#pale yellow blank screens

[wally-b-feed]

[l0vegl0wsinthedark]

Zoom In.

Muggle AU, professor of 18C literature and poetry Draco, celebrity Harry ✨️

~

Violet was the first to log in - again. In the minutes before class began - in the "waiting room" - while she stared at her blank screen, it felt like the only real few moments she truly had to herself.

She spent all those moments, like so many others, thinking about Professor Malfoy.

To every single straight girl, and the singular gay guy, in class, Professor Malfoy was prime wank material. Violet hadn't known her classmates to be as desperate for a good word on their assignments from any other professor. To think homework would feature so high on the to-do lists of some of the biggest lunkheads she knew...there was definitely something about him, that Professor Malfoy.

She could see the appeal. The eerily pale eyes, hair, and skin made to appear warmer by the fluffy jumpers - all in elegant shades of scarlet, burgundy, emerald, wine, golden yellow - he wore over crisply ironed button-downs and tailored trousers; the way he used his hands when he talked, long fingers like a pianist's; the slim golden spectacles he was constantly misplacing on his own head, the rich precision with which he pronounced the olde names and subjects that he spoke of - it was very difficult not to admire Professor Malfoy.

All of that, but nobody really knew much about him outside of uni.

They'd switched to virtual classes a week ago; hurrah for the new pandemic. The idea that she didn't have to sit in class with her tittering classmates, a stray cough sounding now and again, made Violet automatically sit up straighter and smile, just as the little boxes on her screen began popping into life.

"Aaaayyyy!"

"Tell me we don't need to have our faces on display."

"So, yes, before anyone asks: this is a real lip ring. An actual piercing. Yeah, I'm not blowing you, Greg, sod off."

"Is Professor Malfoy on?"

"No, I don't see him here yet. Did he grade your essay?"

"Yo, can someone please tell me how to turn this camera off, I am smashed out my--"

"Click on the camera icon, Bryan--"

"It's not even noon, what d'you mean "smashed"?

"No, you've turned off your mic. No, we cannot hear you screaming."

"First icon on the bottom left," Violet said, rolling her eyes.

And then Professor Malfoy was in class.

There was a beat of silence before everyone called out greetings, a chaotic round of cheerful hello's that nobody could quite make sense of. Least of all Professor Malfoy.

He was peering into his screen, his slim nose scrunched.

"All right, so I can see me. Can you?"

Cacophonic confirmations.

"Okay, so nobody can see or hear me. Right."

More shrill reassurances. One loud beer-belch.

"Damn it all to hell, I knew this would happen, I told him that I'll need--"

"We can see you!" shrieked Preiti.

"We can hear you!" Nora bellowed.

But Professor Malfoy was already twisting around in his chair, scowling heavily, and screaming, "OY! COME IN HERE, YOU MISERABLE WANKER!"

Violet, along with her classmates, just stared in mystified silence. The professor never spoke like that. He ticked them off if they did.

A tall figure in a too big hoodie appeared suddenly, hissing back at Professor Malfoy. There was a golden lion printed on the maroon jacket. The hood was drawn in close, and Violet could just barely make out the light from the computer screen glinting off a pair of round glasses, on which a shaggy fringe of dark hair fell.

"You need to turn the volume up. Git," said the stranger. "Your camera's already on."

"I hate technology," Professor Malfoy seethed.

"You hate so much else. I'm getting fish and chips." The man was already walking off.

"I want mushy peas too, with mine."

"What kind of sick bastard." The room door was shut with a thud.

"Sorry about all that. We are now officially in session," Professor Malfoy said, smiling and restoring his glasses upon his nose. "Do you all have--?"

There was a muffled shout from somewhere behind the professor. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Professor Malfoy called back, "No. No, I don't want a curry dipping sauce."

There was more muffled yelling.

"Harry, get out right now!" shrieked Professor Malfoy, and Violet, along with the others, just ogled.

Malfoy sighed. "Sorry 'bout that. Just my idiot husband."

"You're married?!" Violet had asked before she could stop herself.

Professor Malfoy sighed, flipping open a thick, spiral bound folder. "Yes. You've heard of Harry Potter, I'm sure. He's the poor idiot I married."

[sweetsweetjellybean]

Forgotten sons, Forgotten dates, Eddie coming to your rescue & Florence.

Masterlist Listen to Disarm Here

What to expect: Second Chance Romance set in 2012 Chicago.  Eddie and Steve are in their 30s. Fem!Reader is given a pet name from each of the guys. No other name mentioned. No use of Y/N. No physical description. Reader does have a bit of personality, as I find it nearly impossible to keep her blank for such a long fic. You may find yourself at times making choices that you wouldn't normally make, but I hope you can put that aside and enjoy the ride. Sensitive Content. 18+ Mentions of DV. Smut Guaranteed happy ending. This is my love letter to Eddie Munson.

WC:8554 beta'd by @superblysubpar

The slow roll of red and blue lights reflects on the big picture window in your living room, casting a glare across the TV screen. Shifting from your stomach, your head turns to meet the anxious expressions worn by your parents. The handful of popcorn you were holding falls to the beige-colored carpet where you’d been sprawled. 

‘Honey…” your dad’s concerned voice cautions, but it’s too late. You are on your feet, greasy fingerprints transferred to your flannel pajama pants as you walk straight toward the door.

“Honey, don’t. It’s not our business.”

As the door swings open, a gust of frigid November air washes over you. Your bare feet meet an icy sting from the frozen boards of your porch. The staticky voices from police radios crackle through the cold night air, their words blending into an indecipherable hum as they float down the street. The wood underneath your feet turns to the scrape of cement as you leave the warm safety of your home and run down the rain-washed street towards the ambulances and police cruisers. Fallen red and yellow leaves stick to the pavement, their colors vivid in the flashing lights reflecting off the wet road.

Time stretches like a rubber band, lengthening each moment. People in uniforms hurry past, paying you no attention as you call out his name. The smell of damp earth mixes with the acrid scent of diesel from the idling vehicles. Bright lights from inside the house spill out into the dark from the open front door.

“Eddie,” you cry out again as a hand closes over your elbow, tugging you back.

“You can’t be here.”

You struggle, attempting to break free from the policeman's grip as he pulls you away. Your head turns, and your eyes finally find his. Frightened doe eyes peer back from a pale face tinged with blue. Sitting in the back of the ambulance, he looks much smaller, like the world has pressed its full weight down on him. The gray blanket covering his shoulder doesn’t protect him from the shattering of the only life he knows. 

“Eddie,” you whisper his name, your voice trembling. He tries to stand, shrugging off the woolen blanket, his hand reaching out as the EMT seals the doors. The ambulance roars to life and speeds away, leaving you alone with the taste of salt from your tears mingling with the cold, crisp air. A gurney rolls past, bearing a figure lying motionless beneath a white sheet. Only a portion of her face is visible, her features obscured by a patchwork of black and blues, her dark hair falling to the side like a shroud.

"I've got her."

Your dad's strong voice breaks through the chaos as he sweeps you up from the policeman's grip. He holds you close, carrying you away like he did when you were much younger, your face buried in his shoulder, tears dampening the fabric of his jacket. The world blurs as his steps bring you closer to home. You cry for the boy who will face the rest of this world alone.

“Egg-white omelet with tomatoes, mushrooms, and onions. No spinach. And I’ll have a side of bacon, very crispy but not blackened,” Nancy says, handing her menu to the waiter before shifting her eyes toward you. 

“Two eggs over easy, please–avocado toast and the fruit salad.”

“I’ll do the brioche french toast with the salted caramel and bananas. And extra whipped cream, please. Oh, and a side of sausage links.”

“What?” Robin asks after the waiter has left. “I’m hungry.”

“We just worked out,” Nancy scolds. 

“I did hot yoga. I need to replenish,” Robin explains, raising a mug of tea to her lips.

After moving here, a night out always ended with breakfast at The Friendly Toast, welcoming the sun as it rose over the city. As habits and routines changed, it evolved into a standing brunch for just the ladies after morning gym sessions. The diner’s retro black and white flooring and red vinyl upholstered seating still bears the same traces of syrup as it did all those years ago, but the food is good, and the wait is never long. 

"Was it the hot yoga or you're Saturday night with Taylor," you tease, earning a dreamy smile from a pink-cheeked Robin. 

"Yoga actually wasn't that hot this morning," Robin admits, biting her lip, reaching for the creamer pitcher at the center of the Formica table.

Now that you all have a bit more cash to spare, Nancy leans towards the idea of brunching in a bougier spot in your shared Gold Coast neighborhood, but Robin is a stickler for traditions. The charm of Nancy Sinatra playing over the speakers and the selection of boozy milkshakes are what win your vote. 

The food arrives quickly this morning. “Three hot plates for three hot ladies,” the waiter winks as he delivers generous portions on the ceramic oval plates. The smoky scent of bacon mixed with the sweetness of caramel. He pulls a silver canister from his apron pocket, giving Robin’s dish an extra squirt of whipped cream.

“Oh, he’s getting a very good tip,” Robin says, placing her napkin in her lap.

Laughing, you pick up your fork and break the yolk, letting the soft yellow drip onto the smashed avocado. Nancy rolls her eyes and picks up her beeping phone. 

"No phones," Robin chides around a mouth full of French toast.

"Sorry," Nancy says, tapping out a quick reply before placing her phone face down on the table, "My brother is driving everyone crazy.” She unwraps her silverware before continuing, “He wants us all to come to Florida for Christmas since it will be the first one in their new house, but Hawkins is so much easier for everyone. Holly is still in school, and Jonathan doesn’t want to take that much time off from work.”

“Sounds like Steve.” Your eyebrow lifts as you take a bite.

“Steve only works so hard because he wants to take care of you,” Robin says, pointing her fork in your direction.

“He adores you,” Nancy agrees, “You're lucky.”

“I know.” You pick at your eggs. It’s moments like this that make it clear they’ll always be Steve’s friends first. 

“Did you get the Bulls tickets for his birthday?” Nancy asks, before picking up a piece of bacon with her fingers and biting into it with an audible crunch.

“I ordered them last week,” you tell her, taking a bite of pineapple.

“I hope you got extra,” Robin says, dabbing some whipped cream from the corner of her mouth with a napkin. 

“You're not thinking of going now?” Nancy looks at her, surprised.

“No. Not for me,” Robin says, waving her off, “I’m sure he’ll want to invite Eddie now that he’s back in town.”

You sit up straighter in your chair, just the mention of Eddie's name has tension rippling down your spine. “I got him six tickets. He’ll have three extra to invite whoever he wants,” you say, settling the matter.

“Let me know how much I owe you for me and Jonathan,” Nancy tells you.

“I got it,” you assure her, “Just buy him a foam finger or something.”

“It’s his birthday. You’re really not going?” Robin prods, her voice carrying a note of judgment.

“Not if I can help it. You know I don’t like sports.” It's the same answer as the first time she brought it up, a few weeks ago. “He’ll have more fun with people who appreciate it. I’ll celebrate with him when we’re alone.”

“Say no more,” Nancy says, raising her hands as she looks down at her plate.

“Come on, Nance,” Robin laughs, “You used to celebrate with him in the exact same way.”

“Robin,” Nancy whispers through clenched teeth, darting her eyes toward you.

“I don’t care, Nance. It’s ancient history,” you chuckle. Steve’s high school relationship with her ended with a lot of heartache, but they obviously weren’t right for each other. The friendship that they share today is different from his and Robin's. She understands the pressure that he's under. 

“I’ve always wanted to know,” Robin says, her eyes glinting with mischief, “Who is better, Steve or Jonathan?”

“Don’t answer that,” you chuckle, patting Nancy’s hand as her face cycles through several shades of pink. 

“I won’t,” she glares at Robin. “Oh, wait. I don’t owe you,” she says, turning back to you and shifting the conversation, “You owe me. I can’t believe you scooped us on Eddie’s studio opening.”

Sighing heavily, you fill your mouth with a big bite of your breakfast, but the taste is off now. This story is a relentless storm cloud, always hovering, disrupting the peace. He's only been here a week and here's another argument. Hurricane Eddie. He must be pleased, relishing the storm he's brought into your life.

“Spectrum doesn’t even write about music,” Robin points out with a slice of banana at the end of her fork.

“It would have been a great piece for Chicago Lifestyles. We even could have hyped it up on an episode of Chronicle,” she complains, mentioning the human interest show that Spectrum runs profiling things happening in the city. “I’m the one that organized his welcome night, and this is the thanks I get.”

“Don’t look at me." You raise your hands in front of you. 

“Why did he tell you and not me that he was moving here?” Robin adds her own touch of gripping. “I should have been in charge of that.”

“Because then it wouldn’t have been a surprise,” Nancy tells her, “You’ve never been able to keep a secret.”

“But you’re very pretty,” you chuckle, diffusing the situation.

“Thank you. I am,” she responds, swirling her last bite in caramel before popping it into her mouth.

Your laughter blends with the background din of conversation and the gentle clinking of silverware as you savor the last bites of your meal. When the check arrives, Nancy insists on covering the bill, urging you to put your share toward the cost of Steve's tickets, and Robin leaves behind the promised very generous tip. With your plates cleared and goodbyes exchanged, the three of you leave the crowded restaurant.

As you trail behind Robin and Nancy, your phone starts vibrating with an incoming call. Fumbling through the pockets of the jacket you're carrying, you step out onto the bustling sidewalk, teeming with people entering and exiting the diner. Lost in distraction, you collide head-on with a solid chest. Strong hands instinctively grasp your biceps, preventing you from stumbling further. As your gaze lifts, you're met with the chestnut eyes that have been the wind, stirring up your world. 

“Whoa. Careful, doll,” he says, surprise lacing his tone.

“What are you doing here?” You demand.

Flecks of gray paint pepper the tangle of dark curls pushed back from his face, joining the streaks and spatters covering his ripped jeans and a long-sleeved white tee, his wide eyes drinking you in.

“He’s meeting me,” Robin says, appearing beside you. “I’m taking him to meet an artist he’s commissioning. See, I can keep a secret.”

He’s still holding you, his eyes locked with yours, each ridge of his fingertips searing into your skin, the pressure of grip alternating like he’s reluctant to let you go. 

“I’m late,” you murmur, pulling away from his touch and turning in the opposite direction to walk down the road toward your car. 

"I’ll be right back,” he tells Robin before his footsteps echo on the sidewalk behind you. He waits until the restaurant is just out of sight.

“Doll-”

Keeping your pace purposeful, you push past people heading in the opposite direction, feigning deafness to his voice amidst the sound of traffic.

“Doll, just wait,” his hand brushes your elbow, but you spin before he can secure a grip. “Jesus. Will you give me a minute,” he mutters, frustration etching lines on his forehead as he rakes his hand through his hair.

“What do you want?” You ask, cradling your jacket closer to your chest.

“I had no idea you were here. I wasn’t trying to ambush you back there,” he tries to explain.

“It’s fine, Eddie.” Your eyes glance at the people passing around you. “You made it perfectly clear you’re going to go wherever you like.”

His tongue peeks out, wetting his top lip as he shakes his head. “Look, I wanted to tell you I don’t want you to do the interview.”

“Wow, okay.” Your eyes scrunch as the sting of rejection overpowers the butterflies filling your stomach.

“No,” he winces at his choice of words. “I want you too.” 

“You’re giving me whiplash here.” You finally meet his gaze. 

“What I’m trying to say is that I want to see you. Talk to you, but I don’t want you doing this interview hating me because you were forced into it.”

“It’s a little late for that-”

“No. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I can tell them…I can say I changed my mind.” His words carry a weight of earnestness, a sincerity that chips at the wall you’ve built between you. The instinct not to trust him, to remember all the times he’s let you down, wars with the truth in his eyes, begging you for acceptance. 

“We are both professionals. I can write it.” Your foot taps a quick rhythm against the pavement, as your face stays blank with defiance.

“If you’re sure...” he trails off, his eyes burning into yours as he waits for your answer.

The words form and reform on the tip of your tongue until the truth slips past, “I don’t hate you, Eddie,” you admit just above a whisper. 

“Well, that’s something,” he murmurs, searching your face.

The buzzing from your pocket resumes as the world shifts back into focus, breaking through the momentary understanding. 

“I’ve got to go,” you tell him, motioning towards your car. “The magazine will call and set something up soon.”

He blows out a breath as his shoulders lower. “I guess I’ll see ya round then,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

You nod, turning in the direction of your car, leaving him standing on the sidewalk to watch you walk away, the city filling the space between you.

Steve’s assistant is at his desk, fingers flying across the keyboard as he speaks into a headset. With a pleasant smile and a wave, you pass by him, pausing at the double doors to knock once under the brass nameplate reading Harrington. You turn the knob without waiting for a response. Steve is seated behind his immaculate metal and glass-topped desk, not a paper out of place. The floor-to-ceiling windows behind him frame a breathtaking view of the city's skyline while the afternoon sun casts long shadows across the plush beige carpeting. 

"Damn." He pauses with his coffee cup suspended halfway to his mouth, eyes roaming up and down your body. ‘Someone's a lucky guy.”

Biting your lip, his compliment has a smile lifting your cheeks. The velvet blazer covering over your shoulders crowns the plunging black silk tank you put on this morning. Its lacy edges trace the curves of your breasts, while your faux leather pants and ankle boots make your legs look miles long and hug your curves just right. 

“Yeah, well, big assignment today,” you reply, running your fingertips along the edge of his desk. 

In the past six years at Stax, you've delved into Ozzy's addiction, engaged Thom Yorke about climate change, and held the hand of a teary-eyed Taylor Swift as she cried over her ex. Your words have canonized the music that has woven the fabric of our culture. Eddie Muson is going to see you're not the same girl with stars in her eyes and headphones pressed to her ears. 

Steve’s brow furrows, etched with a deep V. "I was talking about me. Date night tonight, or did you forget?"

The blood drains from your face as you respond with a forced smile, "Of course, I didn't forget." The lie tastes bitter in your mouth. “I always want to look pretty for you.” Spinning his chair, your knees find their place on either side of his thighs as you straddle his lap. Your fingers gripping his starched collar. The notes of sandalwood from his cologne hit your nose, mixing with the scent of coffee. His features soften as his hands glide to your hips, and you tip your head and press your lips to his. “We’re meeting Robin’s new girlfriend tonight, right?”

“Taylor,” he confirms with a nod. “You’ll like her. She paints naked while listening to Jane's Addiction.”

“And how do you know this?” You laugh, your lips meeting his for the second time.

“I met her the other day when I took Robin to lunch.”

“Ahh," you respond with a playful grin, your thumb tracing along the stubble that lines his jaw. "That explains it."

“So, just an hour at the gallery, okay? We’ll have a drink and say hello-”

“If Robin lets us go,” you interrupt.

“Just an hour,” he reiterates, “Then I’m taking you to dinner alone. And we’ll go home for dessert,” he promises as his lips find their way to your neck.

“Hmm. Where are you taking me?” You ask as your eyes flutter closed.

"I'm not sure," he mumbles against your neck, “My assistant booked the reservation.” His lips trail lower, his grip tightening as his phone suddenly dances across the glass surface of his desk, its baseball jingle shattering the moment.

He picks up the phone, checking the number before setting it back down. “I’ll call them back,” he says absently before turning back to you. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but I have a conference in fifteen minutes. What are you doing here, Ace?” He asks, his eyes glancing towards the desktop screen that has been chiming with incoming emails. 

“I’m meeting Jonathan. He’s driving over to CursedSound,” you say, climbing off him. “Thought I’d come say hi before I left.”

"Okay, you can tell me about it tonight," he responds, his tone distracted, as if he might not have truly registered your reply. He adjusts his glasses before refocusing his attention on the screen.

“Alright.” The clacking of his keyboard drowns out your quiet tone. You smooth out your shirt, sensing that you’ve been dismissed. He squints behind his glasses, tugging a handful of hair. Worry nags at the edges of your thoughts–he’s pushing himself too hard.

“See you tonight,” you call over your shoulder as you leave his office, not bothering to wait for the response that won’t come. 

"All set?" Jonathan asks as he slides behind the wheel of his Volvo XC, his camera equipment already secured neatly in the back.

"Yup," you reply, clicking your seatbelt into place and settling into the plush leather seat.

"You know you didn’t have to come today," he comments as he maneuvers onto the bustling streets of the Loop, navigating the notorious Chicago traffic. "I’m just taking a few shots of the inside before it’s all put together and maybe a few portraits for the digital content."

"Yeah, I know.” You glance at him, offering a warm smile. "But I wanted to run through my outline for the series with him so he can be fully prepared," you explain, pulling your phone from your pocket and opening your email.

Eddie hadn’t reached out or texted once since the diner. The clock ticked slowly all week long, surrounded by magazine articles and album inserts, piecing together clues about what Eddie had been doing for the last eleven years while your outline came together, his silence crawling under your skin like a nagging itch. Maybe press for the studio had been all he was after, and his interest after all this time had nothing to do with wanting to see you again. Well, this time, he doesn’t get to dictate the terms, to decide if you’re useful or if you should be discarded like a day-old newspaper. Given the circumstances, showing up uninvited and unannounced seems fair. 

After circling the block once, Jonathan finds a space to park across the street from the old brewery.

"Is this it?" You ask, using a hand placed over your brow to shield your eyes from the sun.

The older building stands out amidst the sleek, modern high-rises that dominate the commercialized neighborhood. Its rough limestone-clad facade wears the scars of time, with colorful graffiti adorning any surfaces within arm's reach of the fire escapes and a rather questionable-looking bodega with covered windows attached to the corner. However, the copper-framed bay windows gleam with a warm, aged patina, and the asymmetrical turrets, adorned with stamped rosettes and scallop patterns, give it a soul hiding beneath the urban decay—very Eddie.

"I wonder how much he’s paying to rent for this place?" You mumble.

"I think he bought it," Jonathan says, coming up beside you, weighted down with bags full of equipment.

You follow Jonathan around the corner to a rusted metal door adjacent to a brushed steel sign displaying the CursedSound Recordings name and logo, securely affixed to the brick wall. He presses the buzzer next to the door, and a screeching bell reverberates from inside. Metal grinds against metal as the locks release, and the door swings open.

"Right on time, Jon," Eddie greets, his eyes widening when he catches sight of you standing behind Jonathan. Your lips raise into a smirk as you stride past him, catching a whiff of the smoke and leather that cling to his skin as you enter through the open door. The short hallway opens into a bigger space. The heels of your boots clack against the scuffed parquet flooring as you move further into the room. Sofas and chairs covered by sheets surround a custom reception desk in the dimly lit room. Dust motes float in the beams of light that pierce through the rips in the brown paper-covered windows, revealing that this is inside of the bodega.

"This, uh... this will be the lobby," Eddie offers, gesturing vaguely around the room before his fingers rake through the curls at the back of his neck. He’s clad in a pair of expensive jeans that seem tailor-made for him and an open light grey dress shirt with a white tee underneath. His hair and beard are freshly trimmed but not too short, giving off that effortless California cool vibe. He’s grown into himself, carrying a confidence that comes with age and success. He looks good – it's annoying.

His stare prickles on your skin as he blinks at you like maybe you’re really a ghost of his past come to call. 

"Is there more?" You ask, your tone haughty.

"Yeah. The studios are upstairs." He nods toward the propped open door, revealing a stairwell behind. He takes one of the heavy bags from Jonathan before following him up the stairs. You grip the green-painted metal railing as you climb the grey-bubbled stair treads, pausing at the landing to take in the view of the street. The city moves by at the same blurring pace, unaffected and unaware of the collectives of its inhabitants. Someone should stop and look once in a while. 

The door at the top of the stairs leads to the wide hall that smells of drywall and paint. The deep red wall-to-wall carpet, the kind you’d find at a theater, looks new and plush, a contrast to the stark walls primed but not painted. Heavy black doors with the silver letters – A, B, & C denote the entrance to each studio. 

Jonathan sets the bag he’s carrying down by his feet and eyes the room. "Mind if I look around?"

"Knock yourself out," Eddie tells him, placing the other bag beside the first. "Studio C is the farthest along."

Jonathan crouches to unzip a bag, pulling a camera from its depths, fitting the strap over his head before he wanders to the first door marked A and lets himself in.

"Didn’t expect to see you here today, doll. You aren’t on my calendar til next week." Eddie turns to you once Jonathan disappears from sight.

"I came to see what I was working with." 

"By all means." He waves you forward.

Moving down the hall, you choose the door on the opposite wall – Studio C. The carpet is different in here, a rich velvet blue. The glass wall that is already in place reveals a spacious live room with strips of soundproofing covering half of the walls and more neatly piled on the floor. An isolation booth, where artists can focus on their vocals without distractions, has been framed out but remains unfinished.

"Well, what do you think?" Eddie asks.

An Interesting question. Your eyes wander, exploring the mixing room, where an impressive-looking soundboard remains veiled in plastic. A newly painted mural dominates the entire back wall – graffiti art portraying a massive skull shedding tears made of music notes that cascade onto yellow-bricked path winding through a cityscape. It exudes raw emotion and authenticity, just like the music that will soon resonate within these walls. You can already sense it murmuring from deep within, poised to fill the voids in people's souls, for that's what music does – it's an indelible tattoo on the heart, amplifying both pain and joy. This music – his music, will endure.

Standing in the room's center, you take a slow spin before locking your gaze with Eddie's.

"What a dump."

A deep furrow appears on Eddie's forehead as his lips press into a disapproving line. 

"Should I be wearing a hard hat?" You raise your hand above your head and inspect the sturdy ceiling like it might collapse at any moment. "Has a building inspector been out?"

He crosses his arms over his broad chest as his eyes narrow, pausing for a breath as his lips part. Jonathan strolls into the room, unaware of his interruption, surveying the space with a thoughtful expression. 

"Nice art. Is this the guy Robin hooked you up with?" He questions Eddie, who remains locked in his scowl. 

"Yeah, it is. He’s coming back to do a wall in the lobby," he answers without looking away from you.

"That will look great," Jonathan says, nodding. "I’m going to set up some lights and get a few shots in here." 

Eddie waits for Jonathan to wander back into the hall before he crosses the room in three big strides, stopping directly in front of you, closer than what would be considered polite. But this is Eddie, and it’s all part of the game. Your hands move to your hips as you straighten in defiance. The scent of mint on his breath reaches your nose as his index finger barely brushes your skin as he lifts the gold circle and bar necklace that rests at your throat. 

"Harrington’s money has sure got you spoiled, princess," he mocks, giving it a light tug, causing the anchor end of the chain to rise up the valley of your breasts. When your eyes flash, his lips pull to the side, twisting in a smirk. 

"I make my own money, Eddie." You remove your chain from his hand. "You sure have a lot of opinions about my life, considering you don’t even know me."

"I think I know you, plenty–"

He steps back when Jonathan reappears, bags in tow. He sets them down lightly before casting glances back and forth between the two of you, "Have you gone over your outline?" He asks. 

"Not yet," you reply, flashing a sweet smile up at Eddie.

Jonathan clears his throat, growing slightly impatient. "Well, this won't take me long, and I'll be ready to head back. Why don't you go downstairs? I don't want you in my shot."

As you stomp down the stairs behind Eddie, the echo of your boots reverberates off the empty walls, the window glass reflecting an image of the unassured, sad girl you left in Hawkins. He’s wrong. He doesn’t know you or the lengths you’ll go not to be her anymore. 

The reception area sits in hushed stillness, broken by the distant hum of traffic outside and the gentle ticking of pipes like a clock counting the seconds. Eddie pulls the sheet covering an orange velour couch, sending a light cloud of construction dust into the air. Without waiting for an invitation, you take a seat at one end of the sofa. He settles next to you, spreading his legs wide and crossing one over his knee, his arm landing on the top of the cushions behind you. He’s sitting too close, the heat of his thigh pressing against yours, the spice of his cologne surrounding you. Close enough to see the light stubble on his jaw as he swallows. You shift forward to the edge of your seat, creating some space between you.

"You can’t even sit next to me anymore?" He asks, his tone a mix of disappointment and irritation. 

"I’m sitting next to you right now." you point out, straightening your back further.

"Then relax. Jesus. You used to get mad if there wasn’t a seat for you next to me."

"Well, we’re not in high school anymore, Eddie."

"I’m not talking about high school," he murmurs, looking down at his lap before he raises his eyes to lock with yours. 

The first few notes of a song you never wanted to hear again ripple to the surface, dragging up memories that should have remained weighted down in the cold depths of things forgotten. He disarms you so effortlessly, whether with a smile or his words. This was all a big mistake.

"I'm sorry," his fingers encircle your wrist, knowing he crossed a line he shouldn't have. You pull your hand away from his grip, and he quickly changes the subject before you have a chance to stand up and leave. "Did you want to tell me about the article?"

Lips parting, you pause to exhale, the sting slowly dissipating. "My editor…" you clear your throat, reaching into the pocket of your blazer for your phone. "My editor wants a series. There will be three featured articles." You tap on the screen bringing up your notes. Eddie raises his eyebrows and leans in, trying to read over your shoulder, but you angle it away as you continue, "That means I'll need three interviews…will you stop," you say when he tries again to see the screen. 

"It's about me. I just want to see it," he argues, leaning further into your space.

"My god, you're like a little kid." Switching the phone to your opposite hand, you hold it at arm's length, "Haven't you grown up at all?"

His lips turn up until his dimples are on full display. "Why would I want to go and do a thing like that? 

The exasperated scoff that leaves your throat is accompanied by your eyes rolling to the side. 

"Not like you," he admits, his gaze roaming over you from head to toe. "After you interviewed Win Butler, he told me he couldn't have denied you the truth, and I'm beginning to understand why. Harrington’s got good taste. You've only gotten more beautiful."

Your features remain even as a gentle heat rises up your chest. "I'll be sure to pass on your compliments. I'm sure Steve will appreciate it. Three interviews," you say, displaying that number of fingers, dragging his attention back to the matter at hand. “The first will be on your past – early career, your move from Hawkins to LA. Then we'll move on to your present. Why you chose Chicago.The work you're putting into the studio and any projects you have booked when you open." You refer back to your notes, and this time, his eyes don't leave your face, intent on studying you. "The big finale will be the future. Where you see the studio in five years, your predictions on the direction of the industry. "

With a final tap, you show him the mock-up displayed on your screen, "I’m titling it Behind the Mixer: The Past, Present, and Future of Eddie Munson's Cursed Sound." You look up from your phone, your gaze locking with his.

His eyes are hesitant before he breaks your connection to look down at the device in your outstretched hand. "Wow, I'm impressed, doll." A rosy tint colors his cheeks. "It's so professional. Not used to seeing my name printed like I'm somethin'."

"You’ve had plenty of press," you remind him. "What did Rolling Stone call you? The man with the ear for platinum."

"Yeah, that's true. I've been written about before." He looks up, brown eyes burning into yours, your heads now just a few inches apart. "But never by you. They weren't your words."

The weight of his stare is too heavy. You turn your head to look around the room. Liar. The familiar itch prickles beneath your skin. 

"I’ve read everything you’ve written," he prattles on as you cross your arms over your chest, your fingernails leaving half moons in the fabric of your jacket. 

"I buy a subscription to Stax every year. I get Wayne one, too. Do you know he saves every–"

“Stop, Eddie,” you say, cutting him off. “You don’t need to do this.”

“Do what?” He asks, his brows sinking.

“This.” You wave your hand between you. “Whatever this is. I’m going to write a good story. You’re getting what you want.”

“What I want?” He looks surprised. “You think this is about the article?”

“Isn’t it?”

His mouth parts, words teetering on the edge of his tongue, when Jonathan's footsteps cause the stairs to groan under his weight. "Finished?" Jonathan inquires, "I'd like to wrap up with a few shots of Eddie by the sign."

"We're done," you confirm, slipping your phone back into your pocket.

"No, we're not, doll," Eddie argues, "Actually, you go ahead, Jon. I'll give her a ride home."

"No, you won't." You stand, not sparing him a glance. "I have somewhere else to be."

"We're losing the light," Jonathan laments, camera in hand, gesturing for both of you to follow.

“You got big plans tonight? Sure you aren’t looking for an excuse not to finish our conversation?” Eddie presses, trailing behind you as you step through the side door out onto the street.

“Believe me, it’s definitely finished,” you state, firmness lacing your words, stepping aside to get out of Jonathan's way.

"Just stand in front of the brick," Jonathan directs, "To your left," he motions with his hand.

“And not that it’s any of your business," you let an air of condescension lace your tone, "But I have a date tonight with my fiancée.”

“Relax, Eddie. Don’t look at the camera," Jonathan instructs when Eddie's jaw clenches.

Eddie's thumbs hook into the pockets of his jacket. "Sounds romantic," he snarks. "How long have they been engaged now, Jon? Two years? And we still haven't received a wedding invitation. Someone's having cold feet. My money's on Harrington."

"His name is Jonathan. No one calls him that, Eddie." You cock your hip, crossing your arms. 

"I'm sure he would tell me if he minded," Eddie retorts, matching the irritation in your voice.

"I don't care," Jonathan sighs, "Can you just move around a bit and look down."

You narrow your eyes, inspecting Eddie as he gets into position."Did you cut your hair again?"

"I'm a thirty-two-year-old man. Sometimes I do that," he responds, scratching at his beard.

"Tip your chin to the right," Jonathan instructs from behind the camera, the shutter clicking in short bursts.

"Well, it looks stupid."

"Okay, I think I've got it," Jonathan says, lowering the camera. "Jesus, what is it with you two? If I wanted to listen to bickering, I’d go home to Nancy," he complains, with a red face. "Let's go."

The rush of water as it overflows from the upper stone basin into the fountain's pool blends the conversation of the other diners at the 3 Arts Club into the background. The atrium is dimly lit, relying on the massive crystal drop chandeliers cascading golden light and the flickering hurricane lanterns spilling candlelight onto the marble-topped table you're seated at. Steve smiles, holding your gaze as the waitress sets the plates in front of you. Swirls of green in his soft eyes are set off by the towering olive trees behind him, that give off a subtle woody aroma. 

“For a minute, I thought we weren't going to make our reservation.” He unwraps his silverware from the cloth napkin and places it in his lap. 

“We almost didn’t,” you point out, “I think Robin wanted us to stay and join them after Taylor’s show.”

“I’m glad we didn’t. I want some time alone with you.” He reaches across the table, fingers closing over yours.

“Thank you for bringing me here. This place is really beautiful.” Your gaze sweeps upward toward the towering glass ceiling, where the night sky glows a deep plum hue painted by the lights of the city.

“Is it?” he asks, his eyes locking onto yours, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “All I see is you.”

Your cheeks warm, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Eat your salad, you charmer.” You roll your eyes before looking up at him from under your lashes.

The side of his mouth lifts as he lets you go to pick up his fork, mixing the shavings of parmesan in with the crips romaine and the delicate bites of chicken. Your phone vibrates against your hip through the pocket of your blazer.

Eddie: What I said had nothing to do with the article. 

Without answering, you place your phone on your thigh, picking up your fork to break off a piece of salmon. The honey and black pepper melt on your tongue as you take your first bite. 

“What did you think of Taylor?” Steve asks, spearing a few of your truffle fries with his fork and setting them on the edge of his plate.

“You were right. I liked her,” you tell him as a faint buzzing emanates on your thigh. 

Eddie: If you would quit running away, I would have told you that in person. 

Run away? A knot ties itself in your stomach as you blink down at the message on your screen, only hesitating for a moment before tapping out a reply. 

You: I didn't run away. I had something better to do. 

"Did you like the blue watercolor of the thistles she did?" He asks as you look up, placing your phone face down on the table. 

"It matches the blue of the built-ins in your office. We could get rid of that old chair from your parent's basement. Redo the whole thing."  His eyebrows lift hopefully as your phone rattles on the marble.

Eddie: Is that why you're texting me right now because you're busy doing something better?

“You're not touching my chair. My entire office is off-limits. I like it the way it is,” your voice comes out too sharp. Your gaze flickers between Steve and the glowing screen of your phone as you type your response. 

You: Good point. An error on my part. Goodnight.

“I can always hang it in the guestroom. Who are you texting?” 

His question captures your full attention. “Sorry. It’s for work.” You switch the button at the top to silent and set it back down on the table. “You bought it, didn’t you?” You ask, sinking your fork into a few fries before dipping them in aioli. 

His eyes crinkle at the corners as he takes a big bite of his salad, avoiding your question as he chews.

“Steve, the house is going to be a museum to her ex-girlfriends. We’ll be able to give guided tours.”

He laughs, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Art is an investment. Even my dad agrees.”

“Oh, your dad, huh? I didn’t know he agreed with anything. Can I have a bite of your salad?” Your fork hovers over his plate as you catch the light of your phone screen lighting up out of the corner of your eye. 

“Yeah. Go for it.” He pushes his plate closer to you. “How was the salmon?” 

“Good. You want some?” You ask around a mouth full of lettuce.

“I’ll try a little,” he says, swapping around your plates as you set your fork aside and pick up your phone.

Eddie: I bet Harrington took you somewhere real fancy. He’s probably hoping it will get him laid.

Your eyes narrow at your screen as your jaw clenches and your heel taps beneath the table.  

You: He doesn’t have to hope. Don’t you have anything better to do than annoy me?

The wait for a response is short-lived as an image pops up on your screen. Sockclad feet are propped up on a coffee table beside a take-out box of tacos and a half-drained glass of beer, its foam running down the side. A hazy view of a television screen in the background. 

“Is that still work? Who’s texting you?” Steve asks, his eyes speculative as he leans forward and glances at your screen. 

“It’s just Eddie,” you dismiss the question with a wave of your hand as you darken the screen. "What about you? How are things with the radio launch?"

He studies your face a moment longer before his features soften, and he answers, "My workload has more than doubled. City Beats has as many divisions as Second City collectively, and I’m overseeing all of it.” His elbows land on the table as his hands tug through his hair. “I’m coordinating with marketing trying to promote it all across the city, and today, Richard called me into his office and said he wants me to meet the sponsors with Ted. Doesn’t think he can handle it on his own. Says I’m more advertiser-friendly.” He uses his fingers to quote the title.

“Can you tell him no?” You reach across the table for his hand. “It’s too much, Steve–for anybody. You've been working like this for months.”

“I can’t. The launch is in a few weeks, then I'll talk to Rich—” He stops mid sentence as his ringtone breaks through the peaceful ambiance. Pulling his phone from his breast pocket, he squints at the screen in the low light, a frown making him look more weary than usual. “I’m sorry, Ace. I need to take this.” He stands, giving your hand an apologetic squeeze before walking towards the entrance. “Hi, Richard. No, you're not disturbing anything…”

As Steve's voice trails off, leaving you on your own in the dimly lit atrium, the room continues to hum with conversations, laughter, and intimacy. You pick up your wine, the cold glass feeling delicate in your fidgety fingers, the crisp acidity of the sauvignon blanc offering  little comfort.  Dining alone shouldn't feel strange. People do it all the time, relishing their own company as they leisurely turn the pages of books or savor each bite. It's a skill you've yet to master, haunted by an irrational discomfort under the imagined weight of judgmental eyes, a residue of being the girl no one would sit next to in Hawkins. It's absurd, of course, but that old fear lingers, an uninvited companion. 

As you reach for your phone, Eddie's name sits at the top of your notifications, and this time, the distraction is welcomed. 

Until you read it. 

Eddie: I read your album review of Lungs. You really stunk up the page with that one.

You: Lungs by Florence and the Machine? That was two years ago!

Eddie: I told you I read all your work. x

You: And what exactly did you take issue with?

Eddie: You trashed her. You said her vocals were overpowering and meant to cover up mediocre musicians. Said she was an alt Britney Spears.

Your nose scrunches with wince, recalling the words you choose to print.

You: I wrote what I felt at the time.

Eddie: The album sold 3 million copies. Don’t worry, Flo forgave you. 

Eddie: Eventually

You: I doubt Florence Welch reads Stax.

Eddie: Well

Eddie: I had a copy.

You: YOU SHOWED IT TO HER!

Fury. Blind, hot, raging fury rolls through your veins. Your hand smacks onto the table with a resounding crack, causing the silverware to clatter and plates to rattle. A few diners stop to look at you, and you give them a bashful smile as heat creeps up your neck. 

You: I’m going to hurt you. Slowly.

Eddie: Relax. No need to get kinky. It’s all water under the bridge. I worked on that album, and I intentionally asked for that bold, unapologetic vocal style. It was meant to be raw. It seems like the fans agreed.  But, hey, everyone gets it wrong once in a while. Maybe you were on your period or something.

Your fingers dance across the keyboard, a torrent of response surging, ready to pour out, but you restrain the urge to send them – every ugly word remains unsent. His three dots flicker on the screen, and another message swiftly follows.

Eddie: The only reason I remember it was because her album dropped the same week you got engaged. At first, I thought it might be personal, but I wondered why after all these years. Then I realized you were probably far too busy writing Mrs. Harrington with big hearts around it in your diary to be worrying about me.

Words, false as a cracked melody, slip from your fingers with practiced ease, but beneath it all, guilt settles in your chest like a haunting refrain, its weight growing heavier with every truth left unsaid.

You: I don’t remember if I knew you worked on that album.

Eddie: I’m sure you didn’t. 

He went down this path searching for something. Unspoken lyrics to a hidden refrain that have long evaded his grasp. Whatever he’s uncovered and what it means to him isn’t clear, but for now, he’s letting you off the hook. Relief sweeps over you like the final notes of a song, the recording skipping and cracking, ushering in something new between you– a tune you haven’t heard before.

Eddie: Thanks for clearing it up. I should let you get back to your date. Steve probably has steam coming out of his ears.

You: He had to take a call.

Eddie: He left you all alone? It’s a good thing I was around then.

Steve approaches the table, his smile painted on but not quite reaching his eyes. You discreetly slip your phone away into your pocket. 

"Investors from Tokyo," he explains with a sigh. "Richard wants me on all the calls with them until we launch."

You reach out, your fingers tracing the contours of his stubbled jaw, "You're exhausted, baby."

"I know." He turns into your touch. "I've already paid. We can go if you're ready."

He takes your hand as you rise from the table, leading you through the restaurant and out onto the street. His arm goes around to waist to hold you close as you walk home. His hand occasionally dips lower than your waist as he presses a kiss to your temple. It's easy to take the comfort he offers. 

His warm, eager lips meet the sensitive skin of your neck, kissing, nibbling as he pushes you against the inside of your front door, sliding your blazer from your shoulders until it catches on your elbows.

"I thought you were tired," you gasp as his mouth journeys lower, leaving sparks of heat behind. His lips trace the curve of your collarbone, descending to the crest of your breast, where delicate black lace meets flushed skin.

"Not for this." He moves down to one knee, removing your boots one by one. "Never for you." They hit the hardwood with a clatter, their sound reverberating up the stairwell.

He moves back up your body, cursing when he struggles to find the zip at the back of your pants. Your laughter earns his smile as your head rolls against the thick oak door, your fingers searching for purchase on the soft material covering his forearms.

“Steve,” you breathe, your voice a heated whisper, just before his mouth finds yours. 

The baseball rounding of the bases blares from his pocket like a hammer shattering glass. He pulls back, breathing hard, closing his eyes as he leans his forehead against yours. The ringing continues, too loud, echoing off the quiet walls of your home. His apologetic eyes lock with yours before he steps back, pulling out the ringing device.

“Fuck.” His knuckles turn white as his grip tightens, Richards's name lighting up on the screen. He holds it a little higher for a moment like he’s preparing to smash it on the ground. 

"It's okay, Steve." You move closer to his side. Your hand gently glides down his arm, offering reassurance. "I've got a little work to do anyway. Take your call."

"Yeah?" he questions, his thumb hesitating over the accept button.

"Yeah, go ahead." You smile, giving his arm a squeeze.

Steve answers the call with a hint of annoyance in his tone, "Richard." His voice gradually fades as you make your way down the hallway to the small office you've claimed as your own, tucked away behind the kitchen.

With one hand pushing up the creaking door, your fingers fumble along the wall for the switch to the banker's lamp perched at the corner of your desk. A faint light filters in as the first raindrops ping against the glass, leaving meandering trails down the black-paned windows dominating an entire wall. You approach the peacock-blue shelving that Steve had crafted to house your ever-expanding collection of CDs, records, and books. Running your fingers over the album spines, you find the one you're looking for and slide it out of its protective sleeve. 

The mauve vinyl reflects the lamp light as you place it onto the waiting turntable. With a twist of a knob and a careful drop of the needle, the soft crackle emanates from the speakers, filling the room's quiet spaces. A honeyed voice purrs the lyrics as you settle sideways into the old leather chair rescued from your parent's basement. Legs dangling over the patched arm, you reach for the half-smoked joint in the ashtray beside you, lighting in time for the drumbeat to pound out a steady rhythm while the mild burn travels down your throat and into your lungs. 

The soft haze reaches your brain, quieting the uncertainty as the scratch of the guitar joins in with the melody. Curls of thick smoke spiral and twirl with your exhale, dancing through the air. You sink deeper into the embrace of the leather, taking a few more deep puffs before returning the burning joint to the ashtray and pulling your phone from your pocket. 

You: Yeah, Eddie. It’s a good thing. 

AN: Sorry I'm a day late. The holiday weekend kept me busy. I'd love to hear from you. Comments, reblogs, and asks are always welcome and appreciated. I'll be doing some traveling soon, so updates might be affected but I will be writing.

Read Song 4 Remix Here Follow @tornupdates for notifications

Hugs and kisses for all my kittens - Jelly

P.S. To the lovely person who suggested Linger. I can't find your ask because my brain is broken or Tumblr is. I just wanted to know that your song inspired an upcoming scene in chapter 5 that I'm so excited to write. I can't imagine this story without it now. So, extra big thanks.

So everyone keep sending me your song suggestions, please! I promise I'm listening to everyone.

[anjelicawrites]

Every day is Halloween around here

Pairing: werewolf!Osferth x human!reader x vampire!Aemond Targaryen. Talk of werewolf!Osferth x vampire!Aemond Targaryen.

Synopsis: a slice of the life of reader and her monster boyfriends

Warnings: p in v sex, monsterfucking, talk of pregnancy, the boys being very protective, marking, biting, murder (but it's off screen and it's bad people, so it's OK).

NSFW and 18+ only please!

Your cunt is perfect around his cock, wet and warm, sucking him in with every push downwards you make. Your hands on his abs help you balance yourself, your arms frame your lushous breasts perfectly, the nipples a shade darker and, he knows, delicious against his tongue.

Osferth groans with need. He can smell how close you are, the squelching sounds your cunt makes fill his ears; he can barely contain himself, with the full moon so close he has to make the physical effort to keep his hold on your hips light, or he'll hurt you and it's so hard, you sound desperate to come, your walls hugging him now that you're grinding against his hips.

Aemond's pale hand pushes you backwards against his ivory chest, his fingers splayed between your heavy breasts, your neck exposed to his fangs.

The bite on your jugular his fast, the pleasure you feel immediate, Osferth can tell it in the way your cunt tightens to the point of pain around his cock, his orgasm hitting him violently, his paws grabbing at your hips, his claws stabbing your skin until blood appears, his seed, thick and copious, fills you and he fancies your tummy is a little inflated with it.

You are still keening, your body lax against Aemond, Osferth's paws force your hips to grind against his, to prolong the pleasure until you it hurts and Aemond has to lie you on the bed, Osferth's seed leaking down your tights, your pussy still clenching around nothing.

Aemond's cock slides against your drenched cunt, his fangs find your throat again, yet he doesn't bite.

His mind reaches for yours, sending out tendrils of thoughts to elicit yours, wanting to know if you'll let him have you again; your brain is barely coherent, soaring high on the pleasure him and Osferth have given you, your thoughts are a hazy mix of praises and prayers for more.

He can't deny you.

Slowly, Aemond enters you, the leftover shockwawes from your orgasms course through his cock, his fangs hitch for your skin, and for your blood.

The instant he bites you, you come, taking him with you, his dead seed filling you, mixing with Osferth's, the pleasure he feels blanks his mind, and yours.

You pass out with a moan.

Later, after your lovers have washed the sweat, blood and seed from your skin, you sleep between them, curled up on your side, facing Aemond, Osferth's paw caresses your hair, Aemond stares at you, lovingly.

Aemond knows his mind is being loopy, disconnected thoughts swimming there, knows he's making no sense in imaging you pregnant, the thought spurred by the way the oversized hoodie hangs in front of your body, as if filled by your growing tummy. He knows it's physically impossible: you and Osferth belong, for all intent and purposes, to two different species and Aemond is of the undead, after all . Yet, he likes to imaging it, your body slowly changing to accommodate a child, your breasts growing, your smell different.

"Stop it."

Osferth's voice is a raspy murmur.

With the full moon tonight, it's hard for him to push back his transformation, he still looks human, but wrong: hands too big and hairy, nails too long, pupil slightly vertical, the blue of his eyes tinged with yellow.

"Stop what?"

"You know what".

Aemond can't read Osferth's mind, he shouldn't be able to create a telepathic link with him, but, somehow, the connection Aemond has with you, has bled through to Osferth, who can feel the general shape of Aemond's thoughts, not the specifics, and vice versa.

"Don't tell me you never thought about it. Your lot is all about pack, family."

"Don't I ever." Osferth scratches his head. "The swollen belly, out pups kicking against our hands. The sweet taste of their nipples."

Osferth groans, he can feel his cock twitch.

"It would be nice. The slow lovemaking, the added pressure around our cocks -"

"Not now. Not with the full moon tonight. I barely controlled myself earlier."

Aemond understands.

The universe, with its sick sense of humor, has synced Aemond's monthly feed and Osferth's transformation.

Aemond knows how hard it is to hang on whatever shreds of humanity they both have left during those days. They always walk a thin line with you, human and fragile as you are, but when their monstrous natures fight to take control? It's when they see how defenseless you are: the wrong move, and you'll be dead.

It's late in the afternoon when you make your way, slowly, down the stairs.

Your whole body hurts, your pussy is sore and all your muscles feel overstretched and overused; coordinating your movements it's a feat, but you have to do it, to show your lovers that you are feeling better than what you feel.

"Sweetest!" Osferth reaches you and curls his paws around your arms, to help you. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired." You smile. "And in dire need of a kiss." You puck your lips and go to your tip toes to reach his.

The kiss is careful, Osferth's face his more lupine, his teeth longer and sharper, you two need to play it safe, until he's done for the month. When your lips separate, you feel a bit dizzy, Osferth's taste in your mouth.

You shudder when Aemond hugs you from behind.

"You are so cold, my love." You say, your hand covering his. "You need to eat, properly."

Through your shared bond, you can feel Aemond getting ready to fight you, but you are faster.

"You will feed tonight." He tries to stop you, but you continue anyway. "You will because, if you don't, things might get messy."

You remember what happen the last time he tried to ignore his urges: that hadn't been pretty. You don't want to have to go through that again.

"And you as well, mister!" You tell Osferth

"I don't want to leave you alone." He answers

"The dogs will be here and nothing bad will happen."

Both males groan.

They are normally protective, it's in their nature, when it's that time of the month (Ah! Ah!), they both become unbearable in their need to keep you safe, to put you under a bell jar to isolate you from any form of harm.

"You'll still be alone. The house was almost burglarized once." Aemond says with a dark voice

"And you two took care of it." You position yourself so you can see both their faces. "Listen, it's far more dangerous if you two fight it and you both know it, and Osferth, you can't control it, you will shift, tonight."

Osferth kisses your forehead; you are being so reasonable and him and Aemond aren't. But you're going to be alone, with two predators on the loose, two predators that in their right mind will never hurt a hair on your head, but enslaved to their biological needs? Not even their love can keep you safe. Two predators who, for this very reason, have to hunt far away from you, leaving you defenseless against the very real human threats that someone who lives in the middle of nowhere has to face.

The irony of falling in love with your meal.

It takes a lot of convincing, like during every month, before your lovers, begrudgingly, leave.

You love the two of them, with all your heart, they are your life, but they tend to be over protective, as if you've never lived on your own and taken care of yourself since you turned eighteen. Sometimes they make it hard to keep the frustration to yourself, knowing that they mean well and that their fears are real, but they can't shield you from everything!

Slowly, you go up the stairs. Your legs hurt, your joints feel rusty and overused and you are more tired than you should be, Aemond must have drunken more blood than usual and now you're feeling like swimming through lead.

Stubborn as you are, you refuse to stop and soldier on, but you have to sit on the water closet the second you are in the bathroom, your head too dizzy for you to do anything else. God damn it, you think and stop immediately: you can't risk Aemond feeling your frustration. The idiot is liable of coming back to make sure you're ok and not feed the way he should.

When your legs feel more stable, you stand up and start undressing.

Since you've met them, you stopped wearing anything too short or revealing: you are covered in Aemond's bite marks and Osferth's scars.

Aemond's markings are intentional, he told you so one night, while he was taking you, his long body plastered against your back, your hands grabbing the headboard, one of his covering yours, the other tight around you hip, to move you on his cock.

He had licked the bite mark on your neck close, his saliva having some sort of healing power and he had whispered in your hear

"I could have erased my mark from your skin completely." A hard push that had made you whimper follows. "But I want the other vampires out there to know that you are taken. That you are mine."

You had come, immediately, your cunt wounding around his erection, and he had fucked you through your orgasm, biting your skin savagely, forcing you to come again on his cock, before painting your walls with his seed.

Some of Osferth's are, likewise, intentional: the signs of him choosing you as his mate run from the left side of your neck, down your arm, a complicated design only other werewolves are able to read. The others, he's left in his haste to have you, his hands keeping your cunt plastered against his face, nails grown into talons pircing your skin as you wail your orgasm or raking down your back as you ride him, while he is transformed.

During the full moon his biology forces him to change into a wolf, he can't stop it from happening; for the rest of the month he can shift into a midway form, where he looks more like a wolf, but can stand on his back legs (he reminds you of the werewolves from Dog Soldiers, only with less wolf face). He's fucked you in this state countless times and your body has to bear the markings.

How mad you've been after Osferth had told you that his marks, and Aemond's, were like a wedding rings, just more permanent. You had paraded around the house with silver on all your exposed skin and bought a worryingly amount of garlic to keep in your pockets.

A wedding ring I can throw away, if things don't work out, but these? You had thought. Now you understand your lovers meant good, that they expressed their love in their own, special way, but it had taken you time to accept it, to accept that they can look human, but that they aren't and it comes with a price.

You've come to love those sigils your lovers have left, accepting them had been hard and a proof that you three hold differences no amount of love can ever erase.

Slowly you enter the bath tub, warm water enveloping your tired body, with your eyes closed you enjoy the silence and the feeling of being alone, the only noises you hear are from the house settling around you.

You take your time with relaxing and washing, mentally decided which horror movie you're going to watch tonight. Your life is, already, a Stephen King novel, you don't have to add to it, but that's your favorite genre and, for once, you don't have to watch while your lovers groan and comment, because that's not how vampires and werewolves work and no, ghosts don't exist!

You fall asleep on the bed, the dogs around you.

You wake up in the morning, startled at not feeling your lovers bracketing your body, until you realize what day it is.

You still feel sore, not as much as you did yesterday, the long bath having helped at easing your aching muscles, but an Ibuprofen would not hurt, would it?

The house is still silent, which means Osferth is still recuperating in his kennel.

He's explained you, before your first full moon together, that in his wolf form he may be liable of hurting you, he may not remember who you are and his feelings for you, for this reason he had installed a huge box attached to the rear end to the garage, wood on the outside, steel on the inside, that would lock upon entering and that he would be able to open, only once he had transformed back into a human being.

It breaks you heart to know that he is alone, those terrible first seconds after his body shifts form and is hurting horribly, but you understand he does it for your safety.

"My love?"

"Osferth!"

He emerges from the garage, clothes torn, belly suspiciously round and dark circles around his eyes. You run towards him and hug him, ignoring the smell of wet dog he emanates.

"Are you OK?" You ask.

"Yes. - His voice doesn't sound convincing. - You know the guys from the prostitution ring I have been attacking this past month? They had a meeting with their bosses. There were more people than I thought there would be and I have eaten too much. I feel a bit bloated."

"Sit down, I'll bring you an alka seltzer immediately!"

Your heroic Osferth who, knowing that there's no escaping the transformation, uses his wolf form to target criminals in your area.

You are so afraid he won't come back, one day.

"Is Aemond at home?"

Aemond usually shares the big bed with you and Osferth, but for the night he has to properly feed. Once he comes home, he has to hide in his coffin, where the soil from his burial is. You can't check on him, because he might be liable of hurting you, without even understanding his actions. Like Osferth, he had to reinforce his hiding place and put a lock he can only open once he's back into himself. To let you know he's made home OK, he leaves you a Browallia on the kitchen counter.

The flower sits in the small vase, right where you can see it the second you enter the kitchen: you can finally breath, knowing he's made home too.

When the roller shutters start coming down mid morning, you know Aemond is finally ready to come downstairs.

He looks healthier, skin less ivory and warm to the touch. You hug him the second he arrives in the living room, where you are still cuddling Osferth, who feels like he hasn't digested his dinner fully.

"What kind of horrific mahyem have you left for the police department to investigate?" You ask.

Differently from Osferth, Aemond had never cared about his victims; he had started going after corrupted politicians and cops after you asked him to. He had agreed, but was firm in saying he was going to 'play with his food, at least', which meant maiming them horribly, killing them after having sucked them dry and then be creative with their bodies.

As the county anathomopathologist, you had, more than once, dissected what was left of Aemond's victims and then given him grief when he made stitching them back together just a tad too hard.

"I didn't even disemboweled them this time!"

"Thank God for its small mercies. - You say, your hand still rubbing Osferth's tummy. - Give us a kiss, now?"

"Yeah." Your other loves adds. "We need a kiss, now."

"So needy." He jokes, but his lips are greedy on yours, he can't help but nick your lower lip with one of his fangs, just so he can lick the wound clean.

Aemond's hand wounds in Osferth's short mop of hair when they kiss, a low growl of want erupting from both their chests, their eyes aflame when their lips disconnect.

"Shall I get the popcorn?" You ask, not so jokingly. Watching them, together, is a treat.

"My tummy is still too sore" Osferth says, letting his head fall on Aemond's shoulder

"Do you want me to cook you something?" The other male asks.

For all his posturing, Aemond is truly in love with Osferth. They might tease one another, their species being at odds for so long, but there's a string connecting their hearts together, and to yours.

"Just lie with us."

"Yeah baby. Cuddle us. We're starting a Mike Flanagan rewatch!" You say.

"Oh no, come on! Not again!"

"You know he makes me cry! You said it was going to be a John Carpenter marathon!"

"His new show comes out next month. We will be on a Flanagan lockdown until then!" And you simply turn the telly on.

Sometimes you are truly lucky they love you more than they do their lives.

Everythig taglist: @hightowhxre

Poly taglist: @notyour-valentine​, @fan-goddess, @aegonx

[ammonitetheartist]

Welcome to paradise

(Also yeh I used the Eldritch Uzi design by @electrozeistyking bc. cool 👉👈)

EhehrheEHEHEHHEHEHE-

Judging by when I ended up finishing this, ig here’s your (early/on time/late depending on your timezone) Christmas gift (or general gift if you don’t celebrate it) from me: PAIN

I’ve recently been noodling with the idea of Cyn’s original consciousness being in a little mindspace of some kind, and then I started noodling with the concept I saw brought up by this comic: of the Solver taking Uzi as a host like her, aaand this was born!

Also I was originally gonna draw the panels individually, but since tumblr doesn’t have a way to exceed 10 images on mobile (as far as I know), I had to get creative

Edit: ghgghhhhGHHG WHY IS TUMBLR NOT LETTING ME LINK THE COMIC HHHHGGGGGRRGG- it’s the “She’s Gone” comic by the person I tagged near the top; you can find it in their top posts

Putting the image ID under the cut bc holy fricj-

[Image ID: A comic featuring catified designs of Uzi and Cyn from Murder Drones. The first drawing shows the first four panels; a front view of Uzi in her Solver mode over a snowy night sky, wings outstretched and a yellow X over her visor, then the same drawing with a perspective blur, then a black background with a yellow flash, like a TV turning off, and finally a completely black background.

The fifth panel shows a blurry drawing of Cyn looking down to the viewer, a black blur effect around the edges. The third drawing shows the sixth and seventh panels, starting with Cyn standing over Uzi, who is lying down, followed by Uzi jerking back in surprise upon noticing Cyn.

Panels 5-14 feature a dark, mottled yellow-green background with faint, pale yellow polygons of varying sizes to signify the mindspace. In addition, both Cyn and Uzi’s designs in this mindspace become solid color, with colored lineart. Cyn’s text is yellow and Uzi’s is purple.

The 8th panel shows Uzi on the right side of the drawing with a confused expression, uttering ‘Wh-‘. The 9th panel shows her head whip around in surprise. The 10th panel shows the background giving way to a drawing of Solver Uzi in the center, with her usual colors (very darkened), a glitch effect, and a yellow AbsoluteSolver symbol over her visor.

The 11th panel shows mindspace Uzi with a shocked, lost expression as she mutters ‘Wha…’ in a small voice. In the 12th panel, she turns to the left side of the screen, adding ‘Wh- where…’

The 13th panel shows Cyn sitting on the left side of the screen, a blank expression on her face. In the 14th and final panel, she wears an empty smile, and a dark tear slips from under her visor as she simply says, ‘Welcome to paradise.’ End ID]

[jackobbit]

From The Weekly Magma!

A Sandman for your troubles, with a bonus doodle I made a few weeks ago that I never posted. Sandman is from the Ghost in the Machine AU which belongs to @.venomous-qwille, go read it if you haven’t already!

[ID: A Magma drawing of Sandman from Qwills Ghost in the Machine AU against a pale blue background, the colors of the overall piece are desaturated. Sandman wears a green hoodie, a yellow coat, light blue pants with stars and moons embroidered on it, and an ushanka. His hands and feet are a dark blue,glitter reflects off of the surface. He sits on a large grey beanbag with a purple and cream blanket draped over his lap, his legs pulled up to balance a laptop that sits on his lap. He looks down at the laptop screen with a soft smile as he types something on the keyboard. Next to the beanbag is a large, spherical stuffed cat plushie that lays on the floor. The plush is grey, with a white belly. Next to the cat is a large Pikachu plush from Pokemon. Pikachu is a yellow mouse-like creature with red cheeks and long, black-tipped ears. The plush has closed eyes, it lays belly down on the floor as though it were sleeping. “@.jackobbit” is written in the bottom left hand corner in white. /End ID]

[ID: A digitally drawn, chibi doodle of Sandman from Qwills Ghost in the machine AU against a light grey background, there is no color. Sandman sits cross-legged on the floor, holding a controller in his hands. The controller connects to a large monitor that lays on the ground, an Xbox stands upright next to it. Sandman has a blank, yet focused expression as he stares at the monitor, his mouth covered by the top of his hoodie. /End ID]

[neopronouns]

flag id: a flag with 7 stripes, which are near-black, tan, light yellow-green, green, medium dark bluish-green, very dark faded green, and near-black. end id.

banner id: a 1600x200 teal banner with the words ‘please read my dni before interacting. those on my / dni may still use my terms, so do not recoin them.’ in large white text in the center. the text takes up two lines, split at the slash. end id.

aliensphynxic: a gender related to sphynx cats, ufos, green tractor beams, the movie 'the aliens are coming', executable code, the image below, and the phrase 'we are not alone'

[pt: aliensphynxic: a gender related to sphynx cats, ufos, green tractor beams, the movie 'the aliens are coming', executable code, the image below, and the phrase 'we are not alone'. end pt]

[image id: an image with a black background, which is bordered by red at the top and right and by blue at the bottom and left. it shows an older white computer with a hand made of a green grid reaching out of it to touch an outstretched pale human hand, somewhat similar to the painting 'the creation of adam'. a red light glows from between the two hands' index fingers. a blank image has been placed next to this image so it takes up less space on the screen. end id.]

for anon! the top and bottom black stripes are from the image, the second stripe represents sphinx cats and the human hand in the image, and the remaining stripes represent ufos, tractor beams, code, and aliens in general. the term is 'alien', 'sphynx', + 'ic'!

tags: @radiomogai, @liom-archive, @macchiane, @genderstarbucks, @sugar-and-vice-mogai | dni link

[huffle-dork]

Swap Across the CrystalVerse Chapter 7: PW Timeline

Read Swapboys | Crystal’s AUs | Read the PW Timeline

Read SITCV | SATCV Masterpost | AO3 Link

Alt lands, by himself, in a bedroom. It's not a familiar bedroom. Small, and made even smaller by how crowded it is with knickknacks. The walls are pale green. There's a desk, a wardrobe, a bed, and a small table shoved in the corner by a big window. On that table are candles, some figurines, bowls, a wooden wand, a plate with a five-pointed star drawn on it--an altar of some kind, apparently. And there's a cat. A small black one. Standing on the desk and staring directly at Alt with big yellow eyes.

Alt looks around the room and almost immediately groans out loud. He whacks the TRVLR in his hands with a scowl. "What is wrong with you?? Why are you acting up now??" 

The TRVLR briefly shows the menu screen--and the code UF-0707019PW in the corner--before the low battery icon takes over.

Then, he notices the cat and he freezes. "Oh.. hi kitty?" He can't help but soften as he pockets the TRVLR and tries to get near it, holding out his hands for it to smell.

The cat immediately bolts, knocking down a water bottle and plastic cup of pencils as it jumps down from the desk and runs out the open bedroom door. No offense to Alt. Seems it just has the zoomies. 

Alt glitches back in surprise and watches the cat jump away and can't help but laugh as he watches. Oh... tiny kitty zoomies. He remembers when Glitches had those-

Down a hallway, someone shouts. "Luna Void, I swear to fuck if you knocked over something important--no pets for the rest of the day!" It's followed by an exasperated groan and approaching footsteps. 

Alt freezes at the voice. Shit! His mind blanks on something to do as he backs up- tries to think of something to say. He's broken into someone's house! ...completely on accident but! Still!

A man walks into the room, stopping in the doorway. He has long wavy hair pulled back in a ponytail, and is wearing a black sweatshirt with a design of a cresent moon made out of various-sized circles. He looks at Alt. His eyes widen and he backs away. "Wh-whoa, hey! Hey! I-I don't know how you got in here, b-but I'm calling the police!" He's reaching into the pocket of his jeans, probably going for his phone.

Alt jumps and glitches a bit to get closer, "Wait don't please I-I can explain!" He tries to say quickly. He searches the man's face, trying to see if he recognizes it. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you I just- d-don't know where I am-"

The man freezes the moment Alt glitches close to him. His eyes, somehow, go even wider. "What the--what the fuck?" He suddenly scrambles backwards. "How did--what--I--What the fuck?!" And then he turns and runs down the hallway.

"...shit-" Alt mutters and then tries to glitch after him. "Wait!"

The man reaches the living room, where there is another man standing. This one is wearing a blue button-up shirt and has a mustache. He clutches a phone in one hand like he's ready to dial.

"JJ!" the first man shouts. "I-I don't know what's going on, but--" 

Then Alt appears in the hallway entrance. The first man spins around, gasping, and the second one jumps in surprise.

Alt finds himself freezing once again and he very slowly puts up his hands. "H-Hang on... please- I... I can explain- I'm not gonna rob you- or hurt you... I just... g-gotta figure out where I am." He swallows thickly. "Please, just, hear me out?" 

He eyes the second man, taking in the signature look of JJ and feels himself start to relax. Okay- parallel again... so the first one must be... Marvin? Cuz cat? 

The two men stare at him in shock. Slowly, Marvin backs up towards the coffee table. Then he quickly grabs a small piece of candy from a bowl and gently throws it at Alt.

Alt blinks and goes to catch it, holding it in his hands. He blinks comically back at the two men. "...uh... thank you?"

"What the fuck?!" Marvin shouts again. "You're real?!"

"Y-Yes I'm real!" Alt shouts back. He shoves the candy in his pocket and then shakes his hands, "Okay let's just.. back up. You already think I'm insane so let's just run with it!" He stands up taller and with confidence as he says, "My name is Alt Brody. I'm from another universe- a parallel one. Where the same people exist in different places. So... I know people just like you two, Jameson and Marvin."

The two of them just gape at him. Marvin glances at JJ and asks in sign language, Do you think this is a trick? Is A-N-T-I back? 

He wouldn't do something that weird, JJ says. And if it was, he knows sign, you're not hiding anything. 

"Fuck," Marvin curses. 

"...I also know sign." Alt says sheepishly. His stomach drops at they seem scared once again of someone called Anti. Of course... at least the last one was kinda nice. "...I'm... technically a parallel of... your Anti. But, I'm not like.... evil or anything. I'm a magician."

Silence. "Okay. Yeah. Sure." Marvin laughs. "If this is a prank, it's not funny. Come on, where are the cameras? How did you do those weird effects?" 

JJ just frowns at him. You're my age. You're not Anti.

Alt knits his eyebrows at JJ and slowly nods, "Yeah... you're younger than my JJ... huh." He then turns to Marvin and sighs, "It's not an effect." He holds out his arm and lets its glitch, showing it splitting into different colors and pixels before snapping back into place. "I'm magic. And also a glitch. Technically." He stuffs his hands into his pockets and looks at them. "...someone in your group... has to be magic... right? ...someone always is... somehow."

JJ and Marvin stare at the glitching. They both look weirdly pale. Marvin folds his arms, hiding how unnerved he is. "Yeah, okay, ha ha. I'm not that kind of witch. I-I-I don't know--how you're doing that--but this is a really fucking cruel joke." 

I don't think he's joking, Marvin... JJ signs slowly. 

"He--he has to be," Marvin says a bit desperately. "I-I mean--that sort of 'magic'--like in the movies--it's not fucking real!"

Now it's Alt's turn to look pale as his eyes widen. "...magic doesn't exist here...?" He breathes. Then, he pushes back his hair and slowly starts to laugh. "...oh boy... Mag is not gonna be happy..." 

He looks back at them and opens up his palm, creating a ball of dancing electricity. He tosses it up into the air and as it hovers for a second, he glitches and then changes into a mostly black calico cat that stares at them up from the floor, his strange heterochromaic eyes practically glowing. Then, as the ball falls he glitches back and manages to catch it before it zaps away into the air. "...for me, magic is real." He says quietly. "I wouldn't lie about that."

Marvin and JJ watch all this silently, their faces an identical mix of awe and shock. Then Marvin slowly walks over to the sofa and collapses on it. 

Are you okay, Marvin? JJ asks. 

P-R-O-C-E-S-S-I-N-G. Marvin signs out the word letter by letter.

JJ nods. He leans back against the wall by the door. It's like... the many worlds theory. 

You sound like H-doctor. Clearly, Marvin means 'Henrik' by that. 

My point is, if it's true, then there are infinite possibilities. Including that magic is real somewhere. 

"Fucking bejesus hell," Marvin mutters.

Alt shuffles sheepishly. "...sorry- we... haven't traveled to a world without magic before. I'm... so used to just being able to do it." His form buzzes with static for a bit, pixels vibrating off him before he forces himself to snap back together. "I guess it makes sense... we've been to enough places- about time we ended up in a place with no magic." He sighs and leans up against the doorway, "But that creates a lot of problems on my end..." He starts to take out his phone, hoping he can contact Jackie or Chase.

"This is... gonna be a lot," Marvin says. "Mr. uh... What was your name? Anti?" 

He said 'Brody' too, JJ recalls. 

"So, what? He's from a magical alternate universe where Anti is Chase's brother instead of y--" 

JJ makes a shushing sound. 

"Oh. Sorry." 

Alt’s head snaps up at this, staring at Jj with wide eyes. “…you’re brothers with Anti…?” He asks quietly. He’s very quiet for a second, trying to imagine Dr. J being his sibling but… no. Too weird. 

JJ tenses a little bit. By blood, he says carefully. Our relationship is... bad. 

Marvin rolls his eyes. "Light way of putting it."

Alt nods in understanding. 

“…it’s uh Alt, by the way.” He corrects Marvin, “don’t really go by Anti anymore… only Chase calls me that.”

For once, cell service and WiFi work. The cell service is abysmally low, but it's there. 

Suddenly two cats run into the room. The small black one from before, chasing a fluffy ragdoll cat. The black one corners the ragdoll in and jumps on top of it, causing a "mrow!" 

"Stop, you two," Marvin says automatically. "Not near the terrarium."

Alt glitches at bit back as the cats rush in but then his eyes sparkle. He kneels down, just to look at them as he grins. “Oh… such pretty kitties…!” He softly coos.

The ragdoll cat pushes away the black one, who zooms away while the ragdoll licks his paw. 

Marvin grins. "That's Luna Void and Ragamuffin. They're my babies. Them and Salazar... though I wonder if I should change his name recently." 

Marvin points at a large terrarium nearby. Inside, curled up on the floor, is not a pile of purple rope, but a snake. "I'm biased for the kitties, to be honest, though." Seems the cat talk has helped him recover from his rattled state of mind. 

Alt giggles at their names. “Great names… I have a little void at home. Her name is Glitches. …you can probably guess why.”

Alt’s eyes wander to the terrarium and makes a slight Pog face as he almost glitches over- but he doesn’t want to scare the kitties or the snake. 

“Woahhh! A snake! What a cool color!” Alt winces a bit at the name and laughs, “Yeah… not a great time for anything named from Harry Potter, huh?”

“He’s a lavender corn snake,” Marvin says, grinning. “And yeah… I’m thinking of calling him Crowley now, after a character in this book called Good Omens.” 

Did you hear they’re making a series of that? JJ comments. 

“I did! Think it’s coming out in May.” 

Alt grins happily bouncing, “So cool- snakes are cool…”

Marvin takes a deep breath. “Okay. I think I’ve processed this whole… thing. Or at least I’m functional now. JJ? What about you?” 

The same, JJ says. 

“Alright. So.” Marvin looks at Alt. “If you’re… from an alternate universe… what are you doing here? How’d you get here?”

Once it seems like the others are settled he sighs and nods, “that’s the thing… we should be home. The first time we used this device, the TRVLR.” He pulls out the device to show them, “we didn’t know our code to get home but now we do and for some reason we keep ending somewhere different! Which might not be a problem if it was just me, my brother and Jackie… but we have a hitchhiker… a villain named Magnificent. He’s also magic… and very very dangerous. And everytime we jump- we end up separated… but pulled towards parallels we know in this universe.”

“Evil magicians,” Marvin mutters. “Ooookay. Great.” 

JJ frowns. Don’t you use ‘Magnificent’ as your username on a lot of games? 

“Wha—No!” Marvin says defensively. “It’s um… that… but in leetspeak. Whatever, are you saying I’m evil?” 

I’m saying if they appear towards parallels of people they know, that’s a big coincidence. 

Alt tries to hide his laugh about Marvin’s username. 

“Okay whatever, moving on,” Marvin says hurriedly. “So we have to help you find this guy and the two others you came with? Jackie and… your brother? Chase, right?” 

We know two people with those names, JJ says. If your friends appeared near them, we can contact them. 

Alt sinks into his jacket and hides his hands in its pockets. “…you don’t have to help if you don’t want to- but… yeah they’ve most likely appeared by one of them.” 

“Is Anti an option for people you appear by?” Marvin asks. “Since you’re like him? Because if that’s the case, they could be fucking anywhere, Anti skipped town a while ago.” 

Let’s hope they don’t appear near Anti, JJ says. He would take advantage of that. 

Alt stiffens as he hears about Anti and looks up in slight fear, “h-He skipped town? Oh… fuck. Yeah they… they might end up next to him- we’ve ended up in separate countries before… fuck!”

Please don’t panic, JJ says. If your friends have powers like you they can handle him easily. 

“Can you call them or something?” Marvin asks. “Do phones work in other universes? If they don’t, we can at least check with Chase and Jackie.” 

"Y-Yeah lemme see who I can call... I think I saw I had some bars..." Alt mumbles, taking out his phone. He dials Chase's number-

————— 

Bro lands in a small, dark space that smells like cleaning supplies. What is this? A closet? Nearby, Jackie lands in an empty waiting room, with rows of chairs and a couple different hallways branching off. There’s a directory on the wall listing things that sound very hospital-like. He hears a clatter inside a doorway labeled ‘Janitor.’ 

Bro oofs and then feels around the room, laughing nervously. "H-Hey! Who turned off the lights?? Hello??" 

Jackie rubs his head and shakes off the disorientation and then perks up when he hears Bro's voice. He laughs and goes to see if he can open the door- "H-Hang on Bro-!"

As Jackie goes over to open the doorway—which isn’t locked so he’s easily able to—another doorway opens. The front glass doors leading into this waiting room get pulled open and in walks a man in a snapback cap and gray jacket. He sees Jackie right away and grins. “I don’t think you’re allowed to go in there, bro.”

Jackie jumps slightly and whips around, looking at the man that entered. "Uhh-" 

Bro peeks his head out of the closet, his own gray cap on backwards. "Yooo! Haven't ran straight into another me right away in hot minute! Sup?" He grins wide, going to shut the door to the closet behind him. 

"You and Alt are wayyy too casual about all this jumping business, dude." Jackie mumbles. 

"Eh its starts to feel less and less crazy with each jump."

The other Chase stops walking, taking in the sight of another him popping out of the closet. “Uh—What the—huh?” He stammers. 

"See dude, you freaked him out!" Jackie says, nudging Bro. 

Bro shrugs, "It gets all the weirdness out of the way!" 

And then someone else appears, walking down one of those hallways. A man with shoulder length hair and round glasses, pulling on a red jacket. “Man, fuck that paperwork,” he mutters. “Hey Chase. Hey… wait a minute.” He glances between Jackie and Bro and Chase. “Uhhhhh…”

Jackieboy and Bro both blink at the new man that enters and Bro grins, pointing, "Eyyy two for one! Lets goooo!" 

Jackie hits him again.

The other Jackie and Chase just stare at them. Then Jackie quickly walks over to Chase, giving the two a wide berth. 

“Chase, what the fuck is going on?” he whisper-shouts. 

“I dunno, I just got here! Isn’t there supposed to be a receptionist or nurse or something?” 

“I think the desk guy is on break and I ditched the nurse.”

"Hi! Totally can still hear you by the way," Bro says cheerily. "Sorry to freak you out- we're you guys! From a parallel universe!" He beams. "Don't know where the hell we are though- hospital? I guess?" 

"Probably- I've been in enough to recognize the smell." Jackie nods. "Uh sorry- to be honest I'm just as fucking lost as you two must be. But, I'm Jackie Mann- This is Chase Brody, also known as Bro Fantastic." 

Bro waves.

The two of them just stare. Chase stiffens slightly as his name is mentioned, but they’re otherwise quiet for a while. 

“Riiiight,” Jackie says slowly, clearly not believing them. “Well… good luck then. We’ve uh, actually got a thing to go to so we’ll be leaving now.” 

“We do?” Chase says, confused. 

Jackie nudges him. “Yeah. We do. So let’s go.” He looks more than a little freaked out. 

“Yeah that’s a fair reaction-“ Jackieboy sighs. 

“Oh- okay. No worries,” Bro says, letting his happy demeanor drop, “Guess you all don’t see this kinda stuff often here. Before you go though, can you tell us what city this is? Or I guess what hospital this is?” He shrugs, “We need to find some other people so it’d be nice to know. I think my cell should work here-“ 

Jackie pulls out his and nods, “Yeah I think we got bars.”

"Um... y-yeah, sure," Chase says uncertainly. "This is Southpoint General Hospital in Corrigale." 

Jackie looks at him like he's crazy but he ignores him. "Um... m-meeting up with friends?"

"...kinda yes kinda no-" Bro laughs, "I gotta find my little bro, Alt. Then- well... we gotta find a really bad guy before he... does something... bad." 

"wayyy to sugarcoat it, bro," Jackie mutters. 

"They're already freaked out I don't wanna freak em out more!!" Bro whisper-shouts.

Chase and Jackie glance at each other. "Um... one second, please," Chase says, pulling Jackie to the side. 

They're out of earshot for Jackieboy and his normal range of hearing, but Bro can still hear them whispering. 

"Okay so they're not crazy fans of mine. They'd know I don't have a brother." 

"Why do they look like us? What sort of bit is this? Are we on a fucking prank show? Who does that in a hospital?" 

"I-I don't know! But, I... I don't think they're with Anti." 

"Only Anti would be able to make makeup that real-looking, though." 

"Maybe they really just look like us? Look, can you really see Anti pairing up with someone to fuck with us?" 

"...No. I don't think he'd risk coming back into the city to do something so weird."

"...Chase I know you can probably hear them but can we just try to approach this like we're nor- okay yeah no you're not listening to me." Jackie tries to whisper to Bro but can already see his friend's eyes locked onto the other two. 

In a quick zip, Bro comes a bit closer to them- not too close but definitely closer than he was. He blinks at them and tilts his head, "You guys mentioned a guy named Anti? That's technically who we're looking for! Well- my Anti- not yours, I'm guessing. Looks like this guy has you all kinda spooked. Is he a bad guy here?"

Jackie's head whips over to Bro. His face blanches and he suddenly bolts for the front door. 

"Jackie!" Chase shouts. He glances at Bro. "I-I'm so sorry, he's--he's gone through some stuff. Jackie!" And he hurries after him.

Bro's face falls and he looks apologetic. He's frozen for a second before he rushes out after them. 

“Wait- Chase!" Jackie yells out. He then sighs loudly before rushing after him. 

Outside is a cloudy afternoon sky. Jackie presses his back against a lamp post, hands over his mouth and breathing heavily. Chase is trying to comfort him. "They said it's not the same guy, they're not with him, it's okay, nothing's gonna happen. It's okay, it's okay."

Bro slows down and tries to approach, "I-I'm so so sorry...! It's just... my brother- he's called Anti too. R-Really only by me but... I... I didn't know it would make you react like that... I promise my brother isn't anyone who would hurt you. He's... a really good guy- and magic! So... um... im... im really sorry..."

“F-funny name, hah…” Jackie leans his head back against the lamp post, moving his hands from his mouth to his chest. “I-it’s not your fault. It’s okay. This is just… really weird.” 

“Do you need a moment?” Chase asks him. 

“I’m good now. Promise.” Jackie rubs his eyes under his glasses. “S-so… your brother. His name is Anti? A-and he does magic tricks? Th-that’s cool.”

Bro looks sheepish as he nods, "Yeah... he goes by Alt now though. I call him Anti- but only sometimes. Cuz that's the name he wanted when he grew up." 

"He can do more than just magic tricks- he's a magician. He can glitch and shit-" Jackie adds. 

Chase blinks. “…glitch? More than tricks? What do you…” He trails off, realizing this isn’t the time for questions. 

Bro looks really concerned, "... You don't have to say anything you don't want to but... I'm guessing your Anti... he hurt you? I just... we might run into him... knowing our track records. I wanna know what we might be getting into. ...my brother could be with him."

“Yeah, he… hurt me,” Jackie mutters. “Our friends, too. Y-you, uh, your brother probably won’t run into him. We think he left town to avoid the police.”

Bro nods solemnly, "...I'd be more inclined to believe that normally but... one time we ended up in other countries and... and he got really hurt there so I..." He looks terrified for a second and grips his hands into fists, "..police- so he's a criminal. Okay... I... I just hope Alt didn't end up with him." He looks back at Chase and Jackie and smiles slightly. "...I'm sorry for all the trouble. We can... get out of your hair- thank you for answering our questions."

"It's okay, really." Jackie nods slowly. 

"Yeah, uh... nice to meet you. If a little weird." Chase laughs a little. 

Jackieboy laughs, “Yeah it’s a bit strange. Thanks for humoring us.” 

And then Bro's phone starts ringing.

Jackieboy and Bro seem like they’re ready to head out when Bro blinks and digs out his phone. “Oh! It’s Alt!” He quickly answers.

"Oh good!" Chase smiles a little. "Glad to hear he's alright--" And then his phone gives off a text tone. He blinks, answering it. "Uh... huh." He shows Jackie what he just received. 

A messages from a contact labeled Double J. Weird question but have you run into anyone claiming to be from an alternate universe? 

Jackie blinks. "What the hell...?"

“Chase! Are you okay?” Alt’s voice asks frantically on the other end. “Where are you?” 

Bro looks relived, “We’re okay, are you?” 

“Yeah I’m fine- I ended up with Marvin and jj- did you know there’s no magic here??” 

Bro’s eyes widen, “Really? None at all?” 

“No- they were really freaked when I got here - then they told me about the Anti here and I got scared that you were-” 

“We’re not with him. I’m with Jackie actually- and we found both of our doppelgängers. But we’re okay- we’re actually right outside a hospital. Southpoint general.” 

“Okay… it’s probably best for us to keep a low profile so- maybe we can see if someone can… drive us…?” Alt’s voice sounds disgusted at the thought. 

Bro laughs. “Yeah maybe- I can ask.” 

“And we’ll need to keep out for signs of Mag… I dunno how he’s gonna react to a world like this.” 

“…Right. Okay bro bro we’ll keep you updated…”

Meanwhile, Chase is having a text conversation with JJ. Yeah how did you know? 

Some guy showed up in Marvin's house. And I know it sounds crazy, but we believe he's telling the truth about the different world thing. 

Jackie glances at Bro and Jackieboy. "What the fuck?" he whispers. 

Chase keeps texting. How do you know for sure? 

He could do impossible things. Like teleport and transform. I'm not fucking with you when I say this. 

No yeah youre not the type Sounds like the guy is talking with his friends on the phone now. Something about meeting up. Chase and Jackie glance at Bro again. 

I think were on the other end of that conversation Ask the guys for proof about being from another world. they might do something strange. 

Kk 

"You guys... weren't being serious about the parallel world thing... were you?" Jackie asks slowly. 

Bro and Alt end their conversation for now and the hero blinks back at Jackie. “Oh no I’m completely serious.” He says, not missing a beat. He then grins mischievously. “Want me to prove it?” 

“Bro didn’t Alt just say-“ Jackie tries to warn. 

“I’m! From a world! Where Chase Brody is a superhero~” Bro laughs and then steps back into the air, hovering a little bit off the ground. He beams.

Chase's mouth drops open. The phone falls from his hand. 

Jackie just stares blankly. "I'm not... I'm not hallucinating, right, Chase?" he mutters. 

Chase shakes his head slowly. Then he suddenly bursts into laughter. "Man. Why couldn't I be born in the universe where I'm a superhero?" 

"I mean... technically... you were, I guess. And this is... you?" Jackie gestures at Bro. 

"Yeah. Yeah." He bends down and picks his phone up again. "Well. Uh. You probably don't want to fly like that for too long. Or else you're gonna end up all over the internet."

“Yeah Chase get down you’re not even wearing your mask!” Jackieboy scolds as he grabs Bro by the jacket and pulls him down. 

Bro laughs and touches down quickly, messing with his hair. “Yeahhh that’d be bad for you… don’t want that. Not being able to fly around is gonna suck ass though-“ 

“Oh boo hoo- you’ll have to be normal like the rest of us for a bit-“ Jackieboy grumbles. 

Bro shrugs, “So Alt is actually with your friends Marvin and Jj! So he’s safe- for now at least…. But that only leaves the issue of Magnificent…”

“Magni…what?” Chase asks. 

“Isn’t that Marvin’s name on Minecraft?” Jackie asks. 

“Oh my god- that’s amazing.” Jackieboy laughs.

“I don’t know, I don’t play Minecraft.” Chase says.

“You should ask JJ to add you to his server, it’s really cool, there’s a mushroom biome at spawn—” Jackie starts to ramble. 

“God- we should get back into minecraft-“ Jackie blog says to Bro. 

“Maybe if I didn’t have to keep catching this damned cat.” Bro grumbles. 

“We’re getting off topic.” Chase shakes his head. “Okay. Remembering what you guys said, Magnificent is probably the guy you’re looking for. The bad guy you have to stop. Am I right? Do you have any idea where he could be?”

Bro shakes his head, “I have no idea. We have ways to track each other- but no way to track Mag. Usually… he ends up finding his way back to us. And if this place has no magic… he’s probably gonna try to find Alt. He has the device we use to travel between worlds.”

Jackie sighs. "This is... so much." 

"W-well, uh... I can at least give you guys a ride?" Chase suggests. "Jackie can't drive, and I don't know if you guys know the bus system here."

“Yeah if you don’t mind that’d be great,” Jackieboy replies with a smile. “I know it’s a lot- a have a hard time following along when it’s stuff just in our universe-“ 

“Oh but- you guys were going into the hospital for something right? We don’t want to get in the way of that.” Bro adds.

"Oh, Chase was picking me up," Jackie explains. "I was, uh, in there for a while. But I'm good to go now." 

"I kinda wanted to stop by and check on Jack," Chase mutters. "But this feels more important. I'm sure he'd understand." 

"The question is, would he believe us?" 

Chase opens up the camera on his phone. "That's what photographic evidence is for. Hey, other me? You wanna take a picture together?" 

"Oh my god." Jackie rolls his eyes, but still smiles.

Bro’s eyes light up and he bounces slightly. “Yeah! Let’s do it!” He rushes over to stand next to Chase. 

“Dork!” Jackie calls with a grin.

"God, the dork-ness transcends universes, doesn't it?" Jackie agrees.

“Yeah- but unfortunately he’s my dork.” Jackieboy laughs. 

"Alright, say cheese." Chase holds the camera up high and does a peace sign as he takes the picture. Bro copies the gesture with a big ol’grin. 

"And we're good." Chase puts his phone away. "We can do more later. I think we should head out now. I want to meet your brother. Oh! Wait a minute. He must be an alternate version of Anti, then? A... nice one?" 

"Now that is hard to believe," Jackie says. "Oh, uh, I'm sure your brother is great, though."

Bro beams and nods. Then he messes with his hair. “Yeah- Alt’s a good guy. He’s not like a lot of Antis we meet. You’ll see. I uh- I think Alt said they’re at Marvin’s house?”

Jackie pauses. "I'm looking forward to meething him, then." "Great, that's not too far," Chase says. "Come on. I'm parked over here." 

----------- 

Magnificent lands on a carpeted floor. This is a long hallway of some kind, lined with doors that have numbers printed on them. Probably in a hotel. ...No, not a hotel. It's too... clinical for that. The magic ice holding his arms to his sides is gone. Not melted, just disappeared like it was never there, leaving only a lingering chill. 

Magnificent pushes himself up, suppressing the chill that the ice left behind. He looks around the hallway curiously. He, of course, tries to look around for any sign of magic nearby. Surely there must be something?

... Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Usually he's able to sense at least some distant magic, but not this time. In fact, he almost feels his own magic more drained than normal. What the fuck? 

Magnificent's stomach drops dramatically. There's no magic here? ...oh no.

There are voices coming from around a corner. They're coming closer.

He hears voices coming and he curses, quickly using his power to change him into his Jack the Magnificent disguise. But- less showman-y and more... business like. He tries to casually look like he belongs.

A group of three people round the corner. There's a short woman with black hair, wearing a white coat, a taller man in some sort of beige uniform that kind of looks like nurse's scrubs, and a man with brown hair wearing an off-white sweater, holding a notebook and pencil bag. 

"--really glad it's been working out," the woman is saying. "I'd love to see what you're working on some time, but you don't have to share if you don't want to." 

"No, I know, thank you," the brown-haired man says. "I feel like I should show you, yes? I mean, there is the therapy in art therapy--" He's the first to notice Magnificent. And he stops short, staring at him, confused. "...Marvin?" 

The woman and other man also notice.

Magnificent stiffens. ...he knows that accent. He waves timidly, trying to seem friendly. "H-Hey! Whats up?" 

...he's so fucked-

"Um... how did you get in here?" the woman asks. She looks at the tall man. "Oliver?" 

"What? I didn't let anyone in." 

The woman sighs. She gives Magnificent--under the impression that it's Marvin--a stern look. "You know we have security cameras, right? You can't just break in whenever you want. Aren't you still paying that fine?" She's close enough that Magnificent can see she has a name tag: Dr. Rya Laurens. 

Magnificent tries his best to process this all quickly and sticks his hands in his pockets, shrugging. "What? I can't visit my good friend Schneep? Seems your security is a little lax so- you can thank me for showing you its flaws." He tries to laugh. 

Schneep blinks. "When did you cut your hair...?"

Mag blinks at Schneep and pats his hair, "Oh uh- recently. It was getting in the way... you know?"

"Oh. I thought you liked it long." Schneep looks confused, but he accepts this. 

Dr. Laurens still looks a bit annoyed. "Well... you still can't just do that. We're all on edge after what happened with Anti. You'll have to go." 

"Ah right... the Anti thing." Mag says, nodding like he understands. "Dunno why that just... slipped my mind.”

"Um... w-well, he came all this way, we can... talk for a little bit," Schneep stammers. "I-I can show him my room." 

"I don't know if we can allow that..." Laurens says slowly. "But... we can go down to the visitor's room, if you want." 

“It's alright, Henrik- I can just come back and visit another time. Properly, of course." Mag tries to smile charmingly. "Though- i turned myself around so- maybe you can least help me find the way back out?"

Schneep chuckles. "Your sense of direction is still terrible, then?" 

Laurens also smiles a bit. "Okay. Sure. Schneep, you want to come with?" 

"Yes, yes, of course." 

"Alright, then. Oliver, do you mind?" 

Oliver shrugs. "Nah." 

"Very professional sounding of you," Schneep mutters. 

"It's this way, we'll take the stairs," Laurens says, hurriedly turning around back the way they came.

"Ah thanks- 'ppericate it." Mag smiles and follows after them. 

As they walk Magnificent lingers behind, trying to see if he can probe into any of their minds... just to see what universe they're dealing with. He tries to look through Schneep's mind first.

There is absolutely no resistance to Magnificent's probing, but what he sees doesn't really make much sense. Schneep's thoughts and memories are in scattered fragments, interspersed with things that look incredible--bleeding shadows moving on the walls, eyes dangling from the ceiling, the feeling of things crawling beneath the skin--but aren't... consistent in the way real things are. The figure of a man with two-colored eyes loom large in his memories, half his face terribly scarred. Fear is linked to this figure and his cruel grins. Magnificent sees a man in a red hood screaming, arm bent at an awkward angle, and flashes of dead people's faces. There's a man with a mustache and gentle smile whose face sometimes flickers into the scarred man's, there's one with a snapback cap who's smiling at him, one with green-dyed hair who has the memory of sickness and guilt attached to him, one with a long wavy ponytail--ah, that's his other-world counterpart. The more recent memories are the most stable, many of them involving hour-long conversations with this Laurens woman, all of them taking place in this building. A hospital. But not the normal kind of hospital.

Hmm... so Schneeplestein is in a mental institution. Fascinating. But, not helpful. It seems there's no mysterious power or anything to harness here. The two-colored eyed man seems interesting but not in a way that captures his attention. Sure, he could conquer these guys minds and maybe suck their life forces if he's desperate. But... what is there to gain? Boring... hm... what to do...

They reach the first floor, winding through some hallways towards the front of the building. 

"You know they say I will be able to leave soon," Schneep says. "Not on my own, a-and not... permanently, I mean. I'm not ready for that. But for small trips into the city. Maybe we could... do something when that happens." He trails off. 

"That'd be nice, Henrik." Mag replies shortly, still caught up in his head. 

Something has been bothering Schneep about Marvin during this short trip. He's trying to ignore the paranoia, but it's hard. Is this... really Marvin?

...He doesn't think it is. There's something in the way that he walks that's off. He's too... confident. In a way that almost reminds him of... him. 

"Schneep, are you okay?" Laurens asks. "Remember to breathe. You're not breathing." 

"I-I-I am f-fine," Schneep says. "Um... Marvin has been in this area before, h-he should know where to go from here." 

Magnificent pauses as he realizes Schneep seems to be more wary all of sudden. His right eye burns bright green as he tilts his head at Schneep. "Is something the matter, Hen? You don't want to lead me to the door?"

Schneep gasps as his eye starts to glow. He staggers backwards, dropping his notebook and pencil bag. 

"Hey, be careful," Oliver says, crouching down to get those for him. 

"Schneep?" Laurens follows Schneep's line of sight--and sees Magnificent's eye glowing green. Her jaw drops. "...what?"

Magnificent starts to laugh, "Oh- did I give something away?" He chuckles a bit more and shakes his head and as he raises his head again, you can see the scars around his left eye. "Oh well... cat's out of the bag, now, isn't it~?" 

A bloom of spiraled magic appears behind him as he laughs, "Don't know what I'll do in such a pathetic world but... a puppet is a puppet~!" 

"Wh-what is--th-this is not possible--" Schneep stammers, backing up. 

Laurens reaches for the pager on her belt, about to call for security. 

Oliver pops up and pushes his way to the front, protecting the other two. 

Mag starts to approach them slowly, grinning sinisterly as he puts a finger to his lips. 

"Hush now, kittens. Don't want to alert the other normies to my magnificence just yet~" 

The effects are instant. They don't know how to pull away. They don't know what Magnificent is even trying to do. The moment their eyes land on the magic, all of them are instantly under his spell. Schneep lets out a final squeak of protest before the magic completely takes over his mind.

"Mmmm excellent job, kittens.... don't fight it now." He giggles and prowls closer. He goes straight to Schneep and lifts up his chin. He hums, "Oh... I missed seeing this face under my power~! You know, Schneeplestein... I think you can aid me quite well..." He looks at Laurens and Oliver and tilts his head. He then snaps and shoos them off. "You two. I have no need of you. Lock yourself in one of these rooms and forget me and Henrik were ever here, won't you?"

Laurens and Oliver nod. They walk over to the nearest room, with Laurens dropping her keycard on the ground before closing the door on them. 

"What will we do now?" Henrik asks quietly.

"Hm... what will we do indeed?" Mag giggles. He looks around and then hums. "We should get away from the cameras... we have a naughty cub to find." He grabs Henrik and in a snap, him and Schneep disappear in a flicker of static out of the hospital.

[genevawrenn]

Rules: post the first line of your last ten posted fics and see if there's a pattern

~~~

01. “Aimsey Trientalis?”

A long-haired brunette questioning impulsive decisions stood on the worn wooden pier the boat just dropped them off at, all their worldly possessions scattered around them.

02. The sun set over the polished marble of the Royal Archives, winking in between the pillars that faced it. The huge building sheltered histories in objects displayed with careful hands and large tapestries woven by talented server members hung across the cold stone walls. Huge shelves of pine covered a good majority of the lower floors filled with scrolls written in careful scrawling handwriting, stairs ascending to the floor wrapping the second level where more specialised exhibits were.

03. He hopes Tallulah will forgive him.

Scrawling their promise to one another ‘ you and me, you and me always ’ on his classic yellow sign and attaching it to the wall where she would see in the morning, Chayanne stopped one last time to look at his slumbering sister.

04. Blood.

He craved it, he wanted to bathe in it, he wanted to coat his scarred skin with the crimson essence to truly feel the need to be satisfied, to drown the screaming in his thoughts. The brunette with a single white curl wants to drown in the red rain, spilling forth from the pale flesh his blade sliced through.

05. Steady, regular beeping.

The only noise to accompany Fit as he sits at Pac’s side as the beautiful man slumbers, the antidote to the Federation working its way through the comatose man. The anarchist cradles a guitar older than this world on his lap covered in denim jeans, peering at the bouquet of crimson roses he placed on the blank table in a glass vase left there.

06. The crow's heart drops, seeing the screen before him with the team divisions for the next two weeks. Philza was cautious coming into this event, his only drive was the voice taunting to complete this event was to win the knowledge of where his children are. He didn’t trust this for a second despite willingly putting himself in this situation because for his children, the world. Ancient instincts were flooding adrenaline through his ageless form tight with paranoia.

07. The crow avian wakes out of a pleasant dream of soaring through the blue air above with the song of the sky in his ears, feeling the wind caressing each feather as he carves his way through the void above. Someone whose instincts called for the freedom he had been grounded from, a sky born being with shorn wings who had been unable to reach the stars he was married to the entire time he had been in this world.

08. Peace.

It's all FitMC could think, looking in those pools of night sky that had begun to entrance him. He fondly remembers the very first time he met the lively brunette named Pac, his joy shining forth and the sheer kindness that surrounded him astounded Fit.

09. A son and daughter awaken their father under the frosty sun of a winter morning, crow yawning and groaning as his ancient muscles awaken. Smiling, he lets Chayanne and Tallulah crawl their way into his bed and under his once-magnificent wings, curling them around his precious hatchlings. It was the day of Christmas Eve, and Phil could only hope their plans they had last minute thrown together would hold up.

10. Loneliness.

It’s a feeling Philza knew intimately, ripping his soul open in the darkest of nights. Filleting him raw under the bare shining cosmos, pale moonlight bathing gaping holes of lost friends, illuminating the emptiness. The threads of his life’s tapestry fraying after the aeons of memories his heart had experienced, slowly falling away one by one until it was only his shining string.

[rjalker]

[ID: A digital drawing of A Sphere from the 2007 Flatland film, holding a glass jar with a Flatlander inside. Rather than having his eyes and mouth drawn on. A Sphere's face is made up of a cropped screenshot of two red, rose-shaped earrings with silver backings sitting on pale yellow foam, with a line under as an indentation, making it look like his eyes and mouth, staring off into space. He is drawn pale yellow to match the foam instead of his normal vibrant yellow. He is asking the trapped Flatlander, "Would you still love me if I were jewelry in a google play store ad?" The Flatlander is Hauntlight, an original character, done as a simply drawn irregular black line, with its rabbit daemon Cenotaph represented by an arrow shape, shouts up at him with tiny dialogue text in all caps, "Who are you", while its daemon adds on, "WTF". A blank spot in the corner of the drawing has arrows around a grey dotted blob with a question mark inside to mark the absence of A Sphere's daemon. End ID.]

When you're trying to draw serious things but the google play store add looks like A Sphere from the 2007 Flatland film staring at you from the top of the screen.

Edit August 20 2024: Ladd Ehlinger, the creator of the 2007 Flatland film, is disgustingly fucking racist and misogynistic. He is literally a proud conservative.

He made a political ad in 2011 that's literally so blatantly racist and misogynistic that youtube has literally restricted it so you literally cannot share the link outside of youtube.

Because it's that blatantly fucking bigoted.

I wish I could say I'm shocked but considering how terribly the 2007 film handles the themes of the original novel, I'm not surprised in the least.

The ad literally has Black men chanting, "give me your cash bitch so we can shoot up the street", while a white woman, with the face of the politician the add is against photoshopped over her, pole dances as a sex worker.

He runs a tumblr account so make sure you block him. His username is filmladd.

He's literally a racist misogynistic conservative.

For the love of all that's holy everyone please stop promoting this film immediately and make sure people are aware of exactly what kind of person produced it.

[peachmortem]

[Image Description: Digital art of an object-head OC named Cherry that is coloured and shaded in a blocky, cartoonish style. Cherry is a grey skinned young girl with a red TV head that has a blank pink screen. She's wearing a very oversized pink sweater with a button collar and pale yellow shorts underneath. Behind Cherry there are offset outlines with aqua on the left and purple on the right. The background is a gradient of light blue to purple-blue with doodles of circles, flowers, spirals, and emoticon faces in shades of pink, orange, blue, and green all around. End ID]

artfight attack for ~pumpkinjuice !!

[cookieseals]

don't got much a fanfiction website rn to post junk on soooo here we go-

Memories are crazy yall-

(Writing of 2 of Acorn4's memories are below)

Memory 1, "The First Day":

My eyes open, screen slightly dim to not blind myself. But what was the point of doing that when there already was a bright light pointing at my screen. Soon enough, the light was turned off, I saw a yellow figure. Couldn't tell much of what they were as I was seeing colors from the bright light prior.

Seconds past before I hear their voice,

"Greetings, I'm Steve. Steve Cobs." They said calmly.

I used my bright orange paw to rub my screen, seeing the yellow figure now in clearer view. As their name had suggest, they were just like their name.

"Welcome to the world, Acorn4. You're my finest and newest model, and with your advanced emotion emulator. You'll do splendid here." Cobs greeted.

Cobs then reached his paw towards mine, which at the time I didn't know what to do. So, I allowed him to do so. Now, should have I allowed him? I feel weary of him, but why? Maybe because I just met him, maybe that's it..? He simply was just someone new?

But looking back at him, he seemed to be examining it. Which I gotta admit, it's more painful than it sounds. He dug his claws deep into my paw, why? No clue.

"Uhh.. Mr.. you're hurting my paw" I choked out, I couldn't believe myself being so nervous. Cobs glanced up at me, having a lot of annoyance but returned to a calm or should I say more blank expression?

"Acorn4, you must learn how you tolerate it. And I would request you refer to me as sir." He replied before writing on a paper attached to a clipboard.

Then would explain my purpose, I was made to be donated to a place where I would help raise something called a squrriel, whatever that is.. The speech was so boring, I would rather talk about how I got here but I guess that was on hold.

"I have what is means to protect you" Cobs said to me before selecting something on a screen I couldn't see. It lowered some sort of machine down, I wanted to move away from it but I was strapped to the table so that was pointless to try. Once the transparent screen made contact with my face, everything went blank...

-

Memory 2, "The Training Dive":

It had a been few days since I've been awakened, been finding my foods that I enjoy, nuts. They were a favorite of mine, mainly walnuts were the exact type.

Cobs motioned their paw towards the small pool of water. Of course, I didn't know what he wanted so I ask;

"Sir, what exactly are you wanting me to do?"

He rolled his eyes by this.

"I want to you to attempt to get into the water."

I then glanced at the clear liquid that I guessed was water and slowly dipped my leg into the assumed water. It was quite cold as it brushed against my fur but I continued on and stood in the freezing water, only my neck and head didn't touch such water.

Cobs then had explained how to swim, to kick my legs and make sure to not have my neck or head touch the water. So, I did just that. Using my legs to kick and my front paws used as assistance, and when I looked up at them.. They looked proud? Was I doing a good job, that's a miracle!

That was short lived and then ordered me to get out for the next 'task'... I luckily got an easy one, figure out what will be my uniform, all of them looked quite depressing. None of them had any bright colors, it looked as all of them were placed in gray scale. I glanced at each one, the majority of these uniforms were simply all black and the only thing not making it look as if you pretending to be a black hole was the name tags and logo for the company on the back. I've decided on the only one not black in color, a light gray uniform with pale blue on the shoulders.

Cobs assisted me when getting on the uniform, it was my first time after-all wearing such things. I could tell he likely had done this before with some sort of the other Acorn phone I never met. The uniform itself was alright, kinda tight to wear but at least my fur had enough room to not cause me to overheat from it.

And this seems to be getting better and better, hope it stays that way.

-

Just two starting memories for now hagagdifkrjt8fufufuthtj

[scr-ppup]

› Bubscharic

A -charic gender term where one's gender is related to or influenced by Robot Bubs from the movie, Space sweepers. The term covers more or less from characteristics, personality to even how his relationships function.

› Bubs + charic

( Coined by The eternal cosmos aka Primuscapere )

Pt start. Coined by the eternal cosmos aka primuscapere. Pt end

Flag ID. Two flags in a row; the first flag on the row has a scribbled hand drawn ear pieces on the center circle's sides that are supposed to look something like bubs' robot design's external com system with an antennae on both sides. Across the bottom half of the circle is what looks like a poorly drawn grin. The scribble are white underlined with yellow color to make it pop. The second one is a blank flag of 9 even stripes with a centric dark tan colored circle. The colors go from top to bottom as muted light pink, light pale pink, pale light pink-lilac, lilac, red, muddled sand, medium sand, tan-yellow, and light tan-yellow.

The second row of two flags; same flag design, this time overlaid underneath the hand-drawn scribble is an image of bubs in her robot form from one of the scenes in the movie; a yellow-cream boxy oval headed robot with external com system acting as ears and little antennae coming more toward she back of her head; her neck is of mechanical stuff and he's wearing a red hoodie. Two lines connect to his eyes from outer side and in-between as the two dots of eyes glow a yellowy orange glow to show a sign of anger while he looks to the left.

The third row of two flags; same flag design and scribbles just underneath it overlaid in the center circle is a picture of Kim Hyang Gi the actor of Bubs when she gets her final form; a woman with warm brown flowy and pillowy hair with bangs looking at the camera to the left side in one scene at the end of the movie with a sweater of magenta and light blue color stripes intimidating an off-screen character. End ID

[waiting-on-a-dream]

Prisoner 004: Toma Suzume - Trial 2

General info

Verdict: INNOCENT

Physical changes: Her hair has gotten longer, reaching down to her waist by now. She's unzipped her straightjacket, revealing a dark red tank top underneath. She also wears denim shorts and black shoes with dark pink designs. Her boost in confidence shows in her outfit.

Behavioral changes: She's become less anxious and more confident in her actions. Now that Mayumi isn't allowed to cook, she's helping Noa to prepare meals for everyone. She isn't particularly fond of anyone in Milgram, but she's come to think of them as one big dysfunctional family. They're growing on her.

She's more talkative now and approaches people more easily. The guilty prisoners have become more irritable, so she spends a lot of time trying to appease them. She has experience. Its better for everyone to get along, so she believes.

Trailer art: She's turned to the left with her hands clasped in front of her, smiling softly at you. Behind her, an old and crumbling turquoise door. The doorknob appears to be made of green crystal.

Voicelines

– Second trial trailer

Isn't it natural to want to protect the ones you love?

– Character voice trailer

I'm sorry! W-What has you so displeased? Please let me fix it!

Cover info

Canon Milgram song cover: Umbilical (The lyrics can easily be twisted to fit her situation, and she has been mentioned a few times to change her personality depending on what others would like. The part about being lonely too...)

DECO*27 song cover: Psychogram (Her previous covers paint her in a sort of victim position, like she didn't know what to do with her feelings and her boyfriend. But that wasn't the full picture, hehe. Suzume is finally showing her agency.)

Non-DECO*27 vocaloid song cover: Feast by Shitoo (The character cooks up and serves their heart to someone in this song. Since Suzume's MV ends with her offering her heart to the black silhouette, I though it'd be fitting.)

Music info

Song title: Colours bleeding

Song preview: Its hard to live in society. Everyone wants someone like them to talk to. I have to change my colours to fit in with them, I have to change my colours to be accepted by them.

But then you came along, and loved all my colours (even if they weren't mine). Hey, why don't you stay with me? We can do anything you want. I'll change into any colour you want.

MV description: Her MV is bursting with all sorts of colours this time. The music is more upbeat, with the occasional creepy stutter at dramatic moments. Only Suzume's face is shown (sometimes) in the MV, despite many other characters being present.

The MV starts with Suzume sitting in a blank grey space. Her whole silhouette is white, with a keyhole carved into the left side of her chest, where her heart should be. A screen in front of her shows a scene of a lecturing hall. Students on their laptops and a professor standing by the front. Suzume stares on apathetically.

A montage of Suzume's daily routine ensues. She gets up, goes to class and takes some notes. She talks to a group of blue silhouettes, her outline painted pale purple. She eats lunch and an orange silhouette sits down next to her. Her outline quickly changes from white to yellow and she smiles at them. She gets back to her room, does some work and gets ready for bed.

The camera cuts to Suzume's POV. She's sitting by a table with pens and papers strewn about. A man sits opposite her, pointing at a diagram in front of her. He seems to be tutoring her.

Then Suzume's white silhouette and grey space is back. A shiny pink key materializes in its hand, similar to the morganite from the first MV. He walks forward and inserts the key into the keyhole in Suzume's chest. Pink blooms across her chest, slowly taking over the white of her entire silhouette.

Suzume is now cuddling with the black silhouette. The colour slowly permeates her pink outline, making black splotches along her body. Black mixes with pink, darkening the colour of her silhouette.

The camera cuts to the POV of someone walking along an empty street at night. They look down at their phone, showing a message from someone asking to meet up.

The camera cuts again to Suzume's dark pink silhouette in the blank grey space, her body covered in splatters of what looks like gold paint. The black silhouette stands before her. She turns the key still lodged in her chest, opening up a compartment to reveal a beating red heart inside. She takes it out and offers it to the black silhouette. A closeup of the silhouette reaching for the heart. End.

Author's notes

Suzume's MVs are really weird compared to everyone else, aren't they? One of the perks(?) of being the oc that I didn't know what to do with I guess. Her wacky MVs are really fun to write.

Her second signature colour was originally dark red, because I couldn't think of another colour that would suit her. But then I realized that a shade of green would fit her well.

These picrews portray her really well! I screamed when I saw the choker option offered by the first picrew, its very similar to what the canon Milgram prisoners wear. :DD

Picrews used: - https://picrew.me/ja/image_maker/407340 - https://picrew.me/ja/image_maker/1990109

[justagirlwholikesadam]

Saudade

Summary: Leia called someone through the force during a fight with the First Order. She knew Rey and Ben who came back to the light side with the help of Rey would need the extra help. That's what her twin brother Luke, had told her before his death.

Finding out who it is would Ben accept the fact that the person who his mother had called was his lost love who he left behind the night he became Kylo Ren. The person he spent seven years trying to find. Ben wasn't the only one who turned to the dark side. Ben Solo x OC

Chapter Four 

It was the sound of beeping that woke her up.

She slowly opened her eyes to see the window of her craft cracked, groaning as she felt her head pounding. She looked around and let out a gasp when she noticed she had crashed while trying to follow Ben.

"Ben" she whispered to herself.

Opening up the X-wing, she unstrap the seat belt and jumped out of the craft. She shivered as the cool air of the night rushed through her. Rubbing her bare arms while looking around she turned around to her craft. She looked at the gps screen and cursed under her breath as the screen was blank and shattered. It was broken. She couldn't contact anyone or even find out where she had crashed.

She grabbed her lightsaber from her belt and ignited it. It was getting darker as every minute passed. The two moons up in the dark sky gave her little light. The yellow lightsaber came to life letting her see her surroundings. She walked through the forest. The thin leafless branches looked like it was trying to reach for her. She looked down and saw snow beneath her.

'No wonder it's so cold.' she thought to herself. She froze when a harsh wind flew at her.

She took a deep breath when she saw her breath in the air. She knew she had to find shelter quickly if not she would freeze to death. She walked away from the craft slowly looking around. She knew she had to be alert, she didn't know where she was or what's ahead. She ignored the pain as the cold air has started to get to her. She brought her hand to her forehand trying to ease some of the pain. Her eyes widen at the sight of blood on her hand.

She took another deep breath and stood her ground. She made the decision to walk further.

She walked with her lightsaber in one hand. The weapon hummed in her hand.

She gasped when she saw something run ahead from her. The dark figure hid behind the large trees. Shivering, she raised her lightsaber towards the tree.

"Who's there?" She yelled out.

"Ben." She quietly called out when she didn't hear a response.

Still no response she continued to walk. Unaware of the man behind her. He stared at her for a moment before following her again. He frowned at her the state she was in. He could see the blood stains on her brown Jedi clothes. Her bare arms were red from the cold weather. Her face was almost turning the same color as her hair. He felt that she was sad. Alone. The only light near her was her yellow saber.

"Come out." She yelled. He took a step back when she spoke. She couldn't shake the feeling that someone was following her.

"I feel your presence." Lilian said looking behind her shoulder then ahead.

'She is strong with the force.' The man smiled to himself. He walked out from behind the trees and saw she immediately raised her saber at him at the sight of him.

Lilian frowned as a blonde man came out of the dark and stared at her. He was handsome, skin was pale like the snow that had just fallen. His blonde hair stopped by his shoulders. His blue eyes stared harshly at her. He wore black robes along with a dark cloak.

"Hello, child." The man's voice was smooth.

"Who are you?" She asked as he walked towards her.

"Who are you?" He asked, raising a brow as he stood in front of the tip of her saber. She pressed her lips in a thin lip. He wasn't afraid. He stood in front of her weapon like it was nothing.

"Well?" He asked.

"Lilian." The man nodded at her as he looked up and down at her.

Lilian walked backwards from him, giving him some distance. He was glad to see she was following his moves as he walked around. She was being alert. Guarded.

'Smart.' He told himself as Lilian stared at him. He could see she was about to collapse. The cold had finally gotten to her and he knew the crash had hurt her arm. Her arm shook as she held the saber with one hand.

"Are you lost, child? Trying to find someone?" He said and grinned as Lilian's eyes widened.

He knew why she was here. He just wanted to see what would be her response.

"I'm searching for a person. His name is Ben." Lilian said as she turned off her saber. The man looked at her and he could see her chin trembling. Tears were welling up in her eyes.

"Where am I?" Lilian asked.

"On Hoth. Just the outer rim, though." He said looking around then ahead. He could see the snow was about to fall again.

"If you went further, you would have died. There's nothing out there. The trees die out here." Lilian followed his graze behind her. She didn't notice that the trees stopped at the spot they were at. Ahead was completely dark, she could see the snow was starting to fall ahead.

"Have you seen someone come through here? I'm looking for my friend." She looked at him.

"It's important. He's hurt. I have to find him."

'Weak.' He mumbled to himself and raised his hand out towards her.

"Sleep." He said loudly and Lilian came crashing down to the ground.

He looked down at her weapon and used the force to bring her saber to him. He looked at the silver and gold weapon. He clipped it on his belt next to his. He walked towards Lilian, crouching down to her staring at her for a moment.

"You look just like her." He said running a finger down her cheek. He picked Lilian up in his arms and walked in the dark.

Making his way inside his craft hidden behind the mountains. He allows the medical droids to mends her wounds. He watches behind the window as the droids worked on her.

"Sir, do we change her?" A droid asked making its way to the man.

"Yes, burn those filthy Jedi clothes." The man said not taking his eyes from her. The man walked away when the droids started to cut her clothes.

-&-

He stood in front of her and raised a hand towards her.

"Wake up." He said walking away to a leather chair far cross the bed.

Lilian opened her eyes and quickly sat. She found herself in a bed. She looked around and saw she was inside of a room.

"I see you are awake, child." Lilian looked ahead and saw the man sitting near a fireplace. She looked down at herself and saw she was wearing a black nightgown. She immediately covered her self with her arms.

"Did you.."

"No. The droids did." He said as he crossed his legs over and leaned back on the leather chair.

"Who are you?"

Lilian asked as she got out of the bed and walked towards him. The man pointed at the chair near him.

Lilian frowned at him.

"I'll tell you who I am but sit down. You fainted when we met. I don't want you fainting again."

Lilian looked at him, she doesn't remember fainting. She just remembered the man raising his head and then blank.

She sat down with a sigh. He smiled.

"I'm Mercury, child. I'm here to be your master."

"Master?"

"Yes, you will be my apprentice." Lilian's eyes widened at him.

"I already have one. Master Skywalker. I am his Padawan." She told him.

"Where is he, then? Mmm...he hasn't come to find you. You've been asleep for days, child. No one has come looking for you." He said looking at her wondering if she knew he was lying about the days. Lilian looked at him in shocked.

'It couldn't be.' she thought to herself. She felt something off with him. Something she felt before.

He was a sith.

"I'm offering you a chance, child. A chance to be stronger. To be wiser. To have everything you want." Lilian stood you quickly making him glare at her.

"Never. I sense the dark in you." Lilian said looking around for a way out.

"Hey!" The man yelled causing her to jump as he stood up. She looked up as he walked towards her. She was frozen in place. The man looked down at her and bit his bottom lip.

"Lillian, I know why you crashed. Trying to find your boyfriend, Ben Solo." He said as he tucked her hair behind her ear.

"I read your mind while you were passed out." He says to her. Lilian finches when he brings his hand to her cheek. His fingers were icy cold.

"I saw everything. I know who you are, child. The granddaughter of the Jedi knight, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You are so strong. You just need a teacher."

"I have one already." She told him.

"Luke is weak. He tried to kill his nephew. That's what Ben showed you before he left you."

"Left you. Left you like trash." Lilian looked away at his words.

"Used you." He said as he brought his hand down to her neck. He smiled to himself as he saw her flushed reaction.

"Get your hand off of me." He grins at her as she snaps at him.

He kept remembering what he saw in her mind. He saw Lilian with Ben. She was riding him, he can hear Ben moaning as Lilian rode his cock slowly. He sees her bringing Ben's hand to her neck and tells him to choke her.

"You like it though." He said and Lilian's slaps his hand away. He walks away just a couple of feet.

"What else did you see?" She asked.

"Everything. Your life. Your childhood. The temple burning to the ground. I also saw your future. You were destined for great things. You just need the right teacher. All you have to do is join me. Come to the dark side and I will show how to fully possess the force."

"Never." Lilian spitted out to him causing him to sigh.

"What do you have left?" He asked her as he shrugged his shoulders.

"You have no family. Your parents are dead. You're alone."

"I'm not." Lilian answered him.

"Yes, you are because the moment Leia and Han find out that their son is missing they will accuse you. I mean, come on..."He said pointing a finger at her.

Lilian frowned at his words. Leia asked Lilian to watch over him before she left with Ben with Luke.

"You were supposed to look out for him. They will hate you, child. They would want nothing to do with you. I mean, think about it. It wasn't hard for Ben to leave you. He left you behind in the mess he made. He left you behind with all those dead bodies." He said as tears rose from her eyes. Lilian stared at the ground as Mercury spoke.

"Ben doesn't love you." He said walking towards her and lifting her chin to look at him.

"If he did, why would he leave you?" He questioned looking deep into her eyes.

"Let me show you the way. The darkness isn't such a bad thing, child." He told her as he caressed her wet cheek with his thumb.

"He left." She stated, making him nod.

"He did. Left you aside like you were nothing. I saw it here." He said tapping her forehead.

"I saw how you got on your knees and begged for him to stay." He whispered as he wiped her tears off her face.

"Leave me alone, Lilian. He said to you." Mercury repeated the words Ben told her. He took her hand and led her back to the seat.

"Let me teach you, child. Let me show the dark side. Never have to be alone. Never have to be afraid. You will be strong. You will be wise. You will learn how to survive."

Mercury gently pushed Lilian down to the chair and kneel in front of her. He placed his hand on her knees and looked at her.

"I know you felt the dark in you one time." Lilian shook her head and looked away.

"Don't lie to yourself. You went in the dark for a moment and you liked it. Luke saw it. The boy you almost killed saw it too."

"I didn't mean it. I didn't want to. I just got so mad." Lilian said looking down at her lap.

"Andrew was so mean to me. We were training and he said hurtful things to me. I never told Ben. Luke made me keep it a secret." Lillian said. She froze when Mercury grabbed her hands. She looked up at him.

"I almost killed him. Luke yelled at me. I had never seen him so mad before." She mumbled.

"You liked it though? The power?" Lilian stood silent at his question and he grinned.

"It's ok to like it. To feel powerful. Not to feel so weak." He said.

"You are just a whore. Ben's whore." The brunette haired boy whispered to Lillian as he walked towards her. Lilian looked over her shoulder and saw Luke a few feet away talking to his other students.

"I heard your parents killed themselves because they didn't want you. No one wants you. Ben only wants you to warm up his bed. He's another freak just like you." Andrew said, igniting his saber with a grin. The blue saber waved in front of Andrew.

"Shut up." Lilian said with a frown as she gripped her saber in her hand.

"Freak. Whore and freak. Good thing mommy and daddy are dead." He whispered harshly as Luke made his way to them.

"Lilian and Andrew, you may begin." Luke said with a nod. Andrew grinned as he waved his saber in his hand and aimed at Lilian. Lighting her own weapon she aimed at him. Just as Andrew was about to strike. Lilian slammed her own weapon against him. He backed away, shocked at her strength. Before she knew it Andrew was choking. He dropped down on his knees, gasping for air.

"LILLIAN!" Luke yelled as Andrew's face turned red.

"It's ok." Mercury said, wiping her tears.

"Join me, child. Join me and I'll show what you are truly capable of."

"What about Ben?" She asked.

"Ben is nothing now. He left you." Lilian looked at him and nodded.

After a few months since meeting with Mercury. Lilian trained with him. He showed her the path of the darkness and she welcomed it. She noticed the difference between his teaching and Luke's teaching.

Mercury was brutal. There were days when Lilian couldn't get up from bed because of the bruising. She would end up with a black eye or a bruised rib. Not only was he teaching about the force but he taught her how to fight.

He taught her about surviving. He showed her things that she thought she would never do. When Lilian presented Mercury with her new saber, he praised her.

"Child, I am truly happy with your progress." Lilian smiled up at her master.

"I sense confidence. I sense no regret. I'm proud of you." He told her looking down at her as their craft landed.

"Now. I must ask you this." He tells her as they walk down the ramp to an open field.

"Yes, master?" She follows him.

He had taken her to a different planet. They stared at the green field. The mountain stood out in the background. Mercury looked over his shoulder as he stared at her.

"If I take you on a mission will you follow my every order? Even if it may seem crazy?" Lilian raised her brows at him.

"Lilian, did you know the dark side of the force is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be unnatural?" He asked with a soft voice. Repeating the same question his master asked him once many years ago.

"I heard tales of it before." She answered him.

He nods at her. "This mission will show you that. I just need you to trust me and do everything I say. Can you do that?"

Lilian stared at the man before her. For the first time Mercury was being soft. His blue eyes stared her, it made her feel some type of way.

Lilian had started to look up at him as a fatherly figure these past few months. Mercury slowly looked away from her.

"What made you become a sith?"

Mercury looked up from his book and looked at Lilian. Training had just finished and they were sitting near the fireplace. They stayed in an underground safe house on Hoth.

Lilian had a blanket over her shoulder as she sat on the chair across from him. Mercury shut his book and placed it on the coffee table near him.

"My father was one and his father before him. Then I became one.

"Did your father train you?" Lilian asked.

Mercury stared at her as she spoke. He looked at the nasty cut on her lip. He couldn't help but feel a bit ashamed. They were training, doing hand to hand combat. He had used the force on her and hit her. He was surprised when she got up and raised her hands into a fighting position.

"No, my father died when I was a child. He was killed."

"What?!" Lilian asked.

"Is the person who killed him still alive?" She asked him quickly. He was a bit shocked at her reaction.

"I'm afraid so." He responded to her as he saw her up from her chair. She let the wool blanket drop to the floor as she stood in front of him.

"Why don't we find this person and kill them, Master?"

Mercury smiled at her question. He brings his hand to his mouth to cover his smile. She was naïve and hopeful.

"I'm strong enough now. I can help you." She told him kneeling in front of him. The crackling wood of the fireplace was the only thing heard. He stood silent. Thinking about it even though he knew it wasn't possible.

"You would help me? You will kill someone for me?" Mercury asked softly as he placed his hands on his lap.

'You look just like her. So beautiful. So strong.' He thinks to himself as he stares at Lilian. He feels his chest tighten at her smile.

'Just like her, Lilian.' He wanted to tell her. Tell her everything but he knew he had a job to do.

"Of course, I will." She told him.

"I am forever in your debt, Master. You found me when I was alone. You found me when I was left alone by someone who I thought loved me. If you haven't found me and take me under your wing. I would have been dead." Mercury let out a sinister smile as he stared at the scenery in front of him.

"I will follow your order." Mercury let his smile drop as he turned towards her.

"Good. Now shall we?" He said, tilting his head to the side making her smile.

"Yes."

She brings her saber in front of her and ignites it. The double bladed red saber roared to life.

Mercury grinned then he took his own saber out in front of her.

[isqueedmyself]

Dr. Who: Flight of the Arrackelians

Kate Stewart viewpoint with failed attempt at romance, bits of Thirteen/Yaz; allusions to Twelve/Missy and Ten/M_3, special appearance by the Rani

NC-17 for salty language and an episode of nonconsensual f/f groping; there is also one het flashback

trigger warning for spiders, vehicle accident, nonconsensual sexuality, surreptitious administration of drugs, nightmares, falling, OC death, painful recovery from injury, nonconsensual telepathic manipulation, violence within the limits of on-screen practice, theft of genetic material

16000 words

Oh, and I don't have a beta reader. Sorry.

I claim no ownership of this mileiu, its characters and settings, and I am certainly making no profit writing fanfiction for free.

There was no traffic at all on the mist-shrouded road from the oddly named village of Dikhem. This was actually a good thing, Kate Stewart told herself, since the road in question was more of a lane perhaps two meters wide between a crumbling dry stone wall interspersed with gnarled trees and a long line of brambles which likely concealed a ditch. Beyond wall and tangle both the landscape rapidly faded into the blank whiteness of English fog.

Kate's new driver did not believe in proceeding cautiously. Sergeant Hendrix was a baby faced genius with a gift for mechanical things. He could repair almost anything on the side of the road, which was a good thing as he also had a talent for causing mechanical failure.

"Bump ahead, mar...."

He got to the middle of "marm" before the bump in question bounced Kate against her seat belt and her tablet into the darkness under the front seat.

"All right, there? Bit of a rough one, that."

"Stop the car for a moment, please, sergeant."

Hendrix applied the brakes, and Kate unbuckled and reached for her tablet. The thing was her life, full of case notes and phone numbers and her children's latest attempts to keep her from worrying about them. She groped around and felt something move.

"Keeping pets in here, Hendrix?"

"Marm?"

She pulled her hand back into the light and found it covered with dark spiders each about a centimeter in diameter.

Kate smiled. Some people might have screamed at the experience, but she had a long-standing interest in entomology. The spiders didn't appear to be a native species. They were dark gray with a yellow cast to their faceted eyes. Kate nudged one over with a manicured fingernail and flipped it on its back in the center of her palm. It had a mark on its belly, but not the hourglass of the venomous black widow. No, this was a golden circle, and it appeared to be spinning.

"Blimey!" Hendrix was peering down at her over the back of the back seat, his pale blue eyes wide. "I... I'm sorry, marm! I... I'll have the car sprayed as soon as we get back to base."

Kate took a picture with her phone and started to run an image search, only to find that her phone had no bars.

"Don't bother, sergeant," she said. "I expect the car will be quarantined while we look into these things. They're not... what one would expect. Are you finished with your lemonade? Could I see the bottle? And a tissue?"

Hendrix passed her the green plastic bottle, and Kate drained the last few drops into the tissue and then urged half a dozen of the tiny arachnids into the container. She pulled a Swiss army knife from her briefcase and punched air holes with the corkscrew, then returned both knife and bottle to the case.

"Nothing we can do about it out here," Kate said as she re-buckled her seat belt. "You can drive on, now."

Hendrix started the engine and put the car in gear, but just then there was a thud and another spider hit the windshield, this one as long as Kate's forearm from fingertips to elbow. Hendrix screamed, clenched his eyes shut and, apparently reflexively, pressed the accelerator to the floor.

Perhaps Sergeant Hendrix's future lay in a support role rather than field operations, Kate thought as the car plowed through the brambles and plunged nose-down into the ditch.

Flight of the Arrackelians

Part 2 of 12

Kate was falling, watching a huge plane growing smaller and smaller above her, feeling the winds ripping at her clothes. That woman... why had she...? It made no sense. Nothing Missy did made sense. For that matter, Kate had never known any Time Lord whose behavior truly made sense, and she'd met a good many. Wouldn't meet any more now, though, would she? She wondered how close the ground was, and tried to twist around and look. It was then that she saw the Cyberman. He was quite gentle; he matched velocity carefully, reached out and caught her, and then began to brake. “Don't be afraid,” he said, and it was only then that she realized who he was, and cried and cried and cried.

Something was carrying her, now, something smaller than a Cyberman, something with the warmth and give of human flesh. She didn't know where she was, but it was cold and damp and she hurt, far worse than when she'd been deposited on the ground after her plunge from the plane. She'd broken no bones then, but she didn't think she was as lucky this time.

And her eyes wouldn't open.

And then, without the passage of time seemingly, she was inside somewhere. She could smell a fire, feel the warmth. The arms that carried her set her on something, something hard like a table with some sort of padding, and pulled a warm scratchy blanket around her. Gentle fingers stroked her forehead, and she heard a man's voice say “She's awake.” Other footsteps, smaller footsteps approached, and smaller fingers touched her just as the others had. She felt... something, something familiar. And then, somehow she knew that the mind behind those fingers was panicking. Something pushed her down, something familiar, down, down, down, and then she slept again, but not before she heard that voice speak again, asking “What in hell are we supposed to do with her?”

They were going to convert her. They marched her through UNIT headquarters, metal boots marching in time, and set her in that horrid chair, and she couldn't see, but she could feel, and she could scream.

She sat up abruptly, still screaming, She heard someone take three steps and then he caught her.

“Eh, eh,” he said. “Don't fret, now! Don't fret! Ye're safe, and all.” Fingers stroked her forehead again, and a wave of calm swept over her. She held on to him for a moment, and then took a deep breath.

“Am I?” she asked. “Safe, I mean? Then why are you speaking pure Tyke now when you had an Estuarine accent before? And why can't I see?” “You are a good deal better, aren't you?” he said, still with a shade of Yorkshire, but much diminished. “I was stranded here for a while some years ago, and I'm afraid I picked it up. And you've been in an accident. Your face is bruised, and your eyes are swollen shut. Actually I wish you could open them a bit, just so we can see if there's any damage.” That made sense. Kate strained, and eventually forced her eyes open. Her companion was a small man, her own size, and with fading golden hair like hers as well. His eyes, though, were... not brown, not golden, but halfway in between. He had a sweet smile and a short beard, and a nasty scar on the back of his head. And that was it. Kate's eyes closed again. “Doesn't look too bad,” he said. “We'll try again in the morning.”

“My driver....” “I'm afraid he didn't make it. Your engine pretty much landed in his lap. He'll be safe enough in the car until we can get someone up here.”

“You can't...?” “It's the fog, you see, and the sun's almost down now. They said in the village that the roads have been closed. We'll get you to a doctor as soon as we can.” “Not in that thing, though,” came another voice as footsteps bustled into the room “It's totally borked. Herself's gone down the village to see about some parts—fasteners and such, and if there's a chipper she'll bring back... oh, are we awake?” “We are,” Kate said. “How many of you are there?” “Depends how you count,” answered the newcomer with a chuckle. “Myself and my... sister,” her first friend said, “and her... companion.” “Here!” protested the other.

“Well, how would you describe it?” “I try not to think about it,” groused the newcomer. “And will you cover yourself up, woman, before you freeze! You're turning blue in places that don't even look good on a human!” “Lie back down,” said the one beside her. “We're drying your clothes, but I'm afraid for now it's this gown.” He plucked at the fabric, apparently some kind of cotton or linen, and then tucked a stiff blanket around Kate. His fingers touched her forehead, but she took his hand in hers and pulled it away.

“There are spiders out there,” she said. “Big ones, ones not native to Britain. And I need... I need my case out of the car. Samples... notes....”

“Wasn't in the car,” said the newcomer. “It landed a good twenty feet away. It's over there, but I don't know how you can use any of that without your eyes. Looks like you pretty much wrapped yourself around your tablet; it's okay. Phone's gone, though. It was in the water, and it hit something hard on the way down. Probably several somethings.” “Thank you,” Kate said, “for getting them. Thank you for helping me.” His hand disentangled itself from hers, patted her cheek and moved back to her forehead.

“You're a telepath,” she said, and he froze for a moment before speaking.

“Yes,” he said cautiously. “Is that going to be a... problem?”

“Gallifreyan?” “What makes you say that?”

“Your friend said I was blue 'for a human.' And you didn't say 'what the hell is a Gallifreyan?' Besides, I have a friend who can do what you do. He doesn't, often... but he can. Or she, at the moment. I think. I mean I think she was about... I can't think straight.”

“You're hurt,” he said. “Will you let me help you sleep, now? So you can start to heal?” Kate considered. The alternative was to lie here, helpless and in pain, until she fell asleep on her own. And if this fellow wanted to hurt her, he didn't have to ask permission. “All right,” she said, “this one time, do it.” And he did, and the last thing Kate heard before she fell asleep was the other man whispering: “What in the HELL are we going to do with her?”

Flight of the Arrackelians

Part 3 of 12

Kate's eyes opened when she woke the next morning. She was in what appeared to be the ruins of an ancient church, a small one with a round vault with a mural of biblical figures looking down at her. She was lying on the great stone altar like some sort of sacrifice on a pad made of the folded altar cloth, covered with what might once have been a hanging tapestry. The back wall where one would expect a crucifix to hang had been knocked out and a huge fireplace stretched its whole width, although only a tiny fire burned. The floors were bare, swept clean as if well cared for, and in each of the side walls was a trio of stained glass windows. Now, that was out of period. She sat up to look more closely. The six windows were all green in tone, all forest scenes, and all featured spiders. It looked like that scene in Harry Potter with the car and the dog, and Kate had no desire to meet Aragog. She tried to stand, and found that one of her thighs was splinted. And three of her fingers. And her ribs were taped. And there was still no one else in the room, although she could hear them moving outside.

The door opened, and the man entered, not her blond friend, but the other one. He was a bit smaller than the other, although more sturdily built and more heavily muscled. He had bushy ginger hair everywhere: eyebrows, beard, and especially on his head.

“Awake, then?” he asked. “Good. UNIT's out there. At least we think it's UNIT. There are search parties, anyway, and while we want them to find YOU, we don't want them to find US, if you follow. Although if that TARDIS was working, even for a short jump, I'd gladly be off and leave the other to you to sort.”

“Are you being held against your will?” Kate asked him.

“Yes and no. I certainly don't want to be with her, but without her we'll never get the blasted machine going. It likes her, you see. You'd think that would mean it would also like him, but... and will you put some clothes on please?” Kate had had about enough of him.

“Wearing this thing was not my idea,” she reminded him, “and I only hope you weren't the one who redressed me.”

“Herself was worried you were hurt,” he said. “She thought your people might take it badly. And we were absolutely not the ones....”

“If there even were 'ones who did it,'” said her blond friend as he bustled through the door. “Looks to have been a genuine accident. We brought you an eggy pud,” he said, holding up a takeaway bag, “and we'll just make you a cup of tea. How will that be?”

“Oh, right,” said the gingery one in a sulk. “Tea. Why don't I just look to that?” He poured water from a pitcher into a kettle and set it on a triangular hob over the fire. In the meantime his companion sat down next to Kate and pressed the bag into her hands. “We're going to have to leave you alone for a moment,” he said. “We won't be far away, at least not till they've found you. We've been killing spiders the size of a TARDIS roundel all morning, and we left a trail from the car up this way. Doesn't look remotely natural, but as long as it gets them here.” “Where is here?” Kate asked. “What is this place?” “Where the borked-up TARDIS landed after it got shot AGAIN,” the companion huffed, plopping a tea bag into a mug and pouring water in from the whistling kettle.

“We truly don't know,” the blond told her. “It does have an intriguing look about it, doesn't it? Anyway, any other questions?”

“Dozens,” said Kate. “Who are you? Do you have anything to do with this plague of alien spiders? Who built this place? Where did you get that scar? And... where's the toilet?”

He smiled at her, and the room almost lit up. “Bog's down t'other end,” he said. “Scar... me sister hit me with her brolly.” He looked around, and his attitude changed, and his accent along with it. “I think it's early, the church,” he said, “maybe seventh century. Might have been missionaries. That's not what you mean, though, is it? Someone's been using it, someone who knows about those spiders. The windows... that's an odd addition. Not exactly clandestine, are they?” He went to one of the windows and ran his fingers along the black line of a chitinous leg. “Looks like somebody tried to show Arrackelians without showing they're inorganic.” He shrugged, and dropped back into his other persona. “Any road,” he said, “you need help getting...?” And he obligingly let her lean on him to walk the length of the building to the tiny lean-to that held the facilities. When she'd finished he walked her back to the altar, and the other fellow tossed a huge bright teal shawl adorned with elaborate embroidery into her lap.

“Put that on, will you?” he said. “At least while we're here?” “Gallifreyan cultural sensitivities,” the blond one said. “Have you not noticed?” He pointed up and down his own body as he spoke. “We cover from ankle to collarbone and back down to the wrist. Here.” He folded the shawl into a triangle and draped the center across Kate's chest, looped it behind her and wrapped one end around each of her arms all the way down, where he tucked the ends in to form sleeves. Then he pulled the points of the front behind her back and fastened it somehow, so that it crossed and accentuated her breasts.

“Whew!” said the other as he looked her up and down. “Might have been better as she was after all.”

The blond snorted at him.

“They do call you the Monk for a reason, don't they?” The offended Monk, if that was his name, handed Kate her tea and her breakfast and stalked away.

“Look,” Kate said to the other between bites, “It doesn't have to be this way. We can help each other. You know we have had contact with other Gallifreyans. We can help you repair your TARDIS, help you get a message to someone, and maybe you can help us figure out what it is with the spiders. Not to mention I need to contact an aerospace magnate whom I was supposed to see yesterday to explain why I stood her up. Please, don't just go.” “Does that apply to all of us?” said a third voice from the door, a female voice, a Scottish voice stained with contempt. Kate knew what she would see before she looked: a small woman, now in modern clothes, thinner than she had been, a mass of permed hair now hanging loose to her hips.

Kate suppressed a scream. Missy. And her brother. No, not her brother. No. The Master.

And Kate clutched his hand as if it were all that could save her from the end of everything she knew.

Flight of the Arrackelians

Part 4 of 12

Missy and her Monk disappeared, but the Master stayed with Kate, trying to calm her, debating on the identity of the saints in the fresco overhead until she realized he was either making it up or recycling Gallifreyan folk tales. He almost stayed too long—he only left when they heard someone give the order for “you two” to “look in the church.” Kate never did figure out how he got away, but that was the way with the Master. Apparently they were indeed well and truly away, because she heard the sound of a TARDIS as she was carried her in a basket to a waiting helicopter to be airlifted to hospital.

She got dozens of calls in hospital, and enough flowers to decorate for several weddings. None of this made up for her inability to sleep. Apparently Gallifreyan telepathy was miles ahead of human drugs for deadening physical pain and trauma.

On the first day she got a call from Grace Findley from EchoCorp, whom she had been set to meet about a new satellite surveillance system with particular applications to UNIT's needs. She was quite concerned for Kate's well-being, and expressed considerable sympathy for Hendrix's survivors. Of course, she was trying to sell several tens of millions of euro's worth of orbital electronics, so some such sentiments could be expected.

Kate also had a visit from Petronella Osgood.

“We extracted all the data from your old phone,” the woman told her as she took a shiny new Android device from her own briefcase. “You really did a job on the it. I thought I was bad when my dog chewed mine up and dropped it in the toilet, but....”

“Did you track the TARDIS?” Kate asked her.

“Nothing took off,” said Osgood, “and I don't think there was anything that landed, at least not under power. There might have been a flyby. Anyway, your tablet's okay.”

“You rechecked the security protocols? My... rescuers had access to it for some time while I was unconscious.” And if anyone in the universe could crack UNIT's encryption, it was Missy.

“I looked at it personally,” Osgood said. “I didn't see any sign of intrusion, but we can migrate your data to a new one if you like.”

“No, thank you.” Missy was quite capable of designing malware that would migrate along with everything else. They would be lucky if their computers hadn't been compromised just in checking the tablet.

"Humor me," she told Osgood, "and run a full security scan on UNIT's network when you get back."

"Marm."

“What about the spiders?”

“The four of them....”

“There were six. Tell me you didn't lose....”

“We found some bits and pieces in the bottom of the bottle. We think the four that were left got hungry. However, when we opened your case....”

“What?”

“They were all four squeezed together up in the neck of the bottle. They... they were trying to unscrew the cap.” When Kate didn't say anything in response to that, Osgood continued in what she probably meant to be a reassuring tone. “We have them contained securely now, though.”

“I certainly hope so,” said Kate.

By the time she got out of the hospital, Kate's face had faded from the color of an eggplant to that of an overripe peach and parts of it were looking almost normal. She was using a cane rather than crutches, and her ribs and her hand had completely healed, or so she was told. Her fingers still gave her twinges at times. She let the bruises fade for another couple of days, and then called to make another appointment with Findley.

Ms. Findley, her assistant told Kate, was under the impression that they had concluded their business during their previous encounter. Yes, the one two weeks ago.

When Kate had been flat on her back in the hospital recovering from the repositioning of a pin that refused to stay in place in her femur.

MI6 went round and rattled Findley's people, and came back with security footage that showed Kate entering what looked like a country house and exiting a few hours later, in four inch heels and a slit skirt, with legs better than hers had been in her teens. Not that her legs weren't perfectly adequate, or so her husband had kept telling her. She squeezed the ring on its chain around her neck as she reflected that the legs in the video were far more than adequate. The face, though, was almost identical to Kate's. And this person had purchased a large number of orbital surveillance devices, far more than UNIT had planned to buy.

How was she planning to get them into orbit?

This was, in fact, turning into a situation to interest UNIT.

Flight of the Arrackelians

Part 5 of 12

The day after that, the Doctor turned up. Someone in Geneva had authorized the use of the emergency signal. She was still herself, still with her friend the policewoman, and very concerned about how Kate had got from the car up to the church. Just who were these people who had helped her?

“Two men I didn't know,” she told the Doctor. No need to mention Missy; that would only lead to awkward questions about Kate's degree of comfort with... with the Master. But still... “They were Gallifreyan. They said someone had shot at their TARDIS, and they put down for repairs. I expect they got it fixed, though, because I heard it as they were taking me out of the church.”

“Someone shot at us, too,” the human girl said. “Couldn't hit the broad side of a bridge, though.”

“There are,” said the Doctor, “not a lot of TARDISes kicking around the universe. Not a lot of Time Lords on the loose. We ought to be able to figure out who these two were.” “One of them was small,” Kate told her, “shorter than I am, just a little. He had lots and lots of gingery hair, and a bushy beard and sideburns like a cartoon cat. Doctor, are there a lot of things out there shooting at the few remaining TARDISes? Things just lurking on Earth?”

“Yeah, we're gonna have to look at that,” said the Doctor.

“Something I meant to ask you... Miss Khan, would you hand me those....” and she pointed at the nightclothes she'd been dressed in at the church. “The men who found me gave me those to wear while my own clothes dried. They look very special, especially the shawl, and wondered how to launder them. I'd hate to ruin something so nice.”

The doctor took the clothing, and sat down heavily.

“You didn't know these guys?”

“No,” said Kate.

“And they didn't... I mean, you didn't... marry them? Either of them?”

Kate wasn't sure what to make of that particular question.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Because that's what this is; it's wedding lingerie. It's what you wear on your wedding night. It looks just like mine.”

“You said you had a wife....” said Yaz.

“No,” the doctor said, “I was a woman then. Barely more than a girl, before my first regeneration. Nearly a thousand years ago, Yaz. During the Crusades, on earth. I had a husband, then, and I wore a shawl exactly this color, for him.”

“They said that was all they had to give me,” Kate said. “They were quite apologetic.” “I bet,” the Doctor said. “You have a washer?”

Kate sent her to the laundry room, and turned to the policewoman, who still looked quite suspicious. “What about the other fellow?” she asked. Yaz, that was her name. Policewoman from somewhere. Kate had signed a request for her to be seconded to somewhere nonexistent to account for her travel with the Doctor. Yaz was repaying the favor by asking inconvenient questions. Kate considered her answer carefully. “He wasn't as hairy,” she said, “and he had a very sweet smile.” Where had that come from? The Master had a sweet smile? Kate shied away from that subject. “Hang on. The Doctor says there are very few of her kind left. Are there no pictures?” Yaz found the Doctor, and brought her back. The doctor wasn't pleased, but she pulled out her sonic screwdriver and projected little holograms on Kate's coffee table like R2D2 in Star Wars, Time Lords believed to have survived the war: the Seeker, the Observer, a woman simply called Romana, and then.... “That's him,” Kate said.

“The Monk,” the Doctor said. “Not terribly bad news in himself, but lately... you say he was traveling with a man? I suppose we could be talking a new regeneration. Did he recognize you, this man?”

Oh, sod it! The Doctor suspected. “They had recognized the UNIT plates on the car,” Kate told her. That might even be true. “They knew who I was. They asked in the village about an ambulance, they said, but the roads were closed, and the next morning our own people found me, and they were gone.” “Odd,” said Yaz, “that they didn't hang about to give a statement, to make sure you were in good hands, after they went to the trouble of rescuing you.”

Kate only wished that were the only odd thing. Why had Missy and her companions...? It made no sense. The Doctor projected the rest of the Time Lords' images, including Missy herself, but not the Master, not the one Kate had met. There were a dozen others, and then the Doctor herself, and that was all.

“That's everyone?” asked Yaz. “That's your whole species? That's all that's left? Eighteen?”

“It was a terrible war,” said the Doctor, “and after, there were... predators... who took out a good many.”

“I am so sorry,” the girl told the Doctor.

“For a while I thought I was the only one.”

“I'm glad you're not,” said Yaz. “But... where's the Master? The one we've been dealing with, the fit one with the big teeth and all the hair, and the complexion like mine?”

“It only shows the current version,” the Doctor told her, “and it thinks that's Missy.” She thumbed the screwdriver again, and it flipped back to Missy's image, complete with nanny suit and umbrella. 'My sister hit me with her brolly,' Kate remembered. She bet she had. “Our Master must be from uptime.” the Doctor told Yaz.

“Uptime?” said Kate.

“We have time machines,” the Doctor said. “We can crisscross each other. There was one time there were five of me on Gallifrey at once, with your dad and the Master and... well, this lad likely regenerated into somebody who regenerated into somebody who regenerated into Missy.”

“How many somebodies could their be?” asked Kate.

“Quite a few. You start out with twelve, supposedly, but... but things can get complicated. Missy was on her second set, but she gave them up. I hadn't thought of that.” “Why did she give them up?” asked Kate. “To whom?” The doctor said nothing, but her face was haunted. “And what's to be done about your people?”

“Nothing,” said the Doctor. “It's all over. We're doomed. If they aren't hunted down, they'll eventually die naturally, and that will be that.”

“No,” said Kate. “No, you bring them to Earth. Bring them here, all of them. Your people have defended earth for as long as there have been humans here. We owe you, and earth is at least defensible. We... we can take in eighteen people.” She looked up into the Doctor's brown eyes. “Good, bad, indifferent, bring them all. Keep them safe from the hunters, until you... build back up.”

“They wouldn't do it,” the Time Lord said. “They left Gallifrey for a reason, most of them. All of them. Of us.” “We're talking about saving your species,” said Yaz. “And earth is a big place. If they just don't like crowds....” “Most of us don't reproduce the way you do,” the Doctor said, “and the technology, the Looms: they're gone with Gallifrey. There wouldn't be any 'building back up.' It would just be one generation. Most of them would probably not think it's worth it.” Kate didn't know why she'd made the offer. The prospect of eighteen Time Lords with an interest in protecting earth full time was intriguing, but integrating them.... “At least let them know the offer exists,” Kate told the Doctor. “When you see them, or communicate with them, or just find a good place to leave a message, tell them they have a home here if they want it. Will you do that much?”

“Do you have the authority to make the offer?” asked Yaz.

The Doctor laughed. “Oh, that she does,” she said, “and she's done it before, even if my old self had to stand over her the whole time. But it'll never work. It'll just never work. I'll tell them,” she told Kate, “but it will absolutely never work.”

Maybe it wouldn't, but the next morning, the Monk knocked on Kate's door... well, he asked politely and her security detail knocked... and said that the Doctor had broadcast her offer and he would like to stay on earth, please, but he couldn't keep his TARDIS. One out of eighteen. More than five per cent of the species. That was a good thing. Kate sent him along to HQ to work out some details and figure out how he wanted to live his life, and moved on.

She had to go to work herself that day. When her driver let her out at the staff entrance, there were three TARDISes parked by the entrance door, all in the “earth traditional” blue police box form. Someone had set up an impromptu career center of sorts on the main floor, and a cluster of curiously dressed people were inventorying their skills and interests. They all stopped to shake Kate's hand, to thank her. For saving their people. For giving them a home. They could have fetched up on any random world and built... something... but they were weeping with joy over being invited to stay on earth.

The Doctor was wrong. This was working. There was a microbiologist, a solicitor, a meteorologist, a history teacher and a journalist, or at least that was what they had been before they became Time Lords. If this program had to go public, those last two might prove very useful. Kate hobbled on to her office, and found the Master sitting in her chair.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“They just let you wander around UNIT headquarters?” “Didn't ask,” he said, holding up a bronze arm band similar to one she'd seen Jack Harkness wearing. “What was that nonsense the Doctor broadcast...?”

“Not nonsense. A quarter of what's left of your people are outside signing up, and this is just the first day.” “Speaking of which, have you seen the Monk? He seems to have disappeared.”

“First one to turn up. He's looking at arranging parties.”

“Weddings and such?”

“More like illicit student gatherings. I don't know if he'll be a contributing member of society, but he'll make a good living at it. So, will the two of you be joining us?”

“Oh, I think the lady is... well, I've never heard quite so much profanity attached to the word 'vault.'” “Pity. No one believed she couldn't have left any time she wanted. It was more of a nest than a prison, a safe place where she could... work on things.”

“Nevertheless.”

“Is that what you came to tell me?”

“Actually, no. Those spiders? They're not natural.” “Thought not.”

“They're a type of Arrackelian drone. Used to be a couple of dozen models, built by a spacefaring race on a generation ship and sold to finance their lifestyle. They're gone; daleks got them, but other folk still use the drones they left behind. These ones look like DNA acquisition devices. You never got bit, did you?” “Don't think so. Bit late to worry about it now. But what would they do with my DNA?” “I can think of any number of possibilities, but then, I'm an evil genius. This is probably some philanthropic soul with purely altruistic... ah, you have a visitor.” He touched the cuff and was gone. Kate turned and saw, down the hall leading into her office, a red-headed woman in a smart suit and expensive pumps, flanked on each side by someone in a black suit and dark glasses, with a quartet of armed security guards trailing behind.

Grace Findley had come for her appointment.

Flight of the Arrackelians

Part 6 of 12

Kate was on the wrong side of her desk. Usually she liked to loom over a certain class of visitor, but her chair had been occupied when she'd come in, and hobbling would work against the atmosphere she wanted. She leaned back against her desk and studied her visitor.

What was it about ginger hair? This woman's was everywhere, like Missy's and the Monk's and a few other people Kate could name. It made a contrast to the fitted emerald suit and the dark tights, and especially to the shoes. Louboutins? Seriously? With office clothes?

“Like what you see?” the woman asked in a tone loaded with acid. Kate's gaze snapped from her shoes to her eyes.

“I am rather pleased to finally be seeing it,” she said, aiming for the same degree of tartness. Possibly she overshot.

“So, the other one,” said the redhead. “Black sheep of the family? She's obviously a relative.”

“No,” said Kate, and then amended it to “not to my knowledge.” Her father had surprised her before, but she had the feeling this wasn't the case in this instance. Still....

“And those forty-three surveillance satellites of which we have already made delivery?”

“I'd talk to whomever took delivery, because UNIT didn't get them. Also, you are probably in contravention of the Official Secrets Act of 1989 seven ways from Sunday, so are you sure you want to make a fuss about this?”

“Do you know how much money this involves?”

“To the penny. Do you know... wait a minute. You had forty-three satellites just lying around waiting...?”

“We have a very efficient production capability.”

Kate stared at her. No. No way she had been able to produce... well, those facilities would certainly be investigated. She moved on.

“And to whom did you sell these satellites?”

“UNIT,” Findley said, “in the person of Catriona Saidhbhe Lethbridge-Stewart.” Kate was willing to wager a sizable amount that the correct pronunciation of that middle name was nothing like the way Findley said it. “Kate Stewart,” the woman continued. “You.” “That's not my name,” Kate told her, and bit her tongue to prevent herself giving away information. Not that her name wasn't public record, but still. “And that's obviously not me on the security video.” “Yes,” Findley mused, “that one was fit. Toned everywhere and legs....” Kate restrained herself from reacting when Findley briefly licked her lips. “As I said, perhaps a sister? A younger sister?”

“I believe I'd know if I had a sister of any sort,” Kate said, refusing to be baited. But she hadn't. She hadn't known she had a brother, until... anyway. “And even if I did, she certainly wouldn't have the authority to sign a check for purchases on behalf of UNIT.”

“Well, somebody has to pay....”

“So, you made delivery before receiving payment?” “2/10 net 30, Miss Stewart. It's a standard contract, and one doesn't expect government entities to default on that sort of thing.”

“That might apply if you had actually been dealing with a government entity,” Kate reminded her. Net in 30 days? Where would she have been supposed to get millions...? “As it is....” As it was, this woman was the victim of one of the biggest frauds in UK history.

“Am I free to go?” Findley asked “That was more than ten days ago. You didn't get...?”

“We did not. As I said, am I...?”

“I believe some of my associates have further questions for you,” Kate told her. “If you'll go with these officers....” Kate was sure Grace Findley didn't toss her head as she turned and went where the People in Black pointed. Certainly she didn't wriggle her backside in a sort of taunt. Kate tottered around her desk and plopped down in her chair. Bad move. That hurt.

Fingers brushed her forehead, and the pain diminished. She looked up, and he shrugged at her.

“Right cunt, that one,” said the woman on the other side of her chair, gazing after Findley.

“Inntit,” said the Master. “And no taste at all.” He touched Kate's shoulder briefly.

“Sod off,” she told him, and he took half a step away with a grin on his face.

“She was trying to distract you from something,” Missy mused, “there at the end.”

Kate felt her eyebrow rise. Now that someone had said it, it was obvious.

“We were talking about the delivery of the satellites,” Kate said.

“And then your shanks,” said Missy.

Kate nodded. “Exactly.” She caught herself smiling. “Would the two of you please go down and sign up to immigrate so I can put you on the payroll?”

Not that she'd ever thought she say that to these two, but Missy was sharp.

“We'll just pop down and listen to this interrogation,” said the Master, reaching for his gauntlet.

“Please don't,” Kate said, sudden panic in her voice. She had looked down the hall where Findley had disappeared, and met a pair of brown eyes, huge eyes staring at Kate, at all three of them, in absolute horror. The Doctor. “Please don't leave me alone to explain this to her.”

Flight of the Arrackelians

Part 7 of 12

The Doctor stalked down the corridor, as slowly as a death march, with her policewoman looking puzzled but keeping pace with her. Kate felt Missy's fingers in her own hair, stroking some misplaced lock back into place. The Master stepped close again, touched her shoulder again.

And the Doctor opened the door.

“Is the cat deid, then?” asked Missy with a touch of scorn. The Doctor glared at her, then jerked her socks up to cover the strip of skin between their tops and the bottom of her trousers, and rolled one layer of her cuffs down.

“My Scottish grandmother would say that,” Kate told Yaz. “It means your pants are too short.” Certainly too short for Gallifreyan standards of modesty. “What's it got to do with the cat?” Yaz asked. Kate shrugged. It made no sense to her, either. The Doctor stood up and turned to Kate.

“You lied to me, Kate Stewart,” the she spat.

“I did not lie.”

“'Two men you didn't know?'”

“I never saw either of them before.”

“You didn't know HAROLD BLOODY SAXON?”

Kate looked up, into the Master's dark amber eyes. Older, he was, and calmer, hair silver rather than gold, with a layer of mature muscle where boyish skinnyness had been and possibly the result of a few too many pints lingering in the belly area, but now she saw it: yeah, this was Saxon, the former Prime Minister.

“I didn't recognize him until you said that,” she said.

“But you knew who he was. You knew who SHE was!” And the Doctor pointed an accusatory finger at Missy.

“She was unconscious when we found her,” Missy said, “injured and in shock, lying in cold water with a frigid night approaching and no help coming. She would have died. And let's not even talk about what was out on that moor that night that might have been attracted to the scent of the driver's body!”

“Since when to you care if Kate Stewart dies? You killed her yourself, once! Kicked her out of a bloody plane!”

“Maybe that's why,” said Missy. “I don't know why I did that. I don't know why I did a lot of things. The Osgood girl, and... a lot of people... it's like it wells up inside me until I can't stop it and I have to kill something. Have you never felt like that?”

“No,” said the Doctor, her voice full of judgmental venom.

“I hope you never do,” said Missy.

“In any case,” said the Master, “you can't blame Kate for being rescued. She had no way to stop us. She wasn't consistently conscious until the next morning, just before your people found her.”

“I'm not blaming her for that. I'm blaming her for lying to me, for not admitting you were with her. Why did she hide you? Why did she protect you from me? Why did you give her my wedding clothes? Those were mine! Ours! Why did you even keep...?” “It was what we had,” the Master told the Doctor. “We had to put something on her. If you'd been there, you'd have done it yourself.”

“I didn't,” Kate said, “do anything with your ex-husband that would bother you. I had enough broken bones....”

“Husband,” said the Doctor. “He's still my husband. He's always.... Gallifreyans... we leave, but we're still married. And we can be married to more than one person at once. But you didn't...?” Kate shook her head. “Then why are you working with them? Your father would be so ashamed of you!”

The Doctor fell silent and her companion didn't speak either, although her eyes stayed on Missy.

“I don't think so,” Kate said. “Look, I remember the story my father told me of the time he went to Gallifrey.” She looked up at the Master. “He said you were trying so hard, trying to help. He told me you were trying to work with the Doctor, with all the Doctors, toward a common goal even though they didn't trust you and wouldn't actually let you help. And he said... he said things like that are sometimes three steps forward and one back, and when you couldn't quite make it all the way that time, he was the one that stopped you, caught you, wouldn't let you do any damage. And he always believed that one day you would come around. So, no,” she said, turning back to the doctor, “I don't think my father would be ashamed of me. I do think that he'd be disappointed in you. Again.”

Kate closed her eyes, then opened them again to find the Master looking down at her.

“I'm still not there,” he said. “not... safe. She's closer, but....” “But,” Missy finished for him, “please don't ever believe either of us are anything but what we are.”

“Don't get yourself hurt,” the Master whispered.

“No chance of that,” said the Doctor, her voice quite firm. “Both of you, move away from her. Come on, come on, round this side of the desk.”

In a gesture Kate found almost charming, both Missy and the Master looked to her for permission before moving. She nodded, and they edged around the desk. The Doctor gave his companion a weapon that Kate didn't recognize.

“If either of them move,” she told Yaz, “shoot them both.” She strode around the desk to Kate, put her hands on the arms of the chair and swiveled it so that Kate was facing her. “Now,” she said, “let's see what they've done to my best friend's daughter.”

The Master started back, but stopped at Yaz's “Unh-uh-uh!” and a gesture with the weapon.

“What are you going to do?” Kate asked.

“He's been in your mind, yes?” the Doctor said, in a tone of voice with nothing questioning about it.

“He eased the pain,” Kate told her. “He helped me sleep.”

“Yeah, right. I'll bet he did a bit more than that, and that's why you're acting this way. Sorry about this,” she said, in a tone that held no regret at all, and then slapped her palm against Kate's forehead.

Telepathic contact with the Doctor was much different than with the Master, who had held Kate gently, like a parent cradling a small child in strong arms. The Doctor was... smaller, almost feeble, but all points and sharp edges. She shoved her way into a mind in a way reminiscent of the University student that fourteen year old Kate had rashly allowed to take her virginity some decades ago, stirring up fear and pain and regret mixed with helpless anger. And then she was gone, much as that young man had been, but the Doctor was retreating from Missy's fury, and the Master swept Kate up and held her and whispered comfort.

“What's going on?” Yaz demanded. “What just happened?”

“Your self-righteous prick of a girlfriend just mind-raped her best friend's daughter, is what's going on!” Missy shoved the Doctor back against the wall and held her in place with one hand gripping the front of that rainbow tee.

“Doctor?” the policewoman asked in a bewildered voice.

“I had to do it, Yaz,” the Doctor said. “I had to know if they're controlling her! Don't you see? She runs Unit!”

“And are they?” Yaz said. “Was there anything...?”

It was a moment before the Doctor answered.

“No,” she said. “So,” Missy crooned, “ye thought we were turning Stewart off ye an leaving earth withoot your protection?” Her tone hardened. “Well, congratulations, ye glaikit great radge, cuz ye've managed just that, all on your own! She'll nae trust yer sleekit bahooky again, will she?”

She slammed the Doctor against the wall and stalked away.

“I have no idea what you just said,” the Doctor told her.

“It wasnae a compliment!”

“I got that part.”

“Okay,” said Yaz, “what exactly is this 'mind-rape' thing?”

“If we were on Gallifrey,” Missy said, “it'd be the polis on 'er for that, same as some lad stickin' his dobber where it's not wanted.”

“Gallifrey's gone!” the Doctor roared.

“Doesnae mean you get to do the like of that,” Missy snapped.

The Master was shaking with suppressed laughter. Finally he was able to speak.

“Are you all right, then?” he whispered to Kate.

“I think so.”

“Are you able to let me look? To see how much damage she's done?”

“Of course. It's not really that serious. Not pleasant, but....”

He didn't put his fingers to her forehead this time. Instead he put his own forehead against it and closed his eyes. Gentle... fingers? Not fingers. But something soothed the ache where the Doctor had been, teased things inside Kate's mind back the way they should have been.

“Is that all she did?” “I think so.” “I'll just have a bit of a look, and then we're done.” The something oozed a bit further in, and then.... And then the Master tensed, all at once, like a hunting dog going on point. Or more like a she-bear when her cubs are threatened. Gently he pulled his mind back, and then stepped away and turned to the Doctor.

“And did you have her permission for the rest of it?”

“The rest of what?” said Kate. The Master's fingers touched her cheek.

“It's all right,” he said. “We can probably fix it, if that's what you want. But did you give consent?”

“Consent for what?” asked Yaz.

“There is evidence of more than a dozen memory manipulations in here, with the Doctor's mindprint all over them.”

Kate swallowed. That was probably the most frightening thing she'd heard that day. If her memory... and by the Doctor? What was the Doctor trying to hide? Was she a friend of earth, or...? “No,” the Doctor said, “it was the Zygons.”

“Zygons did it?” said Yaz.

“No, I did it,” the Doctor said, “because of the Zygons.”

“But you got her permission,” the policewoman said, “like you did with me when you...?”

“I couldn't.” She turned to Kate. “It was for the best,” the Doctor said. “You have to believe me.”

“I... I think I need to sit down,” Kate said, and then her knees buckled and she almost fell into her chair.

Flight of the Arrackelians

Part 8 of 12

The Doctor wouldn't leave Kate alone with the Masters, and they wouldn't leave her alone with the Doctor. In the end, they all three left her with Yasmin Khan, departing together via the Master's gauntlet to, as he put it with a worried glance at his sister “go kill some spiders.”

“How long have you known those two?” Yaz asked.

“All my life.”

“I beg...?”

“My father used to take me to visit Missy in the Vault... in a recovery facility, a....”

“Mental hospital?”

“Something like that. He said it was cruel to leave her locked up alone. She taught me to play piano, and to read and write Gallifreyan, and some truly strange children's stories. When I was about twelve, and my body started to change, I asked her... I mean, she was the only woman I... my father didn't introduce me to his lady friends. I still remember telling her telling me she had no idea, that she wasn't human and her body didn't do what ours do. She let me listen to her hearts... they have two hearts, you know... and it was like the world that had been confined to one backward planet suddenly opened up into a whole universe. Sometimes I wonder if she remembers me, if she connects that little girl....”

“It must be strange for them, watching our lives flitter by.”

“They don't hang around. They regenerate, and then they're gone, off with someone else.”

“And the gentleman? How long have you known him?”

“You realize that they're the same person, right?” Kate asked Yaz. “Two regenerations of one Time Lord?”

“No, I didn't. That's weird.”

“More so for them, I think.”

“The Doctor said... that that kind of thing was dangerous. That it could corrupt the timeline.”

“I've heard that, too, but I don't think I have any business telling a powerful Time Lord how to manage his... her... oh, sod it, how to manage any sort of temporal activity. They understand it far better than I ever will.”

“Will you be all right?”

“I believe so. I need... I need to find out what the Doctor did to me.”

“If the Doctor did anything. All you've got is the testimony of two people who are actually one person who doesn't seem all that trustworthy, at least to me.”

“Exactly. Up until today I would have thought the Doctor was far more principled, but now... it hurt, what she did, and she didn't have to do it that way. I would have let her look. I would have let her. She didn't have to do it that way.”

“Yeah,” said Yaz. “If the Gallifreyans are going to stay, I guess there are going to have to be laws about that kind of thing, huh?”

“I expect so.”

“What now?”

“Now I think I need to go home.”

On the way out of the building Kate stopped at the job center, which now had an assortment of postings on a bulletin board, its own computer and a telephone. She spoke to the three Gallifreyans she found there. One, the Advocate, was left over from the morning. She was researching the education and licensing she'd need to undertake the sort of legal work in Britain that she'd done on Gallifrey. The other two were new, and bubbly in their joy at her invitation to settle on earth.

They patiently answered Kate's questions about telepathy. No, all Gallifreyans couldn't do it, at least not more than minimally. The Master, they mentioned spontaneously, was a Level Ten, the best there was, a telepathic psychomanipulator who had worked on stressed and damaged minds until his own breakdown. Very sad, her informants agreed. No one else was left who was nearly that good. The Doctor? Oh, she was rubbish, only a Level Three or so.

Kate thanked them, sent the Advocate to UNIT's legal department for advice, and went home, stopping for kebabs from the truck on a corner near her house.

“What's on for tomorrow?” Yaz asked as they sat on her sofa, munching the lamb and veg in its wrap and watching a baking show on the telly.

“I need to go north again,” Kate told her. “I'm dreading the time in the helicopter with this leg cramped up, but I don't see the alternative.”

“We can go in the TARDIS,” said Yaz.

“Will the Doctor be back by then?”

“Oh, I can take you. I've got the key.”

“You... can pilot...?”

“Of course. What time would you like to go?”

Yaz was as good as her word. It took longer to reach the TARDIS, sitting in an overgrown park, than it did to make the trip. They hovered in the air over the moor, watching Missy pot spiders with her laser from atop a large, TARDIS-shaped rock.

“Ouch!” said Yaz. “I've seen goods lorry tires smaller than that one!”

“I hate to say it,” Kate said, “but they're not native, and we really are going to have to do away with them.”

“Gonna take more than one woman with a laser screwdriver, I think,” said Yaz.

“Yeah, but it's good for her murderous little soul....” Kate was saying, when the first shot blasted into their TARDIS.

“Broad side of a bridge?” Kate reminded Yaz.

“I guess they got in some practice,” the policewoman replied as she dived for the controls. The TARDIS descended precipitously. Kate saw Missy slide off her rock into a sheltered position and fire the screwdriver at something behind them. The TARDIS landed on one edge, teetered, and then took another shot from whatever it was and fell over on its side. Yaz rolled, pulled the entrance lever and scrambled out the now horizontal door. Kate followed her, and Yaz closed and locked it. They waited a few seconds, but when there was no further incoming fire they hunkered down and crept over to Missy.

“Well, hello, trouble,” she said.

“What was it?” Kate asked.

“Fecking drones,” Missy answered. “I think I got one, maybe two.” She tossed a pebble out into the open, and nothing happened. Missy stood and led them out to a smoking black wreck that bore a resemblance to the spiders.

“Arrackelian Model Three,” she said. “They sold enough of these to... well, there are a lot of them out there. Is UNIT going to want a look at it?” Kate nodded.

The Doctor and the Master emerged from the church, each clutching their weapon of choice.

“You need to teach your companion about defensive maneuvers,” Missy told the Doctor, who shook her head and crawled into her vehicle without a word. The TARDIS wailed, disappeared and reappeared upright. The Master came up to them, holding the other drone, which was half as tall as he was and mounted evil-looking cannons on its underside.

“Are you all right?” he asked Kate, then turned to Yaz. “And you? Who flew the TARDIS? Did you get one of the others...?” He trailed off when he saw Yaz's grin.

“Talented girl,” Missy observed.

“Oi!” called the Doctor from the door. “You lot gonna just stand there in the open?”

They dragged the drones into the TARDIS and watched on the viewscreen as the UNIT personnel crawled out of the ditch where they'd sheltered.

“Looks like they're okay,” Kate said. “I should go down and speak to them.”

“If we move this thing,” the Master said, “they'll start shooting again. We'll only attract attention to your people.”

“What about your TARDIS?” asked Yaz.

“Inside's covered with carbon powder,” the Doctor said, “and there's half an inch of oil on the floor. The whole actuator system took a kill shot. It's not going anywhere any time soon.”

“Let's get it to London by lorry,” Kate said.

“Not much choice,” the Master agreed. Missy, too, nodded. Kate fished out her phone, but still had no signal.

“Does the TARDIS have a communications system that can interface with earth's?” she asked the Doctor.

“Probably need to install one of those,” the Doctor said.

“There's a house up that way,” said Missy, pointing. “A big one. Home farm, or small manor.”

“That,” said Kate, “will be Grace Findley's. Which is where I was going anyway. Shall we?”

The Doctor opened the door again, and everyone filed out and moved toward the house.

Flight of the Arrackelians

Part 9 of 12

Kate had second thoughts as they approached the house.

“Inflicting five people on the poor woman at once may be a bit much,” she said, “particularly when one of us has been sitting within sight of her house shooting at spiders all day.”

“The spiders keep coming, too,” said Missy. “Where would anyone get that many Arrackelians? There's a lot of Model 3's, but they do cost a right bomb.”

“They couldn't be manufacturing them?”

Missy shook her head.

“Not without considerable reverse engineering. Earth doesn't have the technology. And there are models here, like the little DNA ones, that I've never seen before.”

“Perhaps Miss Khan and I should go in and... have a look around? And the three of you can go and speak to the UNIT staff, and see if anyone is hurt badly enough to need a lift back to base in the working TARDIS?”

“We can do that,” said the Doctor. “I'll feel better if I can keep an eye on these two, anyway. Come on, you lot.”

Kate watched them walk away, and wondered.

“Is the Doctor,” she asked Yaz, “behaving strangely?” “How do you mean?”

“Does she not strike you as a bit, well, jealous?”

“No reason,” said Yaz. “I haven't been... oh.”

“Sorry,” Kate said. “I didn't realize. But I still think she's a tad distracted.”

“She's worried about you, I think,” said Yaz. “She thinks the Master has hypnotized you, or something. She doesn't get that it's what she did that has you, well, looking to someone else. And that nightgown threw her.”

“If I'd realized that thing was going to cause so much trouble,” Kate said, “I would rather have slept in the nude. I still wish I knew exactly what the Doctor did to my mind, though, and why,” said Kate. “But come on.”

There was a woman who appeared to be a servant waiting at the front door.

“Miss Stewart,” she said, and her accent was more educated than might be expected from someone in a smock and a headscarf. “Miss Findley is waiting in the solarium.” She motioned for Kate to precede her into the house.

“Do you suppose,” asked Yaz, “that I could use your facilities?” Kate smiled. She'd watched enough police dramas on the telly to be surprised that anyone would try that in real life. Still, the servant pointed to a door off the hall and then ushered Kate further into the building, to a room whose walls were filled with windows at one of which Grace Findley waited.

“Miss Stewart,” the woman said as the servant closed the double doors behind her. “Is your leg still troubling you? Do come and sit down.” She gestured toward a chaise, and Kate sank down on it with more gratitude than she was willing to show. Her cane had disappeared when the TARDIS took its tumble. “Adelaide will bring us a fresh pot of tea, and perhaps a few biscuits. Go ahead, put your feet up if it helps.” Kate did, and Findley sat on the hassock beside the chaise. “I saw you tramping around out there,” she said. “Your people have been here for days, and the three... I don't know what to call them.”

“Don't you?” Kate was quite interested in what Findley made of three Time Lords, particularly the one who had been on an impromptu shooting holiday. With a laser.

“Special operatives, I assume,” Findley said. “I'd love to get a look at their equipment, particularly the weapon....”

“Oh, that old thing?” said Kate. “Standard issue for field operatives, nowadays.” Kate wished. “I didn't bring everyone in, though,” she said. “The team down at the ditch have had an interesting day, as well, and I sent those three to assist if need be.”

The tea arrived, accompanied by a tiered tray carrying chicken sandwiches, scones with currents in and what appeared to be freshly baked shortbread. Kate nibbled at a biscuit, enjoying the intense buttery taste, while Findley poured the tea, and then took her cup and sipped at it. She wasn't sure of the blend... something akin to a Pekoe, but with spicy overtones accented by the lemon juice Findley had added. Kate found the warmth comforting, and drank almost all of it immediately. Her companion took her cup and saucer and set them down, and Kate found herself suddenly quite comfortable, enough so that she was paradoxically alarmed.

“What was in that?” she asked, trying to blink away a sudden dizziness. “My special blend,” Findley said, taking a delicate sip from her own cup. “I find it quite relaxing. Don't you?”

Yeah, relaxing. UNIT employees had been being warned about that kind of relaxing beverage since the 1980s. This was going to be embarrassing, even if things went no further.

“My companion is a police officer,” Kate said.

“Is she? I wonder where she's got off to.”

When she put it that way, Kate wondered, too. Perhaps it hadn't been such a good idea to separate.

“Miss Findley....”

“Please, call me Grace. Oh, you seem so very tired. Why don't you just lie back and rest your eyes for a moment?”

“I don't think that's such a good idea,” Kate muttered, just before her shoulders found themselves pressing against the back of the chaise and her head tried to join them. With an effort, she kept her eyes open. “I... please would you ask Miss Khan to step in here?”

“I'm sure she'll be along in a minute,” Findley said. “In the meantime, rest your eyes, why don't you?” Her fingers brushed Kate's forehead in a familiar gesture, but there was no intrusion after, at least none that Kate could detect. “There, that's better,” she said, and her fingers combed through Kate's fringes and pushed them away from her face. “You really are very pretty,” she crooned.

“Just not... fit?”

“I don't know,” Findley said. “You have your charms.” Her hand moved down to Kate's shoulder and stroked down her arm, then her waist and then along her hip. “In fact, I think you're quite attractive. Do you think I'm attractive?”

Kate started to answer with a resounding negative, but her lips were suddenly obstructed as Findley covered them with her own.

What was the woman doing? Kate wondered. Well, what she was doing was obvious. She had Kate's shirt open, now, and was breathing on the skin above the lacy top of her bra. But what did she mean by it? Non-consensual sex with a government official was not a positive business move, not in any way. The bra opened in front, naturally. Kate was all for convenience, but this was making it all too convenient.... Findley snapped the clasp open, and then her mouth was... well, it was all sorts of places it didn't belong, and her hand was easing under the waistband of Kate's trousers. This was not good. It was not good at all. Kate tried to move, but her muscles wouldn't cooperate. She tried to scream, but all that came out was a pitiful sort of moan.

“Oh, do you like that?” Findley said with a giggle. She pushed the bra aside and... and pinched, gently, in a way Kate normally found quite arousing, but not... not like this!

And then the door flew open, and Yaz bustled in, pushing someone with her hands zip tied behind her, someone who... who looked very like Kate.

“Look what I found following me around.” She said. When Kate didn't respond, Yaz looked at her, and her eyes widened in alarm. “What is going on in here?” She demanded. Findley stood up and smiled.

“Did you not know what a kinky girl your boss is?” she said with a grin. “I would have thought you would have been just her type.”

Kate would have argued, would have at least rearranged her clothes, but she still couldn't quite move, and so she lay there with a cool breeze blowing across her bare breasts and Findley's lipstick smeared over her face and waited for things to sort themselves out.

Yaz pushed the handcuffed woman into a chair and extracted another zip tie from somewhere.

“Turn around,” she told Findley, “and put your hands behind your back.”

“Oh, you really don't want to do this,” she said to Yaz. “Miss Stewart is already trying to blackmail me about our relationship....”

“Miss Stewart,” said Yaz, “is lying immobile with her bare breasts covered with your lipstick prints.”

Oh, bloody hell! Kate was never going to live this down.

“So,” Yaz continued, “I think it's far more likely that you're the one making a feeble try at blackmail. Now, TURN AROUND!”

Findley laughed as she did. Kate could see what prompted it, but she couldn't speak to warn Yaz. Behind the policewoman, Kate's double had pulled her legs up tight against her chest and was working her feet through the ring of her bound arms. She finished as Yaz pulled the plastic strip tight around Findley's wrists and sat the woman down on the end of Kate's chaise. Not-Kate picked up a large book of glossy landscape pictures lying open on the coffee table, closed it quietly and brought it down on Yaz's head. Yaz crumbled to the floor, bumping the chaise on the way down.

“Well done!” said Findley. “Quickly, cut me loose!”

The other woman stood over her, the book still in her hands. “What were you doing with her?” she said, staring at Kate's breasts.

“Establishing a case for malfeasance that will probably get me paid for forty-three surveillance satellites,” Findley snarled, wriggling against the bonds. “There are nail scissors in my desk drawer. Cut these dratted zip ties, will you?”

The blond walked around the desk, eyeing Findley, and freed her own wrists. “You said,” she said, “that it was just me. You said you'd never done anything like that, that you....”

“Catriona! Don't be a ninny!”

Catriona came back to the chaise, but rather than freeing Findley, she pulled a fresh zip tie from Yaz's pocket and bound the policewoman's hands. Then she turned back to the ginger.

“You said you loved me,” she told Findley, sounding very young.

Kate didn't know whether she wanted to laugh or to cry or to scream.

Flight of the Arrackelians

Part 10 of 12

“Catriona,” Grace Findley said, “of course I love you! You know I love you! You're the whole reason I'm doing this, working with her....”

“You were doing this before I existed,” said Catriona. “Your working with her is... is how I exist. You....”

Kate tried to speak but still couldn't, which was probably a good thing. Nothing would dig Findley into a deeper hole than the one she was excavating for herself.

“Did you make me,” said Catriona, “because you wanted her?”

“Sweetie,” said Findley, “if I had wanted Kate Stewart I would have had her pretty panties around her ankles the first time we met.”

The first time they'd met, Kate wanted to remind Findley, was the day before, in an office in UNIT headquarters with glass walls, not a prime venue for a romantic tryst. However, she was far more interested in her double's other question: “Did you make me...?” Was Catriona manufactured? A robot?

“She didn't make you,” said a voice from the door. “I did, remember?” It was the serving woman, and she had a laser screwdriver in her hand. Kate couldn't turn her head, but she rolled her eyes until she could see: another redhead, this one with lovely hair tumbling over her shoulders beneath the scarf and a spine as straight as a fireplace poker. She was Missy's height, could have been Missy's sister, except that her accent was from the Midlands rather than Strathclyde, and she seemed... not sane, exactly, but terribly focused. And the screwdriver... she never got that on earth. Kate strained to see her face. Broad forehead, great huge eyes... Kate ran through them in her mind, the Time Lords the Doctor had displayed in her lounge. The Rani.

The most brilliant pure scientist Gallifrey had ever produced, according to the Doctor's tales, another schoolmate of hers and the Master's. Kate had never met this woman, and didn't recall her father mentioning her, but her impression was not good. It got no better when them woman came to the chaise and looked down at Kate.

“You've made a right mess of this,” the Rani told Findley. “Having UNIT aware of what we're doing was no part of our plan, no part at all. Catriona, cut Grace loose.” The blond complied, although her moves betrayed a certain sulkiness and Kate suspected she might cry at any moment. “All right,” said the Rani, “let's see what we can do about clearing up your mess. You, Grace, bring the policewoman. And Catriona, you bring your... mother? And cover her up.”

Kate added that word to the pattern she was building of the situation. Catriona was her own age, near enough. Mother?

It was a blessing, at least, when Catriona fastened Kate's brassiere and tucked things back into it where they belonged. Then she buttoned Kate's shirt and hefted her to her feet, and, following the others, half dragged Kate out the door into the hallway and along it to a set of stairs. Grace tripped on the way down, or pretended she did, and Yaz tumbled to the bottom.

“Get one of the carts,” the Rani ordered. Grace disappeared, and when she came back she had something on the order of a canvas laundry cart. She and the Rani hefted the policewoman into it, and then Catriona let Kate fall over the side on top of the other woman.

“All right,” said Grace, “you've got them. You don't need me....”

“Oh, I think I do,” said the Rani, with the laser screwdriver still in her hand. “Both of you, push.”

They did, and Kate looked up at them, grim-faced both, as they pushed the cart along in the house's basement.

But they didn't stay in the basement, or at least Kate didn't think they did. It was almost half an hour before they paused in a portion of the passage between a rickety wooden stair leading up to a wooden trap door and another door in the opposite wall, this one far more modern and quite sturdy in appearance. She unlocked the newer door and they rolled the cart into what appeared to be an up-to-date laboratory. Possibly it was well beyond up-to-date, quite futuristic in places. The Rani stopped near one of those, a sleek black pylon with a step hard against one face.

“You're never,” said Grace, “taking her back....”

“Of course not,” came the reply. “If Kate Stewart disappeared from this area, UNIT would comb every inch of it and look into every corner of every structure. I expect that's why my old schoolmate rescued her in the first place; with an immobilized TARDIS, she couldn't afford a search in the area. No, Stewart's not going anywhere, and neither is her traveling companion.” She flipped a switch on her screwdriver, and a door appeared in the pylon. Of course, a TARDIS. Then she whirled and shot, and Grace fell. “But I am very tired of your nonsense.” she said. She took an instrument from a table and pricked the back of Grace's neck, then injected the result into an apparatus on another table.

“There,” she said. “We'll let that percolate for a few days, and then we can develop it into something more useful. Perhaps,” she said to Catriona, “she might even scratch that nasty little itch that gives you such trouble. As for this...” she said, grabbing Grace by the ankles and dragging her into the TARDIS, “we'll just do a mind-wipe and drop her someplace in the far past where she can perform usefully menial labor, or possibly be burned as a witch.” The TARDIS door shut, the familiar whoop sounded, and the pillar disappeared, only to reappear moments later. The Rani emerged and peered over the edge of the cart.

“Able to move, yet?” she asked. Kate found that if she proceeded slowly and did nothing that required too much accuracy, her limbs would accept hints if not orders. Catriona, her face stony, helped Kate climb out, parked her on a lab stool and went back for Yaz.

“So, what happens now?” the policewoman asked.

“Nothing much,” the Rani said. “Bit of a mind wipe, nothing drastic, then we pop you upstairs into the church for your people to find, and we all go on our merry ways.” She stopped, and peered at Kate. “You're not afraid?” she said, puzzled.

“Not in the slightest,” Kate told her. It was all she could do to keep from smiling. Oh, please, she thought, please modify my memory. Do it really thoroughly, and leave all sorts of mind-prints that will be absolutely obvious to a Level 10 telepath.

The Rani looked at her again, frowned and touched Kate's forehead. And SAW.

Flight of the Arrackelians

Part 11 of 12

The Rani might be Gallifrey's brightest scientist, but she lacked something in tactical sense. When she saw in Kate's mind that a powerful telepath would detect her, she immediately looked around, mentally, for any such person. Kate saw her do it, saw her find three—well, two powerful ones and a spiky little punk of a Level Three.

And they saw her, and just like that the Master was there, hand on cuff, moving toward the Rani, and she flinched. He snatched the laser screwdriver from her fingers and backed her into a corner away from everyone. In the distance Kate heard sirens; apparently the rest of the group at the ditch was coming up by vehicle.

“What in hell are you doing?” the Master demanded of the Rani.

“Saving our people!” she spat back at him.

“How...?”

Behind him, Catriona was reaching for a heavy beaker. Yaz and Kate, still unsteady but both determined, got between her and the Master. They urged her away from cabinets, cupboards and doors to rooms that might hold dangerous objects, and she sat back down.

“By making more! There aren't enough of Gallifreyans to breed a healthy population,” the Rani said. “Even if the majority would... participate and produce womb-born children, there's not enough of them to prevent genetic drift.”

“But we can interbreed with humans,” the Master told her, “We can marry, and produce halfbreeds like the Doctor, and then....”

That explained it. That was why the Time Lords were so glad to be invited to earth, in particular. They could have children here, produce a bloodline that would fade into the mass of human population and... and leave something behind. They could have a heritage. Kate tucked the other bit, the “halfbreed” bit, away to think about later, and concentrated on the important part: Gallifrey was saved. Her people could be incorporated into the human population.

“But they won't,” said the Rani. “Gallifreyan women aren't going to get themselves killed producing womb-born children—you KNOW what problems we have—and some of them will never regenerate into males... it took you 900 years to produce a female regeneration, and she doesn't look to last long. And besides, what happens to our culture? Who's going to tell these half humans about the Pythias and the Eye of Harmony and the Laws of Time and....”

“You could,” said Kate. “Quit doing whatever you're doing, and sit down and write books. Write about He-of-Many-Epithets and the Dawn Gnome and....”

“How do you know about that?” the Rani asked.

“Someone told me, when I was a child, and I remembered, just like the children of earth will remember, if you tell them. All the children of earth, no matter what their bloodline. Your culture becomes part of our culture.”

“Does that ever really happen?”

“Want to know what we had for tea last night? Wasn't mushy peas, was it, Yaz?”

“Sajji kebab,” replied Yaz. “With salad and a really good mint chutney, like me gran used to make.”

The Rani shrugged. “Give them time,” she said to Yaz. “They'll obliterate you, or turn you into copies of them.” “They tried,” Yaz told her. “We're still here, mosques right downtown in their faces, kebab van on the corner, teachers in their schools. So will you be, if you want to be.”

“There's a quicker way,” the Rani told them, “a better, cleaner way that preserves everything we are. Look,” she said, pointing at Catriona. “Look at her!”

The Master did look at Catriona, and pointed his screwdriver at her. Outside, sirens roared up. Footsteps pounded down the stairs...

“Watch that! It's trying to come away from the wall!”

...and Unit personnel poured into the room, accompanied by Missy and the Doctor.

“What is it?” the Doctor asked. “Do either of you... you're downtime of me,” he said to Missy. “Did you meet her after...? Do either of you know this... Time Lord?”

Both the Time Ladies gaped. Missy took the screwdriver from the Master, verified the readings, whacked the thing against her palm and then took the readings again. The Doctor peered over her shoulder, then took out her own equipment and did some investigation of her own.

“She's Gallifreyan?” said the Doctor. “But... how?”

Kate had a nasty feeling that she knew at least part of that. She pointed to the apparatus on its table where the Rani had placed Grace Findley's tissue sample. There were a set of capsules in a rack next to it, labeled in circular Gallifreyan script: 2 days. 4 days. 5 days, two twelve hours apart.

“What,” she said, “is that?”

The Doctor looked.

“Embryo printer,” she said. “It's how we generate the sproglets that go into the Loom.” She checked the readouts on the device.“And these,” she said, looking at the vials, “are some sort of modification, but not the ones... it looks like she's rebuilt the genetic control matrix. Anyway, it'll be a week or so before this one's ready, if we can figure out....”

“If we had a Loom to put it in,” said Missy, “and if it weren't just a silly human.”

The Rani laughed.

“Oh, Koschei! You're supposed to be the bright one! Do you still not see? It's the same tech that produces the Arrackelian drones.”

The Master turned back to her and stared, then spoke quietly to Kate.

“It might be a very good idea to search this building,” he told her, “quite carefully.”

Kate motioned to her people, many of whom began opening doors while the rest continued on guard. Then she spoke to the Doctor.

“The Rani took Grace Findley back in time,” she said. “I wouldn't care, except she probably has information we need to work this out. Is there a way to recover her?”

“If she hasn't reset the controls....” The doctor strode into the black pylon, which disappeared again and promptly reappeared. The door opened and disgorged the Doctor and a quite scorched-looking Findley.

“Popped up in the middle of a medieval village square in modern clothes with no memory and no account of herself,” the Doctor said. “They already had some mysterious disappearances going on—looks like a pack of wolves, but you couldn't tell them that. They thought they had their problem solved and all.” She glanced up at the Master. “If you're still doing the upright citizen thing, it might be better if you were the one to fix her memory. The Rani made a mess in there.”

It was Missy who approached Grace though. No problem, Kate thought. Same person, same skill set. Missy sat Grace down near a lab sink, washed the soot off her face and, against some resistance, touched her forehead. Findley's hand went to her mouth, and her eyes widened as her memory returned.

And then Missy stepped back and turned to Kate, and the tension in her body would have snapped eight inch steel cables.

“Did she hurt you?” Missy asked.

Oh, sod it. Kate stepped forward and put her arms around Missy. It was like holding a Cyberman, a very small Cyberman, but still, unyielding steel. No, there would be no way to restrain her, when she.... Missy raised her hand and laid it along Kate's sternum, laid it over some of the lipstick stains that were still sticking Kate's shirt to her body.

“She hurt you,” Missy said, and this time it wasn't a question. “She put her hands....” Kate tightened her grip.

“She was trying to get a rise out of us,” she told Missy. “She wants us to overreact. We can't overreact.”

“She needs to be deid.”

Kate remembered a line from a book she'd loved in college. “I'm sure she does,” she told Missy. Findley's eyes got very large, but Kate continued. “Many live that deserve death. And some die that deserve life. Can you give it to them? Can you give them life?”

Missy looked up at Kate. She'd gotten through, but... but now she was shaking, and her eyes were hardening. The Master was looking at them, and the Doctor, and both had their screwdrivers out.

“That one,” Missy said, “that one needs to be deid, so that she cannae hurt anyone.”

“She can't answer questions, either, if she's dead,” Kate told her. Missy's tension level was rising, rising.... “Honestly,” Kate said, “how did you manage seventy years in the vault without killing anyone?”

Missy chuckled, or perhaps it was a sob. The hand on Kate's chest rose to her cheek, then her forehead, and Missy showed her: bare shoulders pressed against the cold wall, blue vault lamps back-lighting a mass of white hair, rough jacket fabric against her bare nipples, and then she touched his face and a white hot surge of male... of pure maleness burned away any hint of tension of any sort.

And then nothing, until she was hanging against him, utterly limp, and he said “Oh, sod it, there's me back gone again!” Missy was smiling and crying simultaneously. He was gone, that one, and in his place there was a rainbow-shirted brat whose back was presumably pristine, but useless in this context. But Missy was calmer, now, no longer uncontrollably murderous. Kate held her, watched the Doctor and the Master relax, and watched the Rani....

“Stop her!” Kate called, as the woman slipped into her TARDIS and its door closed. Then it whooped and disappeared.

Flight of the Arrackelians

Part 12 of 12

“Marm?” called one of the UNIT people from a newly opened door. “You should see this.”

Kate walked carefully to the door, and almost wished she hadn't. There was a dais in there, a platform about two and a half meters across, and it was filled with a pulsating, slowly spinning mass of spindles of light, something like a Christmas star.

“It's a Loom!” Missy whispered, almost to herself. “It's an actual, working....”

To either side were rows of glass containers sized to hold a human, and each was filled with bubbly liquid supporting an adult sized body taking on the traits of a person. The ones closest to full development each bore a strong resemblance to a member of the team that had come to rescue Kate.

And sitting at a desk in front of the dais was Sergeant Hendrix. He reached for a weapon, but one of his... one of Kate's team disarmed him and moved him to stand with Findley and Catriona.

Kate remembered the Master's question: “You never got bit, did you?” Apparently most of her team had, including poor Hendrix on the night he died. The Doctor's screwdriver was out, but Kate had no doubt what she was going to say.

“They're Gallifreyan,” she announced. “That daft woman is making Gallifreyans!”

“Oh, dear, no!” said Missy.

“What's wrong with that?” asked Kate. “I mean, she should have asked for the genetic material. People might have donated, or possibly she could have used surplus embryos from clinics... she shouldn't have stolen the source material, but saving an endangered species is no crime.”

Catriona came to stand in front of Kate. “Donations?” she said. “No. She told us what you'd do to the Loom-born—kill us, incinerate us, purge the unborn from the tanks and pretend this never happened!”

“Who told you that?” asked the Doctor. “This one?” she suggested, pointing at Grace. “Or the Rani? Because I can tell you that Ch'Ushasiendra is not the most... truthful....”

“If she were starving,” said Missy, “she'd lie and say she wasnae hungry, just to see if ye'd believe her.” “Would you?” Catriona asked Kate. “Would you have... donated? Would you have wanted them to make me?”

Hell to the no, said a voice inside Kate. She suppressed it.

“It doesn't matter,” she told Catriona. “You're here now. You're alive, and there's no way you're not going to stay that way. I don't know quite what we'll do with you, either of you,” she said, including Hendrix in her statement, “but you'll... you'll certainly be allowed to live. As for the rest... Doctor? Missy?” Kate still wouldn't call her blond friend “Master.” She was going to have to talk to him about that. “Are the rest of these viable?”

More readings ensued. “Yeah,” said the Doctor finally. “As long as someone tends to them, they'll be walking and talking in a few weeks.”

“And after that,” said the Master, “we can make Loom-born children from Gallifreyan DNA?”

“I don't think so,” said Missy. The other two looked at her with faces like doom. “She's done something to the programmer.”

“She purged it,” said Grace Findley. “She wanted to be able to program it, so she could make Gallifreyans from human DNA. Also, so she could produce biomechanical devices... the Arrackelians.”

“She tore it down,” said the Master. “She destroyed the only way we have of reproducing ourselves.”

“Trying to find another way to do just that,” said the Doctor. “She's wiped us out. Why couldn't she have left well enough alone?”

“Genetic drift,” said Grace. “There just aren't enough of you. She had a... a cult of sorts, village people who brought visitors and vagrants to the chapel upstairs, to 'worship services.' The Rani would take as much of their DNA as she needed for her research.”

And that, thought Kate, explained the curious stained glass windows and the alterations to the building. A cult.

“That'll be where she's gone, then,” Kate said. “To her local organization.” “She's gone further than that,” said Missy. “She knows we won't give her back the Loom, even a damaged Loom. There's nothing left for her here.”

“She just left us,” said Catriona. “Walked away....”

“That,” said the Doctor, “is the Rani. It's how she operates.”

“Why did she want all those surveillance satellites?” asked Kate.

“She knew we couldn't stay on earth,” Catriona said. “She was building a refuge, a place for us, a new Gallifrey. Those, and the drones, were supposed to be our defenses, until there were enough of us to fight. All Loom printed.”

“Again,” said Kate, “we would likely have helped voluntarily.”

“Tell it,” said the Doctor, “to the Rani, but expect to be disbelieved.”

In the end, Catriona and neoHendrix were left to tend their younger siblings, under guard from a fresh crew of UNIT guards—no way Kate was leaving anyone up here who might see their own face looking out of one of those tanks. It was agreed that each of these persons would be considered a native of the UK and allowed the same assistance as the eighteen Time Lords in... not resettlement in their case, but finding their place for the first time. The Doctor, with Grace Findley's grudging assistance (“am I ever going to get PAID for any of this?”), untangled the Rani's file of printer patterns and figured out how to produce both surveillance satellites and Arrackelian drones, including the armed Mark 3s that had been shooting at any TARDIS other than the Rani's. That was going to be quite helpful, Kate thought, quite helpful indeed.

And finally, after Grace Findley's secret trial and a large spider eradication expedition, Kate stood in her office and made a proposal to the Master.

“Can you look into my mind,” she said, “and see the memories I can't access any more? Without telling me what's there?” She turned to the Doctor. “And can you watch what he does, so that you can trust him not to do anything else? I trust you,” she reassured the Master, “but I think it's important that she does, as well.”

“It'll take some time,” the Master said, “but I think we can manage.”

And so all three of them spent most of a Friday night under a floral print duvet in Kate's queen-sized bed, all wearing heavy cotton sweats that bore no resemblance to lingerie of any sort. In the end, the Master informed the Doctor that she was “a right window licker and all,” but agreed that the modifications made to Kate's memory were harmless and had best stay in place.

They found Missy crying when they got up. Yaz had given her the laundered wedding clothes, and had mentioned that there was another set in the TARDIS, only that shawl was electric blue. No one wore it; the Doctor kept it under her pillow, and when she was upset over something she pulled it out and cuddled it, and sniffed the shawl, which smelled uncannily like the chamomile rinse Missy used on her hair.

“We have to go,” the Master told Kate. “She's not ready to be on earth yet.”

“She isn't, or you aren't?”

He smiled in that infuriatingly sweet way.

“However you want to think of it.”

“I heard,” Kate said, “that you two weren't overly fond of each other. Brolly scar, and such. What happened?”

“She's my future,” he said. “She has a sort of guardian angel working on her, and I got roped in as well. I'll never get... I'll never be what I could have been. The drum scars are too raw. I can't be....”

He choked up. Kate pressed his hand against her forehead, inviting him to show her. There was a flash of red trainers, chocolate eyes, floppy fringes almost to cheekbones, and “If I die he can't leave....” And then burning, and a crack of light, and a horribly mad rebirth. And hunger.

“I'll never be able... not after that, but Missy can. A lot of people are working on her, because... and if she can be well, then I can be, too, because she's me, you see. Don't you see?”

“That doesn't sound all that well thought out,” Kate told him.

“It's all I've got right now.”

It was another six weeks before they left, weeks spent in the newly designated TARDIS repair bay in UNIT's motor pool. Human mechanics on Kate's staff volunteered their free time to mop out the oil and scrub away the carbon dust, and the other Time Lords offered up their spares in case any of those parts proved useful. In the end there was a party in the motor pool, and Missy and the Master said their goodbyes and left, not as pariahs for once but as travelers who were welcome to return. The Doctor was gone as well, but she might return at any time. There was a volcano acting up, and a few other things that Kate needed to see to. And all over earth, in offices and factories and laboratories and almost everywhere, the human race was being enriched by the children of Gallifrey, and Kate believed that that was a very good thing.