teased Genya for using them relentlessly, but even in this era, in this place, with all its technological advancements, you still found the gun an incredibly ugly weapon. The sword was much more beautiful, much more graceful, and if you were honest- the sword was much more fun. In your opinion, it didn’t take much skill to pull a trigger. But the way of the sword was an artform, one that you had devoted your life to, and no one could take that away from you. Not even Nakime, with her poor attempt to rattle you.

You wondered if this man would let you fight beside him. The more you watched him command his troops (you noticed he seemed to be of high rank), the more you wanted to fight beside him. You wanted him to teach you whatever move he had just done to send the beast to its quick death. You wanted the thrill of trying to keep up with him, of him trying to keep up with you. But more than that, you wanted to know if he’d be the one to carve a way to your future. To slice open a path for you. 

He seemed to feel the same, because suddenly he was turning to face you again, a grin plastered across his face. “Now, I don’t know how the Defense Force missed recruiting a gem like you, but I plan to rectify that mistake immediately. Join me.”

And you did. 

It took no convincing on your part. A handsome man with a sword, promising you adventure? This was the stuff of dreams.

But as the months went by and you got to know him more, you realized he was more than just a good time. He had offered you a life, a purpose, a future, yes, but all those grand notions were nothing compared to the sweet simplicity of the smaller things he had to offer. The way that his hair ruffled in the wind when he was fighting. The way that he offered you a sip of his water after a particularly lengthy training session and then the way that he'd laugh after you chugged half the bottle, joking with you that he only meant to offer you a sip. The way he’d purposely recite the dumbest jokes he could think of to make you smile. The way you’d make rice balls together to keep yourselves going when the both of you thought you’d be in for a long night at work. The way he’d talk with you about the art of the sword for hours. The way you both snuck glances at each other when you thought no one was watching. The way he was the only one who truly understood you.

And then, finally, the way that it felt when he was kissing you. It was just lips touching, it shouldn't have been as thrilling as it was. But even after years of chasing and being chased, years of fighting and killing, of near misses with death and training until your body was on the verge of collapse, nothing was more of a rush than kissing him. Nothing was more of a high than loving him. And you vowed you'd never come down again.

One day, as you were discussing your past with him, you suddenly remembered the name of the man you were supposed to marry- before you joined the Demon Slayer Corps, before your entire family had been slaughtered. Back when life was simpler (and more boring, if you were honest). It was Hoshina. The man’s name was Hoshina. And you somehow felt like it had to be fate that the man before you bore that same name. Like he’d been waiting for you to come home. Like he’d been one half of your soul and you were now reunited, now whole, at long last. 

You knew Nakime had said she’d sent you to hell, but the past few months, fighting with him, laughing with him, bantering with him, loving him, somehow.... somehow you felt she’d sent you to heaven. 

[benevolentbirdgal]

“Thirteen″ Tips for Writing About Synagogues / Jewish Writing Advice / Advice for Visiting Synagogues

So your story includes a Jew (or two) and you’ve a got a scene in a synagogue. Maybe there’s a bar mitzvah, maybe your gentile protagonist is visiting their partner’s synagogue. Maybe there’s a wedding or a community meeting being held there. For whatever reason, you want a scene in a shul. I’m here as your friendly (virtual) neighborhood Jewish professional to help you not sound like a gentile who thinks a synagogue is just a church with a Star of David instead of a cross. 

Quick note: The are lots of synagogues around the world, with different specific cultural, local, and denominational practices. The Jewish community is made up of roughly 14 million people worldwide with all sorts of backgrounds, practices, life circumstances, and beliefs. I’m just one American Jew, but I’ve had exposure to Jewishness in many forms after living in 3.5 states (at several different population densities/layouts), attending Jewish day school and youth groups, doing Jewish college stuff, and landing a job at a Jewish non-profit. I’m speaking specifically in an American or Americanish context, though some of this will apply elsewhere as well. I’m also writing from the view of Before Times when gatherings and food and human contact was okay.

Bear in mind as well, in this discussion, the sliding scale of traditional observance to secular/liberal observance in modern denominations: Ultraorthodox (strict tradition), Modern Orthodox (Jewish law matters but we live in a modern world), Conservative (no relation to conservative politics, brands itself middle ground Judaism), Reconstructionist (start with Jewish law and then drop/add bits to choose your own adventure), and Reform (true build your own adventure, start at basically zero and incorporate only as you actively choose).

Synagogue = shul = temple. Mikvah (ritual bath) is its own thing and usually not attached to the shul. Jewish cemeteries are also typically nowhere near the shul, because dead bodies are considered impure.   

A Bar/Bat/Bnai Mitzvah is the Jewish coming of age ceremony. Bar (“son”) for boys at 13+, Bat (“daughter”) at 12+, and Bnai (“children”) for multiples (i.e. twins/triplets/siblings) or non-binary kids (although the use of the phrase “Bnai Mitzvah” this way is pretty new). 12/13 is the minimum, 12-14 the norm but very Reform will sometimes allow 11 and anybody above 12/13 can have theirs. Probably a dedicated post for another time. Generally, however, the following will happen: the kid will lead some parts of services, read from and/or carry the Torah, and make a couple of speeches. 

Attire: think Sunday Best (in this case Saturday), not come as you are. Even at very liberal reconstructionist/reform synagogues you wouldn’t show up in jeans and a t-shirt or work overalls. Unless they are seriously disconnected from their culture, your Jewish character is not coming to Saturday morning services in sneakers and jeans (their gentile guest, however, might come too casual and that’d be awkward).  1a. The more traditional the denomination, the more modest the attire. Outside of orthodoxy woman may wear pants, but dresses/skirts are more common. Tights for anything above knee common for Conservative/Reform/Recon, common for even below knee for orthodox shuls. Men will typically be wearing suits or close to it, except in very Reform spaces.  1b. Really, think business casual or nice dinner is the level of dressiness here for regular services. Some minor holidays or smaller events more casual is fine. Social events and classes casual is fine too.  1c. Even in reform synagogues, modesty is a thing. Get to the knee or close to it. No shoulders (this an obsession in many Jewish religious spaces for whatever reason), midriffs, or excessive cleavage (as I imagine to be the norm in most houses of worship). 

Gendered clothing:  3a. Men and boys wear kippahs (alt kippot, yarmulkes) in synagogues, regardless of whether they’re Jewish or not out of respect to the space. Outside of Jewish spaces it’s saying “I’m a Jew” but inside of Jewish spaces it’s saying “I’m a Jew or a gentile dude who respects the Jewish space.”  Outside of very Reform shuls, it’s a major faux pass to be a dude not wearing one.  3b. There are little buckets of loaner kippahs if you don’t bring your own and commemorative kippahs are given away at events (bar mitzvah, weddings). Your Jewish dude character not bringing or grabbing one is basically shouting “I’m new here.”  3c. Women are permitted to wear kippahs, but the adoption of a the traditionally masculine accessory will likely be interpreted by other Jews as LGBTQ+ presentation, intense feminism, and/or intense but nontraditional devoutness. Nobody will clutch their pearls (outside of ultraorthodoxy) but your character is sending a message.  3d. Tefillin are leather boxes and wrappings with prayers inside them that some Jewish men wrap around their arms (no under bar mitzvah or gentiles). Like with the kippah, a woman doing this is sending a message of feminism and/or nontraditional religious fervor.  3e. Additionally, prayer shawls, known as tallit, are encouraged/lightly expected of Jewish males (over 13) but not as much as Kippahs are. It is more common to have a personal set of tallit than tefillin. Blue and white is traditional, but they come in all sorts of fun colors and patterns now. Mine is purple and pink. It is much more common for women to have tallit and carries much fewer implications about their relationship to Judaism than wearing a kippah does.  3f. Married woman usually cover their hair in synagogues. Orthodox women will have wigs or full hair covers, but most Jewish woman will put a token scarf or doily on their head in the synagogue that doesn’t actually cover their hair. The shul will also have a doily loaner bucket. 

Jewish services are long (like 3-4 hours on a Saturday morning), but most people don’t get there until about the 1-1.5 hour mark. Your disconnected Jewish character or their gentile partner might not know that though. 

Although an active and traditional synagogue will have brief prayers three times every day, Torah services thrice a week, holiday programming, and weekly Friday night and Saturday morning services, the latter is the thing your Jewish character is most likely attending on the reg. A typical Saturday morning service will start with Shacharit (morning prayers) at 8:30-9, your genre savvy not-rabbi not-Bnai mitzvah kid Jewish character will get there around 9:30-10:15. 10:15-10:30 is the Torah service, which is followed by additional prayers. Depending on the day of the Jewish year (holidays, first day of new month, special shabbats), they’ll be done by 12:30 or 1 p.m. Usually.  After that is the oneg, a communal meal. Onegs start with wine and challah, and commence with a full meal. No waiting 4-8 hours to have a covered-dish supper after services. The oneg, outside of very, very, very Reform spaces will be kosher meat or kosher dairy. 

To conduct certain prayers (including the mourner’s prayers and the Torah service) you need a Minyan, which at least 10 Jewish “adults” must be present, defined as post Bar/Bat/Bnai Mitzvah. In Conservative/Reform/Recon, men and women are counted equally. In Ultraorthodox women are not counted. In Modern Orthodox it depends on the congregation, and some congregations will hold women’s-only services as well with at least ten “adult” Jewish women present.

In Conservative and Orthodox shuls, very little English is used outside of speeches and sermons. Prayers are in Hebrew, which many Jews can read the script of but not understand. Transliterations are also a thing.  In Reform synagogues, there’s heavy reliance on the lingua franca (usually English in American congregations). Reconstructionist really varies, but is generally more Hebrew-based than Reform. 

We’re a very inquisitive people. If your character is new to the synagogue, there will be lots of questions at the post-services oneg (meal, typically brunch/lunch). Are you new in town? Have you been here before? Where did you come from? Are you related to my friend from there? How was parking? Do you know my cousin? Are you single? What is your mother’s name? What do you think of the oneg - was there enough cream cheese? What summer camp did you go to? Can you read Hebrew? Have you joined?  A disconnected Jew or gentile might find it overwhelming, but many connected Jews who are used to it would be like “home sweet chaos” because it’s OUR chaos. 

In Orthodox synagogues, men and women have separate seating sections. There may be a balcony or back section, or there may be a divider known as a mechitzah in the middle. Children under 12/13 are permitted on either side, but over 12/13 folks have to stay one section or the other. Yes, this is a problem/challenge for trans and nonbinary Jews.  Mechitzahs are not a thing outside of orthodoxy. Some older Conservative synagogues will have women’s sections, but no longer expect or enforce this arrangement.   

Money. Is. Not. Handled. On. Shabbat. Or. Holidays. Especially. Not. In. The. Synagogue. Seriously, nothing says “goy writing Jews” more than a collection plate in shul. No money plate, no checks being passed around, even over calls for money (as opposed to just talking about all the great stuff they do and upcoming projects) are tacky and forbidden on Shabbat. Synagogues rely on donations and dues, and will solicit from members, but don’t outright request money on holidays and Shabbat. 

Outside of Reform and very nontraditional Conservative spaces, no instruments on Shabbat or holidays. No clapping either. Same goes for phones, cameras, and other electronics outside of microphones (which aren’t permitted in Orthodox services either).  11a. In the now-times an increasing number of shuls have set up cameras ahead of time pre-programmed to record, so they don’t have to actively “make fire” which is “work” (this is the relevant commandment/mitzvah) on Shabbat, so services can be live-streamed. 11b. After someone has completed an honor (reading from the Torah, carrying the Torah, opening the ark, etc), the appropriate response is a handshake after and the words “Yasher Koach” (again, Before-Times).

Jewish services involve a lot of movement. Get up, sit down. Look behind you, look in front of you. Twist left, twist right. A disconnected Jew or gentile visitor would be best off just trying to follow along with what an exchange student we had once termed “Jewish choreography.” Some prayers are standing prayers (if able), some are sitting prayers. It’s just how it is, although a handful of prayers have variations on who stands. 

[septnautical]

Anti’s First Fireball

SD-004 looked around the enclosure he was ushered into with curious eyes. It felt… strangely nostalgic. Like he’d been here before. But, that wasn’t possible. The white suits scientists had told him he was a fresh creation, just now being put into testing enclosures. And yet… the sea dragon felt a heaviness in his chest he didn’t understand, being in here. He swears when he closed his eyes… instead of these prison like walls… he saw bright blue open waters- the sun shining in large rays down on the sand. Colorful swarms of fish and… laughter- laughter and smiles that made SD-004 feel warm inside. But, whenever he thought like that- a piercing pain would spear through his temple. It made it hard to think. He’d been having way too many thoughts like that lately… 

Even then- this enclosure was familiar in a bad way. Thinking about it… he felt a sense of dread and slight fear being put in here. The walls were stark white, almost painful to look at. There was only one window to look through, unlike the tank where he was most days where he was surrounded by glass. The sea dragon anxiously picks at his scales on his arms, wondering why he was brought here. The scientists had been saying he was doing good… better than he had been. The disks lodged on the edge of his ears itched and stung- but they had seemed happy that they were ‘working properly’. Whatever that meant… 

Anti’s muscles bunched up in reaction to the mic in the tank sparking up. Someone was here. He turned back to look at the window to see a scientist smiling tightly at him. Chief Demerci… She was the head scientist in charge of him. He didn’t like her at all… not that there was anything he could do about it. 

“Hello SD-004,” Demerci greeted, “How are you feeling today?” 

The sea dragon’s fins bristled in agitation just listening to her speak. A fire that was dormant until she came back in lit up. The adolescent sea dragon bared his fangs and snarled at the scientist. 

“Don’t waste my time acting like you care. Why am I here?” 

The scientist doesn’t look surprised by his hostility- but she does look disappointed. She tsks, then reaches for a button on her control panel. A shock runs from Anti’s ear attachments and down his spine, making him go rigid and cry out. 

“Anti,” Demerci sighed. The simple mention of that name had him seizing up more as if expecting something else- “Say Goodbye.” 

The phrase has Anti’s eyes drooping- his expression going slack and body held at attention. The scientist looked bored as she addressed the tranced hybrid. 

“Punishment will come when you choose to be aggressive to your superiors, SD-004. You are to address them with respect.” 

Anti hardly blinks as he replies, “Yes, Chief Demerci.” 

“Status report,” Demerci says shortly. The hybrid shifts slightly as a yellow glow comes to his eyes. He talks a bit more robotically, his voice slightly raked with static. 

“Vitals normal. Anxiety levels at a medium. Mild headaches o-o-occurring from memory deletion. Command chip integration at 56%.” 

Demerci makes a tch sound and leans back in her chair. “That would explain the attitude. We’ll have to work on that conditioning after this experiment.” She takes down a couple of notes before addressing the static hybrid again, “Alright, Anti, see you soon.” 

Light comes back into the hybrid’s eyes quickly and he blinks sluggishly back awake, his body relaxing. Demerci studies him smugly. 

“So Anti, how are you feeling?” 

Anti goes stiff again for a second and yellow flashes in his eyes before he deflates and looks away from the scientist, picking at his scales again. 

“F-Fine I guess…” 

Demerci frowns but nods regardless. They can work on that more later. 

The scientist sighed heavily before a small sadistic smile spread across her face. She leaned over her mic and grinned at the tiny sea dragon like a lioness stalking her kill.

“Well I’m happy to hear that SD,”  she cooed with false sweetness, “Because you’ll need to be in ship shape to take on today’s test.” 

Anti’s head jerked up, color draining out of his face. “W-What?” He whispered in fear, backing away from the glass to try to curl up against the wall. He knew what that meant- it usually meant pain… lots and lots of pain.

DeMerci showed no sign of remorse as she smiled cruelly and went to press a finger against another large button on the dashboard in front of her. 

Something creaked loudly from the walls before a large creature emerged. But… it wasn’t just any creature.

It was another hybrid. 

Looming over Anti was a reaper leviathan hybrid with dark skin, covered in red markings and blue scales. It had long flowing red hair. 4 soulless black eyes with gray sclera glared down at the young hybrid as it gnashed its razor sharp teeth. It’s mandibles spring out and aim at the merman. 

Anti stared at this thing in increasing horror. His mind was screaming at him- something about this wasn't right- this was all wrong!! 

Jackie Jackie! Where was Jackie?!

The creature didn’t care for its prey’s fear. It roared so loud it rocked the tank they were in before diving down at Anti like a torpedo. 

Luckily, Anti was quick and he easily dodged. His body seemed to know how to fight this thing- knew of its weaknesses. He watched it prepare to loop around him- trying to attack his back. But. Anti kept in its path, blocking its attempts to maneuver around him. 

“No fair Anti! That’s my big move!” A young voice whined in his ear

The hybrid gets frustrated at not making headway and roars before trying to tackle Anti to the ground with its long claws. Anti dives to the sand though- watching with a smirk as the thing barrels into the tank wall and disorients itself above him.

Demerci watches with a fascinated smile. “Your instincts are benefiting you greatly SD- you are the reaper’s natural predator.” But, then she sighs dramatically while picking up a remote off her desk. “However- I specifically stated you were going to use firepower today-“ 

Without another word- she presses a button. Anti feels his body spark up painfully and he screams and convulses on the floor. The shocking lasts for a couple more torturous seconds before Demerci relents. Anti slumps for the floor and breathes through gritted teeth- trying to push himself back up as the creature prowls back and forth in front of him. 

“Use your fire breath, Anti,” Demerci hisses at the boy. “Or you’ll never be able to protect SE-002… and you don’t want that, right?” 

Anti freezes slightly at that. His eyes spark with yellow orange light and he twitches, claws digging into the sand. 

“No…” he whispers, eyes widening and looking distant. “I will protect SE-002… That’s all I was made for.” 

Demerci smirks, happy to see the brainwashing slowly but surely leaking in. “Then, that hybrid is trying to hurt SE, Anti. Don’t let it succeed. Burn it-“ 

With a wild scream, Anti launches himself from the sand and barrels into the reaper hybrid. They roar at each other, but Anti manages to bang the creature’s head against a rock and drive it to the ground. The thing wiggles and screeches at Anti, trying to get free. 

Anti pants almost feverishly, eyes glitching between yellowish and normal. He digs his claws into the creature's arms and pins it hard against the sand so it’s mandibles can’t bend. Then, he opens up his mouth and tries to summon a fireball. 

It- it doesn’t feel right. His stomach bubbles uncomfortably hot and the feeling travels up through his throat. He gags slightly on the burning feeling- hot bubbles blowing in the hybrid’s face. The hybrid shrinks away slightly, seeming to fear what’s coming for it. 

But it doesn’t come. Anti let’s go of the hybrid to grab his throat, starting to choke on the hot foreign feeling. His scar- it’s irritated and starting to leak hot water which furthers his panic. Worse of all, as the fire starts to escape the young sea dragon is suddenly bombarded by flashes of things he doesn’t understand. 

He’s bent over in the sand while two other hybrids lean over him. They both look at him with concern- a concern that feels genuine and… brotherly. 

Chase? Schneep?

Anti feels a painful pang in his chest as he coughs up hot burning liquid. Nowhere near close to a fireball. He feels hot water coming from his eyes and he reaches up to touch it, startled and confused. 

Then, he curls up gagging and sobbing from the confusing sensations in his head and body. He starts to cry out names he doesn’t know why he knows, but for once- it feels right. 

“C-Chase! H-Henny! Jack!! Help me!!” 

The last thing Anti sees is Demerci’s enraged face before a powerful shock overtakes his body- then everything goes black. 

When the sea dragon next opens up his eyes… he doesn’t recognize where he is. The lighting is eerie and dark- the walls gray and beat up. Anti tires to move only to realize he can’t- his arms and tails are chained up to the walls. He starts to panic- pulling on the chains and trying to catch his claws on them. 

“W-What is this?!” He growls, but his eyes give away his terror, “Let me go! Let me out!” 

“Now Now, Anti…” Demerci’s silky voice purrs over the intercom, but Anti can’t see her. “You’re here so we can help you…” The restraints start to tighten on his wrists, pulling his arms taut. Anti starts to pant feverishly in fear. “I told you today was the day you would shoot fireballs… so we’re gonna give you a little… ‘stimulation’ until you fulfill your full potential.” 

“W-What?! Y-You’re crazy! You can’t do that-!” Anti tries to scream and thrashes as hard as he can. But, then the shocks start to come. Sharp and painful through his restraints- lighting every one of his nerves on fire. The sea dragon hybrid screams bloody murder, trying and failing to break free. 

Demerci watches mercilessly, humming under her breath as she casually cranks up the power. Anti can’t form a single coherent thought- all he knows is awful aching pain. He feels like he’s been stripped down to his very essence. The torture seems never-ending… even during brief pauses, Anti can’t even catch his breath to think. He’s assaulted by echoing commands and threats. They echo throughout the too warm water around him and buzz in his ears. You are a monster. Zap! You were made to be a weapon. 

Zap! 

You will protect SE-002. You will protect the Altera Arms. 

ZAp!

You are a ruthless killer. 

You know no mercy. You listen only to us- Zap Zap ZAP! Let your instincts rule you SD-004. 

Become the fearsome Sea Dragon you were made to be. Serve Altera. As more and more electricity enters his veins, a bubbling flame builds up in his mouth. Bigger and bigger- brighter orange that bubbles like lava. Until finally- Anti shoots his first fireball. And after a few more rounds of shocks in between, he shoots a couple more. No hesitation, automatically as he’s told. Demerci smiles. Their weapon is finally complete. SD-004 paces the length of his tank, back and forth swiftly as he watches the hatch in front of him with hungry yellow-tinted eyes. Finally, the alarm sounds and the hatch opens. The sea dragon hybrid grins and giggles madly in his throat as his opponent barrels through the water towards him. The imperfect warper hybrid tries to pin him down with long blue-tinted claws. SD easily dodges then headbutts them in the stomach, making them fly through the water. He doesn’t give them any room to breathe though as he catches them through their arc then slams them against the rock below them. Laughing madly, Anti sinks claws deep into their arms then drags them down, watching in satisfaction as the ugly thing screams robotically. These ones weren’t nearly as fun as the pure organic ones… but prey was prey. The merman tears into the other hybrid- showing no mercy as he cuts it to ribbons. Deaf to their screams. Ignorant to who they used to remind him of. All that matters is the thrill- the need to hunt. The need to hurt. He was a monster. He was a weapon! The water flows with orange hybrid blood before SD-004 finally backs up- and sends a fireball right on top of the creature. Putting it out of its misery. He giggled and licked the blood off his hand. He looked up to see Demerci smiling down at him, nodding her approval. “Excellent work, SD-004,” She praised, writing something down on her PDA before pressing a button on her dashboard. “Ready for the next round?” SD nodded with a crazed laugh, shaking out his tails and arms, watching the hatch yet again. “Lay it on me Doc~!” --------- Anti awoke with a start, clutching at his chest. His heart was beating too wildly, his skin feeling clammy and hot in the cool water of their cove. That… that was definitely a memory… A memory he desperately wanted to forget. He could still feel the sting of the shocks- the elation of ripping into his prey. He didn’t even care back then that those hybrids were like him and his brothers. He only knew following instincts… following orders. “Anti?”  A soft voice reaches his ears and the sea dragon jumps. Then, he sees Marvin swimming over to him, green hair loose and floating around his head like a halo. His mask hung loose in his hands. He tilted his head at the older brother in concern. “You okay?” Anti finds it hard to find his voice. “...n...nightmare-” He finally croaks out, feeling a shiver go up his spine and down his tails. Marvin hums then settles in the sand next to Anti, tucking his tails under him. He offers the sea dragon a sad smile. “Do you want to talk about it?” The older boy is quick to shake his head. Marvin knits his eyebrows together in concern, “Anti… you can talk to me. I mean… if anyone knows what you went through its-” “Shut up!” Anti suddenly shouts, hitting a fist against the sand. His eyes burn as he glares at Marvin and bares his teeth. “You have no idea what I went through! The shit you went through is nothing compared to me! So stop acting like you get it! You don’t! Now leave me the fuck alone!” The warper’s face falls, his gleaming blue eyes showing his heartbreak. Then, pink flashes in his eyes as he growls back, smacking Anti slightly with his tails in his haste to get up. “Fine! Fuck me for wanting to help your sorry ass!” Marvin cries, trying to look angry, but glints of his tears leak into the moonlit water. Without another glance or word, Marvin turns tail and rockets off into the midnight ocean. Anti holds himself after he leaves, hating the feeling of timid eyes on his back. He can’t tell Marvin- he can’t tell anyone about what he saw… what he knows… what he did. They’ll hate him- hate him more than they already hate him. He can handle this… they’re just memories. They can’t hurt him anymore…

[crystalessenceswrites]

Burden of the Survivors- Chapter Two

Burden of the Survivors

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader Rating: T (at the moment- subject to change) Warnings: swearing, canon-typical violence *no spoilers- takes place in Season 1 timeline* Summary: Mando works alone- except for when the absolutely can’t. There are few people Din trusts – trusts as in he doesn’t expect a viroblade in the back the second he’s turned around. She’s one of them. Just as cautious and nearly as tight lipped about her past as he is, Din doesn’t mind her around too much. A/N: My inspiration is a fickle thing, I’ve been swinging back and forth between Shadows and BotS for a few weeks now. Finally got enough to sit down and finish this chapter, so cheers to that.

[Masterlist] [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] Cross-posted to AO3

Chapter Two

When Vero found you, you were nothing but a pickpocket on the lower-level streets of Coruscant-the byproduct of the horrors of the Clone Wars and the rise of the Empire. You were nearing sixteen and beginning to lose your touch. When you were younger-and smaller-it was easier to weave through crowds and avoid attention. Puberty and a growth spurt made it much more difficult for the teenage you to blend in. You made it work, you had to if you wanted to get by, but it took twice as much work to get folks to look the other way. Ever observant Vero caught on quick but said you had potential, just not as a street thief. The alabaster skinned theelin approached you with a job, a job that paid more than you could scrounge up in two weeks selling your stolen treasures. All you had to do was deliver a small parcel to a pilot friend of his at a docking station a few levels up without getting caught by the city guard before the pilot was scheduled to leave in two hours. It seemed easy enough and you desperately needed the credits. The last thing on your mind was what was in the package you carried. You knew better than to stick your nose where it did not belong, especially when you were getting paid. That decision changed your life.

The job was a test to see if you were capable and trustworthy enough to bring on for a real job as a runner, and you passed with flying colors. Vero took you under his wing and had you running smuggled goods and other products all over Coruscant. It was a reckless job, you knew that-even as a child-but it kept a roof over your head and food in your belly at a time in your life when you had forgotten what that was like. You were one of many street kids on Coruscant that had to turn to life in the underworld to get by, but you thank the Maker you ended up with the one crew on Coruscant that had some small sense of morals.

Vero worked for Shan Tillis, who had grown up on the streets of Corellia himself. Shan was sympathetic, smuggling had been his way out of the gutter, and he offered you that same opportunity. It had not taken long for Shan and the others to realize you were too smart and too quick on your feet to just move goods, that you and your brain could be used elsewhere. So, they taught you. Kom and Redarr, Shan’s lead muscle heads, taught you how to fight and how to fight dirty. Sola bought you your first proper viroblade (you’d nicked one years ago but it was made for hands much larger than yours so you’d always been rather clumsy with it) and taught you every trick in the book she knew, every weak spot on the body, how to wound but not kill and where to bleed someone out the fastest. Her lessons were always your favorite. Tala taught you how to pilot every kind of ship you could get your hands on, and how to hotwire a landspeeder- Vero was not thrilled when he discovered that lesson had been performed on his precious baby.

Everything that made you into the infamous bounty hunter you were now had been taught to you by that crew. Every cautious tick had been drilled into you by Kom and Vero. Redarr had schooled you on blasters, made you practice in-between jobs on how to take them apart and put them back together with your eyes closed. Zena taught you how to read people and how to know when a deal was about to go south.

Shan imparted you with the most practical wisdom of them all. How to know when you’re fucked.

This job seems pretty fucked to you.

The Mandalorian is silent as the two of you settle on the ridge above the compound. Scope out, he looks over the cluster of buildings. Even from a distance you’ve already counted ten nikto out and about, and you can safely assume they’re all heavily armed.

You tighten the various straps and holsters on your person before slipping your tactical mask into place. The contraption covers the lower half of your face and has always been more for the intimidation factor than much else. Redarr had gifted it to you all those years ago as more of joke than practical gear but you’d grown attached. Between the mask and its voice modulator, your hood and dark, nondescript clothes you could remained relatively anonymous when you wanted to, which was most of the time.

“If we come along the east side I think I can make it up to the roof without being seen, provide you with a little more cover.” You did always prefer the higher ground.

Mando nods, continuing to scan the scene, “there’s two on the northwest corner you’ll have to manage.”

Your scoff crackles through the modulator, “they won’t be an issue.”

He grunts before his head snaps back towards the edge of the compound, “shit. Bounty droid.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You whip out your own scope, focusing in on where Mando was watching. Sure enough, you spot an IG unit bounty droid making its way up to the group of nikto lingering outside.

“Subparagraph 16 of the Bondsman Guild Protocol Waiver compels you to immediately produce said asset.”

You roll your eyes as the shooting starts. Droids had to have figured out by now it was never that easy. If it was, anyone with a blaster could join the guild.

The droid has a handle on the gunfight, but you groan as you watch the compound go into lockdown, all the blast doors slam shut before the last shot is fired.

“Droids.” Mando snaps as he stands, one hand clenched around the hilt of a blaster.

You jump up, following behind him. Again, with the acting first, thinking second.

As you approach the encampment Mando jerks his head up, “you take the topside.”

“Gladly.”

You scramble up the side of the building with relative ease, there are plenty of odd pipes and vents that make convenient grips as you haul yourself and up over the lip of the roof. When the droid had ruined any chance at a surprise attack, you’d lost sight of the two guards on the roof. You keep your rifle aimed in their last known direction as you settle onto your stomach, ready to cover Mando as needed.

“Subparagraph 16 of the Bondsman Guild Protocol Waiver compels you to immediately produce said asset,” the droid repeats.

Maker they really have no learning curve.

“IG unit! Stand down!”

The bounty droid has split second reaction times, shooting at what you can safely assume is Mando when he groans from somewhere down below and out of view. “We’re in the Guild!”

“So I suggest you stand down before you take a bolt to the brains, droid.”

Your quip draws the droid’s attention to your vantage point on the roof.

“You are Guild members? I thought I was the only one on assignment.”

“That makes two of us,” Mando grumbles. “So much for the element of surprise.”

That was a kriffing understatement.

“Sadly, I must ask for your fob. I have already issued the writ of seizure. The bounty is mine.”

“Unless I’m mistaken, you are, as of yet, empty-handed.”

“This is true.”

You have to restrain your eye rolling to keep monitoring the roofline.

“I have a suggestion.”

“Proceed.”

“We split the reward.”

How many people was he going to offer to share your credits with? This was beginning to get out of hand.

“This is acceptable.”

Well considering how much Mando hated droid he at least knew how to manage them considerably well.

“Great. Now let’s regroup, out of harm’s way, and form a plan.”

You were sorely doubting that the droid was capable of forming a decent plan or following whatever you and Mando came up with, but it was worth a shot considering the situation had become even more fucked thanks to him.

“I will of course receive the reputation merits associated with the mission.”

“Is this really the time?” You shout down at the pair.

Mando seems to have the same idea, “can we talk about this later?”

“I require an answer if I am to proceed-”

An orange head pops into view on the roof across from you, “we’ve got company!”

The nikto takes a shot at the droid, “oh, no. Alert. Alert. Alert.”

Whole lot of help this one was. You land a headshot just as the doors of the compound slide open, more soldiers swarming out, blasters drawn.

“Let’s go!” Mando dives for cover and the droid follows after.

Your spot affords you a decent line of sight into the courtyard but there’s more of them then you thought there would be out in the middle of nowhere guarding who knows what you were after. It takes you picking off three of them before they realize you’re shooting at them from above. There’s a flurry of shouting and pointing in your direction and Mando makes a run for the main set of blast doors at the back of the courtyard. You were going to have friends on the roof soon. Lucky you.

Rolling back you jump to your feet, taking a couple pot shots into the courtyard as you make for the far end of the roof. The droid is a decent shot, covering Mando’s mad dash while you focus on the nikto popping up across the roof. One hauls himself over the edge to your left, making a swipe at yours leg with his blaster. The loud crunch of your boot to his skull cuts through the blaster fire around you as the body falls into courtyard. Gross. Two more appear out of thin air, their shots barely missing your head. Losing your blaster you duck and roll, knocking both over as you draw a viroblade from your thigh holster. Neither have time to react before you’re on them, each taking one clean slice to the neck.

Mando and the IG unit have made it to the main door as you duck behind some ventilation equipment at the northwest corner of the building. You appear to have control of the roof for now, but you can see the soldiers in the courtyard beginning to regroup. They have Mando and the bounty droid pinned. Shit. You can hear Mando’s modulated shouts from below but you can’t quite make out what he’s going on about. Hopefully he’s chewing out the dumbass droid who go you into this mess.

The IG unit steps out again, laying out a spread of blaster fire that doesn’t seem to do much. The nikto have plenty of coverage behind debris and the series of pillars lining the courtyard. Their numbers also seem to be steadily growing. Just how many of them were set up out here? Who needed this many bodyguards? It was nearly a small army. The IG unit cannot keep up with the incoming blaster fire, even with your help from above.

Your stomach drops as you catch sight of another incoming nikto on a hover blaster at the encampment entrance. You were all fucked. All you can do is hope Mando’s found good cover down there as you drop to your stomach, bracing behind the ventilation unit. The nikto lets it rip, covering the area with a spray of bolts. Most sound like they’re striking below you, focused on where you assume Mando and the droid are hiding.

Then as suddenly as it started the gun stops. Poking your head out you watch as the nikto is flung backwards and Mando yanks the blaster to him. You thank the Maker for whatever good fortune he earned for that to work. It takes only moments for Mando to swing the blaster around and mow down the rest of the small army.

“Well done,” the IG unit cuts through the eerie silence following the blaster fire. “I will disengage self-destruct initiative.”

“Wait, you guys can self-destruct?” Seemed a bit counterintuitive.

Mando’s visor snaps to where you’re hanging over the edge of the roof, looking for a spot to climb down. He wordlessly offers you a hand and you toss your pack and blaster down to him. Its not too high up so you simply ease over the edge and drop to the ground, ignoring the harsh jolt to your knees.

“Manufactures protocol dictates I cannot be captured; thus I have a self-destruct initiative.”

So the droid could have killed you all if had deemed the situation too risky. Great. You’re glad you hadn’t been aware of that during the shootout.

Mando helps the droid back to its feet. “You know, you’re not so bad. For a droid.”

Had hell frozen over? Mando was as droid adverse as they got, and now he was complimenting one? The universe must be ending.

“Agreed.”

“That blaster hit looks nasty. You okay?”

“Running a quick diagnostic… it has missed my central wiring harness.”

“Is that good?”

“Yes.”

Mando glances back to you, “good?”

“Never better,” you grin. This could have gone significantly worse, so you had no room to complain at the moment.

“Well, now we just need to get the door open.”

The way Mando’s helmet whips back to the large blaster makes you groan. There were easier, less messy ways to go about things. You don’t attempt to talk the hunter out of it, he most likely wouldn’t listen to you anyways. It almost looks like he has fun shooting out the blast door until in collapses inwards.

You all take tentative steps inside the compound. One head appears around a far corner to the right. Mando’s quick draw has him downed before anyone blinks. “Anyone else?”

As if any survivors were going to offer themselves up to be shot.

“I’ll clear the west side,” you offer and Mando nods before heading off with the bounty droid in the opposite direction.

An unnerving silence settles over you as you stalk down the halls of the mysterious compound. The small army camped here had been prepared and well supplied. There are crates upon crates of food stuffs, weapons and ammunition. Some places are nearly packed floor to ceiling with it. What exactly was going on out here? How did they get all this out here in the middle of nowhere?

You worry your necklace pendant with one hand, an unconscious gesture you have yet to train yourself out of. Something was not right about this job, or at least more than normal. Over the years your own morals had morphed to accommodate your line of work. You worked for the guild and were often paid by unsavory individuals, but that was what you did to survive, and you refused to let that get to you. This however was picking at an old wound, long forgotten.

Another shot echoes through the compound and you find yourself racing back towards Mando and the droid, blaster held at the ready. Swinging around a corner you find Mando standing over a small floating pod, the bounty droid smoking out of its “head” on the floor. Maybe he didn’t want to split the bounty after all.

“Mando?” Your voice seems to cut through whatever trance the hunter was under, head snapping back towards you. “What happened?”

His shoulders drop, the tension seeming to fall away at your appearance. “He was going to kill the bounty.”

“I thought you said the client specified they wanted it alive if at all possible.”

Mando nods, “they did say that.”

That gnawing sense of dreads returns. Stepping up next to Mando you glance down into the pod-which appears to be functioning as some kind of traveling pram-and are greeted with wide dark eyes and pointy green ears.

Oh Maker no…

[hawks-is-kinda-chicken-little]

Voicemail: Part 3

Hawks x reader 

A/n: I swear I am alive, I'm just getting my shit together for college. Anyways have my half-assed attempt at a story plot. I stopped here because I'm going through sad hours and that was really going to affect the rest of the story if I continued, I mean it still might be i’m not sure. No clue how gently I feel like being to everyone's feelings for the last chapter (don’t worry I make myself suffer too).

Part 1

Part 2

-Part 3-

Part 4

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

“Not alive at least. They never come back alive.”

Hawks may not have been in the facility anymore, but he could still hear the words through the speaker. After all feathers weren’t the only thing he inherited from the avian species. In-fact, a lot of predatory bird-like qualities were passed down to him, none of which were proving to be any aid.

Endeavor exited the facility talking to some of the other heroes who were caring for the two children. He looked towards the clouds watching the desperate hero who was barely able to flap his wings in a steady momentum to keep him airborne. Twitching here and there causing his flow to stutter. Feathers puffed up clearly agitated, but some others sharpened to a dangerous level. It was truly a pitiful sight. From the looks of it, Hawks was nowhere near ready to calm down. Hands were shaking while switching from clenching to unclenching, desperately wanting to hold on to something. Nail marks were indented in the palms of his gloves. Anxiety and agony evidently overriding every morsel of reason that survived up to this point.  His eyes never stopped searching, gaze switching from place to place as light-speed. Endeavor could practically taste the burning red rage sourly seething through Hawks every movement. But, nothing Endeavor could say would bring Hawks from his agitated state. He had to let it fly its course. Only then would Endeavor be able to pull him back to one of the agencies where they could recuperate. 

Lucky for the heroes, they had detained all the henchmen left to guard the facility. They might be able to strangle some information out of them. But, it was kinda strange that the main man would leave them there knowing that the heroes were en-route. However, as Rumi noted, leaving those men there perfectly diverted their attention from the escaping vehicle. A smart move on the abductors part. 

The League was pretty pissed about the whole shebang. Torturing the earlier captured men in a more gruesome manner out of pure rage. In doing so, one of them squeaked about some sort of airport. Oh, now those two were in even deeper shit. Dabi was nice enough to inform Hawks about this new information though. Calling him over for a nice group beating. 

“That’s all I know swea- ack” 

Smack!

Blood splattered the ground, painting over old splotches littering the place. 

Crack! 

One of many bones to be shattered but the blunt head of the bat.

“I’ll ask this one for time- What fucking airport?”

Silence. 

Crack!

“Hawks, the guys’ gonna be dead before you get an answer, or at least a feasible one,” Dabi grunted. 

“Fucking hell,” Hawks cursed, slinging the blood dripping bat to the side of the room with an echoing thud as the wood teetered from end to end until it settled. Hands shooting to clench his golden locks in an iron grip. He squatted to the floor, head hanging low, trying to fight the urges of a predator whose prey sits before them utterly helpless. 

A scarred hand grabbed Hawks’ shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. Hawks shifted his head slightly, just enough so that he could eye Dabi's own eyes from the side. So many emotions swirled within those baby blue pools of fire. Remorse, agitation, worry, and so much more, all together forming a dangerous poison. A poison which would make poor souls scream in agony for death. Something Keigo would be glad to provide. 

Now the two might now get along most of the time, but when facing a common goal, they are not a pair to be trifled with. 

The men in the chairs started struggles in the ropes that tied them to the splintering chair. Pulling hopelessly with all their might, but to no avail. Dabi and Hawks shifted their eyes to the bastards in front of them. 

The hand, not on Hawks’ shoulder, was raised to the man's face level, resting inches away. Smoke began flaring from Dabi’s scared palm, small blue flames flickered around the heel as it heated up. The heat alone was enough to singe the man’s facial hair. Terror welled in the man’s expression as the hand was brought closer, making him whimper.

“Let's try this again.”

Horrid fumes of burnt flesh swirled throughout the air. The man was a tough one to crack, Dabi knew he would come around, he just needed a little encouragement. They got the information they wanted him. Hawks had pity on the bastard, taking a feather, slitting his throat with one quick slash. The other man could do nothing but watch as his comrade bleed out.  

“Don’t worry pal, my boss has plans for you.”

No matter how much he tried to scream all that would come out was muffled sludge blocked by the gag. Dabi, patted his ashy hand on the man’s head before walking towards the door with Hawks following on his heels. The man’s thrashing only increased as he door slammed closed, leaving him with the freshly fried corpse of the other one.

“What’s the plan from here?” Dabi asked.

“If they wanted to sneak on the plane unnoticed, they would have to do it at night, when no one else could potentially spot them.”

“It's a private jet though.”

“Yes, but the guys said it was being held with other private jets.”

“Whatever, your dumbass logic gives me a headache sometimes.”

Twice popped out around the corner where they were talking.

“Please don’t screw each other in the lobby.”

“Twice, what the hell. I would rather set myself on fire.”

Hawks gave Dabi an offended glare. Dabi in return rolled his eyes, walking away from Hawks. 

“Just hurry up. Go get your boy scout in line and save her already”

“Who said I was doing this as a hero?”

Dabi halted, back facing Hawks. A smirk tugged at the corners of his charred lips as his eyes darkened. 

“You don’t have the balls to fly that far from the nest bud. Your stupid heroes commission the only things you truly value in society.”

Hawks glared, but held his tongue. Dabi glared back with just as much hatred taking a couple of steps back towards the winged hero. 

“That damned heroes commission seems to be the only thing you seem to stay faithful to.”

“What the Hell does that mean?” Hawks squawked.

“It means you are more likely to leave her for the vultures before ignoring your duties to those shitholes. Oh, wait a second, that's exactly what you did.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Really now? So let me get this straight, you didn’t push her away, become a complete asshole to her because of them. Hawks at the end of the day all that matters in that brainwashed head of yours is that shitty organisation.”

“Shut up.”

“Fine, let's pretend that it wasn’t the commission pulling the strings. In that case, you are a really shitty person. I mean, you ARE the reason they're in this mess to begin with.” Hawks’ blood ran cold, Dabi gave an exasperated chuckle “What makes you think she even wants YOUR help?” 

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Oh how you harm me with your words.” Dabi mocked 

“Who’s fucking side are you on? Where the hell is this coming from?”

“Let’s be clear about one thing, birdbrain, just because I want her safe doesn’t mean i’m on your side. You fucked up. And that guilt is only because you feel responsible for her kidnapping, it isn’t because you’re disgusted with all the shit you put her through. So listen when I say-”

“No, you listen here, asshole. Do you honestly think I can't see the damage I did? I am not making an excuse for my behavior, looking back I can see how fucked up I was towards her. I was blessed with an angel, I had never in my life been genuinely cared about. I had never been so committed to someone, so attached to another person. Someone who felt the exact way as I did. It was terrifying.” Hawks paused face falling downwards, scrunching up to fight away the tears building up. “I didn’t have the balls to face her as time went on, so I did what I did best, I put up a front and moved forward. Avoiding our relationship, avoiding her, just because I was scared of commitment. I never bothered to think about the effects it might have had on her. I’m a real douche for doing it and I know it.”

“Shame what it took for you to figure that out.” 

There was nothing sympathetic in Dabi’s tone, no, it was as sour as biting into a ripe bitter melon. Hawks said nothing, he was right after all.

“Go home Keigo. You're not welcome here right now.”

Dabi watched as Hawks turned and walked to the door. Waiting till he was about to close the door on his way out to let out one final stab.

“Oh and Keigo,” Hawks paused “when she’s safe, hope she realizes you’re not worth it.”

SLAM!

Dabi was pretty sure Hawks broke some of the hinges when he shut it behind him.

“Bastard,” He muttered, clearly not into Hawks’ delinquent behavior. Dabi stomped off to the bar to talk to the others about what to do next.

What the actual fuck, Hawks thought as he took off into the dusk set skies. Yes, he knows he screwed this up, Dabi didn’t need to rub it in anymore.

Taking out his phone, Hawks shot a text to Rumi informing her of the newly found information. It was always kind of surprising that no other hero ever questioned where all his exclusive information came from, but oh well. Hawks went straight for the place, not giving anyone time to regroup and set out a plan. It didn’t do much good last time and he wasn’t willing to risk it again. He had an hour or so before the moon set in place, if he was lucky he would make it there before anyone else did. 

Wings soared through the clouds as he scanned the area below, searching for the facility. His sights locked onto a large gated perimeter, surrounding multiple runways connected to a couple of buildings housing the aircrafts. It was one of the many private airports in Tokyo, a place where the rich kept their collection of aircrafts. Hawks descended to a large window in the center of the middle building in the facility. The place seemed to be more of a showcase then anything, some of the jets looked like there were fresh out of manufacturing. 

The place looked empty, no sign of any life in the facility. If it wasn’t for his abnormal vision he would be able to see anything in the pitch black room. No gates or doors were open,  no runway lights shined behind him, no unusual vehicles were in sight. So either he beat everyone here, or he’s got the wrong place. 

He was about to take back off into the sky when he spotted a jet that matched the description the man gave him. A sleek black metal covering, twelve square windows spaced evenly on each side of the jet’s middle, matte silver nose, blood red paint rimming the edges of the wings. It was big enough to carry a small army. The jet seemed a little out of place next to all the smaller, more compact aircraft.

It was clear the jet had yet to be tampered with. They must be waiting till the moon was at its highest to hide their escape. If that was the case they would be there for another hour or so meaning Hawks could have a look around the place. Maybe sabotage the plane enough that it might not function properly. 

Using a feather Hawks carves out a circle into the glass, just big enough that he could fight through and not get stuck. The tricky part was putting the glass back into place so that the bastards weren’t suspicious of the giant whole in the window. But, he managed to do it with only a couple of close calls.

Though he was alone, Hawks still had to be careful nonetheless. Fingers felt around the side of his goggles in search of the night vision button. However, a glowing group of infrared blobs that only grew bigger by the second appeared in his sights. With great haste Hawks hide in the cramped empty space behind one of the two stairwells one either side of the balcony of the window. The tight squeeze forced his wings to fold into uncomfortable positions against the base of his back. 

It stopped right outside the giant corridors leading out to the building runway. While his the blurriness of the image made it hard to fully make out he counted seven or nine of the now van sized blobs. The one in the middle was to first to make any sort of move, a panel sliding to the side as figures exited the vehicle. Others to the right and left followed suit. All filing out into the open, crowding to the center one. Though all the bodies it was he could barely make out a body hauled out onto the ground next to boxes gathered for the other vans. His attention was so zeroed in on the limp body that he didn’t notice the dozen or so figures heading for the corridor. 

CREEEEAAAAK!!

The heavy metal scraped against the asphalt as it was forcefully pried open by the figures. They didn’t fully peel the doors back though, only enough so that a couple of men could head in. About six men entered the dark area, flashlights swinging around in search of anything intruder. Hawks scrunched farther into the wall, missing the beams of the one of them by millimetres allowing him to go unnoticed by the men. The continued their inspection, not very thoroughly Hawks noted, until they each gave a thumbs up signally to the others nothing was out of place.

“All clear,” One of them yelled out behind.

All six men then approach the designated aircraft. Hawks wanted to bang his head on the wall from his own stupidity, since he chose the staircase opposite of the plane. 

He let out a quiet hiss of frustration; “dammit.”

Biting the inside of his cheek he started trying to devise a plan. Maybe, just maybe, he could sneak some feathers inside to take them out. So he did just that, sending one feather for each man and one extra just in case. 

The men had clearly let their guard drop as they focused on their tasks. He had no problem maneuvering the feathers around them as they worked. Two men were in the cockpit, two in the carriage, one taking storage in the backroom, and the last of the six was making his way to the single bathroom of the aircraft.

The man made his way to the bathroom, stripping off his pants before pulling out a phone and doing some unspeakable things that made Hawks want to vomit in his tiny corner. The poor guy had no clue that he was going to be the first to go, Hawks literally caught the bastard with his pants down. A mental note was made to just leave the dagger in his chest, after everything he just witnessed with that feather there was no way he wanted it back in his plumage. 

One down, five to go and next up was the storage guy. A feather hovered right above the back of the guy as he checked off boxes on his clipboard. Moving forward, but still sticking to the wall in order to give the feather a better angle to slash his neck. However, the bright colors contrasted with the white wall, catching the attention of the man.

“What the fuc-”

Swish

It sliced through the air, not giving the man any time to process the situation. Hands instinctively flew to his throat in a pathetic attempt to stop the life escaping him. Bright red blood seeped through the cracks between his fingers, leaking down his front as he wobbled on his feet. The harsh thud of a body crashing to the floor never sounded through the air as the feather slipped down the back of his shirt to guide him quietly to the ground. Once he was laid out noiselessly on the now red stained ground the feather took off to regroup. 

They all stayed as flat as paper against the slick interior of the plane, making sure never to be in the line of sight. Three feathers arrived at their next destination, the passenger section. The two men were just goofing off. Neglecting their assigned duties in favor of gossiping like highschool girls. Hawks could help the twitching of his upper lip, sharp canines baring each time the muscles spasmed. Sexist comments were slurred back and forth between them as they talked about his dove. Feral instincts screamed at him torture them till they were pleading for death. But, he needed to keep his composure or else risk getting caught and that was not something he could really afford right now. 

The feathers slithered down the aisle when the assholes turned their backs to one another. One feather took off to lock the cockpit hatch from the outside, making the two on the inside unable to interrupt Hawks. Both the men were facing the side wall of the aircraft making it easy to string two feathers into position to swoop up and dispose of them just like like the now rotting corpse in the storage compartment. 

Swish

Hawks really wished he could have prolonged their suffering, but he had more important matters to worry about, unlike those sexist bastards. Oh well, he would just have to be sure to spit on their corpses later. 

The last two in the cockpit worked to get the carrier up and running. Hawks could hear them from the two feathers locking inside with them as they ran their diagnostics. Just as the feathers were about to capture their lives the roaring of an engine coming to life sounded throughout the facility. Blinding bright headlights buzzed on pointing to the corridors as if asking to be let out. 

CREEEEAAAAK

Hawks peered over the corner of the wall hiding him, he saw more men pulling the door fully apart to make way for the giant aircraft. With all the new lighting Hawks had to turn off the night vision mode on his goggles so he could see. Through the orange tint of his lenses he could spot [y/n]’s limp body laying on her side facing him through the legs of the surrounding guards. Her whole body looked as though they just threw her to the asphalt from the van door.  A grimy brown sack covered her head that hung to the floor slightly supported by the shoulder on the ground unnaturally scrunched up by her neck. He could see the raw skin surrounding the bonds tightly wired around her bare wrists. What really unnerved him was the slow unsteady half-rise of her chest every so often. He doesn’t know if it was due to the bag covering her airway or the utterly traumatized state of her body, but it wasn’t hard to tell her lungs were starting to give way. There was no way in Hell she would make it through the plane ride. She needed medical attention and she needed it fast.

The shifting of wheels brought Hawks out of his panic as the aircraft propellers spun around in place,  making the plane go forward ever so slightly. It stopped one it was centered with the doors in the front of the facility. If he slashed his feathers upon them it would surely arm the onlookers. Eyes once again shifted to the body of his dove.

Helpless. He couldn’t make a move without stirring up their attention. And if they threatened her, there wasn’t even a sliver of a chance he would make it in time. 

TING

The sound echoed out from his pocket. The phone vibrated letting out another sound to alert him of a notification. 

Hawks’ heart dropped to the ground as everything around him moved in slow motion. Heads took their time spinning in his direction when in reality they snapped his way in milliseconds. 

He didn’t have time to look at his phone as bullets flew his way. Faster than ever, he took to the air, dodging the oncoming hellfire. Since all was turning to shit, the two cockpit feathers slashed the hell out of the men inside with zero mercy whatsoever. Using some spare feathers he sent them lashing at the tires preventing their second escape. He’d rather be plucked for everything he was worth before letting them get away again, especially not when they were so close.

His earpiece rang to life as he wound through the air. 

“What the fuck is happening” a harsh feminine voice that sounded like Rumi screamed from the other side.

“Shit hit the fan, send help.”

That was all he could say before getting nailed in the right shoulder. Wings stuttered in shock, but adrenaline pushed them to keep flapping. 

“Hawks!” She called.

He could barely hear her through the blazing bullets piercing through the air.

“Heading….. Minutes…… Endeavor…… Way.”

Static cut out sentences leaving him with only a couple of words from the other line. He didn’t have time to decode the meaning though.

In the midst of frantic maneuvering a blast of fire hit the window behind him sending him flying forward as a bullet lodged itself in his right thigh.

“Friendly fire!” He screamed behind him. 

Now shit was really hitting the fan, Hawks thought to himself as he looped through the new hole created by none other than Endeavor. He made his way to the top of the building, the roof partially deflecting some of the ammunition flying at light speed. A new wave of confidence gassed his system with the brigade of heroes quickly approaching from behind.

“I know I annoy you, but do ya really need to fry me right now?”

Endeavor only grunted as he landed next to the winged hero, Rumi was soon to join them. The bullets had ceased to pierce the air for a moment, Hawks could hear the head guy yelling at his underlines like an abusive dog owner. Naturally they tried to retreat to their vehicles, but found the tires were lacerated enough that they were rendered useless. The yell turned into hushed whispers. 

All heroes crowded up onto the roof, hastily devising a plan that would hopefully let them safely extract the beaten girl. Time was ticking fast as two beautiful lives were draining from the mother's body every wasted second. They needed to make a move and they needed to do it now. 

“Fuck plans”

“Hawks don’t be rash” 

Endeavor could get fucked by fire for all Hawks cared. He was going in sending flocks of lethal feathers to shred them while he used the remaining feathers to take to the sky. 

It only escalated from there on. Quirks were activated from both ends, but the heroes had to be careful, they may have the upper hand power wise, but the enemies had a hostage. Hawks could see his dove start to stir among all the commotion, but his attention was quickly redirected as a first sent him flying into a wall.

In the midst of the battle one of the lackey’s managed to discreetly snag [y/n] and a couple of the packages into a small aircraft. All which were messily tossed into the back of the cargo compartment before jumping in the control seat. All engines were a go and it was off to the runway from there, splattering some of his comrades into the pavement on the way. Hawks wasn’t having it though, redirecting all of the feathers slashing around to chase the jet as it wobbled in the sky.

“Your feathers are going to do jackshit, GO!” Rumi encouraged, no longer holding back. 

That was all he needed to hear, as he darted to the air, targeting with pinpoint accuracy.  The door of the storage holder on the side of the jet cracked open. Opening more and more as the pilot tried to steady the plane in the sky. The jet lagged in the sky as it swerved to the side making package after package plummet out. Hawks was tailing the jet, but the pilot kept taking sharp turns to try and lose him. 

Hawks spotted [y/n’s body starting to slip to the edge of the open door. One final turn from the unsteady jet was all it took to send her descending into the air. Hawks immediately dove after her, wings tucking flat to increase his speed, arms stretching out towards her, hands ready to snatch her at the first given chance. 

The ground was approaching uncomfortable fast. [Y/n] was just out of his reach, fingertips brushing against her own. 

His wings gave one last flutter against his back, pushing him just far enough to reach her forearm. Hawks latch his hand onto her arm hauling her into his arms before spreading his scarlet wings in an attempt to catch in the air. A hiss passed his lips as the opposing velocity strained the muscles at the base of his wings. 

Just before the hit the ground Hawks caught his bearings, letting them at least land somewhat safely. He stumbled on the turf, the hand that wasn’t holding [y/n] shot out to the ground where he keeled making sure to not fall over onto her. They landed a mile or so from the gates of the airport. 

BOOM!

Hawks watched as sparks erupted from an explosion a little ways from them. Looks like the poor bastard couldn’t fly after all.

His breath was heaving, the adrenaline of the situation still pumping through his body. Lifting his hand from the ground he untied the rope holding the sack over her head, pulling it off, freeing her beaten face. Scarce breaths passed through her cracked lips. 

Hawks was quick to let the rest know he had her. Endeavor let out a sigh of relief through the otherside of the line. Rumi yelled with happiness. When asking about her condition, he was hesitant to say anything, only saying that he was rushing her to urgent care immediately. 

Weakly she stirred in his arms, whimpering as her bound wrist rubbed the harsh unforgiving rope peeling her already raw skin. Hawks plucked a feather, slashing her wrist and ankle constraints, finally setting her aching limbs free. Tears welled in his eyes, partly because she was now in his arms once again and partly because she was suffering in his arms.

“Shhhhh, baby bird, I’m gonna get you some help okay?” 

He couldn’t tell if she heard him, but he wasn’t going to bother waiting for a reply. Wings spread behind him once more, screaming at him from pure agonizing torture they had already suffered. Limbs burned, fire setting every vein ablaze with even the slightest of moments. 

All it took once one more heart wrenching soft cry passing her lips to get the adrenaline rushing again. No wound or pain could hold him down as he flapped his wings aggressively through the thin air. He kept staggering up to the clouds and low to the ground. It was definitely not his smoothest flight, but it was doing the job. She was held securely in a tight embrace against his chest. One of his hands gently caressed her cheek with the thumb in an attempt to pass her his wordless love. 

Some of the feathers started to give from those once giant eyes. Every feather lost was another piece of [y/n] drifting to the light of eternal rest. She was a rose that was slowly shedding its abused petals, wilting from the mortal world. 

Hawks could see the hospital in his sights, in his moment of overwhelming relief he almost hit the ground, but luckily he was able to bring them both up just in time. 

White doors slammed over as a body crashed onto the hospital lobby tile. The receptionist rushed over to the counter spotting the hero, wings clings around his front to cushion their landing. Looking at the lady in scrubs he lifted one of his wings revealing the beaten woman he cradled to his chest. The lady screamed for help as doctors and nurses flooded the room. A stretcher was brought in as [y/n] was carted into one of the back rooms, nurses flocking the stretcher trying to assess her state. 

A separate stretcher was brought in for him. A light smile graced his face as he watched them take care of her while they hauled him onto the cart. One of the nurses was trying to ask him questions, but he paid them no mind, only watching his dove.

The smile quickly faded as he saw more doctors dash to her room, panicked expressions present on each of their faces. He tried to stay awake, he tried to hear what was going on, but the last thing he heard was a doctor yelling one word that echoed in his ears even as he lost touch with reality.

“CLEAR!”

Then everything went black.

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

Also I want to thank you all for reading this, it makes me so happy. I literally cried at all the love you all gave the first chapter. I wish I was kidding I actually cried.

TAGS:

@assassinslittlesister @anxiousgoddest @moonpawss @regularkacchan @austriasmariazelle @murkyrosewrite @hawksexual @imuziawi

[songfell-ut]

Chapter 16 ha ha help

These are getting more and more tiring, but we’re finally getting somewhere! Ha ha seriously send help @lostmypotatoes or anyone else whose contributions made (some parts of) this a lot of fun to do. Chapter is here.

 Just like Sans’ discovery of her “stripes,” Frisk only found out she could make barriers because of Papyrus.

They were playing in Snowdin, as they did almost every day. That evening, it was just her, Papyrus, and Asriel; Sans was nowhere in sight, which meant he was off napping somewhere. He did that a lot.

Someone had thrown a ball and gotten it stuck high up in the town Christmas tree, and the three of them were taking turns trying to get it down. The Prince was being very careful, flicking little fire-wads to hit the ball without burning it; Papyrus was in much better control of his bone-throwing than Frisk would have guessed, able to tap the ball in any direction with near-perfect accuracy. Of course, he could have used blue magic, but where was the fun in that?

It became evident after a few tries that the ball was almost loose already, so Papyrus proposed instead that they see how many times they could hit it without knocking it down. Frisk put her rocks aside, watching the skeleton and the young boss monster nudge the ball back and forth on its perch. It nearly fell so often that the child was soon standing right against the tree, trying to look straight up through the branches.

“Come away from there, Kris,” Asriel said after his next turn. “In fact, it’s time to head back now. Mama’s got another pie in the oven. Would you like some, Papyrus?”

The skeleton perked up. “OF COURSE, YOUR MAJESTY!”

“Wonderful! Come along.” Asriel held his hand out, and the little human skipped over to take it.

Then they heard the fateful cry: “ONE MOMENT, NYEH!” Papyrus threw one more bone to get the ball down, but in his haste, he aimed too high. It struck just below the decorations atop the tree, knocking down a great shower of powdery snow…and the heavy, pointed star.

The crack of breaking wood made them look up, and they glimpsed the star falling just before the snow hit their faces. Asriel could have moved them away in time, but the cold flakes in his eyes distracted him for one crucial second, and Frisk knew the star was going to hit them. Asriel was going to get hurt! She felt something strange burning in her chest, and she yelled at the top of her lungs, wishing with all her might that they’d be safe—

The star went plink off something, and Asriel’s grip tightened much too hard as the rest of the snowflakes settled to the ground. The ball came tumbling down a moment later, bouncing off Asriel’s shoulder.

“KRIS! YOUR MAJESTY!” Papyrus’ hands were clapped to his skull. “OH MY GOD! ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?!”

“Yes,” said Asriel. But then Frisk whimpered, and the boss monster released her, aghast. “Oh, no—Kris, I’m so sorry! Did I—”

Frisk couldn’t help a little sob. Asriel had almost crushed her hand!

Papyrus was also near tears. “I…I DIDN’T MEAN—IS THERE ANYTHING I CAN—”

The Prince suddenly looked stern. “Never mind,” he said curtly. “It was an accident. Kris will be fine.” He held out his hand, which glowed a familiar green. “Here.”

Frisk grabbed at the light, wiping her face on her sleeve as the pain eased into a twinge, then nothing at all. Why was Asriel—

“PLEASE GO ON WITHOUT ME,” Papyrus said wretchedly. “I DON’T DESERVE PIE.”

“It was an accident,” Asriel repeated. “But it was a very easily avoided one. I think it’d be best if you stayed here while I have a talk with Kris.”

The skeleton nodded so hard that Frisk wondered how his skull stayed attached to his spine. “YES, PRINCE ASRIEL, YOU ARE COMPLETELY RIGHT. I WILL DO LAPS AND THINK ABOUT WHAT I’VE DONE.”

Puzzled, Frisk looked up at Asriel. “But it wasn’t his—”

“Thank you, Papyrus. That will be all,” the Prince said over her.

The moment Papyrus had jogged out of sight, Asriel squatted and seized her by the shoulders. “Do you know what you just did?” he demanded.

Frisk felt her eyes welling up again. “I…I’m sorry, but I don’t understand,” she whispered. What had she done wrong? Why was Asriel letting Papyrus think he was the one who’d hurt her? And why was he looking at her like a total stranger? Frisk sniffled again, more tears sliding down her cheeks. If Asriel hated her now, she didn’t know what she’d do!

The Prince let out a long sigh, head drooping. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. Come here.”

The child threw herself into his outstretched arms. “It’s all right, Kris. You did nothing wrong,” he murmured, patting her hair. “In fact…”

Something about the way he said it made Frisk’s spine prickle. But when he gave her one last pat and released her, he was smiling again. “Would you like a ride?” he asked cheerfully.

Frisk nodded, and the young boss monster swung her up to sit on his shoulders, mindful of his horns. He let her grasp them in each hand, then turned his whole body to look around. Luckily, it was late enough that no one was out and about; even if they had been, the fallen snow had blotted out the flash of gold. Off they went, Frisk enjoying the view and their brisk pace.

The ferry wasn’t there yet, and no one else was waiting. “So,” Asriel said, stopping on the riverbank. “You didn’t know you could do that, did you?”

Frisk shook her head. “What did I do?” Remembering his reaction, she said, “I hope it wasn’t something bad. I’m sorry if it was bad.”

She felt him sigh again. “No, Kris, it wasn’t bad. You protected us both with a barrier.”

“A barrier?” After a couple of weeks Underground, she’d gotten the impression that barriers were an extremely bad thing. “But…aren’t they—”

“It’s true that we monsters are afraid of them. That’s why I squashed you,” he said sadly. “Again, I am very sorry for that. I won’t do it again, even if you make more barriers.”

She’d scared him? Frisk hadn’t been prepared to hear that, ever. “But how did I do that? Don’t you have to have magic first?”

He chuckled. “Yes, you do, which means you have magic.”

Frisk wound her forearms around his horns, resting her cheek on the downy fur atop his head. He smelled like soap, and…perfume? She didn’t realize what it was yet: she was too distracted by the idea that she – dumb, boring Frisk – could do magic. That was for grand sorcerers and sorceresses, not grimy little kids who scrubbed pots all day and slept on the floor. If she had that kind of power, wouldn’t she have noticed by now? Couldn’t she have made her back stop hurting, or lit Cook on fire to stop her from beating the other kids?

“It’s a very special gift,” Asriel said solemnly. “Not many humans have their own magic anymore, and you have enough to make barriers! Nowdays, humans with that much power tend to be…” He trailed off.

There was that funny voice again. Frisk didn’t like it at all. “Tend to be what? Am I in trouble?” she asked anxiously.

“Of course not,” he answered. “But it’s important to know that you can do it.”

“Why?”

“For one thing, you need training.” The Prince tapped her leg. “If you’ve never used it before, you should have a lot of power saved up. Also, did you know that it’s easier to use magic Underground than on the surface? That may be why it hasn’t happened till now.”

“Do…” Frisk squirmed until Asriel put a steadying hand on her back. “Do you think…could I stay here and learn?” she asked in a rush. “Monsters are good with magic, so…”

She couldn’t see Asriel’s expression, and didn’t know why he was quiet for so long. “No one here knows how to make barriers,” he finally said, “and I’ll be honest with you, Kris. I think you’d better not tell any other monsters about this.”

Disappointment rose up and nearly choked her. Not only did she have the one kind of magic monsters couldn’t teach her to use, it was the kind they were so scared of that even Asriel panicked when he saw it! Frisk pressed her face into the back of his head, sniffling.

“I’m so sorry,” the Prince said quietly, and she couldn’t hold it back anymore.

The ferry still wasn’t there. Asriel swayed from side to side, patting her leg softly, and she soon calmed down, trying not to get any more snot in his fur. “There may be something we can do,” the boss monster said, his tone so resolute that Frisk sat up straight. He reached up and put her back on the ground, staying at her level. “Who are your parents?” he asked.

Frisk blinked. “M-my mama’s name is Rosa. She works in the castle. My father is dead.”

Asriel grimaced, but not in a sad way—more like he didn’t believe her. “It’s true!” she insisted.

“I don’t think you’re lying,” he reassured her, lowering his voice as a couple of other monsters came up to wait for the ferry. “I’m just not sure that the grownups have been telling you the truth.”

She frowned. “But…why would they lie to me?”

“Why indeed,” murmured Asriel. Then the ferry rounded the corner of the riverbend, and the conversation was over for now. Everyone stood aside for Asriel, the Royal Guards bowing as he greeted them and Frisk took her favorite place at the very front. This time, though, she couldn’t enjoy the breeze in her face or the water splashing around the boat. It was too much to think about—she had magic, monsters would hate her if they knew, people might have lied to her about her parents…

Why did he think she had other parents? Was it something to do with her magic? Did this mean she had a real mama and papa somewhere waiting for her?

Asriel was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice her staring at him for several seconds. When he did, he tried to smile, but she wasn’t fooled. Something was wrong, or at least different, something very important. If only Papyrus hadn’t knocked that star down! They wouldn’t have found out she had magic, and Asriel wouldn’t be so worried or say these strange, sad things.

Frisk was already tired of thinking about it. She’d just be careful not to get scared and use a barrier again. She wasn’t going to tell anyone, and she trusted Asriel not to tell any of the other monsters. She’d be fine. Everything would be okay. It had to be.

 ~

             “…isk. Frisk! FRISK! Hey—”

           Two voices went “Shhhush!” and “P-please be quiet!” at nearly the same time.

           “What?! She’s just standing there like—”

           “Maybe she needs to just stand there like that,” retorted Alphys, uncharacteristically firm.

           “Yes, I agree,” said Toriel. “Let’s leave her alone for now. Will you ladies please assist me in setting the table?”

           Undyne muttered something very unladylike, but followed the boss monster out of the room, letting Alphys shut the door quietly behind her.

           It was Frisk’s own fault. Upon arriving, she had gone looking for the bathroom and opened the door of the guest bedroom by mistake; the moment she turned on the light, she was confronted with a sort of shrine to Toriel’s children. Old toys and books lined the walls, the closet was half open, and miniature portraits showing Chara and Asriel in various poses were arranged around one large family painting on the bureau. Frisk had told herself that it would be hard to see the room they’d played in when she was little – mostly jumping on the beds, with a generous helping of The Floor Is Lava – but she hadn’t been prepared to see everything exactly where it had been, and especially not the pictures smiling up at her like that.

           The others had found her staring at the bureau, a hand to her mouth. Frisk was profoundly grateful to be left alone: she sat down on a bed, grabbed Asriel’s old pillow, and buried her face in it to cry for a long, long time. Every time she started to slow down, she thought again of riding on his shoulders, or of him pretending to be scared when he discovered her in the golden flowers, and the pain was as fresh as it had been the first time she’d remembered him, just a few hours after reclaiming her memories.

           What if she had listened to her instincts back then and told the Queen about her magic? Toriel would’ve known what to do. At the very least, she could’ve negotiated something on Frisk’s behalf with the other humans; Frisk would still have been forced to leave, but she would’ve had the comfort of knowing she had friends Underground, and that she could visit them on holidays or even have them come to see her. Instead…

           Poor Asriel. Frisk had been able to keep from thinking of him by staying busy, and with the company of her giant apprentice, basking in his cranky, awkward, completely wonderful affection; now she couldn’t calm down, no matter how hard she tried to get up and turn away from the pictures.

           A little voice kept nagging her to say something to Toriel now about the things she’d remembered. The whole tragedy might have been avoided in the first place if she had just talked to the Queen…but no, that was different. If Frisk, the would-be ambassador to the monster race, were to say, “I have a solid idea of whose fault the accident was, but no details whatsoever,” what would that do for her mission?

           It would reignite the debate over what had happened, with enough new information to destroy any trust the monsters might have in her, but not enough to bring anyone closure. She’d be better off going straight to Asgore and announcing that she and Sans were planning to create the world’s first human-monster hybrid! She might as well, the way Sans was behaving…

           Frisk looked again at Asriel’s pictures, the white fur of his cheeks and his golden eyes, just like his mother’s. It had taken her a while to figure out that he only had those scary facial stripes and black sclera when he was prepared for a fight; they’d faded by the time they met Toriel on their way out of the flower cavern. Frisk glanced at the picture next to it, an older one of Asriel with his arm around Chara, and reached over to turn it around.

           Footsteps in the hall. Frisk snatched her hand back, ducking her head as the door opened. Someone sat next to her on the bed, and a huge, gentle hand stroked Frisk’s hair out of her eyes. She looked up, expecting to see Sans, and started a little as Toriel smiled at her. “I know, dear,” the boss monster whispered. “It never gets easier.” She drew Frisk against her, squeezing tight. “You…you learn to live with it.” Frisk felt her swallow hard. “Would you like to talk about it?”

           Frisk was getting so tired of crying! She shook her head, ignoring another stab of guilt as she wrapped her arms around the former Queen. Now was the time to say something about the past, or the future, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. For once in her adult life, she wanted to be taken care of and told everything would be all right, and eat homemade pie, and have her first-ever real slumber party, dammit! Besides, it was only the second night of her visit. So she allowed Toriel to pet her hair until her sobs had quieted, resolving to have a nice time for a single stupid night.

           When Frisk was more or less calm, Toriel produced a handkerchief from somewhere. “Stop using your sleeve. Here, blow your nose,” the boss monster instructed, and the human did so. “There we are, my child.” Like a true mother, Toriel folded the handkerchief up and put it right back in her robe. Frisk tried to hide her disgust, but Toriel just chuckled. “I meant to ask sooner—aren’t those Sans’ old clothes?”

           Frisk had to smile as she sniffled again. “Yes, ma’am. Papyrus spilled spaghetti sauce on my last clean dress. He had this in the back of his closet, so…”

           “I see. I can’t believe Sans was ever so small,” murmured Toriel, tugging down the blue jacket. “Would you like to borrow something else to wear?” She brightened. “I still have Chara’s things. She was much taller than you, but her old dresses are—”

           “No! No, thank you,” Frisk said, a little too quickly. “I…” She looked at the bureau again, then at the closet. Everything smelled clean, but not as if Toriel had come in and given it a quick once-over before their arrival; the room seemed eerily well-kept, like people still lived in it. “I forgot how comfortable boys’ clothes are. Could I please keep these on, or maybe wear something of Asriel’s?” Toriel looked disapproving, so Frisk added, “I promise I won’t let my tail stick out.”

           The boss monster laughed so loudly that she had to cover her mouth. “Oh, dear. I cannot believe I’d forgotten about that!”

           Early in her visit, Frisk had noticed how Asriel’s tail showed through a slit in his robe, but she didn’t realize that his parents kept theirs hidden until one family dinner when Asriel sat down the wrong way and nearly hit the roof. It turned out Asriel had insisted as a teenager that it was better to have one’s tail out; even as a young adult, and after several instances of getting it bent or grabbed or sat upon, he’d stubbornly refused to let his mother sew his clothes back up.

           “Really, Lady Toriel,” Frisk said once their giggling had died down, “I’m fine for tonight. These are basically pajamas anyway.”

           Toriel snorted. “Yes, they certainly are.” Sigh. “All right, my child, just for tonight. We’ll pick out something else for you tomorrow.”

           “Thank you so much.” Frisk hugged her again. “I need to wash my face,” she said, freeing herself from the goat monster’s embrace, “and then I’d love to have some pie. I’ll be out in a minute.”

           Toriel smiled sadly. “Of course, Frisk. We’ll be waiting.”

           The priestess’ hands were shaking a little as she fetched her gray bag from the entryway. How often did Toriel change the sheets on those beds, as if expecting someone to sleep there? How much time did she spend alone in her empty house, staring at pictures of her dead children? How was the poor woman still sane at all?

           Damn everything! Why hadn’t she told them about her magic when she first discovered it? Why had she let Asriel talk her into trusting someone she knew was a bad person? How much of what had happened was her fault, and how much of her memory was even accurate?

To hell with it, she thought, turning from her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Time for pie.

Luckily, when Frisk came out to the living room, her thoughts were diverted by the sight of Undyne and Alphys sitting in front of the fire with their heads together. “Er,” said the priestess, and Alphys nearly jumped out of her skin.

           “Hey there. Feeling better?” asked Undyne, completely unperturbed.

           “Uh…yes, thank you.” Bemused, Frisk glanced at Alphys’ bright-pink scales. She’d always wondered how that worked—monsters didn’t even have blood. “Let’s eat now. It smells fantastic,” she said, smiling as the royal scientist made a beeline for the table.

           At Toriel’s behest, and in keeping with what they assured Frisk to be sacred slumber-party tradition, the others had already changed into their nightclothes; the next step was enjoying the pie Toriel had baked before coming to get them. “This is amazing, Your Majesty,” Undyne said around a huge mouthful. “Thanks for having us over.”

           “Yes, thank you f-for inviting me,” Alphys said to the table at large, adjusting her borrowed robe.

           “Of course,” Frisk replied. “You still have a few things to open. You, too, Lady Toriel.”

           The former Queen had been staring at her plate, and glanced up a moment later. “I…I’m sorry, dear. What was that?”

           The Captain blinked, adjusting her pajama-wear eyepatch. “Uh…the pie is good?”

           The boss monster nodded vaguely, and the three younger women glanced at each other. Toriel had been quiet and distracted the whole evening, ever since she and Sans arrived at the brothers’ house; Sans had opened the front door and teleported straight into the kitchen, leaving the goat monster looking as though someone had smacked her in the face and run away.

Every one of their questions thus far had been answered with the insistence that nothing was wrong, but Alphys tried again: “A-are you sure you’re all right, Lady Toriel?”

           “Yes, Doctor, thank you. I…” She sighed, shaking her head and fluttering her long ears. “Forgive me. Where are my manners? Here I am with such wonderful guests, and I’m wasting time wool-gathering!” She grabbed the pie tin and dished out new slices to Frisk and Undyne, who had finished theirs, and then to Alphys, who was still halfway through hers and had to pick up the remainder to make room on her plate.

           “So,” said Undyne, stealing the half-slice out of the scientist’s hand and cramming it into her own mouth. “Whaff our day loo’ like humorro’?” Catching Toriel’s glare, the fish monster swallowed the entirety in one gulp. “I mean, for tomorrow, what do we need to do? Finish giving stuff out, stop by Alphys’ lab, then go see that creepy metal jerk?” When Toriel looked puzzled, Undyne explained, “He took Frisk’s laundry with him so he could get that stain out, and he wants to measure her for more clothes. If we go there first, we’ll be there all friggin’ day.”

           Toriel clapped her hands with a poofy sound of fur on fur. “My goodness, that’s right! We should go shopping for Frisk! Wouldn’t that be fun?”

           “It w-would,” agreed Alphys. “We don’t have to spend a lot of time studying y-your magic yet, Frisk. You might as well have some fun first.”

           Frisk glanced at Undyne, half expecting an objection, but the Captain’s eye was alight. “That’s right! We’ve missed twelve birthdays and Gyftmases since you left!” She sprang to her feet, fists clenched. “And now you’ve brought us all this cool crap, and we haven’t given you anything!” Undyne grinned again, eye narrowing. “Fuhuhuhu! We’re gonna get you so much stuff. You’d better be ready!”

           Alphys smiled fondly, looking down at her pie. “What?” Frisk asked.

           “Things have been so t-tense with Sans gone. It’s been too long since she did her evil laugh,” the royal scientist almost whispered. Her smile widened. “I really missed it.”

           Toriel chuckled as Undyne sat down abruptly, scales tinted purple, stuffing more pie in her mouth. “Indeed. I am so very glad you are here, Frisk,” the boss monster said softly.

           That was Frisk’s cue to say that she didn’t need anything, being here with everyone was gift enough…but she didn’t, because it would be fun to go shopping, dang it. Besides, she’d given the monsters so much stuff that it would make them feel better to buy her a few things in return. “Technically, it’s closer to thirteen,” she pointed out cheekily. “My birthday is in just a few weeks, not long before Christmas. Or Gyftmas.”

           “Really? That’s perfect!” Undyne gave the table a dish-rattling thump. “What day?”

“Uh…” Crud. Frisk tried to remember which date she usually used, but her mind was tired and mushy. It’d be easier to tell the truth, especially with people who wouldn’t judge her. “I actually don’t know the exact day,” she confessed. Maybe just one lie by omission: “My real mother is dead, and my foster mother wasn’t sure exactly how many weeks old I was when she got me. She could only narrow it down to late autumn.”

“Oh, my poor child,” said Toriel, her distress echoed by the others’ shocked expressions. “Can’t you check your birth certificate? Or ask your father, if he is still alive?”

Frisk winced. “I don’t think my father knew I existed until I was about ten. It’s funny you should mention my birth certificate—I’ve tried to track it down, but the only copies I’ve found were from people trying to sell me forgeries. None of the prints ever matched mine.” She snorted. “Rosa couldn’t even tell me which part of the city I was born in.”

Alphys looked ready to cry. Undyne patted her with one hand, and pounded the table again with the other. “Man, humans are the worst! Of all people, you’d think the frickin’ King would be held responsible for his own damn kids! How much did that jerk get around, anyway?! I can’t believe—” She suddenly stopped mid-rant. “Are you okay, Your Majesty?”

           Toriel was staring at Frisk, almost looking through her. The boss monster’s hand had clenched into a fist, bending her fork into a strange shape. “Your father is King Stephin?” she inquired, sounding distant. “Are you certain, my child?”

           “Yes, Lady Toriel,” said Frisk, hoping to get this over with. “He had fifteen illegitimate children, including me, and he started taking an interest in us when I was about ten. As soon as the delegation got back safely, he had me packed off to St. Brigid’s.” She was not going to let herself get weepy again! “Do you remember me telling you how I had my memories removed? It was partly because he came to see me and asked them to do it.”

           Toriel gave her a long, hard look. “Do you mean that you were ten years old when you visited us?”

           Where had that come from? “I…yes, ma’am. Why do you—”

           “So you’ll be turning twenty-three this year, whenever the date may be?”

           “Yes,” Frisk said again. What was going on, and why was Alphys staring at both of them like that? “Lady Toriel, what—”

The tension was broken by Undyne giving the table a two-fisted whack. “Let’s just pick a date and throw you a party! Mettaton’s doing that stupid ball thing before you leave, but we can do another shindig later! We’ve gotta make up for lost time!” She nudged Alphys, nearly knocking her out of her chair. “Right?!”

The scientist clambered back up, and said breathlessly, “Right. We could all use a little more f-fun.”

“…I like the way you girls think.” Toriel forced a smile. “What’s this about Mettaton and a ball?”

“He wants to celebrate Frisk’s visit with a dance,” Alphys answered. “So…”

“So he’ll make you do all the work, and take all the credit,” Undyne muttered. “That’s why I hate that guy. I’m telling you, the next time he tries to pull that crap, you should just send him to me!”

“That settles it,” said Toriel, sounding nearly normal. “Tomorrow, we’re going to pick up something nice for all of us to wear, especially Frisk.” She put down her mangled fork. “Dr. Alphys, it looks like we each have three gifts left. Shall we open them before bed?”

Minutes later, the living room looked as though someone had stuck a firecracker in a Christmas tree: paper was strewn everywhere, boxes thrown aside and ribbons collected into colorful heaps for reuse. At everyone’s insistence, Alphys went first; Frisk directed her to the biggest box, and they ended up having to politely take the figurines away from the royal scientist in order for her to finish opening the others. The second  box was a stack of romance- and slightly-action-oriented comics, which Undyne immediately confiscated until Alphys opened the third package: the last two novels in her beloved Adventure Lady series.

It took quite a while to work through all of the lizard monster’s squeals, dancing-about, and hugging of boxes – and Frisk – but she eventually wore herself out, and she was persuaded not to start on the novels yet; instead, she and Undyne each selected a comic and not-very-surreptitiously started flipping through them while Toriel opened her presents.

Frisk prided herself on her gift-giving acumen, and sure enough, Toriel was overjoyed to receive a copy of Educational Principles and Practice, Vol. 1; they both laughed about how it should be “Principals,” to blank stares and a mutter of “Nerds” from the floor. Next came a boss-monster-sized lambswool shawl, which she immediately draped over her shoulders as she tore open the last box. “How lovely!” the goat monster exclaimed, lifting out each of the little bottles in turn. “I ran out of bubble bath years ago! Thank you so much, my child!”

“I made the moisturizer myself,” Frisk said, and was rewarded with a giant hug. She stepped back and actually pinched herself to confirm that she was awake, reminding herself to stop questioning her happiness and just enjoy it. And speaking of reminders— “I have one more thing for you, Lady Toriel,” she said, shoving down her apprehensions. “One moment.”

All three monsters watched her retrieve her satchel and pull out a folder, selecting a single sheet of paper. “Here,” Frisk said shyly, holding it out.

Toriel took it, putting her reading glasses on and tilting the paper toward the fire. “Sheet music?” The boss monster squinted at the title – “Home” – then examined the notations as Frisk held her breath. “I…” Toriel cleared her throat. “I am sorry, Frisk, but I cannot read music.”

“Oh.” Frisk deflated a little. “I’m sorry. I thought you could.”

“Nah, that’s me,” Undyne said, flipping a comic page. “Remember how you used to sit on the piano while I played it?”

Frisk did remember now. “Yes. I’m sorry,” she said again.

“That’s all right, dear.” Toriel gave Frisk a big, eye-crinkling smile that reminded her too much of Asgore. Misinterpreting the human’s expression, the goat monster raised a finger. “I’ll tell you what, my child. When we visit Hotland tomorrow, we can bring this and ask someone to play or sing it for us. Is it a tune I know, or would you like it to remain a surprise?”

“Er…I guess it can be a surprise.” Frisk took the paper and stuffed it back in the folder. Maybe that was for the best…

“Well! Thank you again, Frisk.” Toriel nodded as the others murmured agreement. “I believe it’s time to settle down for the night.” The boss monster stood and surveyed the room, hands on hips. “Let’s clean up, girls. We don’t have enough beds, so would you all like to sleep in here?” They nodded so enthusiastically that Toriel’s smile broadened. “Wonderful! I’ll be right back. Put all the gifts on the table, and the wrapping paper can go in the kitchen for now.”

           As the boss monster bustled off down the hall and they began picking things up, Alphys lowered her voice: “F-Frisk, do you know why she was asking about your b-birthday? Asgore asked the exact s-same thing about you being ten years old.”

           Frisk thought about it, and hesitated, and made herself say, “I don’t know. We’ll see if she asks me anything else strange.”

           “What I can’t believe is you being as strong as a boss monster,” Undyne declared, wadding all the paper into a fist-sized ball. “That’s crazy! I mean, I didn’t think humans could have that much magic!” She gave her toothiest grin. “So, basically, you and Sans are—”

“Perfect,” Toriel said briskly, striding back into the living room and setting down a huge stack of linens. “We have just enough for three pallets! Claim your spots, ladies, and we’ll get you comfortable. It’s going to be a busy day tomorrow. Can I invite you back here for tomorrow night, Doctor?”

The lizard monster was delighted to accept, but Frisk wasn’t so sure. It was nice to see Alphys and Undyne so happy, but…did Toriel expect them to stay here every night of her visit?

As they arranged the blankets and sheets into makeshift sleeping bags, Toriel chattered about all the “campouts” Chara and Asriel used to have in the living room, but Frisk didn’t hear much of it; she was lost in thought about Sans. Toriel didn’t seem to suspect anything, but they had to tell her sometime very soon. Frisk didn’t know how they were going to convince the former Queen that maybe one human with magic and determination could successfully pair off with a monster—maybe they could appeal to Toriel’s concern for Sans’ welfare, not to mention that Frisk was literally his only option?

…Ouch. She rubbed her temple, trying to shove that thought back down where it belonged. Hadn’t she just scolded Sans last night for “joking” that she was only interested in him because some weirdo in a robe said she’d get pregnant soon? If he was really just interested in her SOUL, then he’d have shown some interest much sooner, wouldn’t he?

…Like…like getting flustered when she offered him that stupid fork during their very first real conversation…or agreeing to stay in the first place…or ignoring the opportunity to escape when she was sick from teleporting back to her rooms. Or all the odd looks she’d noticed, especially at her damn feet. Or him being so irate when she showed him her proposals, or the noise he made when she came out in her skin-tight All Souls dress, or being upset that everyone was going to see it, or his instant willingness to pose as her husband for the festival, or—

Frisk bit the inside of her cheek. She knew Sans cared for her. What was making her think like this?

As if in reply, cold prickled over her scalp and down her back. She glanced at the hallway, almost expecting to see—

“Hey!” Undyne snapped her fingers for the third time, startling Frisk out of her reverie. “Did you hear Her Majesty?”

“Ah…no. I’m sorry.” Frisk smoothed out her pallet and stood up to accept a plate with the last slice of pie. “Thank you, Lady Toriel.”

“You’re very welcome, my dear.” The goat monster bent over to renew the magic inside the fireplace, then smoothed the hair out of Frisk’s eyes again, surprising the human with a light kiss on her forehead. “Good night, Frisk. Good night, Undyne, and good night, Alphys. I’ll be right down the hall if you need anything.”

Frisk smiled as the others bade Toriel good night. Was this what being a normal person felt like, having a mother and friends?

Undyne could barely wait for Frisk to finish her pie before she sat down on her pallet and leaned in to ask, “So, what do the humans think of you and Sans? Are they okay with it, or are you important enough to get away with it?”

The human sighed, getting up to put her dishes in the sink. “They don’t think anything is going on,” she said. “He’s a skeleton, and that’s that.”

           Alphys squinted at her in disbelief, and Undyne said, “Wait a damn second. You mean to tell us he spent all that time with you, in your room, and no one even thought something could be going on? Do they have any idea how much magic a boss monster has to work with?!”

           “Really, I thought h-humans had more imagination than that,” Alphys remarked.

           “Yeah! You’re all supposed to be a bunch of perverts!” Undyne shook her head in disgust. “Can’t you guys do anything right?”

           Frisk had to laugh as she settled back onto her pallet. “Humans have no idea how monster reproduction works,” she explained. “I barely know anything myself.”

“Then listen up!” Before Frisk could stop her, Undyne leapt onto the armchair. “Here’s the facts of life, kid, and I’m not gonna hold anything back! You ready? It goes like—”

           “Instinct,” Alphys said hastily. “You decide to be parents, and you combine your m-magic, and then you have a baby. Or an egg, or a cub. It d-depends.”

           The priestess thought about it as Undyne grumbled at the interruption. “Sans implied that you need a male and a female to reproduce,” she said. “Is that true?”

           “Pffffft! Are you kidding?” Undyne gesticulated so wildly that the armchair pitched back and fell over, the fish monster gracefully shifting to stay atop it. “That’s just for bosses!”

           “It’s true,” said Alphys. “Lady Toriel had to incubate Prince Asriel like a human because there was s-so much magic involved.” She squirmed, claws twisting into her blanket. “O-otherwise, any two monsters can decide to h-have a b-b-baby.”

“Any monsters?” Frisk repeated. “Two men, two women—”

           Alphys turned a remarkable shade of orange-red, actually quite pretty to look at, and Undyne nodded so emphatically that she somersaulted onto the floor. “With enough magic, you can do anything,” she said proudly, folding her legs and leaning forward. “If you want a kid, the first thing you do is tell Asgore, and he gives you both a big hug and writes you…I guess humans would call it a birth certificate, except the kid’s not there yet.” Shrug. “Anyway, you both rest up and eat a lot, and then you decide where you’re gonna do it.” Undyne pointed at the floor. “It can be anywhere, but most people like to go somewhere special.” She smiled at Alphys. “Where’d we go if it was the two of us? I’d say the garbage dump.”

           The scientist paused, made a series of incoherent noises, and dove under her pallet, only her tail sticking out. “Why the garbage dump?” Frisk asked curiously.

           “Duh! It’s where we met!” The fish monster cackled, slapping her leg. “Look at her, all cute ‘n lumpy under th—”  Snort. “Oh my God, Frisk, we still have to tell her about that! And Alphys, you’ve gotta tell us what happened with Sans and Asgore!”

           Frisk heartily agreed; it was as good a time as any to get everyone on the same page. They coaxed Alphys into sticking her head out long enough to tell them about Sans’ conversation with the King, which seemed to have gone about as well as could be expected; then it was Undyne’s turn to relate the scene at Grillby’s, and how fun and easy it’d been to screw with Sans.

Of course, she also had to mention Gerson’s revelation about boss-monster attraction. “Frisk really is that strong, then?” the scientist asked, incredulous. “Sans said she was j-just like a boss monster, but…”

           “That’s what Gerson said,” the Captain replied with an air of finality. “Anyway, Sans was trying to convince everyone he thinks humans are all gross, and you know what that goofy bastard said?”

Once the story was finished and they were done laughing – nervously, on Frisk’s part – Undyne resumed her lecture: “So, when you’re ready to have your kid, you go wherever you decided, and everyone knows to leave you alone so you can concentrate.” She held her hands up and spread her webbed fingers to indicate a large oval between her and Frisk. “You both decide on a size and shape to aim for, and then you combine your magic to start forming it. How long it takes depends how powerful you both are, and what you want your kid to be—anywhere from a few hours to a whole day. When the baby’s done growing, you all go home, eat something, and get someone to watch the kid so you can sleep for a couple days. Boom! You’re parents!”

           “What do you mean, ‘combine your magic’?” Frisk demanded, too curious to care if she was being rude. “What does that entail, exactly?”

           Undyne cocked her head, scratching behind her fin. “Whaddya mean?” she asked. “You just do it. Think of what you want and why you’re doing it with that person, swap your magic with them, and focus it together for a really long time.”

           “But when you ‘swap’ your magic, how do you actually do it?” Frisk persisted. “Do you have to be physically touching each other?”

           The scaly monsters exchanged glances, more confused than embarrassed. “You just do it,” Undyne said again. “I mean, did anyone ever teach you how to sneeze? Once you’re ready, it just happens.”

           “It’s completely unique to each couple,” explained Alphys. “The important thing is your intentions, and your f-feelings—trusting your m-mate enough to have your magic directly connected with theirs, and wanting a ch-child badly enough to expend all your power. It can be through touch, or purely magical, though I think it’s usually b-both, depending on your individual preferences. It mostly operates on instinct.” Squirm. “At least I th-think so. People don’t r-really talk about it that much.”

           “Exactly! That’s my smart lady.” Undyne ruffled the spikes on Alphys’ crest, smirking as the scientist retreated again.

           Frisk supposed that made sense; if Sans were to partner with, say, another skeleton, he probably wouldn’t bother to imitate any human parts. But if she was a human who essentially qualified as a boss monster – still a strange thought, however gratifying – then it’d have to be done the human way, which meant…improvising.

“I don’t get how you don’t get it,” the Captain said to Frisk. “Isn’t it the same for you guys? At least a little?”

           The priestess sighed. “No. For one thing, only a male and a female can make a child, and it always has to grow inside the female. We instinctively crave physical contact, but that’s about it. We have to be taught how to do it, or else the whole race would probably die out.”

           That was an exaggeration, but not much, judging by the questions Frisk remembered the other girls asking in their class, and the things she had believed at that age. For example, she once overheard an older girl referring to a boy having “popped a boner” and concluded that the male organ must function like a jack-in-the-box, which seemed impractical at best, and potentially quite dangerous.

           “What you’re saying, then,” Frisk continued, “is that monsters only do it when they’ve made a serious, loving commitment to being parents?” She shook her head. “That’s the exact opposite of most humans. There’s no magic to invest, and usually not much forethought.”

           The monsters looked as horrified as Sans had been when he and Frisk conversed on the subject. “Is that how your dad has so many kids?” Undyne asked. “You just…”

           “I’d say ninety-nine times out of—no, more like nine hundred ninety-nine times out of a thousand, it’s purely recreational. There’s a huge demand for medicines that prevent pregnancy,” replied Frisk. “And a lot of humans – especially young women – think it’s more romantic to ‘follow their heart’ and just hope they don’t get pregnant. If they do, and it’s out of wedlock, the man is only held responsible based on social status and his own morals.” She stared into the fire,

the magic flames flickering in orderly patterns. “Powerful men can do almost anything they want. I was lucky that my father acknowledged me at all.”

           Shocked silence. “No, I’m not joking,” Frisk muttered. Completely against her will, she thought again of Chara railing at Asgore and Toriel— “If they get someone pregnant, they don’t have to deal with the consequences, do they?”

           It was hard to keep from scowling, or feeling queasy. Everything came back to Chara, didn’t it?

           “Well,” Undyne said in disgust. “That’s total crap. We’ve gotta get everything straightened out peace-wise so you can marry Sans and stay here.”

Alphys nodded eagerly, but Frisk felt as if she’d been punched in the gut. Undyne leaned down to peer into her face. “What?” demanded the Captain. She glanced at Alphys. “A couple weeks ago, Frisk talked to some guy who’s never wrong, and he said that if she got her memories back, she’d have a baby within a year. Then she comes here, and I find out Sans has been gnawing on her—”

“Undyne!” snapped Frisk, cheeks aflame.

“Well, it’s true! I know you’re not like other humans, so…” Undyne raked her loose hair out of her eye. “I’m assuming the best here. I mean, don’t you wanna get married?”

“Of course I do!” Frisk almost shouted. “I love him, and I hate that we have to hide it like this! It’s illegal with humans because they think of monsters as a cross between animals and public utilities, and I can’t do anything here because the last human who lived here was a spoiled, manipulative piece of—”

She stopped at the sight of tiny golden sparks crackling in the air. Both monsters had recoiled as far back as they could, Undyne against the capsized armchair and Alphys up against the low bookshelf. “Sorry,” Frisk said hastily, and the sparks vanished. Where had those come from? She hadn’t put up a barrier—was she just that angry?

Wait. It was easier to use magic in the Underground than on the surface, and her barriers always got more fizzy when she was upset…was her magic more reactive to her emotions down here? She hoped not, or else she’d have to be very careful to avoid scaring any more monsters.

Undyne scooted forward. “Yeah, I think we’re done for now,” she said. “We should get to bed. Gonna have a busy day tomorrow, and you’re probably pretty tired.”

“Yes, very.” Frisk rubbed between her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you, or…”

“That’s all right,” Alphys said, offering a timid smile that made Frisk feel exponentially worse. “Um…y-you know, you can talk about it with us, if you w-want. But you don’t have to.”

“Yeah! We’re your friends,” Undyne said stoutly. “Yell, scream, throw things—that’s what friends do!”

The priestess chuckled. “Thank you.” She rose on her knees and hugged Undyne around the middle, then Alphys. “Thank you both so much. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

Alphys was pink again. Undyne grinned. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s be good and get to sleep.”

Frisk slid under the blankets, letting warmth sweep over her and wash away the bitterness. On impulse, she said, “Who wants a lullaby?”

“Oh. D-do you sing?” asked Alphys.

Frisk didn’t think of Chara. She just took a breath, and the monsters blinked at each other in pleasant surprise as humming filled the room. It was Sans’ favorite song, light and sweet, and Undyne could barely mumble something complimentary before her eye drifted shut, Alphys following a few seconds later. Frisk had to let it taper it off soon after; it was so nice to think of Sans, but she couldn’t stay awake any longer. At least she’d see him tomorrow…

 ~

             Back a third time: in bed with her husband, she let him tip her head back so he could run his teeth and tongue over her throat. She remembered now how busy she’d been with work this week; they’d barely seen each other, much less been intimate. No wonder he was so eager, or that she couldn’t stay mad at him for waking her. Frisk sighed as his hand ran down her side, thumb stroking the delicate skin of her hip before it slid underneath for an appreciative squeeze. He nuzzled her cheek, then looked up enough to lock eyes before he kissed her.

Frisk pulled him closer, glorying in the slight pain of his ribs grinding against hers; not only was it the feeling of being close to him, she knew from experience how much Sans loved her softness. She was a little bemused when he sat up after only a minute or so, but he was breathing so hard and fumbling so awkwardly with his shorts that she had to recognize it as a compliment. Her body warmed in anticipation as he moved her legs aside to—

           Sans almost never cursed, but he muttered something very impolite as the doorknob rattled. “Daddy?” Rattle, rattle. “I’m hungry.”

           “it’s after midnight, kiddo,” the skeleton said irritably. “go back to bed before you wake your mom. she’s gotta be up in a few hours.”

           A token whine; sullen footsteps trudged back to their room, the door of which was nearly slammed shut.

Frisk sighed. “How does she do that?” she mumbled. “I swear I—”

           Her only warning was a glint in his socket and a sharp movement forward—her hands latched onto his shirt, jaws clenched to keep from crying out. “Sans! That’s…” Frisk bit back a moan as he leaned over her. “That’s cheating,” she whispered furiously.

           Sans chuckled. “not if i’m doin’ it with my wife.” His hips moved slowly. “get it?” He ground his teeth as she retaliated by rubbing her calves along his pelvis. “it’s…y-yeah.”

           Frisk smirked. He was so aroused that he couldn’t even come up with a followup joke! That was gratifying. So was…well, everything else he was doing. She leaned up to pull him in for another kiss, but he buried his face in her neck instead, gripping the sheets for better leverage as his pace quickened.

           There was nothing for it. Frisk hung onto him for dear life, dimly aware that she was getting louder, no longer caring if either of the kids heard them. It didn’t last very long, but that was fine: for the first time in a long while, Sans had to bite her shoulder as he shuddered to a stop, which was enough for her a moment later, leaving them both a panting, sticky mess—in other words, perfect.

           On one hand, she did actually have to get up in…crap, only four hours? Frisk glared at the alarm clock, then closed her eyes, stroking her husband’s skull as he caught his breath. Sans mumbled into her ear, and Frisk smiled, whispering back. At least she wouldn’t have any trouble getting back to sleep!

 ~

             Sans didn’t make a conscious decision to get up and go find Frisk right now; he just woke up and, a moment later, found himself standing in the dark entryway of Toriel’s house. Magic raced through his bones so hard and fast that he had to get ahold of himself long enough to adjust his vision. The colossal skeleton moved cautiously to his right, where the bedrooms were, then paused at a sound from the living room. A little snore, rustling…snickering?

           Right. The slumber party. Against his better judgment – any judgment at all, really – Sans crept down the hall and peered around the corner of the living room, where two people lay fast asleep; a third person was crouched over one of the sleepers, chortling to herself.

           The boss monster kept a tight rein on his urge to walk over, grab Frisk, and take her straight back with him to his cold, smelly, bedless room. At the very least, he wanted to ask Undyne what the hell she was doing to his human.

He didn’t get the chance: a silent presence behind him made him gulp. “Hey, Tori,” he mumbled, half-turning.

Toriel was in her normal clothes, looking tired and extremely unhappy to see him. “What are you doing here at this hour?” she asked coldly.

His bullshitting reflex saved him as webby feet padded over from the living room and Undyne joined the goat monster in glaring at him. “I was thinkin’ about that big load of food we need ta pick up, and who all should be goin’,” he said. “Frisk probably wants me to bring her an’ maybe you, Undyne, but I think it’s too dangerous fer her. I wanted ta grab some papers from ‘er and jus’ go take care of it by myself.”

“All by yourself?” repeated Undyne, and Toriel asked, “Right this moment?”

“Yeah. I can shortcut everything home way easier if it’s just me.” Sans jerked his thumb at the living room. “All I need are the invoices out of ‘er bag, and I can take care of the whole thing while you guys are doin’ whatever.” He shrugged. “I don’t want ‘er wastin’ her time in the Underground with that crap. She never hangs out with other girls, so this’ll be good for ‘er.”

“How considerate of you,” Toriel said warmly. “I know how much magic you possess, Sans, but surely you won’t attempt to take yourself and all that cargo back here single-handed? What if you can only come partway and get caught out in the open?” The goat monster looked around Sans. “Would you consider going with him, Captain?”

“Nah, she can stay here,” the skeleton answered. “I’ll get a room in the village if I need ta rest up. And if I really wanna keep myself in shape…” He didn’t have to fake a shudder. “Pap’s got plenty’a food in the fridge.”

The women were silent for a moment. Undyne came forward slowly to clap him on the back ribs. “Sans,” she said gravely. “I salute you.”

Toriel sighed. “I suppose desperate times call for desperate measures. If your mind is made up, I will not stop you. Undyne, would you get the papers from Frisk’s bag, please?”

And so it was that Sans found himself committed to the biggest solo grocery run imaginable, all because of a sex dream. It was good to know that he could still lie as long as Frisk wasn’t in the room, but he wished he could’ve found out in a more convenient way. Eh, whatever; it was true that she needed girl time, and that she’d be in danger if they ran out of magic and were discovered by poachers. He had his disguise, but she was way too cute to pass as anything but herself.

So Sans accepted the folder, flipped through for the most boring-looking, number-filled papers, and helped himself, taking note of the sheet music – ha – without giving it much thought. “Welp, ‘m off,” he said to the other monsters. “Tell ‘er ta have fun, ‘n I’ll be back soon.”

“Of course, Sans. Please, be careful, and don’t take any foolish risks,” Toriel urged him. “We will send out a search party if you’re not back within forty-eight hours.”

“And Frisk’ll probably insist on coming,” Undyne added pointedly. “Don’t get captured or die, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” The giant skeleton waved the papers at them. “I’m gonna say bye to Pap, and then I’m off. Toodles.”

True to his word, Sans went back to the house, woke his brother, and apologized in advance for eating all the spaghetti, explaining that he needed the energy in order to go get another load of food for everyone. Papyrus was two-thirds ecstatic and one-third fretful. “I CAN SEE YOU ARE ALSO SICK WITH WORRY,” the younger skeleton murmured as Sans choked down the last plateful. He wasn’t stupid enough to have his tongue out, but there was just something about Pap’s cooking that transcended texture or flavor. “ARE YOU SURE YOU CAN DO THIS ALONE?”

“Yeah,” Sans said feebly, reminding himself that the stuff basically counted as food. “I’ll be fine, Pap. I’m gonna be really careful.”

Papyrus put his hands on his fake-armored hips. “HMM. I HOPE THAT MEANS NO HUNTING.”

Sans tapped his fork on the plate. He had wondered if his brother was going to say anything about that. “Nah, bro. No hunting. No animals, not anythin’. I’m just gonna get the stuff Frisk ordered and come right back. I promise.”

The smaller skeleton – Sans was never going to get used to that – nodded, only looking a little skeptical. “NYEH! WE’LL WAIT FOR YOU, THEN. DON’T TAKE TOO LONG, BUT MOSTLY, TAKE CARE.”

“Sure thing.” Sans rolled the papers up loosely, tucked them into an outside pocket, and gave Papyrus a brief, manly embrace. “Take care of ‘er. I’ll see ya later.”

“OF COURSE! I WILL ALSO SEE YOU, NYEH-HEH!” Papyrus held his smile as Sans winked out of sight. Then he sighed, his whole body drooping. “…I HOPE.”

 ~

             Frisk woke to the sounds of laughter, voices, and a door closing. For a moment between rubbing her eyes and raising her head, the priestess had no idea where she was, or what she was hearing—was Sans making breakfast for the kids? Had she overslept? Why was the bed so hard?

           She pushed herself up onto her elbows and saw the living room of Toriel’s house, blankets and pillows heaped around the cooling fireplace. Right; they’d had a slumber party. Frisk yawned, sitting up for a deeply contented stretch. She could hardly comprehend it: they had stayed up late talking about girl stuff, and she had no responsibilities for today except to go shopping! Maybe she really should stay at Toriel’s for the rest of the trip…

           “Good morning, sleepyhead,” Toriel said, with an odd quaver in her voice. “Would you like some breakfast?”

           Frisk scratched her forehead. Then she scratched it again, checking under her nails, and decided she was imagining things. “Yes, please. I hope you’re not using your pie ingredients.”

           “Why not? I have butter, eggs, and salt, and three hungry houseguests.” Toriel waggled a finger to spread the fire magic more evenly beneath the skillet. Her shoulders hunched a little as Frisk got up and wandered into the kitchen. “Would you please set the table for me?” she asked without turning.

           “Certainly.” The human went to fetch four plates and glasses from the cabinet. “Where are Alphys and Undyne?”

           “Reading those silly comic books in the guest room,” the goat monster said tolerantly. “I’ve never seen grown monsters who loved those things so much.”

           The priestess found the silverware drawer and set out forks and napkins. “You seem to be feeling better,” she commented. “We were a little worried last night.”

           “Yes, of course…and speaking of last night, Sans stopped by very early this morning.” Toriel transferred the scrambled eggs to a serving bowl. “He’ll be busy today with a few errands, so we won’t be seeing him, but he said to have fun with the girls.”

           Frisk mumbled acknowledgment, her face growing hot. Had he had the same dream, or memory, or whatever it was? Was he avoiding her?

Toriel was quiet for another moment. Then: “I hate to gossip, dear, but… when Sans was apprenticing under you at the castle, did he seem…fond of anyone? I mean, has he grown attached to any humans beside yourself?”

           Frisk felt the hairs on her arms standing straight up. “Er…may I ask why? Did he say something last night?” she asked, sounding only mildly curious.

           The boss monster shook her head. “Please, Frisk. I’d rather not discuss it until you’ve answered my question.”

Frisk wanted to tell the truth so badly that she had to bite her lip before she answered, “I don’t know. We didn’t talk much with any one person. The only people he really interacted with were the sorcerers in charge of developing the solar panels.”

           “Ah, yes, humans don’t have them yet.” In one motion, Toriel cracked two more eggs into the skillet, incinerated the shells, and flicked the ashes into the sink. “By ‘sorcerers,’ you mean men and women with considerable amounts of magic?” A drop of egg splashed the stovetop as Toriel stirred the mixture, raising a little plume of steam. “Forgive me for asking, my child, but are any of them particularly strong? Perhaps one of your siblings?”

           Frisk stared at the table. Time to stop dancing around the subject, or at least come a little closer. “I think I know why you’re asking, Lady Toriel. Yesterday at Grillby’s, Gerson told us that boss monsters are only attracted to other boss monsters, or someone equally powerful,” the priestess said quietly. “Is that true?”

           An embarrassed pause. “That old—” Crack went another egg. “Yes, it is true.” Crack. “May I ask how the subject came up?”

Well, Sans had obviously said something, or Toriel had otherwise figured out there was a human involved…but she still didn’t seem to know who he meant. “Undyne was teasing him about liking humans. Gerson explained that it was basically impossible, but Sans acted as though it’d already happened,” said Frisk, trying to stay calm. “I won’t ask whether Sans told you anything in confidence, but…yes, he has met several extremely gifted humans.” When there was no response, the priestess turned to face the stove, where the former Queen stood rigid. “Toriel, please, tell me honestly—what’s the worst that could happen if Sans were to marry a human?”

           Crack. “He could not.” Crack. “It is not my personal opinion. It is fact.” More egg splashed the stovetop as Toriel stirred the mixture. “Neither humans nor monsters would recognize their union. She would be an outcast among humans, and we would not trust her enough to let her live here.” Crack. “Asgore would suspect Sans of collusion with humanity, or even treason, especially if he chose someone related to the King. Everyone in the Underground but myself and Papyrus would think likewise.” A giant sigh. “The best-case scenario is that Sans would have no home but what he and his wife could make for themselves, and he would have her for only a few decades at most before she withered and died. I don’t even know if they could have a child, but if they did, Asgore would feel threatened by—”

           “What if we changed any or all of that?” Frisk took a few steps into the kitchen. “Why couldn’t monsters learn to trust at least one human? Why can’t we try to convince Asgore that he doesn’t have to fear and hate everyone, and Sans isn’t a threat?” She couldn’t keep her voice from rising: “Why not give Sans a chance to have a few years with someone he loves, instead of making him live forever in abject misery?”

           Silence. Toriel turned the skillet to scrape more eggs into the serving bowl, mixing them all together. “You may be in a position of authority, my child,” she said, so gently that Frisk’s hackles rose, “but there are many things you do not understand yet.”

           Frisk took a calming breath. “I understand that when someone says that,” she said politely, “they’re either hiding something, or trying to end an argument where they know they’re wrong.”

           Toriel stopped moving. The ring of fire on the stovetop flared so high that Frisk had to control the impulse to turn and run. “Listen to me, child. I know that Sans is your friend, and that you are concerned for him,” the boss monster said to the flames, deadly quiet. “I feel the same way. If it were possible to allow him to be happy with someone, anyone, I would be overjoyed. But I will reiterate: the things I have said to you are not a product of my own narrow-mindedness. They. Are. Facts.”

           Frisk’s chest burned. “Facts can be changed, Lady Toriel,” she murmured. “I’m not claiming anything will be quick or easy, only that it may be possible. It stays impossible if we do not try.”

           The flames on the stove winked out. Toriel went to the refrigerator and took out a fresh jug of milk. “Go get the other girls, please, my child. Breakfast is ready,” she said brightly.

           So be it. “Yes, ma’am,” the priestess replied.

           “Uh…” Undyne’s awkward voice made Frisk turn to face the hallway. The Captain and the royal scientist were glancing around, clearly afraid to interrupt. Undyne looked up solemnly. “Frisk, I just wanted to saaaHAHAHAHAHA!” The fish monster nearly collapsed, staggering into the wall as she howled with completely unexpected laughter, raising a shaking finger toward the human.

           Bewildered, Frisk looked at Alphys. The latter tried to cover her mouth, but as her eyes met Frisk’s, the lizard snorted so hard that her glasses fell most of the way off. Another look, and Alphys was wheezing, sitting down hard. Undyne was already gasping for breath, but every time she looked up at Frisk, she nearly screamed. “Oh my—oh my gaaaaahahahaha!”

           Frisk whirled around and glared at Toriel, who was still facing away from her, but whose head was bowed and shoulders shaking as her laugh finally burst forth in great, rolling peals, forcing the goat monster to lean against the counter and gradually start slithering to the floor. She risked a peek at Frisk and clutched her gut as the human down stared at her. “My…my ch—” She shook her head, falling onto her side to giggle helplessly on the kitchen floor.

What in the—Frisk shoved past her debilitated friends and ran to the bathroom mirror. That was why Toriel had sounded so strange at first, and why she hadn’t turned around: in giant black letters on Frisk’s forehead and across the bridge of her nose, someone had written SHARKY WUZ HERE.

She knew her skin had felt itchy! What the hell was it written with? Indelible ink?! The priestess was so angry that…she…actually…had to admit it was pretty damn funny. She glared at her reflection, but it was no use: Frisk buried her head in her hands and allowed herself to laugh silently for nearly a full minute.

Out in the kitchen and living room, the monsters were starting to run out of steam, amusement fading gradually into concern as the human remained silent. “F…Frisk?” Undyne managed. She tried to get up, but the best she could do was a half-crouch against the wall. “Hey, Frisk? You okay?”

There was a distinct sniffle as Frisk emerged from the bathroom. Toriel wiped her face on her sleeve, sitting up against the cabinets. “My child? Are you all right?” she called.

Frisk came shuffling down the hall, her head hanging. She walked past the concerned monsters and sat down on her pallet, giving another noisy sniff.

           Undyne grimaced. “Hey, come on. It was just a dumb joke.” The Captain hobbled into the living room and bent over Frisk. “It’s a tradition to—”

           Whap went Frisk’s pillow, square in the fish monster’s face. Undyne fell flat on her back as Frisk burst out laughing. “This had better come off, Sharky,” she said, trying to sound very angry and absolutely failing.

           Undyne smacked the floor, giving another shout of laughter. “Who…who said it was me?! Why would you think that was my nickname?” She grabbed her own pillow and sat up for a swipe at Frisk, mindful of her much greater strength. “It was probably Her Majesty!”

           “Oh, really? Is that how it is?” Toriel got to her feet with difficulty. “I…” She had to pause for a few more giggles before she could say, “I suppose I’ll just comfort myself by eating this entire breakfast by myself.”

           At that, Alphys got up and tried to creep around the fringes of the now-full-blown pillow fight, but Undyne grabbed her ankle. “Hold on, Doctor! This is a question of honor, and you’ve gotta help me settle it once and for all! I—” She stopped as Frisk tried to catch her unawares. “HEY! Knock it off, you damn cheating human!”

           “Never!” Frisk had gone for her blind side, and ducked behind her pillow to avoid retaliation. “Alphys, help me!”

           “Mmm! This is wonderful,” Toriel said loudly, sparing the scientist from having to choose sides. “I’m so glad I have it all to myself!”

           Undyne dropped her pillow, but before she could stand up, Frisk said, more seriously, “Wait a moment, please. I need help getting this off my face.” She crooked her finger at Undyne. “We’ll be right back.”

           The Captain followed her to the bathroom. “Yeah, I have no idea how to get that stuff off,” she admitted. “I used one of the really nice pens out of Toriel’s desk.”

           “Splendid.” Frisk opened the medicine cabinet as Undyne closed the door. “That could’ve gone better,” she said quietly.

           “What?! That was fun as—oh. Right.” The fish monster sat down on the edge of the tub. “Yeah, so…Her Majesty knows something is going on with a human, but she doesn’t even suspect it’s you? I mean, you’re powerful enough to be High Priestess, you spent way more time with Sans than anyone else, and he really cares about you. How is she not putting that together?”

           Frisk sighed, selected a bottle of baby oil, and began rubbing it on her nose and forehead. “Toriel’s been alone for much too long. Now that I’m back, she still wants to think of me as a little girl, and being involved with Sans doesn’t fit that image.” The human dumped most of the bottle out and slathered it on. “It’s convenient for now, but when she finds out…”

           “Hmm.” The Captain gave her a hard, squinty stare. “That’s not gonna stop you, is it?” she demanded.

           “Hell no,” Frisk said. She was smiling, but she had never been more serious in her life…or at least she would be, once she got the damn ink off.

 ~

             It was now late afternoon. Sans was standing at the counter of a large grain clearinghouse in human form, hands in his pockets, waiting on someone who’d run off to find someone else who could assist him. He glanced around for the fifth time, but there wasn’t much point. There were shelves lined with burlap sacks that reminded him of his old shirt, wood floors, brick walls, and nothing else. At least if he’d brought Frisk with him, he would’ve had something to look at!

           If he’d brought Frisk along on this stupid impulse trip, he also wouldn’t be waiting for these dickwads to take their sweet friggin’ time tracking his stuff down; she would have done her scary thing at them and gotten their fleshy butts moving. He was doing his best to look intimidating, but it wasn’t the same with his disguise on.

           …But if he’d brought Frisk along, he’d be thinking nonstop of that damn dream, and his entire day would’ve been a frustrating waste. As it was, he was only thinking mostly of that damn dream, and the day had otherwise been really boring. This was the third place Sans had been, and according to the invoices, there were a couple more to go; he didn’t know why he’d assumed that everything they’d ordered would be sitting around in one place, ready to go, because holy shit, it wasn’t.

           At least the nice lady at the first warehouse had convinced him not to try getting everything together and heading back out tonight. She’d seen that he was completely clueless and given him some advice on what to actually do: show the invoices today so they could get it ready for tomorrow, then rent a couple of carts in the morning, bring them to each warehouse, inspect the cargo for damage, sign the bill of lading, make sure it got loaded safely, and head to the next damn place to do it again until everything was ready to go. Then he could worry about getting home.

           All these stupid, tiny, essential details—was this what Frisk’s life was like, running around arranging crap for everyone? No wonder she was so damn tired all the time! It was like being pinched to death!

           He was profoundly grateful to exit the last warehouse, even if the sun’s dying light was right in his eyes as he stepped out. Sans squinted his way down the street and selected the first okay-looking pub he saw. The place was noisy and crowded, but warm enough that he decided to sit down at a table near the door.

It was seriously weird to be by himself among all these people. With nothing better to do and the servers too busy to notice him yet, Sans relaxed as best he could, half listening to the humans’ chatter.

“That’s seriously the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” someone was saying loudly at the next table. “I don’t care how all-powerful it’s supposed to be, it’s a skeleton.”

Sans turned his full attention to that table as the guy’s friends murmured agreement. “Yeah, if that’s the worst thing they can come up with, it’s pretty damn stupid,” one said.

“You wanna know what I heard that’s actually true?” The first speaker’s voice dropped just enough to sound impressive. “If the whole monster thing works out, the King’s gonna legally adopt her—new title, next in line for the throne after the Prince, the works.”

This did impress his friends, who were thoughtfully silent. “Nuh-uh,” someone finally said, and they laughed.

“I’m not kidding! My brother-in-law just got back from the city a couple hours ago. The sorcerers did a big demonstration of those…those panel things, whatever the fuck you call ‘em, and they actually worked. The King was there, and a bunch of people said he couldn’t stop talking about everything the High Priestess was doing.”

“So how’d you get from ‘the thing works like she said’ to ‘huzzah for Her Majesty’?” asked a skeptic.

The knowledgeable human smirked. “He was asking for all kinds of paperwork when they got back to the castle, including adoption stuff. The Prince isn’t doing too good—” He paused, nodding agreement with their sympathetic murmurs. “I know. Poor little man. But—”

“Good evening, sir!” A smiling, apple-cheeked waitress was between Sans and the other table. “What’ll you have?”

“Water.” When she opened her mouth again, he said, “Just bring me whatever’s at the top of the menu.”

The waitress blinked. “Yes, sir. Can I interest you in—”

“Bye,” he snapped, and the woman moved on, trying to hide a scowl.

To his irritation, the humans were now talking about sheep or something. Sans stared at the back of one man’s head, his thoughts buzzing like flies. Had he jinxed it somehow? Just yesterday, he’d been thinking what a great ruler Frisk would be, and now, if these random assholes were to be believed—

Someone had made a dirty joke about a guy spending too much time with his sheep, and the table was getting so loud that Sans contemplated moving somewhere else, or leaving entirely. If he stayed at a decent inn, he could get food there just as easily.

“You’d better watch out. They thought my cousin was doin’ that, and he had to sell his whole farm to pay the fine,” said the grossest-looking human.

This revelation was met with even louder derision. “That wasn’t a sheep, stupid,” the talkative guy commented. “He was gettin’ cozy with a monster. Remember, the little one they were using for the mill?”

Sans’ entire body locked up. Dimly, he knew he had to make his legs move—he had to get out of here before he heard anything worse than—

“He didn’t actually do anything,” the gross guy insisted. “They just found him in the pen.”

Another round of merriment. “Yeah, drunk off his ass! If I was her, I’d’ve knocked him out, too! He got charged with attempted bestiality and letting her escape!”

“Nah, not bestiality,” someone said. “It’s…what’s that fancy word?”

“Miscegenation,” said the gross guy. “Fuckin’ a monster. He got lucky they didn’t throw him in jail. He just had to sell everything he owned and go work for someone.”

Sans stared down at his table’s cracked, beer-mug-stained surface. He was no longer listening to the group. So, it was actually against the law? That meant…

The noisy table gradually ceased talking and turned to look at Sans, who had started sniggering, then laughing to himself, and gotten so loud that the humans around him were edging away. “You okay there?” someone asked cautiously.

“It’s a fucking crime,” Sans said, distantly aware that it was in fact a deeply messed-up and unfunny issue. “Get it?” He got up, shaking his head, a hand to his side. With an incoherent sound, the disguised monster ignored the waitress’ approach with his food and staggered out the door. He could eat later; right now, he just needed to stop laughing at the sheer, ridiculous number of reasons why he should never ever see Frisk again, much less spend the rest of his life with her. At this point, what else could even happen?!

In a way, it didn’t matter: it was about infinity too late to decide that they’d better just be friends. Whatever happened, they could handle it between them, he told himself, and very nearly believed it.

 ~

 It wasn’t a sex dream this time, but the first thing he saw after falling asleep that night was Frisk, so he’d take it. “Heya,” said Sans, extending a bony hand. They were in Toriel’s living room, Frisk lounging in the armchair. “Come here often?”

           She smiled at him as he pulled her to her feet. “Not often enough,” she said, squeezing his metacarpals. “I’m so glad to see you.”

           “Yeah?” For a moment, Sans thought she’d grown way taller; then he realized that he was his normal shape, but human height. He opened his arms, and Frisk came right in to snuggle against him, sighing as he pulled her closer. “How was yer day?” he mumbled, running his phalanges through the ends of her hair.

           Her body rumbled as she laughed a little, and his SOUL almost purred with sheer happiness. How was he supposed to ever stop hugging her when it felt like this? “It was wonderful,” she said into his chest. “We had our slumber party, and then Papyrus came by in the morning to say hello, so we took him around to give out the rest of the gifts, and he came shopping with us.” Another giggle. “He’s actually got a great eye for color coordination.”

           “Yeah?” Sans ignored the tiniest pinprick of jealousy. “Thanks fer includin’ him.”

           “Of course!” The human squeezed him for emphasis. “I’ll spare you the full fashion show when you get back, but some of the things we got are really cute. I can’t wait to wear something that’s not black or gray.”

           “Or purple?” he teased her.

           “Or…” Frisk stopped, then thumped him in the ribs as he snickered. “You know I hate that stupid dress! I might as well go out wearing nothing but body paint!”

           “Okay,” Sans said agreeably.

That earned him another thump. “So,” Frisk said, very dignified, “then we went to see Mettaton.” She wriggled a little in excitement. “He’s already started teaching me a few different dance steps. The only time I’ve ever danced was when I was here, and it was so much fun! We’re going back tomorrow so I can practice.”

Sans tried to envision his normal, giant self dancing her around, and shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Glad ya liked it. Are you all back at Tori’s tonight?”

Frisk nodded. “We played cards until Undyne got carried away.” Snrk. “I bought some waterproof eyeliner while we were out today. I can’t wait for her to wake up tomorrow.”

That didn’t mean much to Sans, who figured he might as well ask, “Did they tell you what I’ve been doin’, where I am now?”

           He felt her tense up. “Eventually, yes.” Frisk pulled back enough to glare at him. “What were you thinking? You should’ve waited for us!”

           Sans let his head drift downward till his forehead was resting on hers. Was she wearing makeup, or were her lashes always this long? ���I was thinkin’ of that dream from last night,” he said casually, “an’ then I wasn’t thinkin’. Tori caught me comin’ in to say hi.”

           Frisk’s eyes widened, face flushing. “Sans! You can’t do that! What were you even going to do with everyone else right there?!”

           Sans paused. “Hold on a sec.” He didn’t know if it’d work in a dream, but just in case, he released her, pulled the silver chain from his coat pocket, and slipped on his disguise. Frisk jumped back as he wriggled his human hands. “There we go! Now I can feel stuff, and now—” He reached down to run his fingers through her hair, his other arm pulling her close again. “I don’t have all those damn teeth in the way,” he said, and leaned down to kiss her.

           To his hurt surprise, she pushed him away, turning her face aside. “Hold on a second,” she protested. “I…” Frisk saw his expression and sighed. Her arms came up around his neck, and Sans had to try very hard to focus on anything else besides her softest parts smushed up against him. “You have to warn me before you do that,” she chided him. “I’ve only ever seen you like this a handful of times, and you startled me. That’s all.” She placed her palm on his cheek, and he wasn’t embarrassed to put his hand up to hold it there. “All right,” she said after a long moment. “Now you—”

           The rest of the sentence was lost to history: his mouth was on hers, arms almost crushing her. Frisk made a sound deep in her throat, and he ran his hands down her back and up her sides as her lips parted again. It was so much better not to have to worry about biting the crap out of her! Their teeth could still knock together a bit too hard or catch each other’s lips, but that was a tiny annoyance compared to the feeling of her breath on him, how he could ease his tongue into her mouth and let her explore him right back without snagging anything on his fangs.

           That also meant he could pull her hair back to expose her neck and bury his face in it, his other hand free to roam over her backside. It was a struggle to formulate anything coherent, much less to ask her if her physical limitations applied to dreams, or if they could lie down and pick up where they’d left off a couple nights ago.

           Frisk’s throat moved. He thought she was encouraging him to start biting again, until she said, “I’m going to try to speak with Asgore tomorrow.”

           Sans’ fingers dug into her waist. “Why.”

           “Because I have to show him that I’m not afraid of him. Don’t worry, he likely won’t agree to see me yet. It’s just important to try.” Her hands tightened, almost trembling. “And I have to talk to him about…”

           It came back to him in a flash, everything Grillby had said— “About Chara?”

           Frisk’s hands were definitely trembling. “I don’t think Toriel could handle it. Not yet. But I can’t hide it much longer.” She swallowed hard. “Can I tell you about it when you get back?”

           Sans frowned, resting his cheek where her neck met her shoulder. “Of course. Whatever ya need.” He paused, playing with her hair. “So, no offense, sweetheart, but…why are we talkin’ right now instead of makin’ out?”

           “Because Undyne saw what I did to her face, and she’s hitting me with a p—”

           Just like that, Frisk was gone. Sans stared at the empty space his arms were grasping, and allowed himself to slowly pitch forward until he fell into the armchair. He scooted and twisted around to face forward. Well, just because Undyne had ruined his chance to screw around completely consequence-free with the woman he loved and wanted with every fiber of his being, that was no reason to pout, was it? Except that it completely was! Fuckin’ Undyne!

           Sans exhaled, closing his sockets. His real self was so tired that he might as well stick around here for a minute, where no one else could bother—

           Something moved, so quiet that it wasn’t really a sound so much as a disturbance in the air. It didn’t feel hostile, but the giant skeleton felt a stab of foreboding. He peeked upward, and immediately felt his sockets grow wide. His mouth moved, but there was no sound. All it could do was shape the words Prince Asriel?

           The figure nodded slowly. Sans watched in awe as it knelt, golden eyes dark and solemn in the firelight. There came the soft, deep, courteous voice Sans remembered: “Tell her I’m sorry.”

           Sans shook his head. “Sorry for—wait!” Asriel was standing, stepping back with a shake of his head. “Prince Asriel! Hold on! Come—”

           It was no use. Just like in real life, the Prince was gone.

[angstyaches]

Alone (Hitori de)

So I feel like I’ve been teasing this OC’s introduction for... a long time?! So finally, here’s your invitation to Ryan Aldridge’s 200th birthday party! 

CW: nausea, emeto, loneliness, jetlag, character overwhelmed by language

He was swaying a little – hopefully not noticeably – as he passed countless faces. Countless strangers who, no matter their differences, were all dressed in black and white attire; monochromatic dresses and stiff-looking suits were the order of the evening. All blending in, all the same.

However, most other people at the party weren’t hiding sweat patches under their suit jackets, or struggling to stand upright because of stomach cramps and dizzy spells.

Conversations blew past, the onslaught of the known, yet vaguely unfamiliar, language making everything worse. His hands were shaking, and the loneliness felt like an alien thing attached to his stomach lining, niggling away with the possibility that he wouldn’t find who he was looking for.

He lingered by the refreshments table, resigning to just grabbing a cup of water. There was a selection of food – as well as goblets of blood and various entrails for the strictly carnivorous guests – on display in giant, elaborate glass bowls, anyone’s for the taking. He averted his eyes from all of this; the thought of putting anything in his stomach right then made him want to retch, despite the fact that his last meal had been on a plane ten hours ago.

It could have been the three plane rides that were making him feel so horrible, or maybe it was the fact that his eating and sleeping schedule had been shaken around relentlessly over the past three days. Or was it two days? He couldn’t even get it straight in his head.

The cold water settled in his belly for all of a couple of seconds before he felt it gush back towards his throat. He hiccupped deeply, pressing a hand to his mouth just in case anything had made it all the way up. He glanced around, noting that none of the nearby guests had turned to look at him.

Feet swirled in and out of his vision as he stared at the floor and shuffled away from the table. Arms brushed against his and made his clammy skin crawl. His agoraphobia didn’t usually affect him as badly as his claustrophobia, but right now it felt like the two were ganging up on him.

He needed to get out of there.

He weaved through to the other end of the hall, mumbling “sumimasen, excuse me, I’m sorryyyy” all the while. He began to feel off-balance, like he’d accidentally put his tight dress shoes on the wrong feet. He somehow made it out of the function room and through the foyer, stumbling out into the night.

At the top of the glossy marble staircase that overlooked the mansion’s car park, he loosened his tie and undid his top button. His shirt felt soaked with sweat under his jacket, his hair curled and sticking to the back of his neck. Now that he was away from the party, he could hear his own stomach groaning in discomfort.

He sat down at the side of the top stair, leaning his head against a cool marble column. He was tempted to close his eyes for a bit, but he was afraid his jetlagged brain would put him straight to sleep if he did. He couldn’t imagine any of the Elder and elitists would be too pleased to find an unconscious Japanese boy slumped at the top of the stairs of this very fancy mansion. He could just imagine the scolding phone call he would get from Yumi if she caught wind of it all.

The cold air relaxed him for a few minutes, before he heard footsteps coming up from the car park of the mansion, as well as low voices speaking to each other. He lowered his head a little further, curling an arm around the side of his face to hide from whoever was coming, waiting with the other hand pressed into his gut for his moment of solitude to be restored.

Not that he wanted to be alone, exactly.

“- hear what she said?”

“I heard her, boo, but I still don’t think she meant it the way you’re taking it.”

“Yeah, well, I think you give them too much slack, honestly.”

He lifted his head to see the two figures who had just walked past him towards the entrance to the mansion. One of them was a tall, dark guy whose suit jacket was slung over his shoulder, revealing suspenders worn over a grey-and-white pinstripe shirt.

The other was a lot shorter, paler, and had vibrant blue-green hair. His suit jacket was nowhere to be seen, and his shirt was silky and patterned like a chessboard.

His heart grew lighter in his chest and tears sprang to his eyes. A brand-new wave of energy struck his bloodstream and his nervous system, and if he’d been in fox form at that moment, he’d have wagged his fluffy white tail.

His legs carried him back inside without much input from his thoughts, and he couldn’t stop smiling to himself. Even the pain in his belly faded to the back of his mind; even the unsteadiness left him alone. The crowd didn’t freak him out as much as he joined it this time; because in the sea of black and white attire, he could see that mint-coloured hair.

It had been a silvery shade of lilac when he had last seen it, and it was about thirty feet away, buried in the crowd.

He couldn’t wait any longer.

“Fee-kun!”

Heads shot up from drinks and conversations, but none of them were the right heads. Kazu began to giggle as more and more attention was drawn towards him, and it only made him more and more excited, more and more eager to –

“FEE-KUN!”

He looked this time, blinking in disbelief.

“Kaz?” Felix asked, eyes widening as started to push his way back through the crowd.

Kazu allowed himself a shaky smile.

“Kaz?” Felix squeaked, starting to run a bit now.

Kazu managed to brace himself in time for Felix to throw his weight towards him. He scooped the smaller boy into a hug; there was so much adrenaline in his blood that he mustered the strength to lift Felix up off the ground and spin him slightly before setting him back down.

Just like he used to.

“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe it’s really you,” Felix gushed, clinging to Kazu for dear life. Kazu was a little wary of the pressure this was putting on his stomach, but he still laughed and continued to squeeze his friend back.

He also noticed the disgruntled looks that some of the older guests were throwing their way, but if Felix didn’t care, then Kazu certainly didn’t.

“Hisashiburi, ne?”

“Hisashiburi.” Felix’s voice cracked a bit as he nodded violently, his chin knocking against Kazu’s collarbone. It certainly had been a long time. Six years, to be exact. Felix still looked like the same twenty-three year old Kazu had known back then, whereas Kazu had gone from nineteen to twenty-five in that time.

“Genki?” Felix demanded to know, his voice warm beside Kazu’s ear. Are you well? His Japanese was nowhere near the level of Kazu’s English, but Kazu appreciated the effort. The rushed little greetings were making him feel a little less overwhelmed.

“Genki,” Kazu muttered, though now that he thought about it, he felt far, far from genki, and he didn’t feel good about lying to his friend. “Ah – I – I’m tired.”

“You look it, buddy,” Felix said as he pulled back, frowning as he scanned his friend’s face. “When was your flight in? Today?”

“Ah, uh, yes,” Kazu said shakily. “For me, yesterday.”

“Right, right.” Felix turned his head, beckoning for his taller, darker companion to join them. So far, he had been hovering a few steps below, but he silently came back up, letting Felix take his hand. The rest of the party had gone about their business by now, Kazu noted.

“Elli, you remember me telling you about Kazuhito, right?”

The guy nodded quietly.

“Kaz, this is Elliott,” Felix smiled.

Kazu glanced down, gulping back a mouthful of sour spit as he saw how the two of them were holding hands. He’d never felt anything romantic towards Felix, but he’d also never had to share him with anyone; when he’d come to Japan, Felix had been alone and completely helpless until Kazuhito had offered him somewhere to stay.

Now Kazu was the one in a foreign land. Now he was the one who was alone.

He was working himself up to repeating the name Felix had given, briefly panicking that he was going to mess up the L-sound. He wondered if he should just lean into a funny mispronunciation, to try to break the ice.

“Ni-nice to mee–”

Kazu swallowed mid-speech and clamped a hand to his mouth. The crashing waves in his stomach were even more unsettled after the jumping and hugging and spinning. The excitement and relief he’d felt upon seeing Felix was already ebbing away, leaving just nausea and exhaustion. He really didn’t feel like talking, not with how horrible his body felt, and not while there were so many people around. What he wanted was a bed, preferably his futon back home, but he’d have settled for anything.

“Hey, are you okay?” Felix asked, his eyes widening again.

“Ore – kibun –  I…” Kazu mumbled into his hand, too dizzy to try to explain in English. He gently placed his other hand on his stomach for emphasis. “Onaka ga itai.”

“What, really? Your stomach hurts?” Felix glanced around, stepping closer again so he could put a hand to Kazu’s elbow.

Kazu moaned. He felt like the world was tilting on its side. He wanted to warn Felix of just how bad he felt, of the very real danger of –

Before he could make up his mind what to do or say, his body made a decision of its own, and his head shot forward with incredible force. His hand flew away and his jaw fell open, and he emptied out the scarce remains of his in-flight meal and all of the water he’d drank.

A beat of silence rang through his head after the splash.

His mouth was still hanging open wide as saliva and vomit dripped from his lips to the polished white floor. He slowly looked up to see that he’d puked all over Felix and his boyfriend, coating their shoes and the fronts of their clothes with thick white chunks and yellow liquid. The nearby guests had leaped back, shuffling about and looking at their feet and exclaiming things that Kazu couldn’t focus enough to hear.

With his stomach feeling somewhat relieved, Kazu felt his shoulders begin to tremble with a weak roll of laughter.

“Fucking hell, Felix,” the boyfriend growled, as though Kazu’s vomit was somehow Felix’s responsibility. His hands were hovering out from his body as he looked down at his destroyed shirt, his spattered suspenders.

Felix just gave a shaky smile and put his hand on Kazu’s shoulder.

“Fee-kun, gomen,” Kazu giggled, sorry, covering his mouth in response to both the laughter and the nausea that was rolling around for a second appearance. He gulped loudly, making Felix jump. “Go-gomen, ne…”

“Don’t – don’t be sorry, okay? Let’s just get you out of here. Excuse us, sorry, can we just –?”

Kazu let himself be directed back out through the doors and towards the top of those outdoor marble stairs again. His vision was fuzzy, but Kazu broke away and threw himself against a wall, doubling forward and ejected another stream of sick, this time into an elaborate flowerbed about ten feet below.

“Oh, gosh, the hydrangeas.”

Kazu tensed as he felt Felix come up beside him.

“Sorry, it’s – don’t worry, just get everything up. You poor thing,” Felix sighed, rubbing his back firmly despite the fact his dress shirt and jacket were now soaked through with sweat. With his free hand, Felix reached around and laid a cool palm against Kazu’s forehead. “I think you might have picked up a bug, maybe on one of your flights. You’re a tad hot. Atsui.”

“Atsui,” Kazu agreed, spitting away some of the sour fluid still pooling around his tongue and teeth. He lifted his head back from over the wall. He scoffed with nervous laughter as he looked at that first wave of sick again, soaking into the laces of Felix’s shoes. “Yabai. Sorry, Felix.”

“Daichi Kazuhito?”

A woman’s deep voice made Kazu turn his head. His guts felt even wobblier under her pale yellow gaze. She had frosty-white hair, almost as white as the streak that ran through Kazu’s, breaking up the silky black. He didn’t have to wonder who she was.

“Ka-Kazuhito desu,” he muttered. “Ryan-sama, hajimemashite. Tanjoubi omedetou…”

Felix cleared his throat. “He – he said it’s nice to meet you, and happy birthday –”

“Yes, thank you, Felix,” Ryan said evenly. Without any change in her expression, she began to address Kazu, in Japanese, explaining that she was good friends with Yumi, which he’d already been aware of. He had to really focus on what she was saying, not just because of her accent, but also because his belly was still churning, despite its contents now being spread out across Felix, Elliott, and the mansion’s hydrangeas. His ears pricked up at certain words, especially when he realised she was asking him a question. “Hitori de?”

Kazu nodded miserably as his fever- and jetlag-induced fear was pounded into his chest. He began to press a hand against his belly again, as the nausea began to melt into a dull, twisting ache.

“Hi-hitori de,” he said in a quiet voice. He had come here alone. One person. Just Kazuhito. He mumbled softly that Yumi sent her apologies, but work had been too hectic for her to take time off to travel.

As he spoke, he felt Felix reach up to brush his hair back from his sticky forehead. Kazu felt goosebumps breaking out all down his back and his arms.

“He can stay with us, can’t he, Ryan?” Felix asked softly. “Seeing as he’s sick. He helped me out a lot, back when – well, when I was in a much worse state than this.”

Ryan pursed her lips. “Elliott’s already headed for the car.”

A warm glow spread through Kazu’s chest as Felix linked an arm through his elbow and pulled him close. “Thank you, Ryan. So, we’ll see you at home tomorrow?”

“You will, indeed.” Ryan looked Felix up and down swiftly, eyeing the vomit stains on his pants and shirt. “Wash those trousers immediately. You can burn the shirt. It’s an insult to good taste.”

Felix laughed to himself as she stalked off, and Kazu finally eased the last of his weight up from his elbows, up from the edge of the wall. He felt his stomach gurgle, the sound traveling right up in his throat. He burped uneasily into his fist and smiled awkwardly at Felix.

“Come on,” the bright-haired boy coaxed. “Let’s get you out of here, before you puke all over these lovely steps.”

[probablyobsessingovertv]

My Opinions on Varchie, Bughead, and Barchie’s Chemistry

I know a lot of my fellow Varchie/Bughead shippers strongly dislike Barchie. One of their biggest arguments against the pairing is that they lack development over the past four seasons and that seemingly, this cheating scandal has come out of nowhere with very little warning or sense attached, which I agree with. It does feel like Betty and Archie’s (especially romantic) relationship has been very minimally developed over the last few years, making this seem sudden, unexpected, and in my personal opinion, not logical. Especially considering how good, strong, and healthy Betty and Jughead’s, and Veronica and Archie’s relationships appeared in S4. I didn’t really think that we were headed for infidelity or dishonesty, secrecy or betrayal. Not at all. I understand and respect why, from a drama and entertainment standpoint, it was done, but within the story, to me, it just doesn’t really make much sense. I hope most Varchies/Bugheads/ maybe even some Barchies or “on the fence” Barchies at least, could agree with that.

Another major argument for the anti-Barchies is the lack of chemistry shared between the characters and even more so, the actors, KJ and Lili. Now I don’t totally disagree with this, however, I believe there are different forms of chemistry that actors can display.

(Before I begin, this is entirely my opinion, with my terminology and categorizations, my ideas of where each fits, etc. All me, no actual research done other than looking at scenes of Riverdale to find examples. It is 1000% okay to disagree with me or to think about this differently. This is just my interpretation as a long-time teen drama tv watcher and someone that spends way too much time analyzing fictional characters, actors, and relationships of all kinds. I have no expertise or credibility in this. I’m just doing it for fun. Also, I believe this can be true in all industries and all relationships, not only in entertainment or on a fictional tv show/movie.)

First, there is Working chemistry. As in two people or a group that just make sense when they are together. There is a natural ease and comfortability between actors that makes those scenes flow well and makes the actors’ portrayal of the friendships/relationships their characters have a lot more believable and enjoyable to watch. KJ, Lili, Cami, Cole, Mads, Vanessa, Casey, etc, all possess this chemistry with each other. It’s obvious that they enjoy working with each other. They enjoy each other as people and that comes out on screen very well I think. Their irl close friendships and trust between each other definitely make this a lot easier and more authentic in the show as well as in interviews and promos for sure, which is one of the reasons I’m really drawn to this show. (Examples: Core 4 scenes at Pop’s, group scenes in musical episodes, the family groupings, the romantic pairings, one on one friendships like Betty and Veronica, Archie and Jughead, Kevin and Betty, Cheryl and Veronica, the list goes on.)

Emotional/Relational chemistry is similar to working chemistry, but I think it’s a level deeper. This can occur between short-lived romantic relationships, such as a character’s rebound or fling, along with family members, friends, neighbors, etc. I most commonly associate this kind of chemistry with primarily words and sometimes actions or deeds. Childhood best friends are a really good example of this to me, such as Betty and Archie in my mind. This chemistry means that actors/characters deeply trust each other and this trust has usually been built up and developed over the course of many years. The people involved are usually very comfortable with each other, again, trust one another in scenes, and depend on each other. A huge characteristic of relationships that include emotional chemistry is the ability of these characters to be vulnerable with one another, to have deep, meaningful conversation, know how to comfort one another, and the desire to protect, be there for, support, and look after each other. I like to call these brother-sister relationships sometimes.

Though most serious romances possess a large amount of emotional chemistry, a relationship that contains solely an emotional bond cannot progress further, such as a lasting, healthy romance. In my opinion, this is where Barchie’s relationship can be categorized.

Consequently, I greatly disagree with anyone who says KJ and Lili don’t have any chemistry with each other whatsoever. In nearly all of their scenes since S1, we can see that Betty and Archie care deeply for each other. They really trust each other. They feel safe and comfortable with one another and feel the need to protect the other from any kind of harm or danger. They have been there for each other through some very painful and difficult circumstances and have been constant sources of comfort and safety for each other since they were children. They grew up together. They know so much about one another and have been through so much together. KJ and Lili do a fantastic job with this kind of chemistry. Very emotionally driven scenes, scenes of saying what the other needs to hear, being a shoulder for the other to lean or cry on, giving advice to help each other through the trouble they face in their lives, having a good time together, being emotionally vulnerable and honest, showing up when the other needs them, and occasionally letting their emotions get the better of them and, in Archie and Betty’s case, believing that chemistry is a different kind than it really is. (Ex. Archie helping Betty calm down after the Black Hood and breaking up with Jughead for her in S2, 3x5 Archie’s escape when Betty gets him out of the pipe and hugs him, Betty working with Mary and Sierra on Archie’s case to prove him innocent, the glances out their windows. Look, they have good emotional/relational chemistry is what I’m trying to say.)

However, Betty and Archie have only ever kissed while broken up with or in a fight with the character they are most associated with romantically. (And the plan to help Jughead in S4, but that doesn’t count since it didn’t really have any romantic intention and was purely (at least initially) a ploy to distract everyone from the truth of Jughead being alive.) KJ Apa and Lili Reinhart have amazing emotional chemistry. It’s obvious that they care about and trust each other as real life people as well as their characters. They are clearly close in real life and have a pretty similar relationship to Betty and Archie from my observation. KJ and Cami also have phenomenal emotional chemistry with clearly a very deep trust or at the very least, the front of one, between each other as people and scene partners. Cole and Lili obviously do as well, and I could argue that the majority of actors on Riverdale share this emotional chemistry with many of their costars.

What I believe KJ and Lili, not particularly to fault of either of them, lack, is Physical, Sexual, and/or Romantic chemistry. I believe this is the only kind of chemistry that can’t be forced or faked. Physical chemistry is most often displayed in serious, long-term dating relationships and marriages, but can also show up in various other relationships in some circumstances. This usually comes in handy when actors/characters are kissing, hugging, holding hands, innocently touching like rubbing hands, holding faces or playing with hair. This can also be in the forms of heart eyes, certain smiles or flirty glances, etc. I see this as very intentional and almost second nature to most actors portraying couples. Actors with a lot of physical chemistry have to be incredibly comfortable with and trusting of each other. As has been said on countless occasions, lots of romantic scenes in films and tv are very very staged so making them look authentic, unplanned, attractive, and believable is a whole nother level of talent and trust in my opinion.

Most pairs of physically compatible actors tend to come up with their own ideas and improv some “coupley” gestures or ways of showing affection towards each other’s characters in ways that make sense for the story, those characters’ individual personalities, and the relationships between them. The first couple on Riverdale that I think of with strong romantic/physical chemistry is Archie and Veronica. KJ and Cami being the actors that portray them, of course. They have incredible physical chemistry and Varchie are also often seen as an overall very physical couple, constantly wanting to be near and touch each other. Yes, they also kiss, make out, and even have sex often on the show, but their physical chemistry really shows in the little things if you ask me. The overall show of physical affection displayed towards each other is truly so beautiful and looks so real and believable on screen. It’s especially obvious when actors are so comfortable and so invested in their characters that they come up with their own little moments for their couple that they know fans will enjoy. For KJ and Cami, they seem to find 100 different little ways to hold hands or to be very affectionate by touching each other’s hair and having specific movements or gestures they do every time they kiss that real life couples would definitely have, and overall using pretty simple facial expressions and body language to portray the love and the very believable (to me) relationship between Archie and Veronica.

Cole and Lili’s portrayal of Betty and Jughead is also very physically authentic, such as when Cole kisses Lili’s forehead or how she was laying on him in the season 4 Halloween episode. Vanessa and Mads and Choni have great physical chemistry too, due to how much they trust each other and how comfortable and close they are with each other in real life as best friends. Some of those little moments could be suggested by the director, but I know many of the small things are not scripted or directed. I do believe that genuine, physical chemistry is natural and cannot be fabricated. It sure can be exaggerated or diminished by good actors, but it really can’t be entirely faked without being very obvious in my mind.. All this to say, I believe that Betty and Archie lack that physical/romantic connection and I personally think KJ and Lili just don’t naturally have the same level of that chemistry as they do with Cami and Cole. Again, that is not remotely a diss to either actor. Some pairings just don’t work like others do and that’s not because the actors are incapable or “not talented enough” to portray it.

The casting team struck gold with KJ and Cami’s and Lili and Cole’s chemistry and that is very rare to find, especially for an entire cast to be so authentically compatible with each other. In conclusion, I am not completely against the idea of Betty and Archie as a couple, but I’m just not a huge fan of it because I don’t think it would be as realistic or believable as Varchie and Bughead are, solely based on the natural, romantic chemistry the actors have with each other. Not to mention the story and what makes the most sense in that regard.

TL; DR: I don’t blame you. This is my mind at 2am. Basically, I believe there are three major levels of chemistry between people, especially actors and the characters they portray.

1) Working Chemistry: pretty much people (actors) that genuinely like one another, get along, and make the relationships of their characters believable and enjoyable on screen. (aka the entire cast of Riverdale)

2) Emotional/Relational Chemistry: Kind of similar to working, but a level deeper. I refer to these as “sibling/family-esque” relationships. Usually expressed through words and sometimes actions or deeds. This is where I personally believe Betty/Archie’s relationship is.

3) Physical/Sexual/Romantic Chemistry: Everything from flirty glances to making staged romance scenes look authentic, to coming up with sweet little gestures to show affection. I believe this cannot be faked/forced entirely. Physical chemistry is something I believe Veronica/Archie and Betty/Jughead display incredibly well. In my opinion, this is what Barchie lacks. Both the characters and the actors that play them. Not dissing either of them, they’re obviously phenomenal actors and KJ/Lili have amazing emotional chemistry, I just personally think the romantic chemistry between them isn’t as strong as KJ/Cami, Cole/Lili, Madelaine/Vanessa, etc.

*If you made it this far, you’re also in too deep with this show. I’m kidding, I love you. Thank you for reading all of this. I would absolutely love to hear what you think.*

Also, thank you Freya @loverofthor-2 for proofreading and encouraging me to post my brain dump yet again. ❤️

[shireness-says]

Wherever You’re Going (I’m Going Your Way) [5/6]

Summary: 1952. A lost boy without a home, Killian Jones rides America’s back roads on his motorcycle, searching for a purpose that’s just out of reach. This pit stop was only supposed to be a few days, a couple of weeks at most, but a pretty blonde waitress just might be his salvation. Is he brave enough to let her? Rated T for language. ~4.0K. Also on AO3. Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4

~~~~~

A/N: Last chapter of plot - next week is an epilogue. Thanks for reading - let me know what you think!

~~~~~

The days to come are a kind of blissful in-between: after the date and the kiss that changes everything, but before  Killian’s tires have arrived and he’s back on the road again. The days are simultaneously too short and wonderfully long, the days too few and yet seemingly endless as Killian savors every moment together that he can. He makes a point to spend as much time with Emma as he can, knowing that their time will be far too short, taking her for ice cream and evening strolls and even letting Emma drag him down to the local bar and dance hall. He’d tensed as she’d pulled him onto the dance floor, far too aware of the many eyes around him — he’s far too aware that others think he’s trouble, and can only imagine what they think to see him arm in arm with the local golden girl — but the other townsfolk never show it. He thinks he might even see a few smiles among them, though that seems like it could be too much to ask for. As happy as he is to take Emma on the kind of dates she deserves, dancing and the like, he truthfully takes just as much pleasure in simply keeping her company during her late shifts at the diner, sitting in what is now his usual booth and flashing a smile just for her. There’s a gentle intimacy to this, being allowed to watch Emma in her own environment.

Still. As much he tries to revel in the moment, the future looms just ahead. 

“I don’t know what to do, Belle,” Killian groans as softly as he can manage into the phone. Granny’s back hallway probably isn’t the best place for this conversation, but it begs having, and Killian isn’t willing to drive up David Nolan’s long distance bill. The downside of the public pay phone is that it’s not exactly private; other customers pass periodically, searching for the bathrooms or winding their way back through to the attached inn. It’s odd to even think, and Killian isn’t sure how it truly happened, but he seems to have earned some level of acceptance amongst the locals, just by virtue of becoming a regular face at the garage and at Granny’s in the last handful of weeks. Most even nod a greeting, or offer him a brief smile. It’s jarring, in the most pleasant way, to be met with a kind of amiable neutrality after growing so accustomed to distrust everywhere he goes. 

That’s the benefit of staying in one place, he supposes: people come to know you, even just a little bit, even just enough to grow used to you and start to trust you. Those could be the seeds of a more settled life, if he wanted.

But that’s the whole problem — Killian isn’t sure he’s ready for that. Which brings him to this moment and this phone call, because it’s been nearly three weeks, and they’re expecting the replacement tires any day now, and Killian has a decision to make. Three weeks ago, there’d been no question — he’d be gone as soon as the tools were put down. Three weeks ago, however, he hadn’t yet met Emma — and Emma just might change everything.

The truth of the matter is that these last days with Emma have been the happiest that he’s lived in a long, long time, and he likes to think he makes her happy too. Her smiles and laughter and the way she chases after him for just one more kiss would suggest that to be the case. They went into this with open eyes, both knowing that whatever they became was subject to a ticking clock, but Killian still pauses when he thinks of leaving her behind. She deserves more than that; they both do. 

At the same time, staying still isn’t an option. Killian’s great cross-country trek has, more than anything, been a search for a sense of self, a sense of purpose; finding someplace to call home is a far distant third on his list of concerns. Ghosts still haunt him, and though he knows the wind on his motorcycle can’t permanently blow them away, it helps. It’s nice to just not think for a few minutes. Even hours, if he’s lucky.

(Then again, kissing Emma achieves much the same effect, in a much more pleasurable fashion.)

“I can’t stay. I really… I don’t think I can stay,” Killian continues. “But how can I leave, either? What if I’m throwing away my one real chance to settle down, and be happy like that?”

“But is that really true happiness, convincing yourself into something because it’s the smart or honorable thing to do?” Belle asks. “Or is that just a compromise?”

Killian stays silent, letting her words run through his head. This is why he called Belle in the first place: she has a way of pointing out the real questions he needs to ask himself without any judgement or demands. 

“You don’t need to have an answer now, and you don’t have to tell me when you do,” Belle continues, “but if you’re as taken with this girl as you tell me, it’s not fair to her if you stick around but constantly dream of leaving again. She doesn’t deserve that.”

“No, she doesn’t.” Killian can hear the soft tenderness in his own voice; no doubt Belle can as well. “And that’s the biggest reason I can’t stay. She deserves more than a man who would always wonder what he gave up. It’s not just places I want to see either, Belle. It’s… at the risk of sounding like some terrible cliche, I’ve felt like a shell of myself for a long time. The words shouldn’t be me, but they were an important part, and I lost them. Flying down the highway, seeing all the wonders this blasted place has to offer… that’s the only time it feels like the words might be in my reach again. I deserve the chance to figure out who I am after all this, even as Emma doesn’t deserve a man who will otherwise always be a little bit empty.” Killian sighs. “That doesn’t make it any easier to think about leaving her behind.”

“You could always ask her to come with.”

Killian’s heart leaps in excitement at the very idea, but he quickly forces reason to tamp it down. “I couldn’t possibly.”

“Whyever not? I thought you said she had a bit of wanderlust herself.”

“Yes, but…” Killian struggles for an answer, feeling like his brain is tripping over itself. “Storybrooke is her home. She’s got a family here, people who love her and would miss her. I can’t take her away from all of that.”

“Maybe that’s a decision she gets to make,” Belle replies gently. “Maybe she’ll surprise you. Maybe she wants the same thing, a chance to see what else is out there. You won’t know unless you ask.”

“Maybe.” Even as Killian says it, he knows that it’s a dream too big. He’ll never risk it — and Belle probably knows that too.

“It’s up to you, Killian,” she concludes, “but think about what’s best for you, now and later, okay? You deserve to be happy just as much as she does.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Once Killian hangs up the payphone, he fights the urge to slide down the wall into a crumpled heap. Even after his talk with Belle, there’s still no good answers.

He’s got a lot to think about. 

———

As long as Killian doesn’t think too closely about their looming, unknown deadline, he can luxuriate in the sheer quiet joy of spending time with Emma. It’s easy to get used to her kisses and easy affection and the way that she has a special smile just for him when he walks into the diner. It’s a beautiful respite he didn’t know he needed and is certain he doesn’t deserve.

But far too often and too quickly, good things must end.

The new tire arrives on Thursday. Killian does his utter best to ignore it. As eager as he was to get in and get out of this little nowhere town three weeks ago, that’s all changed because of Emma. The itch under his skin is as strong as ever — the desire to blow all the dreams and pain away upon the winds — but his attachment to Emma, though new and young, is deep. She’s a balm to all his lingering wounds, a bright spot in his days that he never thought he’d find again, and the idea of leaving her is near unbearable, even if the idea of staying is just as suffocating. 

There’s only so long he can pretend to work off a debt he’s long since paid, though, and while David will never say anything, Killian sees the confused looks that the other man sends his way each day those tires continue to sit on a shelf.

“You know, you don’t have to leave if you don’t want to,” David mentions with an affected air of casualness as he works on the undercarriage of someone’s truck. Killian has been drafted to assist — though it seems to be just an excuse to trap him into conversation, considering that the only way he’s been helping is to hand over tools that David could just roll out and retrieve himself.

Killian braces himself against the truck’s bed, sighing heavily. He can’t help the exhalation; inside his head, all of Killian’s different desires war with each other — to stay with Emma, to leave for her own good, to leave for his own good. Underneath it all, though, is that same itch that’s driven him forward ever since he landed in this country, and it only grows stronger every day.

Staying was never really an option — not when he still needs wind whipping past his face to ground him every day.

“I know. But I can’t,” he finally replies, head bowed in a pointless instinct to hide his gaze from a man already obscured. 

David rolls himself back out to the light. “Why not? Has anyone made you think you couldn’t? Besides Graham, I mean, and that really was just a misunderstanding —”

“No, it’s not that. I’ll have to disagree about the sheriff’s intentions, but you’ve all been… wonderful. You, and Mrs. Nolan, and… Emma.” Killian stutters for a moment over her name; though they both knew going in that this wouldn’t end in anything lasting, it had been easy to forget that in a week and a half of bliss, and she’s the one who stands to hurt the most. Still, he must press on. “Better than I deserve, really. And I know you’d welcome me with open arms should I choose to make your little hamlet home. But it’s… I’ve got this compulsion to keep moving. Chasing something, or running away from something, I don’t even know anymore. But one day… I hope I’ll figure it out, and that feeling will settle.”

David hums, taking the time to replace his tools. If Killian’s not mistaken, it’s a stalling tactic. “You know, Emma has this theory,” he finally says, “that home is the place that when you leave, you just miss it. She and Mary Margaret spent a week — not even a week in Portland shopping for wedding and household things. And that was it for her. She and Mary Margaret were still in this terrible little apartment, but I’ve never seen her happier to be there. Gave me the biggest hug when she saw me as I came to pick up Mary Margaret for a date.” David smiles fondly at the memory. “I suppose what I’m saying is… maybe it takes some distance to realize what you want. And we’ll always be happy to welcome you back, if you choose to return. You’ve got a job here if you decide that’s what you want.”

It’s a lot to offer him, Killian knows — more than he expected. This entire town and all the people in it — especially the Nolans, especially Emma — are all more than he ever expected. “Thank you,” he says softly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

David just nods before grabbing a different wrench and wheeling back under the body of the truck, but Killian thinks there’s an understanding there — that I can’t stay doesn’t mean not ever, just not now. There’s a time and a place for everything in life, and the place Killian’s at right now isn’t nearly settled enough for tranquil little Storybrooke.

He shouldn’t have counted on David keeping that information to himself, however. Half the reason he’d avoided the matter of the tire in the first place was his own uncertainty about how to broach the topic with Emma. She deserves to hear from him that he’s leaving again, but all attempts he makes to imagine that conversation feel inadequate — too flippant, too detached, too lame. Decidedly not what she deserves.

Trust his Swan, however, to bring it up all on her own.

“So,” she starts, arm linked through his as they walk down Main Street together, “what’s this I hear about a tire?”

Killian’s heart jumps into his throat; without even intending, he slows their pace to barely a shuffle. “So you heard about that, then.”

“David’s not great about keeping secrets from Mary Margaret, and Mary Margaret isn’t great about keeping secrets from… anyone, really.” Emma chuckles at her little quip, but it doesn’t hold the joy Killian’s grown accustomed to in the past weeks. 

(God, when did he allow himself to become accustomed to that — or anything? He was never supposed to stay longer than a few weeks, and this only makes it harder.)

“I want to tell you, but…” Killian trails off. But what? He was scared? He was conflicted?

“It’s alright, Killian,” she smiles back, albeit weakly. “We always knew this was coming.” Emma gathers a deep breath as if to steel herself for what else she has to say. “So how much time do we have left, then? I know the road must be calling you again.”

But you are too, Killian doesn’t say. 

“Two days,” he says instead. “Three at most. David and I got Mr. French’s delivery van settled today, so we’ll be able to put the bike back together tomorrow and I can hit the road the next day, or the one after.”

“That’s not much time,” Emma replies softly, looking down at their shuffling feet as if she can’t bear to meet his eyes.

“No.”

(You could always ask her to come with, whispers Belle’s voice in his head. He’s not nearly brave enough to listen to it.)

Killian feels Emma take a deep, strengthening breath before she lifts her gaze to meet his again. “Then we’d better make the most of it.”

———

The next evening, Killian takes Emma for a ride on the newly-functional motorcycle, trying the whole while not to think about how this feels like goodbye. He remembers how she’d asked, one of those first nights, flirting even though Killian couldn’t see it, didn’t want to see it. Emma had gasped in surprise and delight when Killian came to pick her up after her shift (an early one, today, that lets them take a little cruise as the sun sets before them), drawn out to the diner’s front windows by the putter of the engine. 

“Are we going to go for a ride?” she practically demands. Not that Killian minds, as long as he gets to see the grin that splits her face from cheek to cheek. 

“As far as you want,” he promises.

(It was only supposed to be a few days, a couple of weeks at most, but ask her to come with echoes louder and louder in his head with each passing hour.)

Killian helps Emma onto the bike as best he can while straddling the seat himself, but she doesn’t prove to need much assistance, still steady even as she swings a leg over the body. It takes some doing, but he manages to crane his body around far enough to press a lingering kiss to her lips. 

(Not their last, not their last, his heart insists, but his brain still whirs in a panic of not enough time like another engine he’ll have to fix.)

“Are you ready, love?” he asks when they finally break apart. Emma nods enthusiastically. “Then hold on tight.”

It’s almost idyllic, cruising through Storybrooke’s back roads with Emma’s arms twined around his waist. She particularly seems to love the straight stretches of road where he can really test their speed. As the wind whips past their faces, Emma giggles and shrieks with glee behind him. Other women might have been nervous about the bike, or fretted about the number the wind will undoubtedly do to their hair, but not his Swan. It’s obvious she’s having the time of her life, and Killian feels grounded in a new way to feel her body perched behind his.

(Come with, come with, could come with…)

“God, I see why you love that so much,” she chuckles as they roll to a halt at the pier. Killian will never get back in the water, but there’s still something soothing about the endless horizon. “It’s exhilarating.”

And maybe it’s the joy in her voice, or the way she smiles as she swings off the bike again. More likely, it’s the result of the words that have been rattling around inside his skull ever since he talked to Belle. Whatever it is, it dissolves any filter between Killian’s brain and his mouth and the words come tumbling out before he can stop them. “You could come with me,” he blurts out in a rush, only to flush red as he realizes what he said. That was not remotely something he meant to say, but it’s out there in the world now, his heart dropped at her feet for her to pick up or kick aside.

Not that she’s done either, yet. Emma stands shocked and still in front of him, eyes wide like she can’t believe what she’s just heard. That’s a reasonable reaction; Killian certainly can’t believe that he just said it. 

“What did you say?” she whispers.

“Nothing, Swan, don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have said anything —”

“But you did,” Emma says, interrupting his backtracking. “Did you mean it?”

Killian sighs, sweeping his hand through his hair in yet another nervous tic. She probably knows all of them by now — the hand in the hair and the scratching behind his ear and all the rest of it. He’s a mess of a man, which makes him all the more certain that no matter what he might want, he can’t possibly deserve her. “Aye, I did,” he finally admits. “And I know it’s foolish, because I can’t possibly ask that of you, not when you’ve got a place like this to call home, with people who love you. Not when you’d have to put up with me. But it’s what I want.” He whispers it like a shameful secret. And maybe it is, a little bit — after all, he knows better than anyone that no matter how much he wants doesn’t mean it can ever happen.

“And why would you ever think that’s foolish?” Emma asks softly, stepping into his space to rest her hands on his shoulders.

“I mean —”

“I told you once that I wanted to be brave with you, and that it was my choice to make. I meant it then, and I mean it now, too.” As Emma pauses to stare into his eyes, Killian feels hope flutter in his chest, stronger and brighter than ever before, only to burst to glorious life as she finishes. “So ask me.”

It only takes a moment to swallow his nerves. “Come with me, Emma. Let me show you the world.”

Emma’s hands move to his face, stroking her thumbs along his cheeks to coax him into a smile to match her own. “Yes,” she says, softly, emphatically, lovingly.

And Killian finally allows his dreams to soar in flight. 

——— 

Their goodbye is sad, even though Emma assures everyone that it’s not forever. 

“I’ll be back, I promise,” she tells Mrs. Nolan, whose eyes brim with tears just waiting to fall. “We both will be.”

“I know that,” Mrs. Nolan insists. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t miss you! It won’t feel right, not seeing your face around town every day.”

“Promise me you’ll look after her,” David says quietly as Killian secures the saddlebags on the motorcycle. Emma has proved to travel light, just like him; she’d showed up with nothing more than a satchel, a tightly coiled bedroll, and a beaming smile. “Because Emma is special, and I don’t know what we’ll do if something happens to her. Or, more accurately, I don’t know what I’ll do to you if something happens to her,” he tries to joke, stretching a weak smile before falling back to something more serious. “She’s very precious to us — to all of us.”

“I know,” Killian replies, cracking a small smile as he watches Emma hug her friend. “She’s very precious to me, too. I promise that I’ll do everything in my power — everything and then some more — to watch over her and keep her safe.”

“Good.” David offers his hand to shake, and Killian grasps it firmly in return. Maybe it’s a sealing of the promise; maybe it’s a gesture of friendship; maybe it’s a little of both. Whatever the case, Killian feels something pass between himself and David: an understanding, almost a sort of peace.

Emma slides an arm around his waist, apparently done hugging and bidding farewell to her crowd of admirers. Killian could swear half the town turned up in front of the garage to send her off — Granny and Ruby, Sheriff Graham, Mrs. Nolan, and a whole slew of other people he only halfway recognizes. She’s obviously much loved; Killian could tell that even without David’s little speech.

“Ready to go?” she asks with a wide and happy smile. He’d understand if she was nervous, or scared, or sad, or anything else; that would be reasonable as she’s about to embark on a journey into the unknown with him. There’s only excitement in her gaze, however; it’s obvious she’s got a wanderer’s heart of her own.

“Whenever you are, love,” he smiles back.

It’s a matter of a moment to swing his leg over the body of the motorcycle and let Emma clamber on behind him with David’s help. As Killian starts the engine, the other man drops a kiss to Emma’s forehead that Killian pretends not to notice.

“Godspeed,” he murmurs, just loud enough for Killian to hear. “And you make sure to call and keep us posted, alright?” he concludes in a louder voice. 

“Of course, dad.” Killian can practically hear her roll her eyes, but he can hear the fondness, too. In a last gesture, Emma leverages herself off of Killian’s shoulders to press a kiss on David’s cheek. “Love you.”

“I love you too.” Tears gleam at the corner of David’s eyes, but he plasters on a grin anyways. “Now go on, hit the road before the sun gets too hot!”

Killian doesn’t need to be told twice. In a flurry of waves from Emma and her crowd of well-wishers, they slowly cruise back down Main Street, picking up speed as it gives way to a country highway.

“Are you ready for an adventure, Swan?” he asks as she twines her arms tighter around his waist, craning his neck to meet her gaze. 

“With you?” she smiles back. “Always.”

~~~~~

Tagging: @kmomof4, @aerica13, @thisonesatellite, @searchingwardrobes, @let-it-raines, @teamhook, @ohmightydevviepuu, @optomisticgirl, @winterbaby89, @spartanguard, @scientificapricot​, @snowbellewells​, @welllpthisishappening​, @tiganasummertree​, @captainswanbigbang​, @snidgetsafan​, @thejollyroger-writer​, @profdanglaisstuff​

[redschillzone]

I Don’t Fucking Care (Iden Versio x Reader)

(Gif found here!) Pairing: Iden Versio x (Gender Neutral) Reader Word Count: 2.0k Words Warnings: A couple cuss words  Summary: Iden has had enough of you disobeying orders and being reckless, she finally snaps.

A/N: Sorry it’s so short, was having a very rough day. I hope it’s okay, please enjoy! Maybe a part two will follow? :)

You had done it again, and she was livid this time. You had disobeyed her direct order to retreat and insisted that you could handle the threat alone. She knew what you wanted, and it was to go down in a blaze of glory any chance you could get; You wanted to be the hero that the Republic would talk about for years to come, and it pissed Iden off every time you did it. When she first saw you, she could tell right away what kind of pilot you were. Reckless, daring, headstrong; You were someone only flying to run off of the adrenaline it gave. She was sure you had joined the Republic with good intentions but whenever she was paired with you for missions, you were always throwing yourself recklessly into the middle of the fight. It was always the same thing with you; Her giving you a command, you completely ignoring it and doing your own thing that would damn near get you killed, and you two would return to the base and argue it out in the hangar with the other pilots and mechanics standing around to watch. She would always tell herself she wouldn’t work with you any more if it meant you putting your life on the line, yet she was always dragged back in. She just assumed that maybe Leia thought she could straighten you out, but Maker was she beginning to lose help with you.

“(Y/N)!” Iden’s voice rang out through the hangar, and you couldn’t help but sigh and turn to her as she began to make her way over. You crossed your arms as you leaned back on the x-wing that was marked as yours; It’s paint chipped and covered in so much soot and ash you could make art out of it with your finger if you so wanted. You raised an eyebrow at the commander as she stopped just a few feet in front of you; She was wearing her usual orange pilot suit, the top half tied tightly around her waist and her grey long sleeved shirt fitting her form nicely. You couldn’t help but scan her over, noticing the rage that filled her eyes as she stared you down with a look that could probably kill you if looks could kill. You gave a hum before you replied.

“Yes, Commander Versio?” You spoke, remaining cool and level headed even though you were sure you were about to get your ass chewed out for your little stunt. 

“What was that little stunt you pulled out there, huh?” She hissed out, putting her hands on her hips. She was going to get an explanation from you, whether it be the truth or your little lies you liked to tell. It’s how it always seemed to go, you would either lie your ass off to try and make it sound like it was the truth or tell her the honest truth. You couldn’t help but sigh as you pushed yourself off the x-wing, standing with your back straight and your eyes locked on her as you put your arms down beside you.

“I wasn’t about to let my squadmate die out there, Versio.” You hissed out. And you were speaking the truth this time. 

The battle was a long one, and it seemed the Empire just wouldn’t run out of ships to send. You had noticed your squadmate had at least three TIEs on their tail; Their engines were already beginning to smoke and you could still recall their screams for help, that they were being chased down by a couple of TIEs. You had heard Iden’s call to retreat and that they’d formulate a better plan, but if you were to listen to her command and retreat instead of going and saving your squadmate, they would surely be dead. So, you kicked your ship into overdrive and flew after them, turning your comm off after hearing Iden yelling at you to return to base. 

You spun your ship several times to avoid debris that floated about around you; Debris that had once been ships you had seen close friends fly alongside their droids, also with several Imperial  TIE fighters which now floated by in pieces. But you also spun to avoid the TIE fighters that still flew about the area. A few did spot your ship and even flew after you, but you made quick work of them; You used the debris around you to your advantage, flying in as close as you could before spinning away or going straight into the air. You look back just in time to watch as the TIE fighter would explode, crashing into the debris as if they didn’t see the pieces of metal flying about them. A small laugh escaped your form each time; They always fell for the same trick, you noted after many attempts at it. It wasn’t long before you were behind your squadmate and took out the TIE fighters. They gave you a thanks once they spotted your x-wing flying beside them, said that they owed you their life but you just said it was nothing and returned to base with them. 

And here you currently were, having this talk with one of your commanders. You had this talk with so many other commanders on base, but eventually they learned there was little to no hope of stopping you from such reckless flying; But Iden thought differently. She thought that maybe she could get you to at least get the thought out of your head that reckless flying got you nowhere, to tell you that there were people here who cared for your safety and hated that you were ready to throw your life away at a second's notice. 

“I don’t know how you guys ran things back in the Empire, but we do things differently here. We don’t leave our squadmates behind if we can do something about it.” You spat back, watching as Iden couldn’t help the frown that appeared on her face. You were touching on a subject she really didn’t want to go back and look at, but if this was how you wanted this argument to go she’d gladly bring it up if it meant keeping you alive longer .

“We knew what we were getting into then. We watched out for our squadmates and that’s what I’m trying to do for you, (Y/N). You’re getting yourself into more and more dangerous situations with each risk you take and it’s going to put you to an early grave! I can’t be there to save you each fucking time” She said to you, taking a step closer to you as you scoffed at her words. There was no way she cared for you, she came from the Empire after all; They were trained not to form attachments, weren’t they? It always seemed that way when the Empire would retreat and leave several of their own soldiers behind. Regardless, you shook your head at her.

“I don’t want your sympathy, Versio. I’m here to help win this war, and if I die trying to do what is right then so be it. Nobody here cares for me, so why stick around, huh?” You snapped back, watching as her hands turned to fists. She was beginning to shake a bit. She hated that this is what you were doing to yourself; She had read your file, Leia had given it to her. That thought she had of you having good intentions was still there as she read through it alone one night in her room. You came from a decent family from Naboo, your father having been a pilot for the Rebels and your mother worked at a cantina just nearby. Sadly your father was killed in the line of duty, leaving your mother to raise you by herself. Your mother had succumbed to drinking to forget your father, and it began to take over her life. It didn’t take her long before she crashed and burned, going and joining your father in the afterlife and left you in the hands of your aunt and uncle. They lived on Naboo as well, but supported the Empire more than the Republic. You hated every minute of it and once you were of age you joined the Rebels and took over your father's place as pilot, and here you were. Trying to live out what was left of his dream of stopping this war so you could live a peaceful life, whether you were to live that peaceful life by yourself or with someone by your side was up to your stubborn self. But as you had just said, nobody cared for you, so what did it matter. Right?

All Iden could do was stare at you with wide eyes; You were ready to die here and now and it shook her to her core. She loved you, she was falling for you and she hated it because you were so stubborn, but at times you had a caring spirit. She would occasionally see how you would help out the newer pilots by teaching them where everything was on their x-wing, how you would often share your food with some of the others when away on recon missions. She loved seeing that side of you, but this side? This reckless, adrenaline junkie side of you? It hurt her, and it hurt her bad. You didn’t care what happened to yourself during those missions and if that was the case how would you care for someone you actually loved? Would you treat her like you did your fellow pilots and soldiers, or would you treat her how you treated yourself? She was beginning to have enough of it, and her eyes began to well up with tears before she snapped at you.

“Do you ever think that maybe we don’t want you to die? That maybe we actually want you around?” She snapped, stepping towards you until your back was pinned against the x-wing. You stared into her brown eyes, watching as they glazed over with tears. 

“Do you ever think that maybe, just maybe, that there’s someone out there who actually loves you? Who actually cares for your well being and safety? Who panics each time you go out there and has to almost see you fucking die?!” She snaps at you once more, tears running down her face in streaks. If this was how you wanted to be, then that was fine with her. She’d at least get everything off her chest.

“I fucking love you, (Y/N). I love you so damn much but it seems like you’re too damn stubborn to notice how much I love you. So hyped up on adrenaline to notice that when I call for you to come back to base, to step away from the fight that I’m doing so out of my own being. Not as your Commander, but as a friend and a potential lover.” She hissed out, to which your eyes widened once more. Iden loved you? How long had she loved you, and how long was it going to take you to realize that? You swore to yourself you wouldn’t let anyone get close, afraid of losing them like you had your parents. You were afraid if someone else got close to you, they would be ripped away from you just as quickly. 

You clearly missed the signs now that you thought about it; Her arguments were her telling you to knock it off, that she was the one waiting for you to come back from those missions and your crazy suicide runs. She was the one who would wait well into the night to make sure you arrived back at the base in one piece and if you were injured she would be there to patch you up and tell you off, telling you to be more careful and to knock off the crazy stunts. You just swallowed hard, watching as she just shook her head at you and began to back away.

“I was wrong to fall in love with you, (Y/N)... You clearly have given up on yourself.” She hissed, turning and began to storm off, wiping her eyes as she did. You watched as her shaking form left the hangar, leaving you alone with just your thoughts and a broken heart.

[findingniamho]

New Fic!!

Hey everyone! Hope you’re having a good day! Here is a wedding fic I wrote (and what better day to post it than Simon’s birthday?). You can read it on AO3 here or below the cut. Hope you enjoy it! :)🐟

BAZ We’re going to be late. I keep checking my watch and each time I do, time seems to have jumped forwards at an unnatural rate. I half wonder whether something has somehow managed to sneak into the watch and is now pulling the hands around just to mess with me. Except that the car radio says the same thing. I check again.

“Basilton, if you check that damn watch one more time, I’m throwing it out of the window.” Fiona. She can always be relied upon to treat a situation calmly and delicately. I turn to face the driver’s seat, where she’s sitting in her black dress. She always insisted that she would wear black at my wedding. “To mourn the loss of having you all to myself to annoy. Besides, you’re going to be wearing black, aren’t you?”

I couldn’t argue with that. I’m wearing a black suit with a matching waistcoat and bowtie (as Simon would say, bowties are cool. I prefer the term sophisticated, but there you go). There’s a rose on my lapel (an actual one, the suit itself is plain this time) and, of course, the ring that Simon slipped on my finger a few months ago. The ring that made me believe that all of this was possible again.

It was inevitable, really. All through America, when we were on opposite sides the car or diner tables or motel floors, both of us were silently reaching for the other. It was a relief when we finally got there. When his hand and his gaze could find mine and we could fall in love all over again. I smile down at my hands.

I’m getting married, I say to myself.

I’m getting married to Simon Snow.

SIMON

This is perfect. We’re breezing along in Penny’s car. It’s a hot day so the window’s open and there’s a warm breeze floating though, ruffling my hair. If I close my eyes, I’m transported back to America and we’re cruising along the highway with nothing but blue skies, endless fields and an old radio to keep us company. Penny’s humming Here Comes the Bride and I’m leaning back in my seat, picturing the day ahead. We’ll arrive first and get into the chapel. It’s the same one that Baz’s parents got married in. All the Pitches have gotten married there. That’s gonna be me soon. A Pitch. Simon Grimm-Pitch. I never thought I’d see the day. I’m going to have a name with something attached to it. Sure, the things attached might be villainy and dark magic, but it’s also attached to a family. I’m going to officially be part of a family. Of course, Penny, Shepard and even Agatha feel like family to me but now I’m going to know what it’s like to have a mother and a father. Sitting around a dinner table at Christmas, small squabbles that are forgotten soon after, family jokes that no one else quite gets. All of that is just at the end of this car ride, along with Baz.

Baz, who saved me from the mage.

Baz, who saved me from myself.

Baz, with his grey eyes and sarcastic smile and not-quite-right nose. Who loves me, all of me.

I sit further back, putting my arms behind my head. My wings and tail are spelled away for now, but we’re bringing them back for the ceremony. Baz said that if he was marrying me, he wanted to marry all of me. That’s also another reason why Baz will be the one walking down the aisle towards me; I don’t want anyone unconscious at my wedding.

Here Comes the Bride stops abruptly and Penny exclaims: “Simon! You’ll crease your suit!”

“Argh! Sorry, Pen.”

“That’s okay, Simon.”

A sit back up and she glances at me for a moment before turning to face the road again. I haven’t seen her smile like that in a long time. I think she’s more excited than me about all this, really. She and I spent hours making her car clean enough so that I could sit in it in my suit. She’s wearing a yellow dress, similar to the one that Baz nicked for her when we were running out of money and time. She worried about me a lot, before. She and Baz both did. I try not to think about those times too much. I’ll take the time to unpack and deal with those memories one day, but for now, I’m content to just sit here and natter with Penny.

“Do you think you’ll ever get married?”

Penny’s eyes keep firmly fixed on the road.

“I don’t know, maybe.” She’s paying extra-close attention to her mirrors as we change lanes.

“What about Shep?”

“You’re wondering if I think that Shep would get married?”

“No! Well, yes. To you.”

A pause. Then, “Don’t be absurd! We’ve only known each other a few months. And he probably wouldn’t be interested in me anyway.”

She shakes her head as I’ve seen her shake it many times before, like she’s trying to throw an idea out of her brain. I smirk at her.

“You hesitated.”

“Because I was thinking it through!”

I raise an eyebrow, Baz style. “So, it was worth thinking about?”

She’s going red. Interesting. “You know well enough that it’s important to consider every eventuality, Simon. Anyway, this is your wedding day, not mine.”

“I would point out that you’re changing the subject, but you’re right.” I turn to look out at the window again, my thoughts turning back to the day ahead and I smile. “It is.”

AGATHA

This is probably the most exercise that I’ve done since I was at school, where I spent most of my time running with Simon from whatever happened to be chasing him that day. All day, Shepard and I have been loading things from his truck into the hall opposite the chapel and then putting them out: streamers, tablecloths that complement the napkins, speakers for the band, glasses, champagne to go in the glasses, cutlery (which Shepard kept putting out wrong), centrepieces, balloons and loads of other wedding stuff. We’ve been here all morning and we’re still nowhere near done. It makes me wish that I hadn’t left my wand at home.

I plonk yet another box of plates on the table closest to the door and survey the room. It does look pretty good, I have to admit. I reckon even mother will approve. Everything is white and gold, and the place settings look spectacular. Streamers are hanging from the ceiling and the sunlight that streams through the window glints off the glasses, making them sparkle. I smile as I look over to the table to where Simon and Baz will sit later today as a married couple, next to Penny – who’s been made “best woman” – and Baz’s parents. I expect a part of me to be sad that Simon will be sitting there next to someone who isn’t me. But instead, there’s a calm in me, a peace I haven’t felt since, well, ever. For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m truly where I belong. Not at Watford, pretending to care about being a good Mage. Not in California, pretending to care about levelling up and changing the world. But in between, actually caring about these people who now surround me.

I think deep down, I’ve known for a long time that this is how all this would end. And Merlin, aren’t I glad.

“Agatha!” calls Shepard.

“Coming!” I yell back. I take one last look at the empty, quiet room before stepping back out into the sun.

***

We’re nearly ready now. I’m changed into my bridesmaid’s dress (Baz’s siblings and I will all wear matching pale pink) and I’m standing outside the chapel, putting together confetti baskets for the children. Shepard comes around the corner to help, phone in hand. He’s changed, too. It’s a strange sight, Shepard in a suit. He holds up the phone.

“That was Simon. They’re nearly here.”

My stomach flutters nervously. “Are we ready?”

“All set! Nice job, Agatha.”

“Thanks. You too.”

We sit in silence for a moment. Shep’s restless, he keeps fidgeting, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just a bit nervous I guess.”

I look up at him, where he’s squinting into the late May sun, still not staying still.

“Why? You realize you’re not getting married, right?” He goes a bit red at that. Honestly, I’m surrounded by fools. First Simon and Baz, now Shepard and Penelope. It almost makes me wished that I’d stayed in California, just to avoid all these will-they-won't-they shenanigans. Almost.

“Well, I guess that I don’t really feel like I fit in here. I’m going to be the only Talker, the only Normal, at this wedding.”

That’s true, I guess. Some of Baz’s family were a bit funny about letting him come. Some things never change, I guess. But he has saved their lives several times, in suppose. In America, and after.

“Baz and Simon wanted you here, Shepard. They care for you, very much. As do I. And Penelope. Once you’ve survived a crisis at Watford, you’re bonded for life, I guess.”

He takes a deep breath, then smiles quietly down at me. “Yeah, you are.”

He looks back up the road, to where we parked the truck this morning, along with some of the things for the wedding. The planners have packed up and gone now, so it’s just sitting there by itself. Shepard points a thumb over his shoulder. “Hey, so there’s one more box in the back. Feeling strong?”

I flex my non-existent biceps. “Of course.”

I stand up and together we walk back to the truck.

SIMON

As we pull up to the chapel, I can sense that something’s wrong. The air is jumpy and static, and there’s a funny smell coming from somewhere. It’s too sweet, like that time that I stuffed 20 marshmallows into my mouth (Baz dared me, so it was justified). Next to me, Penny starts sneezing.

“Pen?”

When she turns to me, I see that her eyes are streaming. “Simon! It’s – achoo – it’s-.” But then she’s cut off my several more sneezes before she can speak. Her voice is hoarse, like the words are trapped in her throat. “Pixie dust.”

“Pixie dust?”

“I’d know that smell anywhere,” she wheezes, before sneezing several more times. There must be loads of it to make her react like this. Outside, I notice that several of our guests are here: some of Baz’s family, the Bunces and Agatha’s parents are all gathered outside the chapel. And all of them are sneezing.

“Stay here.” I slide out of the car to investigate. As I approach the crowd, Shepard and Agatha emerge from it. Both of them are changed for the ceremony and Agatha’s dress ripples out behind her as she runs urgently towards me.

“Simon!” Agatha exclaims.

“What’s going on?” I ask, looking between Agatha, who seems to be holding back tears and Shepard, whose face is drawn and worried.

“We were setting up,” Agatha starts, voice shaking, “when we realized that there was one more box to unpack, so we went to the truck to get it. We figured that it was for the chapel, not the hall because everything had already been set up in there. But when we opened it up, it… it…”

“It blew up,” Shepard finishes for her.

“It blew up?”

“Kaboom.” He gestures with his hands. “I think it was an invisible box that an ogre that I met in the Andes planted on me because I accidentally used his toothbrush.”

“That’s gross,” Agatha mutters. He ignores her. “They’re tricky things, come in and out of sight as they please. I thought it was just another box of wedding things.”

“So now there’s tonnes of pixie dust everywhere. It’s fine in smaller quantities but this-.” She sneezes. “It’s not good, Simon.”

Shepard puts an arm out to the sneezing guests. “We told them to wait outside. We don’t want them to get any closer but there’s nowhere else for miles where we could go to get help.”

“Is Baz here yet?”

“No, he said that he and his aunt are running late. He was super stressed out.”

Okay, at least Baz is safe. Typical him, getting so caught up about punctuality though. I would laugh about it if my wedding wasn’t on the verge of being ruined. I look around at our guests. Baz’s relatives stand in small, scattered circles. Penny’s mum has one protective arm around a girl (Priya, I think) and is sneezing into the elbow of the other. In fact, everyone is sneezing uncontrollably. Everyone, except...

I turn to Shep. “How come you’re ok?”

He shrugs. “Guess it only affects magickal folk.”

That explains me, then. I turn towards Agatha. “Get the guests into the reception hall, me and Shep will go into the chapel to try to clear up. Right?”

Shepard nods. “Right.”

Agatha sneezes again, setting off into the crowd. But then she stops and turns. “You’ll get your wedding, Simon. I promise. You’ve given so much to the world; it’s time you got something in return.”

“Thanks, Agatha.” I nod, unable to say anything more around the lump that’s just come to my throat. She smiles with quiet understanding before starting to herd the guests across the road. That’s when I notice how bad the stench is again. I cover my nose with my arm to try to block it out.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” I say to Shepard. My voice comes out muffled through the fabric. “We’ll see if Penny can do anything about this.” I flap my other arm around, trying to waft the sickly-sweet scent away. “Then we’ll try to clean up.”

“You got it, boss.”

Then we head towards Penny’s car where she is (still) sneezing.

BAZ

I knew it. We’re late. As Fiona turns down the road that leads to the chapel, I squint to look ahead to the entrance, where there are only a couple of people hanging back outside. Everyone else must already be inside, waiting for me. Brilliant. As we get closer, I see that it’s Simon and Shepard, standing by Bunce’s car.

That’s odd.

Fiona parks at the opposite side of the road, remaining silent. Fiona’s never silent. I think that she can sense that something’s wrong, too. There’s a strange smell in the air. She lets me get out by myself to see what’s going on. As I approach Bunce’s car, Simon and Shepard turn to me. They’re both dressed ready for the ceremony, Simon in a suit that complements mine. When I look at him, his eyes light up and he smiles.

“Baz!”

It’s still strange, sometimes. To hear Simon say my name with anything other than contempt or anger. To hear it with a kind of soft, private joy that warms my heart each time I hear it. All that time at Watford, I always dreamed of this day. Not my wedding day, specifically (although that daydream did sometimes sneak up on me when I wasn’t paying attention), but the day when Simon said my name and it meant something different. The day that those unremarkable blue eyes looked into mine with affection, not violence. The day that his hands unclenched from their fists and reached out to hold mine. And to see him, now, here, knowing that later that same mouth that used to yell and scream at me would be saying “I do” and kissing me? I remember when all of this was just a dream from the other side of the room. But now we’re here.

I smile back at him.

“Hello, love.”

SIMON

He looks good. He always looks good, the tosser. His hair flows freely down to his shoulders and his deep-water grey eyes are shining as his lips quirk up to smile at me. That smile’s going to be gone pretty soon. I brace myself.

“Baz, we’ve got a problem.”

As I explain the situation to him, I watch his face fall and it breaks my heart. But his eyes remain steeled with a fierce determination. I’ve seen that expression before. He’ll stop at nothing to save this.

“So Shep and I are going to go into the chapel-.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, Baz! It’s too dangerous.”

“This is my wedding too, so we’re going to save it together, okay?” He folds his arms and sets his mouth in a firm line. “I’m not changing my mind. It’ll be much quicker with the three of us.” I roll my eyes. “Okay fine. Penny?”

Penny holds out her wand. “Quickly, before I start sneezing again. Okay. You’ve gone... nose blind!”

Baz wrinkles his nose. “Febreze, Bunce?”

“The Normals quote it,” she shrugs, then sneezes again.

“How come you seem to have it worse than everyone else?” I ask.

Penny somehow manages to glare and sneeze at the same time while grounding out one word: “Trixie.”

Ah, that explains it. Penny’s roommate used to spread it all over their room. It must make her less tolerant of it than everyone else. It was never as much as this, though. Penny stops sneezing long enough to fix all three of us with a fierce look.

“Now, you three had better sort this out and have the best wedding day ever, okay?” She says it like a threat, but she means well.

“Thanks, Pen.”

“You’ll look after them, won’t you Shep?”

He grins and gives her a weird kind of salute. They look at each other for a moment, and something passes between them. Then Shepard leans on the car door. I think he’s trying to look casual, but it just looks like he’s forgotten how to stand up properly. Merlin, is that what I look like when I think I look cool? Crowley.

“Shepard,” Penny says.

“Yes?”

“Stop leaning against my car.”

“Sorry.” He straightens up, arms flapping. I can see Baz and Penny both trying desperately not to roll their eyes. “Well, we should go.”

“I’ll be waiting in the hall,” says Penny. “Good luck, and be careful.”

“Don’t worry, Pen. We’ve got this.”

We wave her off, then head towards the doors to the chapel.

“Right,” I say. “Let’s see how much of a disaster we’re dealing with this time.”

Shepard looks up at the chapel, squinting in the sun. “Here we go again.”

Baz takes my hand and squeezes it. He leads me towards the chapel. “Here we go.”

BAZ

Shepard and Wellbelove weren’t exaggerating. It’s everywhere. The smell’s worse in here, and despite it being dampened slightly by Bunce’s Febreze spell, it still makes me want to gag. Plus, there’s the sight of it, which makes my eyes water. Why does everything to do with pixies have to be so sparkly and bright? It looks a lot like tastelessly pink glitter. Shepard emerges from the alcove off the entrance with two brooms and a dustpan and brush. Simon claps his hands together, then winces like he realises how idiotic that looks. I shake my head, rolling my eyes. Honestly, I must have truly lost my marbles to still want to marry him of all people. But here we are. Maybe I’m the idiot.

“Right.” Simon clears his throat. “Shepard, if you take over there,” he gestures towards the alter, “and Baz and I start this end, then we’ll work across. You take the middle and we’ll do the sides.”

“Cool.” Shepard hands one of the brooms to Simon and the dustpan and brush to me. He starts walking down the aisle, whistling like he’s just going out to mow the lawn, not sweep up the remains of a magickally explosive box and its overly sparkly contents.

“Thanks,” I whisper to Simon. I don’t think either of us wants to walk down the aisle until the time comes. He nods in silent understanding, which is his way of saying you’re welcome. I kneel on the ground, rolling up my sleeves and wincing. This is going to ruin my very nice, very expensive suit. But my priority right now is to save our wedding.

I look up at Simon. “Let’s get to work.”

SIMON

We work in comfortable silence, me sweeping and Baz brushing dust into his dustpan and occasionally getting up to empty it into the bin. We’re both filthy, but I guess it doesn’t matter anyway. There’s a lump in my throat as I continue to sweep the dust into a pile. I look at the aisle Baz should be walking up; at the alter we should be standing at; at the doors we should be walking out of hand in hand, as husbands. I suppose I should’ve seen this coming. It just feels like this always happens when I’m around. Like I’m the one causing it, with my streak of bad luck that follows me around like a shadow. I should’ve somehow known that this would happen, I should’ve warned everyone, should’ve-.

“Simon?”

I look down at where I’ve been very aggressively sweeping pixie dust in no particular direction, causing it to fly up and float around everywhere, including all over Baz. Great.

“Sorry,” I mutter to Baz but don’t move.

He stands. “Simon, what’s wrong?”

His voice is soft, like how he used to speak to me when I would spend my days on the sofa, feeling like nothing was worth getting up for. I shake my head, feeling on the verge of tears. But I have to stay strong. This is supposed to be the happiest day of our lives. The thought makes me start stammering.

“I-it’s just. I can’t. I. It’s that...”

Baz’s face tells me to take my time. He knows that words are still a bit tricky for me.

I take a shaky breath. “This isn’t how this was supposed to go. It’s all ruined.”

I start crying proper then. “And I can’t help feeling like this is all my fault, like it is every bloody time.”

He walks slowly over to me and places both his hands lightly on my shoulders.

“Simon, did you plant an invisible box in the truck that’s been magickally rigged to explode?”

“Well, no, but-.”

“Did you then fill the said box with sickly-sweet scented pixie dust that causes a bout of sneezing fits for any mage that comes near?”

“I guess not.”

“Simon, I know that you think that you somehow caused this, but listen to me when I say that this is not your fault. Growing up, I know you were told that everything was your responsibility but the weight of the world doesn’t rest on your shoulders. You weren’t even there when the box blew up, for Crowley’s sake! This is your wedding day, Simon. When everyone’s supposed to fuss around you and help you because you are special and loved, and I’m not just talking about me.”

“But it’s your day too! We were supposed to say “I do,” and cut the cake, and have our first dance. But instead-.”

“Simon,” he says. One of his hands slides from my shoulder down my arm to take my hand. He holds our clasped hands up and steps closer to me so I have no choice but to look into his eyes. We start turning slowly on the spot, Baz humming a made-up tune as we sway in each other’s arms. Our shoes leave quiet footprints in the dust. The light streaming in from the stained-glass window splashes colour onto us as we step in and out of the darkness and the light. As it lights up half of his face, and half of mine, I remember what today is really about.

It’s his coarse, rough, fire-holder’s hand holding mine and me holding his back.

It’s his soft grey eyes looking into mine and me looking back.

And, as we slow to a stop, his lips kissing mine.

And me, with all the love I have for him, with all that I am, kissing him back.

We’ve been through it all, but we came out the other side together. We can still have perfect moments with each other, even when everything’s gone to shit. This is the beginning of a lifetime of perfect moments.

“Thank you,” I whisper, laying my head on his shoulder.

“Anytime, Simon,” he murmurs into my hair. “Anytime.”

BAZ

For a moment, there’s peace. There’s just me and Simon, and the only sound is our breathing as we hold each other and stay so, so still. Then there’s a clattering and banging from the other end of the chapel and a call of “I’m OK!” from Shepard. I step back, smiling fondly down at Simon.

“We’d better get back to work,” I say.

“Yeah,” he replies, meeting my smile with a stunning one of his own.

I kneel back down and start sweeping more dust into the dustpan. I’m glad when I look up and see Simon sweeping the dust into (much calmer, much more orderly) piles. We’re moving a lot more efficiently now; we can start doing the rest of the chapel soon.

When I next stand up to empty the dustpan, I gasp and yell “Look out!”

Simon turns sharply, startled.

Right into the lit candle behind him. It topples over and the holder cracks in two. The candle rolls across the floor, igniting the dust that still coats the edges of the room. That’s when I learn that there’s one thing that vampires and pixie dust have in common: they’re both extremely flammable.

The flame snakes its way up the walls and curls around the wooden beams in the ceiling. Ash begins to rain down and I cough as the smoke enters my lungs. I can hear a creaking above me and look up just in time to see a beam collapse and begin to hurtle its way down towards where I’m standing. I brace myself for the impact. Great, I think. I’m going to die on my wedding day. I suppose that means my corpse will be well-dressed, at least.

An arm comes around me and I’m tackled to the ground just before the flaming beam hits me. My head smacks into stone as I’m shoved against a wall. A trail of warm, sticky blood trickles from my temple down the side of my face. I don’t dare to open my eyes as I hear the destruction around me roar in my ears, the smell of burning intensifying with the heat. It’s only when I hear eerie silence, like someone’s put a blanket over me, that I open my eyes. I’m met with the sight of Simon’s face scrunched up and inches from mine and his wings spread out behind him, their edges burnt from shielding us from the flame and rubble that rained down upon us.

SIMON

“Simon, love. Open your eyes.”

Baz’s voice is soothing as I slowly blink myself back to here and now. Baz is sitting in front of me. One side of his face covered in blood. He’s sitting in my shadow, which I can see is winged. I try to move my wings but wince in pain. Burnt. I don’t remember the spell wearing off, or saving Baz. I just remember needing to move and then opening my eyes down here. I look behind me at the remains of the chapel. There are bits of rubble and shattered glass everywhere, just like there was in the White Chapel. I did it again.

I start crying, then sobbing, then howling. This is what always happens. This is how this always ends. Magic or not, I always manage to make everything explode around me and take out anyone in my path, including Baz. He’s going to want to leave, I know it. Because I’m a fuckup, as I’ve shown again and again. Because I can’t leave who I was behind. Because-.

This time, it’s Baz’s arm that comes around me to save me. To save me from myself, as he always does.

“I’m here,” is all he says.

I cry even harder into his shoulder.

BAZ

Once we’ve extracted ourselves from the wreckage and established that Shepard’s okay (he is – he heard us from the other end of the chapel and escaped through the other door), Simon and I stand side by side, looking at the burnt remains of the chapel. It’s still smoking slightly, but luckily some of our guests have managed to use It’s raining cats and dogs to put out the rest of the fire and Clear the air to get rid of most of the smoke. It’ll take a little while to repair the damage to the chapel, but it’s nothing that can’t be handled with the combined magic of everyone here.

While everyone sets to work to try to save this wreck of a day, I try to console Simon. He grew up thinking that he was nothing, then the Mage told him that he was everything. He still is everything, to me. It just makes him feel like anything that happens is his fault, like he still has the power to fight whatever gets thrown his way. Over the past few months, he was slowly coming around to the idea that he isn’t responsible for every disaster that he comes across. He was finally starting to realise that his mistakes don’t make him a disaster – they make him human. I put my arm around his shoulder and he leans his head on mine. He stopped crying a few minutes ago but still hasn’t said anything. He breathes quietly next to me and a gentle breeze comes to ruffle his hair.

“What are we gonna do now?”

His voice is tentative, like he’s afraid of the answer. I survey the wreckage again, with the groups of our friends and family gathered around it holding wands, rings and staffs aloft. The air is heavy with magic, and with shouting; the Bunces are running a tight ship. They’re working quickly, but I’m not sure if it’ll be enough. We’ll probably be done by tomorrow, but the chapel and hall are only ours for today.

There’s no way I’m postponing. I know that no matter what, I want to be married by the end of today. Crowley knows we’ve had to wait long enough.

I take Simon’s hand and squeeze it.

“I have an idea.”

SIMON

I have no idea where we’re going. I’ve already asked Baz at least 10 times, and every time he’s just raised an eyebrow and said: “You’ll see.”

He’s lucky I love him because it’s gotten more infuriating each time.

All I know is that he and his aunt went off somewhere and when they came back they were both grinning like maniacs. Then his aunt tossed him her car keys, told him not to wreck the car and we both got in and started driving. We’re going along the main road now, Baz’s eyes bright as we drive along. We’re both filthy: our clothes are ripped and bloodstained, and there are holes in the back of my suit from my wings and tail (which have been spelled away again). There’s still a trail of blood down the side of Baz’s face. I reach out to touch it and his hand gently takes mine and moves it away. He doesn’t let go, though. We stay like that until he has to change gears and he slows down to a stop in front of a gate.

And that’s when I realise where we’re getting married.

In the place where we met as enemies.

In the place where we fell in love.

In the place where I asked Baz to marry me.

Watford.

BAZ

Simon’s smile is one that I’ll never forget. As he gazes up at the gates to Watford, his lips turn up and his eyes shine. The late afternoon sun makes his hair seem to glow, as well as the constellations of freckles on his face, which has blown open into wild, unmistakable joy. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, then turns it towards mine. His cheek catches against the seat, squishing half of his face and rearranging the freckles. It’s adorable.

I mentally capture this moment of him and me, sharing this space alone before we’re going to be surrounded by people again. I capture his smile and his eyes and the feeling of his fingers intertwined with mine as he catches my hand again and the way it feels when the rings on them clink together. Unfamiliar, yet so right at the same time. As if they were always meant to be there. I capture the filth in his fair, and the dots of blood that pepper his cheeks. All of my imperfectly perfect Simon Snow.

I capture his voice as he leans in to whisper to me.

“Come on Baz.” Then he kisses me fleetingly, just once. But Crowley, if it isn’t one of the best of my life. He tugs at my hand.

“Let’s get married.”

SIMON

We walk up to the White Chapel hand in hand. Baz explains that everyone else will be on their way. Apparently, his aunt has a few people who owe her favours who can clean up the chapel. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d just called some people and scared them into helping by threatening to turn them into nine-toed trolls. But the thought’s nice.

As we walk, we talk about our memories of this place: the yew tree where he sent me to wait for Agatha all night, the football pitch where I used to watch him play, the spot where he tried to steal my voice. All of these memories, painful or not, seem so far away now. We were children then, and now we’ve grown up. We’ve changed and grown and laughed and cried alongside each other.

Whether we were fighting or learning or figuring ourselves out, it was always with each other. And now we stand with each other at the door to the White Chapel where everything changed for us. We fall silent when we reach the doors. I squeeze Baz’s hand and he squeezes back.

“I love you,” I say quietly.

“I love you too, Snow.”

Then we don’t say anything else as we sit with our backs against the wall and wait for the world to catch up with us.

BAZ

I stand outside the chapel doors with Father, waiting for everyone else to settle down inside. Wellbelove’s fussing over my siblings a few metres behind us. I can hear Mordelia kicking up a tantrum over having to wear pink. As quiet overtakes the other side of the door, Father turns to me.

“Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

And I mean it. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. Father goes to open the doors.

It was difficult, in the beginning. I knew that he always suspected that I was queer, but we’d never had a frank conversation about it. It was one of the topics that we simply had an unspoken rule to never discuss. It was that, my mother’s death and my vampirism. After returning from America, I realised that if I wanted to fix things with Simon, I needed to find peace with myself first. That involved going to therapy (I agreed that I’d go if Simon did) and telling my family, plain and simple, that I was gay. And that I was dating Simon Snow. At first, Father didn’t say much about it. He spent long hours in the library, looking over family photos and staring out of the window. Eventually, he showed me a photo of my mother.

“This is the last picture that was taken of her before she died,” he said, holding it up. Then he started talking about how much he missed her and still does, how he wished that he had been with her when it happened. How hard it was to look at me sometimes because of how much I looked like her. Then I told him about how Simon had caught me in her office looking at a picture of myself that she’d kept with her. How that had been the start of something. I told him about that Christmas and America and all that Lamb had told me about my kind. I told him how it made me unsure about many things but the only thing I was still sure about was how I felt about Simon. Little by little, day by day, Father began to come around to the idea of Simon and I being together. Sure, it took a lot of work. There were good days and bad days. But now here he is, about to walk me down the aisle towards a boy, not a girl as he probably envisioned for me one day. But there’s genuine love in his eyes as he says: “I’m proud of you, Basilton. And your mother would be too.”

“Thank you.” I’m too choked up to say anything else.

He swings open the doors and leads me down the aisle.

SIMON

It’s work not to turn around when I hear Baz approaching. I smile, knowing that I only have to be without him for a few moments more. (Also I can’t turn around for fear of knocking someone over with my wings). Baz steps up beside me glances sideways, grinning.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” I smile back.

We turn to face Penny’s mum, who agreed to officiate. As the ceremony starts, I look around at us. At our wedding. It’s not exactly how I pictured it: Baz and I are both still pretty filthy and the location is different but it’s almost better. This place holds painful memories, yes, but this chapel is where things changed for both of us. And we’re both still here, despite it all, agreeing to spend the rest of our lives together.

“Do you, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, take Simon Snow to be your husband?” Baz takes both of his hands in mine. “I do.”

“And do you, Simon Snow, take Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch to be your husband?”

And I’ve never been surer of anything than when I say: “I do.” Baz slips a ring onto my finger and I put one onto his. It’s strange how the feeling of his cold hands in mine is so familiar, yet what we’re doing is so unfamiliar at the same time. I guess everything we do now is going to be unfamiliar because it’ll be the first time that we do it as a married couple. Or maybe nothing will feel different at all. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together. We always do.

Penny’s mum spreads her arms wide. “I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss.”

In the moment before Baz and I kiss, something makes me cast a glance towards the back of the chapel. Three women are standing there: Ebb, Baz’s mum and a woman with blonde curly hair that I vaguely recognise as the girl in a photo that Agatha showed me once.

My mother.

Baz follows my gaze and I have no words for the expression on his face when he sees his mum for the first time since her death. Then I blink and they’re gone.

Baz and I kiss, the first of many kisses that we’ll have: that day as we celebrate with our family and friends, as we walk (just the two of us) by the lake after the party, tomorrow when we wake up next to each other at the beginning of our life together. And each and every day after that.

When we break apart to face our congregation, I think I see the ends of a pair of glittering green wings leaving the chapel. And a voice that follows them. A voice that sounds almost exactly like chiming bells...

I silently thank Liliana, granter of wishes, for letting those who care about us see us one more time.

Then I take Baz’s arm and we leave the chapel, smiling and waving at everyone. Penny tackles us in a tear-soaked hug, then Agatha joins, and Shep. I hear Baz’s aunt whoop and see his dad give us both a smile. It’s the start of a spectacular celebration.

A few hours later, I take Baz into my arms and flap my wings.

“Are you ready?” I ask.

My husband responds by kissing me.

And away we fly.

[batneko]

Leveling the Playing Field

All’s fair in love and villainy.

Kind of a weird one folks! I wanted to write a fic on an outsider’s perspective to the laserbox situation, made a bunch of villain ocs, and instantly got attached to them. But I’ve been working on it for a week so please read!

words: 6131 rating: T for violence.

Lower-tier villainy was a tough racket. You had to be either really strong or really smart (or, ideally, both) to even hope to survive. Getting noticed was another matter entirely.

After years of being ignored, Jade Heart had done what many villains in the “smart” category did to hang on: sold her services. Top-tier villains had all the strength and the smarts they could ever want, what they didn't have was time. Minions, gadgets, death traps, vengeance curses. All of these could be devised by someone else and put to bad use by the big names. It kept you in the game, it kept you in the black, and it might – just might – get you in with the in-crowd.

At least, that was the theory. Jade Heart was still having trouble finding buyers more than a level or two higher than she was. They had money to spend like anybody else, but they didn't bring her name recognition!

Now... now Jade Heart had a plan. She knew of one villain who'd started out at the same time she did, had skills in the same areas, and yet somehow was only getting more and more business. He'd practically cornered the market on robotic minions! It was luck, it had to be! There was no way Lad Boxman had something she didn't. No matter what he'd decided to call himself, or his business, he was still a box man.

If he was out of the picture, even if only for a little while, surely it would level the playing field. This was in the name of fairness! That's all!

First she gathered information. It was always good to scope out the competition! Hardly stalking at all! Boxmore was in the middle of nowhere, but the construction on the other side of the highway had people coming and going all day, so Jade Heart was able to go relatively unnoticed. That little robot in the vest glanced at her drone a few times, but didn't seem to mind it.

The security looked light – from the outside. Boxman would have death traps on all the obvious entrances as a matter of course, and probably a few more subtle ones as well. Jade Heart had ways around those, but it wouldn't hurt to have a few... teammates to lead the way.

So next, she gathered a team. Other villains in similar situations, who would see the sense of this plan. Doctor Barbarian was an obvious one; they'd been roommates at Evil U and were still friendly. A few other names sprang to mind, eliminated one by one as Jade considered the needs of the mission and the potential personality conflicts.

After debating for a while Jade Heart decided to call Electriphant instead of the smarter-but-crazier option. She gave both him and Barb a quick rundown of her plan, and then arranged a group call to hash out the details.

“Are you nuts?” was the first thing Doctor Barbarian said.

“No!” Jade exclaimed. “This can work!”

“What's the point?” Barb asked. “Just because he's doing pretty well-”

“Very well,” Electriphant said. “I've lost three contracts to him this year. I'm all in.”

“See?” Jade said. “If we get rid of him there will be more jobs for all of us.”

“So what's the plan?” Electriphant asked, raising a pencil in his trunk to take notes. “Weaknesses? Allergies?”

“I've been working on how to get Boxman out of the way,” Jade Heart said, grinning.

“He's stronger than he looks,” Doctor Barbarian said, thoughtfully. “Apparently you can hide a lot of muscle under a tub of lard.”

“Under control,” Jade said. “And believe me, I know. I've got surveillance of him lifting an entire sports car.” She brought up the photo to show them.

Doctor Barbarian whistled. “Nice wheels. What's it doing near Boxman?”

“No idea,” Jade Heart admitted. “I've seen that car in his garage a couple times, but not every day. Must be a client.”

Electriphant was frowning, his craggy forehead pulled down over his eyes. “You got pictures in the garage?”

“Just that one. I lost the drone after that. It, uh, mysteriously exploded.”

“So he knows he's being watched!”

“He's a villain! I'm sure he's used to being watched.”

Electriphant muttered something under his breath, and Doctor Barbarian started twirling a strand of her blowout around her finger.

“How do we get in?” she asked. “More importantly, how do we get out?”

“All covered.” Jade said, flapping a hand to shoo away their worries. “I've got good shots through all the windows, and me and Electriphant both know our way around a robotics lab.”

“Uh, counterpoint,” Electriphant said, waving his trunk. “I'm an electrician.”

“You'll still understand the lab!”

“I'm not a scientist, I'm a tradesman.”

“Uh... oh.” Jade Heart considered that. “Well... that was why I wanted to bring you in on this. If we're going to sabotage his lab-”

“Is that what we're doing?” Barb exclaimed. “I thought we were just going to, you know.” She mimed a noose and made a choking sound.

“No! I still respect him as a professional, I just want him out of the way!”

Barb shrugged. “I respect lots of people I've ganked.”

“Some of us have a code of ethics!”

Barb and Electriphant both looked at her like she'd grown an extra eye.

“It's not a long code.”

To get them back on track, Jade Heart started going over her plan. It wasn't complicated – it didn't need to be – and the more egos you had involved the better it was to allow wiggle room. Jade would find and take out Boxman while the other two made their way into the lab and took it apart.

“Just the production lab?” Electriphant asked when they got to that step.

“What? Yes. That's what will put him out of work for a while.”

“What about R&D? Or his personal experiments?”

“What about them? Okay, if he has a separate research room that might be good to destroy too, but-”

“I'm just saying,” Electriphant said, slowly, “might be some interesting stuff he hasn't put on the market yet.”

There was a moment while the two women considered his words.

“Not that... I need to steal someone else's work,” Doctor Barbarian said.

“Oh no, no, of course not.”

“I mean, just for new ideas,” Jade said. “Might be interesting.”

“Might be interesting,” Barb agreed.

And with that, they moved on.

Once Jade Heart had finished her outline, Doctor Barbarian and Electriphant didn't hold back on the questions. For the most part, Jade didn't mind. They wanted to be prepared. But she didn't like the unspoken implication that they didn't trust her information. Jade was the one who'd done the stalk- scouting! She was the one who put the work in! If they didn't like it, they could do their own. It didn't matter who took Boxman down as long as someone did.

Although since it was Jade's idea, it was only fair if she carried it out.

“Who else is involved?” Doctor Barbarian asked.

“Just us three. Too many people rushing around would-”

“No, no,” Barb shook her head. “We need at least one more.”

“No way!”

“We can't be only three!”

“Why not?”

“Boxman builds robots. Who knows how many he can have operational at the same time!”

“So? You and Electriphant-”

“Oh we're good, and the two of us together could hold off an army, but who's going to smash up the lab while we're busy fighting?”

Electriphant nodded. “If you're gonna be occupied with Boxman, we need one more.”

“Someone with a background in robotics, or at least engineering,” Barb added.

Jade rubbed her forehead. “Seriously? You guys have no idea how long it took for me to decide you were the best ones for this.”

“So you've got others in mind?”

“There's one,” she admitted. “Open Wound.”

Almost in unison, they both groaned. “No!” Barb exclaimed.

“Not them!” Electriphant said.

“They're a creep!”

“What kind of villain name is Open Wound?”

“There's a reason they don't have any clients.”

“Plus,” Electriphant said, leaning closer to the camera, “I'm pretty sure they're like twelve under that suit.”

Jade clapped her hands and then spread them. “Open Wound may or may not be completely nuts-”

“May?”

“-but they know their way around a robot! There isn't anybody better!”

“What about Miss Chievous?” Electriphant suggested.

“Prison.”

“Phorus?” Barb said.

“Space.”

“Mas Terr?”

“Unstuck in time.”

“What about-”

“I thought about this, okay? Everybody who would benefit from this and cooperate with us is either unavailable, or... Open Wound.”

They groaned again.

“I'm not happy about it either! Why do you think I only asked you two?”

“Well... I really do think we need a fourth,” Electriphant said, reluctance coloring his every word. “If only for team dynamics. You're the leader, I'm the brains, the doctor is the brawn, and Open Wound can be the wild card.”

Jade Heart decided not to point out that they all qualified for “brains.” With his experience as an electrician, Electriphant wasn't wrong that he had the most specialized expertise for a sabotage job. Even if it hurt to admit.

“Look on the bright side,” Barb said. “They might say no.”

Open Wound said yes.

They'd all met up just beside the construction site, dark and quiet in the middle of the night. There was security, but it was all pretty obvious and Jade Heart knew how to stay away from it. All of them were dressed for stealth instead of in their usual villain outfits. All except for Open Wound.

They were dressed head to toe in glossy red armor. The face was a featureless mask and the limbs were slightly too long, making them look unsettlingly inhuman. The only concession to their sneaking mission was a black hoodie, too tight in the shoulders and too short in the arms.

“I got here first,” Open Wound said. “I watched you all come.” Their voice was robotic, but Jade Heart had no idea if that was an affectation or if they were really mechanical. It would explain a few things.

Instead of exchanging pleasantries, Jade Heart decided to jump right in. “I've been surveilling for a couple hours now. The production line is switched off, Boxman was in his bedroom for a while but then he went to his personal lab.”

“So we can't raid it until you've incapacitated him,” Electriphant said, and Jade nodded in confirmation.

“Incapacitated as in incapacitated?” Open Wound said. “Or,” they put an armored finger to their throat and dragged it to the side, “'incapacitated?'”

“Incapacitated as in 'I have a net gun,'” Jade Heart snapped. “No murder!”

“I was just asking.”

“Well don't.”

“Okay.”

First things first, Jade handed out their gear. “I made these so we can keep in touch.”

Little radios, clipped onto the collars of their shirts, where they could hit the button with their chin if a hand wasn't free. Originally Jade had wanted earpieces, but Electriphant would need a custom fit, and nobody knew if Open Wound even had ears.

"We'll be going through a window in the back," Jade said. "It's about twenty feet off the ground. Doctor?"

Barb hefted her favorite spear over her shoulder. A coil of rope was strapped onto her hip, already tied to the end of the massive pole. "Not a problem."

"Good. Everyone knows what they're doing?"

They all nodded, except for Open Wound who appeared to be staring up at the night sky.

"Close enough. Let's go."

Getting in would be the hardest part, Jade thought. They might have to fight off robots, but Boxman's personal bots were all small and childlike for some reason. Not that this meant they weren't combat ready, but they'd hardly be a challenge for three accomplished villains.

She'd been right about the death traps, naturally. Doctor Barbarian deactivated the first one by running the mechanism through with her spear, and Electriphant handled the next two with his powers. Open Wound kept scanning for any unusual concentration of electronics in the walls, which got them all the way through to the main factory.

Somehow they hadn't set off an alarm yet. Maybe Boxman was cocky, or he only set them up for certain areas. It didn't mean they could let their guard down.

“You guys go down the hall,” Jade hissed. “The doors should be obvious. I'll radio once I've got Boxman netted so you won't have to worry about stealth anymore.”

“Unless there's more traps,” Open Wound said, in a normal speaking volume. “And then you can only worry for about point-two seconds before it takes your head off.”

“Great, good contribution Open Wound,” Jade said, rolling her eye. “Anyway, don't do any smashing until my signal.”

The other three nodded, and their group split apart.

Boxman's small lab was a floor up from the production line, and Jade Heart was fairly sure it butted against the wide open space so he could watch the work being done. Jade could appreciate the sense of it. The ever-present danger of the boss's eye was a good way to keep those little childbots in line.

Jade took her time going up the stairs and down the hall. Nothing seemed out of place. Nowhere she would have put a trap. When she got to the lab she waited for a moment, listening, and finally reached out and turned the knob.

The door wasn't locked. Boxman was sitting with his back to it, flipping a page back and forth as he drew a diagram on wax paper.

“I'm almost done,” Boxman said without turning. “Go back to bed.”

He must have thought she was one of the childbots. No wonder there wasn't security up here if they were allowed to wander around freely.

Jade Heart grinned, and stabilized her net cannon on her hip. “I think it's going to be a while.”

She fired without waiting for him to respond. As much fun as it would be to see his shocked face, he might have a weapon nearby and fast enough reflexes to get a shot off.

Boxman was thrown back, grunting as he hit the edge of the table, then struggled for a moment against the thick cords of the net until he fell off his bench and hit the floor.

Jade laughed as she slung her cannon on her back. She hit the button on her radio and announced,"I've got him! Boxman is captured. Go nuts."

There was a distant whoop through the glass of the observation window, and she heard Electriphant trumpet in triumph. Then, almost immediately, came the sound of crunching metal. They weren't wasting any time.

"Jade Heart?" Boxman said, tugging cables away from his organic eye. "What is this?"

"Just a little thing I threw together," Jade said, brimming with pride. "Weighted and electromagnetic. Right now it's sticking to both your skull, and itself. You're not getting up until I decide to let you."

“I knew that,” Boxman huffed. “That's obvious. I mean what are you doing here? Why are you- What did I ever do to you?”

“Oh Lad,” Jade said with mocking sweetness. “This isn't personal. You're in the way, that's all. You're taking away clients that other people could use!”

“You're trying to... steal my business?”

“We're trying to ruin your business,” Jade corrected, punctuated by a loud crash from the window. “Not for good! Just for long enough that we can grab a foothold of our own.”

“I'm not doing that well,” Boxman said. “Half my clients are investors, so they don't pay for their regular shipments.”

“You have investors?” Jade exclaimed.

Boxman smirked. “Okay, I didn't say I was doing badly.”

There was another crash, and a squeal of machinery.

“You're making a mistake, Jade Heart,” Boxman said, a growl to his voice.

“You think I haven't thought this through? There's nothing you can do to all four of us that won't be worth it, once we're making money.”

“Four?” Boxman said. “Who else did you actually convince to join you on this harebrained scheme?”

Bristling, Jade listed them off without thinking. It wouldn't matter if he knew them, there was surely security footage down there, and Electriphant at least left very distinctive damage when he worked.

“Doctor Barbarian, Electriphant, and,” she couldn't quite keep up the smugness as she said the last name, “Open Wound.”

“Open Wound?” Boxman repeated. “Who- What is that?”

“They've been on the scene for almost a year now! I suppose Lord Boxman doesn't have time to pay attention to the newbie villains anymore.”

“What kind of name is Open Wound?”

Jade's shoulders slumped. “I know, I don't know.”

“I mean where's the class?”

She shook her head helplessly.

The lights in the lab flickered - probably Electriphant's doing - and an alarm started blaring, discordant and harsh.

"Uh-oh," Boxman said, at the same time as Jade's radio crackled and she heard Doctor Barbarian's voice say, "Whoops."

"It's fine," Jade said. "There's nothing he can do about it now."

Boxman's was making a face beneath the net. Gritting his teeth in something like worry. "You should let me go."

"Not a chance."

"You really want me to turn that alarm off."

"Please," Jade scoffed, tossing her locs. "I've seen those robots of yours. We can handle whatever you can throw at us."

Boxman shrugged as best he could. "I warned you."

The fact that Boxman wasn't frightened was excusable. They knew each other socially, and had always gotten along well enough. No doubt he knew she wasn't out for blood.

But he could at least pretend to be cowed a little. Here she was, invading his home, taking him utterly by surprise, rendering him all but helpless! That deserved some respect!

Jade shifted her stance and rested a hand on her hip, just above the holster strapped to her thigh. “You don't give the warnings here, Box. I'm the one with the gun.”

“Hey, I'm just being civil. You happen to have caught me in a good mood. Besides,” he grinned, showing off his fangs, “this isn't going to go your way no matter what I do. Might as well relax and enjoy it.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Just because I've got delays doesn't mean my clients will come crawling to you!” Boxman's face twisted into an almost animal snarl. “Everything I have I have because I made it.”

“You'll have worse than delays by the time we're done.”

“Even if you could ruin me completely, it won't fix whatever you're missing!”

Jade folded her arms, blowing air through her nose. The still-blaring alarms were only making her short-tempered. “I think you misunderstand. This is about leveling the playing field, nothing more.” She leaned forward. “But... I could see to leaving it a little unbalanced if you're willing to play along.”

The snarl hadn't faded, but there was curiosity in his voice as he said, “Play how?”

“Drop my name to your clients. If they need something you can't provide, or their friends can't afford you. If we withdraw right now-”

Boxman burst out laughing. “You- you think I would help you? After what you've done?”

“If we withdraw right now, that's less for you to fix! Less time you'll be out of business!”

“Jade Heart, I will never do anything for you after this. I wouldn't shout at you to stop you from getting hit by a truck! I wouldn't give you water in a desert! I wouldn't-”

She dropped her hand to her holster. The bolt pistol was set to stun, but Boxman didn't know that. “You should think about your options here.”

“You should have thought more about ticking off a villain!”

“I'm thinking fine!” Jade snapped. She could think better if this stupid alarm would-

And just like that, it stopped. Jade let out a sigh of relief, and it hardly reduced the feeling when it was Open Wound's voice which said, “I found it. In the walls.”

“Good job,” Barb said. One or both of them must have left their radios on.

“Only the speaker system though.”

Boxman swore. “That was custom!”

Jade pressed the radio button with her chin, keeping her hands where she could draw either weapon with ease. “Guys, I'm negotiating here. Remember to turn your mics off.”

“You have to turn it off?” Barb asked. “What kind of system is that?”

“I didn't want to have to remind you guys to say 'over' all the time.”

“We know our walkie-talkie etiquette!”

“Hey guys?” Open Wound said.

Jade ignored them. “I didn't say walkie-talkies, I said radios! For radio communication!”

“Everybody knows that's a colloquial usage!” Barb said. “You have to explain stuff before we go in!”

“I didn't though, because it was fine up until now!”

“Guys?”

“I'm just saying it's as easy as 'this is the on-off button' instead of 'this is the push-to-talk button!' That's all you needed to-”

She was cut off by a scream. For a second Jade wasn't sure who was the one doing the screaming, until it turned into a bellow of rage and the unmistakable sound of Doctor Barbarian's famous thunder thighs.

Argument forgotten, Jade cried out “Barb!” and ran to the observation window. It took a second to find them in the chaos. Open Wound had climbed halfway up the wall with a makeshift rig, Electriphant was charging through a pile of broken machinery, and there was Barb not far from the entrance, sparring with some strange man.

He looked ordinary from up here. Tall, dark hair, skintight black pants and a white shirt loosely tucked into them. The big boots looked vaguely familiar, but nothing else.

As she watched, Barb stabbed her spear into the floor and spun around it, snapping her legs together so that the impact made the man stumble back. He withstood it surprisingly well; most people would have been knocked flat. All the same, it looked like Barb wasn't going to have trouble, until the man lunged at her the moment her feet were back on the ground. They struggled for a moment, Barb let go of her spear in order to kick him, but the man dropped and rolled under it, plucking the spear from the ground at the same time. He barely seemed to glance up before he threw it across the room, piercing Open Wound's climbing rig and sending them crashing to the floor.

“Who is that?” Jade asked, stunned.

“How should I know?” Boxman said, not even bothering to sound sincere. “I can't see from down here.”

“I didn't think you were the hired goon type,” Jade said.

“I'm not.”

Electriphant had closed in. He gave a warning trumpet before stomping his massive feet, and two of his spark clones jumped off his body. The strange man was still fighting with Barb hand-to-hand, but he managed to dodge the first clone as it grabbed for him, and thrust a handful of wires into the second. They must have been conductive, because the spark clone was immediately dissipated by the completed circuit. A smart move.

“Or is that an... apprentice of some kind? A partner?”

“Still no idea what you're looking at.”

Jade sighed, and swung her net cannon around to fiddle with the settings. She hadn't been planning to use this more than once, so it hadn't been a priority to make it easier to use after it was already deployed.

With the strength of the electromagnets turned down, Boxman could de-tangle his feet enough to stand up. He completely ignored the bolt pistol Jade pointed at him until he was at the window, pressing his nose against the glass to look down.

Electriphant's remaining clone was hovering around the outskirts as Doctor Barbarian and the strange man fought. Both of them kept dodging the other's blows, both of them apparently very used to fighting. Just as Jade started to turn back to Boxman, she saw the man manage to grab Barb's forearm as she swung a punch, dropping onto his back and planting a foot on her stomach as he flipped her over his entire body and straight into the spark clone. She cried out – briefly – and collapsed.

“Partner was closest,” Boxman said, grinning. “That's my... Well... That's this guy I've been seeing. We're keeping things casual, not worrying about labels.”

“You're dating him?” Jade exclaimed. They were on the second story looking down, but even from here Jade could see the guy was about four times too hot for Boxman. Heck, this guy was too hot for her.

“I wouldn't say dating,” Boxman said. “Not like we go out.”

And there was the fact that he was here in the middle of the night, which meant... “Oh.”

Boxman was still grinning.

“Gross,” Jade said.

“Can it.”

The man – Boxman's, ugh, lover – was surrounded by Electriphant and three more clones. Jade could see the strain on his face, knowing that three out of his four opponents were almost literally untouchable. He was naturally concentrating his efforts on the one that wasn't, but hopefully he didn't know they'd automatically disappear if Electriphant lost concentration.

“Who is he? How is he this good?” Jade asked.

“Like I'd tell you that. I told you, it's casual, we don't want it getting out.”

Jade glanced at him. “Seriously?”

“I mean...” Boxman's brow creased beneath his flattened hair. “I assume he doesn't want it out. That's something else we haven't talked about.”

The man dodged between two clones, causing them to run into each other and cancel their charge.

“He knows his science.”

“Hey, I have standards.”

“Do you?” Jade said. “Because it's kinda sounding like this guy is using you.” Which didn't make sense, but that was certainly the picture she was getting.

Boxman sighed. “It's complicated, okay?”

“Do you even plan when he's going to come over, or does he just show up?”

“He calls ahead... usually.”

The man dissipated the last clone with another judicious use of Boxman's broken machines – who could have predicted their sabotage would be used against them? Only Electriphant himself was left now, and few people knew how long it took him to recharge his clones.

“You deserve better than that,” Jade said, absently.

In a surprised tone, Boxman said, “Thanks, Jade.”

Jade's radio crackled. Static corrupted the sound, as though the broadcast was coming from a damaged device. Movement caught Jade's eye, falling rubble near the wall, where Open Wound had dropped.

Unfortunately it wasn't only Jade who'd noticed. The man kept moving back and forth, forcing Electriphant to follow him, clearly trying to tire him out. And as the rubble fell aside and Open Wound stood up, the man veered off in their direction. He barely broke stride as he scooped up a piece of masonry and threw it straight at Open Wound's face.

“Get away from the pachid- erff!”

Open Wound staggered but didn't fall, cracks spreading across the front of their helmet. They brought their hands up, maybe to hold it on, but the pieces dropped away as soon as their fingers touched them.

Beneath that blank red mask, Open Wound's face was round, soft, and unmistakably like twelve.

“Wait!” they exclaimed, but the man didn't. He punched them straight in the nose, knocking them back into the rubble. He pressed a foot to their throat, and only then – now that he had a hostage – did Jade see the set of his shoulders relax, ever so slightly.

“Change your name,” the man said. It was distorted by Open Wound's radio, but his voice was smooth and deep. Whoever he was, he paid better attention to the new villains than Boxman did.

Electriphant was swaying from exhaustion, Doctor Barbarian was out for the count, and Open Wound was at the strange man's mercy. There was only one way to level this playing field.

“Come on,” Jade said, pulling her pistol and grabbing Boxman's arm.

“What? No!”

“Fair's fair.”

“How is this fair? You invaded my home!”

Jade ignored him, dragging him out of the lab and down the hall, where there had to be an entrance to the overlooking catwalk. It took two wrong doors, since Boxman refused to help, but finally Jade kicked open the right one and yanked her hostage out to where the man would be able to see them.

Unfortunately, things had changed in the couple minutes she wasn't watching. Open Wound looked unconscious, and the strange man was back to hounding Electriphant. He'd managed to make another spark clone, flickering and weak. The man wasn't even paying any attention to it.

Before Jade could say anything, the man stretched his hand up toward the catwalk without looking.

“Gun!” he snapped.

“Oh, sure,” Boxman said. Jade wondered what he meant, a second before her bolt pistol was plucked from her hand.

“Hey!”

As if the net was nothing but string, Boxman hurled Jade's bolt pistol off the catwalk to the man. He caught it and immediately spun around and shot Electriphant between the eyes.

Jade felt her heart stop in her chest. A quick thump had the thing humming again, but the shock remained. Her gun had, after all, been on stun. Electriphant would be fine. That wouldn't have been enough to knock him out if he hadn't already stretched himself thin. But the fact remained that in less than fifteen minutes this man – and Boxman – had taken down their entire team.

At least... their entire team but her. The man looked up at her, his eyes narrowed, and without shame Jade took off running. She could be out the nearest window with minimal injury and disappear into the night. She could-

She felt something strike the back of her head, and saw stars.

When Jade Heart next opened her eyes, the stars were still spinning above her. Only the ache in the back of her head told her she was conscious, and only the sound of hushed voices told her something had changed.

“Ow,” she said.

A face leaned over her. A distinctly non-comforting one, given that it was sporting two black eyes and a still-bleeding nose.

“Jade Heart is awake,” Open Wound said. Without the robotic modification, their voice was a little squeaky and surprisingly gentle.

“Jade!” Barb's strong hands grabbed her and hauled her up for a hug. Despite her swimming vision, Jade saw that they were outside next to the construction site again.

“Ow. What happened?”

“We all got dumped across the road, I guess,” Barb said. “Uh... on the opposite side of where we were.”

She was right, Jade realized as she looked around. That meant a long walk all the way around the site before they got back to their rides.

Barb's hair was a mess. Open Wound was pressing a paisley handkerchief to their nose. Electriphant's nose and ears were drooping so much they looked like they were melting. And judging from the brown blur at the edges of Jade's vision, there was a very real chance she had a concussion. All in all, not exactly the victory she'd planned for.

“I'm sorry, everybody.”

“It's not your fault,” Barb said quickly. “I didn't think Boxman was the hired goon type.”

“He wasn't-”

Boxman had said it was a secret. And though Jade didn't know the guy's name, telling the others would lead to rumors. They were in deep enough trouble without adding to Boxman's grudge.

“I mean, I didn't think he was either.”

Open Wound sniffed. “At least we won.”

Everyone looked at them. “Won?” Jade repeated.

“Didn't we? We did what we came for. The production line is all smashed up and Boxmore will have to close for repairs.”

Electriphant's ears perked up a little. “You're not wrong. And I did get some pictures of blueprints and schematics.”

“Huh.” Jade felt herself start to smile. “Maybe not a win, but definitely not a loss!”

“Gonna be feeling that kick in my ribs for a while,” Barb said, pressing her hands to her back as she stretched. “And I think your spark clone fried my ends, Phanty.”

“Sorry about that.”

As they all started to climb – shakily – to their feet, everyone's eyes kept drifting to Open Wound.

“Should we take you to a hospital?” Barb asked.

Open Wound touched their nose carefully. “I don't think it's broken. Would I be able to tell?”

“I don't know, I'm not that kind of doctor. But... won't your parents freak out if you come home looking like that?”

They shook their head. “Mom's in prison, and Dad's in space. My big sister is in charge, and she said this would be a learning experience for me.”

“I think it was for all of us.”

Jade saw Electriphant frown thoughtfully. “You know, it just occurred to me. I wonder how that guy knew your gun was set to stun, Jade?”

“Uh... I don't think he did.”

“Oh. Good thing you're such a softie, then.”

“Oh... shut up.” Jade gave him a light sock, and he laughed.

All in all, not the worst night she'd ever had.

“Hey guys?” Open Wound said, softly.

“What?” Jade asked.

“Should I change my villain name?”

The three adults sighed in relief, and immediately began suggesting alternatives.

“Are you sure you're okay?” Laserblast asked, for the third time tonight.

“I'm fine,” Boxman assured him, waving off the blanket he tried to offer. “I was never in any real danger. Jade Heart's old school; she'll betray her fellow villain but she'd never kill one... that wasn't trying to kill her first.”

“I can't believe I slept through a break-in. What kind of hero can't even protect his- his host?”

There he went, avoiding labels again. Someday Boxman would have to bring that up, but he was too tired tonight.

“You did protect me! If you hadn't been here I would have had to listen to them gloating for cob knows how long. I might have let something slip just to get them to shut up.”

Laser's expression lightened, a little. “The worst torture of all, huh? Boredom.”

“Absolutely.”

He gave a brief smile, and leaned over to kiss Boxman on the mouth. “If something happened to you, I wouldn't stop until everyone who had a hand in it was dead at my feet.”

“You're sweet,” Boxman told him, sincerely. “But I don't know why you're so worried. I can take care of myself.”

“I know, but... your lab. If I'd woken up sooner, maybe-”

“What, that?” Boxman laughed. “You think I don't have backups? I can have everything up and running in 24 hours.”

Laser's eyes went wide. “You have doubles of- of your whole production line?”

“With how often I blow things up? I have triples of most of it.” He attempted to tap his head and poked his eyelid. “Ow. Because I'm smart!”

Laserblast chuckled. “You're a genius.”

“I'm a tired genius. Can we go to bed already?”

“Are you sure you're-”

“I'm okay! And if it'll make you feel better, you can use me as a pillow like you usually end up doing anyway.”

Laser smiled, but he finally got up and started in the direction of the bedroom. “Like it's my fault for loving your body.”

“I'm just saying. You're a sleep-clinger.”

“You're warm,” Laserblast said, unashamed.

“So that's what this has all been about. You can't sleep without latching on to someone else's body heat.”

He laughed. “You got me. I totally didn't fall for your brain and your personality at all. It was just about having a personal heater.”

“I knew it!”

[calamitascalliope]

Vriska and Rose=====>Make Them Pay

My submission for @ladystuck2020​, written for @haruspeks​. You can also find it on Ao3 here. Enjoy!

From the day she was born, everyone knew Rose Lalonde was a peculiar child.

Most children, when brought into this world, scream and cry and generally make a huge fuss about things. Rose, on the other hand, made not a single sound as the doctor brought her out into the light. No screaming. No wriggling. Nothing.

It was so alarming that Rose was immediately placed into intensive care, fearing that her lungs had not developed properly. But after multiple tests and several weeks of head scratching it was discovered that no, Rose was perfectly healthy in every way. Aside from the strange fact that she never cried.

While this certainly made her mother’s life easier, a poor woman who was woefully unprepared for raising a child, it lead to a lot of concern as this pattern continued into Rose’s older years. When she began eating baby food, she never made a mess of things. When she fell over while learning to walk she shed not a single tear. When she became a toddler, she never threw a single temper tantrum.

On paper, Rose would seem like a perfect child. A child who never fussed? What more could a new parent ask for! In practice however, Rose was exceptionally unnerving.

It was on Rose’s thirteenth birthday that her existence took a turn from unnerving to terrifying. 

It had been a small affair. Some family had been invited, but all that really amounted to was her uncle Dirk and cousin Dave. Dave was what you would expect from a thirteenth year old boy. Loud, full of energy, and never staying in one place for too long. He was everything Rose was not.

As Dave tore a path through the living room, playing with a small toy bird he had brought with him, Rose sat delicately at the table, taking careful bites of her cake. Rose’s mother was chatting with Dirk on the couch, with Dirk having to occasionally tell Dave to not try and jump off of high places. It was a rather peaceful scene.

Until Rose was lying on the floor, completely unresponsive.

One panicked rush to the hospital later, and Rose was in a hospital bed, dozens of monitors hooked up to her small body. Her heart monitor was the chief among them. Every so often, her heartbeat would begin to beat sporadically, nearly tripling in speed for less than a second before returning to normal. It had been decided that these palpitations were what caused her fainting spell, but they were still trying to figure out why they were happening.

After a tense couple of hours filled with tests, tears, and nervous pacing, Rose opened her eyes and did something she had never done in her thirteen years of life.

She screamed.

Rose screamed with a fury far beyond her age, and began to violently try and tear apart the many apardi that was attached to her body. A panicked nurse rushed over to try and calm her down, to tell her she was safe, but Rose snapped at the woman like a mad dog. When the nurse tried to approach her again Rose kicked her in the stomach causing her to stumble backwards, doubled over in pain.

Rose’s heart rate, obviously high due to her sudden physical exertion, spiked higher than it had ever gone. Rose fell back in her bed, going unconscious once more.

After that they got permission from Rose’s mother to strap her down.

When Rose next awoke, she was her usual self. Confused at her location, but nowhere near the violent state she had exhibited earlier. A few doctors spoke with her, asking if she was okay and if she was calm. Asking how she felt. Asking why she attacked that nurse. Rose answered all the questions with her usual calm demeanor. All except the last one. To that question she simply gave a confused look, and said that she did not remember that happening.

The doctors were stumped, but Rose seemed to be doing fine. The palpitations had stopped, and while her behavior was not normal by any stretch of the word, she was her usual self once more. Rose was prescribed some medication that would hopefully stop this from happening again, and she was to make regular checkups to ensure that she was doing well.

Exhausted, Rose’s mother took her straight home. She held her daughter tight, trying her best to ignore how detached and cold Rose felt in her arms. She eventually fell asleep, but Rose did not. When her mother’s breathing leveled out, Rose carefully slipped out of her grasp. She planned to head to the kitchen to find a snack, but her plans were put on hold when she saw something that would change her life forever.

Floating lazily near to the ground was a small girl. Well, girl would not be the proper term. Sure she was small, and sure she had a messy tangle of long hair, but no one who saw this thing would describe her as just a girl.

Her skin was a mottled grey, flaky and ashen. She looked as if she was a snowman made of ashes. Her tangled hair was not just dark, it was the color of the blank night sky. The color of nothing. Sprouting from between her impossibly colored hair was a pair of brightly colored horns that clashed heavily with the darker tones of the rest of her body.

She had eight eyes, but they were not arranged in the way a spider’s were. Two of her eyes were in the places one would expect them to be, and the remaining six were placed in a circle around her left eye. The sclera of her eyes was not the typical white, but instead a bright orange, and her iris seemed to be missing in its entirety. Her pupils were slits, much like that of a reptile, and all eight of them were darting around the room sporadically.

Rose stared at this strange figure for several seconds, and a few moments later the figure took notice of Rose’s attention. She gave a cautionary glance behind herself, before turning back to Rose.

“You can see me?”

The creature’s voice was deep, and had a chittering to it that Rose could not fully understand. A good comparison would be trying to understand someone with a heavy Scottish accent when you have never heard of Scotland in your entire life.

“Yes.” Rose said, a bit hesitant. “Who are you?”

“Vriska. I think. How did I get here?”

“I’m not sure. Um, give me a second.” Rose turned towards her mother, and gently shook her awake.  “Mom?”

“Oh, uh, yeah?”  Rose’s mother woke up with a start, looking dreary eyed around the room.  “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Do you see that weird grey girl?”  Rose asked, and could immediately tell by the lost expression on her face that the answer was no.

“What do you mean Rose?”

“It was nothing, just a, uh, dream I had.”  Rose assured her, and within a few moments her mother passed out once more. Rose turned back to face the strange girl, Vriska apparently, who was nodding.

“So only you can see me. I guess. That is real fucking weird.”

“Your flippant use of crude language is....Interesting. Although not surprising given your situation. ”  Rose spoke with the voice of a sixty year old woman, and Vriska scoffed at it.

“And who’s gonna fucking st8p me? You’re the 8nly one who can see and hear me, so try it 8itch.”

“How did you say the eight with your mouth.”

“Fuck y8u that’s h8w.”

Rose paused, her rational mind slowly turning to try and fully comprehend this situation and figure out the best way forward.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be antagonistic.”  Rose said.  “It has been a weird day for me, and I’m assuming it has been a weird one for you to.”

“That is putting it lightly.”  Vriska’s words still carried a sharp tone, but Rose could tell that she was settling down a bit.

“I know your name, it is only fitting you know mine. I’m Rose Lalonde.”

“That’s a pretty long name if you ask me.”

“Well, it is usually just Rose. Lalonde is my last name.”

“What’s that?”

“Well,”  Rose was prepared to go into a long winded history lesson on the use of last names in ancient times, but she figured that she had better things to do.  “Never mind. So….What exactly are you?”

To that Rose received a lazy shrug from Vriska.

“Hell if I know. All I know was that I woke up inside of a tiny pink monkey’s 8ody and I felt extremely pissed a8out the whole thing. Then I passed out again and woke up here, talking to you.”

“So you have no memories about why you are here? None at all?”

“There is nothing 8ut my own name in my head.”  Vriska said.  “That and a lot of anger, 8ut I’m not exactly sure what I’m angry at. As we’ve been talking its been going away though so now it really is just my name.”

“Can you….Do anything?”  Rose asked, and upon realizing the vagueness of her question she clarified.  “I mean we know that no one can see you except for me, but can you interact with the world around you?”

“Dunno.”  Vriska contemplated for a moment, and then reached down to try and pick up a toy bird Dave had left behind in the panic after the party. Her hand phased right through it, but the toy trembled slightly. Almost as if it had been blown by a slight breeze.  “I guess the answer to that question is kinda 8ut not really.”

“To be perfectly honest, I am not entirely convinced that I’m not hallucinating right now.”  Rose said.  “I have just undergone an extremely traumatizing experience, my brain playing tricks on me should almost be expected.”

“Well I am very much real, 8ut I have no clue how I could possi8ly convince you. I can’t touch anything, and….”  Vriska paused for a moment, her eight dark eyes focusing on Rose much in the way a cat does when it is preparing to pounce.

Vriska pounced.

Rose jumped at the sudden movement, and was doubly shocked when she   felt her  . Vriska’s body crashed into Rose’s, toppling them both to the ground.

“Okay! You’re real! Get off!”  Rose said, but Vriska did not seem to be listening to her. Vriska’s eyes were still massive, all eight of them looking directly at Rose’s chest. Vriska raised one clawed hand, flexing her fingers before burying them into Rose’s chest.

There was no blood, there wasn’t even a wound, but Rose felt Vriska’s sharp nails burrow into her chest. Rose screamed, thrashing about to try and get Vriska off of her, but it was no use. While Vriska seemed capable of attacking her, Rose’s own blows passed right through Vriska. 

The screaming did alert Rose’s mother. The poor woman woke up with a start to see her small daughter screaming her head off and flailing about the floor for no apparent reason.

Meanwhile, from Rose’s perspective, Vriska was still tearing into her chest. The pain was gradually growing unbearable, and Rose was beginning to feel the room spinning around her as she grew faint. She was on the edge of losing herself once again when she felt her hand wrap around something solid.

No, wait. That wasn’t her hand. That was Vriska’s hand. Vriska’s hand had wrapped around something solid. Why had Vriska felt Rose’s hand?

Rose wasn’t in her living room anymore. She was weightless, floating in an empty abyss. She couldn’t feel anything, anything aside from the rhythmic pumping of Vriska’s own heart.

No, not Vriska’s heart. HER heart. Why did Vriska keep doing that?

No, she’s not Vriska, she’s Rose. Why was her mind all over the place, where-

The dark void around Vriska lit up into a brilliant gold, blinding Rose’s eight eyes. She saw a sigil, burnt onto the bottoms of her eyelids. A small sun. It was everywhere she looked. She could close her eyes for hours on end, but Rose could not escape it. It pulsated in time with her heartbeat, with their heartbeat.

Vriska and Rose woke up in Rose’s room, already tucked into her bed. It was dark, the small digital clock on the nightstand reading eight pm. 

“What….What happened?”  Rose mumbled, holding her head. It felt as though someone had smashed her head in with a hammer.

“I’m not sure.”  The voice came out of Rose’s mouth, but Rose was not the one who controlled it.  “Something in my head clicked and I just acted on instinct.”

“Vriska? Is that you?”

“Yeah. Not sure how 8ut now I’m, like, a part of you.”

“Why’d you do that?!”

“I dunno! Like I said, something just clicked in my head and I lost control.”

Rose swung her feet off the edge of the bed, and was about to stand up when the same sun sigil flashed into view. Rose her own body stand up from the bed as she was about to, and saw her foot get punctured by a knitting needle that had been thrown onto the floor.

Rose was suddenly sitting back in her bed, just about to stand up. Taking a moment, she peered down onto the floor and sure enough a knitting needle was lying there on the ground ready to stab her in the foot.

“Tell me you saw that too.” Rose asked.

“Uh, yeah? It would have 8een pretty hard not to.”

“Did we just see the future?”

“I think a more correct way of putting it is we saw what   could   have 8een the future, and then we changed it.”

“Were you able to do that before? Was that just a thing you could just do?”

“No! At least, I don’t think so, I,”

Vriska was interrupted by another vision, this time showing Rose’s mother walking into the room. As soon as it ended Rose leapt back into bed and pretended to sleep, getting into position just before the door opened.

Rose held still as her mother walked into the room, and gentle tousled Rose’s hair. She had likely heard Vriska and her talking before, and came in to check on them. Or, to check on her. Rose specifically. She didn’t stay long though, and before long Rose and Vriska were alone again.

“So what now?”  Rose questioned, her voice in a low whisper.  “We are now two people squished into a thirteen year old body, and we can sometimes see the future.”

“What’s a year?”

“Will this ever stop?”  Rose ignored Vriska, continuing with her worrying.  “Are we just stuck together forever? How did this happen? Why did this happen?”

“Okay, I think you are starting to panic. I can tell because it's starting to ru8 off on me. Come on, this isn’t the worst thing in the world.”

“And why not?”

“Well, for one you’ve got some gr8 company with me whenever you want it,”

“Oh, what a relief!”  Rose rolled her eyes.

“And two, you can see the future! Sometimes. How cool is that!”

Rose let out a yawn, and started to feel her body grow weary. Despite all the sleep she had gotten in the last twenty-four hours, her body was still begging for more time to rest.

“We can figure this out another time.”  Rose mumbled, already feeling her consciousness fade.  “Another….Time….”

The following day was school. Rose’s mother tried to insist that she stay home, but Rose wanted nothing more than a sense of normalcy to return to her life. She managed to convince her mother that she was completely fine, and that she just wanted to see her friends at school. It was this last part that convinced her mother to allow it. She had always been concerned about Rose making friends, and was worried that Rose was going through her schooldays sitting alone and silent. She was right to worry because that was exactly what Rose had been doing.

As they had been preparing for leaving the house, Rose ran Vriska through a few ground rules. Vriska was not to speak unless the two of them were definitely alone. Rose was going to handle all of the talking. Vriska found the rules annoying, and a lot of complaining and grumbling came from her, but she eventually promised to keep her mouth shut.

Rose sat in her usual seat on the bus. Three rows up from the back on the right side. It was snowing out, and Rose was sweltering in her oversized sweater due to the constantly humming heater just below her feet. Rose tried her best to deal with it as she watched out the window at the slowly falling flakes.

That was until her eyes flashed with another vision.

This one was short, less than a second in length, and by the time she processed what it had shown her the small wad of paper had already smacked her in the face.

It wasn’t painful, but it was extremely surprising. It probably wouldn’t have been that bad if she hadn’t been disorientated by her powers flicking on. Rose looked up to see a small group of boys giggling and holding an open notebook, a page evidently torn out.

Rose rolled her eyes and turned back to the window, but Vriska butted in.

“What the fuck are y8u d8ing?”  She asked, having the courtesy to at least keep her voice at a low whisper.  “Get them 8ack!”

“It doesn’t matter. If I give them attention they’ll never let up.”

“N8, if you don’t do anything it’ll show them that they can walk all over you.   Then   they’ll never let up.”

“That’s not,”

Another wad of paper pelted her in the face. Rose tensed, and then sighed.

“This isn’t worth it.”

“It most definetly fucking is!”  Rose could see the boys preparing another wad of paper out of the corner of her eyes. As she saw them prepare to toss it she could feel her heart racing in her chest, her muscles tightening as the sigil of light flashed in her eyes.

“ M a k e  t h e m  p a y .”

The sigil flashed brilliantly, and a lot of things happened at once. The boy preparing the wad of paper, a wiry kid with red hair, managed to give himself a papercut, and a pretty severe one at that. His finger began to bleed quite a bit, and his two friends pulled away from him to avoid getting it on their clothes. As this happened, the boy closest to the wall, a larger boy that Rose knew was on the school’s soccer team, placed his hand near the window of the bus. The bus hit a massive pothole at this moment causing the boy in the middle to bounce upwards and hit his head on the ceiling, and the window came undone and flew downwards, crushing the larger boy’s finger beneath it.

The bus driver noticed all of this sudden commotion due to the screaming of all three boys, and he pulled over quickly. He grabbed the first aid kit and ran to get them some help. All the while Rose sat in her chair, taking deep breaths as her heart rate returned to normal.

“Did….Did we do that?”

“I don’t….know.”  Vriska mused.  “It certainly felt like we did something. What are the odds all of that happened on its own? Right as we were freaking out and seeing shit?”

Rose looked around the bus. Everyone was either minding their own business with various projects or looking at the three injured boys. Everyone except for one person. A young girl with long, extremely curly hair and brilliant green eyes behind round glasses. This girl, despite all of the chaos, despite being able to do literally anything else, was looking directly at Rose. It was unnerving, and Rose looked away from her as soon as she was able.

“That girl….”

“What the fuck are you worried about? How could anyone possi8ly connect anything that happened back to us? 8esides, they had it coming.”

Rose sat in silence as the bus resumed moving, heading towards the school. Thoughts of the new power she wielded swirling through her mind, and the potential they could have going forward. While Rose sat in silence, thinking solemnly about the potential these new developments provided, Vriska did not work like that.

“Think about what we can do with this! We can get 8ack at anyone we want and there is no way we could ever be caught and punished for it! We could predict what people are going to do! Rose….With this power we could be gods.”

Rose could not see Vriska, but she could picture her smiling deviously at that. That was probably because she was also smiling at the prospect.

[shamipking]

Avatar: The Incarnation of Hao

Chapter 1: A Nomad in Republic City

Status: In Progress Fandoms: Shaman King, Avatar: The Last Airbender, Legend of Korra Rating: Not Rated Warnings: None Characters: Manta Oyamada, Yoh Asakura Additional Tags:  AU, Crossover, Canon Continuation, Alternate Universe-Future External Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25606687/chapters/62152525#workskin https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13658136/2/Avatar-The-Incarnation-of-Hao

Manta always had a cursory connection to spirits. People had for decades now, with the Spirit World taking up residence as Republic City’s backyard. Manta, however, liked to believe it was his ancestry that made the affection he and the spirits shared special.

He did not know for sure if it was, but it made him smile to think about it.

Attachment to the spirits aside, Manta felt he lived a particularly unassuming life. No easy feat for the heir of the biggest company in Republic City, but he was happy to manage it. With no bending to speak of, or many talents outside of studying, his life was set well in stone by his father. Though also a non-bender, Manta knew Mansumi still had the power to move mountains. He was more ruthless as chairman of Future Industries than grandmama Asami had been, or even his grandfather after her.

Though it wasn’t the life Manta would have chosen for himself, he hoped that when he someday inherited his great grandmother’s company, he could steer it back in a direction she would be proud of.

He tugged on a stiff business suit-- a carbon copy of his father’s. He ambled through the Sato estate, and onto the street where a Satomobile would be waiting to take him to the tutor his father insisted upon.

No son of mine will spend his day frolicking with spirits or daydreaming about bending!

Manta often wondered how the grandson of an Avatar could have such a bleak worldview.

As with every morning, the thought ran idly through Manta’s head as he sighed and walked to meet the driver. Door already open. Master Oyamada, he would be greeted. Sato, please. Or Manta, would be his reply, which was never heeded. He could do it with his eyes closed. He may as well have, so lost in thought as he was. It took him a long moment to realize he had not, in fact, stepped into his private Satomobile, but onto a white patch of fur. Which was also still attached to the animal that had grown it.

At the same time Manta began to mutter, “what…” he heard a rumbling growl and found himself lifting into the air.

“WHAAAA--!” He hollered, gripping the fur for dear life. When he opened his eyes, he was dangling from the fur by his hands. It was from here that he realized he’d been standing on the tail of a sky bison, the same tail he was now hanging from, and was face to face with it’s rider.

The brown haired boy wore a bemused expression on his face. He was dressed in the traditional orange robes of the Airbenders, though worn even looser than Manta normally saw, with the front hanging open. The boy also, Manta realized, sported no tattoos.

I guess this kid isn’t a master yet, Manta thought. Hold on, I’m still STUCK UP HERE!

“You stepped on Mune’s tail,” the other boy pointed out, unhelpfully.

“C-C-C-Can you get me DOWN FROM HERE?” Manta exclaimed, clutching the tufts of fur tighter. The bison, Mune, growled again and shook its tail. “Plea-he-he-he-se” he added as he was tossed to and fro.

The air nomad laughed, and leaned over the edge of the saddle to stroke the bison’s fur. “That’s enough, Mune, it’s alright. He won’t hurt you. ‘Atta girl.” Seemingly soothed, Mune brought Manta back up and allowed him to clamor into the saddle. He breathed a shaky sigh of relief.

“Sorry about that,” the strange boy said. “She likes to play, but can take it too far sometimes.” He was grinning, almost nonchalantly.

“Th-that’s playing?” Manta was dubious. Airbenders tended toward the carefree but this was pushing it, wasn’t it?

“She’s a bit rough with her herd mates, too. My name is Yoh, by the way. What’s yours?” Yoh extended his hand, still smiling, still an affectionate humor in his voice talking about a several ton bison rough housing.

“Oh, um, it’s Manta,” he shook Yoh’s hand. “I’m sorry I stepped on your bison. I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

“It’s alright, you might have startled her a bit but you didn’t hurt her,” as if in assent, Mune rumbled almost gently, or, Manta assumed, the closest the creature could get to “gentle”. Again, Yoh leaned over the side of the saddle to pat her. Then he slumped back over, his back to the edge and arms behind his head, and stared up peacefully at the sky. Is this what he’d been doing before Manta came out?

“Pardon me, but, what are you doing here?” He realized Yoh and Mune were where his chauffeur was usually parked. “Please tell me you didn’t land on a Satomobile parked here.”

Yoh looked back at Manta, almost as if he had forgotten Manta was there, or had expected him to leave. “Nope, no one was here. Mune was tired and we needed to land somewhere in the city,” he paused, in a way that suggested he’d finished, before continuing. “Come to think, though, someone drove by a bit before you showed up. He did seem angry that I was here.”

Is it any wonder why? Manta thought. “Ack! That driver was supposed to take me to my lessons! I’ll be late!” He shot up and began frantically searching up and down the street for Tamurazaki. The Satomobile and his driver were nowhere in sight.

“I can take you! Just tell me where to go,” Yoh said, already crawling to the front of the saddle and over the lip to take up the reins.

“Wait, no, that’s not--”

“Mune, yip yip,” Yoh called, and the bison took off before Manta could finish. As they climbed over the towering buildings, Manta shut his eyes and clung to the side of the saddle, screaming until they leveled out in the air. Even then, he felt he might faint.

“Where are we going?” Yoh asked again. He seemed perfectly at ease on Mune’s neck. Manta figured he would, too, if he could practically fly.

Manta was the opposite of at ease. “Just. Just a couple blocks south of where we were. Big building, near some spirit vines,” he was pressing himself against the floor of the saddle. “Please don’t make me look. Just put me down somewhere close, it’s fine.”

He kept his eyes glued shut until Mune landed safely on the ground once more. At Yoh’s insistence that it was ok, Manta climbed from the saddle and slid down her tail. In a voice as wobbly as his legs, he choked out, “Thank you,” before turning to walk in the direction of his tutor.

“No problem,” Yoh called down. “It was my fault anyway.”

He’s right about that, Manta thought. “Uh, well. I guess… I’ll see you around?” The kid would be hard to miss. Airbenders and sky bison weren’t uncommon sights anymore, but that didn’t mean a giant white beast was inconspicuous in the city.

“Sure. You should come to Air Temple Island, sometime,” Yoh mused. “That’s where I’ve been sent for training.”

“I’m not a bender,” Manta’s response was automatic, he was used to it coming up in conversation.

“You don’t have to be,” Yoh assured him. “I think my teacher would like to know what friends I was making. Think about it!” With another “yip yip!” Yoh was airborne again, flying in the direction of Yue Bay. Manta watched him, feeling a mix of bewilderment and awe.

“Friends, huh?” He muttered to himself as Yoh and Mune disappeared behind the tall buildings Manta couldn’t see over. Even though he barely knew Yoh, he found he liked the sound of that.

[txladyj-blog]

Chapter 4 - This Time Around

a Daryl Dixon x OFC collaboration written by @xmistressmistrustx​

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Daryl Dixon/Original Female Character

Tags: Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Awkwardness, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Crush, Fluff and Humor, Angst and Humor, Mild Smut, Strong Language, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Some Canon Scenes and Dialogue

Chapters 15/?

Before the turn, Jess had packed her car for her annual visit to the same Renaissance Faire she’d been attending with her friends for the last five years. It was a much-anticipated event for her and her collection of costumes had grown into an impressive variety of elaborate garments. Being indecisive about which ones to take with her was always an issue and so on this occasion, she’d crammed her car with as many clothes as possible, along with a few casual outfits that she kept in the trunk anyway due to many, spur of the moment road trips to see friends and visit conventions across the state. Her best friend, Ben had made fun of her for never being able to make a decision when it came to clothing and for always being prepared for anything. 'Just in case' was her favorite phrase and it was usually met with Ben replying with 'just in case of what, exactly?". Little did she know that the car journey to the Faire would be the last time the two of them would ever argue over what music to play in the car, what greasy food they would start the day with and where was the best place to park. It would be the last time she'd ever laugh at one of his cheesy jokes or tell him not to bother checking out any cute girls, because he was so forgetful he wasn't likely to remember he had a girlfriend if he ever managed to bag one. Two hours after the car door slammed and they began their final journey together, Jess had watched in utter horror as a Walker tore out his jugular and chomped on it like it was eating a burger.

Her interest in such activities and active participation in events that required outfit changes in meant she was lucky enough to not only have more than one change of clothing, but also a backpack big enough to hold her journal and a couple of books. Unlike some of the others at the camp, Jess had the luxury of being able to change her clothes every day and therefore, made the effort to help out with the laundry where she could. When Rick and some of the others returned from the city with bags full of clothing, the laundry duties increased and meant that Jess found herself with a job and a way of contributing to the group.

Her superhero and cult film T-shirts were both an entertaining talking point with Carl and a source of ridicule to the likes of Sarah and Jodie. While Daryl also enjoyed making fun of her for them, his lighthearted mockery only resulted in debates about which was the better character in the films they'd both seen and her crush on him intensifying to a dangerously consuming level. She blushed around him. Stared at him so much he continuously caught her and felt a slither of drool escaped her lips when she saw him emerge from the water one day, shirt soaked and stuck to his body. One of her eyebrows had shot up to the sky so fast she had little control over it. She held her breath and let herself indulge as he ruffled his hair with one hand, flicking drops of water everywhere. Jess could only liken it to a scene from some kind of 80's romance movie, where the unpopular, dorky girl falls for the ridiculously attractive bad boy that smokes too much.

Stood in front of him in a bright yellow Pulp Fiction T-shirt and her jeans, her face was expectant and waiting for an explanation, she squinted in the sun and propped a hand over her forehead. Heat beat down on her head, her scalp burning. She wished that she’d picked up a baseball cap when she’d left her apartment for the Faire that day.

“Alright, don’t freak out.” Daryl told her. “Wait here”

She sighed and tapped her foot while crossing her arms. Information about the days expedition was minimal. He was taking her to the woods and she wasn't to argue or he'd push her off of the RV. When he turned and disappeared into the woods, he left her alone around five feet from the tree line. After a few minutes, she began to slowly wander back and forth, stopping occasionally to crane her neck and check for movement in the dull light of the trees.

This better not be some kind of stitch up. She thought. 

She knew it must have been at least fifteen minutes before the rustling of leaves and the crunching of twigs beneath boots caught her attention. Along with the snarling of a Walker. Her heart rate quickened. Instinctively, she took a couple of sizable steps back and frantically scanned the ground for something sharp with which to defend herself. A part of her was cross with Daryl for having left her here in danger of being seen by a hungry, walking corpse that would make a quick meal out of a slow, chubby girl with no means to defend herself.

I hope I taste like acid when it bites me.

Seeing nothing to use as a weapon on the ground, she looked back up to see Daryl bunding a Walker out of the woods. He had tied a belt around its neck which he used to keep it in line like some kind of macabre, oversized dog and was shoving it along in front of him. Both of its arms had been hacked off at the elbows and the bloody stumps waved about like two coagulated, beef patties.

Jess was rooted to the spot, paralyzed by fear and totally confused. Daryl grunted as he pushed the Walker against a tree and wrapped the remainder of the belt around the trunk, fastening the corpse to the tree. It bucked and gnashed its teeth at him as he stepped back, bloody drool seeping from its jaws and pooling at its feet.

Daryl beckoned her over with his hand “C’mon. S’alright.”

“Ha-have you lost your fucking mind?!” She gasped. “What are you going to do? Feed it a bone and teach it to sit?!”

“No, smartass.” He huffed. “I’m gonna teach ya how to kill one of these things.”

Her enlarged; terrified eyes stared at him in disbelief. “Why?” she asked.

She thought she saw him swallow hard before he locked eyes with her and took longer than she was expecting to answer her. The Walker’s noises now drowned out by her mind racing and the panic welling in her chest.

“Case I ain't around.” He replied quietly.

“Why would you not be around?”

“I dunno. I killed seven of these things in a day yesterday. Numbers are goin’ up. We’re either gonna have to move or we’re all gonna have to know how to fight. Ya gotta know how to do this, Jess. Ya ain’t safe if ya don’t.”

Is he saying he cares about me here?

Unsheathing his knife, he felt its weight in his hand for a moment before holding it out to her. She gingerly took hold of it, the heavy handle providing it with the majority of its weight. The blade was sharp and shiny. She often saw him sharpening it as an almost mindless task while sitting around the campfire.

“You right-handed?” He asked.

“Yes”

He moved behind her and it took all of her self-awareness not to flinch when she felt his fingers curl around her left wrist. He lifted it up and she slowly turned her head to see her pale flesh in his tanned grasp.

“Get closer” He rasped in her ear, encouraging her to step forwards by pulling on her wrist “use this hand on it’s forehead to steady it.”

Her breath caught in her throat when he took hold of her other wrist, sliding his hand up further to move her fingers into the correct position around the knife. The warmth from his torso hummed against her back.

“Raise ya hand up, good n’strong. Move closer.”

But Jess stilled. Her feet were rooted to the spot at the sight of the monstrosity before her. She wondered how Daryl had managed to hack off both of its arms and wrestle it out of the woods by himself. She shook her head and swallowed a deep breath.

“No” She squeaked “Please, I don’t want to go near that thing.”

With his hands still tightly gripped around her wrists, he leaned closer to the side of her face, both of them more than aware that as the weeks turned into months and as their friendship had grown, the sensation of their skin connecting had been unknown until now.

“Look at it’s arms.” He told her “It can’t grab ya. I made sure of that.”

And he had. Snapping the bones was easier than he'd anticipated and hacking through the flesh to dismember it's limbs was not unlike preparing an animal for food. So, he told himself it was just a kill from the hunt like all the others, except this one was larger and the odor it gave off was enough to make even the strongest of stomachs flip. 

“I-I can’t.” She stammered, her hands beginning to shake. He could feel her bones trembling as he gently urged her forwards.

“Yeah, ya can.” He countered “S'alright. C’mon. Just try.”

Turning her head to the side, the first thing she thought was how close his face was to hers and how icy blue his eyes were. 

"What if it gets loose and I can't kill it? Don't leave me with it" She pleaded. 

"I got it if it gets loose. I ain’t goin' nowhere. I'm right here." He confirmed. 

She neared the Walker, Daryl allowing her a little more freedom with each step like a parent urging their child to ride a bike without stabilizers. His hands loosened their grip and drifted down her forearms, before he broke away and she was standing inches from the bloody stumps of the waving arms attached to the Walker.

“Don’t overthink it, just do it.” He said from behind her.

She lunged forward, slamming her hand against the cold, dampened forehead and smacked it against the tree. She didn't know why, but she expected it's skin to be warm somehow, like regular people that are wandering around, going about their day. But this man was dead, so it stood to reason he'd be cold to the touch. She lifted her other hand and paused.

“The eye, it’s the easiest. As hard as ya can.” He instructed.

She fought against the Walkers attempts to break free, the blood from it’s missing arms now smearing across her T-shirt. Her stomach churned at the putrid and rotting smell that grew stronger with each thrash of its head. She screwed up her face and with all her might, drove the blade into the weeping, white eye of the Walker. The wet sound of the blade against its skull meant bile began to rise in her stomach and an involuntary cry left her throat. The scrape of metal on bone, but loose, like sand along the sharp edge of the knife. She slumped forwards and tried to yank the knife from the bloodied hole in the Walkers face but it stuck fast. She fought with it, twisting it and tugging on the handle, until Daryl’s hand closed over hers once more and he pulled on the weapon with brute force, freeing it and catching Jess when she stumbled backwards.

He took the knife from between her fingers and noticed his other hand had ended up around her waist, stopping her from falling. He ripped it away in seconds and stepped back, dropping his gaze. Jess turned and tried to steady her breathing as she watched his ears turn pink and his shoulders sag.

“I did it” She whispered.

If anything, it was a desperate attempt to draw attention away from the fact that he had just touched her somewhere other than her hands and that was something she’d only dared to imagine during nights scribbling in her diary in her tent or while drifting off to sleep. Even then, it was with some reluctance, as if somehow everyone around her could hear her thoughts and see her imaginings like they were displayed on a projector screen for all to see. He had just touched her and yes, it was accidental, but it was a moment she knew would guide her through many more nights alone with her thoughts. A moment that was as funny as it was tragic and would most likely never happen again.

“Yeah, ya did it. Good job.” He mumbled. She stood immobile while he cleaned the blade with a red rag from his back pocket and offered it to her once more, all the while avoiding having to look at her.

“Why are you giving that back to me?” She wanted to know.

“Take it. It’s yours.” He said flicking the handle up in front of her and urging her to take it.

“No, it’s yours” She corrected, smiling at his now vividly apparent awkwardness.

“I got a another” He told her, tapping at another knife holster on the other side of his belt. “Shouldn’t walk around these days without a knife. Take it.”

“I can’t, it’s-”

“-Take the goddamn knife, Jess.” He interrupted.

She smiled at him again, pleased to see that he couldn’t seem to look away once his eyes met hers. She delicately slipped the knife from his hand and resisted the urge to jump on him and hug him for believing in her and pushing her out of her comfort zone. It was working, she was learning, getting better at surviving in the new world and she had him to thank for that. Aware that hugging him would go down like a lead balloon, she simply smiled at him instead. 

“Follow me” He grunted before setting off into the trees with intent.

“What? Where are we going?!” She called after him

"Ya just levelled up.” He barked back at her. “Now ya gonna complete level two.”

 =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

The next few days consisted of Daryl teaching Jess everything he’d picked up in the short while since the world had lost its footing and plummeted into what now resembled one of the levels of hell. He also continued to pass on his already established and extensive knowledge of hunting and tracking. It was not only productive but unequivocally enjoyable to Jess to be able to spend so much time with him. She knew not to question his desire to train her, accepting it simply as a mutually beneficial act somehow. Although quite what he got out of it still remained a mystery to her.

He’d even taught her to fish, a skill which wasn’t altogether alien to her due to many family vacations at the lake house and boat trips with her brother. But she feigned ignorance and politely listened when he showed her how to reel fish in and swallowed the urge to vomit when he made her fillet them, a task she had always left to the men in her family.

It was no more than a few lingering smiles, one or two occasions when she would catch him watching her perform mundane tasks like writing in her diary or sewing up a hole in her jacket, but it was there. The feeling of something a little more than friendship that Daryl just couldn’t seem to fathom. He had given his all, put everything he had into teaching her to survive and if someone were to ask him why, he wasn’t sure he had an answer. He hadn’t taught anyone else a single thing, hadn’t felt the sheer panic at the thought of anyone but her being bitten by a walker. With Jess, it was different. What he did know, was that when other people looked at him, they saw nothing but a damaged, unpredictable criminal that wasn’t to be trusted. But when Jess looked at him, when Jess spoke to him, she really saw him. He was a person, another person just like she was. Right from the start, she hadn’t given up and persevered with a most unlikely friendship.

 =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- 

On top of the RV for what had become their habitual time to unwind at the end of every day, Jess hummed to herself as she propped her legs up on Dales cooler. Her book rested on her lap and she batted away the smoke from Daryl’s cigarette beside her. The cool night air carried it up into the atmosphere but the smell still hung heavy around her. 

“Those things will kill you y’know.” She remarked with a scrunched-up face.

“You gonna miss me?” He quipped, deliberately expelling a large plume of smoke at her. She waved her hand dramatically and fake coughed.

“No. I’ll get some peace and quiet.” She joked with a light chuckle.

Thinking the conversation to be over, Jess opened her book and began to read. It wasn't unusual for Daryl to just cease speaking when he'd had enough or when he felt like whatever had been said didn't warrant a response. Jess pushed the end of her pen between her lips and bit down on the lid, leaving the end peppered with small, teeth marks.

“What was that s’posed to mean?” Daryl eventually asked with a tone akin to mild irritation. She closed the book and looked quizzically at him.

“I just mean you making me run around in the woods killing things.” She grinned “It ruined my Pulp Fiction T-shirt. I’m going to have to beat the holy hell out of it against a rock to get the bloodstains out.”

His eyes were narrowed at her, and worry that she’d offended him prodded at the back of her mind.

He’s touchy tonight.  She thought.

“I don’t make ya do nothin’. S’for ya own good.” He grumbled.

“I’m just playing.” She tried. But his jaw was clenched and he looked away, taking a forceful drag on his cigarette and exhaling it in the opposite direction to her this time. Instead of stoking the fire that apparently had appeared from nowhere, she lowered her eyes back to her book and tried to ignore the now taut atmosphere between them.

Daryl rarely lost his temper with her, even out in the woods after hours of training, coated in sweat and blood and gore, repeating the same things over again, he never got angry when she couldn’t get it right. He never usually took her jokes the wrong way either which made their current situation both baffling and extremely awkward.

Why am I being such a jerk to her? He thought.

But he didn’t know the answer. All he knew was that the churning ball of anxiety in the pit of his stomach was for a reason and it was always at its worst when he was sitting quietly beside her, watching her be nothing else but herself. It was frustrating and enraging and entirely mystifying to him. 

“It’s only you.” He muttered. Him facing away from her meant that she only just caught the words. Far from wanting to jump to conclusions that would only land her in an awkward and uneasy mess., she needed more information. 

“What?” She questioned, closing the pages of her book once more.

“That I teach stuff.” He added.

“I know” She said softly. “I’m grateful for everything you do for me. I don’t know why you do it, but I know it’s only me.”

He nodded at her statement but still didn’t turn to see her, opting to carry on staring out into the darkness and watching the smoke from his roll up dissipate into the blackness.

“Want ya to be safe.” He uttered.

Jess’s heart lurched and her face broke out into a strong smile that was just too stubborn to shove away. Biting her bottom lip, she gently nudged his upper arm with her hand, thinking it a shame he’d put a leather jacket on and scuppered her chances to cop a feel of the biceps she so admired on him. Feeling braver than ever, in part due to the confidence that Daryl had instilled in her with his belief in her abilities, she took a risk.

“That you saying you care about me?” She jested.

Not turning to her straight away, she saw his body jolt when an amused exhalation followed a small head shake and it took all of her self-control not to blurt out what she really wanted to say.

I think you care about me and I care about you too. I have such a huge crush on you. You are the most interesting and amazing person I have ever met.

The look on his face when he gradually worked his line of vision around to her took her by surprise. Chewing on his lower lip, she could see him hiding a smile, one that didn’t need hiding because it was in his eyes.

“Maybe a little.” He told her.

“Wow” She laughed loudly “A little, huh? Lucky me!”

Oh lord. What the hell was that, Jess?! ‘Lucky me!’ I’m such a dork.

Footsteps below silenced them both and Daryl leaned to his left, catching a glimpse of a figure wandering past the RV. When the sound of whistling danced through the air, Daryl realized who it was.

“It’s just Merle.” He dismissed. Jess nudged her head up in acknowledgement and re-opened her book, feeling like the moment had passed to delve even deeper into what appeared to be Daryl caring about something other than running out of smokes and hunting deer. Her eyes scanned the words on the page, but none of them actually registered as her mind raced with thoughts of confessing her feelings. With no intentions to actually do so, all she had was her vivid imagination and the ability to simply dream.

He cares about me. 

 =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Two nights later and by the flickering glow of the fire, Jodie rummaged through her laundry at the opening of her tent, carefully folding her minimal wardrobe, enough to fit inside a backpack should they have to pack up and leave. Sarah, who sat beside her was painting her nails. A necessity of the apocalypse, of course. Along with applying her eyebrows in a pocket mirror and curling her lip in disgust at the thought of having to go to the makeshift bathroom in the woods. A far from pleasant necessity that everyone else had come to accept, as was the way of the world now. They were all thankful to be alive, Sarah and Jodie were just happy to have their matching, Gucci belts still intact.

Jess was busy on the other side of the fire, sharing a few overcooked squirrel strips with Carl. They were so dry and tough that it was more like eating jerky than anything else. Carl winced and chewed relentlessly on a piece of meat that looked like a leather shoe while Jess snorted with laughter as she pointed at him and covered her own mouth which was also full of food.

Daryl was at her other side, the two of them now barely apart for more than half a day and just about able to ignore the jibes and attempts at humor at their expense from Jodie and Sarah. Daryl’s threat seemed to have worked to an extent, but whispers and mockery could still be heard if they listened hard enough. By now, the entire camp had accepted that Jess and Daryl had become friends and that Jess was the only person that Daryl would tolerate being around for so long. Likewise, he was the only one that didn’t drain her energy after more than an hour with incessant chit chat.

Merle hadn’t expressed an opinion but Daryl knew it wouldn’t be long before he made his feelings known and was waiting for the day when he would have to bite his tongue and remember that Merle was not the smarter one of the two of them. From a distance he watched, sneering and tutting as if Jess’s mere presence was at a detriment to his existence and the downfall of his plan to rob the camp was somehow her fault. Jess was none the wiser, blissful in her ignorance and Daryl had no plans to change that.

“Oh. My. God!” Jodie’s voice rang through the camp and everyone at the fire stopped what they were doing to look up. “There’s a frickin’ tent…in my tent! Look at the size of that!”

Daryl was the first to register what was happening and immediately snapped his head around to see Jess, leaning on her elbow to see past Carol, who was opposite her. It was like slow motion had kicked in when her eyes widened and the color drained from her cheeks.

Her body suddenly flushed with heat from embarrassment and fury and her surroundings increased in volume, the shrill laughter from the two girls holding her underwear a loft began to echo through her ears. The sound was deafening and her eyes glazed over, her vision glassy. Tears dripped down her cheeks.

“Sorry, Jess. I guess this wasn’t how you imagined Daryl seeing your panties for the first time.” Sarah announced.

With an inferno burning in her cheeks, she sprang up from the floor, stomped across the clearing, snatched the garment from Jodie’s hand and raced off into her tent. Daryl sat frozen for a moment, watching both girls fall about in hysterics before he also got up and went off into the woods with his crossbow. A backdrop of people expressing their disgust did nothing to quell the anger he felt as he departed. He wanted to go to her, to tell her it was alright and that it was just two dumb girls that didn’t mean anything. But his legs took him in the opposite direction so he could take the time to retreat into himself and try to push past his own humiliation.

Through tears and sobs in her tent, Jess took out her pen and journal and started to pour her feelings onto the page. Her teardrops tainting the ink.

'I don’t know if I can stand this anymore. Daryl is literally the only good thing about being at this camp. I have these urges to just leave. But I am reluctant to leave him. We’ve become friends, good friends and I think we actually care about each other. I made progress with someone, I spoke to a person I wouldn’t normally have bothered with and something amazing happened. But now those assholes have stamped on it all. He’s never going to want to be around me when I’m such a glaring target for those two bitches. Carol once told me that they’re just jealous of me. But I don’t have a single thing for anyone to be jealous of.' 

  =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Tracking, hunting and fighting lessons had become less social and more strictly on a need to learn basis between Jess and Daryl. He had less and less to say as the days crawled on after the humiliating scene at the campfire. Her efforts to engage him in conversation feel on disinterested ears and with each new day, Jess felt their friendship slipping further and further away. She still sat with him on the RV every night, her stubborn streak refusing to let her give in. The only sounds came from her turning a page or him lighting a cigarette. He’d still look over at her, she registered it every single time and she so wanted to look right back at him, to smile at him and crack a joke, but she knew any attempts to fix things would be futile.

She wasn’t sure what she was guilty of exactly, except being the reason Daryl was mentioned during the horrendous ordeal of the panty announcement. Now, it was apparent to Jess that there was every possibility of Daryl wanting to distance himself from her to avoid being targeted again.

More and more Walkers appeared every day and the Group made the collective decision to start gathering supplies in order to move on and find another safe haven. But with food, medicine and weapons running low, a supply run into the city was arranged and planned which Merle very quickly attached himself to due to the prospect of stocking up on something he deemed to be a priority; Whiskey. Daryl initially agreed to go along, but Jess could tell it was simply because he couldn’t tolerate his brother’s complaining about his lack of interest.

On the way back from a hunting lesson, Jess carried a large hog which she was immensely proud of hunting by herself and with the aid of Daryl’s crossbow. Once the animal had been taken down, he’d offered a simple appreciation of her skill that could have been missed if Jess wasn’t paying attention

“Good job” He’d muttered.

“Gee, thanks.” She replied with a roll of her eyes before she surged through the bushes and claimed her prize

Now, she was getting used to being out in the heat, creeping about in the woods and had even killed three Walkers without Daryl having to step in. As she trudged through the thick, hot air towards the camp with the hog around her shoulders, she sighed to herself in frustration and stopped walking, flicking her head and freeing a few strands of hair that were obscuring her view. Daryl walked on and it wasn’t until he was a good ten feet away that he noticed she wasn’t beside him anymore.

“Why ya stopped?” He enquired.

Jess looked down at her feet. Once brand-new sneakers that had seen better days. Tatty and stained beyond repair. She kicked about in the mud and tapped a finger on the hoof of the hog she held onto her back.

“Are you angry at me for something?” She said quietly.

“Say what?” He questioned, bringing a hand up to his ear to signal that she wasn’t speaking loud enough.

“I said, are you angry at me for something?” She repeated, much louder this time.

Jess expected him to look confused at least, but his expression was deadpan, almost blank and with not a single scrap of emotion.

“No.”

“Then why are you being off with me?” she demanded.

He shrugged his shoulders and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist.

“I ain’t.”

“Yes, you are. You barely talk to me anymore. We come out here and wander around like a couple of strangers. It’s not like it was.” She explained. It had taken a lot of courage for her to address the situation. Daryl wasn’t known for having a gentle nature and she was not unfamiliar with how hostile he could be. But she missed the way things were before, when they would talk into the night, make fun of each other while training in the woods or simply sit in each other’s comfortable company.

“I ain’t being off. I am off. This is how I am.” He snapped, turning around and walking off. “Get over it.” She heard him grumble under his breath.  

In her chest, she wrestled with anger and sadness. The one person she had a connection with was now further from her than he’d ever been. As he vanished from her sightline, it occurred to her that it was physically as well as emotionally.

When she deposited the hog at the food station, she caught sight of Daryl sat on a rickety, plastic chair outside the RV with a smoke between his lips and his knife clamped in his hand. He was buckled forwards, carving something into the dirt with the pointed end.

“Everybody! Can I have your attention please?” Sarah’s voice sounded out through the camp and people stopped their tasks and chatter in anticipation of some kind of announcement. Beside Sarah, who was stood on top of the RV, Was Jodie. The sleeve of her bright pink sweater was pulled up over her hand and she chewed excitedly on the fabric while she waited for her friend to speak.

Jess’s veins stung with dread when she clocked what Sarah was holding in her hand. A leather-bound journal.

I left it on the RV last night. Shit. Oh no. No, no, no, no! Please no!

“I found this awesome book up here! It really is gripping stuff! So I thought y’all would like to hear an excerpt!”

She opened the journal and cleared her throat, holding it out in dramatic fashion in front of her.

“Sarah.” Jess blurted out. The blonde girls vicious glare swung over to Jess. “Please. Don’t do this. Please.”

Without a single glimmer of apprehension, Sarah’s eyes moved back to the page and she began to read aloud.

“To everyone else he just seems to be this angry, unpredictable redneck. But to me he’s different. Daryl is an enigma. He has a personality that he tries to keep hidden but I see it and it’s so interesting.”

As she spoke, the mocking tone to her voice added to what was already a mortifying and agonizing moment for Jess, who was stood, red faced and wishing the ground would open up and she would fall into an abyss, away from Sarah, away from Daryl, away from all of them.

Daryl was totally still, his Jaw taut and the veins in his neck popping with rage. He wasn’t even watching Sarah. Instead, his eyes were fixed on nothing in particular at floor level. Sarah continued and with every single word, the fire inside Daryl was stoked and a piece of Jess fell away to nothing.

“He’s snappy and rude at the moment but I still really like him. But alas, I shall carry on admiring him inside my own head and outwardly being his friend. Friend zoned without ever having to have that awkward conversation, as usual. There’s no point in being any other way, anyway. He probably thinks I’m weird and a total loser and doesn’t even see me as a friend. Just the clingy nerd that follows him around. That’s me. The cling on.”

The cackles of Sarah and Jodie were soon stopped by Dale climbing the ladder, snatching the book from Sarah’s hand and scolding them both for being so cruel and childish. Below, Lori and Carol looked on, both shaking their heads in disgust as Andrea shouted up to them, asking how they would feel if the same were done to them. Everyone was there. Rick, Carl, T-Dog, Glenn. They all heard it as clear as day and could clearly see the damage done to Jess.

But that’s just it, isn’t it? It’s never done to them. They’re never made to endure the torment that people like me have to live with. Some people are the lucky ones. Me? I’m not.

As if a bass guitar was droning in her head, her despair grew so much, she could no longer hear what was going on around her. Her vision was a blurry haze and her feet felt like two cement blocks. But she knew she had to move. Remove herself from the situation. Someone was laughing. Merle. Chuckling loudly and mentioning Daryl’s name. She couldn’t see, but then there was yelling, swearing. Daryl’s voice.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, MERLE!”

Picking up the dead weights of her legs, she ran to the slope. Down to the water's edge. To the calm and quiet where she sat in the dirt and sobbed so hard her throat and chest were raw and her tears sliced down her skin like razors. 

Chapter 5