#maybe you can make another set with like. theoretical/thought experiments animal?

[gattmammon]

DON'T vote your favorite! Vote the one you like the LEAST! OP is making a set of 3, they need help choosing which one to EXCLUDE!

If you enjoy a design but it's not picked for this set, don't despair! OP makes new sets rather often and it wouldn't be the first time that an image that doesn't fit in a set is picked for another set! Also go check their other designs since you're here!!!!

(Sorry for intruding OP but I see several people mistakenly voting for their fave in the notes already)

cat saint pins, to match the dog saints!

Schrödinger's cat, a thought experiment in which a cat is neither dead nor alive

Scarlett, who sustained serious burns while repeatedly entering a burning building to save her litter of kittens

Tama, who oversaw a train station

Masha, who saved a baby by keeping him warm during a Russian winter night

I'm only making three, so...

[unsolvedjarin]

just you wait sunshine.

pairing: (sebastian vettel x driver! reader)

summary: sebastian’s retirement has led him to reminisce his past life and mistakes, including you. little does he know, the universe is about to give him a second chance via a small bookstore in switzerland.

note: this went on WAYYY longer than i wanted it to be and it didn’t really go the direction i wanted either, but we move

content warning: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, more sebastian centric than reader centric tbh (sorry i just love him so much)

word count: 3.7k

Retirement had been good to Sebastian.

He’d finally been able to spend time in his farm house, plant some trees, grow a garden, and along with all that, still have time to drive cars whenever an event needed him to. It was like his entire life schedule magically cleared up in front of him.

He missed racing of course, he won’t pretend that he didn’t. After all, he spent 15 years in the sport, it was his pride and joy for quite a long time. But that time of his life is over, he’s accepted that. He wanted to enjoy the other things in life instead, be able to see and experience things that the busy life of being a driver didn’t let him experience.

Sitting on a chair in his porch watching the sun set, he reflects on what he could have done differently. Who he could have treated differently. And when only one name enters his mind, the same one that’s haunted him for the past 5 years, he sighs reluctantly and heads back inside to prepare his dinner.

—

2012

“What do you wanna do when you grow up?”

The question takes you by surprise as you take another swig of your beer. The moon shone brightly on the porch of whatever airbnb your team had set you up at, and the stars were sparkling like they had never before.

“What kind of question is that, Sebby?” you giggle. “Isn’t this what we’re gonna do for eternity? Racing?”

Sebastian shrugs, looking up at the sky on his foldable chair that you had brought on the trip. “Yeah but after that, you know? I’ve always thought about what my life will be like after retirement.”

“Okay old man, because you’re sooo close to retiring,” you tease. He gives you a playful light shove for that, smiling as he does. The air feels freer and lighter than it ever has before.

“But seriously,” Sebastian chuckled. “Have you ever thought about it?”

You ponder for a second before replying, “No, not really. I mean my career’s just starting, I haven’t really thought about the end. But when I do retire, I think I’d like to be a writer.”

“Like those egotistical types to make a biographical book about themselves?” Sebastian asks, earning a laugh from you. The sound made him feel things that he’d only ever felt before with you.

“God no,” you laugh out. “I don’t wanna be like those old blokes who get obsessed with themselves after they retire. I just wanna write fictional books, maybe under a pen name. Just a simple life; me, my theoretical dog, and my theoretical book.”

Sebastian nods with an understanding look in his eye. He wants that life too. A simple one, away from the public. Even now at his young age, the paparazzis and press were getting annoying quickly.

“I want to live in a house far away from the city,” he says. “Maybe the suburbs— no that’s too near…a farm! I’ll live in a farmhouse.”

You smile at the thought of Sebastian Vettel, two time Formula 1 world champion, just lounging about in a farm tending to his animals and crops.

“Wouldn’t it get boring? Or lonely? Milking your cows alone?”

He answers you with no delay, “Well I’d want you to be with me of course.”

You thanked whatever higher power was listening at that time that he couldn’t see how your blush formed over the darkness of the night. Regaining your sense of self, you reply, “What makes you think I’d want to go with you?”

“Wouldn’t you?” he asks genuinely. “You could write your books inside while I…I don’t know what type of farm I’ll make, exactly. But I’ll be tending to that and you can write your books with your theoretical dog.”

“It’ll be our theoretical dog, then.”

Sebastian replied with a soft smile, “Ours, then.”

—

He had settled on bees. Having a bee farmhouse. It wasn’t easy work, it was definitely more complicated than milking a cow like you had said, but it made him happy, and it made him content.

Well, as content as he could be.

You had your first kiss that night, Sebastian recalled. He remembers because even though you didn’t think it, he could see the red blush dusted lightly on your cheeks, a sign he made the right choice leaning in and making his move.

Preparing his dinner for one in his cozy yet lonely farm house, he realizes he could have had this all with you. If he had just been more kind and if you had forgiven him, you could have had all of this together. A life that both of you had always wanted.

—

2018

“Sebastian, I’m not asking you to retire or something, I’m just asking you to take a break, please,” you beg. He remembers your exasperated voice as clear as day.

“I can’t take a break, Y/N, you don't understand. If I don’t get at least podium in this race, that's it, my career is basically over.”

Scoffing, you replied, “Your career isn’t over just like that, you’ve still got another year with Ferrari for christ’s sake.”

“You wouldn’t get it,” he mumbled, opting to turn away from you and put on his racing gear instead.

He’d been distant the whole season, the tension between the two of you increasing and increasing that finally it just snapped this race weekend. He’d been icing you out, acting like you didn’t exist because he was ‘practicing for the races ahead.’

At first you understood, you were a driver too. You recognized the difficulty of always losing race after race, how after a while it took a toll on your mental wellbeing. So you gave him space.

Then, when that didn’t work, you tried reaching out, helping him. It was the worst mistake of your life. Every time you tried to talk to him, to ask him what was wrong so you could help, he kept pushing you further and further away, acting like you were getting in the way of his work, sometimes even getting angry.

That went on for the whole season, until finally today, on qualifying morning, you snapped and demanded he talk to you.

“What the hell do you mean ‘I wouldn’t get it’? I have the exact same job as you,” you accused. You’d been patient for months and his vagueness was starting to get on your nerves.

Whipping his head around angrily to face you he replied, “You don’t have to reach the same standard as I do. I have to constantly prove I’m the best, and you constantly prove to be a midfielder.”

Oh.

Oh.

That was a low blow, even Sebastian knew that. Your relationship had been teetering on the edge for the past year, but this was a make or break moment, and he knew exactly which one of the two it was going to be.

“So it’s like that,” you decided with a tone of finality. Sebastian wanted to ask for your forgiveness right then and there, to apologize, to make up for the last few months of being an asshole, to beg you not to throw away your years together just like that.

But he knew he was in the wrong, and he was too stubborn and egotistical to apologize.

Sensing the silence from him, you nod with teary eyes you tried so desperately to stop from flowing freely. Sebastian wanted nothing more to wipe them away, to hold you in his arms, but he never could do it.

“This is how you want it to end?” You asked him. It was a genuine question. You were giving him one last choice, one last chance to make up for how he’d been treating you the past year.

He stayed silent.

“Enjoy your fucking career, Vettel.”

—

He won that race. It was his first win of the season, but he felt like he had lost the championship itself as he stood on that podium, eyes looking for you in the crowd like he usually did, finding you absolutely nowhere.

After your argument he tried to talk to you in the paddocks but you constantly avoided him, the act not being hard when he wasn’t allowed inside your team’s hospitality building nor paddock. That fight was the last sensible conversation with each other you ever had.

You retired the year after that. You moved out quietly from your shared home, and he heard you stayed with Jenson for quite a while. He couldn’t blame you, Jenson had always been kind to you— Sebastian had no place to be jealous.

Hearing the beeping of his oven, Sebastian snaps out of his trip down memory lane to grab his dinner. It was a tray of lasagna, one he was sure he would be eating again tomorrow lunch because of the size of it.

He thinks about how he wouldn’t have to place the excess in a container for tomorrow if he just had someone to share it with. If he could share it with you.

Going through his grocery list at 10 in the morning, Sebastian notices a new store out of the corner of his eye. He’s been to this street countless times to do his grocery down the road— they had a brand of milk that no other nearby grocery had— but he had never seen that store before.

It was a bookshop. A small one compared to the large shops that surrounded it, but it stood out enough to be noticed yet cozy enough to feel inviting. It was a cold morning in Switzerland, and the heater inside just invited him further in until he found himself standing at the doorway, taking in the smell of books and the absolutely gorgeous decor.

He will admit, he hasn’t seen a bookshop like this in quite a while. The second he stepped foot inside he felt the love radiate through it, as if he knew the owner personally and how they had a passion for their store.

All Sebastian could think about, however, was how much you would love this. How you would adore running your fingers through the spine of a second hand book, or how you would pick a fresh new one for him to read and he would do the same for you, just like you both did back then.

He won’t pretend that he never looked for your book when you retired. He knew you weren’t joking about publishing one, he just didn’t know what pen name you chose so he never could find it.

“Looking for something specific?” A voice makes him turn his head around to see the woman behind the register looking at him inquisitively. He realizes that he was just standing in an aisle not really reading or picking up a book.

Sebastian shakes his head, “Not really, just browsing. I was thinking about how a friend of mine would have liked to see this store, it’s right up their alley.”

“Why don’t you invite them then?” A different voice speaks.

…It can’t be.

That voice.

That voice.

No, he was hallucinating, dreaming maybe. Yes, this was a dream. That would be the only explanation why from behind him he heard a voice he missed so dreadfully, one he tried imagining talk to him again some nights, one he watched old videos for, one he—

“Sebastian?”

It was you. He would recognize your voice anywhere. He turns around, and the world seems to slow down as if it suddenly focused on just the both of you. The background blurs and everything is hazy and distorted but you were there. Standing in front of him, actually real. Older than he remembers but not in a negative way, just more mature. More peaceful. More you.

Staring at you in the middle of a bookshop in Switzerland after 5 years, Sebastian couldn’t speak. He didn’t know what to say. What would be right? Would there be words he could tell you that would make you ever forgive him?

“I-” “You-”

You both start at the same time, making you laugh at each other. It was the first time he’s seen you smile since 2016. He used to say he would burn cities to see you smile, and he’s glad he knows now that that feeling hasn’t changed.

“You first,” he says. He wants to hear what you’ll say so he can choose his words better.

“I, uh,” you laugh awkwardly. It was still a beautiful sound to Sebastian. “I was actually slightly expecting to see you here.”

Oh. Well he didn’t expect that. You…you were expecting to see him? Like purposely thinking about him? The thought boggled Sebastian.

Noticing his visible silence, you speak up again. “I co-own this bookstore,” you smile. “I knew you lived around the area so I expected I’d bump into you eventually. It’s not the main thing that I do, but my Swiss friend you just talked to behind the counter wanted to make a bookstore but was low on funds so I decided to help a friend out, you know?”

Oh he knows. You were always so kind when it came to your friends. He remembers, he used to be one of them.

“That’s really nice of you,” Sebastian says. He slaps himself internally for the dumb reply he gives. “You uh, you look great.” Way to fucking go Sebastian. What a great conversation saver.

“Not in a weird way, of course. I mean I would never try to make you feel uncomfortable by saying that. Did you feel uncomfortable? Was it weird? It probably was. I mean I haven’t seen you in so long and that’s the first thing I say it’s so stupid and I could have said something of significance but—”

You stop Sebastian before he rambles on any longer. Holding his fidgeting hand, you chuckle at the sight of the nervous German in front of you. “Relax, Seb. I’m not mad. I’ve moved on.”

Oh.

“You have?” He asks, not thinking before he speaks because he knows he hasn’t. How could he move on from the best thing that ever happened to him and the biggest mistake he ever made?

The question takes you aback, pulling your hand away from his. For a second Sebastian thinks he’s messed up all over again, but you simply reply, “I meant from racing. But I know what you think I mean.”

“Can we catch up? I’ve missed you.” Sebastian hears himself say it before he even realizes the implications of his words.

“Oh.” you say with a pause. It makes Sebastian’s heart sink. Maybe you really have moved on, but in a way that you didn’t want him in your life anymore. He gets that. It looks like you’ve built a nice life for yourself outside of racing. Even if he never gets to be in it. He’s proud of you for being able to move on. “How about we sit down for some coffee first? I know a place near here.”

Oh thank god. Sebastian wasn’t ready to be deprived of you again so quickly.

Walking to the cafe, the air was thick with the tension between the two of you. While your accidental meeting in the library had gone well, the spark of the moment had faded and the reality of the situation had settled in. This was someone Sebastian had deeply wronged, someone he still deeply loved, and there were too many words unsaid there about both.

Sitting down at the window seats— he remembers how you loved sitting there so you could watch the people outside— you flag down a waiter to take both your orders.

“I’ll take a macchiato and— Seb do you still take your coffee black?”

Nodding, he looks out the window with a light blush on his cheeks. The fact that you remembered his— albeit simple— order made him happy and he had to catch himself otherwise he would be smiling like a teenage boy again. It was truly the little things.

“So,” he speaks up, straightening up and looking at you.

“So,” you mimic. “I go first or you go first?”

“My life has been pretty televised before I retired, there’s nothing really surprising in it. You go first.”

You spend the next 30 minutes filling him in on your life, how you avoided the media for the past few years, how you live in a cozy home with your dog, how you still exchange presents with some of the older grid during Christmas (Sebastian admits he got jealous here).

But the most important part was when he heard how you finally wrote that book you always talked about.

“Really? You finally published it?” Sebastian asks. He could see how the smile on your face was genuine, unlike the many times he saw you put on a fake one for the press or the media. It made him happy.

“Yeah, I finally found time after I retired to start it. Surprisingly it’s actually much harder and less peaceful than I thought it’d be.”

“At least it’s not a biographical book,” Seb jokes. The throwback makes you giggle, but it also makes you both acknowledge the elephant in the room. There were still so many things left unsaid, you both didn’t know where to start.

“Y/N back when I said those things, you know the ones, I didn’t mean them.”

Giving him a sad smile you reply, “I know, Seb. But it doesn’t take them back. Besides, that silly argument was just the straw that broke the camel's back, we were on the edge of our relationship for so long, you knew that too.”

“I know, but that was my fault it was on the edge too. I kept pushing you away because of Ferrari and how disappointed I was in my career. I didn’t realize at the time how much it was hurting you until I finally lost you. I know it makes no sense to say it this late when all is said and done, but I am sorry.”

Sebastian’s words stunned you to silence. You knew he never meant pushing you away, despite your last fight he was never intentionally that unkind, it was just racing that pushed him to be like that back then. But hearing the words coming from him hit differently, the way he said the two words you’ve been yearning for for years. I’m Sorry.

It couldn’t make you forget, but it could make you forgive.

“I know you are, Sebby,” you say. The old nickname brings a nostalgic smile on his face. “I’ve forgiven you years ago, just after I retired. I figured I should let go of my ghosts and that’s what I did. Though I won’t lie, your ghost did put up quite a fight giving me tears at night,” you joked. Sebastian could sense the hint of sadness in it.

He wishes he could make it all go away, to fix it just like he used to be able to. But he knows it’s not that easy. Not when the years have separated you both. It’ll be hard getting your trust back to let him into your heart even just as a friend, but goddamn if he wasn’t going to try and fix it.

“Will you ever show me the book?”

The question catches you slightly off guard. “I doubt it. It’s not up your alley anway, historical fiction.”

“Anything you write is up my alley. Maybe you can come over sometime and show it to me,” he says, not realizing the underlying meaning to it.

“Careful, Sebastian,” you say. “Forgiving is easy when you’re given time, but forgetting is harder. Let’s take baby steps.”

Baby steps. He could live with that. To Sebastian it doesn’t matter if it takes days or years to get you back in his life, he’ll let you take your time. You deserve it. And if you choose in the end to walk out of his life again, well, then he deserves it.

You hug each other goodbye when you leave, the hug lasting longer than it should have. He knows he promised baby steps, but when you buried your head into the crook of his neck and tightened your grip around him softly, he couldn’t resist pulling you closer to him and holding you there for a few seconds. He misses this, the closeness of it.

He sends you his address if ever you were in the area again, and you notice how the profile picture he has for you on your number was still the one of you when you were both rookies. It made you happy.

Sebastian didn’t expect anything more to happen, he spent that night contemplating what good deed he must’ve done to bring you back into his life again. Whatever it was, he was grateful he had done it.

The next afternoon as he was reheating the Lasagna— that he ultimately forgot yesterday— in the oven for lunch, he heard his doorbell ring. Opening his door he spots a package on the floor, one that was wrapped with a cute bee themed wrapping paper. It made him chuckle. He expected that whoever or whatever was at the door was you, but this was the next best thing.

Sitting down on his porch chair, he opens the package delicately as if it were fragile. He can feel the outline already, it was a book. Moreover, it was your book. Sebastian couldn’t believe it.

There was a note attached that read, ‘Forgot to tell you yesterday. I missed you too.’

The few words were almost enough to bring him to tears, but he continued and opened the book to scan its contents. The typing Published 2020 stands out, making him realize how long he’s missed out on this.

But what truly catches his attention is the dedication. Smack right in the middle, the words to be seen by everyone, read; For my Sunshine, the amount of words left unsaid will never match the amount of love I still have for you in my heart.

He may not be able to fix his mistake just like that, but Sebastian would wait however long it took for you to love him again, as a friend or as another. As long as his sunshine was in his life again.

[fereldanwench]

Hiya Wench! <3

It's me, the chick who always wants you to explain things xD. I have another polite request (won't be upset if you decline, but I have to try).

I had an epiphany about my posts today - I tag for other people, not myself (twitter influence). And I realized I don't even know how to quickly get to some of the older posts.

And then I remembered your page and how it's all neatly organized xD I previously haven't realized all your tags were actually separating your posts into categories and such... I love it. I had some big brain moments today xD

Would you please have any quick tips (perhaps you already do have them on your blog, I just forgot how to display the blog with the template on) for how to get started with your own template and neatly organized posts you can always find? Maybe even some template creators and such?

I used to do HTML & CSS back in the day, but it's been a long while, I don't have that much time to do trial and error anymore, and any actual coding is out of the question for me. It's gotta be user-friendly. (Free would be best, but I'm ready to reward the work done.)

I'm loving it here now and I post A LOT... I'd hate to reach a point where I don't even know what's on my page anymore.

Thanks! <3

Hi, bb! 💙

I've been asked about this a few times, and I honestly never feel I have a good answer for it, haha. I just like organizing and categorizing things, honestly. Best I can do is share my thought process and a couple of handy tools--Hopefully that'll help give you some inspiration!

My tagging habits actually come from ancient Tumblr functionality--Back in the day, the search function didn't exist as it does now (in which it will (theoretically) scan the body and tags in the post), and you could only find posts if they were tagged in a certain way. Sometimes I wanted to post about game stuff, like Dragon Age, but I didn't want my post to appear in the main tag (because of fanwank hell) BUT I also still wanted to be able to find it later because my blog is for me first and foremost.

So I started using "s: dragon age" to gather all things related to Dragon Age (in which "s" in my mind stands for "series") and "g: dao" for posts specifically about Dragon Age Origins, "g: da2" for Dragon Age II/2, and "g: dai" for Dragon Age Inquisition. And if it was a post I did want to go into the main tags, like a GIF set or fanart, I'd use both the default tags (Dragon Age, Dragon Age Inquisition) and my personal ones for my own blog cataloging.

Tumblr search hasn't worked like this in years, but by the time it changed, I was already in this habit for a while so I've just kept doing it. I do change the way I organize stuff from time to time, and there are some tools that make that easier:

Xkit Rewritten This is a life-changer and has a ton of great features to improve your Tumblring experience, but the "Tag Replacer" specifically is awesome if you realize you want to change a tag en mass.

Tumblr Tag List Generator And this is really helpful if you need to do some tag wrangling and figure out what tags you've used. I periodically run my blog through this to catch inevitable typos in tags so I can change them, and see if I can consolidate any similar tags (e.g. catch if I was using both "g: da2" and "g: da ii" so I could figure out which one I liked more.)

As far as the organization itself and how I choose the categories, it's just vibes, haha. It's just how I catalog things in my brain. Which I know is probably unhelpful. Prefixes like "inspo: ###" and "shows: ###" are pretty self-explanatory. "extras: ###" is for the random stuff that doesn't really fit anywhere else, like shitposts and cute animal pics. "topic: ###" is for more serious subjects and discussions, like LGBTQ+ issues. "mine: ###" is for the stuff I've made.

Two things I wish I had done a better job of is 1) organizing other people's OCs by fandom (if you visit me on Pillowfort, you'll notice I use tags like "other's ocs (cp77)" instead of just "other's ocs") and 2) separating my edits tag into a gifs and virtual photography tag. Calling all video game imagery "edits" is also sort of a holdover from Tumblr days of yore, but I wish I had made a distinction there. (I had never even heard the term "virtual photography" until about 2022, though, and I've been on Tumblr since 2010 so yanno. Whatever. This blog in particular is 8 years old, and I'm not sifting through thousands of posts just to amend that.)

And this is a mostly comprehensive list of all the tags I use, if you wanna see the categories and whatnot in action.

With regards to blog templates, I've actually decided to stop focusing on that here because Tumblr has increasingly become a more app-driven userbase, and the pretty blog templates are only visible on desktop. Tumblr also nuked a lot of functionality of the custom pages you can make, which is where I used to keep my tags displayed. I still have a custom theme, but it's pretty bare-bones compared to what I used to do. (Now I get my CSS fix working on my Neocities website, although that is very much still a WIP.)

But there are fortunately still a lot of folks keeping the custom Tumblr themes alive! You can browse some of my personal favorites under my tumblr: themes tag, and @theme-hunter is a fantastic resource to find free user-made templates.

Oh, and because Tumblr is pushing more for a generic and uniform app experience, you do have to opt-in to activate your custom blog. It's this option under your blog settings:

And if you want to view someone's custom blog (if they have one), you'll have use the https://fereldanwench.tumblr.com/ URL. If you want to view the dashboard-like version of their blog, you'll have to use the https://www.tumblr.com/fereldanwench URL.

Hopefully this made sense and can give you some ideas to get started!

[aurosoul]

I just had a thought looking at Starfucker Super Trans 2000! A lot of the stuff I’ve seen you work on in AR has been human scale—I assume for practical reasons.

But theoretically, there’s no real reason you shouldn’t be able to create something and then scale it up to be big, right?

My first thought, of course, being that you could theoretically draw a version of Starfucker Super Trans in Figmin XR and then scale it up to actual size! (Though depending on the scale of the game you might need a nice field or parking lot for that XD)

My second thought being that if AR does become more commonplace like you dream, what an educational opportunity! I mean, it’s one thing to say “a blue whale is as long as two school buses put together”, and another to actually take your kid outside and plop down a life-sized model right in front of their eyes!

I think you’re right, AR really does have potential to make a lot of things more accessible. After all, technology tends to become cheaper and more available over time. Maybe someone can’t travel across the country to see a big museum, but they can rent an AR set and plop down a smithsonian dinosaur skeleton in a nearby parking lot!

And going back to the blue whale; giving kids these experiences with animals they might not be able to see otherwise can help give them an appreciation for nature, so they’re more motivated to preserve what’s right around them as they grow up! Say, draw them in with whales, and then show them the kind of fish that live in rivers around them and how beautiful they are too! Make a field trip of it!

AR just holds so much potential as a tool to introduce new experiences, I think. The way you use it especially gives me hope; your work has a feel of wonder to it.

One of my biggest concerns about AR is that it will have a similar effect as the internet, where we rely too much on it, moving too much from the physical world to the digital. You see studies as well that are finding developmental problems coming from not having enough interactions with the physical world. But, the way you mix your work with nature, talk about how while it could be used to replace some toys—making it easier to fulfill the remaining demand sustainably—it also can serve as an introduction for people to find interests they want to pursue more seriously with physical components… I really think we can introduce it to good effect.

I've been sitting on this ask for ages because I wanted to record a video showing a life-sized mech in response to it - but I just wanna say

YES, YES, A MILLION TIMES YES to ALL of this!!!!! 😭💖💖💖

messages like these are what makes my work so worth it, because every word of what you said here is EXACTLY what I'm trying to communicate with everything I do.

early on, the founder of Figmin XR (Javier Davalos) understood that people can't just be told that this technology will change the world for the better - they have to realize it for themselves. so he applied for the first Magic Leap grant, won it, and then got to work creating a software to help people do just that.

everything you've mentioned above is either already in development or already starting to be implemented in schools, museums, workshops - even summer camps!! and I know this because I've been working directly with the people organizing these things, helping to teach them how to use Figmin to teach others. :)

the future will be more digital than it already is today, yes, but that doesn't automatically make it a dystopia. I've said it before and I'll say it again - technology is just a tool, and there are many, many people creating new ways to use it for good.

[blackbloodteeth]

"SoMa no kissing in The Backroom challenge (Hard Mode)"

Well this was intended for April Fools Day but sometimes things get a little out of hand don’t they haha

I wrote this with the premise of “no plans, no backspaces” (except for fixing typos otherwise this would be unreadable) because of a joke I made in chat, which is where the exact words of the title comes from, typo included. Hopefully the nonstop work I did on this for over a week is at least worth the read.

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[Also on AO3]

Rating:    Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:    Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Fandom:    Soul Eater (Anime & Manga)

Relationship:    Maka Albarn/Soul Eater Evans

Characters:    Soul Eater Evans,  Maka Albarn

Additional Tags:    Religious Imagery & Symbolism,  Violence,  Blood,  Body Horror,  Trauma

Language:    English

Words:    9920

.

The story starts with Soul and Maka having left the hallway into an unidentified room, holding hands as one of them claims to tell them something (I'm not sure who we'll see if this becomes relevant later).

"Hey, I need to tell you something..." It's probably Maka.

As it turns out the room has other plans when the lights flicker and the surrounding area fades into a change of scene. The walls become a yellowish office hue, with those bright monotone white lights overhead, and an incessant buzz droning into your skull from the trademark origins of said previously mentioned standard faculty lighting.

"Oh shiot the backrooms?!" That was probably Soul.

Why yes I am keeping that typo, but also while he and her also were looking around they noticed that it may not be The Backrooms but instead The Backroom, since there was only a singular room instead of the endless horizon of identical labyrinthian empty spaces. Go figure.

"Well this is a problem."

It was indeed a problem. They continued looking and saw that it was a room and that this came with the consequence of just being a room, no doorways, no windoways, and no ways that it appeared to have an exit.

In case that sentence was too butchered to make sense, they’re locked in here now. Looks like they’ll have to survive not kissing in here The narrator insists that thought came from one of them, probably the one who had to tell the other something wink wink.

Souls eyes dart between the empty space and Maka’s squinting, wondering what the actual heck is going on and probably if he’s crazy I guess since that seems like a reasonable assumption.

“Okay...” He reigns himself in, facing her directly. “I guess we should probably figure out how to escape, and probably pray we actually can all things considered.”

She fidgets. “Solid plan.”

So the two try to assess the current state of the backish room – Which unsurprisingly still did not contain anything text worthy – Until one of them sighs, probably both, and there is another hand holding, with sincerity.

“Look no matter what happens I’ll try to stay with you, we can figure this out.”

Queue title card of area.

.

.

Part 1 – Limbo

As you may have guessed, there’s nothing much here.

This part is probably not going to be long.

The two decide to take different routes of examining the room – For Maka she focuses on her Soul Perception, while Soul physically runs his hands along every inch of the walls to see if there’s a secret hidden in them that he somehow wouldn’t have known with only his previous experience with this concept to be theoretical.

“Yeah, still not really getting anything, aside from you and me anyway.”

He sighs, as it seems his luck is similar. “Well this sucks.”

She wanders up to him, maybe to give him both an extra set of eyes and some optimism that usually one does not remain trapped in solitary room states forever (in better or worse implications), and sends him another smile that the will of some unforeseen force says he should enjoy seeing.

His glance flicks out with a sense of unease for a moment.

“Well, guess this isn’t the worst situation we could have ended up having.“ He reluctantly agrees. “Guess I could...”

She motions to him indiscriminately.

“Sit down with you and talk I guess.”

Soul shuffles a bit in place while pondering the implications of having to communicate, and the possibility that it could involve feelings and personal stuffs, and he’s not sure if he wants to do that since he is in fact the world’s most cagey bastard even if said world is currently just a box.

“What.. do you wanna talk about.” They lean against the wall, mostly that he did it with his shoulder to mirror her propping against it with her back, and she snickers slightly.

“You said you had something you wanted to tell me?”

He blinks.

“Did.. I?”

Her brows furrow with a sense of playfulness if not also a slight confusion. “Yeah? That why we ended up here in the first place, since you pulled me aside in the hall.”

He continues his stupefied blinking before she corrects herself with her hands motioning. “Okay not first place first place, but like before the room changed for whatever reason.”

The air is quiet a moment as he genuinely replays the events that have occurred just now, sifting through them to remember right before then and if he was in fact the one who was asking her to ask her something, and it dawns on him that maybe he was even if he has no idea what it was he wanted to ask in the first place.

“I’m not sure...”

But he looks her in the eyes, certain that whatever it was it was probably important.

“Guess we have enough time for me to figure out that out, though.”

.

.

Part 2 – Indecision

They pull away from the wall when suddenly it starts to shift.

The air feels almost like it’s vibrating, fidgeting like an innumerable swarm of busybody insects as the room tints to a passive shade of grey. Along each four cardinal walls soon stood four differing objects, still as if always having been there.

The closest: A couch. Black and white, plush, but strange as that soft feature appeared to stem entirely from being made of stuffed toy rats.

Across from that: A chessboard. Similarly colored while retaining a sense of normalcy being made of wood and carved plainly, albeit lacking any sort of seating to go along with it.

To the right: A bookshelf. Topped up and down with loads of books, all of different colors and most likely of different subject matter. Still they sat but quietly they beckoned with how densely populated the whole shelf was kept.

And finally: A piano. It remained silent and patient.

“...The hell is this?”

Unfortunately no answer was returned as the gleam in Maka’s eye had already taken her to personally inspecting the bookshelf of its contents, much to Soul’s eyerolling. She seemed excited though even if she still wouldn’t admit she’s absolutely a nerd.

“Wow, they’ve even got Dante’s Inferno on here...” He simply saunters away from the unsettling rodent affair, glare suspicious and unyielding toward the more concerning addition to their imprisonment.

“This feels like some sort of trap, if I’m to be honest.”

Her hair whips as she shoots a look to both him and the obvious transgressor.

“What?”

A chuckle turns her away from the book she was readying to dive right into (just a closer examination of its sudden appearance, of course), arms now crossed with that sass she never lets up even in stranger times. “A piano isn’t suddenly going kill you.”

His squint narrows further.

“Factually incorrect, actually.”

He continues before her stance has a chance to go anywhere. “Look, Black Room yadda yadda, but also people have been killed by pianos before. Usually dropped from great heights but there was that one guy who got ran over once.”

His hands motion away her imminent questioning. “Look, all I’m saying is I don’t trust a damn thing about any of this” – Each point is further emphasized with gesturing – “At least two of these relates to our personal interests, this one’s just freakin’ weird, and this… I dunno actually, looks like filler I guess.”

Maka’s analytical gaze does another brief sweep before falling back onto the rat couch with a growing smile, which he immediately also did not trust.

“...You really freaked out by the couch?”

He fidgets subtly. “...It’s weird.”

That smile overtakes her face and sends him into further restlessness, especially with how she’s flipping between him and it. “I think it’s cute.”

“You...” His blinks flutter more rapidly. “Maka it’s made of rats.”

“Soul those are clearly stuffed animals.”

“On an entire couch??”

“Oh come on, I bet it’s soft.”

He scrunches up. “God, please tell me you wouldn’t actually sit on that thing.”

Regret immediately seizes him when she gave him that look that told him oh I definitely would sit on that thing before she drops her arms, reveling in his increasing discomfort as she prods one of the vermin making up the arm.

“Yep. Feels soft.”

“Maka, please don’t...” Genuine distress starts to raise his tone when the head of the rat registered as movement when she pulled away, his fists clenched while trying to remain level headed. “We don’t actually know if that’s safe.”

A sense of playful desire to continue teasing him dissipates at his sighing, her arms now idle as she steps away, softened. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.”

His fingers scratch at the back of his hair, a murmur still keeping his focus on the potential dubiousness of him having just imagined that.

“`s fine. Just… bit on edge right now…...”

He lifts his eyes up again when she reaches her hand out to him, a huff breaking out his smirk while he meets her palm again, and a sense of comfort washes through him with seeing that despite it all her reassurance thankfully hasn’t changed.

“Like I said: No matter what happens, I’ll be with you the whole way.”

.

“So...” His eyes gloss over the different array of covers as he continues halfhearted moving each of them around. “What’s Dante’s Inferno actually about?”

Maka glances at him briefly, a smirk raised to his brows furrowing. “What?”

“I’m surprised you asked.”

“I mean I’ve heard of it before, just never read it… Probably nerd stuff…….” She snorts at his grumbled pouting. The books keep shuffling with her attention to them as she remains smiling, more enticed by the opening to inform than to seize the chance for further teasing.

“Well it’s a story about an Italian poet who journeys through each layer and learns something about what it really means and the significance of each punishment. Genuinely really fascinating, especially for the time period.”

Soul’s finger hovers over a volume of something seemingly animal related until he slowly resumes his prodding. “...Layers of what?”

She stops and blinks. “...The Inferno.”

He squints, their staredown lasting approximately 30 seconds before he takes a gander at connecting the vague dots.

“...Like Hell?”

At this moment he now wondered if she was trying to Morse code his stupidity through eyelids alone, lips raised in a patient but very noticeably befuddled shade of amusement. “Yes…? Did I not already say that?”

“No, actually.” He deadpans. “Just that there were layers and that could have meant literally anything without context.”

Her eyes visibly replay her words through her head, quickly dropping into bit of chuckles once registering that she did in fact miss that part of her explanation, much to the chagrin of one’s initial intentions.

“Sorry, I thought I mentioned that.” The book she left parted away from its brethren was then returned after having been held for long enough, a lighthearted hum resuming as she returned to inspecting the remainder of that particular shelf.

“Yeah, it’s about Hell. Each layer is divided by the different sins people who don’t want to make up for them have committed, starting from the outer edge and getting progressively more intense the deeper it goes. Pretty interesting this actually does reflect the layers of the Earth’s core while still going through all this different symbolism.”

“Yep that sounds like nerd stuff.”

He snickers as her knee retaliates into his shoulder, hands soon dusting themselves off when he finally reaches another shelf’s end with a sigh. “Well doesn’t look like there’s actually any secret switches behind any of these...”

The thud of a hardcover resounds as she frowns. “Yeah… At least it was worth a shot…...”

Blood flow restores to his legs as he levers himself back up into standing, fingers stretching as he shakes them off and rolls his shoulders.

“So, what now?”

Consideration immediately turns around to the other side of the room where – “Aside from that.” – and then moves over to the right, mentally interrogating the chess board already set up even without anything to sit up to it with. As it stood the potential hazard level of it simply being there was estimated to be fairly low, so she lets her eyebrows raise at the prospect of something entertaining for them to do. “Care for a game?”

“...Do you know how to play?”

They then plummet at the sheer audacity of the assumption that she would have said not. “Yes?”

Soul’s eyes roll almost fast enough to take his head along with the force. “Do you know how to explain the rules.”

“Oh.”

She clears her throat before walking over to the table, briefly examining it and then lifting up one of the pieces slowly, setting it back down to where it had just been after nothing strange had decided to finally descend upon them and Soul had done a thorough amount of anxious fidgeting. “Here.”

His hands tuck into the pockets of his steady gait toward the opposite end of the board – the white pieces – while she takes position across from him. The awaiting game was indeed carved in a similar manner to the table, but in the curiosity of his touch he began to wonder if it had been done in bone instead of wood…

“This front row? Those are your Pawns.” Her instruction gestures out to the relevant parts of the board. “This piece here is your King – Your goal is to make sure I don’t capture him while you try to take mine. This one is the Queen; Unlike the King who can only move one space at a time, she can go pretty much anywhere so think carefully about how you want to move her so you don’t end up wasting her abilities.”

He nods to confirm that so far things made sense.

“The Pawns also can only move one square at a time but only directly in front of them and if that space is empty. They can’t capture another piece directly in front of them, only when another piece is standing diagonally to it like this – “ A spare pawn is used to demonstrate the attack pattern. “ – If you can get a Pawn to my end of the board you can then turn it into any other piece you want.” He nods again, pieces returned to their proper spots.

“The rest of these are the Rooks, Bishops, and Knights. Rooks can move as far as they want but can only move in these directions, but you can capture whoever’s closest in any of the directions. Bishops work the same way but they move diagonally instead. And Knights move differently than any of the other pieces, kind of in an L shape like this – “ The ivory slides over multiple center squares. “ – both forwards and backwards. These ones can actually jump over other pieces so you can only capture with a Knight if another piece is on the last square they land on.”

The pieces are once again set back, this time tidied up and straightened forward, an excitement shimmering in her eyes that he knows is going to give him hell later.

“Other than that, the Pawns can move two spaces only when they’re first allowed to move and there’s a special move you can use once per game that lets you move Rook and King together, but other than that I think you’ll be able to pick it up as you go.”

Soul lets out a slow exhale while taking a moment to let that all sink in, eventually raising his shark-toothy smile up in accepting her challenge. “So, who starts first?”

“White does.”

Oh that grin definitely tells him she isn’t planning to go easy on him.

“Got it...” His hand hesitates out briefly, then extending a pawn from the middle, two spaces forward like he already knows to do so.

Let the game begin.

.

The makeshift door opened swiftly with her brisk entrance, eyes still bound to the journalings while she hurried over to him.

“Found something?”

A sharp sigh indicated that that may indeed be a yes, the papers soon sat in front of him as she did, that sternness worn unyielding even if her tone held no affront. “I think we just might finally have found the thing we’ve been searching for.”

Intrigue brings his fingers over his chin as she unfolds the relevant notes for him, scrawlings and sketches somehow still as concise as ever. His eyes tread lightly yet with care, soaking up every drop of information until eventually his gaze lifts, heavy with a newly added weight of dread even aside from the pervasive fear looming through the very air itself.

“A power greater than anything ever imagined...”

Her mutter sicks into him, thickening the tension. “Do you really believe this to be a wise decision?”

“Do you trust me?”

His thumb strokes in restless thought for a moment. “You and you alone, yes.”

“Then allow me to pursue this chance to finally end all bloodshed.”

That ideal did ring deep with him – It was no hidden fact that their very home had quickly descended into a battlefield, one that now only reeked of war and chaos in mere days, and ever the strategist he considered both scales accordingly before finally reaching his verdict, solemn yet proud.

“If it is your will, than so it shall be done – I’ll continue to follow it until the very end.”

.

.

Part 3 – Hesitation

“Checkmate.”

An air of victory resounds in the final tap of ebony across the board, Maka’s triumph lasting for only a few second before suddenly the lights start to flicker, both of them instinctively distancing themselves from the table while the room already began to shift again.

At first, nervousness at the unexpected change of scene, but soon a bewildered uncertainty with their surroundings now being cozily lit, décor more fit for a small party.

Beside them, as they looked back, was now a wider table hosting an array of tantalizing food and drink. To Soul’s left stood a grandfather clock where the bookshelf once was, ticking quietly to itself yet unassuming. To Maka’s right came a soft tune of inviting music, spun from a record that played of its own accord. And at the remaining wall there sat a simple recliner.

“Well if didn’t look like a trap before, it definitely does now,” he mutters, tension keeping his movements stiff despite his attempt to seem calm.

Maka at least appears to take this in better than he is. “Hey at least it’s friendly.”

“That’s the part I don’t trust the most.”

Her laugh turns away as she continues surveying the room, though inevitably pulled back in when his frowning murmurs at the sound that didn’t strike him as necessarily grating. “Do you think there’s some sort of… symbolism in any of this…...”

The reflection of their earlier idle talk resurfaces with a thoughtful hum.

“Hmmm… That’s a good question actually.”

Truthfully the room did seem to actually know them to some degree even if so far fairly surface level, but it having struck more than coincidences threw her into full intrigue, a finger tapping out of sync against her chin as she wandered to the middle of the stage.

“Well this is clearly some sort of party scene… Maybe it has to do with being outside our comfort zone; Like there’s stuff we’re familiar with, like you’ve got the music and food, but then there’s this sort of sense that… That sort of feeling that you just want to go home, you know? Since there’s a clock that constantly tells you the time and a chair maybe someone would want to sit on instead of moving around.” Her arms then drop to the side with a humored aside. “Or this actually is some kind of Hell and we’re not supposed to fall for temptation or something like that, either one.”

His brows furrow as he sinks a little more. Well he could definitely believe that latter just from the piano alone, though that only raised more questions as to what they’d done to end up in that kind of place to begin with, or when they were going to be able to leave for that matter.

“The last version of the room ended up changing after we did something; Maybe we have to keep choosing the correct options until we can find our way out.”

“Oh, good idea.” Her owl eyes take to immediately assessing their next course of action. “Okay, that will probably get us killed. Don’t really know what the chair would do but kind of don’t want to see how that could go wrong. Hmmm… I wonder if...” She moves her examination along the clock’s height, souring when nothing out of the ordinary revealed itself before swiveling away again. “Guess that leaves the record player. Maybe we’re supposed to shut it off?”

Soul ponders this as he also has to consciously pull his hand out of him having started chewing his nails. “Last time changed when we played along with it, I’m not sure if trying to shut it down is a good idea.”

He then tenses up at how much her eyes immediately light up.

“Oh we should dance!”

His entire being immediately scrunches into itself.

“Oh come on; I showed you how to play Chess, you can show me how to dance! I know you’re way better at it than I am, anyway.”

One long drawn out sigh later, he reluctantly admits that so far that logic is safest and most promising thing they have to work on, a timid arm extended her way once he’d slowly trudged to the center of the floor. “Here...”

Not even his pout could remain sure of itself as she bounded up and eagerly accepted his invitation, fitting right into place in a way that drew his grin out helplessly.

“Okay so I assume you know how legs work, but uh… First basic step goes somethin’ like this…...” The gears in his head gnash wildly over trying to figure out how one condenses a lifetime ago of formality into a single comprehendible list until they’re suddenly knocked out of alignment, his balance startling back when her attempt to match his movement puts her too close too fast. He brushes it off with a laugh while straightening them out to try again.

“Okay, uhhh...” And then clears his throat to reset his posture. “Yeah I don’t think I can explain it the same way you can. I’ll try to make sure you can follow along, but uh...” He can’t resist loosening up a chuckle at how serious her face said she wanted to take this.

“Just think of it like how we partner – Let me um… be your Meister right now.”

“Got it.”

With a deep breath, he takes a basic step, then another to feel for the general movement. Slowly he pulls her along, letting her familiarize with the pattern, before he eases into bringing them closer to the beat of the current song, falling into the rhythm that he made sure not to get swept away in as long as she was there to keep up with him.

.

The water swayed along with his feet, soon slowing to an end when he reached the chamber where she stood ahead of him. His eyes fell affixed to objects she revealed in hand as she turned:

One constantly shifted into itself while the other pulsed outward, both glowing mysteriously and mesmerizing enough to hold him at bay, still even while she promptly addressed him.

“These are it – We finally have both keys to unlock an end to this madness.”

And him the third…

He finally breaks away back to her sober gaze, resuming his trek toward the stone platform with a sullen breath. “You’re truly certain this will end in our good favour?”

“You have my faith. I’ve studied extensively enough to understand the process and as long as we remain together we should be able to control the outcome how we desire it.” His footsteps pause right in front of the steps up. “Are you truly prepared to walk this path with me?”

The stone answers quietly beneath his climb, gentle fingertips meeting her knuckles as their eyes locked, tender and understanding yet firm in resolve.

“My oath is sworn unbroken.”

.

.

Part 4 – Stagnation

Click.

Their steps cease when the song comes to an end, the needle’s aimless wandering soon fading into silence while the room shifts away again.

This time it appeared much simpler yet more abstract: The scene laid barren except for two standing chairs, facing both opposite ends of each other and up against the walls, the floor of which contrasted both sides – red and green – in a spiral pattern that twirled directly into the center until neither were distinguishable. This color also ran up the surface of all sides but faded halfway into a muddled shadowy ceiling, which consequently revealed the lighting to now originate from an ornate crystal chandelier that was notably hanging somewhat precariously.

Enough to fall and hurt someone if it was swayed too much, Soul reckoned.

Maka pulls away, gears visibly turning in her eyes quick to contemplate their new puzzle, frowning as she eventually hazards at its reasoning.

“Duality.”

“Hm?” It was a hum less about it making sense and more for prodding her train of thought.

“Conflicting viewpoints – There’s two opposite sides facing away from each other, but eventually they work around each other until they meet in the middle.”

That definitely seemed clear enough to be true, but there was still a clue lacking enough to bring his thumb over the corner of his mouth in pondering. “So what does that mean for us?”

Her frown continues twofold as she continues working through it before bringing him along.

“The first room we went ‘against each other’ while the second room we ‘worked together’, so for this room...” She perks up when a dot connects. “We come together as equals, like Resonance!”

He hums his agreement to that conclusion. “You showed me something, I showed you something, so now we have to show each other something?”

“Yep!”

A smile twitches up at her triumph before it lowers again, thoughtful as his glance flicks around briefly. “...So what exactly do we have to show each other?”

That was actually a very good question, one that quieted her again while it became mutually obvious that unlike the previous two iterations there wasn’t nearly as much to do here (aside from sitting and staring straight at a wall, but Soul wasn’t too keen on that even if his legs started to want to convince him otherwise), and as she moved along reassessing either side her face eventually lit up with her hands clapped.

“Oh, I know – Here, you stand over by the green side!” He hesitates a moment until her persistence in the matter slowly shuffles him over to the other chair, Maka then standing proudly opposite and eager to give instruction.

“It’s like you said when we were dancing: you took the perspective of being a Meister, and now I’ll take the viewpoint of being a Weapon before we meet in the middle as partners!”

His brows furrow, staring up at the chandelier with unease over having to be anywhere beneath it, but he complies for lacking any other possible solutions. “So we both just kinda pretend to be each other’s roles?”

“Yeah – Maybe we can take steps forward when we feel like we get the hang of it so that we’re both ready at our own pace.” Soul nods as her face then slips into full concentration, a sigh quietly puffed out while he closes his eyes to focus too.

A Meister… Not too different from being a Weapon in that they were two halves working towards the same goal, but the way both went at it from separate angles as a default.

He had to eat souls, she did the legwork to fight for those souls, and now… he has to picture what it’d feel like if it were the other way around.

Soul’s spine straightens at the sound of her foot shuffling.

He doesn’t have perception or a special wavelength, but most people don’t. He also doesn’t move as quickly as she does, but that’s something that he could probably work on if he wanted… Besides, he works better thinking quickly and figuring things out on the fly, more of a backseat “observe and adapt” kinda guy than he prefers to admit.

Though that does make him wonder what would make him decide to pursue being a Meister to begin with……

Soul meanders forward a little when her steps continue.

Would it be for the same reason he left as a Weapon? Would he have even considered that as a possibility, taken his life in another direction even if it wasn’t sparked from an existing passion?

...Would he still be willing to defend her life even if he had nothing to do it with?

Soul peeks out at her steady approach toward the spiral’s center.

Of course he would, she’s his partner, he’d do everything he could to keep her safe even if it meant risking himself, Weapon or not. The scar embedded across his chest was a reminder of that, one that would remain for the rest of his life… But would he do it again?

Soul watches her progress.

Would he still take the hit for her if he was on the other end? Would he have even gone into that fight if he’d known the danger that they were in?

Would they have even been there to begin with if it’d been a different night?

Soul stares directly at the crystals hanging directly above her head.

Could he have done something to prevent it in the first place?

“That doesn’t look safe.”

Maka looks at him confused, but all he can see is the light dropping and shattering her. “The chandelier, it looks like it’s going to fall any minute.”

“Oh.” Threat swayed in his gut as she simply gazed upward, and especially when her returned smile defied all risk. “I think it looks sturdy enough – Here, you should see it with me. I can jump out of the way if it starts moving.”

He wanted to shout, rebel against the impending dread and get her away from the looming danger as quickly as possible, yet timidly he walked to take her hand, trust peering up at a newfound view unfolding above him.

The light reflected through all the individual crystals, bringing each one to life against the dark horizon, like stars shining through a midnight sky. In the middle of course was the moon, so radiant it formed a complete circle with its luminescent shards now its crowning petals.

It was… rather pretty, actually.

Her fingers felt warm in between his, her eyes illuminated brilliantly even if it was lit with a bit of I told you so, though genuinely he could sense it was more for getting to share the experience than anything.

He sighs out an awkward show of teeth, smile inevitably mirroring hers while a glint of curiosity eventually rekindled. “So, do you remember what you were wanting to ask me?”

A stammer drops his jaw and flusters it helplessly as his mind proceeds to replay through everything again.

Maybe in truth he always did have that question in the back of his head, but maybe it isn’t one he ever needed to ask. She was always there for him, ready to take his hand whenever the moment needed it, and him… Maybe he just worries too much.

Despite everything she really was strong. Maybe that’s what really made them partners.

“Oh, uh...” Soul loosens out a goofy little chuckle before lifting it away back to the ceiling, deciding it was probably better to just enjoy what good did manage to come from all this nothing nonsense.

“Ah, not really…...”

But the questions still remained.

.

His face finally emerges out of the red hot liquid, lungs gasping desperately as if the engulfing heat crushing his body was soaking right into his chest.

This… This isn’t……

Metallic sting blurs his vision, but even before he fights to free his eyes open he already sinks in the weight of the surrounding sea, a seemingly bottomless chasm of blood. The worst part is it wasn’t his. The best part is it’s everyone else’s.

His face contorts through several wild emotions until it collapses into laughter at how comforting it actually is.

He slips back into submersion while laughing and laughs at how great it would be if they all joined him.

.

.

Part 5 – Regret

Their fingers tense together when the light flickers yet again, fading into a fixture much more dim and plain. The dark ceiling mellows into a dull grey, which fell over the rest of the walls except for the rust spread along the floor slightly over them, the odd monotony only noticeably broken by the frequent smears and splotches of pitch black ink seemingly coated by someone’s haphazard wandering.

Soul didn’t like this room.

The two remain in hand even while this shift leaves both unsettled before an interrupting echo of bare footsteps break them apart, his arm naturally extended in front of her to prepare guarding her from their unexpected visitor.

It was Soul. It also wasn’t: He wore casually untidy clothes different from him, but the main thing that set them apart was his stare, hollow yet wide as if he didn’t have lids while a smile wore halfheartedly on his open lips.

It wasn’t necessarily with hostility but it was… off, in every way imaginable.

This was especially true as he then followed up with digging his fingertips into the edges of his teeth, running the dark ooze along the end of his tongue until it all fell to the side, Soul’s entire body recoiling into disgust while more ink dripped onto the unclean floor.

And then it spoke.

“Look who just showed up.”

His voice coming out of that face was low and raspy, his tone accusatory and straight to the point as he stood his ground. “Who the hell are you?”

It only laughed.

“Do you think you’re the main character or somethin’? That you can’t feel pain? That I couldn’t just beat the shit out of you and let you watch her die? Do you really think you’re fuckin’ invincible or some shit?”

The stammer caught in his throat was quickly interrupted by Maka shouting beside him. “What do you want with us?!”

“Could you actually kill him if you needed to? Would you watch him die if you had to?” They both shuffled back as it began approaching.

“Did you really believe your actions don’t have consequences?”

.

Soul watches as the pitch black rushes toward him.

Soul watches as his chest tears wide open.

Soul watches as molten flesh rains from his skin.

Soul watches as his body melts into the floor.

Soul hears a scream as he can no longer gasp out from his crushed lungs.

Soul’s back slams into something, air unable to pass in or out as his sneer continues toward him.

“Do you really want to die for her? Do you actually want to keep feeling that pain?” He locks up when a hand rams right next to his head, trapping laughter nearly broken into screaming. “You want to be ripped open again?! You want another scar matching the other way, or fuck it you can just tear all of it off and start all the fuck over again!! Maybe if you keep getting hurt enough you can finally get it through your thick fucking skull just how mu– ”

Force blurs by too fast for him to understand what it was, but eventually he registers it as Maka pinning him to the ground before her fist collides with his face, a confusing calm numbing into passive silence when she just… keeps going.

Every hit was struck with her full weight, repetition until black kept splattering out and yelling, wailing even, rang indecipherably through the stiff air, continuously reverberating against the cracking mush even when it’d long stopped moving. Eventually, her chest only heaved, quieted except for a choke he then identified as sobbing, shaking as she soon lifted herself and slowly turned with a whine leaking out from underneath the mess of ink and tears.

“I’m sorry...”

He remained motionless while her posture tightened and started curling into itself.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…...”

He should do something. Say something, walk to her, move her away from the body.

But he did nothing.

Felt nothing, didn’t know what to feel or do or say, just watched her face drip and sounds shaking her downward before a fit of chuckling snaps them both back.

The body began lifting up, head pulleying from some invisible string while darkness spilled out where his face had been onto its clothes, painting all of it black as his voice hollered out undeterred.

“Damn girl, you really just shot past Wrath and dropped straight into Violence!”

Boisterous cackling spasms from the spew of ebony as it then erupts into dozens of pale wings, all writhing and coveting the front of its head while its back burst and sprayed out into four greater wings, two black, two red. Eyes of dark rings and crimson split open upon their feathers, staring and dripping more ink onto the pool now consuming the flooring.

Fear, dread coiled around his chest, steps quickly unsteady when the wall scoops him up and slams a cage door over him, silver bars to match the golden cage now also surrounding her.

“Maka!”

There was no time for even a response, the body hopping up on top of his imprisonment for its weight to swiftly plunge him into the abyss with a howl.

“Going dooooown!!”

He barely catches the chain lifting her up as fast as he descended, his stomach churning with nothing to grab onto while he plummeted, faster and faster through the darkness, until suddenly the stop jars him, leaving his side crashed into the now swaying cage.

It didn’t take him long to realize he was currently being suspended right over a sea of red, the heat and stench no doubt being blood, pooled in a horizonless dark chasm that made him recoil before his voice resumes its tune.

“So, did you really want to die for her?”

His head whips up to his body still crouching over him, rage now finally reaching its boiling point. “Is there really something so wrong with wanting to protect her?!”

“No, you still don’t get it. Let me spell it out for you then:”

.

.

Part 6 – Isolation

“You’re all alone now.”

Fingers grip over the bars as it crawls halfway down, looming over him upside-down with innumerable white feathers squirming through the gaps.

“You swore to dying for her. Kept carrying all the weight of the pain so she wouldn’t feel hurt.” Its large wings outstretch, eyes crying crimson that dripped meaninglessly into the rest of it. “This is your consequence.”

His laugh then echoed against the metal as it climbed back up to the cage’s chain.

“I’m going to leave you now and let you wallow in it, all to yourself just like you wanted.”

The cage sways a little more while its hands and feet pull it along the chain’s length, Soul’s palms slamming into the sides while shooting upright. “He- Hey!”

It continued making its way up until eventually it faded into the obscurity of the shadow above,  the silence soon deafening even when his back landed into the bars again, sliding and curling his chest against his knees with his arms limping around them. Despite the heat steaming from below, he only felt cold, empty, and… alone.

A sniffle trembles his shoulders, breath unsteady while his arms coil in tighter to hold it in place. His eyes wander through the abyss and are offered nothing in return, nothing left for him but the memories and his words.

Upon reflecting, the blood directly in front of his view begins to bubble, raising into a mirror image who’s head just barely left the surface.

His wild hair floated and dragged onto his pale face, draping around his dark round eyes in a way that gave more resemblance to a fish, especially when the surrounding pool streamed out of its mouth, freeing out a soft murmuring hoarseness.

“Hey, you seem lost.”

Soul’s lungs stuttered before finally cracking his voice out. “Yeah…...”

“Yeah, me too.”

He blinks at him for awhile before chiming in again.

“What’re you thinkin’ about?”

Soul swallows the pressure still sitting in his throat, a sigh tumbling out while meekly looking away. “I dunno, I guess… I just wanted to keep Maka safe because that’s what I’m supposed to do, but now it’s like I wasn’t supposed to, or I’m doing it wrong or something……...”

“You care about her a lot though, right?”

Soul nods. “...Yeah, but… I think I hurt her…...” One long breath shudders out from his sniff. “...Not, not physically but, I think I hurt her from… not talking about it…… Like how much it still hurts even though I ignore it and just keep saying I’ll keep getting hurt for her………...”

“Not all acts of good are wise, and not all acts of evil are foolish, but still we should strive to be the best that we can be.”

Soul peers up at his light smile.

“I don’t think it was really your fault. You just did what you thought was best and sometimes there’s no real clear answer, especially when it’s something you’ve never really dealt with before.”

He watches him for another moment, smile continuing.

“It’s never too late, by the way. You can ask her about it yourself if you still want to.”

Soul slowly perks up, even if unsteady. “...How? I’m still locked down here...”

“You care a lot about Maka’s pain, but are you willing to try caring for your pain too?”

Soul pauses, until eventually, he nods again.

“Then let me help open the door for you. You just have to get up top and start climbing.”

Out of the blood then emerges arms upon arms of pale hands, countless fingers reaching and grabbing the cage steady before a few stray limbs pull the side bars away.

Soul swallows, cautious, but soon lifting himself up and crouching through the doorway to hang against the other side, feet balancing onto a couple palms that carefully bring him level enough to the roof for him to now stand on top of it. His grip clings tightly to the chain’s links, tense as he looks back at his unmoving reflection one last time.

“Just keep climbing and don’t let go!”

And with a deep breath, he begins his ascent, steadily working his way up, one step at a time.

.

.

Part 7 – Perseverance

His hands interchanged their grip around the chain as he persisted his journey upward, his feet dutifully following each motion while passing onto each stair step. It was a long hall, dull in a truly neutral grey, inclined so extensively that the horizon remained consistently vague.

The weight of the climb already dragged on him. Exhaustion ached his body, weakened his stride under the uncertainty of any visible end. Made his arms plead this was good enough, his legs beg that it wasn’t worth it, but he knew that she would have tried to her fullest and that she’d want him to succeed too, so he carried on.

Beside his climbing this hall appeared just spacious enough to be able to host another person next to him, bringing along its reminder that he was traveling solo. A twinge of burning sparked from it, twisting over how he was left enduring this, but he smothered it in knowing she would gladly extend her hand for him if she was here and settled into gratitude, simply hoping she is safe.

Yet that spark reinvigorated itself much more furiously, a loathing now falling directly upon himself. Maybe this fate truly was deserved, a punishment for his consequences being truly just deserts. Though it soon tempers when memories wash back in, both of her lament despite best intentions and the newfound promise he’d sworn, mellowing him into holding for the chance to make things right again.

...But does it even matter? Would anything actually change in the end, if there even is an end to this? Scars heal on their own, don’t they? What difference does it make between just getting over it and throwing the pain at someone else…… But… The pain wasn’t just physical. He was terrified, still scared it could happen again, happen to her, and the darkness that came with it never left his head. That stuff doesn’t just go away, even if you bury it. And seeing how she still reached for him and wanted to be at his side despite the hurt inflicted on her, maybe she… Maybe it’ll be okay, if she helps him unearth it, even just at his own pace.

His footsteps lightened and fueled his hastening, determination empowering as a feeling then squirmed in his chest. It murmurs to him that they’d been happier when he kept the question to himself, yet he reminded it of how she was the one who asked him again first. When it pointed toward his controlling worry, stubbornly fighting her meeting in the middle, he counters that even with their different views she still believed in him trusting her, and the weight of his body lifted at the experiences they can still share together.

The feeling began gnawing on him, told him that he was just using her for his own gain. Yet he stood his ground, firm in their efforts being mutual while assured that neither of them will leave each other behind, and his legs raised him higher than ever at the goals they can still both work for.

And finally it seethed, demanded that she’s already rejected his selfishness. And he contented, knowing that she’ll be waiting for him the same way he would for her. Because they’re partners, and that’s what partners do, so his arms kept reaching with greater fervor at the connection they can still call theirs.

Calm eased through him, the feeling quieted as it simply asked what it was he truly wanted.

He just wanted to be with her again.

Suddenly the hallway begins to shimmer, that monotony reflecting brilliantly, almost blinding, as pure light engulfed everything surrounding him. Hope hurried his ascent, hands outstretched until they latch onto a much sturdier link, turning that light red as he pushes past it and through the heavy curtains where his eyes soon adjusted to a familiar shade of reds and shadows.

The Black Room.

To his relief, the first thing he notices is Maka – black dress swishing around her as she shot up from the lone chair sitting aways from the curtain.

“Soul!”

Waves of emotion float a smile on up until it quickly sinks when he also registers the noise, head turning beyond the fabric to watch another version of himself – a black suit with a face obscured by long bangs, swaying as it played that dark piano in a tune he immediately recognized. Soul looks back at her pouting.

“He’s been playing Für Elise nonstop for several times in a row now.”

The way she huffed that sentence out made him want to laugh, instead only blinking while deciding to ask the more important question in any case. “Are you doing okay though?”

“Aside from having this song engrained into my soul, yeah.”

He snickers at her wryness before it softens up considerably.

“What about you – Are you okay?”

His breath tenses up, gut reaction stuttering it until it jolts when a harsh stray note drops the room into stiff silence, that other self now looming his direction like a weeping willow with roots of midnight judgement. Soul swallows, then shutting the door behind him as he finally takes a step forward, voice meek.

“...No.”

Maka stills, tone unchanged but remaining gentle. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really...” He’s quick to follow up his mutter with a sharp sigh. “...but I need to ask you.”

She moves forward a few paces slowly, patiently awaiting as he spends a moment composing himself, and eventually he forces the words out.

“Do you…...” One breath at a time.

“Do you hate me?”

Her brows furrow, confused. “Hate you?”

“Are you mad at me. For getting hurt… and… not talking about it…… acting like it never happened, and just… saying I’ll keep getting hurt, even though……...” His chest shudders, constricted. “...it still hurts…...”

She takes a deep steady inhale, thinking, his eyes vulnerable while she answers calmly.

“No, I’m not mad. I’m frustrated, but I’m frustrated about a lot of things; I’m frustrated that you got hurt, and I’m frustrated because I feel like I could have done better, but I’m not mad at you. It’s not your fault.”

The constriction winds up his throat and her sigh lifts, not quite into a smile, just something positive.

“I genuinely appreciate that you’re still here, and that you’re being open with me. It means a lot and...” Her body audibly tenses. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that you’re hurting.”

Maka watches his breath sway uneven, teetering until he timidly walks toward her. He can’t say for certain when those old Black Room clothes slipped onto him but that was never surprising, fingers gripping along the seams of his slacks like a child shaming away from its parent’s imminent disappointment as he closed their distance, Soul now standing only a few feet away.

His stance wobbles, aches at her heavy exhale, and finally the weight truly collapses him, slumping onto her shoulder as the air all chokes out.

“I’m so scared. I’m so afraid of you getting hurt and I can’t do anything about it. I’m fucking terrified I’m going to lose control and one day you’re going to end up dead because of me.” Heat sputters from his chest even under the warmth of their arms embracing closer. “I hate that I’m not as strong as you are. I hate that I keep making you feel like shit because I can’t deal with being weak. I hate this stupid fucking curse and having a demon in my head all the time that keeps telling me it’s my fault you’re going to get hurt next.”

Moisture leaks down from his face but he doesn’t care, just holds onto her more, never wants to let go while sobs continue pouring out.

“It hurts so much. My scar never stops aching and I try to forget about it and hope it just goes away. I keep having nightmares over and over again about when it happened and it happening to you and me hurting you, and it… it fucking sucks. I wish it would stop but I don’t tell you about it because I know you blame yourself, I know you think you’re the reason I got hurt, but you’re not. You didn’t do this to me, life just fucked us over and...”

His voice was loud, ugly, and a mess, but it was his. It was both of theirs.

“...It’s not fair. It’s not fair Maka.”

All he could do was cry, both of them. Just finally let out all the pain he’d been carrying for far too long now, let go of the burden he tried to keep shouldered on his own, and let her help lift the weight that had sunken his chest away from hers.

In that moment their grief was deeply shared, and his shadow, now moving back to whence it came, finally brought that fallboard to its close.

.

.

Part 8 – Resolve

Soul scoots the piano bench out a little before taking a seat away from the instrument behind him.

It was a wonder they even managed to clean the mess from their faces, but he was feeling tons better now, and judging by how she comfortably sat next to him it seemed she felt the same way. He wasn’t sure where that other version of him went, hadn’t seen when it’d even left, but that too was a welcome change as they simply got to have the room to themselves for the time being. And with a nice, calm breath of relief, quietly his voice lifts up to her again with a timid glance.

“Thank you, for um… listening to me.”

Maka welcomes it with her own lighthearted smile. “Hey, you know I’m here for you when you need it – I really am glad you came to talk to me about it.” She then laughs aside a little. “I think we definitely both needed this, anyway.”

He follows, albeit weakly. “Yeah, sorry, I just…… It’s not easy, um… talking about this kinda stuff...” And smirks awkwardly. “Sorry for being kind’ve a jackass about it.”

“Hey, it’s okay, I get it. It’s been hard to deal with, but you know… I’m proud of you, for reaching out. I know it takes a lot of strength to do that.”

Their eyes remain locked, stammer caught in his throat all over again until he gives it up, gaze averted down to his fingers aimlessly fidgeting with themselves even when his voice eventually squirms its way out, quiet but genuine. “Thank you.”

The two then simply wallow in each other’s company, thoughts just drifting through his hands before deciding it’d be okay to keep freeing them up.

“So, um… How did you end up here?” He gestures vaguely around the room to clarify. “Like nothing bad happened before I got here?”

“Oh, no I just...” She thinks briefly, answer facing the chair she’d first been waiting in.

“He said I was free to go, but I didn’t want to leave you here so I just waited for you to come back since I knew you would.”

A laugh returns over to him, shining through all uncertainties. “Pretty sure he was trying to get me to leave though.”

Soul chuckles lightly, soaking in both the warmth of her mirth and lighting curiosity, then willingly indulging it to lean more into its comfort.

“Yeah, it was pretty weird down there, but uh… Basically I promised I’d try to care about myself more, and I climbed up for awhile to get here. It definitely kinda sucked but um...”

He looks up to her with full sincerity.

“...It was a question I needed to ask you.”

And Maka extends her full appreciation in return.

“That’s good, I’m glad you made it out.”

Though his face does become a bit restless when a gentle humour makes her start to shy away. “...I do feel a little embarrassed though now that I know what the question was actually about.”

He scrunches. “...What did you think it was about?”

More laughter shoots out while she flutters about nervously.

“Well y’know… You suddenly pulling me aside into an empty room after you looked like you really wanted something all day, and I just… I don’t know.” The emphasis of her hands flopping down mesmerizes him, leaving the gears in his head slowly turning until they begin speeding up and contorting his expression through several unexplainable emotions before she cuts it off, huffing.

“Look: Just because I can see your soul doesn’t mean I know what you’re actually thinking half the time.” Huff then muttering into a pout. “Boys are weird, okay?”

This finally breaks him, uproarious cackling shaking haphazardly before he whips back enthusiastically. “Girls are also weird!”

“They’re all weird: People are weird.”

The deadpan quickly descends him further and drags her along with him, taking him a solid good minute to catch his breath for when he eventually meets her again, voice softened despite his sharp grin.

“You really are my best friend, though.”

He soon hesitates, fingers back to fidgeting with the seam. “...No offense to everyone else, obviously, you’re just um… You’re the coolest person I know and I genuinely appreciate you being there for me.” And he then faces her in complete earnest. “I want to care about both of us.”

So she truly meets him in the middle. “We both can.”

Their shared admiration beams while he extends his hand, her gladly taking it even before he asks.

“Partners?”

“Partners.”

Newly kindled hope and determination sparks up from within the bond of their resolve, igniting Soul’s sharkiest grin and Maka’s telltale smirk, which soon slips into something unexpectedly casual. “Hey do you wanna go get ice cream?”

He snorts. “Yeah, y’know what I’ve had enough of this room – We can keep moving forward together but who says we can’t also live life how we want too you know?”

“Live life and fuck Medusa.”

The two begin to stand up as he nods in full agreement. “Fuck Medusa.”

And as he shambles up onto his own two feet, hand firmly in hand, they both walk together side by side across those old checker tiles and eagerly chatter all through the exit, finally finding peace in closing that door shut.

.

Gently he picked the teacup up, letting the aroma drift in before taking a nice sip proper.

Ah, what a pleasant blend.

Quite well done if he says so himself, pairs excellently with the early morning view upon this balcony. A crisp delicate flavour to match a cool yet refreshing sunrise, to which the sun itself greets the day already hard at work.

Yes, this shall be a good day indeed.

He takes another fine sip, most certainly pleased with himself on its taste. Two creams, two sugars.

A good blend always needs a good balance in sweetness, though it was no lie he tended to be a bit more indulgent than most. Perhaps he’ll dare to make a visit today, but who would he be fooling to say he doesn’t make this consideration every day…

He sets the teacup onto its platter, soft clatter then reaching the table he seats at before his eloquent voice finally comes to life.

“I bet you’re wondering where the probable ruse lies, if perhaps it were all a dream or such events holds no bearing beyond the imagination.”

He lifts his cane resting faithfully by his side to give it a graceful twirl, suddenly halting to face its head up for a grand emphasis.

“Fool! The story was but in twain; It happened long ago, you see.”

The end is then swiftly brought upon the floor, like a gavel signifying its supreme judgement.

“Well done, the two you so followed did not meet lips. I’m sure such a challenge was quite trialing, but the reward of your efforts must be well worthwhile. Perhaps you’ve gained greater wisdom for further endeavors, even.”

With a flick of his wrist his magnificent hat tips, parting with a gentleman’s last word.

“And so it would appear our time together now comes to a close, but fret not – We may meet again if you so wish. Always more stories to tell, more secrets to unveil… Some possibly even already upon the horizon, hm.

Until then: fare thee well!”

[thedannyphantomcookbook]

The Phantom Origins

Okay, so I know probably a bunch of people have already done this, but I wanted to rewrite Danny Phantom, from just before he got his powers to maybe when he tells his parents.

 I’m tired of waiting for a reboot that may never come, so here is what I picture the reboot would look like. 

I’ve always thought it would be darker and more horrific, that the ghosts he fights are more monstrous and demonic.

 That there would be a little bit more of a medical concern for Danny’s humanity being affected by his ghost half. Is he becoming more ghost like? Is he gradually getting sicker and sicker, and his ghost DNA ravages through his body like cancer? 

Would Vlad be not only a sexist, creepy, abusive old man, but contains a thirst for deception and power that he poses a real, apocalyptic threat on Earth and the ghost zone?

Are ghosts actually the spirits of the dead? Or are they a different breed of human that lives in a completely separate dimension, that’s is layered and hidden within ours?

What about Danny’s mental health. He has to keep this big secret from his parents because he absolutely FEARS what would happen if they found it to the point he’s scared they wouldn’t believe he was their son and try to kill him as a result, or keep him hostage in the basement, slowly torturing him and dissecting him until he’s dead? What would the world think of him? A prophet? A demon? Would they accuse his parents for experimenting on their own children? He would have so much fear and anxiety that he’d have to be on edge all the time, falling into depression, panic attacks - not to mention the PTSD he’d get from it all while battle nightmarish monsters and the hanging question over his head of what he is now. 

These are just SOME of the questions I’ve had that Butch Hartman will never answer. He set up such a great plot and characters but carried it out pretty poorly over the show (which may or may not be his fault since they wanted to keep it kid friendly.)

I hope to get into the deep and dark and nitty gritty details of Danny Phantom we’ve imagined but never get to see. I wrote the first chapter below, and I plan to write much more. :)

I hope you guys enjoy it!

Follow me over at Ao3 

Summary:

Dr. Madelyn Fenton and her husband, Dr. Jackson Fenton, have just built the world's first portal to the Ghost Zone - an alternate dimension where undead linger for all eternity. The only problem is no one believes in what they are doing. The townspeople call them the Fenton Freaks and the rejection letters from the National Science Foundation are piling up. Not even their own children can tolerate their ghost obsession. Their 14 year old son, Danny, does what he can to separate himself from his parents. Mocked by his peers and judged by his teachers, he keeps his head down and stays out of the spotlight. 

It comes as no surprise to Danny when his parents' machine fails to work on the first test run. Discouraged, they leave empty handed for the weekend to go to the Ghost Hunter's Expo, where they were expected to present their portal during their panel. As soon as his parents leave, Danny invites his friends over to give a tour of yet another one of his parents' failed experiments. When he gets dared to walk inside the machine, he triggers something that turns it back on, and for the first time ever, his parents have an invention that works. But that's the least of the surprises when Danny emerges from the portal himself...

To Whom It May Concern,

To the esteemed members of the National Science Foundation, myself, Dr. Madelyn Fenton, PhD., and my husband, Dr. Jackson Fenton, PhD., write to you today to consider us for the New Exploratory Scientific Research Grant Award. Our combined decades worth of research within paranormal scientific research fields have led us to believe that the “ghost” entities that haunt our very Earth, could in fact be the missing link to creating new technology, curing human illnesses, and prolonging human life on Earth.

The term “ghosts” is defined as a religious or spiritual being, or the hypothetical soul of the human body, separated from physical forms, usually that of a person recently deceased. Dr. Jackson Fenton and myself have a different theory about the “ghostly” entities that visit our Earth. We have sufficient evidence to prove that ghosts are in fact not the spirits of the dead, but an entirely new species of the human race. We believe they exist in an alternate dimension - a separate plane of existence that is not unlike ours. Recent developments have also shown the possibility of dimensional travel -  we believe ghosts are able to pass through into our plane of existence for a temporary amount of time. Through our rigorous research, construction, and experimentation, Dr. Jackson Fenton and myself have created what would be a “portal” to this plane of existence, to the “Ghost Zone.” By exploring and studying the ghost zone, we could collect a limitless amount of research and data that could be used to benefit humanity for the rest of our existence.  

We have provided within our application our twenty years of research and development, along with video recordings of our experiments as evidence of our work in progress, as we humbly request your consideration for the New Exploratory Scientific Research Grant  Award.

Sincerely,

Dr. Madelyn Fenton, PhD. in Quantum Physics and Paranormal Studies

Dr. Jackson Fenton, PhD. in Theoretical Science and Paranormal Studies

From the Grants and Admissions Office of the National Science Foundation

To Dr. Madelyn Fenton and Dr. Jackson Fenton,

Thank you for your interest in applying for the New Exploratory Scientific Research Grant Award. The New Exploratory Scientific Research Grant Award (NESRGA) is an esteemed scholarship opportunity that looks to provide funding for ground-breaking scientific research to scientists working within small and local laboratories. After carefully reviewing your application and research, we have come to the regretful decision to decline your request to receive the NESRGA.

We unfortunately could not approve your request due to the following issues:

Insufficient or lack thereof evidence or proof of scientific research of ghostly entities and/or undiscovered species, the “Ghost Zone” dimension in which these entities exist, or possible travel to said “Ghost Zone.”

Insufficient of lack thereof peer review research and laboratory data.

Paranormal entities and alternative dimensional research is not recognized under the National Science Foundation as factual scientific work.

We are thrilled to hear that you share such enthusiasm, passion, and ambition in the pursuit of scientific exploration, research and development. You are a part of a wonderful community, and through your tireless efforts, you will help bring our Earth into the future.

We welcome you to apply for the NESRGA again next year.

Sincerely,

Barbara Keaton,

Director of Grants and Admissions

National Science Foundation

GHOST HUNTERS EXPO - THIS LABOR DAY WEEKEND

To Drs. Maddie and Jack Fenton,

We are excited to have you return to speak at the Ghost Hunters Expo this coming labor day weekend. We have reviewed your Ghost Zone Theory and we anticipate your presentation of your research.

Please note: due to new regulations we cannot allow the following into the convention center:

Ecto-infused food, inanimate objects, or animal mutations of any kind.

Alarm or defense systems that release a form of knock out gas, ectoplasmic goo, ectoplasmic foam, spoiled meats, or  live rodents. All alarms and defense systems must be turned off while inside the convention center.

Samplings or gifts of homemade cookies or other food, beverages, or gifts to bribe the judges.

Disclosed weapons that are not a part of your presentation and/or not approved by the convention prior (we will have metal detections at all entry points of the convention hall)

Asking for audience volunteers unless approved by us prior your scheduled presentation time.

Ghost claims targeted towards convention guests, judges, or other presenters.

All presentations and inventions must have been tested and approved by a judge prior to your presentation time (i.e. no last minute or surprise inventions).

Fighting or displays of physical aggression.

Destruction of convention hall equipment, the building’s foundation itself, or other presenters equipment and or inventions.

We thank you in advance for your compliance and full understanding of the new regulations.

We look forward to seeing you!

Best,

Trevor Martin

Ghost Hunters Expo Coordinator

“Did you see this?” Jack Fenton asked, waving the notice from the Ghost Hunters Expo. He scoffed. “New regulations...I wonder who were the bimbos that made them enforce these rules.” He crumbled up the notice and threw it carelessly on the floor.

“How’s that portal coming, sweet cheeks?” he asked his wife.

Maddie Fenton was deep within a hexagon shaped chamber carved out of her laboratory converted basement wall. The interior was lined with a colorful array of wires and tiny blinking lights. At the end of the chamber, sheets of metal and hardware fanned in on itself. Maddie was kneeled on the floor, wrestling with a few cords.

“I’m just struggling to connect these last couple of wires,” she answered, pinching the two cords together. With a last bit of strain, the cords connected with a satisfying click.

Wiping the sweat off her brow, she came out of the chamber. “Hopefully that will stabilize the gravitational pull of the Ghost Zone once we get the portal running.” She briefly thought back to a dark memory from their college days when their first Ghost Zone prototype had malfunctioned and the toxins from the Ghost Zone leaked out of the portal, resulting in displacing one of her lab partners for the remainder of their college career.

“We got it this time, baby,” Jack said confidently. “There is no way we could make the same mistake twice.”

Maddie sighed as she walked over to the control panel to record the ecto-readings. “I just wish we knew for certain what had gone wrong that day. All of this guess work is driving me crazy.” She picked up her notebook and briefly reviewed her meticulously hand written notes before adjusting some dials.

“Okay,” she huffed, satisfied. “I think we’re ready for a test run.”

Jack clapped his hands. “Excellent! I’ll go grab the kids!” He ran to the basement steps and shouted, “Jazzy-pants! Danny! Get down here!”

A few minutes later both of their teenage children shuffled down the basement steps.

“Is this gonna take long?” Danny asked, disinterestedly. “Tucker and I were in the middle of planning our next battlefield strategies for Doomed. There’s only a few days left of summer vacation and we still have so much planning to do if we want to beat the other online players and achieve the seven Keys of Destiny.”

“And I was in the middle of an important breakthrough in my self therapeutic psychology research,” their daughter, Jazz promptly stated. In her hands she clutched an open copy anxiety and phobias workbook. “Did you know that high functioning anxiety in adulthood is caused by childhood trauma from never feeling safe in your own home? This would explain so much about me and Danny -” she paused in her speech when she saw the machine her parents were working on.

“Oh, no.” She snapped her book shut and pinched the flesh between her eyes. “ Please do not tell me you called us down here to witness another one of your experiments. Don’t you remember what happened last time?”

“Oh, Jazz, relax,” Maddie said, waving her off. “Those burn marks from the last ectoplasmic gun experiment healed eventually. And look!” She walked over to a closet in the back of the room and pulled out two polyester jumpsuits. “We made you both your own custom fitted, lab safe, jumpsuits!”

Jack appeared beside Maddie. “And we matched them with ours! Jazzy-pants, yours is teal to match your mother’s. And Danny, yours would have matched mine but the store didn’t have orange.” he held out a plain white jumpsuit with black gloves and boots.

“And I haven’t even shown you two the best parts!” he grabbed the jumpsuits from Maddie and spun them around. Crudely pressed onto the fabric of the jumpsuit was a cutout of Jack Fenton’s smiling face, emblazoned on the chest.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Jack grinned.

Jazz was the first to respond. “Dad there is no way you’re going to get me to wear that,” she said while backing away and shaking her head. “How about Danny and I will just go upstairs and you can call us down after  you’ve tested it? That way we’ll be safe and not have to wear those hideous jumpsuits.”

Danny silently agreed with her while struggling to conceal his own disgust at the suits. It was one thing to be forced to wear a jumpsuit like his parents but it was an entirely different level of lame to have to wear his father’s face across his chest. What if his parents insisted he wore it all the time, like they did? Involuntary images of him becoming the laughing stock at his new high school was surfacing in his mind, more than he already was for being the son of the city’s eccentric ghost hunting husband and wife team. He was already struggling to stay above the pathetic nerd social ring in his class. They’d have to create an entirely new category of nerd just for him if he wore that suit. The thought of it made him want to crawl away in a hole and be left there to die.

“Mom, Dad, I have to agree with Jazz,” Danny said. “The suits are kinda...lame.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Maddie dismissed. “These jumpsuits are the latest fashion that every ghost hunter wants.”

“And when we reveal these babies with my face on them, everyone will be scrambling for one. We’ll be rich!” Jack stated proudly.

Jazz snorted. “Um, I somehow doubt that. Look, we’ll just go back upstairs and you two can let us know when it’s safe, okay?” She looped a hand around Danny’s arm and started pulling him away.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Jack clamped a hand on both of them  and spun them back around. “You two are being given the chance to witness scientific history! And we are not going to let you pass up on this.” He tossed the jumpsuits to Jazz and Danny. They unwillingly caught them.

Jazz glowered at Danny. “If you take any photos and post them on the internet, I will kill you.”

Danny held out his suit reproachfully. His dad’s smiling face seemed to be laughing at him, like all of the students as Casper High will be if they ever found out about this.

“Don’t worry about it.”

A few minutes later, Jazz and Danny stood alongside their parents in their matching jumpsuits. Jazz stood with her arms crossed, silently fuming, her foot tapping impatiently. At her mother’s insistence, Jazz was forced to tuck in her long, red hair and wear the hair sealing head cover and thick, dark eye protection goggles that came with it. At equal height, Jazz and Maddie were identical in their suits.

At least Danny couldn’t match his dad. Jack’s suit was bright orange and about twenty sizes larger than Danny’s, due to his father’s obsession with Maddie’s homemade fudge and cookie inventions. Danny’s own white suit was slightly too large for him, and hung in odd places due to his skinny frame. He didn’t have to wear a hood and goggles like his sister either - another thankful shortage from the ghost hunter’s clothing warehouse. He picked at his dad’s pressed on face design on his chest as he waited for his parents to get the machine ready for its test run. His dad had tried ironing it on, but had done it poorly, so that with a bit of a tug, it was already beginning to peel off.

Jack and Maddie Fenton ran back and forth across the lab, double checking last minute calculations. Machines whirred and beeped around them, the hum of electricity warm in the stagnant air.

Danny had a good idea of how this was going to go. If this would be like any of their past experiments, it would fail miserably. The experiment would go haywire, probably spout ectoplasmic goo everywhere or accidentally giving ecto energy to the nearest food item. One year, their parents had tried making the Christmas Turkey in their newly invented Ultra-fast Instant Pot and instead infused it with demonic ghostly energy and reanimated it. Danny remembered hiding underneath the kitchen table as Jazz had to beat it back with a pastry roller, screaming for their parents.

The ghost zone portal was their most ambitious project yet. For most of Danny’s life, they had dinner table discussions, weighing mathematical equations and scientific chemical balances in hopes of being able to one day engineer the world’s first ghost zone portal. He was fairly surprised when he found out at the beginning of the summer that they were finally constructing it, and even more so when they claimed last night it was completed. They had been rushing to get it done in time to present it at the Ghost Hunters Expo this weekend.

He glanced at the table beside him looking at the pile of papers his dad had haphazardly stacked among the beakers and ghost weapons. Sitting on top of the stack was the rejection letter from the National Science Foundation.

“It means that they don’t think what they’re doing is science,” Jazz had interpreted for Danny after reading it when their parents’ back was turned. “And who could blame them? There is zero evidence supporting the existence of ghosts. It’s just superstition.”

That’s all it was. Superstition. And  yet, his parents had at some point in their youth latched on to the idea that ghosts were more than a myth, and even though they’ve never actually seen one in person themselves, they were determined to prove ghosts were real. What amazed Danny the most is the amount of people who also believed in the same theory. In the years past when his parents had dragged him and Jazz to the Ghost Hunter’s Expo, the crowds always seemed to grow bigger and bigger. Scientists, hunters, enthusiasts, and even ghost cosplayers gathered under the same roof for a full weekend, exchanging theories, stories and footage of what they thought were ghosts. The most ridiculous rumor he had heard at the last ghost hunter’s convention was one of a young, blue haired female musician, who became an overnight sensation after one performance at a local carnival. She had also disappeared quite suddenly after the performance, which raised a lot of speculation. Ghost hunters claimed her unusually pale skin and hypnotic vocals were a part of her ghostly powers. Jazz had stated that it was simply because she was a successful female in the patriarchy they had to deem her as a ghost to explain it.

Danny didn’t want to say anything else after that.

“Jack,” Maddie called from across the room, typing away at a computer. “Did you remember to pour in the ecto-purifier?”

“On it, baby!” Jack cried while fumbling with a control panel. Danny watched as grabbed a can of diet cola, which sat next to the similar sized gray cylinder labeled “EP.”

“Uh, Dad?” Danny called. “I don’t think that’s the ecto-purifier.”

“What’s that?” Jack asked. He turned to look at the object in his hand and barked out a chuckle.

“Thanks, son! That was a close one.” He placed the can of diet cola down and picked up the correct cylinder. “Who knows what would have happened if we purified the toxic ghost energies with diet cola. Could you imagine?” He poured the bright green liquid into the appropriate chamber.

In the corner of his eye, Danny saw Jazz shake her head. “Idiot,” she whispered.

Jazz believed she was the only mature Fenton in the family. At some point during her high school career, she had decided it was up to her to convince her parents that ghosts were not real, and to force them to change their careers to something more normal or socially acceptable. She had tried to get them interested in just about any other scientific field she could think of, such as deep sea diving to discover creatures living on the ocean floor, to NASA’s space engineering program. When those didn’t work, she tried to build a case proving the psychological damage they were causing to her’s and Danny’s upbringing. Over the summer, when she wasn’t preparing herself for the SATs she’d have to take later that school year, she poured over every psychological book she could get her hands on from the library. No matter how many times she argued about the permanent damage her parents were inflicting on their amygdala by creating an unsafe environment for her and Danny to grow up in, their parents would say it’s all worth it for the sake of scientific advancement.

Danny tried desperately to stay out of their fights. Most days, he was too focused on trying to survive a day without being called “that ghost geek” by his peers, no matter how many times he told his classmates he didn’t believe in his parents’ work. Maybe it was because of his small, bony limbs that made it so easy for his classmates to mock him. Or the fact that his only two friends in the entire world were also considered a variety of nerd within the social climate. His best friend Tucker was a little too obsessed with the latest technology and his other friend, Samanatha - Sam for short - was the only school’s goth girl, who filled her entire personality and outlook with dark and depressing outfits and literature. In a weird way, it did make sense that the girl who loved to read about the dead, and the boy who loved technology, would want to be friends with the kid whose parents called themselves ghost scientists. Still, they were his best friends and he wouldn’t trade them for anyone else.

He had been telling them about the portal his parents were building all summer. Just like he was, his friends were also doubtful it would work. They deliberated about what the inventions would actually do. Tucker still brought up the time Danny’s parents were testing out an anti-ghost gravity spray, to temporarily make a ghost lose their flight ability. The morning they were testing it out, Danny had woken up in a hovering bed. It had shocked him so much, he fell off his bed and face-planted onto his bedroom floor, breaking his nose. At some point, Tucker and Sam started placing bets about the outcome.

“Maybe the portal will just blast a hole through the wall and you’ll send up in the Amity Park Sewer System,” Sam guessed last night after he told them his parents were getting ready for their first test.

“Bet you five bucks that Danny will lose all of his hair this time,” Tucker had joked.

He absentmindedly ran a hand through his exposed hair and briefly wished he had a head cover and goggles like Jazz. He couldn’t help but notice there was something different about his parents this time. They didn’t have the same, bubbly and excited energy they usually had when showing off a new invention. They seemed more focused this time. Even his dad’s goofy banter towards Maddie had taken a back seat as his dad frowned over the controls. It was weird to see his dad actually concentrating. Maybe it was the hundredth rejection letter they received from the National Science Foundation, or the pressure to present this weekend at the Expo, but it seemed like they were seriously trying to make this thing work. They did not want to fail.

“Okay everyone!” Maddie ran over and started waving her hands. “Backs up against the wall.”

Jazz sighed and turned to walk over to stand behind the boxed in yellow line, the “safe” spot in the lab. Danny thought  a metal containment center with a viewing screen would have kept them safer, but supposedly his parents didn’t have time to build one. Danny followed his mother and sister.

“Almost…” Jack muttered at the controls, typing away. Suddenly there was a loud click that echoed off the basement walls. Machines roared to life and lights winked on. Inside the portal, the metal fans began to spin.

“YES!” Jack punched the air, triumphant.

“Jack!” Maddie called to her husband, gesturing towards the safe zone. He jogged over and squeezed himself in between his two kids.

“This is it!” he shouted over the noise, which was gradually becoming deafening.

All around the room, machines and computers turned on. Attached beakers and graduated cylinders filled up with green, bubbling liquid. A wall lined with dialers bounced up and down. Puffs of smoke expelled out of exhaust pipes. The portal itself began to crackle with electricity, its interior fans spinning faster and faster until it started emitting a bright green glow. The pressure in the room changed, popping Danny’s ears. He felt the tips of his hair begin to rise with the electric waves.

The whirring of the fans inside the machine began to ring out a high pitch squeal as the machine glowed brighter, and brighter, blinding Danny’s naked eyes. He squinted and held out a hand over his eyes, peeking through his fingers. The air around them grew warm and staticky. His father clamped a hand tightly on Danny’s shoulder, as if to hold him back from running away.

It was working. Danny couldn’t believe it. Not once in all of their years of inventing ghost machines and hunting equipment, they may have actually been able to build something that worked like they wanted it to.

What would this mean? That ghosts actually existed? That his parents were not the crackpot fools the town took them for? And if they did exist, there was the one question that no one has been able to answer.

Were ghosts dangerous?

He looked up at Jazz. Her expression was unreadable through the head covering. He looked at his parents, wild and furious excitement in their eyes.

Then, when it seemed like Danny’s ears couldn’t take much more of the screeching noise, a BOOM exploded from the portal. Light poured out of the machine and flooded the room. Danny yelped and turned away. Jack stepped in front of his family and hid them with his massive torso from the explosion. Then, very suddenly, the room went dark. Every light and machine that had been just buzzing with life, died. Danny’s hearing rang in the abrupt silence.

“What the heck?” Jack was the first to say something.

“I got a flashlight, hang on,” Maddie said next. Danny heard her fumbling around her utility belt and a small light winked on. She shined it around the room. Curls of smoke rose up from the machines. The glow from the ecto-purifier had also faded.

“I don’t understand,” Maddie said, dumbfounded as she gazed around the room. “This should have worked.”

“We checked every calculation,” Jack said, equally mystified.

“And tested every single machine.” She threw up her hands. “I even made sure the damn computers turned on!”

“Well, obviously, this wasn’t going to work,” Jazz suddenly said, her anger returning. “You guys were trying to open a portal to nothing . Because ghosts don’t EXIST.”

She ripped off the hood and goggles. “I’m going back upstairs to change and burn this stupid jumpsuit, and work on processing this trauma that you have inflicted on us, yet again.” Without waiting for her parents to respond, she stomped back upstairs, her footsteps echoing off the silent basement walls

Jack shook his head. “What is her deal?”

“Oh, never mind her, Jack,” Maddie said. “We need to figure out what went wrong. We only have a day until the expo and we promised to present this.”

Danny’s parents turned their back on him and began working to restore the power, jumping right into a deep discussion. Danny took the moment to quietly slip away back upstairs.

The second he was back into his room, he let out a long exhale. Suddenly remembering he was wearing the jumpsuit, he hastily ripped it off and then threw it in the trash bin in the corner of his room.

He flopped back onto his bed, and lay in the stillness of his room for a few minutes to collect his thoughts. He stared up at the plastic, glow in the dark stars and planets stuck on his ceiling.

He couldn’t believe there was a moment back there where he thought the machine was working.

He didn’t want to imagine what would happen if ghosts were real. There were no real scientific facts about them. All those convention attendees at the ghost hunters expo all had different theories about what ghosts are - the religiously damned, aliens, spirits with unfinished business, souls that died before their time, another species - no one could settle on a single argument.

But if they did exist, what would happen then? Would they swarm the Earth, like cicadas after their years long sleep? Would they haunt each and every home and building in towns and cities, and try to claim it as their own? Would the world be plunged into a ghost apocalypse, where every human had to fight for their own human survival and soul? Were ghosts malicious or peaceful?

His parents might be arrested for creating the portal in the first place, if it did turn out bad. Or the government might force them to work alongside them to rid the Earth of the ghost population. What would happen to him and Jazz? Would they be put into juvie, just for being the kids of the Fenton Freaks? Would they be put into foster care, once the government decided Jack and Maddie were unfit parents for him and Jazz?

What if the human population adopted a sick fascination of ghosts? Businesses would try to profit off the ghosts by selling fake anti-ghost protection devices or offer tours inside “haunted” houses. There might even be a community in which some would fall in love or even want to become a ghost themselves.

The world would become absolute chaos.

Danny shuddered at the thought. He didn’t understand what his parents saw in trying to prove their existence. What good would proving the undead existed bring to the world?

His anxious, spiraling thoughts were interrupted when his computer dinged. Danny got up and sat down at his desk. He wiggled his mouse to wake up his computer. Tucker had sent him a message.

Still have all of your hair?

Danny chuckled and wrote back.

Yep. Nothing happened though. But the power in the basement blew.

Damn ,  was Tucker’s response. And I had just invested in a 25 pack of markers to color your head in Lancer’s class when you fall asleep.

Danny laughed out loud. I can only imagine all the pensises you’d draw.

I had planned no less than 50. Two for each color.

Well I hope you kept your receipt cause I still have a full head of hair. Unlike you. Danny made a jab at Tucker’s own buzzed haircut. He had tried growing out dreads for the school year, but his mother forced him to shave it off after he got caught staying up on the computer way too late one night. She paid the barber to give him a military buzz cut.

Shut up, dude, Tucker typed back. While you were away not getting your hair fried off your scalp, I was devising up a new battle plan to defeat Chaos.

Danny smiled. Oh yeah? Lay it on me.

[undercoverwizardninjaturtle]

ROTTMNT Fanfiction: Frayed Part 1

Description: Sequel to Shattered Donnie has his difficulties, but he’s always had his family to depend on. That was before Draxum came into the picture

Pairings: LESS THEN NONE

Fandom: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

Characters: Donnie, Leo, Draxum, Mikey and Raph

Genre: Hurt/Comfort , Angst, Family

Rating: G

As much as Leo liked to think he was a wordsmith, a artisan of words, sometimes there was only one was to describe a situation. And this particular situation only needed one word to describe it

 OW

 His hands came up, trying to pry the vine that had been at his throat. A pair of hands shook at his shoulders, hard enough for him to finally cough loudly gasping for air, a hand rubbed at his shell through his black gi, “Are you ok?!” Asked a frantic voice

 Though his body was telling him otherwise he nodded finally opening his eyes, Don was looking down on him with a concerned look, with the black gi and red mask. Glancing around Leo was grateful that  Draxum had thought to put Raph and Mikey were with him but while   Raph was sitting up but his head resting to the side told him that he wasn’t awake, it took him a bit to realize that the biggest brother was cradling a unconscious Mikey in his arms he was about to ask if the youngest was awake , but his throat constricted again causing him to cough loudly. Don wrapped arm around his shoulders, “Leo take a deep breath, “Leo struggled to comply grateful for the oxygen stinging his throat

 “Pathetic.”

Leo had almost forgotten about the metal cage. He had remembered Draxum had ambushed them at the Dark Armor, trapping them in vines. He remembered one of them finding its way around his neck, barely  giving his airway for the oxygen he so desperately needed. Donnie glared up at the villain responsible for their state “Where’s April?!” He demanded

 “Your human friend is fine, I sent her back to your “ Draxum gave a disgusted shiver and eye roll, “rat. Hopefully it will give  him the motivation to bring me the last piece of the dark armor. If not.”  Gave a lazy twirl of his wrist, “I guess I will do with you as I see fit.”

 Leo knew Draxum was trying to scare them. He opened his mouth make a quip before he coughed again, he rubbed at his throat, desperate to relieve the pain. Don gave him a concerned look, glancing to the ret of their brothers before standing up, “Draxum, given me Leo’s medkit.”

 Draxum turned to look at them, “You dare make demands of me!?”

 “The small white box Leo had on him, I need it to help my brothers.”Donnie gripped the bars of the cage, “My brothers might have internal bleeding  you overgrown Capra Aegagrus Hircus. If you have any sort of heart in you you’ll let me help them”

 Leo wasn’t sure what that meant  but Draxum turned to look at him fully. There was so meting in his eyes, as though looking at Donnie for the first time. Before anyone could move, a vine shot out and grabbed him around the chest, shoving him hard against the back bars of the cage. Causing the metal bards to dig into his soft leathery shell, his teeth gritted in pain. Leo jumped and grabbed at the vine, trying to pull it off of him, “st-“ Draxum’s eyes bore on Donatello, as though studying his pain with a scientific eye. Without looking away a vine knocked Leo off of the first vine causing him to land on Raphael. His older brother waking with a start. “I thought so, you’re the soft shell.” With another twitch, Donnie was pulled forward pulling him to the front of the cage with the same force as he had before. Despite having only been somewhat awake for a few seconds, Raph let out a low growl, “Let. Him go you-“he had started to move to his knees but lightheadedness must of taken over again, causing Raph to almost fall on his side. Leo supported him the best he could as Raph struggled for air. Watching helplessly as  Draxum’s fingers caught Donnie around the jawline, forcing their eyes to meet, “I can still see you have that sensitive shell.”his fingers nails digging into this skin, “After Lou Jitsu interfered with my experiment, I thought all my work as for nothing. Except your so called brothers’ turned out fine, if younger then I needed.” Draxum’s eyes narrowed, “Not you, you trembled you shrieked if anything touched your. Of all your brothers. I considered you to be the only failure. Your ‘Splinter’ denied it, but I Knew something was wrong with you. I should of throw you away with the trash when I had a chance.” At this point Draxum’s face was nearly a millimeter from his brothers, “ Trust me when I say I wont make that mistake twice” With a flourish, Donnie was thrown back into the cage, bouncing off Raph’s outstretched arm, how had tried to keep him from landing too hard.’ Leo moved close, “D-nee.” He croaked out, he tired to touch his brothers shell to check for any bruising, but Donnie flinched from his touch “I’m fine.”

 “Dee-“

 “I said I’m fine.” His voice held al the bitterment of his usual personality, but his eyes held a shimmer of tears, before  turning to him, “maybe I can help without the medkit.”

 He knew Donnie wasn’t alright, but he did the best he could helping Leo and Mikey. Before going off sitting by himself. Raph had tried to talk to him, but Leo had given him a shake of his head . Eventually they would escape, and destroy the dark armor.

But he would never forget what Draxum had said

                                                (#)(#)\/(#)(#)

 “”MONOPOLY!!” Leo shrieked with glee as Mikey landed on one of his properties, “Pay up!!!” He said, leaning over the board and holding his hand out to his youngest brother, who was holding his last few hundred play dollars to his chest like it was his last child

 “B-B-but, “ Mikey looked at his last few hundred play dollars as though they were his children, “But I’m your favorite brother.”

 “All’s fair in love and war Mikearino.” Leo , with some difficulty, peeled the money from his hands, leaving him with a single dollar. Almost collectively the entire group groaned. Draxum had his doubts when Michelangelo had recommended a weekly ritual known as ‘Game Night’ to be held in  his place of residence atleast one day a week (having it at the Turtles home was out of the question according to Master Splinter).  He hadn’t been sure of hosting the vent at first. But during that first night of Games, as Draxum watched the red slider turtle dominate  game after game, (always with a victory cheer of the games title) he could say one thing

 This was the biggest mistake of his life

 He drug his hand down his face  the table giving a small tremble as Leonardo climbed on top of it,  dong some sort of dance he had seen on the World Wide Web with a giant grin, “DOWN turtle, I just procured this table from the IKEA.”

Leonardo puffed his face at him before blowing out air , “What ever.” He jumped down from the table with a flourish. Taking up the dice again, “Now, whose turn is it to weep at my glory and join Raphael in bankruptcy jail?”  

 Draxum frowned, looking back at his fake money, he had fallen on Leonardo’s property enough times to have only a few hundreds left and no desire to be victim to theoretical bankruptcy.  Thankfully it was not his turn, his fell on the purple turtle who was studying the board with analytical eyes. Ignoring Raphael rolling out his turn and wailing as Leo began to wrestle him for his money. The purple turtle hadn’t been playing as well as Leonardo, but judging by the few properties he had purchased he had a strategy in mind. Donatello caught him looking in his direction and frowned slightly before looking back to the board

 Draxum stood up, “I will return with snacks,” he announced, though the group was largely distracted by Raphael weeping over his loss of his money. He was unsure how the turtles had so much energy this late at night. But it was almost admirable. He opened the freezer and drew out a ice tray, twisting the frame and popping out the ice cubes and pouring them into a bowl.

 “Um, Draxie? What are those?” Mikey asked, looking around him with a confused look on his face

 “Last we spoke you mentioned a desert called iced cream, well I have painstakingly made my own iced cream.” He looked to the smallest turtle, waiting to be showered in his praise only for Mikey to look at the white cubes in the bowls , ‘Um dude, did you just put milk in ice trays?”

 “And sugar. Is that not ice cream?” Sure he had taken some liberties, but he was sure this would be indistinguishable from the real thing, but before he could rectify the situation, Mikey leaned over, squishing his face against his arm, “Its ok Beary you’re trying!! Buuut do you have anything  else we can snack on? Other then what you set out?” With a expression Draxum can only describe as dread, he looked back over to the table and snack bowl Draxum had set up earlier. He wasn’t sure why no on had touched it, the bag he had poured it from has seemed Fine. IT had a dog on the cover, it was apparently made for ‘large’ animals, and it had been rather cheap. Not to mention it was supposed to be great for fur (of which he had none of but he figured it was a side affect)

 Draxum huffed before going through his designated ‘snack cabinet’ mostly full of ‘ray-men’ packs and granola bars’, “Does anyone here enjoy gravy flavored granola cards?” Judging by the looks of disgust on the turtles face, they didn’t He let out a low growl  before returning o his cabinet, “I will find something to feed you with. In the mean time satisfy yourselves with my soft drinks. Michelangelo you may play in my place.”

 At the chance to play agin, Mikey let out a squeal of delight, giving him a quick squeeze before loading his arms full of his soda and hurrying back to the table. Draxum, failing to find any non granola snack growled under his breath and moved back to the table just as a tiny plastic house smacked Donnie in the forehead, “Leonardo do not make a mess.”Draxum commanded

 “Its not my fault Don’s forehead is a easy target.” Leo grinned before another plastic house hit him in the eye, causing him to yelp , grabbing at his face “how DARE you! You could of scratched my perfect face!”

 “I mean, with a face like that you cant’ really ruin it more can you.” Donnie said For the first time all night Donnie has a smirk Draxum has seen him have many times. Leo grins back and before Draxum realized what was about to happen. Each of the turtles has a arm full of Monopoly houses and are chucking them at each other, dashing around the room with loud shouts of laughter. Draxum allows himself a breath, to calm his nerves, before he hair flies on end, his vine shot out of his wall, catching Leonardo by the ankle and yanking up causing him to yelp loudly and drop all his artillery , “DO NOT SHOWER MY HOUSE WITH TINY PLASTIC HOUSES!’ He demanded to the turtles frozen in mid throw

 “Technically it’s a Apartment. Not a house.”Leo said crossing his arms over his chest unfazed by his predicament.

 Draxum gave him a glare, “You four, clean this up. Or you can’t have any Scandinavian Soda.”

 “Doesn’t sound like much of a punishment to to me.” Leo mumbled. Draxum lets out a growl before releasing Leo’s ankle. With a shriek Leo landed upside down before wiggling around to a position on his knees, still grumbling. His brothers joining him.

The Warring Alchemist has noticed a few things about these turtles that he hadn’t when they were enemies, namely now that he wasn’t threatening to torture them they didn’t seem to fear him as much and that came out in different ways. Mikey had accepted him a friend and a reluctant family member. Mostly unwilling on his part, but the box turtle had been hard to refuse with as eager as he was. Raphael seemed to respect hm to a extent, a friendly attitude but atleast he was willing to give him a chance.

 That left the two problem turtles

 Leonardo had a more flippant attitude with him. At first he had taken it the same as he had taken Mikeys’ laxness around him, that he had accepted him. But that didn’t feel right. He couldn’t put his finger on it, he wasn’t aggressive, or anymore of a (what was the word?) Nick Head. The purple one was also hard for him to read.

But of course, that was probably how he wanted it

 Speaking of purple , Leonardo had started searching by him, going out of his way to bump shoulders with a laugh, “bet I’ll find more then you!” Leo challenged before crawling off at a higher speed. Don grinned after him, “In your dreams Lamenardo!” With that he looks around, unable to find more he shifts under the table. Draxum can only pinch the bridge between his eyes when he realizes, rather then take this as a punishment, they are treating it like a childish game.

 Leo suddenly shot up to a standing position, “I WIN!” He said holding up a handful of Monopoly houses

 There’s a squawk of despair but before more dreaded hijinks there was a loud banging sound as something hit the table from underneath with a cursed  shout. Leonardo’s demeanor changed In a split second, “Dee? You ok?” When he didn’t get a  answer, he ducked down to check under the table. Draxum rolled his eyes before returning to his search.  Out of the corner of his eye he watched the two emerge from under the table, Donatello was holding his shoulder with a pained look on his face , “how hard did you hit your shell?” Leo asked, Draxum almost couldn’t believe this was the same turtle who he had seen steal the same purple turtles phone and threaten to drop it in the toilet if the purple turtle didn’t admit Leonardo was his favorite Blue turtle

 Which he had

 Twelve times

 That night

 The normally self assured turtle gave a tremble, “its fine.” He said between his teeth

 Leonardo’s brow furrowed in concern, for someone who had only ever seen the red slider turtle with a annoying sneer or laugh it should seem out of place. But its almost as though it was his nature to be concerned as it was for him to be  witch (No that wasn’t the word, bitch? Bitch was the word?) “Do you want me to look at your shell?”

 “Please.” Draxum rolled his eyes, “his shell is meant to protect his inferior body, if he can’t handle bumping it then he might as well not have one.” The room becomes silent in a way that even he notices. He looks back into the room, Raph is giving him a somewhat disappointed expression that he doesn’t understand and even Mikey looks unhappy with him. Donatello doesn’t even look in his direction, but actively avoiding looking at him. Leonardo however, is glaring at him. Again, his entire nature seems to change in a split second with dagger sin his eyes.

 It reminds Draxum of a few weeks ago Draxum had been walking home with groceries when he had seen a pair of stray dogs in a alley. One of them had been panting heavily but asleep while the other was laying down  in front of it, looking around without a concern in the world with a flapping tail. . Draxum had taken out some meat he had bought to give it to them, but the carefree dog had immediately gotten up growling at him. It took a while later for him to understand that the sleeping dog had probably been sick and the other one was staying nearby to protect it incase it needed help.

 Sarcastic, Concerned, and now Protective

 He wondered which one fo these was the true Leonardo.

 In response to the change in atmosphere he rolled his eyes with a groan, “I am informed  that I do not have any appropriate snacks, and that my iced cream is insufficient. I will leave to procure the snacks required to continue our game night. DO not set anything on fire while I am gone.” He said before grabbing his large trench coat, and stepping out of the door.

 He could not bear to be in the prescience of such weakness.

                                             (#)(#)\/(#)(#)

 If Leo was being honest, he hadn’t  been too enthusiastic when Mikey had recommended a game night at Draxum’s. He had tried to offhandedly comment on his concerns, but Mikeys’ eyes had immediately filled with tears looking to him as though he was the one thing standing between him and his dreams.

 For someone who hated being called the baby fo the family, Mikey really did know how to use it for his advantage.

 But now, glaring after the former Goat Baron he wondered if he should of protested more. Instead he turned his attention to Don, who was still hugging himself , “Are you sure you don’t want me to look at your shell?” He had already moved to touch is brothers shoulder but Donnie had pulled away half heartedly, pulling his hoodie tighter around himself, “I said i’m fine.”

 “A-“ Mikey didn’t look like he knew what to do, except look anxious,” He didn’t mean that, ok? He’s just adjusting and he doesn’t realize everything he’s saying”

 “Sure seemed like he did.” Leo huffed, he looked over to Raph to vent his reaction. He could tell Raph was disappointed in Draxum, but judging by their eye contact, he was gauging his and Don’s reaction to see how angry he should get.

 It wasn’t anyone’s fault that Don’s shell was so sensitive, it had been a problem when they were kids, but as they had gotten older it had become easier for Don to handle slight touches. And nowadays he didn’t have a problem with people touching his shell, and thanks to the Battle Shell his shell was tougher if not more so than his brothers. But he still couldn’t handle someone bumping into it or hitting it on stuff without something to protect it.

 Leo had known Don had been stressed about coming here, but seeing his brother sitting on the couch, barely containing his soft trembles. He looked to Mikey, “Hey I’m getting bored, I’m goin to bounce and do something fun,”

 Mikey opened his mouth to complain, but then Leo glanced at Donnie then back at him. Luckily the orange turtle seemed to understand, “ok, will you atleast come back again next week? I’ll make sure Draxum has good snacks. And I’ll talk to him about what he said.”

 “Ok good, cause I’m pretty sure his Chex mix is just dog food.” Leo took his leathery jacket from the coat rack before looking back, ‘Dee? Wanna come with?”

 His brother looked at him with a look that clearly said, ‘ you’re not fooling anyone’ but sighed “yeah no problem.” Donnie took his purple Sherpa lined jacket over his hoodie both saying their goodbyes before leaving out fo the apartment building. It was weird to be there without seeing April, but she had mentioned she had a art project coming up and that she didn’t have time to hang out this week.

 A lot of things had changed since Draxum had come into their lives

 “Ok let me have it.”

 “Huh?” Leo looked up in time to duck around a ice over light pole, Don looked up from his phone with a unamused look, “You want to vent. I can tell. Talk to me Lee.”

 “I-“ he almost denied how he felt, but there was no point , “I don’t’ get why we have to hang out with that  Man Bunned Butt Man, are we seriously supposed to act like he never tried to kill us?”

 “Like the time he threw you off the roof?”

 Leo threw his hands in the air, “LIKE THE TIME HE ME OFF A ROOF!” That was never going to be ok. Not to mention what had happened when they were captured ,he gave his brother guilty look, “I know you didn’t want to talk about it but are you sure you don’t want to to tell Mikey about what Draxum told you? Maybe if he knew want Draxum said to you-‘ before he could finish his sentence Donnie poked him hard in the face, causing Leo to yelp and rub his cheeks, “RUDE.”

 Don , sighed before looking away from his phone, “I’m not ok with what he said to me that night. Or what he said to me tonight. I don’t even particularly like the idea of spending time with him, but if he’s willing to try to be a better guy then I’m willing to put up with it for.” Don looked back to his phone, “Unless he pisses me off too much in which case I drop him off with the Hidden City Police faster then I use the Fibonacci sequence. And you promised you would’ tell Mikey.”

 That was true, and he had been warned that if he had revealed what Draxum said, Donnie was going to release a video online called “Leo’s broadway audition 2019” which was a threat he was not taking lightly. Even so he looked to his favorite purple turtle and sighed, “I wont,” before opening his arms with a whimpering question in his eyes.

 Don glanced at him in confusion for a moment before smiling and rolling his eyes, “Yes you can hug me.”

 “Yayzzz.” He said before throwing his arms around Donnie ,careful of his shell and hugged him tightly. He had no problem letting go if Don became uncomfortable but when Donnie rested his cheek on his shoulder, he knew there wouldn’t be a problem. Other then then  Ignoring the passing people on the street. As cold as it was Leo was surprised that anyone was out other then them. Speaking of cold, “Hey man, we’re getting close to our favorite Bodegaaaa and I’m feeling snackish. I heard they just got in Extra Spicy Komodo Dragon Pepper Chips. I wanna buy some peanut butter ice cream and sprinkle it on top.”

  “Oh no Leo no,” Donnie groaned in despair, “I’m begging you, no. I can’t handle another night of you taking baths full of milk because you think you’re ‘metal-“

 “Too late we’re doing it!” Leo ducked behind him and guided Donnie forward by the shoulders . what else was better to eat on a cold day anyway then hot spicy chips?! Blatantly ignoring his brothers whines he guided Donnie around to their favorite Bodega that hey had been visiting (tormenting ) since they were old enough to go to the surface on their own. But the minute They get closer to the door, Leo could already hear the loud music blaring on the speakers inside he was about to change his mind when  Don stepped out of his grasp, “Ok I think I’m going to sit this one out . I’ll wait out here, Just be sure to bring back a gallon of sugar free vanilla ice cream for me.”

 “No prob Dee.” Leo said with a happy salute before hopping side to begin his quest for overly spicy chips that he claimed he could handle but obviously couldn’t. Don let out a full smile , shaking his head at his brothers antics. Leave it to Leo to cheer him up and finally get the shaking to leave his hands. But that was Leos’ best skill in Don’s opinion. He leaned his shell against the building and took out his phone agin.

 A loud scoff filled his ears, at first Donnie thinks that Leo is playing a victim card again, but when he looks up all he see is Draxum on the sidewalk, carrying two grocery bags that seemed to be filled with various ice creams, “Let me guess, you’re too sensitive to handle a little store so your brother went in instead of you?”

 Donnie made sure to roll his eyes, “NO he wanted some snacks so I’m waiting for him out here.”

 “you’re not stupid ,you know he coddles you. Treats you like you’re inferior because he feels sorry for you.”

 “Uh Huh.” Donnie pulled his phone back out, “remind me to show you how to use the internet. It’s the best place to share opinions no one cares about.” He’s almost satisfied at Draxum’s low growl, the former villain steps closer. Donnie doesn’t look to him but his free hand is under the lower lip of his shell, fingering his multi-tool bo staff

 “The sooner you realize you were born wrong, the sooner you can stop being a burden to them.” With that Draxum steps away, walking back the way he came to continue a game night with the two remaining brothers. Don waits till Draxum’s out of ear shot before he takes a shake breath  and stuffs his hands in his pocket.

 Unlike last time he knows that there’s nothing that will stop his hands from shaking

Windows

Shattered Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 (Bonus)

Frayed Part 2

[colorseeingchick]

The Inevitable Dystopia of My Hero Academia (WITHOUT manga spoilers)

As noted by your local political science anime lover.

(This is a summary/rambling about a political science paper I wrote on My Hero. This is only based on the anime. I’m not caught up on the manga)

Warnings: Vague reference to abuse (Endeavor), discussion of political theory, discourse.

A/N: It’s lengthy and all over the place. It also might be impossible to follow. So I’m sorry in advance lol.

THESE ARE JUST MY OPINIONS AND A FORM OF DISCOURSE. I’m open to discussing if you have thoughts! Political science is about understanding policy and structures, not taking a stance. Any comparisons to ‘modern society’ are in reference to 1st world/developed societies, as those are the governments that parallel the My Hero Academia government. 

The politics of My Hero Academia is... pretty morbid if you ask me. It’s not worse than the real world, sure, but maybe that’s why it’s all the scarier. Even with quirks and super powers, the impossible becoming possible, it isn’t enough to save them from the undesirable. Their society seems to have fallen into a cycle of suffering and oppression that has no end. 

Now, I know no one really gets excited about political theory (unless you’re like me, then please be my friend), but there are some concepts that you’ll need to understand in order to follow along with my argument. So bear with me. 

First, utopia. Utopia is probably a term you’ve heard casually, but the definition political theorists hold it to is simply- “a good place.” Often times it is depicted as a far away dreamland, only possible in the realm of fiction (and this makes sense given that My Hero is fictional). It is very important to understand that utopia is not necessarily perfect. It’s just better than average. There are a few standards that characterize utopia, one being the utopian focus on having very strict laws to repress the unstable nature of mankind [1]. I’ll come back to this. 

Next is dystopia. Dystopia as an idea was actually made in response to utopia. It’s the ‘not-utopia,’ and is lumped with ‘anti-utopia’ (this comment is in reference to the semiotic square, if you would like to develop a further look into it). The simplest way to understand dystopia is to know it’s ‘a not-good place.’ [2] But that’s surprisingly broad. Dystopias can be a failed utopia, or they could have developed on their own as a result of any number of reasons. You’ve probably seen all sorts of depictions of dystopia (climate dystopias, medical dystopias, technology-based dystopias, literally any YA novel from my childhood, you get the idea). Its key to note that unlike an apocalypse, where there is utter destruction and it ends with complete annihilation of humanity, there is hope* inherently written into it. 

*Hope here meaning there’s theoretically a way for the government to be changed/overthrown without death of the majority. 

Now that all that boring stuff is out of the way- let’s talk about My Hero Academia. 

I’d argue that, at first glance, Hero Society seems to be working towards utopia. When reading from Deku’s perspective, especially in the beginning, you would think that their society is close to becoming utopian. The impossible is possible, being a hero is a reality, and a symbol of peace tangibly and definitively exists. When you compare it to pre-quirk society, these changes would appear to be developments. As for the ‘in progress’ aspect, I think Hawks verbalizes it best when he says his goal is for heroes to have too much time on their hands. They aren’t there yet, but if that goal is achieved, it would be a mark of utopia. 

They’ve achieved some level of utopian standards by meeting the ‘strict laws to repress the unstable nature’ standard. Think about the concept of licensing quirks, quirk regulation, and the government institutions that regulate quirk society. Remember when Tomura cornered Deku at the shopping mall and mentioned something along the lines of, ‘all these people could wield their quirks at any moment they want, but choose not to? Instead they smile and laugh.’ 

He has a point. Why is that? From a political theorist point of view, it’s honestly very shocking. For centuries, theorists have argued about how to manage human nature. It’s a difficult task as is. Give everyone superpowers? That would have to be 10x as chaotic. But in the My Hero world, it’s not. It’s well organized. The government took action to regulate the physical instability of humanity which arose from quirks. What’s so impressive to me is that they managed to mitigate (not eliminate) the instability of human nature/behavior along with it.

But if you take a step back to look at My Hero Academia, slowing down and stepping out of Deku’s shoes, I don’t think the instinct is to classify it as a utopia in progress. Of course, its superpowered with quirks- adding to the realm of possibility. But crime of all sorts is superpowered, just as the justice systems/law enforcement in the country. 

When I made this realization, I understood I had kind of been drawn into the propaganda the society puts out. It’s a sort of cloak built up by the positive media around the heroes, the narrative being focused on young heroes and their great mentors, and the universal title of ‘villain’ being put on everyone that breaks the government’s laws (this really bothers me, and maybe I’ll discuss it another time). Things aren’t better. Crime rates have gone down I believe, but the anti-hero sentiments being harbored are more intense than in certain real world societies. Hero society hasn’t necessarily resolved any of the problems that our society would have. The balance is the same, but the possible actions people can take, or the behaviors that are exhibited, are scaled up on both sides of the law.

What’s worse is that- even if its not a universal experience, this society is also a dystopia for many people. The first hint of this society being less than perfect is when we hear from Stain and his pursuit of a ‘just society’ by eliminating fraudulent heroes. His ideals are surprisingly level-headed, and very rigorous in standard, even if it is based in questionable morals. But it’s easy to brush it off. However, its less deniable as you learn more about these characters. 

Shigaraki was abandoned and waited for heroes to save him, but they didn’t. Overhaul was also an orphan living on the streets. Eri was abandoned by her mother because of her quirk. Twice was villainized, when in reality he has mental health issues (dissociative identity disorder I believe). It broke my heart when Twice said “heroes only save good people.” Who decided they were bad people? Why weren’t they saved?

Also, can we talk about the quirkism? (Which I don’t know if that’s a real term within this fandom yet, it might be, but just to be on the same page, I mean quirk-based discrimination) You have people like Shinsou, who’s treated as villain even though he wants be a hero- solely because of his quirk. I believe Toga was also treated poorly because of the nature of her quirk as well (correct me if I’m wrong). And then you have Midoriya, who was harassed and bullied for not having a quirk at all. Clearly none of them have control over the way they were born, and yet they all had to deal with how society treats them because of the uncontrollable. (At this point I’m sure its clear there are a lot of parallels with the discourse around quirkism, racism, and sexism, which is a whole nother conversation).

Having good quirks also seems to get you a pass, or puts you outside the reach of the law. The only example I need for this is Endeavor and his children. Despite all the abuse he’s done that makes him a villain in my book, he stays the number 2 hero. That’s all I need to say. 

The suffering of all these individuals is a direct result of the failure of the government. And this isn’t a ‘government should have taken extra steps to help them.’ This is a situation where the government’s structure, including the sensationalized media and monopolization of quirk use, has actively attacked and oppressed people who otherwise would have been untargeted. 

This is a world of misery for them- the people who make up the underworld. We call them villains and criminals because they are- but I don’t think its fair to call all of them bad people. They definitely didn’t start out that way. They are the results of suffering. They are created by a society that solely aims to remove them from existence. This hero society is so unjust that its faults create its own villains. The villains they aim to stop came to be because of the ‘heroes’ in the first place. The irony there is painful, and I hate that it’s a sort of self fulfilling prophecy. 

The reason why I think it’s morbid is because there is no escape. Quirk society in its current state is undeniably a dystopia for many. But the issue is (and this was the crux of my argument in my paper) dystopia and utopia inevitably and consistently coinhabit space. What is utopia to one will be a dystopia to another. There is no way to get everyone to uniformly view society. 

What that means is, somebody will always be suffering in this society. At least, that’s the cycle that’s been set up. In the episode where Tamaki got shot with a quirk erasing bullet and Kirishima fought the gangster on quirk enhancing drugs, that gangster did say that this was ‘their time’ to rise. “It’ll be the age of those who live in the shadows.” They’re not looking for resolution. They’re looking for revenge. They want to flip the script and be the ones living in utopia while everyone else is subject to suffering. The concept of everyone living happily in harmony and true peace isn’t even in consideration. 

There seems to be no middle ground, no solution to the push and pull between the ‘heroes’ and ‘villains.’ The unfairness will continue to be passed around, and unless someone can break the cycle, attack the corruption of the system at its roots,

the problem is not going to go away. 

Sources!

[1] Claeys, Gregory, and Fatima Vieira. “The Concept of Utopia.” In The         Cambridge Companion to Utopian Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013.

[2] Robinson , Kim Stanley. “Dystopias Now.” Commune, November 17, 2018.            https://communemag.com/dystopias-now/.

Copyright © 2020 Colorseeingchick. All rights reserved. 

[anncanta]

Horses of Carfax Abbey

Fandom: Dracula (2020)

Characters: Count Dracula, Agatha Van Helsing

Relationship: Dracula/Agatha

Rating: Teen and up audiences

Warnings: None

My thanks to my reader Lanovh94 for making me think about this.

Read on AO3

Or read below

The clock in the living room chimed melodiously at noon.

Closing the glass door that protects the dial, Agatha took a step back and checked the chronometer on the chain she held in her hands.

That's right, she noted with satisfaction.

A large mahogany grandfather clock with an exquisite copper dial was delivered yesterday morning, but only now Agatha has the opportunity to set the correct time on it and check how fine-tuned the delicate internal mechanism is.

This Scottish antique clock by Joseph Taylor was chased by Agatha for probably two months. Maybe a little less. In any case, when, after a long search, she finally bought them at auction, intercepting at the last moment from the owner of a hosiery factory in the West End, the owners of all the antique shops in London (not to mention the sellers) knew her by sight.

Taking another step back, Agatha glanced at her acquisition. It was beautiful.

‘Agatha, return my pocket watch!’ a demanding voice from the hallway made her flinch and turn around sharply. Clicking on the silver cover, she hid the chronometer behind her back.

‘Why did you decide that I have them?’ she asked Dracula who appeared at the door in the most innocent tone possible.

‘By the method of exclusion,’ Dracula went up to her and, hugging Agatha with one hand around her waist, with the other pulled out the desired object from her palm. ‘The housekeeper does not understand anything about it, the coachman considers it a pointless trinket, and the maid is afraid of it.

‘I’m the only one left,’ Agatha admitted, following the watch with her eyes.

Dracula nodded silently.

‘Finally, perfect exactly?’ he asked, hiding the watch in his waistcoat pocket.

Agatha turned in the direction he was pointing.

‘I hope so,’ she drawled thoughtfully. ‘I thought yours was in a hurry,’ she added absently.

‘On the contrary, it is falling behind,’ Dracula laughed, pulling her towards him. ‘This is my peculiarity, I would say – my style.’

Agatha smiled, running her fingers over the velvet fabric of his vest.

It has been a little over a year since both of them set foot on the English coast, and they lived together for about the same time.

After Peter, Olgaren and the captain had left Demeter, which had lost half of the crew and all the passengers, Agatha sat in Dracula's cabin for a long time, until the sun began to sink into the horizon. She could not say what exactly delayed her – the desire to postpone the moment of the explosion, or simply the tiredness that had accumulated over the long days. It must be both.

In any case, she did not reach the hold.

Dracula intercepted her on the way, and before Agatha had time to recover from surprise at the fact that he survived, fear for the lives of people whom she tried to save from him at the cost of her own life, and an incomprehensible relief – all together – she found herself on deck in the midst of a hideous quarrel, screaming curses and crying.

Dracula later told her that he did not remember the last time he was so angry. ‘Suicide, seriously?’ he growled at her, as if, having conceived such a plan, she encroached on his personal self-esteem. ‘Double murder is better,’ Agatha hissed, looking at the flashes of fury in his dark eyes.

Somehow they managed not to sink the ship and get to the shore, after which Dracula, without saying a word, stopped the first cab that came across in the port, shoved Agatha into it, and sat down behind. They spent all the way to the count's London house in silence, and when they were in place, Dracula, having paid the cabman, dragged Agatha into the living room and, sitting in front of him on the sofa, said:

‘I'll be honest and won't hide anything from you. You saw who I am and you know me. I will always be like this, more or less. But I want you to stay with me. If for this I have to feed on... rats,’ without looking, he caught the animal running by (Agatha asked herself how long the house had not cleaned) and, after looking meticulously, let it go; the rat instantly disappeared in one of the dark corners, ‘then I ask you one thing: promise, that over time my menu will improve. I don't care how.’

He came close to her.

‘Promise.’

Agatha remembered that she was so amazed that for a couple of minutes she could only sit, looking at him and blinking silently. She didn't even really know what she finally answered. It probably meant agreement, otherwise, she wouldn't be here now.

A year and three months have passed since that day, and during this time Agatha managed to learn many things, some of which she never wanted to learn, the other, as it seemed to her at first, would haunt her in nightmares until the end of her life, and the third, although not become a discovery, still did not stop surprising her.

The danger posed by the sun and the cross, as it turned out almost immediately, was nothing more than a fiction – another legend about vampires, in which Dracula believed so long ago that he himself did not remember what for and why. It scattered like dust from old ceilings when they, examining the house, climbed into the attic, and the roof that had not been repaired for years collapsed on them. Agatha remembered how, lying on the floor, covered with debris, they looked up at the rays falling through the holes in the ceiling, gently caressing them, and how they whispered at the same time: ‘It should be the same with the cross.’

And so it turned out.

Much more effort was needed in order to solve the problem of vampire hunger. After sequentially going through several options and making sure that the blood of mammals close to humans in their physiology was the most suitable for Dracula, Agatha conducted a series of experiments and, discarding goats, sheep, pigs, and cows, settled on horses.

Dracula added a large stable to the west of the house and ordered ten thoroughbred riding horses from Yorkshire. And since Dracula needed food, although daily, but in small quantities, after a couple of months, in order to save noble animals from the blues and inactivity, Dracula began to put them on the races. As a result, his capital doubled in a short period of time, and after another three months, having looked through the settlement books, he called his attorney and acquired a stud farm in the suburbs of London.

Agatha looked at it all with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. At first, out of habit, it seemed to her that Dracula was having fun, striving, as he once told her, to learn to live among civilized people and study them properly, before tying a napkin and picking up a fork and knife. However, days, weeks and months passed, and nothing changed: Dracula was kind, led an active social life, went to libraries and theaters and rode horseback, in the evenings he went to the laboratory, which he equipped in the house at the request of Agatha, in order to give her a couple of ideas regarding the properties of horse blood and the similarity of its taste and the effect of influencing to him with human one and, in general, did nothing else.

Agatha tried to convince herself that the count lived for four hundred years, waiting for a convenient opportunity to enter the civilized world and that another two months meant nothing to him at all, but every day it became more and more difficult to believe it. And she had less and less desire to do it.

Agatha perfectly remembered the evening when it disappeared completely.

She was sitting in the living room and writing something in her diary – a new experiment with horse blood was in full swing, there was a lot of data and a theoretical basis, but the formulas did not agree. Deciding to take a short break, she put aside her notes and began to clean the dull nib. Agatha did not know what was the reason – whether the knife was not sharp enough, or the hand lost its dexterity from fatigue, but even before she could understand what exactly was happening, the blade proportioned the skin of her right hand and got stuck at the base of her fingers.

Agatha spent a moment looking at the scarlet streak of blood that stood out in her palm before a long shadow covered the chair in which she was sitting.

Looking up, she saw Dracula standing in front of her.

For a second, nothing happened. As if spellbound, they watched the blood dripping from her hand. Agatha wiggled her fingers to test. Finally reaching consciousness, a raw pain swirled in her hand.

Without looking, pulling up the second chair standing to the side, Dracula sank into it and, taking Agatha with one hand by the forearm, pulled out a knife. Then he took out a handkerchief and, wiping off the fresh drops that had come through, tore a flap from the sleeve of her shirt, and quickly bandaged her palm.

He did all this in silence, without looking at Agatha, and only when finished he raised his head and leaned back. His pupils were bloodshot, but he himself was absolutely imperturbable. Letting go of Agatha's hand, he went to the fireplace and threw the dirty cloth into the fire. The fabric hissed, cringing in the flames.

‘Tomorrow, samples of the second negative will come,’ said Dracula, glancing into the opened diary of Agatha, thrown on the sofa, ‘you can check the calculations,’ and, turning around, left the room.

Agatha sat for several minutes, listening to his steps, and then got up, climbed the stairs, went to the door of his bedroom and knocked. And he opened.

… ‘There will be guests in the evening,’ said Dracula, distracting Agatha from her memories. ‘Two stud breeders from Australia and a professor from Cambridge.’

Agatha raised an eyebrow questioningly.

‘He has ideas on how to improve the breed,’ Dracula shrugged. ‘He is unsociable and usually does not go anywhere. I promised him dinner in a pleasant company and access to a reprinted version of On the Origin of Species. I had to somehow lure him. We met several times in Cambridge, but apparently too briefly. I invited him to participate in the experiment, even offered a small stake, but he refused. I hope today I will be able to persuade him.’

Agatha sighed. She knew well what it meant to ‘persuade’ in Dracula's language.

Dracula handled business with the same careless ease and a certain mocking touch that were inherent in him when dealing with people in general. Not that he disliked or disdained them: watching him day after day, Agatha came to the conclusion that it was just convenient for him – as if, not being able to eat them, he nibbled them with words and a look, held some time in his teeth and let go.

‘The hunting instinct is not going anywhere,’ Dracula smiled in response to her remarks after another visit to another salon or to a party, on which behind him, like on a battlefield covered with black velvet and silk dresses, there were glades of silent condemnation and bloody spots of flaming cheeks.

What a truly warm relationship he had, was the one with the horses. Which at first puzzled Agatha. ‘You drink their blood,’ she said hesitantly when Dracula asked her what exactly she thought was strange about it. He gave her a long look, and, muttering something like ‘who would speak of it’, took her hand and led her into the stable.

There Agatha witnessed one of the most incredible things in her entire life.

She knew that Dracula can communicate with animals, can control wolves and bats if desired, and is able to establish contact with most mammals.

But it was more than contact, communication, or control. Standing in the stable doorway, Agatha watched as he opened the corral and, clasping the head of Lissa, a young mare that Dracula was one of the first to acquire, stood for a long time, pressing his cheek to the smooth skin, smiling and whispering something before embracing becomes stronger, – and after five minutes he opens his hands and, gratefully patting the horse on the withers, leaves the corral.

Agatha never thought it could be so... beautiful. Then she did not dare to ask, but later could not resist.

‘Do you hypnotize them? Fool? What are you doing?

Dracula smiled as if he was waiting for this question.

‘Horses are stronger and tougher than humans. The portion of blood that will cost you a serious illness or put an adult young man to bed is almost imperceptible for a horse. I had never tried drinking their blood before and therefore did not know how sharply and deeply they react to contact. Amazing animals.’

‘But they can't like it!’

‘They like closeness,’ Dracula said thoughtfully, ‘and they are incredibly generous.’

Yes, and also sincere and discerning. Resistant to Dracula's charm, they seem to have loved him for no reason.

During the time that they lived together, Agatha managed to find out that Dracula had two types of charm. The first is the very vampire charm that was written about in books and legends warned about. It was powerful, bright, and beating on the spot. It reminded Agatha of the scent of flowers that appeared in early spring in Holland – hyacinths. Thick, heavy, enveloping odor. Among the peasants, there were stories that if you fall asleep in a tightly closed room, in which there is a bouquet of hyacinths, you may not wake up.

Dracula used his vampire charm mostly for entertainment, or when he wanted to quickly get what he needed. He lavished it generously at balls and appointments, signing contracts with business partners, on walks and social events such as theater premieres and horse races, while sparing no one.

Once they were at the performance of the famous opera diva who came to London on tour, either from France or from Germany, – Agatha did not remember, – and after the performance, Dracula invited Agatha to go into the diva`s dressing room, – ‘to express our admiration for the singer,’ as he said... Agatha agreed, not suspecting a catch. The performance was really beautiful, the diva sang magically, and there was nothing surprising in the desire to personally pay tribute to her talent.

So they did, and everything went well until Dracula – the very kindness and the embodiment of secular courtesy – asked the diva if she would be an encore. Diva replied that, alas, she would not, as she was tired and would like to go home as soon as possible.

And then it turned on. Vampire charm. In vain the unfortunate singer babbled something about how exhausted after the performance she was, – when dark eyes flashed and a soft smile lit up the cramped dressing room, the diva's fate was decided. Hearing the words spoken in an intimate tone about how much his companion loves opera and how happy she will be to hear such a delightful performance again, the singer turned around and silently wandered onto the stage.

Agatha did not speak to Dracula after that for three days. She hated violence in any form.

But there was also another charm, the one that Agatha remembered from Demeter, the same, probably, that made her believe in a cozy living room and soft conversation at chess – more than vampire illusions and drug intoxication.

Agatha called it ‘a charm for his own’, and if she quickly learned to resist the charm of a vampire, and soon completely lost the interest, then she was powerless against this one.

Dracula looked at ‘his’ people with a gentle warm look and smiled with a cheerful, almost boyish smile. It was physically impossible to deny him anything when he was like that, which he shamelessly used during quarrels.

He did not ask, did not demand, and did not scandal. Did not push and did not try to confuse. He just smiled and said: ‘As you say, dragostea*.’

‘Better vampire charm,’ Agatha moaned and vowed to buy a bell so that she could inform him in advance and without words that he had crossed the line.

...Agatha pulled away from Dracula and, smiling, went to the sofa.

‘The poor professor deserves a second chance,’ she said, leaning back.

‘I gave him everything possible,’ Dracula answered, ‘he missed them.’

‘So maybe we should just leave him alone?’

‘No, I need him.’

Agatha waved her hand. It was useless to argue. All she could do for the Cambridge pundit was to arrange for a good dinner and a relaxed, friendly atmosphere at this very dinner. All the rest was, alas, beyond her power.

The clock struck a quarter to one. Agatha thought idly that she should go to the kitchen and discuss the menu with the housekeeper. And let her cook the steaks with blood, she decided vengefully.

***

Professor Theodore Clifferson was a great scientist and no less an idiot. A combination that Agatha did not believe existed until today. But after spending three hours at the table with the aforementioned professor, she had to admit that sometimes intelligence and learning are depressingly different things.

When the door finally closed behind the venerable merchants and the Cambridge celebrity, and it became possible to remove the kind smile from her face and give vent to the irritation that had pursued her all evening, Agatha wandered into the living room and, groaning with relief, fell on the sofa.

‘Why didn't you warn me?’ she asked Dracula, who came in after her.

‘About what?’ he sank down beside her and pulled her to him.

‘How can you know so much and be such a cretin?’ Agatha continued without listening to him.

‘A common story,’ Dracula chuckled. ‘You look from the point of view of someone who, for the sake of knowledge, was forced to fight the circumstances and mine them like gold,’ he said. ‘And your inquiring mind cannot imagine someone who, from his youth, having access to the fruits of progress, does not realize their value. And worse – to whom they are not useful.’

Agatha covered her face with her hands and shook her head.

‘I want to forget this.’

Dracula buried his fingers in her hair and sat for several minutes, fingering the thick strands.

‘Forget this or what he said at the end?’ he asked quietly.

Agatha, leaning back in his arms, straightened.

‘What did he…’

‘Agatha.’

She knew that look too well. Freeing herself from his embrace, she sat up straight, as if in a theology lesson. Come on, she never visited them. Although it might have been worth it. At least, she would have learned – if not to quote freely from the holy book, than to look calm and confident, when she had not a penny neither the first nor the second.

Damn Clifferson.

‘Dracula, you shouldn't, really…’ Agatha began.

He sighed.

‘I thought so. Should I say it myself, or, as before, do you perfectly understand where you are?’

Agatha shivered at the reminder. But he was right – the situations in which it sounded were too similar. And something had to be done about it.

She tried to smile.

‘Of course, I know. But that hasn't... Look, he's just a stupid boy. Saw something and said tactlessness.’

Well, if you could call it that. Agatha briefly thought that the dinner was already as unpleasant as it could, so that...

‘Clifferson said that you and I are lucky,’ Dracula said slowly, ‘since our age is not too different. And that means,’ he added in the deep silence, ‘we are not threatened to live the rest of our lives in separation, without another who has left this mortal world.’

Well, Agatha thought. Well, he said it. It will no longer be possible to pretend that what the unlucky professor blurted out does not exist or none of them heard him.

Turning away from Dracula, she began to look at the copper dial of the clock, which she was winding in the morning.

Time. Over the past year, she and Dracula were absorbed in settling in the new world, taking care of the house, experimenting, in the end, each other, so much that they forgot about time.

Anyway, she forgot. She hadn't thought about it at all. Looking at Dracula again, Agatha suddenly realized that she would not believe for anything, that he hadn`t.

‘I'm forty-two,’ she said quietly. ‘And if I'm lucky, I'll live long enough to bore you terribly.’

He was silent.

‘And even when I... When you live with people, time does not drag on as long as when you spend it alone,’ Agatha felt how with every step the ground beneath her becomes less reliable. ‘When it is filled with events... and meetings…’

Dracula still didn't say a word.

‘In fifty years, I will be…’ she made another attempt, in an almost inaudible voice, knowing perfectly well that it made no sense.

In fifty years, a decrepit old woman will be with him, but he will remain as young, no older than the same forty-five or fifty.

Pulling herself together, she finally looked into his eyes.

‘Sorry,’ she said in response to the silent gaze that met her, and, quickly getting up from her seat, left.

When Dracula went up after her into the bedroom, he pretended to believe her awkward attempts to pretend to be asleep, and Agatha spent the time until dawn, staring into the darkness, trying to figure out how to be and what to do next.

‘How could I forget that you are a vampire?’ having entered the next morning without knocking into the parlor and resting her palms on the table at which Dracula was sitting, she asked.

Dracula looked up from the settlement book, in which he was writing something.

‘Yes, that's my omission,’ he said, leaning back in his chair.

Agatha looked at him for a minute, then turned on her heels and left the parlor.

They did not see each other for the next two days. Early on Saturday morning, Dracula went out of town to choose a place for a new stud farm, warning her through the housekeeper that he would not return earlier than Monday evening, and Agatha, not knowing whether to enjoy the unexpected respite, or be angry with him, considered it best switch to something else, and completely immersed in experiments.

‘Why is your face black?’ were the first words that returned Dracula greeted her with. He stood at the door of the laboratory and surveyed the surroundings with curiosity. To tell the truth, a lot has changed here since he visited it three days ago: then there were many more whole flasks and jars and less broken glass on the floor.

‘When heated to the boiling point, horse blood explodes,’ Agatha said calmly and carefully placed the test tube she was holding in a tripod.

Dracula nodded and, looking out the door, took out a scoop and a broom and began sweeping soot, stone dust, and debris that covered the floor in the middle of the room.

Armed with a rag and a jug of water, Agatha joined him in cleaning the table and chairs from the burning.

‘I'm not angry about your silence,’ she said after about half an hour, distracted from polishing the gas burner. ‘I understand that the problem is not that this question has no answer.’

Dracula looked up. They both knew very well that the problem was that the answer was too obvious.

‘You know it can't be my decision,’ he said.

‘I know,’ Agatha nodded. ‘Give me time,’ she added after a short pause and began scrubbing the alembic.

***

‘Sir, I swear I would never…’

‘Remove your pockets.’

Agatha glanced into the living room.

Dracula stood by the fireplace with his back to her, in front of him was a terrified coachman, drawn to the line.

‘It's a mistake, sir. I beg you…’

‘It was a mistake to keep the silver cigarette case in the dresser. However, so was hiring you,’ Dracula's voice was cold and indifferent. ‘By returning it voluntarily, you will save time for all of us.’

‘I…’

Dracula tilted his head.

‘It's in your right pocket. Next to old tissue paper, dirty silk ribbon, and flakes of tobacco.’

The coachman hiccupped and recoiled.

‘How…’

Dracula held out his hand.

‘It rustles deafeningly,’ he said, taking the cigarette case from the coachman's shaking hand. ‘If you are attracted by the career of a pickpocket, then first learn not to stomp like an elephant when you take someone else's, and not to rattle with loot. You will come in the evening for the calculation,’ he finished, gesturing to let go of the unfortunate man.

Dropping his shoulders, the coachman nodded and went to the door.

‘Vampire hearing,’ Agatha said, letting the unlucky thief pass and entering the room. ‘Strongly interferes with maintaining faith in people.’

‘Those who had the one,’ Dracula smiled. He put the cigarette case on the mantelpiece and turned to Agatha. ‘Looking for the benefits of being a vampire?’ he asked innocently.

‘I'm conducting surveillance,’ Agatha said.

She went to the fireplace and looked at the cigarette case.

‘You knew he stole it because you heard it rub against the lining of his pocket.’

Dracula rubbed the bridge of his nose.

‘He dragged around with it for a week. He had been looking for someone to sell it for so long that I could hardly resist not offering myself as a buyer, just to get rid of this annoying sound.’

Agatha walked around one of the armchairs by the fireplace and stood in front of Dracula.

‘Have you been waiting for his nerves to break down and he confesses, or for the right occasion when you can show me once again the benefits of being a vampire?’

‘How can you,’ Dracula was sincerely offended.

Agatha grinned and sank into a chair.

‘Okay, what else?’ Decently folded her hands on her knees, she asked.

Dracula shrugged.

‘You know all this. After all, you've been watching me for a year. I'm sure you wrote it down and sorted it into categories in those notebooks of yours.’ He nodded at Agatha’s diary on the table. ‘It is unlikely that I can add something else.’

‘Okay, then let's go over the main points,’ Agatha nodded, without changing her pose.

Dracula smiled.

‘You are strong and enduring, you have an increased ability to heal wounds, you can stay awake for weeks and understand some animals.’ She paused. ‘You can control some of them. You can climb walls and send fog.’ Noticing his approving nod, Agatha continued: ‘Let's add to this the ability to keenly smell and hypersensitive hearing…’

‘...tirelessness in bed...’

‘Um, did you notice that I fall asleep in the middle?..’ Agatha got up and walked over to him.

Dracula smiled again.

‘I'm working on it,’ he said, hugging her.

Agatha was silent for a moment and turned away.

‘Is it normal? I mean, how... how right is that?’ absentmindedly running her hand over his shoulder, she said.

‘What exactly?’ Dracula asked.

Agatha frowned and rubbed her forehead thoughtfully.

‘The world works the way it works, for a reason,’ she said slowly. ‘All living beings die, replacing each other. How natural is it to be immortal?’

She lifted her head and looked at Dracula.

‘Vampires are mortal,’ he said. ‘Agatha, the time when I offered you eternal life is over,’ he added after a short pause. ‘But it’s obvious that I would rather live long before I’m ready to face death. I do not know how much this is against nature, but I still have not heard of heavenly thunder punishing parrots, sequoias, and turtles.’

‘Oh my God,’ Agatha laughed. ‘Of the above, I know only sequoias. And then according to the pictures.’

‘And the parrots?’

‘Are they centenarians?’

Dracula shook his head.

‘The oldest ones are four hundred years old. Turtles can live twice as long. Ask Clifferson about sequoias, but as far as I remember, their exact age cannot be determined.’

Agatha grimaced, demonstrating her attitude to the need to learn something from Clifferson.

‘I will not become immortal,’ she said, summing up, ‘but I will lose the ability to eat human food, sleep at night, and breathe.’

‘A matter of habit,’ Dracula shrugged.

‘But I will learn to understand bats.’

‘What scope for your work on small rodents and nocturnal insects!’

Agatha sighed.

‘Are you kidding?’

‘Yes, I am.’

She nodded.

Everything is the same as before.

‘Decide yourself.’

***

‘Please, try to be more restrained in the future,’ Agatha said with a sad smile, holding out an envelope to the boy standing in front of her. The young man nodded, drooping guiltily, cautiously, as if afraid that his touch would burn her, took the envelope from her hands, and, saying goodbye, left the room.

For a minute Agatha looked at the door that closed behind him, and then she also left the parlor and went into the living room.

She managed to persuade Dracula to give the coachman decent recommendations, and a couple of weeks after the unpleasant incident, Agatha found a good place for the guy. Dracula watched all this with restrained skepticism, but remained silent and did not interfere. Agatha suspected that he had threatened the poor coachman with some terrible punishment – the boy was in too much haste to leave their house. But in the end, even she was forced to admit that he got off easy.

In the living room, on the sofa with a book, sat Dracula. When she appeared, he moved, making a place next to him.

Approaching, Agatha climbed onto the sofa with her legs and leaned back, resting her head on his lap. Several minutes passed in silence, broken only by the measured ticking of the grandfather clock.

‘Will it be like with Harker?’ Agatha asked. ‘Will you break my neck and sit down to wait for me to wake up?’

‘God, Agatha, no, of course,’ Dracula put down the book. He looked shocked. ‘Where did you get that?’

‘The first thing that comes to mind. I mean,’ she said, looking sideways at him, ‘the most obvious and simplest.’

‘Didn't you say that you would beat the barbarism out of me?’

She looked up at him.

‘Is that when you burned a five hundred pound electric kettle? I was on edge.’

‘I noticed.’

He brushed a lock of hair from her face.

‘How could you think that I…’

Agatha shrugged.

‘It must somehow... I mean, if in order to turn a person you need…’

‘No damage. This is out of the question,’ Dracula said in an unchallengeable tone.

Agatha looked at him thoughtfully.

‘There are other ways,’ she said, scratching her nose. ‘Strangulation, various poisons. Drowning…’

Dracula bent down and, choking with laughter, buried in her shoulder.

‘Agatha,’ he moaned, ‘your imagination is really scary.’

‘I'm trying to solve the problem,’ Agatha said. ‘That's what the smart do,’ she teased.

‘The smart ones like to complicate things,’ said Dracula, straightening up and looking at her. ‘The most obvious is not always the simplest. Why, of all imaginable and inconceivable ways, did not the most humane one come to your mind?’ He rolled his eyes at her puzzled gaze. ‘Which one of us is the prince of darkness and the lord of shadows?’

‘No one encroaches on your laurels,’ Agatha grinned. ‘Wait. You want to say…’

Dracula bent down again and brushed his lips lightly over hers.

‘My love, you forgot that a vampire's kiss can be very long.’

***

The fabric was red and the earth was red. Heavy woolen floors flowed like a scarlet stream over the horse's white rump, crumpled from above, and ended in a silver fox collar. The rider's long hair was messed and matted with blood, and crimson dawn caked in his wide-open eyes.

Bending down and grabbing the horse by the neck, the rider rushed forward, as if not making out the road, through the black and red forest, in a straight line, to the ancient castle, frozen on the rock.

Bursting into the courtyard, the rider stood up sharply, pulled on the reins. Dismounting, he threw them to the frightened horseman who ran up, unfastened an oblong large sack from the saddle. He walked with a quick step through the gate, dragging his load along the ground. In the great hall, he stopped and threw the sack on the floor in front of him. He raised his head and brushed the dirty, wet strands from his forehead.

‘I said he would be here before sunrise,’ he turned to someone sitting in a dark corner.

‘Is it really him?’ asked from the darkness.

Pulling a knife from his belt, the rider bent down to the sack and cut the thick cloth, soaked and hardened in the frost.

A pale human face appeared in the narrow gap.

‘I said I’ll deliver him,’ the rider said again, put the knife back in his belt and left, not looking neither at the one he was talking to nor at the dead man lying on the floor.

...

Two thick long candles were barely enough to light the middle of the room. Hands were aching from the cold, and he felt as if Transylvanian soil was poured into his eyes. The younger heir to the old Count Dracul raised up, turned several times, on one side, on the other, and finally lay on his back, his meaningless gaze resting on the carved canopy above him.

There are no younger heirs. Neither for princes and kings from distant lands, nor for Wallachian rulers. From ancient times the eldest sons inherit the ruler who has died in peace or fallen on the battlefield. But what if both the ruler himself and his firstborn left God's world in one day? From the elder brother, if he has no male descendants, the younger takes power. The one that survived.

The heir moved his head and gritted his teeth. God knows he did not seek this power, he did not want to. In vain the courtiers grinned in disbelief, clinked their tongues, suspecting treason, the squad whispered in vain when they brought them, father and brother, on a narrow sleigh – without a drop of blood on expensive clothes and without a single paint on their faces. In vain the brother's widow sobbed loudly, rushing in the yard like a thin hungry bird, in vain screaming and howling – you did not keep him safe, you did not rescue him. In vain she threatened to curse.

He did not wish death to either his father or his brother. Never wanted to become a ruler. Perhaps that is why he was not touched by the piercing words of the courtiers, or the cries of his daughter-in-law, or the sidelong glances of the squad. Standing motionless next to the sleigh, he silently looked at the gathered soldiers and household, did not say anything, only wrapped himself in a warm cloak. And only when the wrong old steps were tapping on the stone slabs of the yard, did he turn around.

Old Count Dracul, a patriarch of eighty-seven years of age, dressed in a light marching cape over a simple linen shirt, slowly walked over to the sleigh and sat down beside it. With long fingers, white and hard as a January crust, he stroked the dead faces. Raised his head to the gray sky. Said, addressing the younger:

‘Bring me the murderer.’

The younger nodded.

He did it all, he did it, – the young Count Dracula got up and ran his hand over his face damp with sweat. It took five hours to search, three of which the heir spent on horseback, racing to the border, hurrying to catch up the defector who had surrendered the lord and his son to Turkish spies, and who was about to join the foreign troops. Almost drove father's stallion. Intercepted, managed.

The light from the candle flickered, swept as if alarmed by a sharp gust of wind. Dracula looked around and lay back on the pillows. What a strange night. It feels like there is something, moving in the corner... As if sitting in silence and looking, waiting for the moment when...

‘What's wrong, young heir, not sleeping? Do ya not satisfied with the blood of the enemy?’ a voice, deaf and raspy, rang out very close to him.

Dracula jumped up and backed away.

‘What scared you, noble master? Why don't you meet a guest?’ squeaked mockingly from the shadows. ‘Or are you afraid to look?’

Dracula turned in the direction from which the voice was heard.

A thin, tall man with an unhealthy blush on his sunken cheeks emerged from the thick darkness that began two spans from the bed.

‘Why are you silent, master?’ he asked Dracula, who stared at him in horror. ‘Why don’t you offer a glass, why don’t you invite me to the table?’

Without waiting for an answer, the man stepped forward and stopped at the very edge of the bed.

‘It can't be. I killed you,’ said Dracula.

‘That's right, you did,’ the man bared his teeth and opened the tattered, worn-out sheepskin coat he was wearing. A scarlet slit crossed the shirt underneath from throat to groin. The man lowered his head and, touching the cut, plunged a knotted finger into it. ‘It hurts,’ with a barely audible smack, removing his finger from the wound, he said thoughtfully, ‘it hurts, but you can live.’

Dracula felt sick.

‘How did you manage...’ He straightened up in bed and reached for his belt for a knife.

‘Take your time,’ the man rushed forward, grabbing Dracula's raised hand. His fingers were inhumanly strong and cold as ice. ‘We`ll have all night.’

‘What are you?’ Dracula, recoiling, whispered with his lips, already knowing the answer.

‘I am Grigor Vostritsa, Grigor-The-Traitor, Grigor, whom your gullible dad warmed on his chest, and the crazy grandpa ordered to catch and feed the mad dogs,’ the man replied, grinning. ‘Grigor, who missed the spoil, and came for it. And what a feast it will be...’

Long, sharp teeth gleamed in the candlelight.

Dracula screamed.

...

‘Dracula! Wake up! Dracula! Come on, wake up, it's just a dream!’

Agatha struggled to shake Dracula, who was rushing about in unconsciousness. Not needing to sleep in the usual sense of the word, at night he plunged into a semblance of numbness, which helped him not so much to restore physical strength as to give rest to his mind. This state was in every way similar to a human dream, with the exception that it was more difficult to end it.

Agatha moved closer to Dracula. He looked even paler than usual, shivering and whispering something in Romanian.

Sitting on the bed, Agatha took a deep breath. The sounds made by Dracula were not loud enough to wake her up. But after what happened on Demeter, already here, in London, Agatha sometimes began to sink into his dreams.

Most often they were just scraps of images and vague impressions – reminiscent of flat shadows on a gray stone wall. They were short and blurry, and after them, in the morning Agatha got up with a headache, a feeling of loneliness, and dull melancholy.

Today, for the first time, the dream was so real and clear.

‘Dracula! Wake up, Dracula!’ Agatha tried again.

Dracula groaned and reached for her without opening his eyes.

Agatha bent down and ran a hand over his sweaty chest. Gently stroked, sliding from shoulder to stomach and back, lingering to the left, where the heart was silent, softly touched his cheek. As if alarmed even more by this short caress, Dracula got up and sat up in bed.

For a while, he simply sat without moving, in the light of the moon falling from the window.

Agatha was silent, not daring to turn to him again.

Dracula winced and took a deep breath, and then suddenly opened his eyes and looked at her.

There was such pain in his eyes that it stabbed inside her.

Without a word, she stirred and, sitting down on his lap, hugged him tightly.

‘Everything is fine, everything will pass,’ she whispered, ‘everything will pass, it's just a dream. This is a dream. This is a dream, you killed him,’ she said, kissing his hot forehead and cheeks, ‘you won, he's gone.’

She was saying something else, snuggling up to him and feeling how the nightgown was getting wet from the heat, putting herself under the hands and lips that were taking possession of her – for the first time so strongly, furiously – and so unexpectedly good.

When the splash of pleasure dies down and she opens her eyes, the moon seems higher – the light floods the room, leaving no corner untouched. Agatha looks at Dracula, who is holding her with both hands, and just sits for a couple of seconds, admiring his tired, peaceful face.

The rest is seen as natural as spontaneous. Slightly pulling back, Agatha pushes aside the collar of her shirt, throwing her hair back and exposing her shoulder.

‘Come on. I'm not afraid,’ she says, moving closer to him again and screwing up.

For several long minutes, nothing happens at all.

Opening her eyes, Agatha stares blankly at Dracula. He sits motionless and looks at her, smiling openly and tenderly.

‘No, Agatha,’ he says. ‘Not today. Not this way.’

***

‘You're avoiding me?’

Agatha met Dracula at the entrance to the living room and stopped, blocking his path.

‘Where did you get it?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it's all because we haven't seen each other since last week.’ Agatha shrugged.

‘I have a lot to do,’ Dracula tried to walk past her into the room, but Agatha did not budge.

‘You leave home in the morning when I’m still asleep, and you come back after midnight,’ she said. ‘If you come at all. On Tuesday and Wednesday, you were not here, although the carriage did not leave the gate and all the horses remained in the stable.’

Dracula took a deep breath.

‘If I wanted to lead a secret life, I should have chosen someone not so observant,’ he said with a short smile.

‘At least,’ stepping aside, Agatha nevertheless cleared the passage.

After following Dracula into the living room and sitting next to him on the sofa, she was silent for a while.

‘I don’t believe it’s because of what happened that night,’ she said quietly at last. Lowering her eyes, she absentmindedly smoothed the folds of the dress. ‘You and I knew worse times, and I saw you in a much more unsightly light. If now...’

‘Agatha.’ She raised her eyes and met his gaze. ‘You know that's not true,’ he said.

‘I know,’ she sighed. ‘And I also know that you never lied to me or hid anything from me. Even on the Demeter.’ She waved off when she saw the protesting expression on his face. ‘You didn’t deceive me – all I needed to know about what was happening was in front of my eyes. I just didn't get it right away. Which, of course, doesn't make your behavior acceptable,’ she said immediately. And added: ‘You drank my blood and made me a favorite dessert, but you did not lie to me.’

Dracula was silent.

‘You were honest, although you fed on me, and took me to the ship against my will,’ Agatha continued. ‘That is why your behavior seems all the more strange to me... now when I said ‘yes’.’

Still silently, Dracula leaned back on the sofa. His lips were tightly compressed, and his eyebrows were furrowed, as if for a long time he had been trying to solve a problem that turned out to be too difficult, and could not bring himself to stop thinking about it.

Agatha regarded him thoughtfully.

‘Maybe…’ she began slowly, ‘maybe this is the whole point? That I agreed?’

Dracula turned his head and looked at her amazedly.

‘Count Dracula, the Wallachian ruler,’ said Agatha, ‘cannot choose the daughter of a merchant from a distant province as a life partner. Which has neither a title, nor a suitable name, nor a sufficiently well-born family.’ She looked straight at Dracula. ‘The laws of blood are harsh and unbreakable.’

‘Agatha,’ it was clear from his look that her suggestion took him by surprise, ‘Agatha, I have been living with you for over a year.’

‘It's one thing to live together, sharing leisure and bed, and even going out by the arm, and quite another,’ she smiled, ‘to enter into a relationship under the hand of the clan and under the coat of arms of the dragon. You could reject me when I become a vampire,’ Agatha said, not allowing him to object, ‘reject, as soon as I would bore you – but it was not accidentally that you called those you turned brides. Obligated to you with a new life – no matter how terrible and gloomy it might be – they have become part of your family. As I would. And even you wouldn't be able to change that. Wherever I went and wherever I lived my indefinitely long centuries, I would forever remain Dracula's companion, recognized and accepted by him.’

The silence that followed her words was long, but contrary to her expectations, it did not seem depressing. For a couple of minutes, Dracula just sat, still frowning and unconsciously rubbing the ring on his ring finger.

‘Four hundred years ago I was baptized in Orthodoxy,’ he said thoughtfully.

‘What?’ Agatha did not understand. She leaned back slightly and eyed him suspiciously.

‘I presume, you are a Catholic,’ Dracula continued, as if he hadn’t heard her. ‘It is unlikely that we will be married under this condition, so, apparently, I will have to convert to Catholicism.’

Agatha looked at him in amazement.

‘Why not me – to Orthodoxy?’ she asked blankly.

‘Because considering what you just told me, it would be offensive to me.’

They looked at each other for several seconds until Agatha turned away, covering her face with her hands.

‘Am I making up nonsense?’ muttered, feeling him hug her.

‘You're too smart,’ Dracula smiled, kissing the top of her head. ‘I should have taken this into account when I suggested to you... I should have talked about it with you right away. Everything you said’ he pulled away and looked at her ‘is absolutely reasonable and absolutely real. Except that has nothing to do with you and me.’ He brushed the hair from her cheek and added: ‘I have not been a Wallachian ruler for a long time, Agatha. Not in the sense in which you described it. And even if I were still a sovereign medieval seigneur, I would be free to choose a wife to my liking. I would have offered you my hand and heart a year ago,’ he said when he saw Agatha trying to protest, ‘if I thought it meant anything to you.’

Agatha averted her eyes.

‘I thought... I thought after I agreed...’

‘I suddenly realized with all clarity how you would humiliate my good name,’ Dracula laughed. ‘This is perhaps the best thing that I have heard about myself in four hundred years.’

‘But still...’ Agatha did not stop.

‘You were right,’ Dracula interrupted. ‘That night I realized for the first time that it was serious. And I wondered if I really want this for you?’

‘You told me...’

‘Agatha,’ he said, burying his fingers in her hair, ‘it's a long life, Agatha. A life in which values, people, traditions, and customs change. The future and the present, as before, become the past. Only now you don't go with them. Others leave – relatives and acquaintances, faithful servants, and old friends. Not all of them you can take with you. And sometimes you just have to look after them. It hurts, Agatha.’

He fell silent again. Raising her hand, Agatha ran her fingers over his cheek. ‘You will be with me,’ she wanted to tell, but she held back. They both knew perfectly well what a world closed for two could turn into over the years.

Unexpectedly to herself, she laughed.

‘Changing faith can be easier than coming to terms with yourself,’ she said in response to his questioning look. ‘But if trees and birds can,’ Agatha added, remembering their conversation with Dracula about longevity, ‘then I can too.’

He looked at her uneasily and incredulously, and it was like their first evening in this house.

‘And you know what else?’ Agatha said. She hesitated. ‘I want to ask you: do not create any illusions by doing this. I want to know what's going on. I go for it with open eyes, and I want it to apply to everything.’

Dracula smiled and covered her fingers over his face.

‘As you wish,’ he replied.

***

November 15, 1898, Times

‘We are pleased to announce that on November 15 of this year in London, at Carfax Abbey, the wedding of Count Vlad Dracula and Miss Agatha Van Helsing took place.’

Agatha put the newspaper down on the dressing table and cast a thoughtful look at the ring on her hand. A thin strip of gold glittering in the twilight of the room seemed like a spark on the surface of the calm sea. Agatha chuckled shortly. A sea that she never intended to enter. It was not only about her past as a nun – her stay in the convent was short and rather forced than chosen at the call of her heart. Marriage as it was just never seemed attractive to her – or useful from any side.

She was distracted from the contemplation of the wedding ring and, straightening, began to remove the hairpins from her hair. Agatha hated complicated hairstyles, but for a sophisticated lady, especially in her current status, a wedding hairstyle was a must. Agatha sighed. It was already good that they managed to avoid a magnificent celebration, limiting themselves to a modest wedding in a local chapel.

The door to the room creaked softly as it opened and closed again.

Freed from bobby pins and hairpins, the hair fell to the shoulders in a heavy wave. Agatha looked in the mirror.

‘I look like a witch from old fairy tales,’ she said, turning in her chair, lifting her head and looking at Dracula standing in front of her. ‘Who appeared without an invitation to the royal palace.’

Dracula smiled.

‘Witches usually have a much more interesting past than the daughters of foresters and crown princesses.’

‘Maybe,’ Agatha agreed. ‘Did you let the servants go?’ she asked, getting up.

‘Gave them leave until next Wednesday.’

‘So long?’ Agatha, approached the bed and began to unfasten the hooks on the dress, anxiously turned around.

‘I think it will take less time,’ Dracula came over and freed a lock of red hair stuck in one of the fasteners. ‘Still, it’ll be better if you and I will be alone in the next week and we don’t have to look back at the door.’

Agatha nodded. Her fingers returned to the hooks and laces. Having straightened with them, she shrugged her shoulders, and the dress slid to her feet.

She did not see Dracula, but she knew for sure that he was watching her. Stepping over the dress, she straightened the lace shirt on her chest and, walking slowly to the bed, climbed onto it.

Slightly closing her eyes, she watches as Dracula locks the bedroom door, extinguishes the lamps one by one, leaving only the candle at the head of the bed to burn, and, going up to the bed, reaches for a silk scarf tied with an elegant knot around his neck.

Once next to her, he sits down behind and, holding Agatha to him, runs his palms over her hands. His fingers stop at the shoulders, freeze as if in thought, grasp the shock of hair that has been scattered down her back, and lift it up.

A slow, long kiss on the back of her head makes her arch and bite her lip. For a few seconds, Dracula does not move, and then he kisses her again and sinks lower, his hands slide forward, to the buttons of the shirt, lower the thin fabric from her shoulders.

Closing her eyes, Agatha completely surrenders to her feelings. From fleeting touches, the body burns and melts, filling from the inside with a silent ringing, opening and dissolving, almost disappearing, until it gathers again at one point to the left, where the neck passes into the shoulder.

...Soft darkness surrounded her from all sides. There was absolutely nothing frightening about it: Agatha stirred and tried to turn her head rather out of curiosity.

‘Don't resist,’ Dracula's voice rang through her head. And a second later – a chuckle. ‘You'll like it.’

***

The awakening was... sharp. And in a completely literal sense. Smells, sounds, colors were sharp. From the world hanging over Agatha, details seemed to appear and emerge at once.

Dust particles on the dark red velvet curtain of the bed. A scent of fresh varnish rising from a parquet floor painted three weeks ago. Spiky sheets that scratch the body with the skin of an ancient beast. Electric discharges from the back of the head and lost in the thick of long hair.

Agatha closed her eyes. The raging sea of spots of color disappeared and was replaced by a thin squeak.

‘When will the convulsions begin?’ Agatha asked into space without opening her eyes. Her own voice sounded low and hoarse, heavy in her ears.

‘So you want to try?’

Agatha opened her eyes. Dracula's pale face bent over her. A mosquito hovered carefree beside his right cheek.

‘Not that I wanted,’ Agatha said slowly, shifting her gaze from the mosquito to Dracula. ‘I just thought it was part of the process.’

‘Apparently, not always,’ Dracula held out his hand and helped her to rise and sit, leaning on the pillows. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Loud,’ Agatha muttered, wincing.

‘It's okay,’ Dracula leaned away and reached out to the side. ‘You are hungry?’ asked. Agatha lowered her eyes to the crystal glass that appeared in his hand. The dark scarlet liquid in it looked unusually tempting.

‘I don’t know,’ Agatha said barely audibly and looked at Dracula in dismay. ‘I can't,’ she blurted out and closed her eyes, once again dazed by the sound of her voice.

‘Agatha, this is not human blood,’ Dracula reminded her gently. ‘And if you're not ready, we can still wait. It's just that the sooner you satisfy your first hunger, the less strong and uncontrollable it will be later.’

Agatha nodded silently.

Swallowing shortly, she stretched out her hand to the glass – and immediately leaned back, groaning exhaustedly.

‘Agatha?’ Dracula asked worriedly.

‘So many... so many things,’ she said, shaking her head and licking her lips.

Dracula put his hand on her forehead. The rough skin of the palm felt like a touch of stiff paper, but it was cool and soothing.

‘You’ll get used to it,’ Dracula said quietly. ‘In the beginning, it is always like that.’

Agatha could not resist a skeptical smile.

‘It has advantages,’ Dracula whispered conspiratorially, bending over slightly. ‘And a lot.’

‘I remember,’ Agatha snorted. ‘The ability to hear rats scratching under the floor, to catch negligent coachmen...’ Hot lips, catching her earlobe, silenced her. ‘Give me a little time,’ she said with an effort, ‘maybe I can find more.’

He laughed.

Agatha turned and looked again at the glass on the nightstand.

‘Lissa?’ she asked.

‘No,’ Dracula shook his head.

‘Are you afraid that I will find out your secrets with her?’ Agatha teased him. She climbed higher on the pillows and made herself comfortable. The first shock receded, and the deafening world gradually became just unusually bright and clear.

‘Too much information confuses newbies,’ smiled Dracula. ‘Besides, Lissa is active and willful. Her blood may excite you unnecessarily. This is Richard, a stallion from Angola, who arrived four weeks ago. Gentle and meek like a sleeping child.’

Agatha reached for the glass. She held it in her hand for a moment, staring at the dark liquid inside. Then she raised it to her lips and took a quick sip.

Nothing happened, and the curtain of the bed did not collapse on her head. It felt as if she had taken a sip of old thick wine. The metallic flavor confused her at first, but the further she drank, the more acutely she became aware of her hunger and the satisfaction of being able to satisfy it. A piercing blue sky, humid winds, and a light rustle of hot sand were felt in the shades of taste.

Having drained the glass to the end, Agatha put it back on the nightstand and licked her lips thoughtfully. Neither the taste, nor the sight, nor the smell of blood made her lose her mind, which she most feared. Perhaps, she mused, the insanity of many newly turned vampires was not caused by the craving for blood as such, but rather a consequence of the ‘return’ and the wave of impressions and feelings that attacked them.

Suddenly the silence of the room was broken by a sharp, persistent rustle. Like someone... Agatha turned quickly towards the sound and saw a large rat crawling across the floor.

Agatha squinted at Dracula. He gazed at her in silence, without a shadow of a smile, but his nostrils fluttered in a very familiar way.

‘You will not get it,’ she said.

* Dragostea (Romanian) – love.

[ashketchup119]

Musicality

Ok I LOVE this story!! I made a whole story based off a lil convo @jemtoka and I had, and I made oc’s based off each of us and went to town. It was very fun to write, and I got to combine my music knowledge with my writing skills.

Enjoy!

When Benji had first set out to find the ghost of Beethoven, he wasn’t actually sure that he’d be able to do it. His brother had once called him “all bite and no bark”, a reference to the fact that out of the four brothers, Benji had been the only one to not outgrow his infant habit of biting things- or people- when stressed. But in this situation, he definitely felt like he’d bitten off more than he could chew.

He absentmindedly chewed on his chewing necklace as he drafted a grant proposal with his friend, Mujika. Muji was drawing in a notebook, something for his art classes, though he looked up when prompted to review the words that had appeared on Benji’s screen. Muji had done his fair share of research, and though he did want to help with the writing of the research paper, it had been agreed that Benji was the more… academic writer. The two of them had met through social media a couple of years ago, and once they’d started direct messaging, had become close friends quickly through a mesh of shared interests, similar humor, and a half-baked scheme to take over the world.

Which led them here, to a table in the back of a 24-hour McDonalds, Benji chewing the head off a stiff chewable bat pendant and Muji using his nocturnal tendencies to do things like “make sure his friend drank water and didn’t forget that he was a person.”

“Fo you fink ish bit avou duh Immoruhl Bewuved ith done? Ish kinda duh hoh vashis of arr puhposal so…” Benji trailed off, jaw absentmindedly moving over the poor bat, whose head was holding on by sheer force of will to the rest of its body.

“What?” Muji asked. He did not speak bat-in-mouth.

Benji pulled the pendant out of his mouth with an audible pop. “Y’think this bit about the Immortal Beloved is finished? It’s like, the whole basis of our proposal n shit.”

He turned the laptop towards Muji, who closed his notebook, set it to the side, and pulled the laptop in front of him. He read it quietly, and Benji began to tap out the beat to the song playing on low volume in his earbuds. He began to hum, too, murmuring lyrics under his breath as he stared off into the distance.

“I think it looks good.” Muji finally replied, turning the laptop back toward Benji and grabbing his notebook again. “I can’t think of anything else we could add to that section.”

Benji gave a little half shrug. “I guess you’re right.”

The two of them once again worked in solitude, only broken by Benji ordering fries at about 1 AM. At 3, they decided to call it quits, though Benji seemed more wired than ever and voiced some apprehension about “going to sleep when there’s so much work to be done, Muji!” Muji chastised him slightly and promised that they could come back the next day- or rather, later that day- to finish up. There were only slight revisions to be done, then it could be sent off to the Music Master Scholars, an organization dedicated to the care and keeping of the ghosts widely considered Music Masters, which included household names like Mozart and Beethoven, but also lesser-known composers like Joseph Bologne and Francesca Caccini.

Ghosts were, of course, a commonplace occurrence, though one could theoretically live their life without interacting with one. That was rare, though; ghosts had a tendency to wander, though they could only appear in places that held significance to them in life and graveyards, but even living in a house increased the average person’s chances of encountering a ghost exponentially.

But these ghosts were special, because of the knowledge they possessed and the lives they’d lead. The Music Master Scholars were the only people in the world who both knew and had access to the location of every ghost, and to join their ranks, one had to find the location of one of the ‘hidden’ Music Masters- of which Beethoven was the most hidden. Their non-administrative members were unknown, but said to be most, if not all, of the foremost music scholars in the world. How could they not be, with the Masters themselves guiding their research?

Benji and Muji really, really wanted to be Music Master Scholars.

When he was 10, Benji had been given some sort of “young musician” scholarship to visit Europe for a month. He was a double bassist, a dying breed in the modern age, and the fact that he had progressed from monotonic exercises to Baroque sinfonias in the span of four months had impressed his teachers.

His parents had gone along, too, mostly because they knew their child, and Benji did have a propensity to get into trouble. Devil’s luck, his mother had tsked, and that had been that.

He’d managed to escape the group in the middle of a museum, though he didn’t wander far. He just wanted to look at everything without feeling like people were constantly breathing down his neck.

Well. HE didn’t consider “the park near the museum” to be far. His parents did, though, he found out later.

At the park, he found a man. Well, not a man. A ghost. The ghost was staring wistfully at the museum in the distance, and started when he noticed a small child staring at him.

“Hi! Who are you?” Benji asked, clutching the stuffed animal his parents had gotten him at another museum the day before.

The ghost cleared his throat. “I’m uh…” He started in a raspy voice before pausing and clearing his throat again. “I’m,” He sighed. “I’m Johannes Brahms.”

“Yo-hahn Brahmzzzz.” Benji repeated, drawing out the last “s” sound. “Oh! You did music, right?”

Brahms smiled slightly, and nodded.

The two of them talked for a while before Benji’s parents arrived, harried and frustrated. They apologized profusely to the ghost, who insisted it hadn’t been a problem.

The whole experience left Benji starry-eyed, and with the help of a friend he’d made in Germany, he would call and converse with Brahms for hours, asking about counterpoint and meaning and technique and just in general picking his mind. The composer took this with grace, and seemed more than happy to answer the young musician’s questions. When he’d told Benji about the Scholars, Benji had immediately decided that he was going to be a Music Master Scholar.

Muji had played violin until he’d dropped out of high school to take care of his mom, and hadn’t resumed it until after him and Benji had been talking for a while. He didn’t know much about composition, but he loved music history, and after getting his GED and enrolling in college, had even majored in it. Plus, he just kinda just thought the whole thing was cool.

They’d been researching for a year and a half, with pointers from Brahms, and tips from a professor Benji’d had two years ago, a Classical scholar named Dr. Chang. Benji had once emailed her and asked, point-blank, if she was a Music Master Scholar, but she’d only sent back a cryptic winky face emoji in response.

The next day, after three more hours of sitting in McDonalds, revising the proposal (most of which was Muji saying “Benji it looks fine!” and Benji responding with “No, no, this comma in paragraph seven just makes it sound better! Ties it all together, don’t you think?”), it was sent off in an email, and Benji resolved not to think about it while Muji resolved to mention it at the most inopportune moments, just to mess with his friend a little.

They were approved a month later, and three months after that day at McDonalds, they were sitting on a plane heading to Austria, Benji mouthing practice phrases in German as Muji slept. They had about a month to traipse all over Europe in search of a ghost very few people had been able to find, and they were excited to start.

The first week was spent in Austria, visiting Beethoven’s own grave (a nonstarter; the ghosts there hadn’t seen Beethoven since he was buried, and none knew where he’d gone), his childhood home and the area surrounding.

Nothing.

The second week was spent in Vienna. There, they visited the ghost of Mozart, who was a fidgety, flighty sort. He was known for being somewhat immaterial, and often took to jumping on top of objects in a manner that caused the people around them to panic for a few seconds before realizing he was too immaterial to do anything more than whisper vaguely about his childhood. He’d tried to pet Muji’s hair and got annoyed when nothing happened, so it wasn’t a particularly long visit.

They tried to visit Haydn, but while the location of Haydn’s ghost was well-known, only Music Master Scholars were allowed to see him, as he claimed the crowds exhausted him, and he wanted to be able to give his full attention to those visiting him. It made sense, since ghosts used massive amounts of energy to communicate and interact with the world around them, and the more energy they expended, the less time they were able to spend on earth. Despite this, the two  of them did make an effort, but were summarily barred from entering.

“Next time!” Benji declared confidently as they walked to their next potential Beethoven hot spot.

They visited Brahms, who had resolved to meet them in Vienna upon learning they were coming, and spent a whole day with him, visiting locations which had been important to him and letting his impromptu history lessons wash over them with a look of awed reverence.

Beethoven wasn’t in Vienna, and by the third week the two friends were feeling the threat of rejection hot on their heels. They began keeping odd hours, trying their hardest to figure out their next move.

“Maybe we should reread our proposal? Clearly the Scholars saw something in it, right?” Muji theorized from the bed he’d claimed as his their first night in the hotel.

“Mmmm.” Benji responded from his position on the floor at the foot of his bed, still feeling the after-effects of a well-deserved mental breakdown.

“Come on, Benji!” Muji tried to motivate him. “We can do it! You’re a super cool music spy, remember?”

Benji huffed at the reminder of an old, inane conversation between the two. “I don’t know, Muji. I think it’s kinda pointless.”

“Come on, Benji!” Muji tried again. “This is like, your dream! It’s now or never! Put our mutual brain cell to use so we can find Beethoven!”

Benji sighed and got up. “Fine, fine.” He murmured as he got off the floor, grabbed his copy of the proposal from his bag, laid down on the bed, and stuffed another chewable pendant into his mouth. “Wet’s fee.”

Silence reigned for a few, brief seconds, before Muji suddenly exclaimed, “Hey! We never checked out anything about the Immortal Beloved, right?”

Benji sat up straight on his bed and spit out the pendant. “Holy shit, we never checked out anything about the Immortal Beloved.”

After a quick Google search, two train tickets, a couple of sandwiches, and a dash through the rain, they arrived at the Frankfurt Main Cemetery. There, they asked after the name they’d listed in their proposal as the possible Immortal Beloved, and the ghosts pointed them towards the back of the cemetery.

In a ghost grotto, they found a woman, calmly humming the tune from one of the Diabelli variations, though in their excitement neither Benji nor Muji could name the tune.

“Are you-“ Benji paused and took a couple of deep breaths. “Are you the Immortal Beloved?

The woman stopped humming and smiled at them.

“Ah, that is a moniker I have not heard in some time.” She arose and walked away from them, lifting her skirts elegantly in a manner which conveyed a sense of class. “Come; I think you are the ones I’ve been expecting.”

The two followed after her eagerly and looked confused when they stopped at a mail office in town. There, she reached into a P.O. box, pulled out a silver envelope, and gave it to Benji.

“This is yours.” She murmured. “Please do come to visit; it’s rare that I receive visitors.”

With this, she disappeared.

The two stared at the envelope for a couple of seconds before Benji eagerly opened it, accidentally ripping the envelope in half. He then read it, brow furrowing in confusion.

“What’s it say?” Asked Muji, eagerly, from over his shoulder.

“It says… it’s just numbers? I don’t get it.” Benji gave him the paper, trying to puzzle out what it meant.

Muji frowned, then plugged the numbers into Google.

“It’s a location!” He burst out, excitedly shoving the phone in Benji’s face.

The two of them hurriedly called a taxi, listing the location Muji’s phone had given them. They were dropped off in front of the building, and saw someone standing at the entrance. They showed the person (a Scholar!) their letter, and with a large smile, they were taken inside, their guide walking confidently as Benji and Muji trailed behind them. The interior of the building was long and winding, which left the two feeling as though they’d been deceived by the outward appearance of the building. The building had looked small and unassuming, and this place was built like a maze. They were sure they’d be lost if they tried to head back without a guide.

Near the end of the path they heard the sound of a piano playing, and warm light spilled into the hallway. They eagerly rushed ahead, much to the amusement of the Scholar.

There, facing the wall, conducting half a beat behind the sound coming from the recorder behind him, stood Beethoven.

Benji gasped, and clutched Muji’s shoulder. He pointed ecstatically at the figure in the room. “It’s Beethoven!!!” He stage-whispered.

Muji smiled widely as he nodded back. “Yeah!!”

The two of them turned around when a voice behind them cleared. The Scholar gave them each a thick letter with the recognized seal of the Music Master Scholars on the back, and the two of them stared at it, unsure of what to do.

“Well?” The Scholar prompted, rocking back and forth on their heels. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

Benji ripped into his envelope first, completely abandoning the flap as he tore the side off. His hands shook as he pulled out a letter on creamy white stationary. He skimmed the words and began crying, clutching the letter and envelope to his chest.

Muji was slightly more careful, removing the letter from the envelope via the flap and pulling out the other contents of the envelope. A laminated membership card, a list of locations of other ghosts, and an alphabetized list of other Scholars with contact info and a small bio were also in the envelope. He pulled out each one, looked at it, and put it back in the envelope. He then stopped and held the envelope in his hands, staring at it.

After about ten minutes, the guide worriedly asked Muji, “Is Benji alright? He’s been crying for a while.”

Muji nodded absentmindedly. “Yeah, he cried for like two hours after I finished streaming Crisis Core for him.” At the guide’s look of confusion, he added, “Video game.”

The guide made a small noise of understanding and nodded.

When Benji’s sobs finally faded into sniffles, the three of them began the trek out of the building.

“Sorry this route is so long.” The Scholar apologized. “Oh! Also! I forgot to introduce myself.” They paused and turned, offering their hand. “I’m Soraya Cham! I was the last person to find Beethoven’s ghost. When I heard about you guys, I got excited, really. I was rooting for you!”

The two of them shook her hand and nodded, unsure what else to say.

Soraya continued, then hailed a taxi when they reached the road. They waved goodbye to Benji and Muji as the two of them got in the backseat.

“We did it!” Benji shouted once they were back at their hotel.

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Thirty Nine

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

March 1st, 2001

Remy was trying to stifle giggles and failing miserably at it. He had come to check on how Emile was doing with his final tutoring session of the day, and arrived at the scene of Emile being pinned down by six kids while two or three more ran circles around his body, chanting something or another. Remy wasn’t entirely sure that Emile wasn’t being used in a human sacrifice to some eldritch being. “What’s going on here?” he asked.

One of the kids’ heads popped up. “Mister Remy! Is dinner ready?”

“Just about,” Remy confirmed. “So you might want to give Mister Emile a break, sound good?”

The kids all left the room in an instant, and Emile sat up, groaning. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

“Any time, my dear partner in all things illegal,” Remy said with a smile. "Anything for you."

  July 18th, 2001

Remy knew that he had to do something special. Emile had to work three night shifts in a row, restocking and working the floor and being wherever he was needed at that point in time. On one hand, it was nice that they would have a little extra cash from all the long hours, but on the other, Emile was constantly dead on his feet, when he wasn’t flat-out sleeping the entire day in his room.

Now, Emile had slept for ten hours, and Remy had everything planned out for a domestic day in. He had taken the liberty to get what they needed for pancake batter for breakfast, and he had all the She-Ra episodes Emile had compiled set up for a mini-marathon, plus a couple other animated movies Remy knew Emile had a soft spot for. Then, he had stuff for a simple lunch. Sandwiches, mostly, but it was still nice. And that evening, they had plans to help at the shelter, so dinner was taken care of for them.

Remy crept into Emile’s room, where Emile was still passed out on the bed. Remy shook Emile’s shoulder. Emile grumbled and buried his head in the pillow. “No, if you don’t let me get away with napping for more than an hour, I won’t let you sleep for more than ten hours in a row unless something super drastic happens,” Remy laughed.

“Remy, lemme sleep,” Emile grumbled.

“But if you sleep, you miss out on a domestic morning in with me!” Remy said with an exaggerated pout. “And I was so looking forward to making pancakes with you.”

Emile removed his face from the pillows. “Pancakes?”

Jackpot. “Pancakes, mio amore,” Remy confirmed. “Made just the way you like, provided you help me.”

Emile sat up with a stretch. “Do we have blueberries to toss in?”

“That we do, I splurged a little on our last shopping trip,” Remy confirmed.

“Okay, I’m up, I’m up,” Emile said, getting out of bed. “Let’s cook us some pancakes.”

Remy grinned and ushered Emile out of his bedroom with a bow. “The most handsome men go first,” he said with a grin.

“Oh, then why are you insisting that I go first?” Emile retorted.

“Because I am not handsome, I am drop-dead gorgeous and what I say goes,” Remy teased. “You. Out. Kitchen. Pancakes.”

“All right, all right!” Emile laughed.

They went to the kitchen and Emile sighed happily. “I’m really happy that we can do something special on a day that is just...kind of...there.”

“Well, we both appreciate the little moments,” Remy reasoned. “So I figured, why not, you know? Let’s make a special morning after you’ve been running yourself into the ground.”

“In other words, give me a reason to not sleep the entire day and then some?” Emile asked, arching an eyebrow.

“More like a thank you for the extra cash we’ll have from you picking up shifts,” Remy said. “I can’t thank you enough for giving us enough money that we could buy blueberries of all things.”

Emile laughed. “Well, I’m happy I could help,” he said. “I actually have a trust fund from my late grandmother, but according to her will, I don’t have access to it until I’m twenty one. Maybe at that point we can get blueberries and strawberries, though.”

“That would be great,” Remy said with a grin. “We could get actual fruit once a month without worrying about our bank accounts. Is it lame that I find that exciting?”

“No, I think it’s pretty cool, too,” Emile said. “Having fruit once a month, being able to go to places other than pizzarias for dates, it would be fun.”

Remy nodded and got everything that they needed for the pancake mix onto the counters. “You know, there’s a manager position opening in the next few months at the local shop. The current manager is being moved to a secondary location which needs more help.”

“Think you’ll apply for the position?” Emile asked.

“I was gonna try, but I’m not expecting much to come out of it,” Remy admitted. “After all, I haven’t even been working with them for a year, yet.”

“You’ve told me you have better work ethic than most of your coworkers, or at least you care more than they do. Don’t most people at the local chain just...skate by?” Emile asked.

Remy shrugged. “They generally favor people who work there for a long time, even if they don’t actually work that hard. I’m lucky that Marcy saw that I was pulling most of the weight at work and decided to give me a small raise. And I hate to say it, but I think I have better co-workers at Starbucks. August is great, and so’s Brian, and while the manager there sucks, each of us can keep the others’ spirits up pretty easily. I don’t know which chain I’d stick with if I only had to work one job.”

Emile hummed in thought as he measured out water. Remy turned to him. “What?” he asked.

“Meh, it’s probably nothing,” Emile said. “But I was wondering, I mean, you love cooking and experimenting with all kinds of food and stuff...would you ever want to branch out from being a barista, and try being a chef of some sort? Go to culinary school, or whatever?”

“Not really,” Remy laughed. “I love cooking, Emile, don’t get me wrong, but being a barista is somehow relaxing after a while. I’m good at it, and I know what I’m doing. I talked to Marcy recently about how the shop was doing and was able to follow most of what she was saying about the business side of things. I don’t think I’d want to move out of coffee shops. But I wouldn’t object to being a manager instead of a barista.”

“What about an owner?” Emile asked.

Remy laughed. “Emile, that would never happen in a million years. I don’t have the money to start up my own shop.”

“Hey, if I can do mental exercises about what it would be like to be a dad, then you can do some about being a shop owner. Would you like it, do you think?”

Remy considered. It would be a lot of pressure, and everything would rest on his shoulders, but that wasn’t a bad thing. And he knew enough about business to run a small shop. Maybe not a chain, but he didn’t have to run a chain if one shop theoretically sustained them both. “Probably,” he eventually settled on. “I’d get to make my own recipes, be my own boss, I could kick customers out if they weren’t being kind to either the workers or myself. It would be a lot of work, but it would be worth it, you know? Theoretically.”

“Yeah, theoretically I think it would be great,” Emile said. “Sounds like something you could do out of spite, too. They don’t move you up the food chain? Quit and start your own shop, that outdoes theirs and makes them have to leave town.”

Remy laughed. “Of course, because I could totally have the money and the means to do that.”

“Hey, like I said, it’s just a ‘what if’ situation,” Emile shrugged.

Remy shook his head. He really didn’t understand Emile sometimes.

They made the pancakes together, enjoying each others company and poking fun at each other as they worked, and then ate. Remy told Emile about his plans for a cartoon marathon and Emile looked like he was about to cry happy tears. “What’s the big deal?” Remy asked. “I let you watch cartoon marathons all the time.”

“Yeah, but you don’t do it with me, and you don’t encourage it,” Emile pointed out. “And considering that you started out being convinced that cartoons were entirely childish and I should have grown out of my love for them, this is a big step in my opinion. You might have come around slowly, but I haven’t seen that progress, so when you casually show support it’s like a shock to the system. A good shock, but a shock nonetheless.”

Remy sat there for a moment, stunned. He had forgotten that Emile didn’t see all his progress, all his talks with Kim, everything that went into his therapy sessions. He only saw the end product. He didn’t want to show Emile that whole thought process, though. That was a conversation Remy didn’t feel up to right now. So he said, “I guess you have a point,” instead.

They watched cartoons until it was four in the evening, and then they headed out towards the shelter. Remy generally helped cook food and serve it for dinner, while Emile helped entertain the small children, so they didn’t always work side-by-side, but they got to talk on the way over, and the way back, and of course, they got to have dinner too before they left.

Today, though, the walk to the shelter was done in companionable silence. They just walked side by side, a little too close to be just friendly, hands brushed against each other, but neither of them reached for the other. When they got to the shelter, they walked in and immediately Emile was swarmed by a dozen tiny humans all vying for his attention at once. Remy laughed and pecked Emile’s cheek as he went to the kitchen.

Cooking was entertaining enough. Remy had become the unofficial head chef on accident after revealing how good a cook he was when he wanted to put in the effort. He had to keep the others on track, sometimes, but everyone there worked their best and he got to have a few laughs with them every time they worked together.

They rang the bell to start dinner and people lined up as usual, Remy serving them as usual, and when everyone had food, the volunteers came into the back grabbing the remains of the dinner, heading out to eat at the tables as well. Remy sat next to Emile and they both worked on sandwiches. “The kids were very excited to see you kiss me,” Emile said casually.

“I kiss you all the time,” Remy said, frowning.

“Yeah, but apparently they didn’t realize you were my boyfriend, and some of them hadn’t realized that boys can like boys and girls can like girls. So what usually involved me being a monster with the kids grabbing on my legs and me roaring like Godzilla became an actual discussion about romance, and love, and all that good stuff,” Emile explained.

“Huh,” was all Remy said. The mental image of Emile being a giant monster for the kids made him giggle, though, almost as much as the time he found Emile lying on the floor, laughing as half a dozen of the gremlins were keeping him pinned down.

“Yeah. Kids are incredibly accepting, believe it or not. Provided you tell them something is okay, they’ll generally believe you. And the older ones might ask questions, but generally it’s nothing too invasive. And it’s fun to get to play with them in the off-months when they don’t have school. Sure, tutoring is useful, but it’s nice to play with them, too, you know what I mean?”

“Not really, but I appreciate your enthusiasm and enjoyment of it,” Remy said with a shrug.

Emile grinned and Bernie looked at the two of them. “I’m pleased that the both of you help here regularly. It’s nice to have people I can count on, and you two make a good team. I’m sure that if you ever had kids, you both would be excellent fathers.”

Remy made a noncommittal noise. “I don’t know, Bernie. Helping kids for a couple hours a day is one thing. Dealing with them virtually twenty four-seven is another. I’m not entirely sure that I could handle that.”

“You wouldn’t be doing it alone,” Emile offered. “But I agree. I don’t see kids being part of our future. Raising them seems like a daunting task. Obviously, I’d do it if needed, but it would definitely take a lot.”

“We do make a good team, though,” Remy said with a grin.

Emile ducked his head and smiled. “We do,” he agreed.

[cutie1365]

A Kid from Queens Part 15

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Info: CA: Civil War Era. Tony Stark enlists his daughter to find the web slinging spider in Queens.

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: n/a

(no Far From Home spoilers)

A/N: There’s one part where maybe pretend you have an ‘A’ initial, this idea was written more for my OC on Wattpad, so I’m sorry, but I kinda love it so I didn’t wanna change it.

Masterlist linked in my bio. Taglist in the reblog.

- - - - - 🕷 - - - - -

“Where are you headed all dressed up?” Tony asks as you’re leaving your room at the compound.

“All dressed up? Dad this is a suit.” You laughed him off, he walked with you as you were making your way towards the front to board the jet.

“Alright Scully, where are you headed? Did I miss a memo for a shareholder meeting or something?” Tony asked.

Ever since you’d presented the information to him about the Mayor, he had been extra protective. But you’d done as he suggested, you turned the information over to the FBI. They suggested that for the time being, you keep up with Thomas and the family for appearances sake, to not cause suspicion. You told this to your father. What you didn’t tell him was that the FBI invited you to aid in the investigation, due to your proximity to the case you’d be useful. Also considering they were likely stealing from a government warehouse that was half Stark owned and maintained. You’d be a good person to have on board, and your commitment would be minimal. You’d publically stay with Thomas until they told you it was time to distance yourself, meaning they’d found something or want to provoke the family into making a mistake and slipping up, hopefully exposing a hole in their network they could exploit. You thought it was a good idea, you also thought it would be best for your father’s nerves if you didn’t tell him the full story.

“I guess someone doesn’t read their emails. But no, Linda has me judging the annual robotics competition at MIT, so it’s Back to School for me.” You spoke, digging through your purse, making sure you had everything, your suitcase should have already been on the jet, but you were only going to be gone for a few days.

Tony nodded, as if he now remembered seeing something about that somewhere. He saw the jet on the tarmac, ready to take off any minute as you both stood before the glass entrance of the compound.

“Alright Animal House, no toga parties.” He hugged you goodbye, you chuckled at the thought of a bunch of engineers throwing a toga party.

“I’ll try my best. I’ll be back in a few days. Oh, and tell Wanda I left a box of clothes for her in my room. And I made a prototype of an upgrade for Rhodey’s braces that I left in the lab for you to do some testing on.” You began to ramble off things for him, knowing there was a low chance he’d remember everything.

“Alright mother hen, you don’t want to be late.” He hugged you once more, shooing you off.

You made your way to the jet, as Tony watched you from a distance. His little girl, all grown up. He hadn’t seen you this happy in a while, it brought a smile to his face. Ever since he’d practically ordered you to stay away from Peter, he noticed a change in you. You spent so much time in the lab, tinkering on things to take your mind off of life. You were rushed around from interview to interview, dress fitting to dress fitting, and photoshoot to photoshoot. He noticed the toll it was taking on you. He hated seeing you so run down, and nearly considered giving the kid a chance. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad, it worked for him and Pepper, it might just be able to work for them. He’s a good kid, but he’s not willing to take a chance yet, not when it comes to his daughters safety. He’s kept you safe for a long time, and he didn’t want to ever see you hurt again.

- - - - - 🕷 - - - - -

As you arrived in Boston, after a quick flight, a car was waiting to take you the rest of the way to MIT.

The car pulled into the familiar streets where you’d resided for a few years when you were younger. You hadn’t been back in years, yet it all looked the same. Near the entrance you spotted some of your old professors chatting, likely they were also judges.

“Y/N.” One greeted you, his expression somewhere between surprise and joy.

“Dr. Greenfield, it’s nice to see you again.” You smiled, shaking his hand.

“You’re all grown up now aren’t you. You know, I still remember your first day in my class. I had to go home and rework half of my lesson plans.” He chuckled at the memory. You remembered sitting in his class, answering all his questions that were meant to stump the class. He was a sweet older man, and you were happy to be here with him now.

You chatted and caught up for a few more minutes before you were invited inside to check in and meet the teams. You were given a metal name plate that you slipped on. Dr. A. Stark, it read.

You met the other 5 judges and mingled for a bit while the teams were still setting up in their prospective rooms. Some were industry experts, some were old professors of yours. Each judge had been assigned to a team, to mentor and offer insight and guidance before the final judging in two days time.

When a facilitator led you into a room of five boys standing in front of their invention, you weren’t met with the warm welcome you were expecting.

“Gentleman, I’d like to introduce you to your mentor Dr.-” The facilitator was cut off by one of the boys, he seemed to be the ringleader of the group.

“No, no, our mentor is Dr. A. Stark. Anthony Stark. Not some...” He waved his hand at you, trying to think of the best descriptor, “Vogue cover girl.”

You’d had a nice day so far, you were willing to let it slide, but when he opened his mouth and spoke to you with such disrespect, you were going to make him wish he’d called in sick today. The facilitator, likely a student committee volunteer, had her mouth hung open slightly in shock, she didn’t know what to do. So you stepped forward towards the boys, and that’s exactly what they were.

“You got Dr. A. Stark. Y/N (I’m sorry my OC has an A initial) Stark. My father actually doesn’t have a PhD. But I’ve got two. One of them in Electrical Engineering from this fine university.” You raised your hands motioning to the school around you, stepping closer once more, and oh if looks could kill. “But if you don’t want my help, I’m sure there are other teams who would be happy to have me...”

You turned on your heel and made one strutt towards the door before whipping around once more.

“By the way, you’re going to need the help, because I can spot six errors already from here. Seven if you count that sloppy rotary potentiometer.” And with that, you spun towards the door once more and didn’t look back at what you were certain were five speechless boys nearly shaking in their boots.

You’d certainly inherited a flair for the dramatics from your father, but this time it was merely a facade. Deep down you were on the verge of tears. This was your livelihood, you didn’t care if the civilian population thought you were some brainless covergirl, but you at least thought the people in your own field would respect you. The opinion of five students shouldn’t have hit you as hard as it did, but it now had you questioning everything. Every move you’ve made since that damn photograph came out.

You were leaning on the wall in the stairwell, if you were going to cry, you were going to make sure none of them saw you do it. You suddenly heard the large metal door open next to you, and a student looked at you in shock.

“Dr. Stark?” He asked, he wasn’t one of the boys from before, he must have been on another team. You knew he wasn’t like the others, he at least seemed to recognize you and your title.

“That would be me.” You smiled, lifting yourself off the wall slightly.

“I read your paper on nanoparticle technology. I think it’s completely revolutionary, I mean the implications alone... I just, it blew my mind.” He smiled, you watched as he spoke so passionately, waving his hands about as he spoke. A smile slowly spread to your face as well. In his excitement, he’d forgotten to introduce himself. He was tall but lanky, with a dirty blond mop of hair resting on his head, and deep blue eyes.

“That was my doctoral thesis from a few years ago. Back then the idea was completely theoretical, but even today at Stark Industries we’re developing prototypes using only nanotech.” You stated proudly.

“How’d you get around the deterioration objective?” He asked, with a slight tilt of his head.

“A housing unit that harnesses palladium and vibranium to almost charge the particles.” You explained, enjoying watching his eyes pop as you explained. It was refreshing talking to someone who spoke your language.

“That’s brilliant. It’s really such an honor to meet you. I know my team and I would be grateful if you would be able to spare a few minutes to look at our design? Our mentor is just... well he doesn’t have your experience.” He rubbed the back of his head nervously.

“I’ll see what I can do.” You smiled, “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Harley, Harley Keener.” He shook your hand with a smile.

- - - - - 🕷 - - - - -

Taglist in reblog

Please comment, like, and reblog!

Sorry this chapter is a little shorter, I’ve basically got the next one written but I thought it might be too long to combine them. Don’t worry Peter’s coming in soon!

[fuckit-hero-of-trains]

The End Meets the Beginning  Ch 1 & 2

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24281029/chapters/58524121

Summary: 

So yes, theoretically Link knew what he was supposed to be doing. 

Theoretically, he was working toward an insurmountable goal with the impossible guideline to remember something he hadn’t even realized he had forgotten and he was working on the time table of hurry, before it’s too late!

Theoretically, he didn't mean to think about his task so bitterly, but also theoretically, the voice would never know if he complained about his mission the entire way, now would she?

So again, yes. Link theoretically knew what he was supposed to be doing.

In practice? Link was not doing that.

It is dark.

It is dark and he cannot open his eyes.

It is dark and he cannot open his eyes and he feels nothing.

No… that's not quite right.

He can feel… things.

Things like the hand on his face, brushing locks of sweaty, blood matted hair from his forehead. Can feel arms around his back, holding him in the lap of a slight body. Can feel drops of warm water drip onto his face, one after the another, a rhythm.

It was not raining when he fell. Tears then. But who is crying?

He can’t remember and he can't open his eyes to check.

He can also feel pain, but it is distant, a figure on the horizon of his consciousness. He can feel it like how one feels an ache: present and slightly throbbing, but not noteworthy until one moves, until one focuses on the hurt.

And he does not want to focus on the hurt.

Does not want to focus on the fact that his entire body feels like it's been put through a meat grinder and then roughly shoved back into the shape of a person. Does not want to focus on the way he feels like he's drowning every time he breathes in, something bubbling, crackling with each breath out. Does not want to focus on the way his skin feels too hot and too cold, raw and sluffy, burnt and crinkling as it falls away.

So he does not focus on that.

Instead he focuses on the arms around him, the hands gently carding through his hair, the tears slowly dripping onto his cheeks.

He focuses on the soft voice above him, familiar, soothing despite its panic but unplaceable. A voice that begs him to open his eyes.

Please, wake up, Link! Open your eyes, Please!  

It is a nice voice, he thinks as the darkness becomes heavier, a blanket on his body and mind. As the pain recedes further, a shadow in the night. As slowly, the other sensations, not just the ache but the warm lap and the shaking arms and the comforting hands and the tears become nothing but phantom sensations on his rapidly numbing skin

As slowly, the voice grows more distant, blurry with the cotton now stuffed in his ears.

A nice voice, he thinks.

If this was the last thing he would ever hear, he is glad it is this nice voice.

…

...open your eyes…

Open your eyes.

Wake up, Link!

…

Theoretically, Link knows what he’s supposed to be doing.

He is supposed to be gathering the Spirit Orbs from the ancient Sheikah shrines. And wasn't that a weird sentence to think about? Did he do things that sounded that keeseshit insane back then? In the before? In the blackness that was his life before the glowing water, the Slate, The Voice? He couldn’t tell you.

He was supposed to be gathering the Spirit Orbs for an old man in exchange for a paraglider that would allow him to leave the safety of the Great Plateau.

And why was he doing this? Why was he leaving the relatively idyllic if not isolated slice of earth he had found himself in?

Because The Voice had asked him to.

Why had The Voice asked him to do this?

Apparently, because he was supposed to save the world.

Yeah...

He doesn't really buy it either. In fact, he wasn't sure he should be listening to The Voice in the first place.

Even without the memories of his… –shit, how old was he?... ehhh?– even without the memories of his eighteen years of life, Link knew one wasn't supposed to hear voices in one's head, let alone listen to them.

And yet…

And yet, something in him twisted at the thought of not listening to the voice.

Because it was The Voice. The soft, bone achingly familiar voice that had pulled him from the darkness. The Voice that had dragged him from his dreamless sleep and into the world of the living. The Voice that had given him a name.

The Voice that had named him Link.

It was The Voice that guided him from the chamber he had been trapped in, leading him to the Slate. The Slate that now sits at his hip, the thing that had allowed him to escape that cold, dark place.

It was The Voice that had lovingly called him the Light of Hyrule as he took his first shaking steps into the harsh rays of the sun, shielding his eyes as, for the first time since he could remember, he stepped out into the world.

So Link, who owed everything to the voice, could not just turn a blind eye when it asked something of him.

Could not say no when the voice had asked him to remember. Had begged him to remember a life he couldn't recall living 100 years ago.

Could not say no when that voice had begged and pleaded in his mind as a beast of swirling purple miasma consumed the castle in the distance. Could not bring himself to run away as the beast had slammed into an invisible wall and seemed to split in half… no…  when it had opened its unending maw, unhinged the non-existent bones of its jaw and screamed.

He could not deny the voice as it had begged him , someone who couldn’t even remember his own name until she had spoken it into existence, to remember an entire life’s worth of memories and to hurry. Hurry, before it’s too late!

So yes, theoretically Link knew what he was supposed to be doing.

Theoretically, he was working toward an insurmountable goal with the impossible guideline to remember something he hadn’t even realized he had forgotten and he was working on the time table of hurry, before it’s too late!

Theoretically, he didn't mean to think about his task so bitterly, but also theoretically, the voice would never know if he gripped about his mission the entire way, now would she?

So again, yes. Link theoretically knew what he was supposed to be doing.

In practice? Link was not doing that.

Well, he was doing that, but he was perhaps taking the scenic route to do so.

And how couldn't he?

Yes, that soft voice had asked for his help. Yes, she had helped him so much already and he wanted to repay her; would repay her if the massive boulder of writhing guilt in his gut had anything to say about it.

But he couldn't help but explore the tiny segment of the world he found himself spat out in.

Because… well… because everything was just so… so alive!

Which is how Link finds himself, three spirit orbs the richer, Slate now flashing with four runes– two types of bombs, the magnet one, and the stop time-y one– strolling through The Forest of Spirits with his head on a swivel and eyes wide.

He wants to take in everything. Wants to take in everything and etch it into his mind, never to be forgotten again. Because even if he can’t remember who he used to be, who the voice probably remembers him to be, at least he will remember this. Him. Link.

And so he walks slowly and lets it all sink in.

He notes the way the trees above his head are a bright verdant, their leaves highlighted yellow in some places where the sun is particularly bright. He takes in how, when he throws his head back, he can feel warm dappled light against his cheeks, against his smile.

As he walks through the forest, head back, not watching where he's walking but trusting the deer path to lead him well, Link notices how loud the woods around him are. In the branches above, birds twitter and call, singing wordless harmonies. The skittering of tiny animals accompanies them, percussion.

Link turns his head and eyes a swamp to his left and the humming of insects and chirping of frogs is added to the mix.

For a second, he is overcome with the urge to run to the swamp and just shove his hands and feet into the muck. From here he can see how the brown bubbles and shifts, oozing in odd ripples.

It looks disgusting.

He wants to know how it will feel caked all over his arms and legs.

After all, he can’t remember what that type of mud feels like. Will it be slimy? Or is it thicker than it looks, squishy but oddly firm? And besides, the only ones who will judge him are the frogs, and they seem to be having a great time.

He catches the scent of the mud as he turns toward it, legs already poised to run.

Link’s nose wrinkles. Okay, on second thought, maybe he would try that particular new experience some other time.

Besides, he rationalizes as he sets himself back onto the deer path, he still needs to pick up some supplies for his trek across The River of the Dead– what a stupidly melodramatic name– and up Mt. Hylia to the last shrine.

He needed food and probably something warm to wear

Then he will have enough Spirit Orbs for the trade.

He will leave all of this behind.

He should probably pick up extra supplies, he thinks, his steps slowing. He has no idea what the rest of the kingdom is like. Will the land be as plentiful? As full of trees with fruits and nuts? As rife with game? As absolutely full to the bursting with mushrooms?

Or will it be dry and arid? No food except that which he has squirreled away in his slate? Will it be home to even more hordes of monsters? Kinds that he has never seen before?

There's no way to know until he takes the jump.

The thought scares him.

It also excites the hell out of him.

So, Link continues his stroll through the woods, now actively searching among the trees and bushes for what he needs. He climbs an apple tree, the feeling of bark rough against his hands as he makes a grab for the firm, red fruit. Fresh dirt cakes the knees of his already stained pants as he kneels for mushrooms, the scent of wet growth thick in the air.

With a newly acquired bow, he takes aim, breathes in the forest, and releases air along with an arrow. It pierces the head of a boar. He cleans the body, takes only what he needs, and leaves the rest for nature to do with as it will.

It doesn't take long until he is stocked, his slate full of images of meat and foliage. It also doesn't take long until he runs out of forest, the trees thinning as he comes to the edge of not only the woods, but of the plateau itself.

With another glance up, Link takes in how the branches thin, letting in the sun and allowing him to see the cornflower blue of the sky. With another step out from the trees, he tries to memorize the clouds, some fluffy, others more akin to white grass, flat and wavy against the hills of blue.

Among the floating cotton, a bird, large and orangish-red sails, never once flapping its wings as it rides the wind.

And for a second, Link is struck by how big the bird is.

He’s never seen one so large before. Or at least, he can't remember seeing one so large. Not that that's saying much.

Maybe it was just closer to the ground than most other birds of prey he had seen before? Most of those– the hawks, the falcons–stayed high in the air, only diving low to catch prey unawares in the cage of their inescapable talons.

This bird, however, just glides, wheeling in the air in slow graceful circles. It never deviates from its path, never dips lower to dive, nor does it fly away to some perch off in the distance. It just … circles overhead.

Directly overhead, in fact.

Link watches for a minute longer, shading his eyes from the sun as he watches the avian carve another oval in the air with his wings. Eventually, however, with no sign of change, he lets his hand and eyes drop back down. Down to the edge of the plateau that lays before him.

It really was amazing, Link thinks as he strides closer to the brink and looks over the edge. Amazing how vast and beautiful and strange the world was.

Below him, the rock face that wasn't a rock face leads down, too far for him to safely climb to the land below.

He has no idea why the entire edge of the plateau looks like this; the sides of the cliff most definitely made from built up cobblestone rather than good old natural dirt and rock. It makes it look like the plateau was just… dropped here, the carved stone sides of the cliff merely artifacts from where it had been originally left intact.

His eyes flick back up, taking in the expanse of land before him. The land he could see but not touch. The land he would be gliding down to soon enough at the behest of The Voice.

If the plateau really was dropped here, where did it come from? he wonders, idly.

By the volcano, red with lava against the horizon? Or maybe somewhere past those mountains in the distance, the ones that looked like someone had taken one mountain and wrenched it into two? Perhaps past the castle, in the lands beyond the purple smoke? Or–?

The world tilts as Link feels his stomach fly up into his throat and then down past his shoes. Down. Down like the section of wall he had been standing on. Down. Down toward the unforgiving, unyielding ground.

Down. He is falling down.

Fuck, he thinks, as a scream is punched up from his lungs, I could really use a paraglider right about now.

Link’s eyes screw shut as wind rushes past his face, too loud.

He doesn't want to see the ground rushing up to meet him.

So in the dark, he falls. In the dark, he screams.

In the dark, a birdlike screech echoes back, getting louder and louder and louder.

[laundryandtaxes]

I appreciate that you engage with vegan arguments in good faith as a meat eater. I do think you're missing part of it, though. Re: meat as a "normal part of animal life", vegans would say that something being "natural" doesn't necessarily make it ethical. Many animals kill their young, rape, and cannibalize, which humans are against because we're capable of moral reasoning and aren't driven by pure instinct. We are animals, yes, but we experience life quite differently from other animals.

I think it's pretty presumptuous of the animal experience (especially when thinking about other mammals here) to assume that we experience the world in a terribly different way than most animals do- neither you nor I can know how animals experience the world, but I'd be surprised if a wolf killing a deer fawn never saw and noticed its visibly upset mother. I think every animal that hunts is aware that its prey would like to be alive rather than dead. But my point is not about the naturalness of the behavior, it's about the real lack of moral meaning in of the behavior of killing and consuming animals.

I think the ethical implication of a lot of arguments against the eating of animals is that, for instance, if a wolf could be made aware of the fact that it doesn't need meat to survive, the ethical thing for the wolf to do would be to stop killing and eating animals- it sounds silly, but I think the notion that we know better/differently just falls incredibly flat. Take the brown bear (commonly just called a Grizzly, an animal I really really love) for instance- for the majority of the year many of them straight up eat no meat without, to my knowledge, any consequence. In fact, the way that many brown bears eat salmon would be considered deeply unsportsmanlike by human anglers. Many rip the heads off to consume the fatty tissue of the head, brain, etc, and completely discard the carcasses.

Here is where I think my point is most clarified. I think that is acceptable behavior for brown bears, but not for us, because it is not the taking of animal life that concerns me at all. It is the taking of animal life for purposes other than self defense or for the enjoyment you get out of eating the animal. Even in that case perhaps I'm being hypocritical- the bear's enjoyment is clearly in eating the heads. For another instance, mountain lions are known to kill prey, hide them somewhere, and not even eat them. It would seem some animals do in fact kill more or less for fun, or to sharpen their skills for when they need to. Many whales are known to have these hour-long chases of prey animals where they maybe take a couple bites, just for the sake of teaching their young how to hunt. While I don't think these are acceptable behaviors for us, I don't find them to be morally wrong things for animals to do. Certainly I wouldn't consider taking your child hunting and taking only the loin off a deer to be acceptable. I think the common ethics of hunters around "waste" are there for us to feel good about our behavior, but I don't think theyre moral truths. I don't support killing animals you aren't going to eat or donate with the exception of pest and population control, such as in the case of wild hogs or coyotes. But to say that an animal that is killed and left to rot has been "wasted" is not really true to the animals that live in that ecosystem. Kill a deer and leave it, and surely a coyote will come along and eat to sustain himself for a while, and turkey vultures will have something to eat, along with bugs and fungi that thrive on decomposition. So the whole notion of waste is more about what we as hunters and humans feel justifies the taking of animal life, and nothing to do with morals, and frankly nothing to do with the wasting of life. So I'll use hog hunting as an example I've thought a lot about. Again, I don't think there is anything morally wrong with killing a hog and "letting it lie" for other animals to eat. But I really dislike and find the culture around hog hunting to he morally repugnant- a lot of guys get into it just because they want to kill a lot of stuff, and that bothers me. The pigs don't give a shit. And killing them is the correct thing to do- they wreak havoc on any ecosystem as invasive animals. So there is no moral wrong being committed here. It bothers me that some people just want to kill a bunch of stuff for no reason. This has to do with human motivation. The pigs don't give a shit. The animals that would feed on a pig carcass don't give a shit.

Where this comes full circle is that I think humans have very similarly nonsensical ideas about our place in the animal kingdom and our place as these really somehow special animals who just know better than other animals what is right and what is wrong, but the codes we do have are most often not really about ethics- the right and wrong here is entirely about our feelings, not actually whether it is right or wrong to take an action. Few people would find it acceptable to rip a pig apart limb from limb even if you were going to eat it, but that's how coyotes regularly hunt. My thinking is that, even if the coyote had some presence of mind that we are assuming he doesn't have (and I think it would be wildly incorrect for us to think that hunting animals don't know that prey animals want to continue to be alive) about the suffering of his prey, there would not really be any moral obligation for him to stop hunting. Morality is functionally how we make sense of and code interactions between people, how we regulate our own social systems, how it frankly makes us feel best and most just to live. None of this makes a difference to an animal that doesn't want to die. I just think the idea that humans are such different animals that we have this higher moral responsibility to other animals than any other animals is on its face kind of absurd. Because we live in societies where all of us rely on and, theoretically, value each other, there are certain things we do not do to other people because they violate some form of our basic human social contract- basic bodily autonomy in the case of sexual assault, the basic right to live free from undue physical harm in the case of child abuse, etc. I think the idea that morality is a thing that broadly exists among human and nonhuman animals alike is incorrect- it is our creation, and our set of rules. Maybe this will clear things up for you- it's not something I haven't considered and frankly it is not really easy to articulate fully what I'm trying to get at, especially at what is for me 7:21 am, but hopefully it gives you an idea of the kind of things knocking around in my head.

[imaginarycircus]

Today is my birthday and all well wishes are giddily accepted. I’m going to level with you. I’ve felt disappointed in myself lately more and more. For the last few years I’ve been increasingly selfconscious and kind of embarrassed about my age, my appearance, and my lack of success for a given value of success. Like I’m an old washing machine that needs to be taken out back and disassembled for parts or used as a fire pit. The worst part is that I knew I was selling myself a bill of goods and I couldn’t stop.

This is venting. I’d love it if you have time and energy to listen, but please don’t give me advice. If you want to share your experiences or feelings that is cool. I’d love to hear about you. I’m sorry this is like a 3 TED talk series, but you do not have to read it and I don’t expect anyone to do so.

If a friend told me they felt like this I’d theoretically grab their face in both hands and look into their eyes and say, “You precious, wonderful, jar of dumbass jam.”

“You have a messy life and stuff that gets in the way and maybe you’re not always doing your best, but you try to and you’re nice to animals and you sure do cry about them a lot. This writing deal is hard. You started 17 years ago, which was a bit late, and you’ve worked really hard. Despite every rejection, you have not stopped. Do you realize how much better you’ve become than you were? Sure. You’ve had some bad luck. Everyone has, but yours is yours. It sucks, but don’t let it define you. Oh. You already let it define you. Past-you is gone and now-you can stop doing that.

You got the MFA. You wrote a novel and your agent couldn’t sell it, but you did it. And you got an agent, which is pretty good. You did well in that Penguin contest. You didn’t win, but top 50 out of 5,000 isn’t too bad. You created two scripted series and wrote the first season of one of them 2-3 times and planned the other in exquisite detail. It’s in development hell and I know you’re tired and you’ve kind of given up hope, but the people negotiating stuff believe in your work (also @kyrieanne‘s work.) You’ve written a lot. You’re writing a novel right now and your agent is on board. Plus you’re still riding around on this planet. There were times you wanted to get off the ride, but you didn’t.

No one else but you swims in the alchemical product of your past, your traumas, your joys, your education, your hard work, your chronic health issues, and your many mistakes. Own it and fucking walk up the chest of anyone who says you’re not good enough. Yeah. You got walk up your own chest now, buddy. Take some advil. I love you. Take out the trash. And remember you had three separate cancer scares this year. Two surgeries. Two biopsies, one of them a total nightmare, and you were bleeding so much because of that uterine polyp you had no iron for carrying oxygen to your bits and bobs or your brainbox. Take a breath. Take a shower. Drink water. Go out this evening and eat a warm buttered lobster roll and drink some good wine and realize how fucking lucky you are to be able to do that. I love you, you beautiful, dumbass jar of jam.”

But my inner convo has been like, “Dude. Honey. Me. Plz stop. Comparisons are odious. Yes, we like John Donne. No, we do not usually think about ourselves in the third person, but for this exercise it makes sense that even when I am talking to myself I may be talking to another part of myself I’m so at odds with they seem like a different person. We contain multitudes! We also have the adhd and what were we talking about? Oh, yes. We think we’re old and a failure. We’ve bought into it so hard that it keeps us up at night and stalks us during the day. If it walks like a failure duck and talks like a failure duck...

Okay. The WE thing has to stop. Switching to 2nd person, extremely goddamn familiar.

You’re 48 (49 today) and everyone around you is seems so accomplished and has racked up cool resume worthy successes, which you learn about on that bastion or truth and moral rectitude--the twitter. They ARE things. While you? Are nothing in particular. Mostly a lot of “does not live up to potential.” And what the fuck have you done? 3k NY Times crossword puzzles? You haven’t published anything and maybe that’s because you’re not a very good writer. You’ve written a lot of shit in the last two decades, but where has it gotten you? Maybe you’re a dilettante with no substance. You can’t prove you aren’t.

People 20 years younger have accomplished so much more. Now you’re old and annoying and occasionally confused by the youths and their slang. You’re still never sure of the nuance of bougie because it seems to be used in so many different ways. You got cagey about telling anyone your age bc the number sounds alarming. You know you’re buying into a bullshit patriarchal system that devalues people further if they’re no longer baby factories.

And there was that bullshit when some partially baked people told adults to get out of fandom and you kind of said fuck that noise gently with a chainsaw, but you also felt bad. Like an old cranky dude in a ratty old bathrobe who pours  beer on his generic cheerios (tragically called rings’o’oats) and shovels them into his mouth thinking about how he could have BEEN someone, but was struck down by tragedy, or an ego so fragile a light breeze destroyed it. Who refuses to teach a young whipper snapper the ancient art of smacking an object from one place to another bc he’s golluming over his manpain. An off-brand Obi Wan who must be harassed to rejoin the human race and who starts to live again after helping some prodigy succeed. Except you? You’re in the ratty bathrobe phase, probably for eternity, and no one is coming to ask you to do anything, because you never did anything. You’re getting wrinkles and you feel invisible a lot of the time in a way that makes you want to set things on fire bc you’re a middle aged lady, who is not particularly pretty, accomplished, or a mom so wtf are you? And you know that’s a world of absolute bullshit, but you’re soaking it like it’s the world’s biggest tub of Palmolive and you don’t remember getting into it. You know what would make you feel better and give you an ersatz sense of accomplishment?”

And then I do another crossword puzzle. I went back into therapy with someone who specializes in adhd. It’s helping. I haven’t been around here much bc... welp. You’re reading this. I didn’t want to be No Face in Spirited Away vomiting all this trash on you, especially because I know it’s the most womp womp, irritating, middle aged white lady thinks her life is hard and must tell you about it at great length. But then I remember my shitty feelings are valid and I do not ever expect anyone to read this so I can put here if it helps me.

I will be fine. These are human shaped problems. But if you’ve read this nonsense and thought about it, giggled at it, or wondered if you should call someone like I’m a cat stuck in a tree who did not know fully comprehend the consequences of her actions? Thank you. I appreciate you. As always I hope a dog looks at you and wants to be your friend, or a cat walks on your hair because it loves you. (It should go without saying, but feel free to substitute any animal or item into my well wishes as per your requirements.) If you need an excuse to eat cake today--I have decreed that you must do this in my honor. But only if you feel like it and you can eat cake. Also the cake can be made of anything. The cake could be avocados or mathematical. Use your imagination.

To wit; I am 49 fucking years old today. I’m owning it. I’m owning every wrinkle and sun spot. (I started using a serum to deal with sun damage and it seems to work. People told me to wear sunscreen, but I did not.) I’m owning my own failures (and sun damage). I’m learning to own my successes too, especially the ones that don’t make sense to other people without a power point presentation, a Q&A, and a ritual burning of certain artifacts.

Here’s what I’ve done with my life. I’ve lived it.

[ayakashiramblings]

ABC NSFW Headcanons: Aoi

In celebration of Aoi being released, here we are, coming for him! … Wait… no…   Also, I am going to age him up to 18 years old because again, that’s the legal age in Japan. Finally, ignore the ‘Location’ part. 

A - ‘Aftercare’ (What they’re like after sex)

Boys, meet your king and take some notes from the student, y’all. 

Wipes you down and helps you shower, keeps you hydrated and even wraps you up in a burrito of blankets. 

He does ask ‘How was it?’ because I have a feeling you are his first so he isn’t experienced but would let you set the pace.

B - ‘Body’ (Body Part of Yours he Loves)

Aoi is the kind to worship you.

But let’s be honest. You’re his first woman. 

He will HAVE to go for the boobs. 

It doesn’t help they are the only things stopping him from being completely consumed in your heart.

Tease him with them and he will lose it.

C - ‘Cum’ (How does his cum taste like/look like)

He is not even 20 yet but the poor boy is overworked. 

So when he gets a release, it will be in HUGE amounts, albeit not in a complete one-shot and in gradual intervals. 

The good news is that he probably cooks for himself so knows to eat his veggies. 

Moreover, he doesn’t consume alcohol which would have affected the taste/amount of the semen. 

He did indicate a slight interest in Ramune bottles though so I don’t think it’s going to be THE perfect taste. 

Definitely in the top 2 though; slightly sweet with a tangy after-taste.

D - ‘Dirty Secret’ (DUH)

Has always wanted to paint… on your body.

It could be of anything, some sensuous flower, fierce animal or your favourite quote from a good book, he just wants to mark you in every way possible.

So why not his own art?

E - ‘Experience’ (Does he know what he is doing?)

One word. 

Student. 

He’s probably blushing like mad even after trying to discreetly read the books he loaned from Ginnojo… 

Which lead to an awkward study-buddy kind of thing as they debated between themselves on how certain positions were even possible.

Both failed the theoretical but at least Aoi will get practical points later...

F - ‘Favorite Position’ (Again, duh)

He wouldn’t know much in the beginning but after a bit of experimentation, he settles for...

Coital Alignment Technique. 

That technically was only defined in 1988 BUT that is not the point.

The giver lies above the receiver, moving up until his erection is pointing “down,” the dorsal side of the penis pressing against the clitoris as he penetrates.

Essentially, it’s like the Missionary but adjusted so not only can he bring you closer to a good orgasm, he gets to see each and every one of your expressions and be exposed to the pulse near your collar bones.

G - ‘Goofy’ (Serious or humorous?)

I know some might think he is all for serious lovemaking due to his stringent nature but I disagree. 

He and MC seem more in-tune with each other than the rest of the team, and he is more empathetic and considers her needs and likes, without basing it on societal values or whatever norms.

If there is a funny moment or this is part of cheering MC up, he is more than willing to pull out a joke. 

Sure, he might be dying from sheer mortification if you laugh too hard but your smile is enough for him to forget about it and laugh along and learn from it.

H- ‘Hair under THERE’ (Pubic Hair Treatment, does the carpet match the shades?)

He’s a clean-freak, he’s good with his hands, what do you mean he doesn’t manscape??? 

Pry this thought out of my cold, roaming hands. 

And yes, it’s the same shade, if not slightly lighter.

I- ‘Intimacy’ (How they are doing the moment, romantic aspects)

This one depends on several factors honestly. 

If he actually overcomes his fear of peering into people’s emotions, he might want to feel the warm embrace of your heart (with your consent, of course). 

He does get embarrassed and may cover up any cute gestures with abrasive words but nothing will stop him from letting you know how much he appreciates you... even if you may or may not need a Tsundere-translator in the midst of it all.

At least he nails the whole atmosphere, making it nice and soft just to be in each other’s embrace.

J- ‘Jack Off’ (Masturbation)

Before MC? Hell no. 

Dude only works himself up to a frenzy over dirty dishes and broken paintbrushes. 

Meeting MC? Starts aggressively chopping anything in sight and taking out his frustrations in the cooking.

He then realizes the ingredients are getting more pounding moments than he has and starts to relieve himself when he is absolutely sure no one is around to stumble into his room.

Poor boy doesn’t know where to start though and it is only when he imagines his hands being yours does he get anywhere.

K- ‘Kink’ (One or two of his kinks)

I think I have said this before but unwrapping you like a present is a gift in itself.

Ribbons, ribbons, oh so pretty...

Look me in the eye and tell me that tugging on his long, luscious locks doesn’t get him off.

Consent. No, but seriously, him being constantly reassured that you want this as much as he does just encourages him to explore more.

L- ‘Location’ (Favourite places to do the do)

On Oji’s bed so that the old man can’t sleep anymore on that mattress.

Ok, but really, he would love it in either of your bedrooms so that HE can take care of cleaning up the mess and no one else. 

Anywhere is fine, the wall, the bed, the floor. Just let him have access to some cleaning supplies.

M- Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Anything about you being happy. 

Heck, you could be smiling over some random 2D dude getting his route released in a few hours in some manga and he would be hiding a raging boner.

Did I mention ribbons? If not, then ribbons.

N- ‘No.’ (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Whatever it is, no foodplay. How dare you waste food made from ingredients Oji-san FINALLY remembered?!

No threesomes either because he is always worried you might get Kuya involved...

O- ‘Oral’ (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He is a GREAT giver. 

Not only that, HE ACTUALLY KNOWS NOT TO JUST FLICK IT.

Ginnojo, does your bookshop have some hidden Sex Bible or something?

Firm, repetitive rolls before sucking on the engorged clit, all the while letting his one free hand grab onto some other erogenous zone of yours.

Initially, super reluctant to receive because “MC! It-it-it down there?!”

A bit self-conscious about the taste and if you can actually breathe. 

Until you start to let your tongue wander over the whole of his length.

Now, he likes to give and receive.

P- ‘Pace’ (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

He’s going for a marathon session whenever possible. 

He loves lengthy lovemaking where all his senses are aroused. 

That means sexy music and lots of foreplay to get a stimulating hour (or two).

Q- ‘Quickie’ (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He would LOVE it ONLY if you made a feisty quickie at work. 

Rip off his clothes, and go at it as soon as he walks through the door. 

That I-need-you-now approach boosts his confidence and his lust.

R- ‘Risk’ (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Honestly, only if you suggest it. 

And he has ensured that it will not jeopardize your safety. 

And that it is technically physically possible, he has all the equipment...

Essentially, as long as both of you are prepared, he is more than willing to.

S - ‘Stamina’ (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

The first few times is a soft ‘2’ because he doesn’t know his own reactions (yet). 

However, he quickly learns how to control yours and his release.

Suddenly, he wants to go at it like rabbits over long durations.

Seriously contemplates making a schedule.

T - ‘Toy’ (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

If you wanted to try one, he will... struggle to buy them. 

So he isn’t so keen on them.

Also because he prefers learning your body’s natural responses to his touches and not through some plastic equipment that is...

Wait, why is it rotating?

Is it another wand?

U - ‘Unfair’ (how much they like to tease)

In the initial stages? You are the Queen of teasing this poor fool.

But remember, he can get his revenge as a Seer. 

Basically, you are going to regret it MUCH, MUCH later.

... Provided he gets either drunk enough to say it or you two are like maybe, 1 month into the relationship.

V - ‘Volume’ (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He is more into heavy panting, and airy, hot breaths.

Because he wants to focus on your moans and is a bit self-conscious. 

But occasionally, rough grunts overlap with your sounds, especially the closer the two of you become.

W - ‘Wildcard’ (Random Headcanon)

You and his first time will make him extremely worried about hurting you, even if you aren’t a virgin.

Because one good/bad thing about his appearance is that sometimes girls randomly chat to ‘her’ about their lives… including very, very, very bad sex. 

Until you make him discover the joys of voyeur vision. 

Slowly undressing for him, and then starting to pleasure yourself. 

The sight had made him weak in the knees, and he had quickly joined in to learn the ropes.

Oh boy, he is a great student. :D

X - ‘X-ray’ (How is the package?)

Hidden in loose boxers (to hide any reaction to certain actions of yours)

I’m going to be honest, he is probably just average in terms of length. 

BUT GREAT GIRTH.

Even better that his glans is nearly the same size as his width. 

A bit curved towards the stomach, with some prominent veins.

Y - ‘Yearning’ (How high is his sex drive?’)

High. Super high.

This is going to be first and hopefully the only partner. 

He wants to ravish you at least 3 times a week.

A bit interesting it falls on Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

Z - ‘Zzzz…’ (How fast do they fall asleep?)

Initially, it takes him a good half-an-hour because he is so busy tending to you until you get him to relax with pillow talks.

Soon though, he likes to cuddle with you before hitting the hay.