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in-tua-deep · 5 years ago

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Angsty au idea, five makes it back except he arrives dead and only Klaus and Ben can see him. (What happened to his body? Could be that his body got stuck between space time or he drops off as his thirteen year old sib and thats gonna traumatize the sibs probably) (Ig he could have also either died from wounds because the commision figured that he'd be turning and got strained from the time travel or an error in equations)

me, resurrecting myself over here

okay okay okay i’m going to take your idea and tweak it just a teeny tiny bit and produce:

Time travel isn’t viable.

Not the way five travels. Not without a conduit. Not when he’s essentially harnessing all of time, all of those endless possibilities, within the heart of a human being. It’s so much. It’s too much. Five died the moment he blinked away on that street outside of the Hargreeves mansion.

But Five doesn’t know that.

He doesn’t notice that no one gives him a second glance when he appears out of nowhere on those bustling streets. He just jumps again, because why not! He’s excited, he’s proving his father wrong, he’s liberated! And then.

And then.

He’s in the apocalypse.

He doesn’t notice that he can’t interact with anything until he touches his Luther’s corpse and his hand goes right through. And then, his first thought isn’t - I died. It’s - something went wrong with the last jump.

Which makes sense to him. He’s managed to get himself trapped on some kind of in-between plane. And that’s why his time travel powers aren’t working! Because they don’t work right on this plane!

Five wanders the apocalypse, and it’s a little better than in canon because he doesn’t need to eat.

(Oh, he misses eating.)

He’s a smart boy. A brilliant boy. He’s thirteen, and he thinks he’s invincible. But his powers are jumping, and he can take himself apart molecule by molecule, and eventually eventually after years and years have passed he manages to solidify his hand enough to pick something up.

The first time he turns a page in a book feels like victory.

He camps out in the destroyed remains of a library. Being solid enough to pick something up is... exhausting. He can’t do it for long periods of time. But he has a little stack of useful books, a little pile of chalk, the store mannequin he likes to talk to (he named her Dolores), and a blanket that has seen better days. He can’t exactly feel the ground when he curls up on it, and he can’t really sleep in this messed up pocket dimension or wherever he’s stuck, but he closes his eyes and pretends with all the power of the child he isn’t.

He’s in the apocalypse for a long time, trying to figure out a two-fold problem: how to get out of his pocket dimension and back into the ‘real world’ and also how to get back to his siblings when he does. He isn’t stupid. Time travel when he was capable of it was a crapshoot, he needs a way to get more exact.

And then the woman comes. Pristine and blond and carrying a suitcase. She frowns when she steps over the rubble in heels that click click click and frowns harder when she presses gloved fingers against Five’s equations written in chalk.

Five hides behind some rubble, but gets brave. Gets curious.

(Curiosity killed the cat.)

He comes out, he says “Hello?” and isn’t sure what he expected when she doesn’t even turn around. Five goes towards her with silent footsteps, footsteps that don’t disturb the dirt and chalk dust of the apocalypse because they don’t exist.

He doesn’t know who she is, but he’s curious what’s in her suitcase, and waits patiently for her to open it. He’s also planning on following her back to whatever settlement she came from? He hadn’t thought there were any people alive, but clearly she is proving him wrong.

So when she walks away, he puts his hand on her suitcase so that he doesn’t lose her, because even if she wouldn’t feel it putting his hand on her and watching it go through would be... demoralizing.

And then she opens the suitcase, and suddenly they’re somewhere else. Except not somewhere else. Its bustling with people and the woman’s heels click loudly against the tile floor and someone walks right through Five and he trails after the woman because everyone seems to give her a wide berth and being walked through sucks.

Someone addresses her. The Handler. That’s not - that’s not a people name, Five is pretty sure. That’s a title. But no one addresses the woman by name, so the Handler it is.

Five doesn’t know how old he is, but he still looks thirteen. (He doesn’t feel any different, because he isn’t. His growth is permanently stunted, he will always have died at thirteen-years-one-month-and-nine-days-old.)

So he lives at the Commission headquarters for a few years, invisible and a tiny bit mischievous. He can travel through the walls if he wants, so no door is locked to him. He makes himself a little den in one of the vents where he gets a small collection of office supplies that he steals from the assholes as punishment. He doesn’t do anything major.

He finds out what the commission does. He tags along with some assassins on occasion. He once distracted Cha-Cha by shoving a glass off a counter and breaking it to try and give a child witness time to flee.

(Hazel found her in the closet, terrified and silent with huge glassy brown eyes. He lifted a finger to his lips and quietly closed the closet door. He yelled “Clear!” to Cha-Cha, and then he and cha-cha and Five all left. Five looks at Hazel differently, after that.)

(Hazel has a soft spot for kids and bird-watching diner owners. This is important.)

Five scribbles equations on the walls of the vents. He gets more data every time he travels with the agents so he starts traveling with them a lot, even though he hates it, even though he sees so much death and destruction and he can’t stop it. He helps, sometimes. As much as he can. It’s not enough.

Five finds something, one day, when he’s wandering around. He finds a picture of Vanya, framed. He recognizes her immediately, from the back of Vanya’s book that he found in the apocalypse. They have lots of pictures of famous people around the commission, and lots of pictures of ordinary people. All of them significant in some way to the ‘preservation of the timeline’.

He goes to the Handler’s office, and among her many souvenirs he finds a cracked violin, and he remembers the background music that made up his entire childhood.

(He steals the violin and puts it in his vent nook. He flips it over and traces the tiny V that’s shallowly carved shyly into the bottom, the same one Vanya has been putting on every violin she’s ever had since she was seven-years-old, after Diego and Luther broke hers and tried to claim that it was just a random violin, not her violin and it wasn’t their fault she didn’t take care of her possessions -)

(Why is Vanya’s violin in the Handler’s collection of weapons?)

Five is aware of something. He thinks the commission has something to do with the apocalypse. They protect the timeline of whatever, right? And yet the apocalypse happened. Which means it must be planned.

Five has been trained to fight ‘villains’ since he was tiny, and he recognizes a villain when he looks at the Handler’s shiny smile and too long nails.

Vanya has to have something to do with it. Do the commission kidnap her? Do they kill her? She’s important, somehow.

(Maybe before he traveled he would have doubted that. Vanya was ordinary. Why would she be important? But Five has tagged along on so many missions where they killed perfectly ordinary people in order to spark a chain of events. In fact, it’s almost always ordinary people.)

Five solves one of his equations on a regular, ordinary day. It’s the time travel one. Not the one about his... unfortunate circumstances.

So Five finds a nice empty room, and he gives it a try. He’s not expecting much, since the pocket dimension bullshit fucks up his time travel anyway (though he can still spatial jump curiously enough) except - it works. He splits the world apart, and it’s hard. Way harder than he remembers it being.

He chalks that up to the whole pocket dimension effect.

He pushes and pushes and then - something breaks. Like ice shattering for a spring thaw, and he’s through. He’s on the ground, winded. He looks up and - it’s them. His siblings. Older than he remembers, clearly the equation wasn’t exactly right, but they’re here and they’re alive and Five can feel himself tearing up and he lets it happen because none of them can see him anyway and -

“Five?”

Two voices, overlapping. Five’s head snaps over, eyes wide with shock and alarm and -

It’s Klaus and Ben. Both staring at him, equal alarm and shock in their eyes.

“You can see me?” Five demands loudly, patting at his body frantically. Is this it? Did he kill two birds with one stone? Did coming back undo whatever bullshit he put his body through - ?

“Klaus, why would you say that.” Allison scolds automatically, “That was in poor taste.”

Five looks at her, and her eyes scan straight over him, in the way that’s been familiar for - for -

(Five didn’t bother to keep track of the years. Not when he was unaffected by time, by seasons, by weather. What was the point?)

Five’s eyes snap back to Klaus’s, who hasn’t taken his eyes away. It’s weird, Five thinks absently. His skin crawls under the attention, not used to it.

(Isn’t that strange, in a boy who used to demand attention with every breath he took? Isn’t that odd?)

There’s a hand on his arm and Five just about jumps out of his skin, whirling around and flailing and - oh look, that’s Ben on the ground, looking absolutely shocked. Five is also shocked, because he hasn’t been touched in - in forever.

“Ben?” Five half-asks, voice smaller than he’d like with a tremble that he kind of wants to kick in the gut.

“Five.” Ben responds, kind of sounding like he’s been punched in the chest. Actually he might have been, Five was never very gentle when it came to removing his limbs from others grasps.

“Well!” Klaus says loudly, making Five and Ben look over. “If the crisis is over, and we’ve lost a perfectly good fire extinguisher to the void, i’m going back inside!”

Klaus gives Ben a significant look as he turns on his heel and marches back in, and Ben winces. “Come on,” He whispers to Five, getting up and brushing himself off. “It’s better to talk when no one else is around.”

Ben hesitates, and Five hasn’t spoken to anyone but himself in a very long time. It’s been even longer since - well. And Ben looks so lost all of a sudden, that it’s really for Ben’s benefit when Five takes Ben’s hand in his own and tugs him in the direction of the mansion, “Well get a move on.”

Ben looks like he’s about to cry, looking at their joined grip, but nods and leads Five into the building. He gives Five’s hand a squeeze, as though making sure he’s real, and Five allows it gracefully.

Finally, they’re tucked into Klaus’s bedroom, Klaus sprawled across the bed and staring at Five like he’s something entirely alien.

“I don’t understand.” Five says, because the silence is getting awkward. “How come you guys can see me, but the others can’t?”

And Five is very confused when Ben’s face just - crumples. He looks like he’s about to cry. And Klaus, the contrary bastard, starts laughing, just a tiny bit hysterically.

“Take a guess shortstack.” Klaus wheezes out, “What’s my power?”

It’s seeing the dead, of course. But Five isn’t dead he’s just - in between. Right?

Besides, there’s a glaring flaw in Klaus’s theory.

“Uh, Ben can see me.” Five points out, lifting his and Ben’s conjoined hands where Ben’s grip is actually getting a little bit painful.

But isn’t a good kind of pain. Five hasn’t felt pain in - equally long.

Klaus’s laughter cuts off and Ben makes a noise like a squeaky toy that’s been stepped on. “Yeah,” Klaus says, uncharacteristically serious, “Well. You missed a lot, kiddo.”

“Ben’s not dead.” Five protests, because he’s not. Five can see him. He’s right there, and he’s never had Klaus’s powers. He turns to Ben and -

Ben envelops him in a hug, a tight one. The kind that Five would never have allowed unless absolutely necessary before he’s left, but now just sort of - melts into. It’s the pressure of it, honestly. Ben’s a good hugger.

“Five I’m so sorry.” Ben whispers, pressing his face against Five’s hair. It tickles a little, where Ben breathes out. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He pulls back, and brushes trembling fingers against Five’s hair. “Five, Five. Haven’t you - haven’t you wondered why you can’t - Five. You’re still - it’s been so long and you’ve been alone and - ” Ben breaks into sniffles.

“I’m just stuck.” Five says blankly, trying his best to process, “I’m just - I jumped wrong, and I got - I got stuck in between. I’m not - I’m not dead.”

“You’re deader than a doornail, kiddo.” Klaus interjects loudly.

Five, never one to take that lying down, untangles himself from Ben just enough to pick up a knicknack and hurls it at Klaus’s head with a scowl. “I’m not a kid.”

Except now they’re both staring at Five again, even as Klaus presses a hand against his forehead where Five had whalloped him (his aim was a good as ever, clearly).

“How -” Ben stutters, staring between Klaus and Five with alarm.

Klaus sputters as well, “What the fuck! How did you do that!”

“Well you see, Klaus.” Five says, voice toxic with the sweetness he exuded, “When someone leans down, and picks something up, they can exert a force on it. This force interacts with other forces to form the trajectory of an object - ”

“Not that!” Klaus sputters, “You picked something up!”

“Yeah, that happens sometimes.” Five says dryly.

Ben prods him in the side, making Five look over (up, if we’re being technical. Grown-up Ben is... kind of tall, actually. Compared to Five.) “How did you do that?”

And Five isn’t dead. He isn’t. But - he remembers the early days. How terrifying they were. How he couldn’t interact with the world around him at all. And if Ben is going through the same thing - “It... it took me a while to figure out. Um. It’s - it’s kind of hard to explain? Because like, when I jump it’s - it’s kind of like taking myself apart and then putting myself together somewhere else. And it’s like, like taking that feeling, except instead of putting yourself together somewhere else you like, layer it over yourself as you are? Like, making yourself denser somehow, I dunno.”

“If you can do it, then I can, too.” Ben says ferociously, a determined glint in his eyes. “I’ll finally be able to throw things at Klaus when he’s being an idiot.”

“Hey!” Klaus protests, looking very offended.

This is all very nice, but Five did come here with a mission... so he tugs at Ben’s arm. “Ben, what’s the date?”

Ben shrugs, because why should the dead care about the date? He looks at Klaus. Klaus looks like a deer caught in headlights.

“Um.” Then he brightens, “Right!” He grabs something from his pocket, it’s rectangular and flat. There were lots in the apocalypse, though Five has never figured out their functions. Except when Klaus clicks his, it lights up.

“Uh, March 24th.” Klaus says, squinting at the screen.

“What year?” Five asks, leaning forward.

“2019.” Klaus says.

“Fuck,” Five says, with feeling. “A week.”

“What’s a week?” Ben asks warily as Five flails and untangles himself from his grasp to stand up and pace.

“You don’t understand.” Five says, turning to them both, “I haven’t just - just been traveling the world as a fucking ghost. I time traveled. It worked. But - the future - ”

“Five?” Ben asks, all concern and love and it’s painful.

“The world ends in seven days.” Five tells them both, voice cracking, “There’s nothing but - but rubble and ruin and - and - ”

He remembers their bodies, remembers them splayed out in the rubble.

“You died.” Five told Klaus, “You all died. The whole world died. Everything was - ash everywhere. I was there for - for...”

“The courtyard scene.” Ben realizes, reaching out as something like comprehension dawns on his face. Five dances back a few steps, his breaths coming in funny little pants. “You came back from - the future?”

“Breath, Five.” Klaus advises, sounding a little bit worries himself.

“If I’m dead why do I need to breath?” Five snarls, and Klaus’s face drops and he curls in on himself a little looking pathetic. It’s enough for Five to toss out a mildly panicked “Sorry” because? That’s what you do right?

(Five hasn’t interacted with people who can talk back in decades and it shows.)

And Five tells them everything, in halting uncertain breaths. He winds up curled up on the bed with Ben’s arms around him, steady as a rock, while Klaus manages to somehow sit in the desk chair in a manner that makes Five a little uncertain that his brother possesses bones and ligaments.

He tells them about the future, about finding their bodies, about learning to - to condense himself just enough to interact with the world. He tells them about the woman, about the suitcase, about following her. He tells them about the Commission, and how he’s sure they have something to do with it - the Handler had Vanya’s violin -

By the time Five is finished talking, he’s exhausted. The sun has slipped below the horizon already, and he feels like dead weight in his brother’s arms. At some point, Ben had started running a hand through Five’s hair, and the repetitive motion is soothing.

“That’s - that’s a lot.” Klaus says, and something must have shocked him a little bit out of his goofy persona.

“I just wanted to go home.” Five mumbles.

“You are home.” Ben tells him, squeezing him tightly, “And we’re going to make sure the apocalypse doesn’t happen. Right, Klaus?”

Klaus shuffles, awkwardly. “I mean. I’m not exactly uh, number one choice for team apocalypse you know?”

“Ben’s number one choice for team apocalypse.” Five points out, flopping his head against Ben’s arm. “You’re an okay second choice though, I guess.”

It makes Klaus bark out a laugh, and Five can feel Ben’s snicker through his chest.

“Vanya’s gotta be on the team.” Five mumbles, loud enough for them to hear. “She’s important. Gotta make sure, make sure no one uh, no one kills her or anything.”

Ben and Klaus exchange a look over his head that he doesn’t see.

“We’ll plan everything tomorrow.” Ben tells him gently, “In the morning, okay?”

“Mmkay.” Five agrees absently.

The dead don’t sleep, but they can get - tired. Being in the living world is exhausting, and Five closes his eyes and just. Ignores the world. Just for a little while. The dead don’t dream, but that’s okay, because Five’s dreams have never been anything approaching peaceful.

Five made it back. He might be a ghost, but he made it back. An impossible goal, and he accomplished it. After that, taking on the apocalypse will be a piece of cake.

(And if Ben and Klaus think Five is going to give up on his idea to un-dead himself, they have another thing coming.)

#unviable au #tua au #Anonymous #far tua long #the umbrella academy #long post #five hargreeves #number five #klaus hargreeves #ben hargreeves #klaus ben five and vanya are going to make up team apocalypse #five might be a ghost #but he's also a poltergeist #and also thirteen #ben says 'i am your mother now' to five #to be fair to ben five is the only person he can touch and outright interact with #five CANNOT interact with people only objects #he isn't sure why #living people i mean #ben is a cuddler and five is touch starved and that's that #klaus thinks it's very very cute #but also tragic #also he keeps getting dragged into saving the world shenanigans #when he could be doing LITERALLY ANYTHING ELSE #klaus might be a bit grumpy #ben is unsympathetic #five can and will throw things at klaus #vanya is just. very confused #but also happy because five is?? back?#the family bugged klaus about five's ghost for years

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slytherinbarnes · 4 years ago

Text

there are ghosts in the sky, iii

iii. but can you save a dying sun?

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 15.0k

Warnings: angst, fighting, violence, death, anxiety, mentions of nausea/puking, language.

Summary: a battle for your body and a battle for Sanctum results in shocking causalities, both battles ending in a way you could have never guessed.

a/n: here it is!!! part 3 is here, this au is finished!!! this marks the end of the sub rosa universe (for now), and I have a lot of feelings about that. mostly I am just grateful to all of you, and I hope you’ll stick around to read my next series/other new works! if you would like your sub rosa tag to be converted to a general bellamy blake x reader tag, please let me know!

p.s. sorry for the late in the day upload today, life has been crazy and the day got away from me!!!

au series masterlist // sub rosa masterlist // full masterlist

You only catch bits and pieces of what’s happening outside of your body, but as the barrier between your mind and Josephine’s continues to break down further, you’re able to hear more and more of the outside world. In between catching information from outside of your body, you keep yourself inside Josephine’s side of the mindspace. You know that it’s only going to break down your minds faster, but you’re desperate for information you can use against her later, so you use your downtime to scour through her memories in search of something useful. By the end of your research, the only thing you know for sure is that Josephine is awful, and she doesn’t deserve your body, let alone to resurrect again.

You can tell a few hours have passed since your initial Morse Code attempt, and you weren't sure at first if it worked.

That is, until you heard Josephine begging someone to kick you out of your own head. There’s not much you can do other than wait around and hope that someone is trying to save your life, and you finally get that confirmation later on when you catch onto the tailend of a conversation between Josephine, Clarke, and Bellamy. You’ve gathered enough bits and pieces to know that all four of you are currently being held captive by the Children of Gabriel, and the other three are using the time to ‘bond’, if you can actually call it that. Josephine is moaning about the tragedy of her relationship with Gabriel, and you push the stack of memory books out of your lap and to the side, running from the memory space and into the hidden diner.

You ignore the patrons and head straight for the Christmas lights again, tugging them down and calling out, “Monty!”

He runs into the diner, looking at you in alarm. “What is it?”

“Morse Code, I need your help. How do you say boohoo?”

His nose scrunches as he looks at you in confusion, “Boohoo?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“It doesn't matter why, just please tell me what it is!”

He shrugs and grabs the paper and pen you’re holding out to him, thinking for a second before he quickly writes out the message. When he passes it to you, you give him a smile of thanks, listening as Josephine mutters, “I've been in love with Gabriel for 236 years, the last 70 of which he's been trying to kill me. You know, relationships.”

You start working on your light, signaling out the code Monty gave you.

—●●● B

— — — O

●●●● H

— — — O

You can hear Josephine translating the letters for Clarke and Bellamy, before she ends the quip with, “That's harsh.”

You can catch glimpses of your twin’s broken voice questioning the woman who stole your body, hope entwined with her words. “She can hear us?”

“It would seem so. Which means the wall separating our minds is almost gone.” You look around you, at the diner in Josephine’s mind, realizing that parts of it are already starting to fade. Panicked, you run out of the room and back to your side, slamming the red door behind you as you go. “When that happens, she'll stroke out, I'll download, and you can say goodbye to your genocidal fiance and sister.”

You can hear Bellamy’s voice next, thick with emotion. “Let me talk to her.”

“I'd have to give over control for that, so no.”

“But she can hear me?”

“Yes, she can hear you. For God's sake, just say what you want to say.” Josephine sighs, seeming to sense that Bellamy has something he wants to say to you. You stand waiting and listening, eager to hear his message to you.

His message hits you harder than anything he’s ever said to you before this, his voice so broken and mixed with hope when he answers, “I won't let you die.”

Tears instantly spring to your eyes, and you collapse to the floor of the Ark, letting the tears fall down your face as you process Bellamy’s message to you. I won't let you die. You know he means it, and you know that your odds of survival are good with both him and Clarke on your side, both of them desperate to save your life. The moment fills you with hope, and you sit crying alone in the Ark, waiting for your family to save you.

Everything seems fine until it’s not.

You can tell that something has changed, sensing the stress within your own body, accompanied by the overlapping din of voices above you. You can't make out any of the words, but you don't have to wonder for long, because as you sit in the hall of the Ark, Josephine suddenly bursts through her red door and heads straight to you. She looks panicked, her eyes wide, and you pull yourself to your feet quickly as you sense the incoming danger. “What? What is it?”

“They’re about to chop our head off! I need you to take control so we can live.”

You don't have time to answer her, because she turns to her right and types in a code for a locked door, before grabbing your arm and shoving you through. As usual, you are blinded by a flash of white light and then your eyes open and clear, locked on a gray stone wall. Your heart rate picks up when you realize that you’re back in control of your own body, but you’re also dangerously close to losing your life. Your head is being pressed into a stone, and your hands are being held behind your back, and as everything comes into focus, you hear someone say, “The answer is death to Primes.”

You sense movement to your right, and you call out, “Wait!”

You can tell that the person to your right, the one who intends to cut off your head, freezes, and you work on buying yourself some time. “Gabriel loves her, is this what he would want?”

Your words seem to be the wrong ones, because the man yells out, “Don't you use his name!”

And then you sense his movement again. This time, though, you’re ready for it. As he lifts the sword and swings it around to cut off your head, you kick out at the man holding you in place. Your foot connects with the space by his knee, and you can tell that his leg is broken by the sound alone. He releases you, giving you just enough space to avoid the sword that is coming towards you, which clangs against the rock instead. The man looks down in shock, and you use that to your advantage, grabbing his arm and his other shoulder and pulling him down, smashing his head into the rock.

You grab his fallen sword and turn and swing at the man with the broken leg, cutting his throat, and as you look up you see a final person coming towards you. The woman moves towards you and you stalk over to her, swinging the sword out and cutting her neck before she can even comprehend your movements. She hits the ground and you stand in place for a second, panting, trying to catch your breath, brought back to reality by your fiance calling your name.

You look up and meet his eyes, his expression so hopeful, and Clarke watches on, equally as full of hope. You drop the sword and run across the room, grabbing his face with both hands and pulling him into a kiss. You pull away, both of you with tears in your eyes, before you step over to your twin and pull her into a hug, the two of you laugh crying with relief. You only pull away when you hear the sound of approaching voices, and you spin back towards the man who was going to kill you, grabbing the set of keys off of his belt before running back to your fiance and twin.

You quickly try to uncuff them both, but your hands are shaking and anxiety is pulsing through you as the voices grow closer. Bellamy and Clarke are both watching you closely, and Bellamy puts his hand over yours to still your movements. “We don't have time, you have to run!”

You look up at him in alarm, shaking your head sharply. “No! I’m not leaving either of you.”

Clarke reaches out for you, her hand grabbing your wrist, encouraging you to look at her. “Bellamy’s right, there’s no time. Go find Gabriel.”

You look between then both, panicked, but the approaching voices only grow closer, signalling your ticking clock. And you hate that you know they’re right, and you hate the idea of leaving them both, but you know all of your odds are better if you do. Which is why you give them both one last look, the voices just around the corner now, before Bellamy panics and pushes you away, “Go!”

You leave the keys in his hand and you take off running, pushing hard to outrun the voices that seem right at your back. You tear through the woods, leaves and branches smacking you as you go, but you ignore them, trying to put as much distance between you and the Children of Gabriel as you can. You can hear them closing in on you, led by the man that nearly killed you, and you pause and duck behind a tree, trying to catch your breath. You start to run numbers in your head, wondering how many you can reasonably take out before they take you out, and just when you deduce that there are too many of them and not enough of you, you hear the roar of a motorcycle, signaling Sanctum’s arrival.

You look up, watching as the bikes weave between the trees, and you take off running again, choosing the lesser of two evils, heading straight for the riders. As you move, you scream at the top of your lungs, “Here! I’m here!”

The Sanctum riders fly towards you, pulling up to a stop and grabbing their guns, aiming at the group of people right behind you. As you grow closer to the Sanctum riders, the Children of Gabriel grow closer to you, this game of cat and mouse getting a little too close for your liking. When you’re within a few feet of the riders, Jade, Josephine’s guard, yells out, “Down! Get down!”

You drop to the ground without hesitation, covering your head with your hands, hearing bullets whiz by over head. Someone drops to the ground behind you, landing on your legs, but you don't dare to move until you hear the shooting stop. Finally it does, and you hear Jade shout orders to the others, “I’ve got her, you get the rest!”

You hear three motorcycles drive off, leaving you alone with Jade, and you almost shake your head at how perfect this is starting to play out for you. Because when Jade grabs you and helps you to your feet, you lift a large rock and bring it with you, turning and knocking her out before you’ve even stood to your full height. As you drop the rock, you nearly jump out of your skin when a voice behind you mutters, “Really? She just saved your life.”

You spin around quickly, locking eyes with Josephine, who is standing feet from you, a look of disappointment on her face. But you ignore that and focus on the fact that she is standing right in front of you, outside of the mindspace. “Why can I see you?”

“Because it's getting worse, like I said it would. Look, what you did back there was awesome, but don't let it be for nothing. Give me back control.”

You ignore her, knowing damn well that you have no intention of giving your body back to her. Because it is your body. And despite the panic that courses through you as you realize that you are likely nearing the last few hours of your life, you turn away from Josephine and grab the radio off of Jade’s side. Josephine mutters under her breath, “I'll just get it anyway when you fall asleep.”

But when she sees the radio in your hand, she looks at you in confusion. “What are you doing now?”

You continue to ignore her and lift the radio in your hand, remembering one of Josephine’s memories that you discovered earlier in the evening. Josephine sits in front of her father, anxiously twirling her hair. Russell cuts her a look, but lets the habit slide as he delivers the news. “Spies from Sanctum discovered a camp, just on the verge of the anomaly. There’s a sculpture of radios, which they suspect is how the COGs get messages to Gabriel.” You press the button of the radio and keep your eyes locked on Josephine as you say your name and add, “Gabriel, you don't know me, but I need your help. Josephine Lightbourne is in my head. If you can hear this, we're coming to you.”

You stalk past her and head back to the bike, and she follows you the entire time, pleading to your back. “This is insane. He didn't respond to their call, he's probably dead. Please, let's just go back to Sanctum.”

You grab Jade’s discarded helmet and lift the motorcycle, as Josephine crosses her arms and glares at you. “I'll drive. But for that, you do have to give me back control.”

You swing your leg over the bike as she protests, “You don't know how to-”

You cut her off by starting the bike and revving the engine, another useful memory you have stolen from Josephine’s head. Her glare gets angrier as she watches you, “What else of mine have you stolen?”

You smirk and answer her in Mandarin, “Sucks, doesn’t it?”

And then you pull the helmet onto your head, and drive off, leaving her behind in a cloud of dust.

You drive for a while before crashing, thanks to Josephine, destroying your radio in the process. Lucky for you, Josephine knows a place for you to hide, leading you to a bunch of old research outposts nearby. Unlucky for you, you have a seizure almost as soon as you climb down into the outpost, your brain struggling to keep up with the data from two minds.

You have never been more disappointed to wake up in your mindspace, though you’re not sure if that's because of the small taste of control that you got to experience, or the fact that your mind is clearly in disarray. You wake up in your room, surrounded by memories stashed inside of books, but none of them are yours. And as you wander into the hallway, you see that it’s much worse than that. Books are stacked on nearly every available inch of flooring that you can see, and projections from Josephine’s memories wander the halls in various emotional states. Some are angry, some are sad, some are distressed, but all of them are a problem.

You find Josephine not long after wandering from your room, catching as she walks past you absentmindedly. With the two of you reunited, you briefly consider killing her and ending all of this once and for all, but her response makes you pause. She glares at you, just as annoyed at this entire situation as you are, before she bites back your earlier words to her, “Go float yourself.”

The words give you an idea, a way to save the two of you from your approaching destruction, and you and Josephine run around frantically, trying to float her memories to hold off the impending demise of your brain. You only do a few at first, allowing her to pick the memories that she wants to lose, but soon that has to be abandoned in favor of an all out destruction of property. You rig up the outer doors to vent everything in ten seconds, Josephine’s memories now heavily integrated into your own at this point, both of you well past the point of no return.

You and Josephine head back to your room, into the place you shared with Bellamy, the only room safe from the venting into space that is occurring outside your door. You know it works when Josephine disappears, leaving you alone in your mindspace again. You start to panic, wondering if this is it for you, if Josephine really will make it out of here with control of your body, leaving you to truly die. Just as you really start to spiral into a panic, you catch a pair of voices outside, one familiar, one not.

Josephine refers to the unfamiliar voice as Gabriel, and you almost cry in relief when you realize that somehow he found you after all. He's not dead, and he’s here to get his ex lover out of your head. Josephine confirms the familiar voice seconds later when she greets Blodreina, and you smile at the fact that somehow Octavia is alive and she’s here to help you.

Of course, chaos reigns supreme on this damn moon that you hate so much, because as soon as the four of you exit the research outpost, Josephine calls out for the Sanctum guards nearby, begging to be taken back to Sanctum. Gabriel argues and says that Josephine's body, your body, is on the brink of death, and he has to save you now, because neither of you will make it back there. But of course, the guards don't care, and just when Gabriel and Octavia are on the brink of death, they are saved by Bellamy and Clarke, a turn of events that leaves you incredibly thankful to have them in your life.

Unfortunately, Gabriel’s prediction about your impending death is correct, because Josephine collapses, your legs going numb and giving out beneath her, and Gabriel catches her and whisks her away back to his camp. Clarke, Octavia, and Bellamy follow, and before you know it, you can hear the steady beeping of a heart rate monitor, along with the increasingly clear voices outside of your head. Josephine makes a last ditch plea to save herself and wipe you instead, but thankfully Gabriel ignores her and stops your heart.

They quickly work to remove the mind drive in your head and then restart your heart again, which should put you back in control. You see the door to Josephine’s side crack and explode, the wall now turning into just another wall of the Ark. You wait patiently, knowing that means that the mind drive is gone, but instead of waking back up in the real world, you remain trapped in your own head. You look around in confusion, wondering why your heart is still stopped, and why you’re still staring at the walls of the Ark. “Wait. Why am I still here?”

“Because I'm still here.” You turn around in confusion, now facing Josephine, and you have a split second to register the axe in her hand before she swings it towards you, cutting your neck. You reach up and grab your wound, light shining between your fingers, as you shake and gasp and watch the enemy in your head. She drops the axe and it tumbles and lands near your side as she mutters, “Sanctum is mine.”

She looks down at your struggling form with a smirk. “I used the surgical mesh. I'm sorry about the whole working together thing, but I know you, Wanlida. If you came back, you'd kill everyone inside Sanctum. It's what you do.”

You struggle to focus on her words as you realize that your version of bleeding out in your mindspace is visually a lot different than bleeding out in the real world. But the pain and the struggle and the suffering, those are all just as real as the world outside of your head. Josephine kneels down across from you, still smirking, watching as you quickly die. She only turns away when another voice outside of your body, Gabriel’s, tells the others, “I'm sorry, but her brain can no longer support two minds.”

You can hear a counter protest, though your mind struggles to decipher the words, only able to unilaterally focus on the pain radiating out from your neck. And as you sit there dying, you can't help but think about how cruel this is. You survived your initial attempted murder, only for this to be the way you go out? In your own head, and watched on by your body snatcher, no less. But as the seconds pass by and you wait for your death, you realize that at least one person is unwilling to let you go. Clarke’s voice reaches you from outside of your mindspace, calling your name, her voice broken and hurting and desperate. “I can't lose you again, la lune! I need you. Bellamy needs you. Madi needs you. Mom needs you. Now wake up!”

You listen to your twin’s broken cries, quickly replaced by the broken cries from the love of your life as he begs you to fight for your life. “I should have fought harder for you. I should have burned Sanctum to the ground and killed everyone that got in my way, but I’m fighting for you now, god damn it! You're a fighter. Now wake up and fight!”

And as soon as he says it, you know he’s right. You told Josephine yourself that you don't go down without a fight, and you meant it. You’re not dead yet and you’re not going to let her win. Josephine seems to listen on with mild amusement, surely plotting the dramatic return she wants to make as soon as you officially die, but unfortunately for her, it's not a return she gets to make. Because you eye the abandoned axe, discarded and sitting right next to you, and you pull one of your hands away from your light bleeding neck and reach for it. The blade scrapes against the floor as you lift it, drawing Josephine’s attention towards you, and this time she’s the one who has a split second to process the current events before you throw the axe right at her center mass, shattering her projection into a million pieces.

And as soon as you do, it’s like a switch flips, because you take in a large, wheezing breath, pulling your eyes open in alarm, feeling nothing but panic. But there are two sets of hands caressing your face, two voices soothing you as you struggle to catch your breath, two familiar faces watching you closely as they look between you. Clarke is the closest to you, and she tentatively whispers your name, searching for any sign that you are really you. And you respond in the only way you think you can by sitting up and pulling her into your arms, holding her tighter than you’ve ever held her before. She’s crying, you’re crying, the Blake’s are crying, and even Gabriel is crying, though for different reasons.

Clarke releases you so Bellamy can grab you, tugging your face towards him and pressing the most loving kiss to your lips, his mouth telling you everything he wants to say to you in the moment. You kiss him back just as hard, incredibly thankful that you won over Josephine, gaining back control of your body once and for all. And though your heart goes out to Gabriel, you can’t help but be thankful that Josephine is forever gone.

In true ‘chaos of Sanctum’ fashion, it turns out that everyone else that you know and love has been left behind in Sanctum and are now likely in danger. And it turns out that Bellamy’s plan to save everyone was to use Josephine’s mind drive to bargain with Russell, using the life of Josephine for the lives of your people. And it turns out that the very same mind drive that was meant to save your people is now empty, because you vented all of Josephine’s memories, and she jumped ship in order to kill you and take your body instead. Too bad for her that you came out on top.

You make the suggestion of going back to Sanctum as Josephine and freeing your people yourself, but you are swiftly shot down by both Clarke and Bellamy. Which sends all of you back to the drawing board, brainstorming ways to save everyone and inflict minimal casualties. That drawing board, however, is taken over by Gabriel’s Children, who all seem a little too eager to kill all of you, with you and Gabriel at the top of their lists. Thanks to some split second decision making on Bellamy’s part, he figures out a plan that gets everyone what they want: you save your people, the Children of Gabriel get to kill Primes, Gabriel gets to save the rest of his people inside Sanctum. Bellamy’s plan, however, gets him and Octavia sent on a supply gathering mission, leaving you, Gabriel, and Clarke behind.

During which time, you propose to change the plan, a little uneager to release a bomb that will get innocent people killed, this new genocide reminding you a little too much of Mount Weather. And Clarke disagrees at first, uneager to see you march right back to the devil’s side without any back up. But it’s easy for you to convince her, because she's your twin, your other half, and she gets it. She may hate every second of it, but she understands completely the fears you posses about having to carry the weight of another genocide within you. More than that, she trusts you. She knows that you can get the job done and come out of the other side unharmed, which is why ultimately, she agrees.

Once the Blake siblings return, Gabriel breaks the news to them about the change of plans. Octavia doesn't seem to understand why this is a big deal at first, but Bellamy catches on right away. He turns to you with a glare, shaking his head sharply. “No. No way.”

You look at him with pleading eyes, trying to get him to understand why this plan has to happen. “Bellamy, it's the only way.”

“It's not the only way, because we’ll use the bomb as planned. Risking your life when we don't have to is just-”

You cut him off, finishing his sentence, “Is how we do better. Bellamy, I know you’re worried about losing me again, and trust me, I’m terrified to go back there and do this, but I have to. This is how we save lives, and prevent innocent ones from being taken. I know you, and I know you care about that too. If I go in as Josephine and shut down the shield, then Gabriel only needs to use enough red sun toxin to trigger the alarms and kill a few bugs. All of those people, innocent people, will be safe.”

He sighs, scrubbing his hands over his face in frustration, before turning away from you to look at your twin. “You’re okay with this?”

“Not really. But it’s how we do better.”

You can tell he’s starting to reluctantly come around, and he turns back to you, his expression serious. “If you fail, if Russell figures out that his daughter is dead, then all of our people are dead too.”

“I won't fail.”

He gives you a look, but he takes note of your conviction, and you know that he believes in you. And just like Clarke, he gives you his blessing, though you can tell that he hates doing it. You all turn to look at Octavia, who’s been quiet during the entire exchange. She looks at you for a long second and then nods, “If we can spare innocent lives, we should.”

You smile at her, nodding in thanks as she agrees with you instantly, and with everyone on the same page again, Gabriel goes back to building the smaller bomb. This time though, he is interrupted by the whine of motorcycle engines nearby. You all look up and at each other in shock, knowing what that means.

Sanctum riders.

Layla and a few other Children of Gabriel storm into the tent, tying all of you up and then gagging you. They spread you out across the room, with you and Bellamy beside each other, Clarke across from you, Octavia to your left and Gabriel to your right. You’re only in there for a few minutes, listening to the fighting outside when you hear a strange scratching sound from the back of the tent. You turn that way, eyes watching as a blade sticks through the material of the tent, dragging down to the bottom, creating a slit in the fabric. You all tense up, unsure who’s about to come inside, surprised when it’s Murphy’s head that pokes through. He steps inside, followed by Jade, a gun in her hand. At the sight of them, you recognize this for what it is: a rescue mission. You know they’re here for you, well at least they're here for your body, and you tense up as you watch Murphy and Jade slip inside.

Murphy steps into the middle of the tent, while Jade sneaks around the back, ducked behind the debris and mess, and once she’s in position, Murphy calls out to Layla, “Hey there.”

Layla spins around quickly, instantly lifting her gun and aiming it at Murphy, but Jade sneaks up behind her a second later and hits her with her rifle, knocking Layla out. Jade grabs Layla’s dropped weapon as she walks past, moving carefully before dropping down in front of you. “Josephine?”

You shift your eyes to Clarke, who gives you a subtle nod of her head, and you know you can't risk looking at Bellamy given his close proximity to you. But you can sense him tensing up, and though you know that he doesn't want you to leave, he’d agree to it too. Which is why you meet Jade’s eyes and nod your head. Jade puts the guns down and pulls the gag out of your mouth, and you make sure to raise the octave of your voice slightly, trying to perfectly capture Josephine’s tone of voice. “Well done, Jade.”

Jade pulls out a knife to cut through the restraints wrapped around your wrists and ankles, and you shift your gaze to Murphy, smirking, “You just can't pick a side, can you, John?”

“The only reason I'm doing this is because Emori dies if I don't.” Murphy turns to look at Bellamy, voice dropping a little. “The others are in trouble too. I promise I'll do what I can for them.”

Jade stands and helps you to your feet, looking between you and Murphy. “Give us two seconds to make sure it's clear, then follow.”

Just then, Layla starts to shift, and Jade grabs and lifts her gun, prepared to kill her. You feel a rush of alarm, and despite the threats she's hurled at you since showing up a few hours ago, you don't want to watch her die. You reach out and put your hand on the barrel, pushing the gun down to lower it, your tone commanding and angry. “No, this one's mine.”

You grab the discarded pistol from the table and aim it at Layla, glancing over your shoulder to look at Jade, who seems content to let you handle this. “Go, make sure it's clear.”

She nods and immediately turns to slip out of the tent, but Murphy stays put, his eyes locked on you suspiciously. “Is she really gone this time?”

“Yes. Boohoo.” You smirk at him, taunting him, using your earlier quip to Josephine and throwing it at Murphy this time. You can see a flash of anger cross his features, but you speak up before he can channel it, reminding him of the danger you’re in, waving the gun slightly. “Now, as soon as I pull this trigger, your little decoy trick will fail. You better run.”

He gives you one last look before he jogs to the cut in the tent and heads outside, and you wait for a full minute before turning back to Layla. She looks up at you with fear, clearly expecting you to kill her, but you surprise her by turning the gun away and then firing a single shot into the floor, keeping her safe. And then you set the gun down and run over to Bellamy, pulling the gag out of his mouth and giving him an earnest look. “I can do this, Bellamy.”

“I know you can. Go get that shield down, and we’ll bring the cavalry.”

You nod and smile, “I love you.”

“I love you more than the stars.” And with that you pull his face to yours and kiss him hard, reminding him of just how much he means to you. You turn and head to the door, stopping in front of Clarke along the way. You pull the gag from her mouth and she whispers, “I believe in you, la lune. Be safe.”

“You too, shining star.”

You give her a quick hug before you stand and look over at everyone one last time before you slip out of the tent and into the cool night air. You look around, eyes searching the woods nearby for any sign of Jade or Murphy, when someone flashes a light at you, signaling their location. You head that way, finding Jade and Murphy waiting for you, and they quickly lead you through the woods and to a pair of bikes hidden underneath a pile of leaves. Jade passes you a helmet before getting the bike upright, and then she waits for you to hop on, expecting you to drive yourself back. You move to straddle the bike, hoping you remember enough to get by as Jade readies the other bike for her and Murphy. And then on her signal, you both fire them up and drive away, heading back towards Sanctum.

You do pretty well on the ride back, and you arrive at the shield of Sanctum proud of yourself, though you can’t show it. As soon as you hop off the bike, it and your helmet are taken by a nearby guard, and the shield is quickly brought down so all of you can enter inside. You are accompanied by no less than 10 guards, all of whom seem wound tight and on edge. And though you feel the exact same with each step that brings you closer to Sanctum, you keep it hidden beneath a casual air of confident arrogance.

As soon as you crest the hill that leads to your first view of the palace, you are met with another group of guards, all standing around Russell. When you catch sight of him, you’re sure you're going to throw up, but you suppress the sensation and look away, pretending to take in the sights of Sanctum. And as a last ditch effort, you reach up and casually twirl your hair between your fingers in the way you've seen Josephine do in the hundreds of memories that you watched. With a small deep breath to steady yourself, you turn and meet Russell’s eyes, which are watching you closely. You smile and quip, “What? No hug?”

“Josephine.” His face breaks into the widest grin when he hears that his daughter is alive, and you’d almost feel bad for him if not for the fact that he's an evil body snatching asshole. Still, he takes you up on your offer and steps towards you, pulling you in for one of the tightest hugs you’ve ever experienced. You’re a little caught off guard by his fervor, but even more caught off by the question he mutters near your ear. “How is this possible?”

He pulls away and you smirk, “It's a long story. Suffice to say, I'm awesome.”

But then you think of the lack of the mind drive in your head and you know that the second he realizes you’re not Josephine you're dead, so you lie and say, “What I'm not, however, is immortal. Gabriel took out my drive.”

Russell’s face falls, but he nods and turns to a pair of guards behind him, motioning to Murphy. “Take him to Emori, and clear the doctor and the rest of their people from the lab.”

Your brows pull together at the mention of your mom and the others in the lab, and the mention of your own mother makes you realize there is another mother missing. You glance around for her and then shift your gaze to Russell. “Where's Mom?”

He lifts his hand, uncurling his fingers to reveal a mind drive, still stained with Nightblood. You do your best to look worried, though you could honestly care less that Simone got what she deserved. “There was an incident, but it's okay. I was just on my way to resurrect her, but that can wait.”

You shake your head, not understanding. “Resurrect her in who?”

He gives you a look, and you remember the bits and pieces you gathered from Josephine before Bellamy and Clarke dragged you out of Sanctum. Your mom, your real mother, was back in space making the Primes Nightblood. “Abby did it. We can make hosts.”

“Yes, but not how you think.” Your stomach drops as he says that, not sure you want to know what that means. But he doesn't notice, and he reaches out and wraps his arm around you, leading you towards the lab. “Come on, let's get you checked out.”

As soon as he starts to lead you away, he asks for a quick rundown of the events prior to this moment. You keep most of the story the same, aware that bits of the truth will make the lies easier to remember. The only thing you change, however, is the fact that you survived the second mind wipe and Josephine didn't. “Anyway, I killed her in the mindspace. Now here we are.”

As you step into the lab, your eyes fall on a small body strapped to the chair in the center of the room, black blood leading from tubes in their arms and into a small bottle. Your stomach drops even further and you pause a little, before reminding yourself who you are and where you are, leading you to quip, “How about next time, we choose a less crowded host, what do you say?”

As you come around the chair and you finally get a look at who is strapped to it, you have to work hard to keep your expression neutral and impassive, because it’s Madi. Your niece, your little sun, is currently being drained for her Nightblood bone marrow, just like the Mountain Men did in Mount Weather. You try to keep your tone light as you ask, “And what is this?”

You turn to look at Russell with a smirk, channeling Josephine’s unhinged ways, and he answers, “This is how we make hosts.”

You don't get to answer, because Madi starts to stir at the sound of your voice, muttering your name before she asks, “Ani, is that you?”

She sounds so small and hurt and broken and it makes you want to save her and break this whole moon in half. But the rest of your people are out there, and they’re still in trouble, and they're relying on you to get the shield down. So you continue the facade and answer, “No. It's not. She put up a good fight, though, kid. Can't win them all.”

Madi doesn't react well to that, and she starts screaming, “We're gonna kill you! We're gonna kill all of you and everything you love!”

You try to hide the emotion you're feeling as you turn and grab one of the tranq sticks behind you before walking back over to Madi and sticking it in her arm, knocking her out. And then you turn to Russell, curious about how much life your niece has left. “How many doses can we get out of her before she dies?”

His expression changes, and you’re worried you've said the wrong thing, that you sounded too worried when asking. So you backtrack and smile, shaking your head and turning away from her. “You know what? Nevermind. It's time for my new drive, being mortal sucks.”

Russell smiles at you and sets up a chair, motioning for you to sit in it, face hidden from view, giving him access to your neck. As he works on giving you another drive, he tells you about the chaos in Sanctum that occurred while you were gone, including the chain of events that led to the death of Simone, your fake mom. You hum and respond when appropriate, though you spend the entire time anxiously worrying about Madi and Bellamy and Clarke and the rest of your people. As Russell finishes up the stitches on your neck, Madi wakes up again, the tranq stick not working long enough. And as soon as she catches sight of you, she starts yelling again, tugging against her restraints as she rages, “We should've killed you first. Once we're free, you will burn. You will all burn! You will not get rid of us! We are eternal!”

We? Us? You keep your mouth shut during Madi's tirade, terrified that your emotions will make your voice quiver and you’ll give yourself away, but you try to use your silence to process her words, trying to figure out why she's talking about herself in a plural sense. Russell finally has enough of Madi’s yelling and he yells for the guards to retrieve the doctors, which only further fuels your anxiety. Because if your mother breaks down when she finds out that you're not you, you’re worried that you’ll break character to comfort her, getting all of you killed.

You don't have to worry about what you’ll do for long, because the moment quickly comes and the door swings open, your eyes catching sight of three sets of legs. Madi continues to yell and fight until Jackson sedates her, a moment which can't come soon enough. You're able to hide your falling tears as your face is hidden, but you know that the moment will soon be up and you’ll have to face everyone in this room and play your part well. Russell dabs at your neck with a rag and then mutters, “There.”

He squeezes your shoulder, letting you know you're good to get up, and you sit up slowly, your eyes landing on your mother immediately as she stands in front of you, watching you closely. You keep your expression neutral, trying to pretend that you have no emotion or feelings towards her, and she must see that, because she starts to cry. It breaks your heart and you have to look away, distressed at the idea that your mother thinks she’s looking at someone else in your body. Russell distracts you a little by asking, “How do you feel?”

“Peachy keen Josephine.” Your gaze falls back to your mother, who is now crying harder, her face scrunched up and tears rapidly falling down her face. You can't take the sight of it anymore, so you channel Josephine and snap, “Oh, stop it. I'm not her.”

Her sadness morphs into anger, and she walks towards Russell, stopping when she’s close enough to get in his face. “I will kill you for this.”

“I once believed that I would never stray from the moral path, and then I killed my family in the first eclipse. I'd have done anything to bring them back, so I believe you.”

And then he turns and holds out a hand for you, which you reach out and take. He leads you from the room, past your mother and your niece and your friends, and you manage to call out, “Toodle-loo.” before practically running from the room. Russell leads you past the creepy army of skeletons that watched over you as you were nearly murdered, before taking you out of the reliquary and up the stairs to the palace. You walk into a large dining hall together, Murphy and Emori already sitting at a table inside, as Russell turns to you, his voice low. “You must be starving, let's get you something to eat. After that, I need you to handle the Naming Day preparations.”

You shake your head, well aware that if you get sucked into party planning, you’ll never be able to get away and get the shield down. But you know you can't say that, so instead you say, “I'm not hungry and I just got back. Get Priya to do it.”

He looks into your pleading eyes, and you know he’s picturing the first Josephine, the one he killed, the one he raised from birth. And his sentiment is enough for him to swing over to your side. “Fine, I'll get Priya to do it.”

“Good. Now, if I spend one more minute like this,” you motion down to your clothes, the ones that you wear daily, but the ones that Josephine seems to despise. “I will spontaneously combust from the shame.”

Russell smiles and nods, “Go get cleaned up, I'll resurrect your mother.”

From the table nearby, Emori calls out, “Wait, does that mean Echo's still alive?”

Echo. She's the next host for Simone. You rack your brain quickly, wondering how you can buy her time before she gets wiped out for good. You decide to continue playing off of Russell’s sentiment, hoping it’s enough to delay Echo’s murder. “Hey, I want to be there when Mom comes back. Wait for me?”

Lucky for you and for Echo, Russell smiles and nods his head again. “Of course, sweetheart. Be quick.”

You nod and turn and walk out, Jade following you as you go. You almost roll your eyes but you refrain, already working on how to get rid of her. As you reach the doors of your room, she takes up her post outside, and you stop and look at her before you step inside. “I’m gonna get cleaned up and take a shower. Don't wake me for a few hours, I had a long night.”

She nods once, letting you know she understands, and then you turn and head into Josephine's room, closing the door shut behind you. You head straight for the bathroom and turn on the water in the shower before stepping over to the mirror and looking at your reflection. You don't have time to actually shower but you look like hell, and there's no way Josephine would be walking around like this. So you quickly clean your face off and fix your hair, before raiding Josephine’s closet for an outfit that is nicer than your own, but practical enough that you can kick ass in it if you need to. Once you look presentable, you turn off the shower and throw your clothes in the trash, thinking it’s something that dramatic ass Josephine would do.

You ruffle the sheets to make them look slept in, just in case someone walks into this room, and then you head to the window and swing it open to look outside. There’s nothing beneath your window, but there is a series of balconies that zig zag along the wall, starting to your left. And if you stand on the edge of your window and say enough prayers to the Universe, you think you can reach it if you jump out towards it. Thankfully, Sanctum is on lockdown because of the spreading revolution, so no one sees you leaping and jumping your way from the top of the palace down to the bottom. The whole experience reminds you of escaping the throne room in Polis after Clarke destroyed the City of Light, and the reminder of Bellamy and Clarke is enough to fuel your descent down to the ground.

The night is fading when you finally reach the ground, the suns starting to rise in the sky, urging you to get a move on as everyone is likely just outside of the shield by now, waiting for you to take it down. You sneak around the palace and to the front, heading straight for the lab again, the guards opening the door to you without a second thought. You keep your expression neutral and your head high, exuding all the power that you can possibly manage as you step into the lab. Your mom, Jackson, and Raven all jump and scramble apart, clearly up to something based on their nervous expressions.

But you ignore them and jog towards your mom, reaching out and pulling her into your arms, hugging her tight and letting her know you're okay. She freezes and whispers your name, still skeptical, and you feel tears start to fall down your face as you nod, letting her know that it’s actually you. She wraps her arms around you and hugs you back just as tightly, both of you crying as you hold each other. She cries into your hair, “What happened? I thought I...how?”

You both pull apart and you reach up to swipe away your fallen tears. “It's a long story, but I'm okay.”

She accepts that's all you can say for now, before you turn your gaze to Madi, who is still sedated, looking even worse than before. You feel worry etch itself into your features and Raven catches sight of it before she informs you, “It's the Flame.”

You look up at her in horror. “The Flame that I put in her head?”

“It’s Sheidheda. I'm working the problem, but I need Becca's book.”

You look down at Madi, and as much as you hate to say it, you know that getting the shield down is the first priority. Because without any Primes in need of Nightblood, she’ll be safe again. You turn to look at Raven again and you mutter, “That can wait because I need you to come with me. We don't have much time, we have to lower the shield. Bellamy, Clarke, and Octavia are waiting with the Children of Gabriel.”

“I can't go with you.” Raven shakes her head, her eyes dropping down to Madi. “If she wakes up again, Sheidheda will kill her.”

You nod, thinking before you counter, “Okay, I'll use Ryker. The reactor's beneath the machine shop anyway.”

“No.” You look up at her in surprise, her objection coming out stronger than you were expecting. You must look confused because she clarifies, “Ryker turned Echo in, he won't help you.”

“He won’t help me, but he’ll help Josephine. She can be very persuasive.” You turn your focus back to your mom, your voice almost pleading. “Until then, promise me you won't take any more bone marrow.”

Jackson pipes up, “That's not a problem now. There's another Nightblood in the family.”

You look at your mom in shock, about to object, but she shakes her head, reaching out to put her hand on your cheek. “I won't let them take her.”

Jackson recalls the time all of you spent in Becca’s lab, back before Praimfaya, back before body snatching Primes, and he muses, “Like mother, like daughter.”

You ignore him, focusing on your mother still. “I love you.”

She smiles at you, bright and genuine and happy, and you marvel at it, as it’s a smile she gives you so rarely. You tuck it into your memory, wanting to keep it forever as she whispers back, “I love you too, la lune. Now go save us all.”

You nod and head straight to Ryker’s shop to persuade him to take the shield down for you. Unfortunately, instead of Ryker, you find Ryker’s dead body, his skin cool to the touch, meaning he’s been out for a while. You make a split second decision to take his mind drive so you can use it as leverage against Priya, and no sooner do you get the drive out does Russell open the door to the shop and head your way. He seems oblivious to the drive you have stolen, or the fact that you snuck out hours ago, and you frame Echo as the thief of the drive, vowing to get it back for him. Russell agrees and tells you he’s going to resurrect the others in the meantime, giving you enough time to find Echo and the missing drive so that you can end this once and for all. He also forces you to take a handful of guards with you, and you have to hide your annoyance as they are just one more roadblock in your way.

You search a few places for Priya, relieved when you finally find her inside the tavern, stiff and uncomfortable. You assume your Josephine persona and call out to her, “Priya, there you are. I've been looking all over.”

She turns around in shock and gives you a cool smile when she sees you. “Josie. I heard you had quite the adventure.”

“You have no idea, and I'll tell you all about it, but first I need your help with something in the machine shop.”

She looks at you with concern, “What did Ryker do now?”

“More like what didn't he do.” You drop your voice lower, so the others in the tavern can't hear you as well. “Dad asked him to wipe one of the prisoners, but he's completely lost his nerve. It's embarrassing.”

“He's never wanted to face the reality of our situation. Let's go.”

The two of you turn to leave, heading towards the door with your guards right behind you, but you only make it halfway there before a loud yell comes from behind you. You and Priya jump and turn around in shock, just in time to see Echo vaulting herself off the bar, taking out one of your guards. Gaia and Miller jump over next and take out the other two, and as soon as Priya sees that you are both guardless, she turns to the door in fear, yelling, “Josephine, come on!”

But as she tries to run past you, you reach out and punch her, knocking her out, and her body falls to the floor with a thud. You look up and meet the surprised eyes of your friends, and you smile at them, letting them know it’s you. Echo smiles back and whispers, “I knew it.”

She walks towards you and pulls you in for a hug, and she releases you a moment later, allowing you to hug both Miller and Gaia in greeting. With the mini reunion out of the way, Gaia looks at you with confusion. “How are you here?”

“I'll explain later, but first we need to lower the shield. Bellamy and Clarke are out there with the cavalry. We can get Priya to help me take down the reactor, and then we go after Madi.”

They nod in agreement, letting you know they’re with you, and you, Echo, Miller, and Gaia all sneak Priya back to Ryker’s shop and anxiously wait for her to wake up. The suns have already set on this impossibly short day, and you continue to grow anxious with each passing second, aware that a whole bunch of people are relying on you to get this damn shield down so Gabriel can deploy the toxin. Though, you start to think that someone somewhere got the plan mixed up, because you hear alarms go off for the toxin, though the shield is still very much up and Priya is still very much unconscious. You smack her face a few times to wake her up, and you threaten to smash Ryker’s drive if she doesn't agree to cooperate. The threat seems to do the job because she quickly types in the code to take it down before Miller tugs the bag back down on her head after you motion for the group to follow you.

You all sneak down to the base of the stairs to Sanctum, waiting for Bellamy and Clarke to arrive with the others, and after a few tense minutes of waiting, they come running up the hill towards you. They both hug you desperately, grateful that you’re still alive, and you inform them of the danger you’re all in now that Gabriel has deployed the toxin too early. A crowd has gathered outside the palace, and a collective decision is made to tell the truth using Priya, all of you hoping that will be enough to convince the people of Sanctum that they are living a lie, and that the ensuing chaos will be enough for you to get your people out.

Bellamy agrees to take Priya and the drive and do the talking, since he's always been the best with speeches, and a few minutes later the tides seem to have turned in your direction. That is, until Russell steps out of the palace and gives a short speech about how disappointed he is, seconds before he deploys a small bomb made of red sun toxin. This toxin quickly spreads through the crowd, turning believers against non believers, and the Children of Gabriel that are all around you pass out the antitoxin so none of you will be affected.

As Bellamy returns and you all try to figure out what to do now, Miller catches sight of Raven, Madi, and Jackson being led into the palace, all three of them restrained. Miller and Clarke seem desperate to reach the people you love, but you know damn well that you have the best chance of getting in there and getting them out alive. And though Clarke and Bellamy again seem reluctant to let you go, they know you have the best chance too. So with another tearful goodbye you head to the palace with Gaia in tow, who is pretending to be one of your guards. As soon as you step inside of the large dining hall where the others are gathered, Gaia melts into the background and you look around the room, taking everything in.

Murphy and Emori are dressed in the nicest clothes you've ever seen them in, both of them also wearing makeup, clearly now part of the elite group of Primes. Gabriel is also in the room, surprisingly enough, restrained and being held captive along the edge of the room. The rest of the room is dotted with various other Primes, all recently resurrected. As soon as Russell sees you, he anxiously walks your way. “Thank God. Where have you been?”

“I was looking for Priya, but then I was blocked by a bunch of Gabriel's lunatic children. She's dead, by the way. What the hell is going on?”

A surprising voice answers from behind you, “We're leaving Sanctum until it's purified.”

You turn around in confusion, coming face to face with your mother, dressed in Sanctum clothes. She crosses the room and closes the space between the two of you, and you tentatively whisper, “Mom?”

You already know in your bones that it isn't her, but you pray that she answers you in some way, letting you know that she’s still inside her head. You pray that your mother has not just been body snatched by the asshole Primes, but you already know that she has. Gabriel must sense your turmoil because he answers for your mother, “Your mother murdered her mother. Ironic, don't you think?”

And Gabriel’s confirmation hits you like a train. You want to scream and cry and truly burn this fucking moon to the ground for all they have done to you and your family, but you can't. You have a part to play and you have to play it for your people’s sake. So you turn to Gabriel and mask your sorrow for your mother as sorrow of regret, slapping him across the face as you snap, “Don't you speak to me. How could I have ever loved such a traitor?”

You feel tears run down your face, only visible to Gabriel, and your mother, your bodysnatched mother, puts a comforting hand on your shoulder, not realizing that your tears are for the body she’s in. “Oh, sweetheart. At least you have closure.”

Russell cuts your mourning short as he anxiously eyes the room. “That's enough. Now that we're all accounted for, it's time to go. Have you all taken the antitoxin?”

Everyone nods, you included, but you also shake your head in confusion. “Go? Where?”

“To space, of course. Sanctum has lost us. For now, anyway.”

One of the Primes argues, “We have no pilot. Priya's dead. Maybe if you didn't kill the Lees.”

“That won't be a problem.” Your mother, Simone, turns and grabs a gun from one of the guards, before spinning and locking her gaze on Raven. “We don't need the Lees, do we, Raven?”

“Go float yourself, murderer.”

Simone cocks the gun and points it at Madi, and you have to work hard to keep your fear hidden beneath your neutral expression. “How about now?”

Raven looks distressed, tears streaming down her face, her eyes darting over to you. You can’t say or do anything that will give yourself away, but you have to hope she’s as desperate to save Madi as you are. And it seems as though she is, because she turns her gaze back to Simone, nodding her head and softly whispering, “Okay.”

“Good choice.”

Russell accepts the compliance and begins yelling orders, “Guards, take the prisoners. We're using the tunnel, but be prepared for anything.” Everyone starts to file out of the room behind the guards and the prisoners, leaving you to linger behind. Russell starts to walk past you, but pauses when he reaches Gabriel. “Goodbye, old friend. Sanctum is yours, though I suspect you won't last very long.”

He stalks out of the room with Simone on his arm, leaving just you, Gaia, Murphy, Emori, and a few guards. You start to slowly follow the others out of the room, and Murphy and Emori pass you as you do, heading in the wrong direction. You stop and turn to ask, “You're not coming?”

Murphy is upset, and you can see tears in his eyes, with some already fallen down his face. He steps close to you, his voice an angry whisper. “You killed her. All she did was help and you killed her.”

You feel tears rise to your eyes when you realize he’s talking about you. Everyone's favorite cockroach is expressing regret and sadness for the way things went down with you and your body snatching. You glance at Emori, wondering if she shares the sentiment, and you catch the tears in her eyes before she nods. “We're staying. We're gonna save our people.”

You turn to look at Murphy, figuring it’s safe enough to let him know that you're okay. You smile a little and whisper, “I'm proud of you, Murphy.”

His eyes go wide as he realizes that you called him Murphy and not John, and you see the smallest smile grace his lips before he remembers to hide it. But he lets you know that he understands by leaning close and whispering, “Just so you know, Josephine called me ‘John’.”

You don’t get the chance to say anything else, because Russell calls out from behind you, “Josie, Daniel, Kaylee, is there a problem?”

You quickly wipe away your tears, and put a sneer on your face, turning to face him. “They changed their minds. Cowards.”

“The mind drive is a terrible thing to waste.” He shrugs and then turns to look at you again, “Josie, bring your guards and let's go.”

“Guards, move out.”

As all of you start heading towards the door, Gaia included, Russell catches a glimpse of her and yells out, “Wait, she's one of them! Throw her to the wolves.”

Four sets of guns turn on her, and Gaia looks at you with fear. You do some quick thinking and shout, “No! I saw her in Clarke's mind. Threatening the child may work on Raven, but if I'm right, we need her to get on that ship.”

You turn to look at Russell, trying to convince him that you know what you're talking about, and he finally nods, motioning for the other guards to lower their guns and grab her instead. They comply, and Russell takes one last look around the room before motioning for you to leave ahead of him, as he and the other guards follow closely behind.

You all quickly head to the transport ship and board with your hostages, and Raven flies you up to the Eligius mothership despite her earlier disagreement. You, Russell, and Simone all stand in the airlock with guns to the heads of your hostages, waiting for the doors to slide open so you can begin your negotiations. Some of Wonkru, led by Indra and accompanied by Niylah, all stand at the entrance waiting, guns pointed your way. At first, Indra seems unwilling to let any of you board, but luckily Gaia manages to signal to her mother to stand down, allowing all of you to take control of the ship. All of the people who are awake on the ship are led to the mess hall where they can be easily contained, and as soon as you let Madi and the other prisoners go, Madi yells out for those in the room to attack.

They are quickly shot down, restoring order within seconds, and you cross the room to Madi in a flash, smacking her across the face so hard that you knock her out. You let out a shaky breath, trying to push back your emotions over hitting your niece, though only your people see it because of the way you’re facing. You quickly compose yourself and turn back to your fellow Primes, heading towards the door as you call out, “Let them rot!”

All of the Primes follow you out into the hall, and once there, you start to discuss next steps. One of the male Primes, you don't know who, turns to Russell as soon as you are outside of the mess hall. “Planet Beta. Russell, we don't even know if it's survivable.”

“If it isn't, we go for Gamma, then Delta, then Epsilon. We won't even have to land to find out if it's survivable. Assuming there are no other signal sucking anomalies, we can access the mind drives of the other teams wirelessly from up here.”

Everyone seems placated with this information, everyone that is, except for Simone. She turns to her husband, shaking her head. “Russell, I love you, and I will go with you across the stars and back, but that child is a problem.”

You roll your eyes, hoping you can diffuse the talk of murdering Madi with a Josephine style joke. “Oh, for God's sake, she has the blood. In fact, dibs on her as my next host.”

Russell adds, “Simone, if we kill their leader, they will never follow us, and we need those people to serve us unless you plan on cleaning latrines.”

She sighs, clearly only on board with the idea of keeping Madi alive, because she doesn't want to do the jobs that she thinks she is too superior for. The thought makes you sick to your stomach. “Fine, but we’re killing her sleeping army because I promise you they are already talking about how to wake them. We brought enough mind wiping fluid to erase them all in their sleep, where they'll be perfectly preserved until one of us needs a new host.”

Your mind starts to race, wondering how much longer you can keep up this facade while still also saving the hundreds of Wonkru and Eligius people that are sleeping peacefully on this ship. You miss the agreement of the other Primes, and you're only pulled out of your head when Russell turns to you expectantly. “Josie, what say you?”

You slap a smile on your face and answer, “Are you kidding? It's brilliant! A little genocide, a long nap. What the hell? Let's be explorers.”

Russell sends the other Primes to the bridge of the ship, while you, him, and Simone retrieve the mind wiping fluid from the transport ship and head towards the sleeping army. You offer to carry it for them, and they think nothing of it, passing the liquid to you as they discuss the logistics of how to vent this into the room. The whole way to the cryo chambers all you do is search for an opportunity to run off with this liquid, but you don’t know what you’d do after that or where you’d go. You're stuck on a ship in the sky with no way to fly back down to Sanctum, all while the rest of your friends are locked up on the other side of the ship. So instead, you go along with the plans and discussions, nodding when appropriate, standing near the back as Simone rigs up the ventilation system to hold the fluid. She works quickly, all while you rack your brain to stop this, but you struggle to think of anything useful. Eventually though, time is up, and Simone reaches out to you. “Hand me the serum.”

You pull it away from her outstretched hand, your brain only able to come up with one distraction technique. You look at Simone with concern, before asking, “Are you feeling okay? You look pale. Have you had any nosebleeds or memory flashes that aren't familiar?”

“No, what are you talking about?”

You try to sound as casual as you can when you answer, “Oh, it's something I saw in the mindspace. Her mother had the same neuromesh as she did. I thought they destroyed it with an EMP, but-”

Russell cuts you off, his voice resolute and a smile on his face, as if failed mind wipes are a funny little mistake. “They did, I examined her before resurrection. I wasn't about to make the same mistake twice.”

Your blood runs cold, and you realize that this is it. There are no more stops for you to pull, no more tricks. You have to give up your advantage, reveal that you’re not Josephine at all, because that’s the only way to prevent a genocide. So when Simone reaches for the container again, you pull your arm away, backing up and putting distance between you and Josephine’s parents. Russell seems to figure it out first, though Simone is right behind him. His eyes well up with tears as he looks at you with sorrow, and you have another thought that it would be heartbreaking if he wasn't talking about a murdering body snatcher who tried to kill you multiple times, just so she could keep your body. “No, not Josie!”

You back away from the grieving parents, looking between then, shaking your head. “I can't let you kill these people. And believe it or not, I am sorry for your loss.”

You give them both one last look before you take off running, trying to put as much distance between you and them as you can. You don't hear the thundering of footsteps following you, and you start to rack your brain on why they wouldn’t follow you, until you have the horrifying realization that they’re likely grabbing Madi and searching for some way to track your mind drive. Deciding to tackle one problem at a time, you head to one of the hallways that holds an outer door, rigging up a way to get yourself out of this mess. You find a supply closet with a bunch of old and broken items from the ship, including a few discarded safety tethers. You grab them and head back to the lever to the outer door, tying them as tight as you can to a large metal bar on the wall. Then you attach the other side of the tether to your waist, hoping that it’s strong enough to hold you if the Primes call you on your bluff.

Sure enough, a few minutes later the Primes come into the hall, a tracker held in one of their hands, weapons in all the others. As soon as you see them you reach out and put your hand on the lever and yell, “Don't move! I set the inner door to stay open when I pull this, so you can put the guns down, or you can float.”

The Primes all freeze, looking between each other in shock, wondering what to do, when Simone turns her gun on all the others, “You heard her, weapons down now.”

You look at her with hope, lip quivering as you fight back tears, realizing that maybe your mom is okay after all. “Mom?”

She turns to you with a smile, and it warms your entire body. “Yes, it's me.”

The other Primes all put their guns down, and once your mother knows that you're safe, she turns to you with tears in her eyes. “I've been pretending too. Now let's lock them up and go save Madi.”

She turns back to the others, still pointing her gun at them, but something about the situation isn't sitting right with you. You aren't sure what, maybe it's because she didn't use your nickname or hug you or doesn't seem as emotional as she usually would be. Maybe it’s the fact that you remember Russell’s words about how he double checked for a neural mesh and found none, meaning there would be nowhere for your mother to go in the mindspace. Regardless of what it is, you call out to your mom's back, “What's my father's name?”

You repeat his name in your head like a mantra, begging her to say it, but your mother only turns around and looks at you with a blank expression. That’s enough for you to know the truth, that your mother truly is dead, and Simone is just trying to play you. You can tell that she knows you aren't buying it anymore, because she tries to turn her gun on you, but you quickly pull the lever to the outer door, sending all of the other Primes into space. Simone is the exception though, because she manages to reach out for you on her way past, wrapping her arms around your waist and holding onto you tightly as you both move and shift with the rushing air. You look down into your mother’s face, now being worn by someone else, and you swear you can feel your heart rip in half. You killed this woman's daughter, and you know she'll never let you live after this.

Which is why you put your hand on your mother’s forehead and push, sending her out into space with the other Primes. You use the tether to make your way back to the lever, pushing it down so you can close the outer doors again. You hit the ground with a thud, a sob tearing through you for the first time, finally able to mourn the loss of your mother. But then you remember that Russell was not with the group, and he likely has Madi, so you push your emotions aside for now, tucking them away. You untie yourself and head straight for the mess hall in search of your niece. You use Shaw’s failsafe code to get into the room, looking around at the group gathered there as they all stare at you in shock. “Where's Madi?”

Gaia answers, “Russell took her.”

“Oh, no. Oh, no. No, no.” You feel your knees give out beneath you as you realize that this is it for Madi. She is going to be killed for what you've done, and there is likely no way for you to stop it. Raven comes over to you, grabbing your arm, trying to comfort you. “We'll get her back.”

You look up at her with tears in your eyes, “No, you don't understand. I killed his family, and now he's gonna kill mine.”

Before she can answer you, the door to the mess hall slides open. You scramble to your feet and watch Madi and Russell walk in, followed by a large group of armed warriors. Indra mutters, “The demon awoke Wonkru.”

Madi yells, “Kneel if you want to live!”

You are the first one to kneel, tears in your eyes, and she looks down at you with disgust. “They said you were strong, but you're weak. Your love has made you so.”

You feel your tears spill down your face, and you lean over to one of the Wonkru guards nearby, snatching the pistol from his side and holding it to your temple. You look into Madi’s eyes, ignoring the fact that Sheidheda has made them so cold and unfeeling, and you start to beg. “Madi, I know you're in there. Please come back. I lost my mother today, I nearly lost myself. I don't know if Clarke and Bellamy are okay, and I can't lose you too. Please.”

She looks at you with a blank stare and the tears fall down your face as you reach for the trigger. “I'm gonna pull the trigger in 3...2…”

You nearly make it to one, stopping as Madi takes in a deep breath, holding up her hand and yelling, “Take the Prime and his men!”

Wonkru immediately responds and lowers their weapons, only turning them on Russell and his other men. Madi runs across the room and straight into your arms, both of you hugging each other tightly as you relish in the fact that you have saved one of your family members today. But just as you’re enjoying your reunion, Madi starts to seize up in your arms, sending you into a panic as Raven yells, “Get her upstairs!”

Jackson and Indra both grab her and quickly carry her upstairs, and you run up after them, despite not knowing what's going on. They take her into a small medical lab and strap her to a table as Raven lifts an electrical cord and sticks it into the open wound on Madi’s neck, presumably connecting it to the Flame, all the while Madi continues to seize. You call out to her, letting her know you’re here for her, trying to encourage her to fight in the same way that Clarke and Bellamy encouraged you. “Madi, I'm here. Listen to my voice, you can do this! You have to fight, Madi. You have to fight!”

Raven furiously types away at the computer, isolating Sheidheda’s code before yelling, “Got him!”

The code starts to delete from the Flame, uploading onto the other computer in the room. As soon as it’s up and out of Madi’s head, you look down at her expectantly, waiting for her to wake up. But in the same way you didn't immediately wake up after Gabriel tried to restart your heart, Madi doesn't move either. You reach out and press your finger to her neck, your stomach dropping when you barely feel a faint flutter beneath her skin. “Her pulse is too weak.”

Raven looks at you, remembering what it was like after you fried the Alie chip in her head. “We have to take it out like you did with me after the EMP.”

Jackson immediately hops into action and grabs a scalpel, increasing the cut on Madi’s neck before reaching for a pair of forceps. He uses them to pull the Flame out of her head, the AI looking terrible and destroyed as it pulls free from her neck. As soon as it’s out, Madi takes a deep breath, Sheidheda finally gone, her mind back to only holding one Commander. You drop down beside her, smoothing her hair back from her face and smiling as you whisper, “Hey little sun, I’m here. You’re gonna be okay.”

She smiles at you slightly, still weak and exhausted, whispering, “Thank you, ani.”

You transfer your gaze to Raven, who is standing close, looking down at Madi with worry, and you reach out to her and grab her hand, squeezing in thanks, well aware that she did all of the work. “Thank you, Raven.”

She squeezes back, her face full of regret when she counters, “I’m sorry about Abby.”

You nod, still not ready to process the loss of your mother. And with your niece saved and your people saved, you want nothing more than to get back down to Sanctum to make sure that Bellamy and Clarke are safe. Raven agrees to get you ready to fly within minutes, and you assemble a small team to head back down to Sanctum, while everyone else waits it out for a while, allowing you to make sure it's safe for them to follow.

You’re relieved when the transport ship finally lands back inside Sanctum, ready to reunite with Bellamy and your twin again. You and Madi walk hand in hand back to the village, both of you leading the group of your people as you return. Everyone starts to break away from the group and hug their friends and family as they see them, and you're almost caught off guard by both Bellamy and Clarke running your way. Clarke runs straight for Madi and lifts her in her arms, holding her tight, while Bellamy scoops you up in a hug and twirls you, both of you laughing with happiness. He puts you down so he can kiss you, and when he pulls away, he pulls away just enough to whisper against your lips, “I had a whole speech planned, but I can't wait any longer. Will you marry me?”

Your smile grows wider, loving this proposal just as much as the first one, as this one comes off the heels of your nearest death experience to date, and you whisper back, “Yes, of course I will.”

Bellamy smiles and kisses you again, before sliding the ring on your finger, looking the happiest he has in a while. Clarke lets out a little happy cheer, and you roll your eyes at your twin before pulling her in for a hug, just as happy to see that she’s okay, and she hugs you back, celebrating the fact that despite all the odds, you survived. As the two of you pull apart and look Bellamy’s way, he starts to tell you all about the journey that Gabriel has planned and how all of you should go with him. Your mind flashes to your mother and how she’s now dead and gone, floated just like your father, and you desperately want to escape the memory of what you’ve done. Which is why you agree to the journey with Bellamy and the others, hoping it’s enough to take your mind off of things. Your mother’s death is exactly why Clarke agrees to stay, hoping that she can clean up the mess in Sanctum and make her proud. So though it pains you both to separate again so soon after reuniting, you do, both of you needing to process her death in your own ways.

You, Bellamy, Octavia, Gabriel, and Echo all head back to Gabriel’s camp together, exchanging stories of what all of you have missed. Before you know it, you make it back to Gabriel’s camp, and he leads you all inside of the tent, motioning for you to gather around as he pulls the rubber panels that make up the floor away, tossing them to the side, revealing an old hatch. “I have to tell you I'm very excited about this. I've been studying those symbols since we found the stone, we built the camp here because of it.”

He lifts the hatch, revealing a short ladder into the ground, and he climbs down inside. All of you file down the ladder after him, standing at the base of it, staring at the object hidden from the world beneath this camp. It’s a large ball, made of metal, designed in the same swirl on Octavia’s back. The entire thing is covered in different symbols, and somehow, the ball is floating, supported by nothing. All four of you stare it in shock, not believing what you’re seeing, and Gabriel just smiles at you, glad you’re just as enamored as he is.

Gabriel walks towards the stone, Octavia right behind him, as he says, “It's thousands of years old. We have no idea who made it or what generates the magnetic field that holds it up, but we're pretty sure it's what sucks in all the radio signals.”

Some of the symbols on her back are red, it's a code.”

“Very good. We're about to find out what it's for.” Gabriel holds his hand out to Octavia, “May I see the drawing, please?”

She pulls the drawing of the tattoo from her pocket, passing it to him, and he unfolds it, searching the stone for each of the red symbols, and then touching them with two fingers, the symbol humming beneath his touch. As he works, Bellamy asks, “What happens if you're right?”

“I filled 100 notebooks with possible answers to that question.” He comes to a stop in front of the last signal, now standing beside Octavia. He turns to her, a small smile on his face. “The last symbol in the series is called an octonion. Advanced mathematics way above my head, but I don't think it's a coincidence you share a name. Please, it should be you.”

He gestures to the symbol, and she hesitates for a second before touching it, the symbol humming beneath Octavia’s touch. With the last symbol entered, you all stand waiting, staring at the stone in search of what’s going to happen next. Except, nothing happens, the moment stretching on for too long, and Gabriel’s face falls as he looks down at the sketched out tattoo again. “No, no, no, no, no. It can't be right, we must have got something wrong.”

As he turns to look at Octavia, a low rumble starts to shake the ground above, a sound not unnoticed by your fiance. He holds up his hand to Gabriel, gesturing for him to stop talking. “Quiet.”

All of you stand perfectly still, the rumbling growing increasingly louder, a strange green glow coming from the ground above the hatch. Gabriel looks up with a smile, the paper in his hand slipping from his grip, floating to the ground. “Oh, my God. I knew it.”

He bolts past all of you and heads up the ladder incredibly fast, and all of you scurry after him, trying to keep up. When you get into the tent, it’s flapping and shaking like you're in the middle of a windstorm, and a bright green light surrounds everything, casting an eerie glow. The sound is almost deafening, and you yell to be heard above it, “What the hell is this?”

Octavia just ominously whispers, “She's here.”

You look at her, taking note of the shocked expression on her face, very different from the confused expression on your own. She starts to walk forward slowly, and you hear a high pitched whine from the mouth of the tent, seconds before a figure starts to step inside. It's a girl, not much older than you are, her hair done up in two buns. She has symbols like the ones tattooed on Octavia back, except hers are on her face, etched across her cheeks and forehead. Octavia laughs when she sees the girl, a sound of happy shock, and she says, “Hope.”

You all look at Octavia, wondering what the hell is going on, and the girl, Hope, answers, “I couldn't get out of it, he has my mother. I'm so sorry, Octavia.”

They embrace, pulling each other into a hug, one that seems stiff and awkward, and Bellamy watches on, his anxiety growing. He yells, “Octavia, what's happening?”

Octavia leans up and whispers something in the girl’s ear, the words lost to all of you over the roar of whatever is happening around you, and as soon as she finishes talking, they pull apart. Hope steps backwards, a knife in her hand, the tip coated in blood, and Echo yells, “Knife!”

The pieces fall together, and you and Bellamy look at O, who starts to fall backwards, clutching her side. Bellamy catches her, his voice worried as he mutters, “O.”

Echo runs over to Hope and restrains her, along with Gabriel, as Bellamy holds his sister in his arms, you right at their side. You reach out to Octavia, pulling her layers aside to get a look at the wound, and as you do, you hear another high pitch whine, seconds before a bright green cloud slides into the tent, washing over Octavia and then pulling away. As the green glow subsides, you and Bellamy stare at his now empty arms, his sister carried off by the bright beam of light. You look up at each other, sharing a look of disbelief, trying to confirm that you both saw the impossible. He looks back down at his shaking hands, her blood covering one of them, evidence that Octavia was here, and then he turns and heads for the exit of the tent looking for her. You follow him outside, Hope collapsing as you walk past, but you ignore her, following your fiance out into the woods, the bright green light subsiding, returning back to where it came from.

The woods outside are empty, devoid of any sign of Octavia, no blood, no clothing, no nothing left behind as proof that she was out here. Bellamy spins in place, tears falling down his cheeks, his voice breaking with worried desperation as he yells, “Octavia! Octavia! Octavia!”

And there’s nothing for you to do but watch as the love of your life falls apart, his sister now gone. The mystery of Sanctum grew and then subsided, taking Octavia Blake with it.

#bellamy blake #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake fanfiction #the 100 #the 100 rewrite

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perspective-series · 5 years ago

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Kingdom Perspective (10)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: Fear, panic, kidnapping, keeping/treating people like pets, threats, and unwanted touching/grabbing

First Chapter || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

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“Ah, Roman.” Picani greeted the younger prince as he entered, Logan already sat in one of the chairs across the table. “Please, have a seat. There’s an important matter of which you should be informed.”

Roman looked at the two with a raised eyebrow but took his seat. Honestly, he was still thinking about his conversation with Virgil but he knew he had to focus on this. “And what would that be?”

“I’m going to be king.” Logan said, turning to his brother.

“...Yes, I know.” Roman looked to his brother in confusion. “This isn’t new information, we’ve known about this since birth.”

“No, what he means is, he’s going to be king now.” Picani sighed. “The coronation is at the end of the week.”

Roman’s eyes widened. “What?!” Roman exclaimed, all thoughts of Virgil clear from his mind for a moment. “B-But, I thought we still had a year left? What happened?” He turned to look at Emile.

“Father is out of control.” Logan shrugged.

“Yes, the current king has been deemed unfit to rule.” Picani admitted. “It’s a very delicate political climate right now and we need a leader who isn’t so much of a firecracker. Logan will be taking the throne and overseeing all future agreements in the coming weeks.”

“...Oh.” Roman said simply. It did make sense. Their father had had this coming for a while now. But he was still a bit salty over the fact that Logan was going to be king. “Well...congratulations, I suppose.”

“Thank you.” Logan received the praise in true smug brotherly fashion.

“Now, this does mean we’ll have to move up your schedule as well, Roman.” Picani placed his arms on the table, folding his hands. “You are now next in line for the throne, which means you will need to attend the same studies Logan has finished so that, should something happen to your brother, you are prepared to take his place.”

“Great.” Honestly, Roman was not looking forward to more studying. “And when will I be starting that?”

“Ideally today, but right now we are at our wits’ end preparing your brother.” Picani pushed up his spectacles. “So, your studies will begin after the coronation. That being said, I would like to go over some of the basic details should something happen within the next week.”

“With all due respect, is my presence here necessary?” Logan turned to Picani. “I don’t mean to rush, it’s just that I do need to get to lunch and I’m on quite a tight schedule.”

“No, by all means!” Picani quickly got up, opening the door for Logan with a bow. “Go right ahead, your highness.”

Logan gave him a nod, standing up. “Best of luck, Roman.”

“Thanks.” Roman said with a slight groan and prepared for what he assumed would be a long talk.

Logan walked out of the hall, back towards his chambers.

“Here you are, your highness.” A mousy girl waited outside of the door, bowing low and presenting a tray of sandwiches.

“Thank you.” Logan took it from her, heading inside. While wait staff had used to set these things inside his chambers for him, Logan had strictly forbidden any staff from entering his rooms since Patton arrived. This was due to a few instances involving curious maids and other surprises that had startled the human terribly.

“Hello, Patton.” Logan greeted, coming over to the desk. He cleared his papers, setting down the food before opening the cage and tapping the desk top.

Patton grinned when he saw Logan and practically ran over when Logan gave him the command. “Logan! How...How is everything?”

“Stressful.” Logan admitted, ripping off part of a sandwich and handing it to Patton. “It feels as though every action I make now has more weight to it. There’s so much pressure to do it right the first time, or else everyone will look down on me for my age.”

Patton frowned, taking the sandwich and biting into it. “I’m sure you’ll do great Logan.” Patton gave him a smile. “You have to stop worrying about what other people will think and just go with what you think is best.”

“Yes, I suppose.” Logan chewed his food thoughtfully, considering Patton’s point.

Patton nodded and took another bite before realizing what he needed to bring up again. “So...about Virgil…” Patton started, glancing up at Logan.

“What about Virgil?” Logan asked, the morning’s conversation having been driven from his mind by all his advisor’s lessons.

“I-I really think it’s fine if I keep seeing him.” Patton said, feeling nervous at Logan’s answer.

“Oh, right.” Logan rubbed at his forehead. “Well, I’m not sure if that is even going to be possible. With the way Roman’s and my responsibilities are changing we may not have much overlapping free time.”

Patton’s face fell. “You...You won’t be able to make a little time? Like for lunch or something?”

“At least not for the next few weeks.” Logan informed him. “First it’s the coronation, then it’s traveling to meet for the treaty, then it’s returning home to pick up the slack from the traveling time...honestly it’s such a mess.”

No, this wasn't good. He had to see Virgil again. He had gone so long without human interaction before but he couldn’t do it again. Not now that he remembered how it felt.

And...And Virgil was counting on him to relay the information he had learned. It, it might not help them escape but Patton had promised. What was he going to do?

“...I’ll try to arrange something by next month.” Logan caved, seeing Patton looking glum.

...A month. Well, Patton supposed it was...better than nothing. Patton smiled. “Thank you Logan.” He took another bit of his food. A month was still a long time though.

“Of course, that’s also dependent on how Virgil and Roman are doing.” Logan said thoughtfully. “Something tells me they have been arguing again. Roman seemed off when I saw him today.”

“O-Oh?” That...That didn’t sound good. What if Roman punished Virgil? Patton couldn’t handle the thought. He wanted to go check him but...Logan wouldn’t allow it. Not for another month.

“Yes, I think Virgil might be too stubborn for his own good.” Logan admitted. “Roman can get quite hot-headed when his buttons are pushed.”

And that sounded worse. Patton needed to check on Virgil, now. But that would mean...He looked up at Logan and swallowed the lump forming in his throat. He took a deep breath.

He could do this. For Virgil. “Um, Logan? Could I get some water?” He asked, noticing how the servant apparently hadn’t brought any with their meal.

“Oh yes, of course.” Logan said, noticing this as well. “Be right back.” He assured Patton, going out in the hall to catch a passing servant.

Patton took in a shaky breath as Logan left the room before jumping into action, knowing he didn’t have a lot of time. He went over to the edge and bit his lip at the drop below. But...If he jumped onto the chair first, then that just might work.

He didn’t have any other options, so he braced himself and jumped. He landed with a grunt on the chair but quickly stood up and going over to the edge again. The drop was more from here but maybe instead of jumping he could shimmy down the chair leg.

Patton decided to give it a try, getting into position and started to slide down carefully. He didn’t breath until he felt his feet on the ground. He smiled. Okay, so far so good.

It was at the moment Logan returned, water pitcher in hand. He shut the door behind him, coming over to the desk.

Patton eyes widened as he saw Logan approaching and quickly hid behind the table leg, shaking like a leaf. He was suddenly very much regretting this.

“...Patton?” Logan paused, not seeing the human where he had left him. He set the pitcher down cautiously, leaning over to look all around on the desk. “Patton, where are you?”

Patton felt himself freeze as Logan called his name. A large part of him wanted to reveal himself. To show Logan he was there but he couldn’t do that. He had gone too far already, if Logan found him, he’d be in so much trouble. Patton shivered just thinking about it.

Patton glanced over to the door and waited just a tad longer for his chance.

“Patton…” Logan began to shift the books around carefully, looking behind the stacks. “This isn’t funny.”

Logan felt himself beginning to panic the longer he couldn’t find the human. Had someone else come into the room while he was gone? He hadn’t been gone long...but he had been gone long enough.

“Patton, please.” Logan called out, gaze beginning to spread farther than the desk. “I need to know you’re okay, Pat.”

Patton tried his best to block Logan out but guilt spread through him anyway. But he couldn’t give into it. He had to go for it. For Virgil. Patton pushed off against the leg of the chair and ran to the door.

He almost slammed into it, he was going so fast but he quickly gained his bearing and looked for a way out.

It only took a second for Patton to realize there was no way out. There was no room underneath the door and no way for him to open the massive thing. He had never been able to escape. He was still trapped.

Logan shook his head, trying to stay focused. He couldn’t lose Patton. Logan was the one who took care of him, Patton depended on him. Patton was the one who listened and gave surprisingly great advice the way no one else could. Logan needed him more than anyone else in the world.

“Patton, come back.” Logan pleaded, looking underneath the desk now. If Patton was still in here, he couldn’t have gotten far.

Patton paused, turning around to see that Logan was looking away from him and underneath the desk. But the way he kept calling out to him was heartbreaking. Maybe...maybe if he showed himself he wouldn’t be punished as much? It wasn’t like there was a way for him to get out of the room anyway.

Unless he waited for Logan to leave the room again and then snuck past him. Patton bit his lip, feeling guilty just considering it. He was suddenly at a loss.

Logan looked around at floor level, trying to figure out where Patton would have gone and why he wouldn’t be answering. The bed? The closet? The...the door. Logan’s eyes widened, spotting the human from across the room.

Patton’s eyes widened when he realized it was too late. His decision had been made for him. He couldn’t help it as he cowered against the door, looking up at Logan with a mixture of fear and guilt.

“Patton…” Logan slowly got up, walking over to where the human stood. He crouched down, picking up Patton and examining him for injuries. A flood of relief washed over him when Patton looked relatively unharmed.

Patton shook in the grip and looked down. “I-I’m sorry…” He mumbled, fear overwhelming him.

“Patton’s it’s fine, I just…” Logan paused, sitting down on his bed. It wasn’t fine. This was the first time in over a year that Patton had ever, ever tried to run off. Surely after all this time Patton was happy here...right?

Patton wasn’t paying much attention to Logan’s words, instead putting in all his effort to apologize. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t...don’t…” A few tears escaped his eyes. This had been a terrible idea. Why did he have to do that, now he’s ruined everything.

“Patton, calm down.” Logan rubbed his arm with his thumb, trying to simultaneously calm Patton and get answers. “Why...why did you do it? Where were you going? What were you thinking?”

Patton was startled at the touch but ended up leaning into it. “I...I just wanted to see Virgil...make sure he was okay…” He sniffed, still not meeting Logan’s eyes.

“Virgil’s fine.” Logan insisted. “And if you were really this concerned you should have told me.”

“...You wouldn’t have listened…” Patton said quietly.

“Why do you think that?” Logan asked, desperate for answers.

“I don’t know, I just...I...I don’t…” Patton couldn’t even explain himself. “I-I don’t want to wait an entire month...p-probably longer until I can see Virgil again.” Patton managed out.

“Okay, fine, you can see Virgil again.” Logan offered. “We’ll figure something out. Just don’t…” Logan sighed. “Don’t scare me like that, Pat.”

Patton looked down. “...I’m sorry.” He said, once again.

“Patton…” Logan spoke hesitantly, but after Patton’s episode here he couldn’t let it go unasked. “Are you...happy here?”

Patton tensed. “Of-Of course!” He stuttered out. “I-I am happy, um, here.”

“Are you?” Logan pressed. “Or do you just say that because you think that’s what I want to hear?”

Patton lowered his head. “I...I don’t know…I don’t know anymore.”

“Patton, do you know you’re safe here?” Logan felt his heart breaking at Patton’s answers. “I’m not going to hurt you for speaking up or...or having an opinion.”

“Of course I know that!” Patton exclaimed but he said the next part quieter. “Y-your punishments have never been...you’ve never physically hurt me. I-and I do feel safe, with you.” Patton explained. He never feared that Logan would hurt him, not anymore.

“Patton.” Logan looked down at the human with a focused expression. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I need an honest answer.”

Patton inhaled sharply but nodded. “O-Okay.”

“If you were given the choice, would you want to go back?” Logan asked.

Patton’s eyes widened. “Back...Back to my world?” Patton bit his lip. He was...at a loss. Did he want to leave this place? Yes. Did he want to leave Logan? ...No, he didn’t. Logan had been with him throughout this whole thing. He knows Logan cares about him and he cares about Logan.

“I don’t want to leave you.” Patton said, voice barely above a whisper. What would Virgil say about that? He wondered briefly.

“That’s not what I asked.” Logan’s gaze became pitiful. He certainly shared Patton’s mindset, but he certainly didn’t want to be the reason Patton stayed trapped and miserable if he didn’t want to be here.

Patton deflated and he looked down. “...No.”

“You wouldn’t go back?” Logan clarified. “You’d stay here? And...you would be happy?”

Patton nodded. “Yes. I’m sorry that I tried to ‘escape’ but I just wanted to see Virgil again. I am happy here, with you.” Patton gave Logan a small smile.

“...okay.” Logan gave a sigh of relief. “Okay, I just had to be sure.” Logan held Patton close to his chest. “I need you to be happy. Even if that had meant you leaving.”

Patton snuggled closer into Logan’s chest. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew Virgil wouldn’t be happy about this. But at the moment, he didn’t care.

***

Honestly, Roman hadn’t been paying much attention when Picani had been talking. Which, he was sure Logan would be mad at and it would definitely come back to bite him later but he couldn’t stop thinking about what Virgil had told him.

And how Roman couldn’t deny things any longer.

With a sigh, he pushed his door open and immediately went to sit down at his desk, putting his head down his arms.

Virgil glanced over, noticing the way Roman was slumped over. “Uh, you okay?”

Roman sighed and blindly reached over to open the cage. He then looked up at the human. “Virgil, I’ve been going over what you said before I left and I have...realized a few things.” Roman revealed.

“You have?” Virgil raised his eyebrows slightly, Roman having certainly gained his interest as he walked closer.

“Yes. The first thing being I really do not want you to leave.” Roman sighed. He enjoyed Virgil’s company immensely after all.

“...oh.” Virgil slumped against the cage door. “So you learned nothing.”

Roman winced and sat up straight. “Wait, you haven’t let me finish!” Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have started off with that. Or, at the very least he shouldn’t have paused afterwords. “Yes, I don’t want you to leave but I...I also care about you. I care about your happiness and you very clearly aren’t happy here.”

“Yeah, obviously.” Virgil scoffed. “I’ve been saying that almost constantly.”

“Yes and I...should have listened more.” Roman sighed and looked away. “Which brings me to the most important point I’ve realized tonight.” Roman looked Virgil in the eye for this part.

“You are a person and I am...sorry, that I didn’t see that sooner.”

Virgil stared Roman down in disbelief. “What? It took you this long to realize that?”

“Yes, yes and I realize how bad that is. Honestly, I am truly ashamed.” Roman admitted. “And we took you from your home. I put myself in your shoes for a moment and...and that is absolutely terrible. It’s no wonder you’ve been acting like this this whole time. You had every right.”

“...thanks.” Virgil said honestly. It was hard, trying to stay himself when everyone around him kept trying to push him down and make him obedient. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

“I will do everything in my power to bring you home.” Roman promised. “...That being said, only the king has the authority to send you back, so not only do we have to wait for the coronation but we also have to convince Logan that this is the right thing to do.”

“Wait, what?” Virgil could hardly believe he might actually have a chance at going home. Of course...if his chance depended on Logan, it might be difficult. Maybe Patton could convince him. “When’s the coronation? Why do we have to convince Logan?”

“It’s in a couple of days. And, well, Logan might be easier to convince to let you go...but I assumed you wanted Pat out of here as well. And that...that might take a little more convincing.” Roman winced, wondering how hard that was going to be.

“Couple days? I thought it was like a year.” Virgil grinned, eager that his chance would come so soon. “This is perfect! You can convince your brother about me, and then we can just...sneak Patton out too, right? It can’t be that hard.”

“It...it might be harder than you think. If Logan found out that Patton was missing he would probably tear apart the whole castle for him. Not only that but we also have to get past Dee. And Dee doesn’t listen to anyone other than the king.” Roman had tried in the past to give him commands, but Dee would never have it. Only his father could and hopefully, now Logan.

“Okay...well, I convinced you. Finally.” Virgil muttered that last bit to himself. “I’m sure you, me and Patton would surely be enough to convince Logan.”

“We can only hope.” Roman said, running a hand through his hair. “In the meantime, we’re going to have to do a bit of waiting. I’m not even sure if we’ll have time to speak to Logan before the coronation, he’s just been so busy.”

“Well how are we going to convince him then?” Virgil pressed, not wanting his chance to slip away. “I mean, he must have some free time. He has to sleep, doesn’t he?”

“Try telling Logan that.” Roman deadpanned. “He stays up way too late as it is. But with this schedule, I think he’s only getting an hour or two.”

“An hour’s all we need.” Virgil insisted.

“Okay, I’ll try to set something up before the coronation but I’m just warning you that it may not happen. Okay?” Roman said, leaning back in his chair.

“Well, if it doesn’t happen then I’m definitely calling you a wuss.” Virgil explained. “Because it definitely can happen and I don’t want to put it off.”

“Right, of course.” Roman said, biting his lip. “In fact, we can go check right now? If you want?” Roman asked, already offering his hand to Virgil.

“Perfect.” Virgil smiled, glad to see Roman was cooperating. He stood there for a moment, contemplating the hand offered before him. Strange. That horrible, sinking feeling Virgil felt before when faced with this dilemma had been qualmed. Virgil was still terrified, of course, of all that power hidden within a person’s fingers...but Roman was helping him now. If they were truly on the same side, Virgil had to meet him halfway and put some trust into Roman as well.

Taking a small breath, Virgil climbed into Roman’s hand.

Roman smiled and started heading down the hall. “I also thought about what you said about Patton.” Roman said, looking down at Virgil in his hands. “...You really think he’s been brainwashed?”

“A little bit.” Virgil nodded. “I mean, I convinced him to go home, but he’s definitely adapted to all this to survive.”

Roman hummed. “But he will want to go back with you, right? It’s just, I don’t think he’s ever mentioned anything about going home before. Not even when Logan first got him.” Of course, Roman barely saw him but he was sure of it. Logan would have said something.

“Well, did you ask him?” Virgil gave Roman a look.

“Who? Logan or Patton?” Roman asked, raising an eyebrow at the human.

“Well I meant Patton, but I guess both.” Virgil said after considering the giant’s question.

“Um, well, no.” Roman admitted. “But I guess we’ll find out.” Roman said coming to the door. He took a deep breath and opened it. “Logan?” He called out, walking into the room.

But Logan wasn’t there. “Weird, he usually locks the door if he isn’t in here…” Roman muttered.

Patton’s head snapped towards the door when it opened and his eyes widened when he saw Roman and… “Virgil!”

“Hey Patton!” Virgil waved, throwing Patton a smile.

Roman smiled and let Virgil off on the desk before reaching over and opening the cage for Patton. Patton immediately ran out to hug Virgil. “Are you okay? What are you doing here?” Patton asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Virgil returned the hug, appreciating the human contact. “We were looking for Logan actually though, where is he?”

“Oh, he had to go back to his duties. He’s becoming king sooner than he thought.” Patton exclaimed. Roman sighed.

“Of course. I told you Virgil.” Roman looked down at the human.

“Well that doesn’t mean we shouldn't try.” Virgil insisted. “We can just wait here until he comes back.”

“Uh...well, we’re going to be waiting a while then.” Patton said, biting his lip. “Like, well into the evening.”

Roman sighed. “Maybe we should just come back later.” Patton blinked and looked between the giant and the human.

“What are you guys doing here, anyway?” Patton asked.

“We need to convince Logan to let you go.” Virgil explained, taking up Patton’s hands. “Roman finally came to his senses. Now that Logan is going to be king, all we have to do is convince him and then we can both be sent home!”

Patton’s eyes widened and he stared down at both of their hands. He bit his lip. “Um...but...what if I don’t want to go back?” Patton asked, not meeting Virgil’s eyes.

Roman’s eyes widened. “Wait, what?” Did that mean he had been right?

“Patton, you don’t mean that.” Virgil’s smile faded slightly. “C’mon, look at me. We were going back together, remember? You don’t need Logan, we’ve got each other.”

“I-I know but it’s just...I can’t just leave Logan. He’s….We care about each other too much.” Patton explained, only glancing up at Virgil’s face for a second before looking back down.

Roman winced at Patton’s words. Now that his eyes were opened to this whole thing he couldn’t believe he had ever wanted Virgil to turn out like Patton. This was just...sad.

“Logan doesn’t care about you.” Virgil’s grip on Patton’s hands tightened. “He’s just made you think that. If he really cared about you he wouldn’t keep you locked in a cage still. Logan doesn’t trust you, he just sees you as a cute obedient chihuahua.”

Patton started to shake. “That’s-That’s not true. You don’t know him like I do.”

“I don’t want to know him like you do.” Virgil shook his head. “I bet he seems real nice to you but that’s just because he hasn’t been ‘as bad’ as possible. Logan’s still kept you captive for over a year, he punishes you, trains you to do stupid tricks, and is the reason you were ripped away from Earth.”

Patton felt the need to defend Logan. “He hasn’t punished me in months! And he’s never hurt me and maybe I’m better here than on Earth! At least here I have someone who cares about me!” Patton shouted, tears rolling down his face.

Roman’s eyes widened and he was at a loss of what to do. He couldn’t really say anything about Logan on either end, since he wasn’t really there.

“Patton, I care about you.” Virgil insisted, looking at Patton pleadingly. “Logan doesn’t, and even if he did he’s just one person. No one else here cares, but on Earth lots of people will care about you. I’m sure of it.” Virgil wasn’t sure of most things, but he knew with such a positive personality Patton had to make friends easily. Or at the very least people would care about him sympathetically after learning his story (or a version of it).

Patton couldn’t meet Virgil’s eyes. “He...He does care about me. I don’t care what you say, he does.”

Roman sighed. “Look, I don’t mean to make things worse by saying this but I really do think that Logan cares about him. Is it really so hard to believe? I mean, I care about you. And, I mean, I care about Patton too.” He might not have known Patton that well but that didn’t matter to him.

“Roman, you’re biased.” Virgil waved him away, sending the giant a glare. “And you’re certainly not helping.”

Roman was about to say something else, when there was a knock on the door. “Um...Prince Roman? Are you in there?” Roman heard a servant say and he blinked.

“Oh, uh, yes! I am!” He called out before going to the door and opening it to see the serving girl.

“Picani asked me to inform you that you need to get started on your duties.” The servant said and Roman sighed.

“Right, of course. Uh…” He turned back to look at the humans. “Tell them I will be right there.” The girl nodded and walked away. Roman closed the door and went over to the humans.

“Okay, so I gotta get going.” Roman bit his lip and looked down at Virgil. “Virgil? What are you thinking? Do you want to come with me or…?”

“I’ll stay here.” Virgil answered, keeping his eyes on Patton. Even if he couldn’t convince Patton, at least he could keep his fellow human company. It was certainly more appealing than sitting in a cage alone.

Patton was happy that Virgil would stay with him, despite everything he was saying. It would be nice to actually have some company. Especially with Logan being gone for so long nowadays. Knowing what was to come, Patton was already going back in the cage.

Roman paused for a moment to watch Patton do this. He frowned. Not too long ago he wanted Virgil to do that. But now...now it gave Roman this guilty feeling that he didn’t like. He looked down at Virgil. “...You won’t try anything if I don’t lock you guys in the cage, right?”

Virgil took a moment to truly consider it. Of course, it’d be an ideal time to escape, especially since Patton would be right here with him. But Roman was right, without magic Virgil wouldn’t be getting home on his own. Maybe it would be best to lay low and cooperate, wait to see if this plan worked out.

“No.” Virgil assured him, taking a step further from the entrance of the cage. He certainly didn’t want to be locked in a cage in a less familiar giant’s room. “But I certainly will try something if you do try and lock me up.”

Roman smirked. “Of course. Alright then, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Hopefully before Logan. Before he could dwell on it, he headed out.

#gt #Giant/tiny #thomas sanders #sanders sides #infinitesimal!sides #au #giants #human!virgil #human!patton #giant!logan #giant!roman #platonic #kingdom perspective #part 10

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shaineybainey · 5 years ago

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“Noble Intentions”

Lab Rats [T]

The Lab Rats and Mighty Med teams face off with the greatest threat to humanity yet: The Incapacitator, a supervillain bent on becoming the most powerful in the planet. …Which makes things super awkward for Leo, considering that their newest nemesis is his father. AU. Lab Rats vs Mighty Med redux.

** DISCLAIMER: SEE CHAPTER ONE FOR DISCLAIMER **

tagging: @clockradio93 @vcnting @verified-dumbass @serpent-princess @weareoutofmaplesyrupdave @aaaaahhhhh1234 @lettersandwhiteroses @breanadaveport-mendel @cecespuffs @quimbionics @hollywoodendinq

[ By the way, if anyone doesn’t like to be tagged anymore, just tell me through a DM. I appreciate the likes, but if the tagging annoys you, I’ll respectfully leave you out on the next one :) ]

TW: disturbing imagery, death of loved ones, panic triggers

V: Late Bloomer

Leo stirs, his whole body entirely too numb. He squints as his eyes sting from the flood of light shining all around him. He waits until the pain ebbs. Soon enough, he can make shapes, spot movements. But nothing is familiar.

Nothing except the overlapping Ms on the wall – one scarlet and one chrome.

“Leo? Leo, are you okay?” a shape – then a couple of shapes – approaches him. “How are you feeling?”

He withdraws from the faceless figure even though he recognizes the voice. “Chase?”

“Yes, Leo, it’s me,” the figure replies, but in Bree’s voice. He (she?) smiles. “You’ve been out a while. We’re glad you’re okay.”

“Where are we?” he asks, still trying to see through the gray haze.

“We’re on Mighty Med. It’s a hospital for superheroes,” says Adam.

“I know that. I know what Mighty Med is,” Leo says. He sits up. He sees a vague outline of a hospital room… How come he still can’t see anyone’s face? It makes his heart thump. “Who are you? Why can’t I see you?”

“The Incapacitator’s energy field must have been too much for you,” Chase replies. At least, it’s his voice.

“It’s going to be okay,” assures Bree. “The doctors said the blindness is temporary. In two days, you’ll be able to get your vision back.”

He searches their faces, still uneasy. The outlines of the shapes look like his siblings. There were four other people, although who they are he doesn’t know.

Suddenly, a worry hits him. “Where’s The Incapacitator?”

Though he doesn’t see their faces, he senses relief. “It’s over, Leo,” says Chase.

“What’s over?”

“Him. We defeated him!”

“What?”

“Yeah! He was holding you hostage,” says the figure that was Chase. Then, in Adam’s voice he adds, “It took us some time, but we figured out how to use his own power against him. Who knew it was that simple?”

“Wait. No, no, wait. I don’t understand.” He shakes his head. “You’re not making any sense. Who are you?”

“He’s dead, Leo. He imploded,” Bree says, a cold smile evident in her voice. “He died, as he should have.”

“No. No, that’s not true!” He tries to leap out of the bed, but the shapes hold him down. “What are you doing? Let go of me!”

“Why?”

Leo looks up quickly. He freezes upon seeing Krane towering over him, half of his body terribly burned just like the last time he saw him. A hole gapes at the place where his right eye should have been.

Krane grins wolfishly, blood on his teeth. “Isn’t this your fault? You should have reported him a long time ago. Maybe he would still be alive if you had.”

“We would still be alive,” S-1 agrees, appearing on the other side of him.

“You’re not quite the hero you think you are,” Krane says, his grip on his arm tightening.

The shapes press in on him, robbing him of breathing space. “No – Stop!” he screams. “Get away from me!”

But they only converge, closer and closer and closer until the shapes merge into a tangible cloud that wraps around him. Soon, the cloud turns into water that he plunges under, and then he can’t breathe.

He screams, but no sound comes out.

He gasps for air—

– Ϟ –

Leo wakes, gasping as if breaking through a surface. He defensively pulls his arm back from the person touching it, scooting away from him.

“Easy, Leo. It’s okay. You’re safe,” Joel says. “I won’t hurt you. It’s just me.”

Leo’s eyes quickly scan the room for danger. He’s in some bedroom, one he’s never seen before, and his father, wearing jeans and an ash gray t-shirt, is the only one there with him.

It all comes rushing back. Tecton, Chase, the energy lasso.

There was also the look of murder in his eyes as he grabbed him.

He retreats farther away from his father, afraid.

Joel chuckles. “Leo, I mean it. You’re—”

Leo flinches away from his touch, his heart calming but his brain still on high alert.

Joel sighs. “Right. I know. I overdid it. I’m sorry.”

“You were going to kill me.”

“I was never going to kill you. I would never. Why would I do that?”

Why would he? Leo doesn’t know. He used to think he understands why his father would do things, but now he doesn’t. “How could you lie to me?” he asks.

“Leo, you know I don’t like you being involved in the things that I do. Especially since you still stubbornly believe that there’s room for you in the superhero world.”

“But I am involved now. You hurt my family when I asked you not to!”

“I didn’t really hurt them! Everyone is still alive when we left.”

“You hurt Chase.”

“Well, the kid was kind of stupid.”

“He was still my brother!”

“Hey.” Joel points a finger at him. “Watch it. I don’t like your tone.”

The warning registers, but it does very little to allay his anger. “How could you do this? How could you hurt a lot of people like that?”

“Come on. It’s not like you don’t know that it’s just part of the job. They got in my way, I move them out.”

“But—”

“Leo, stop. Okay? Stop nagging me about this. It isn’t right,” Joel says patiently. “You know what I am. You know what I do. I understand why you’re mad, but everything I did was for a reason.”

Leo watches him indignantly as he gets up and heads towards a wardrobe. He simmers as he observes him dig through its contents.

It doesn’t make things any better when he comes back with a fresh set of clothes, smiling as if nothing happened.

His father observes him a moment before chuckling. “That must be some dream you had,” he comments. “I’ve never seen you this angry before.”

Leo says nothing and only looks away. He can’t stand his father at the moment.

“Since it seems like you won’t ask, this is the place I’ve been wanting to take you to,” Joel says. “It’s the house where I grew up. Nana’s and Pop’s house.”

Leo stubbornly keeps his mouth shut. Still, he’s moved to examine it closely. “I didn’t know it was still standing,” he mutters begrudgingly.

“Yeah,” Joel says, looking around the room fondly. “RT and I used to share this room, but when I turned 9, Nana moved Uncle RT to her sewing room downstairs.”

It’s fascinating that the childhood room of one of the most powerful supervillains in existence looks…normal. The room itself is small. Leo thinks it’s about the size of one of the sitting rooms in the Mission Creek mansion.

Pressed against the wall to his left is a study desk, a dust-covered stack of books, a decades old lamp, and a Duck Tales pencil holder sitting atop it. Right next to the study desk is the wardrobe. By the door is a shoe rack.

Everything looks so neat and normal that it’s almost disorienting. Sure, it’s obvious that not much had been touched for a long while, but he doubts that anyone would guess the kind of man the kid who used to sleep here would grow up to be.

“So, was I right? Were you having a bad dream?” his father asks. “You’re sweating like crazy.”

“Are we in Kansas?”

Though still a bit taken aback by his resistance, Joel answers. “Yeah.”

“Why did you take me with you? You didn’t need me.”

Joel shrugs. “Many reasons. Distraction, for one. Emotions run higher when there’s a hostage involve, especially when it’s a kid,” he says. “I know for sure it frazzles Tecton. That’s one of his weaknesses: his emotion tends to get the best of him in situations like this. He becomes more impulsive, more prone to make mistakes.”

“So you’re using me as a pawn.”

“I brought you here because I didn’t want to leave you behind with your new family.” He sighs. “Your stepdad is slipping. I want them to know how easily they could lose you. You’re valuable to me, Leo. I want them to feel the same fear I feel every day.”

Leo says nothing. He doesn’t know whether he should be grateful or frustrated that his father is once again stepping into his new life.

“You’re not going to tell me about your dream?” Joel prompts, smiling.

Leo stares at him, unsure. “I know you hate my new family, especially my stepdad, but you can’t keep doing this,” he says wearily. “What are we going to do if they find out that I’m your son? They’d think I’ve been in on it all along. It’s going to make a lot of things complicated.”

“Are you ashamed of me?”

“No, Dad, I never was! But after today, maybe I am.” Leo sighs. He hunches forward, gathering his thoughts. “This is putting me in a bad spot, too. I don’t want you to get hurt. I know you have your reasons why you do the things you do, and as we agreed on our deal I’m not going to interfere with anything unless it’s super bad.”

“But…?”

“But if I keep helping you, the superhero community might start viewing me as an enemy.”

“I only see that as an advantage.”

Leo only glares.

“Why do you insist on being one of them?” Joel asks. “You’re wasting so much of your time trying to earn their respect. You’re working three times as hard as your siblings, and they treat you like you don’t matter.”

“They don’t do that.”

“Yes. They do. You just don’t what to admit it.” Reading distress on his face, he says, “You’re a lot smarter than them. Take away your stepbrother’s bionic chip, and what is he? Just an average kid with an average level of intelligence.”

“But that doesn’t change the fact that—”

“That what? He creates things that work, that make money, and you don’t?” His father’s eyes have darkened, and Leo realizes that the smile was just a mask for the poisonous anger bubbling underneath. “Before you and your mother met them, you were heading towards great things. But look at what they did to you. They took everything from you. They took advantage of your loyalty, your sacrifice – and once they didn’t need you, they discarded you.”

“Please stop,” Leo mutters, the words hollowing out his heart.

Joel’s eyes soften when he realizes how it’s all hurting him. “I know the way I do things aren’t how you’d do them. But the world doesn’t look to me the way it does to you. It’s not a bright and warm place for people like us, my son. It just takes advantage of us and leaves us in the dark.”

When his son still won’t meet his eyes, he attempts a genuine smile. “I’m doing all of this for you. I don’t want you to experience the same things I’ve experienced. I know it may seem that I just want destruction, but really, what I want is a world where no one would take away anything from you.”

Leo knows what his father means; he knows the story. His dad and his uncle were only children, 10 and 7, respectively, when their parents were killed. They were able to get away from the murderers and hide in an abandoned house not far from here.

His grandfather had been close friends with a superhero at the time. They waited and waited for him, wishing that the man would show up and rescue their parents.

But the minutes only turned to hours, and hours turned to days. Even in the funeral, no superhero showed their face.

It was the day The Incapacitator was born. Injustices with no one to help only piled up, and the anger only increased until finally, everything he once was had turned into the man who sits in that room today.

Leo understands. Or, at least, he can sympathize. But why does it have to go this far? “You do know that if you drain the whole Earth of its energy, it’s possible that it would just implode in on itself,” he points out.

Joel laughs. “I just say that to spook the superheroes. You know them. They don’t do anything unless it involves drama.”

“You kidnapped me to prove a point. It’s not like you don’t.”

“I don’t. I prefer to be practical.”

“Practical? What if you get hurt?”

Joel shrugs. “Big game, big risks.”

“What if you die?” Leo asks, exasperated. “What if this is the one to end it all? You told me that your line of work is the one where people make you retire. Why would you put them in that position when you don’t have to?”

The expression on his father’s face changes. “I’m not going to explain anything to you.”

“I don’t need you to explain it to me. I don’t want to get involved in it.”

“Yes, you’ve made that very clear.”

Leo huffs. Why can’t he understand? “Dad, please. Don’t do this.”

“This is not your fight,” his father says decisively. “You’ve never wanted to be on the same side as me. I’m letting you. But don’t interfere with my plans.”

“It’s going to hurt a lot of people.”

“People die. That’s just what they do.”

“People? People like who, Nana and Pops?” Leo regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth. Horrifying still is the look of shock and hurt on his father’s face, turning the silence that ensues into something stinging.

He can kick himself. He should kick himself. He should have never gone that far. “I’m sorry, Dad. That was a terrible thing to say,” he apologizes. “It was hard on you when you lost them. I’m not as young as you were, but I don’t want you to die either. No matter how many offenses the law has listed under your name and how much they’re offering people for your capture, you’re still my dad. My world will also fall apart if something happens to you.”

For a moment, Joel only glowers at him. Then, he scoffs. “I can’t believe you know that they have a bounty on my head.”

“Well, I have to find a way to pay for college,” Leo jokes cautiously.

Joel chuckles. He’s still notably upset, but it’s obvious the tactic has worked. “So was that what you were dreaming about? That I died?”

Leo nods. “I was in Mighty Med. They told me you were dead.”

A smile teases at Joel’s face. “That upset you?”

“Of course. Who would ever want to wake up in a world where their parents are gone?” Remembering more of the dream, his frown deepens. “Krane and S-1 were also there. They told me it’s my fault that you died.”

“Krane. I took care of him a long time ago.”

“I know. It was the first time I asked you for help.” Leo hesitates before pointing out, “You know, you didn’t have to go that far. You could have just overloaded them and shorted them out. You didn’t have to…”

“Eliminate them? Of course I did. He was going to hurt you. He also didn’t seem to be the kind of guy who stops after you fire a warning shot.”

“You do know that what you did technically counts as being a hero, right?”

“Hm.”

Leo smiles for the first time. “You know, if Uncle RT finds out you—”

“Don’t.” Joel directs a steely stare at him. “Don’t mention any of the three of them anymore. I don’t want to talk about the dead right now.”

The smile on his face wanes. “Okay.”

Joel nods at the set of clothes sitting on the feet of the bed. “Change into that. You’re gonna be here a while so you might as well be comfortable.”

“Wait. You’re gonna be staying in?”

“Like I said, I’m practical. The longer you’re gone, the more desperate they’ll be. It’s easier to work with desperate people.”

“Aren’t you worried that they’ll find us here?”

“How? I fried your phone while you were sleeping, you don’t have bionics that—”

“You fried what!”

“—can trace, we’re in the middle of nowhere—” Joel smiles as he walks out the room. “They’ve got nothing.”

Leo feels like his brain has shorted out from that one information. “How could you destroy my phone? I worked hard to get that paid off!”

“I can always get you a new one,” Joel calls from down the hall.

Leo groans. That one was mine, though! “Why are you doing this to me?”

His father makes no reply.

Leo sighs, defeated. “You know, I feel like if I had superpowers, we’d be having a different conversation right now.”

His father slowly drifts to the door. “Why? Do you feel like you might?”

“I said if,” Leo says, irritated. “Let’s face it, Dad: I’m 17. Yours started showing up at 5. It’s time that we both accept that I’m a loser in that genetic department.”

“You know you’re not a loser,” says Joel. He shrugs. “You never know. Maybe you’re just a late bloomer. Maybe it’s just taking you longer.”

“Or maybe it’s really just not in me.”

“Could be trigger-based, too,” Joel muses. “Stress…”

“Had four years of that in high school.”

“Life or death situation?”

“Almost died five times, on my last count.”

Joel frowns thoughtfully. “Toxic waste?”

Leo deadpanned. “There ain’t no way I’m going to let you drop me in a pool of one just to see.”

Joel watches him closely. “Do you want superpowers?”

“I don’t think it’d make a difference at this point. I mean, it’d be cool,” Leo admits, “but if I just don’t have it, I just don’t have it.”

Joel nods thoughtfully. “Well, let me know. We could make a bid for the Arcturion if it’s something you want.” He smirks. “I have a better chance at it than she does.”

“Wait,” Leo calls after his father. He swings his feet off the bed, and it’s then that he realizes he’s chained. “Dad, what is this? Why’d you bolt me to the floor?”

“In case they do find us here!”

Leo fiddles with the lock a moment but decides to abandon it for now. “What’s the Arcturion? What’s that?”

“Do you want to help me with this one device I’d been working on? I could never get the mechanics quite right. Maybe you’d have an idea on how to fix it.”

“Yeah, sure – but what’s the Arcturion?”

Joel only chuckles. The real reason why I wanted this transponder, he thinks but as with all unspoken words Leo doesn’t hear it.

Not that he should. He has decided his son can’t know about it yet.

After all, it’s the true key for The Incapacitator to be the most powerful of them all.

#Lab Rats #Mighty Med #chapter five #Noble Intentions #Leo Dooley #The Incapacitator #Victor Krane #S-1/Taylor

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pangtasias-atelier · 5 years ago

Note

How about a Drabble of post-war Saber and Deen, now retired mercenaries, having an eating contest and both ending up very, very, VERY immobile?

Not gonna lie, seeing the very, very, VERY cracked me up so much when I first saw this request. I hope I made them big enough for you! Though I did kind of didn’t do an eating contest cause I just can’t see either of them like really doing that.

I also was 500 words into this request before I scrapped it all and stared again. (Though it won’t be lost, it’ll just get used for another fic since it would’ve been so dissonant to the rapid wg portion lol)

_____________________

“What?” Back turned to Saber, Deen’s right hand rests on the hilt of his sword. His other sword drawn, Saber sharpens it, the sound of scraping metal natural to his ears after years of mercenary work. His ears hone in on Saber’s approaching steps. Liquid squishing about, Deen shakes his head, a light grin on his face as he shakes his head. A hand on his shoulder, Deen lazily rolls his shoulder, not attempting anything more than that when Saber’s hand remains.

“C’mon, I promised a celebration, didn’t I?” Raising his other hand, Saber raises the bottle up. Light catching against it, the light reflects off the bottom. “The finest wine I’ve got,”

“Hmmph,” Deen remains seated. Raising his sword, Deen rotates it in his hand. Putting it back in his scabbard, he rises, Saber’s hand shrugged off. “You hate wine,”

“Hey,” Saber raises his other hand, already leading the way as Deen follows him. “Liquor is liquor. But this was the best chance of convincing someone like you. Besides, I got plenty more booze for me,”

“Drunkard,” Deen scoffs. Pushing his hair out of his face, he hunches as he trails slightly behind and to the right of Saber. Lush grass softening their footsteps, the two continue on in silence as they walk back. Deen little for words, the silence is pleasant, his head down as they follow the familiar beaten path. Saber leading the way, he leans back, making his way back slowly as he lackadaisically takes each step. The woods framing their trail, the dense scenery of shrubbery remains the same as they slowly inch their way closer.

“Here we go,” Saber grins as he unlocks the door to his and Deen’s base. Or ex-base, the two quitting their mercenary life. Unclasping his satchel, Saber tosses it to the side.

Deen behind him, he raises a brow at the sight.

Their table usually sparse, the sight of bread and jerky common for the two hardened mercenaries, the current form of it is a departure. Lined to the brim with varying plates unknown to Deen, each plate itself is filled to the brim, mountains of food stacked and jammed onto each silverware. In front of their chairs, a single empty plate and glass alongside utensils are placed in front of both.

“When?” Deen raising both hands, he gestures to the comical display.

“I did it all today,” Saber not matching Deen’s annoyed expression, Saber is instead proud, his hand raised as he bends down a bit, his knees bent as well. “Those altars and shards are great. And while I never appreciated magic much, if it means that I can save more money for alcohol, I have no problem with it,”

Saber’s hands crackling with signs of magic, Deen prepares himself, always on edge around such acts. Saber’s claim of magic indeed true, Deen stands stupefied for once, Saber producing food?

“No more rations for us anymore,” Saber uncaring of Deen’s flash of expressions, he instead sits down. Pouring himself some of the wine, Saber’s glass is nearly pouring, the liquid reaching the rim of it. Leaning over, he pours some for Deen as well, not as full. “To retirement!” Saber raises his glass, no spillage occuring.

Deen merely stares at him. The aroma of the food wafting to his nose, the instant Deen catches a sniff, his stomach grumbles.

“Oh come on! You’re not backing out on me after all the work I did,”

“Fine,” Deen grumbles, the strange warm magical food sounding more appetizing than more bread and dried meat. Pulling out his chair and falling into it, he raises his glass. “To retirement,” Deen rolls his eye, feeling idiotic. Taking a sip, Deen stops himself from pathetically smacking his lips, the aged wine delicious.

“Now to dig in,” Rubbing his hands together, Saber immediately reaches for whatever plate lies in front of him. Deen pays no attention to Saber’s antics, instead taking another sip of his wine as he serves himself.

Plate full of varying meats alongside rice, Deen takes a bite of the grilled chicken. The juices hitting his tongue, Deen’s eyes widen, the exquisite taste shocking him. Immediately swallowing it, Deen goes for another bite. And another and another, Deen attacking the chicken in front of him.

Swallowing the last bits of it, Deen groans as he leans back into his chair. Placing both hands on his stomach, his head jolts down. A trickle of a gut resting on his lap, he sits up straight. The sound of Saber’s hungry state now reaching his ears, Deen turns to him. Eyes somehow even wider, his barely used voice hitches in the back of his throat. Saber’s chair no longer visible, his overflowing river of rolls adorn and cover his body, Saber’s clothes already torn. Fat, stuffed face devouring any food in his way, Saber’s jowls desperately smack and gobble every morsel his sagging arms bring him.

Jumping out of his chair, Deen clutches his stomach. Arms wrapped around it, he curses as he feels the tightness of his shirt, his belt constricting his waist like a snake. Huffing, he remains in said pose, his own breath and Saber’s desperate chewing ringing in his ear. A pit larger than any sunken ruins, Deen’s body shakes. So hungry, he shakes his head, not willing to succumb to a fate akin to Saber. Gritting his teeth, his ever tightening shirt only brings him back to his other problem.

Having already eaten some of the food, however insignificant, its magic ensnares Deen, his body continuing to grow despite no longer eating. Shirt even snugger, fabric rising to accommodate for his largening ball of a gut, Deen falls back into his chair, groaning as his thighs press against each other. Food ever so closer to his face, he raises a shaky hand to it, half of his mind willing him to eat, the other half willing him to stop. Fork clenched in his hand, Deen stabs his steak, hurriedly bringing the piece to his mouth. Whimpering as his stomach knows some peace, so starved and hungry, he obediently chews before huffing, a hand rubbing his stomach.

Knowing it to be wrong, to be impossible, Deen’s mind ignores such sentiments, such desperant wanton hunger more important. Scooting his chair closer, his brain yelling at him to not waste such time, to simply eat and eat some more. Deen grabs more, his belt finally snapping, his waist no longer pincered. Desperately grabbing more food, the back of his mind continues, mentally slamming the walls of his brain, to stop, to think, to run. But the rest consoles him, whispering for him to enjoy his full, to no longer live so emaciated.

The sound of loud chewing filling the room, tearing clothes, creaking wood, dragged silverware, and scraped silverware adds to the cacophonous noise, the racket instead a symphony to both Saber’s and Deen’s brain.

Both swiping at food, their titanic forms doing so slowly, the once food riddled table quickly becomes nothing more than scraps, every morsel devoured. Saber having given in immediately, his own monumental form is nothing but corpulent. Each movement only cause another tremor of fat to toss and tumble, his prodigious rear having broken the chair and slammed into the ground long ago. Uncaring of his ever fattening form, the growing encasing of fat is unimportant, lack of mobility similarly unimportant as he first loses the ability to stand, then the ability to move his legs, then even his arms, Saber’s retention of such a lost state being left in only his digits. Unable to reach for food anymore, the little scraps that are left quickly end up devoured by Deen, his state the prelude to Saber’s fatter form. Rolling gut grazing the ground, Deen desperately grabs for the last piece left, a simple roll of bread. Sniping at it, breath lost, he wheezes as he falls back. Cramming it into his mouth, the roll goes down in a couple chews, adding to the numerous rolls lining his stomach. Food all gone, their immense size is not the end for them, the added magical growth only increasing their staggering weight. The table jammed in between their stomachs, the wood splinters just as the chairs before it, the hills of fat too much for it to bear. Their asses encroaching further and further, the oceans of lard oozes across the floor, both of their elephantine figures soon overtaking the room.

Having finished eating first, Saber’s sense of clarity returns to him. Huffing, an attempt to inspect his hands is left at that, Saber only accomplishing in wiggling his engorged digits. And barely at that. Stewing in his own obese state, Saber simply pants to catch his breath, groaning all the while. Sense of feeling his only aid, his crushing weight makes it hard to even make sense of his own immensity, where a limb should be, each is so stretched out with fat and overlapped that the task feels impossible. His own head sinking into his fat, the tire of a neck is as if a life preserver. His ass spreading out far behind him, Saber can feel how it oozes past where the room should end, more wood and rubble under it as his ass rises high into the air, the mounds of fat for an ass pressing into his own back fat. His stomach on the other side, the sides of the room is in a similar stare, his gut spreading wide and far. But not as far as Deen’s, Deen’s own corpulent form favoring his prodigious and room crushing stomach. Rolls shifting and seemingly changing with each little jostle, Deen’s stomach presses and digs into Sabers’, even overtaking it and covering it. His ass not as large as Sabers’, the statement is near meaningless with how much space it still occupies and demands. It rests and presses against the wall to outside, the entire wall groaning and bending under the sheer weight of it resting on it. Saber can barely make out Deen, his peripheral vision nearly stolen away from him with so much fat jammed onto his cheeks. Deen’s own blob of a body makes it even harder, any traits no longer distinguishable besides Deen’s mop of purple hair.

Deen wheezes in his own body, struggling and grunting as he tries to move, his only accomplishment being in panting even harder.

“What are... we gonna do?” Saber struggles to let out the sentence.

“No more food,” Both of their stomachs decide to grumble at the mere mention of food. The monstrous rumbles are more apt for a starving lost animal, the growls sounding far and wide. The tremors offer enough push, Deen’s ass breaking the last wall.

“I’ll try another spell,” Grunting, Saber’s arms refuse to cooperate, not able to lift them. “Jesse can fix this,”

“He won’t be here...,” Deen pants, his face red as the truth of their situation only slaps him harder in the fat face. “until tomorrow,”

“Fine,” Wiggling his digits, Saber conjures up more food, the magical snacks getting devoured.

Staring, Deen scoffs at Saber’s ridiculous nature. His stomach does not scoff, only wrenching at seeing food not getting eaten by himself. Fat lips pursed together, Deen groans. “Conjure some here, at least,” His stomach and brain cheer as he eats some more.

Jesse whistling, he merrily makes his way to the base, not knowing of the two blobs awaiting him. Or of their still growing state.

#my writing #fat!deen #fat!saber #fat emblem #ssbhm #immobility #fat fiction #fat!echoes

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years ago

Text

Best Part of Me - Chapter 49

Warning: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @alievans007, @ocfairygodmother

She sits on the edge of the front porch as she watches him work. The sun harsh and punishing as it beats down on broad shoulders and back, wide chest and powerful arms; rivers of sweat glistening under the brilliant light. The perspiration that dampens his hair makes it look several shades darker; sides and back freshly shaved, the top growing in quickly and beginning to fall across his forehead. Sunglasses on and barefoot, clad in only a pair of cargo shorts that sit dangerously low on his hips. Every muscle in his upper body bulging and twisting with each swing of the axe; movement easy and effortless as he chops and splinters logs from a haphazardly stacked pile Koen had left near the fire pit. It’s a thing of beauty to observe. How that body moves and the power that inhabits it. The veins that protrude in those thick, strong forearms, the multitude of scars and tattoos that use his skin as a canvas.

Even after nearly seven years together and five children, it’s hard NOT to lust after someone that looks like THAT. He’s the embodiment of masculinity; brawn and immense strength, bravado and confidence without the air of cockiness. Rough skin and large callused hands and an intensity and edge that are always lingering just under the surface. But there’s other things that make him the man he is. The compassion and the gentleness that he possesses; extraordinary patience and an ability to keep calm, cool, and collected even when the rage is beginning to build. It’s the way he’s so secure in that masculinity; never shying away from things like braiding his little girl’s hair and daring anyone to tell him it’s not the most manly EVER. It's the ferocity behind his desire to protect what -and who he considers ‘his’; a steadfast loyalty and faithfulness that never breaks. When he loves, he loves big. He’s ‘all in; dedicating his entire heart and soul and giving nothing but fierce and unwavering devotion.

She’s the lucky one. The beneficiary of it all. Never remembering a time that someone had given that much of themselves to her; never questioning their feelings or second guessing her own. No one else had ever made her feel the things he does. Not just a mix of overwhelming and all consuming love and unbridled carnal want and need, but the feeling of being safe and secure. That knowledge that someone will do anything...stop at nothing...to protect her. Mark had only ever been interested in hurting others; dedicating himself to inflicting as much emotional and physical pain and turmoil as he could. Tyler commits himself to fixing those things; quietly -and without needing acknowledgement or praise- attempting to right another man’s wrongs.

He’s grinning as he approaches. Wiping dirty palms against the thighs of his shorts, swiping a forearm across his sweaty brow. “What are you smiling about?”

“Just admiring the scenery,” Esme says, and takes a sip from the bottle of beer in her hand. “And it’s very nice scenery.”

That grin widens, and he places a hand on either side of her, palms flat against the wood of the porch; bending down and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “And you call me biased.”

“All the women thirsting after you are proof I’m NOT biased. Cashiers at the grocery store, moms on the playground, at the school. Millie’s teacher. I hear she’s very determined when it comes to you. That she tried picking you up at the bar the other night.”

“Who told you that?”

“Ovi. Don’t underestimate his loyalty to me. He told me she was trying to jump on your dick. And that she didn’t seem to be taking no for an answer.”

“I might have been a little harsh.”

“You? Harsh? Never.”

He smirks.

“He also told me that you were a good boy. That you behaved yourself.”

“You were worried I wouldn’t?”

“I wasn’t worried about what you’d do. Some of those women are very persuasive.”

“They can try all they want. My dick’s taken. That’s what I told her. It belongs to someone else. Yours is the only pussy it wants to be in.”

Esme’s eyes widen. “You said that? Those exact words?”

“That was loosely translated. But I did say my dick was taken and that no one other pussy can hold a candle to yours.”

“Oh God…” she lays a hand against her forehead. “...Tyler…”

“In my defence, I was pretty drunk.”

“I have no doubt in my mind that you would have still said it if you’d been sober. That’s such a Tyler thing to say.”

He shrugs. “I have absolutely zero filter left.”

“I know. Believe me, I know. You’re usually a man of few words, but when you DO talk…”

“I say what I mean, and I meant what I say.”

“Exactly. This should make trips to school very interesting, to say the least.”

“Is it wrong I’m looking forward to parent/teacher interview night? Seeing her squirm? Wanna make out in front of her?”

“She’d probably enjoy that.”

“You like girls too. Is she your type?”

“I am going to pretend you didn’t say that. Because even if she was, I don’t cheat and I don’t share my toys. Especially my favorite one. My ALL TIME favorite. So if you’re into that kind of thing, you need a different wife.”

“Only thing...person...I’m into, is you.” He leans in and kisses her; soft and languid.

She isn’t bothered when sweat drips onto her from his forehead and hair, nor does she mind the salty taste of it on his lips. And the tip of his tongue briefly brushes against her before he pulls away, chuckling when she digs her nails into the back of his neck; pressing her lips to the underside of his chin and nuzzling her nose against his throat.

“I probably stink,” he warns.

“You smell good. You smell like Tyler. And that’s the best smell in the world.”

He smiles at that, then runs a hand over her hair before pecking her cheek. “Longer we’re married, the sappier you get,” he teases, and then takes a seat beside her, grimacing at the discomfort in his back.

“I thought you said earlier I was getting cuddlier?” She reaches behind her for a second bottle of beer, twisting off the cap before offering it to him.

“You’re getting both,” he says, accepting the beer and pressing a kiss of appreciation to her temple. It’s his first drink since they’d arrived. After getting his first taste of it after six months of sobriety, he’d thought he’d want more. That he’d NEED it. But the longing and feelings of desperation and the ghosts of dependency have settled down. It would have been easy to fall back into his old ways; faced with the multitude of booze Koen keeps scattered around the kitchen. But it hasn’t ‘called’ to him; the burdens and baggage of addiction surprisingly silent.

“Do you not know what sunscreen is?” Esme inquires, and he hisses when she presses her ice cold bottle against the back of his neck. “You’re going to be hurting tomorrow.”

“Can’t get much worse than I’m already hurting.”

She frowns. “That bad?”

He nods and takes a large swallow of beer.

“Knee? Shoulder? Back?”

“Back mostly. The other two feel pretty good for a change.”

“You need to be more careful. Once your back goes, you’re fucked. Maybe that’s what did it,” she presses the fingertips of one hand into the most troublesome spot; left side, middle of the spine, but close to the shoulder blade. Where the sniper’s bullet in Dhaka had torn into him. “The fucking. Maybe you can’t partake in such strenuous activity anymore.”

He scowls. "You be quiet.”

“I’m just saying. You’re getting older and it would make sense if you start to slow down and your stamina starts to falter.”

“Just put a bullet in my brain. Do it. End it. Because the day I can’t do THAT…”

“What are you going to do if you ever need Viagra?” she teases, and digs her knuckles into his back.

“You know what…?”

She grins and presses a kiss to his shoulder. “What?”

“You’re not making me feel any better. I WILL shoot myself if that ever happens. The day I can’t get it up is the day I lose all will to live.”

“Don’t be such a baby. It's not the end of the world if that happens.”

“Fuck yeah it is. “

“And you question where Millie gets her dramatics from?”

“I am serious. That ever happens, I give you permission to put a gun to my head and pull the trigger. Put me out of my misery.”

“Not going to happen. You’re stuck with me. Even if you do get limp dick. I’m not letting you leave me with God knows how many grandchildren. We’re supposed to spoil them together, remember? You’re not allowed to die. I won’t let you.”

“I’m too fucking stubborn to die anyway.”

“I’m starting to think that’s true.”

She traces a fingertip over the scar left behind from the sniper’s bullet; the size of a dime and no longer raised or puckered. It’s the accompanying scar that’s worse; long and thin and jagged in some areas. Where the surgeon had to open him up and go in to locate the source of internal bleeding and repair a section of his left lung. It would be easy to hate all those marks; all those parts of his body that have been damaged and torn apart. But they’re part of who he is. Testaments to just how strong and tenacious he is. Proof of his survival and how far he’s come.

“That one’s getting a lot better,” she remarks, as her fingers find the scar left behind from when Farhad had shot him, along with the one beside it; another surgical incision that had been needed to keep him alive. “It’s taken a long time.”

“Doesn’t bother you as much anymore.” It’s an observation. Not a question.

“Not really. I try not to think about the back story. And speaking of back…” her fingers glide over the multitude of deep, red gouges that travel both horizontally and vertically, some even overlapping. “...I wonder what happened here?”

Tyler smirks. “Gee. I wonder.”

“Sorry. I got a little carried away.”

“Just a little,” he grins, as he leans in to kiss her. Laying a hand on her thigh, he gently spreads her legs and nods down at his own handiwork. “Sorry I bit you so hard.”

Esme grins. “You’re not sorry at all.”

“Actually, I’m not.”

She gives a derisive snort, then kisses his shoulder and leans into him; beer in one hand, the other resting on his lower back. “For the record, you need to unleash your inner lumberjack more. That was sexy to watch.”

“And you say I never do anything nice for you,” he chides.

“You’ve got the whole vibe going on. You’ve got the body, you’ve got the beard. Just need to get you a plaid shirt.”

“Fuck that. Look, I don’t mind fulfilling your little fantasies, but I have to draw the line somewhere. No plaid.”

“Fine,” she huffs dramatically. “At the very least a tight white t-shirt.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re weird?”

“Only you. Every day. For almost seven years. You put up with it though. I notice you stick around despite it.”

“I’d miss it too much. Your weirdness. You in general.”

She grins. “And you call me sappy?”

They lapse into a companionable silence. Nursing their beers as they enjoy the peace and quiet; no sound save for the faint rustling of the trees and bushes as the breeze passes through them. It’s unusual; not being surrounded by noise and activity. Their lives normally filled with chaos, even on the best days. And while they miss the normality of it -the kids voices, their bickering, the baby crying- it’s a relief to get away from it for a little while. A chance to be alone together instead of having to battle for even a sliver of attention. Days often going by before they even have a normal conversation. So caught up in being parents that they’d forgotten what it was like to need each other. And Tyler drapes an arm across her shoulders and pulls her tightly against him; lips finding her temple, her hand moving to his side.

“Allison called,” Esme says, and places her now empty beer bottle beside her. “She said she couldn’t get through to your cell.”

“Battery’s dead. I haven’t bothered to charge it.”

“Disconnecting from the world. Your dream come true,” she teases.

“What did she want?”

“I had no clue what she was talking about. She said to tell you that she’ll send someone to do a thorough search and get back to you with any news.”

He nods.

“Tyler…”

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to stress more.”

“Oh fuck me. What now?”

“It’s probably nothing. Which is another reason why I didn’t say anything. Why freak you out and then it turns out to be nothing?”

“Whatever it is, are the kids going to be okay? Should we have stayed home?”

“We made the right decision coming here,” he assures her. “We NEEDED to come here. And if it were something to worry about..if my instincts told me something was wrong...I would have been the first to cancel everything and insist we stay home.”

“So what is it? What do you have Allison looking into?”

“Millie saw something. SOMEONE. Or she thinks she did.”

“She told you that? That she saw someone? Where? Doing what?”

“She said she saw some lady going into the woods. That she yelled at this person to stop and she didn’t listen to her and kept going. I guess she told Ovi and he went and checked and didn’t find anything. Thinks it was probably just someone trying to get to the beach without going right on our property.”

“What do YOU think?”

Tyler shrugs. “I don’t know what to think. It’s easy to think the worst. Especially right now. But Ovi’s probably right. Probably nothing.”

“But you believe her? Millie? You believe she saw someone?”

“She wouldn’t lie about something like that. She even gave me a good description; pretty detailed. She’s crazy smart. Too smart for her own good. And insanely observant. It’s almost scary HOW observant she is. How keen her senses are.”

“Does that sound familiar? I told you; she’s just like you. She even has your instincts. She saw the Jeep driver; same time you did. And she’s not even six yet and she’s like that?”

“I’d be impressed...and proud...if it didn’t freak me out so much.”

“She’s YOUR daughter. She has so much of you in her. I see more and more every day; you coming out in her. And that’s not a bad thing, Tyler. Think of all the amazing things she’ll be able to do when she’s older with skills like that.”

“That’s what scares me. What if she’s the one that follows in my footsteps?”

“I highly doubt Millie will grow up and want to be a mercenary. That girl loves her glitter way too much.”

He gives a small laugh.

“Can you imagine her with a pink Glock with a bejewelled grip? That would be Millie as a merc. Or she’d have a pink holster with Hello Kitty embroidered on it. THAT'S your daughter. She is not the one you have to worry about. My money is on Tanner. He’s flying under the radar; no one suspects him. I think he’s conning us all.”

“I never did get my fifteen bucks that he scammed me out of. Or should I say my seven fifty. Because I know full well you took the other half. You’re the one who put him up to it; don’t even try denying it. That had you written all over it. I’ve seen how you work. I saw you scam people in Dhaka. I heard you scam them in Ireland. You’re good.”

“It’s always the ones you least expect,” Esme reasons. “Us little ones are always the last ones anyone is ever suspicious about. But I’m not admitting to anything when it comes to Tanner.”

“He’s a momma’s boy. You could talk him into anything.”

“I plead the fifth.”

“That doesn’t work here. This is Australia. Not the States.”

“I’m not copping to anything. No matter how much you badger me about it.”

He grins. “I have ways you know. Ways of getting it out of you.”

“What are you going to do? Waterboard me? Go all Guantanamo Bay on my ass?”

“A lie detector test. A very accurate one.”

“Oh really…” her eyes playfully sparkle. “...what lie detector test?”

“It’s my own. I made it up. I developed it.”

“Sure you did…”

“All I have to do…” he leans into her, pressing a series of kisses along the left side of her neck and across her shoulder. “...is this…” he slides a hand up the leg of her shorts, then splays his finger; one coming in contact with the crotch of her panties, the other with the back. “...one finger here...one finger there…and…” he bites down on the sensitive spot between her neck and her shoulder.

She’s laughing as she pushes him away. “You dick! That hurt!”

“I WAS going to do this…” he removes his hand from her shorts and grabs at her inner thing.

“Ow!” She yells, then dissolves into giggles and collapses onto her back as his fingers dig and pinch and aggressively tickle. “Tyler! You shit head! Stop! You’re going to make me pee my pants! Don’t be such an asshole!”

“You gonna admit to it?” His hand hand slides down to her knee, then back up again; passing over the crotch of her pants before settling on her stomach. “That you had something to do with it?”

“Never,” she declares. “You can’t get it out of me. You’ll never make me crack.”

“Oh, I can. And I will. You’re not the only one with special skills.” He pulls up the bottom of her tank top, mouth warm and moist against as he licks a path just above the waistband of her shorts.

“Fuck you and your special skills,” she playfully retorts, and then squeals when he sinks his teeth into the flesh at the bottom of her right ribs. “What is wrong with you?! I’m going to have marks everywhere!”

“You mean like my back?”

“I have to mark what’s mine. My territory. And your ribs are pretty torn up, too. Sorry.”

“It’s a small price to pay,” he says, and then leans to kiss her. “Hungry?”

“Mmm...hmmm…” she arches her back and presses her hips against him.

“I meant for food. And you have the nerve to call me ‘extra’ when it comes to sex lately.”

“I can’t help it. I can’t help that my husband is insanely sexy and turns me on when he so as much looks at me. I should have married someone uglier.”

“Maybe you should have worked with Gaspar,” he teases. “Doesn’t get much uglier than that.”

“I would have throat punched him for sure. Or killed him. He was too fucking creepy and way too fucking psychotic. That story you told me? About shooting the doves? That was fucked. Doves. Of all birds. Like the hell? I can’t believe you were ever friends with that guy. You’re nothing alike. What did you ever bond over?”

“Killing people.”

“Well THAT’S healthy.”

“Drinking. I was drunk most of the time I was around him. So I wasn’t the best judge of character. Are you hungry or not?”

She nods. “I could eat.”

“We’ll cook something out here. On the fire. Sound good?”

She nods. “I’ll whip up some sides. I have to make sure you keep the tank full. I don’t want to wear you out.”

“You can try, but you never will.”

“You’ve got five years on me,” she reminds him. “I’m still a youngin' compared to you. Pretty soon people are going to start thinking you’re my father.”

“Fuck you. I don’t look THAT old.”

“Older brother, then.”

He frowns. “That’s some Jerry Springer shit.”

“An American reference! After six and a half years of being married to me, you finally used an American reference. ‘I’m so proud of you, Tyler James.”

“You know…” his fingers pull down the bottom of her tank. “You’re lucky I love you.”

She smiles and lifts her head to kiss him. “Yes, I am.”

“I’m going to go and take a shower. Wanna come with?”

“What? You need me to scrub your back?”

A sly grin spreads across his face. “Among other things.”

****

With the sun down, the temperature has dropped considerably; breeze stronger, the cooler air trapped by the mountains surrounding them. After a dinner prepared over open flame, they lounge by the fire; nothing more than a blanket spread on the ground, his legs outstretched as she sits between them with her back pressed against his chest. One of her hands in possession of a glass of wine -the now half empty bottle sitting beside her- and the other resting on the forearm he has laying across her collarbone. He’s only on his second beer of the day; still three quarters full and in no rush to finish it. It’s a good sign. He won’t be tempted to get heavily back into it in Mumbai; able to be fully engrossed and focused on the job at hand. There’s too much to lose; his entire existence, his whole world. There will be no second chances if he fucks up; he can’t afford to make any mistakes when it's his own family involved.

He’d promised himself he wouldn’t think about it. Mumbai. Mahajan and all his threats. He’d told himself he’d push them all onto the back burner; he’d think of nothing but their time away together. That he’d concentrate on nothing...no one...other than her and the reconnecting that they’re so badly in need of. But when nighttime settles, the dark thoughts always return. It’s when he’s most anxious. When things are quiet and still and he suddenly has time to think; both mind and hands idle. And now he can’t stop dwelling on it. On how he leaves for India in nine days time and whether or not he’s making the right decision when it comes to the people he’s taking along. Questioning whether it’s better to have a solid and structured game plan ahead of time, or if he should just let things fall into place once he gets there; go in with nothing but that list of names and decide there and then how to dispose of them. Does he have all his ‘ducks in row’ at home; up to date life insurance policy, recent version of a will, an intricately carved out -and written out- plan on what Esme’s to do if he DOESN’T make it back? So engrossed with all the thoughts of doom and gloom, that he hadn’t even realized she was speaking to him until he feels her hand on the side of his face; that simple contact snapping him out of it, eyes not focusing on that concerned face looking at him.

“Are you alright?” she asks, and even in the glow of the campfire he can see the glassiness of her eyes and the flush to her cheeks; side effects of all the wine she’s consumed. It’s been months since she’d indulged in even a drop; cutting it out entirely once she found out she was pregnant with Addie. And the return to it is hitting her hard and fast.

“Yeah,” Tyler gives a reassuring smile. “I’m fine.”

“Did you even hear what I said?”

He shakes his head.

“What were you thinking about? You looked really intense there for a minute. Like you were going to rip someone’s head off.”

“I must have zoned out. Wasn’t really thinking about anything. What did you say?”

“I asked if you heard back from Allison. About that woman Millie saw.”

“My phone’s inside. Charging. She’ll leave a message. Or call yours.”

“I haven't had a signal for hours.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” he says, pressing a kiss to her cheek before she turns back around. “No one can bother us. Isn’t that what we want? Just get away from everything? Everyone?”

“We do have five kids at home,” she reminds him. “Someone should be able to get a hold of us if there’s an emergency.”

“Everything will be fine. No emergencies.”

“And this thing with the woman? The one Millie thinks she saw?”

“She definitely saw her. Just like she saw that guy in the Jeep. She didn’t imagine it and she’s definitely not making it up. Her description was too good and she’s adamant that she saw this person. Even got pissed when the boys suggested she was imagining things. There’s no doubt in my mind that she saw someone.”

“Do you think it’s something to worry about?”

“If I did, we wouldn’t be here right now and you know that.”

“I DO know that. I know you’d stop at nothing to keep them safe...to keep us ALL safe...if you thought there was a legitimate threat. It just sucks that we even think about things like this.”

“Yeah, it does. But that’s what you get for getting mixed up with me.”

“Don’t start. I knew what I was getting into it. I knew what kind of life you were living and all the toes you’d stepped on along the way. It didn’t matter to me. I just wanted to be with you. I can handle whatever comes with it. With you.”

“YOU can. But what about our kids? We probably should have thought about that beforehand.”

“It was too late to think about anything. Millie was on her way; whether we were prepared or not. And regardless of what you did...what you DO...for a living, you deserve to have a life. You deserve to be happy and be surrounded by people who love you and need you and want you around. I know you don’t think you deserve all of that, but you do. More than anyone else deserves it.”

Smiling, he presses a kiss to her temples and then takes a swallow of beer.

“And I know you sometimes think it's selfish; for getting married and having kids and bringing all of us into a life like this. But it’s not. You’re not a selfish person, Tyler. You’re selfless, if anything. You always have been.”

“You think pretty highly of me,” he teases.

“I do. I’m pretty fond of you, actually. I’m going to keep you. My life would suck if you weren’t in it. Do you remember our old apartment?”

“Just outside of Sydney. Yep. How could I forget that place? First time I’d lived with someone in five years. If you can call it living with someone; I was only there on weekends when I was allowed home from the rehab place.”

“I kind of miss that apartment,” she muses. “It wasn’t much, but it was ours. Even if we had to sleep on a mattress on the floor for six months. We didn’t have a lot, but we were happy there. YOU were happy. Even when you were in all that pain and you were exhausted and frustrated with all the therapies and the progress you didn’t think you were making. You never once bitched or moaned or felt sorry for yourself. You were never miserable. You were just happy.”

“You’re saying I’m not happy now?”

“No. I know you are. I see it every time you’re with your kids. It’s just that you were going through so much...you’d just BEEN through so much...and you never let it break you.”

“I couldn’t let it break me. I had you. We had a baby on the way. You both needed me. I HAD to keep going. For the two of you.”

“Remember the first night we brought Millie home? And she cried. A lot.”

“She cried all night,” Tyler recalls. “So did you. I think you cried more than she did. I had two crying women to deal with.”

“I was so frustrated and exhausted and depressed and scared. I was terrified of being a shitty mom. And you were so good with her. With both of us. I remember how you walked the apartment with her for hours. Just holding er and rubbing her back and talking to her; your voice was so soft and so calm and you were so patient. I watched you with her and I swear I’d never seen anything more beautiful. You with a baby. OUR baby. I didn’t think I could love any more than I already did, and then I watched you being a dad.”

He brushes the tip of his nose against her ear, then kisses it. “How drunk are you?”

“I’m not drunk. I’m sentimental. I can’t help it. Being here with you...ALONE with you...it has me all up in my feels. We’ve never gotten this; this time together. Even when we were in Ireland, it was never about us. It was about the job. This is the first time in nearly seven years where it’s just me and you. And I like it. Being this way with you.”

“So do I. We needed this.”

“We did,” she agrees. “Sometimes it feels as if we don’t exist outside of being parents and raising kids together. Like we’ve completely forgotten about each other and what’s like to be an actual couple. Not just a mom and dad. And I’ve missed seeing you like that. As more than that.”

“I missed that too. I’ve missed you.” He presses a kiss to her temple and tightens his hold on her, forearm sliding further up onto her neck. “I’ve missed US.”

“Things are so much better now. Since we moved here. Being in Colorado was nice, but being here is better. You’re different when you’re here. You’re not as stressed; not on edge so much. You’re more relaxed. Grounded, I guess. You’re in your happy place.”

“Well it’s home,” Tyler reasons. “I just needed someone to MAKE it a home with.”

She smiles and turns her face into his, placing a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “You can be really sweet and cute, you know that?”

“Don’t you start.”

“It’s true,” she laughs, and then pecks his cheek before turning to face the fire once more. “I don’t care how much you hate hearing it. It doesn’t make you soft or weak or less of a man for being like that. Far from it. It actually makes you even more attractive. And sexy. That you can be like this with me. That you’re not afraid to be emotional or sentimental. Or vulnerable.”

“You’re the only person I CAN be that way with.”

“I’m lucky. I get all these different sides of you that no one else gets to see. It’s like hiding this huge secret from the rest of the world. One that they’ll never, ever, figure out. You’re a mystery to everyone else. I’m the only one who really knows you.”

“Yeah,” Tyler agrees. “You are.”

“Your secret is safe with me. I promise I won’t tell anyone that you cry during Fox and the Hound and Inside Out. I know you have a reputation to uphold.”

He grins. “What reputation is that?”

“The guy that took out a whole apartment of hostiles in Dhaka. Who humiliated Amir Asif. Who took a bullet to the neck AND lived. You really ARE too stubborn to die.”

“Or I’m just lucky.”

“Maybe some of both?”

“Maybe. Or maybe it has something to do with someone putting their fingers in my neck to keep me alive AFTER I got shot.”

“I don’t want to talk about that,” Esme says. “I did what I had to do. You would have done the same thing. You wouldn't have left me on that bridge.”

“Not in a million years.”

“I almost thought you were going to leave me the first day, though. When I pissed you off in the market. You were so mad. I thought for sure you were going to dump my ass in the street somewhere. I don’t think I’ve seen you that angry since. Except for that time that weird guy followed me home from the post office because he wanted to ask me out and didn’t believe me when I told him I was married.”

“I could have killed that fucking guy.”

“You were so pissed! ” she recalls. “I thought he was going to shit his pants when you walked out of the house. He wasn’t expecting there to even be a husband, never mind one that looks like you. And then he tried to get all macho and mouthy and actually thought he could take you. You only had like six inches and fifty pounds on him.”

Tyler smirks. “Wasn’t much of a fight.”

“It was two hits. You hitting him, and him hitting the ground. My hero,” she presses a kiss to his forearm. “My knight in slightly tarnished armour.”

“Nothing I wouldn’t do for you. You know that.”

“Yeah, I do,” she smiles. “And just so you know, I’d fight a bear for you.”

“You would, would you?”

“Maybe not a black bear or a polar bear or a grizzly. And maybe not a koala because they’re sketchy as fuck. But a Care Bear. I’d fight a Care Bear for you.”

He laughs at that, and she’s giggling when she turns her face into his and kisses him. Nails digging into his forearm through the fabric of his hoodie, her tongue gentle yet insistent as it pushes its way past his lips and teeth; his hand moving up to cup her cheek. “I’ve got something for you.” he says.

“My other surprise?”

He nods.

“And this one is definitely from you? Not the kids?”

“Just from me.”

“It’s not even my birthday. Or our anniversary. And Christmas was only two months ago and we’re past Valentine’s Day. So what’s it for?”

“It’s not for anything. It's a ‘just because’ kind of surprise.”

“Just because what?”

“Just because I felt like it. And because I love you.”

She grins. “And you say you’re not sappy.”

“Here,” he digs into one of the pockets on his hoodie and pulls out a small black velvet box, offering it to her.

Her eyes narrow. “What did you do?”

“What do you mean what did I do? I didn’t do anything. I wanted to buy you something so I bought you something.”

“Just because?”

“Yep. Just because.”

“Tyler…”

“Esme…”

“What is this?”

“Just take it. It’s yours. Just open it.”

“I’m kind of scared to.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve done something you didn’t have to do and I’m going to get all emotional and up in my feels and you hate when I get all up in my feels and ugly cry.”

He smirks. “If it happens, I’ll deal with it. Just open it.”

“Okay…” she takes the box from him, turning her body sideways and draping both legs over his thigh. “AM I going to cry?”

“Knowing you? Probably.”

“You’re trouble. Making me cry.”

“It’ll be a good cry. I promise.”

“Alright…” she says, and then pops open the lid of the box, tears immediately glistening in her eyes; lower lip trembling as she looks from the ring nestled inside, to him, then back down again.

It isn’t over the top of outlandish; something simple and classic for a woman that’s never cared about the materialistic things in life. Who was happy in that small apartment outside of Sydney and who would have been just as happy in a shack in the outback. But the solitaire diamond sparkles brilliantly in the glow cast by the fire, as does the rose gold band it’s set in.

“You like it?” he asks.

She nods, and he presses a kiss to her forehead and uses a thumb to clear the tears off her cheeks. “It’s beautiful,” she breathes. “YOU’RE beautiful. Why…?”

“Millie asked why you didn’t have one. She said you guys watched some wedding show on tv and that all the ladies have engagement rings and why didn’t you have one?”

“She’s pretty observant that daughter of yours. Did you tell her that I never expected one or asked for one or really wanted one?”

“I told her that when we got married, we didn’t have a lot of money and you said you didn’t care about things like diamonds and fancy shit. That you were happy with just a wedding band.”

“Which is true. I’ve always been happy with just that.”

“I know. But she asked why we’d been married forever and you still didn’t have one. So I figured I better get my shit together and show my daughter that I’m not some douche that doesn’t love her mother.”

“I don’t need a ring to know you love me. You find ways to let me know you do. You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to. It shouldn’t have taken me six and a half years.”

“I wouldn’t have cared if it took you sixty,” Esme says. “And it’s beautiful and it’s perfect and you’re beautiful and perfect and I don’t deserve it. Or you.”

“Now you’re just talking shit. You deserve more than that. More than me.”

“Now YOU’RE talking shit,” she counters.

“How about we don’t talk shit about ourselves,” Tyler suggests. “Here..” he takes the box from her, setting it on his thigh and then plucking the ring from its confines. “...hand.”

She grins. “You’re so romantic. There’s the Tyler I know and love. Did you tell your daughter you asked me to marry you in the bathroom?”

“I did actually.” He slips the ring onto her finger and then presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “I told her you were pregnant with her and that you were worried you were getting fat and ugly. That I thought you were the most beautiful woman in the world and I said ‘marry me’ and that was it. There was never really a question.”

“It was a very Tyler like way of asking though. And I said ‘okay’, so technically, it WAS a proposal. In our own weird way.”

“Weird seems to be our thing.”

“I prefer unconventional,” she says, then kneels between his legs. “We’re unconventional. Not weird. We’ve never been normal, per say. We started out in a very unconventional way and we’ve kept it going ever since. Maybe that’s what makes us so good together. We don’t expect normal from each other.”

His hands settle on her hips. “Maybe.”

“I mean, I married a mercenary. That’s about as far from normal as you can get.”

“You had your chance, you know. To get away. You could have said no.”

“Your eyes and your ass were way too nice to say no to.”

He grins.

“And I don’t care what you did...or do...for a living,” she declares, his face cradled in her hands as she kisses him softly. “I would have said yes a million times over.”

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fiction #tyler rake fan fic #extraction #best part of me #chris hemsworth character

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heartofether · 4 years ago

Text

Episode 6 - Open Eyes TRANSCRIPT

[You can listen to the show wherever you get your podcasts, or go to our “Listen” page if you’re on desktop.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

Please state your message.

[THEME MUSIC AND INTRODUCTION PLAYS.]

VAL

Three-Eyed Frog Presents: The Heart of Ether.

[THEME CONTINUES BEFORE COMING TO A STOP.]

[PHONE BEEP.]

[EXT. OUTSIDE OF THE BOOKSTORE.]

[THERE ARE FAINT WIND NOISES IN THE BACKGROUND.]

IRENE

[MUTTERS] I hope this recording still sounds okay.

Other than the cracked screen, I haven’t run into any issues with my phone since I dropped it due to a…mishap, in my search. I can probably try to get the screen replaced at some point, but Aiden was right about backing up my recordings.

I’m not sure how I would react if I lost all of them. I mean, do I even need to keep them? I don’t usually go back and listen to them, but…I mean, I guess I have an emotional attachment to them.

It’s fine for now. I’ll look into saving them when I get home. Right now, I’m at the Open Eyes Bookstore. I know I’ve mentioned coming here before, but this is the first time I’m actually here.

I’m hoping there might be something here about the thing I saw in the woods. I have sort of a theory going right now—and okay, sure, I don’t have much evidence, but here me out.

Bernard Kelly Valencia, the guy who used to live in my house, hung out with the previous owner of this shop a lot. They always seemed dedicated to some sort of mysterious research, right? I think they might have known more about this creature than I do, and while Dorothy Wood passed away, her bookstore is still standing. There might be something in there that explains all of this.

I’m looking through the window right now. There’s nobody in there but a young girl with a cane. To be fair, I think they’re about to close. I came here a bit late.

Well, guess there’s nothing left but to go in.

[A BELL CHIMES AS IRENE OPENS THE SHOP DOOR. “I DO” BY ROSEMARY ROMANO IS FAINTLY PLAYING FROM A RADIO OR SPEAKER IN THE BACKGROUND.]

PHOEBE

[FROM A SLIGHT DISTANCE] Oh, hello! Welcome.

IRENE

Hey there.

[THE DOOR CLOSES. THERE’S FOOTSTEPS, ACCOMPANIED BY THE TAP OF A CANE, AS PHOEBE WALKS OVER.]

PHOEBE

[IN RANGE] Welcome, um, welcome to Open Eyes! I don’t think I’ve seen you here before?

IRENE

Nope, I’m new in town.

PHOEBE

Oh, um, neat! That’s neat. Um, let me know if you need help?

IRENE

Got it. [A BEAT.] Dorothy Wood used to own this shop, right?

PHOEBE

[SHE SWALLOWS.] Yes. I’m, uh, actually her granddaughter.

I’m Phoebe Wood.

IRENE

[TAKEN ABACK] Oh, that’s cool. Uh, hi. I’m Irene. It’s nice to meet you.

PHOEBE

Oh, the pleasure’s mine. [A BEAT.] I mean, uh, nice to meet you, too. [AWKWARDLY] Yeah.

If you’re here for Dorothy, then I’m really sorry, but she’s not alive anymore. I’ve taken over the shop since, though, so if you need to talk to the owner, that’s—uh—that’s me!

IRENE

I knew that, don’t worry. You’ve been running this shop by yourself, though?

PHOEBE

[SHE GIVES A SHAKY BREATH.] For the most part, yes. It’s, um, it’s been fun! I think. [beat] I mean, really, really stressful, because I haven’t hired anyone else yet because I don’t even know how to run a— [SHE STOPS HERSELF.] It’s fine. It’s fun!

IRENE

It sounds like a lot, though.

PHOEBE

I’m okay! It’s okay, I promise. Sorry.

IRENE

It’s really nice in here, though. It’s cozy, I guess in the best word?

PHOEBE

[SINCERE] Thank you. Lots of the decor is left behind by my grandma. People, er, they came here a lot before she died because she made it feel like a home.

[REASSURING] Business is still good, though, don’t worry. Still, I try my best to take care of the plants she left behind; Make sure the shop still feels like a home. I mean, for me, it is a home—I live in her old apartment on the second story. [GROWING DISTANT] I want to start to incorporate more things I like, but…it feels too soon, I guess.

[COMING BACK TO HERSELF] Sorry, I’m so sorry. [MUTTERS] Jeez, I was rambling.

What can I help you find today?

IRENE

I’m… [HESITANT] Okay, this is going to sound really weird, but do you have any books about…monsters?

[A PAUSE.]

PHOEBE

[CONFUSED] You mean, mythology? Or, horror books?

IRENE

No, not that.

[A FEAR LINGERS UNDER HER VOICE.] I saw something in the forest. It was big, and it came up from the ground, and it saw me without any eyes. I know you might not know what I’m talking about. If you decide to just kick me out of your store, that’s fine. [DESPARATE] I need to know what I saw, though.

…do you think you have any books to help with that?

PHOEBE

[QUIET] Oh.

[SHE REALIZES, THEN, IN SURPRISE] Oh! Right. You, uh—

[MUMBLING TO HERSELF] Well, heh, she said that—I don’t know if —

IRENE

[OVERLAPPING, CONCERNED] Hey, if you want me to leave, I can—

PHOEBE

[CUTTING IRENE OFF] Follow me.

IRENE

...okay?

PHOEBE

I— [SHE FORCES A NERVOUS CHUCKLE.] I think there’s something in the backroom you should see.

IRENE

Oh. Okay, sure.

[THERE’S FOOTSTEPS, ALONG WITH PHOEBE’S CANE, AS THEY GO TO THE BACKROOM. PHOEBE OPENS THE DOOR. SHE FLICKS THE LIGHT SWITCH SEVERAL TIMES.]

PHOEBE

Come inside.

[THEY ENTER THE ROOM. PHOEBE CLOSES THE DOOR, AND THE BACKGROUND SONG FADES TO A STOP.]

IRENE

[ASTOUNDED] What is all this?

PHOEBE

My grandma’s research.

[PHOEBE WALKS FURTHER INTO THE ROOM TO BEGIN SEARCHING.]

IRENE

There’s so much of it, though. That’s a hell of a lot of reading material.

PHOEBE

[ALMOST BITTER] Well, it would be if all of it actually meant something!

IRENE

What do you mean?

PHOEBE

[GUILTY] Oh, sorry. It’s just that most of this doesn’t make any sense.

When my grandma died, she left me a letter where she pretty much left me the shop. She said that this room right here was the most important room—that all of the information here was vital, and needed protecting, and that I should only let very specific people see it.

You’re uh—heh—you’re actually the very first person I’ve brought back here.

IRENE

I guess that makes me special?

PHOEBE

[DREADFUL] Please don’t say or do anything to make me regret this. I’m still not even sure if it’s a good idea to be showing you—or, or anyone—all of this.

IRENE

Sorry. [A BEAT.] What did she research?

PHOEBE

I’m not quite sure.

She was always so secretive about all of it. I mean, I saw her working on it for my whole life, but I never even saw this room until after she died.

Don’t get me wrong, I tried asking about it, especially when I was a kid and I was living with her. She told me it would put me in danger if I knew about it, though.

[UPSET] Now, she actually wants me to know about it, but she’s not even here to explain it to me.

[SHE IS HEARD FLIPPING THROUGH SOME PAPERS.]

PHOEBE

Most of this stuff is blank, or it’s written in a way I can’t understand. I think she wrote some of it in secret codes?

IRENE

[CONFUSED] That’s…odd.

PHOEBE

I’m able to read some of it, though. She wrote some things in the format of actual books, so it’s easier to read. Even then, though, none of the things she’s talking about make any sense to me. I mean, it’s all almost like some fantastical story.

[WORRIED] I’ve tried to find some sort of starting point, like a “how-to” guide. Between running the shop and everything else in my life, though, I can hardly sort through the surface level things, let alone process any of the information.

IRENE

Sounds like quite the situation.

PHOEBE

[SHE SNORTS.] That’s one way to put it.

I’m sorry. I think there’s got to be something in here about forest creatures, though.

[SHE GRUNTS IN PAIN AS SHE SITS ON THE FLOOR TO BEGIN SORTING THROUGH A BOX.]

PHOEBE

Could you please look through that stack of books over there?

IRENE

Sure.

[IRENE WALKS OVER AND BEGINS LOOKING THROUGH A STACK OF JOURNALS. SHE IS HEARD TURNING PAGES AS SHE SPEAKS.]

IRENE

Let’s see…The Feast? [VAGUELY UNCOMFORTABLE] Mm, no. I’m not sure what’s going on there, actually.

Um…? [THEN, TO PHOEBE] This one is just called Folk.

PHOEBE

Oh, um, trying looking through it? That might be one of the ones with pictures.

[IRENE LOOKS THROUGH THE BOOK.]

IRENE

I think…wait, yeah, this looks right. I think this might have something.

PHOEBE

Oh, that’s good! Does it, I mean, does it have the thing you saw?

IRENE

Hmm, well, it has lots of illustrations of the forest [SLIGHTLY GROSSED OUT] and also one of a dead rabbit. For whatever reason. It’s a starting place.

[IRENE CLOSES THE BOOK.]

PHOEBE

Oh, okay! Feel free to take it. I, um, I mean, please return it. I can’t charge you for it because technically it’s not part of the store, but just make sure you give it back when you’re done. I don’t want to lose any of my grandma’s research.

IRENE

You have my word. Thank you, er, Phoebe, was it?

PHOEBE

Yup! Thank you for remembering, and just, please promise not to tell anyone.

[SHE PAUSES, THEN, MUMBLES IN REGRET] Hnng, I, uh, shouldn’t have sat on the floor.

IRENE

Do you need help?

PHOEBE

Please.

[THE FLOORBOARDS CREAK AS IRENE HELPS BRING PHOEBE TO HER FEET.]

IRENE

And here’s your cane.

PHOEBE

[GRATEFUL] Thank you so much. I have to go close up shop for now, but, let me know what you think of the book! Hopefully at least some of it makes sense to you.

IRENE

[TWINGED WITH DOUBT] Let’s hope.

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

[INT. IN IRENE’S CAR, OUTSIDE OF THE STORE.]

[IRENE CLEARS HER THROAT BEFORE READING ALOUD.]

IRENE

The Forest Folk cannot bring harm, because they are made of harm. Without pain, without suffering, without death, they would not exist. They know that pain lives everywhere. In the streams, the trees, the sky, the earth. They know the natural cycle of pain as it comes and goes.

Because of this, they know no need to harm others, as nature will run its course without the assistance. No, the Folk do not bring harm—they collect it. They absorb all of that pain, gathering it all into one final resting place beneath the ground.

The Folk know nothing, but they know everything, and more than anything, they understand. They cannot give you answers, as they do not speak, but ask them about what it is you seek and you shall soon find it.

They will not ever ask you to join them, but it is advised you never do.

[SHE SIGHS DEEPLY AS SHE FINISHES READING.]

IRENE

And that’s pretty much one of the only coherent passages.

[SHE FANS THROUGH THE BOOK.]

IRENE

There’s illustrations, and blank pages, and special code, like Phoebe mentioned. The stuff I do understand seems to go back to pain and death a lot, but the “Folk” it’s describing seem to be peaceful.

[A LONG PAUSE.]

IRENE

[BAFFLED, TINGED WITH AN ANGER OF SORTS] What the fuck?

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

Today’s quote is: “You are not wrong who deem / That my days have been a dream; / Yet if hope has flown away / In a night, or in a day, / In a vision, or in none, / Is it therefore the less gone? / All that we see or seem / Is but a dream within a dream.”

Edgar Allan Poe in “A Dream Within A Dream,” 1849.

[THE AUTOMATED VOICE STARTS TO SLOW DOWN, BECOMING SLIGHTLY DISTORTED. THE PAUSES GROW BETWEEN EACH WORD AS IT BECOMES SLOWER AND SLOWER.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

She is listening.

We are sorry.

[THEME MUSIC AND CREDITS PLAY.]

#heart of ether transcripts

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musicprincess655 · 5 years ago

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“Atsushi-kuuun~”

Atsushi has learned to know when a dangerous tone of voice is sent his way, and the way Dazai just called him is nothing but dangerous.

“Yes, Dazai-san?” Atsushi should’ve run instead of answering.

“You don’t happen to be busy this afternoon, do you?”

Atsushi looks desperately for support. Gin is nowhere to be seen, and Atsushi has to respect her skills, because just a moment ago, she’d been sitting right next to him. He looks to Akutagawa. One side of Akutagawa’s mouth quirks up, but he returns to his book. Traitor.

Atsushi is on his own.

“I’m not doing anything,” Atsushi admits.

“Perfect!” Dazai says, clapping his hands together. “You can come shopping with me and Chuuya.”

Atsushi has an immediate flashback to carrying things around for Yosano. Somehow, he already knows this will be a whole new kind of torture.

“Shopping?” Atsushi asks, laughing uncomfortably. “Shopping for what?”

“Gear, spare parts, anything else Chuuya decides we need while we’re out,” Dazai says, ticking off his fingers. “Clothes, maybe?”

“Nakajima could use new ones,” Chuuya agrees from across the room where he’s moving machine parts around, taking stock of what they have.

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Atsushi asks, looking down at himself. He’s wearing the same button down-pants-suspenders combo he’s had since he was old enough to start dressing himself.

“Well, I personally don’t see much to complain about, but I can see how someone might,” Dazai says.

“There’s nothing wrong with my clothes!”

That earns him a reaction from both Chuuya and Akutagawa. Chuuya only shoots a pitying look over his shoulder, but Akutagawa snorts into his book.

“Akutagawa, you wear a cravat. You don’t get to make fun of how I dress.”

“You could use some more cold weather clothes,” Dazai cuts in before it can become an argument. “Winters can get harsh here. You don’t even have a proper coat.”

Dazai may have the semblance of a point.

Atsushi has spent plenty of time with Dazai in the months he’s lived here, and plenty of time with both of the Akutagawa siblings. The one member of the household he’s barely spent any time with is Chuuya.

That is partly by circumstance. The minimal work Atsushi does with smuggling only rarely overlaps Chuuya’s, which is largely networking with vendors and others in the West Block and muscle for particularly dangerous runs. They just don’t have much cause to work together, much less one on one.

It’s mostly by choice, though. Atsushi has been a little scared of Chuuya since they met and Chuuya was obviously not what he seemed. He’s heavier, denser than expected, and his strength makes itself known every time he moves. Chuuya could crush anyone with barely any effort, and it shows in how he carries himself. He’s intimidating, and Atsushi is sure that isn’t an accident.

Not that Atsushi thinks Chuuya would ever hurt him. Atsushi has never really examined that, actually. He just knows that Chuuya intimidates him in a way neither the Akutagawa siblings nor Dazai ever have.

“So! Are you coming?” Dazai asks. Atsushi doesn’t feel like he has much of a choice.

“Sure.”

Dazai walks between Atsushi and Chuuya all the way into town, past the shacks on the outside to the taller buildings closer to the center, until it looks less like a slum and more like a city fallen on hard times. Atsushi and Chuuya only pipe in every so often, and Dazai seems content to let them phone the conversation in.

“Oh wait!” Atsushi’s sudden burst of curiosity overwhelms the awkwardness he feels with both Dazai and Chuuya. “If you’re smugglers, why do you need to buy this stuff? Can’t you steal it yourselves?”

“If we’re lucky, usually,” Chuuya says. “That can be a little hit or miss, though, and for some gear, we’re looking for specific stuff. At this point, it’s easier to buy things we need than try to hunt them down ourselves.”

“Like what?”

“Gin thinks she’s almost got the gun figured out, so she needs some really specific parts,” Dazai says. “And replacement parts for the rats Akutagawa uses are finicky little pieces. They’re hard to find on our own.”

“Plus, we don’t usually steal clothes,” Chuuya follows up. “Not a hugely profitable item. But obviously we need them for ourselves.”

“Makes sense,” Atsushi nods.

“And that takes us to our first stop,” Dazai says. It’s a proper storefront this far into the West Block, and it’s almost comforting when the bell over the door chimes. It makes the place seem so normal, like it could be any store in a forgotten corner of No. 6. “If you see old man Hirotsu around, he’s usually happy to help. And he’s good at collecting the weird stuff. We’re looking for parts like this.”

Dazai hands Atsushi a paper with hand drawn pictures on it.

“These are really good,” Atsushi says.

“Akutagawa has some skills,” Dazai says. “The ones on top are for him, the ones on bottom are for Gin. If you find one, hold onto it and bring it to us.”

Dazai leaves Atsushi with the paper and disappears between stacks of merchandise. Atsushi looks at the drawings again. If these are for finicky parts for the Akutagawa siblings, they’re probably small. He’ll have his work cut out for him trying to sort through these stacks, without even a guarantee that there’s something to find.

Atsushi manages to find one of the parts for Gin tucked into an old set of drawers, but it would take him weeks to search this whole shop from top to bottom, and he thinks that might be the point.

He was hoping he’d be able to find a part for the rats, though. Rashomon has something wrong with his leg, and he’s walking funny now. Akutagawa can only really use the other two for runs to No. 6 now, keeping Rashomon close to someone if Akutagawa is going to keep an eye out for them. It’s a small issue, but Atsushi knows it’s frustrating Akutagawa. The rats are his whole thing, and if he loses one, he loses a set of eyes, and it makes his job that much harder.

He’s been tinkering anyway, staying up late and keeping a lamp burning so he can work. It’s enough to keep Rashomon from breaking down entirely, but just barely. The light had shone in Atsushi’s eyes last night, waking him up, and he’d rolled over in his blankets to watch Akutagawa work, fingers fast and far more nimble than they seemed when still. They had been entrancing, hypnotizing, and Atsushi had sat awake watching until Akutagawa growled in frustration and shut the light off.

Maybe that was a strange thing for Atsushi to have done. As far as he knows, Akutagawa never knew he was awake. Atsushi had deliberately kept himself still, trying not to attract attention, because he didn’t want Akutagawa to notice, didn’t want him to stop.

It’s little things like this that catch Atsushi’s eye now. Little proofs of Akutagawa’s life around killing and violence. The way he can repair delicate machinery, the way he can use the rats to see without seeing, to guide them. He claims it’s not a skill to be proud of, but Atsushi disagrees. It’s more of an art than anything else, and Akutagawa does it beautifully.

Ever since Atsushi had the thought that Akutagawa is beautiful, that he wants to live in a world where Akutagawa is by his side, he can’t stop noticing things. Like the way Akutagawa’s bangs have grown so long with Gin hiding the razor that they brush the tops of his eyes. Like the way he sits, leaned against one hand, looking nearly regal. Like the way his eyes soften late at night, far too late for any of them to be awake, bright silver in the low light, shimmering and light.

Atsushi has never noticed so many things about a person before. And if it was just a simple attraction, he thinks it would be easier to deal with. But the thing is, it’s not.

Because Atsushi didn’t start noticing these things until after he and Akutagawa became…something. Friends seems not quite right, not with the anger between them, not with the threats and the ultimatums. Not when they’ve hurt each other the way they both have.

But he and Akutagawa are something, and it means that Atsushi only knows what Akutagawa’s eyes look like when they’re tired because they were both up far too late, debating the merits of destroying No. 6, an argument that hadn’t ended up being much of anything because they both got too tired to pursue it. He knows the way Akutagawa sits because they can spend time together in peace, and they do. Atsushi spends more time alone with Akutagawa than with anyone else, and they haven’t had a real fight since before Atsushi issued his ultimatum. He notices the difference in Akutagawa’s hair length because he helps Gin hide the razor to keep Akutagawa from cutting it all off in a fit of temper.

Atsushi only started noticing Akutagawa because of who Akutagawa is. Anything Atsushi’s mind labels as beautiful is intrinsically tied to a memory they share. It’s still attraction, but it’s so much harder to parse this way, and Atsushi isn’t sure how to begin trying.

“Oh, Atsushi-kun, you found something?” Dazai asks. In his haze of thinking, Atsushi has wandered back over to Dazai and Chuuya.

“I think so,” Atsushi says, handing it over. “I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to be looking for.”

“We’ll send Akutagawa and Gin with you next time,” Dazai says. “If they know what they need, they can come find it themselves.”

“We got most of what we were looking for, though,” Chuuya says, holding up a bag. Atsushi can see a few knifes, a few belts, and some other various things he can’t identify without seeing them better. “Let’s just pay for what you found, and we’ll be on our way.”

The next store they visit is a clothing store, and Atsushi really should have known better than to think they were kidding about this. It wouldn’t make him uncomfortable, necessarily, except this is obviously about him, not Chuuya and Dazai, and to make matters worse, Dazai disappears once again with a call of Chuuya is better at this than me!

Which just leaves Atsushi, Chuuya, and a shopkeeper who can’t read the sudden tension.

“Hey, Nakajima.” Atsushi jumps, dropping the sweater he was half-heartedly examining. “Why are you scared of me?”

“I’m not…” Atsushi trails off as Chuuya raises an eyebrow. “You’re just…really strong?”

“That’s it?” Chuuya asks. He almost looks disappointed. “That’s all it takes to scare you?”

“No, but…”

Atsushi sighs as he tries to put into words the idea that Chuuya might have never threatened Atsushi, but sometimes, when Atsushi’s mind starts running away with itself, it doesn’t take much. Chuuya is built like a tank and sometimes when he stomps, it leaves a crater. Chuuya is just so loud, both his voice and his personality. Everything about him screams that he can take care of himself, and fuck anyone who tries to prove otherwise.

Then, of course, there’s the fact that they’ve almost never had a conversation. Everything Atsushi knows about him is from someone else. In Atsushi’s anxious mind, that’s enough to make Chuuya scary.

“You’d do anything to protect them, wouldn’t you?” Atsushi asks. He doesn’t have to say anything to let Chuuya know who he means.

Atsushi isn’t sure if he counts as part of the them.

“If you’re asking if I see you as a threat to my family, Nakajima, the answer is no,” Chuuya says. “You’d have done something already if you were going to. Besides, you care about them too. I’m willing to bet you’d do almost as much as me, if they were in danger.”

“That might be true,” Atsushi admits. Even though it was a rocky start, Dazai, Gin, and even Akutagawa count as family for him now. And he’s starting to think that should really expand to include Chuuya, too. “They can protect themselves, though.”

“I wonder sometimes about Akutagawa, but it’s not his fault Dazai’s the one that taught him to throw a punch,” Chuuya says. Atsushi snorts. “I guess Dazai did teach him something useful, though.”

“The rats?” Atsushi asks. “I though he learned that all on his own.”

“I was thinking more generally for a support role,” Chuuya says. “You’re good for him. You finally proved to him he doesn’t have to be strong to protect us. That’s good enough reason for you to stay as long as you like, as far as I’m concerned.”

“If you say so,” Atsushi says. It’s hard to be scared of someone who cares so openly about his family, especially since he seems to be considering adding Atsushi to that group just as much as Atsushi is considering the same for him.

Chuuya will not stop being loud just by existing, and Atsushi will not stop being anxious, but he doubts things like that have ever stopped either of them before.

“Alright, we should actually find you a coat,” Chuuya says, turning back to the piles of clothes in front of them. “Dazai wasn’t kidding about how hard winters can get. Find something lined with fur if you can.”

“What, so Akutagawa can call me Jinko again?”

“It had a nice ring to it.”

Atsushi huffs a laugh and starts to sort through, looking for anything likely. He’s about to make another comment to Chuuya when his hands fall on something white.

“Where did you get this?”

Atsushi can hear how his voice has changed, but he doesn’t stop, not even when Chuuya steps over cautiously, asking him what’s wrong.

“Did you find something you like?” the shopkeeper asks, not yet realizing the fury suddenly raging in Atsushi’s chest.

“Where did you get this?” he repeats, shoving the scarf out in front of him.

The same scarf Lucy always wears on her head.

It shouldn’t be something he recognizes on sight, but Lucy has always worn the same scarf, and Atsushi recognizes little touches of her embroidery on the edges, a touch of something pretty all her own.

“It’s just…” the shopkeeper looks at Chuuya for help. “Most of these are from the Correctional Facility in No. 6. They’re just thrown away, we don’t steal them from anyone.”

Atsushi’s mind whirls. He settles on a memory from yesterday. Akutagawa lying to him, the only time Atsushi knows for sure he was lying, and it was after Atsushi asked for news from the detective agency.

Akutagawa must have gotten a message about Lucy.

Atsushi drops the scarf, heading for the door.

“Oi, Nakajima, what are you-?”

“I have to go back to the bunker,” Atsushi says. His hands clench into fists. “I need to talk to Akutagawa.”

#shin soukoku #sskk #akuatsu #atsuaku #bungou stray dogs #bsd #my writing #no. 6 au #systasis

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denofbloodandlove · 5 years ago

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Role Play writing as Misery, original character based of off S.K., please do not remove tags or copy

((Noirs Wall Part 3 of 3))

My heart beats a steady rhythm, a pounding rhythm as I move away from the blood lake and towards the Wall Lord. He will be my next meal I decide; he will be the one that fully restores me to a strength I need to get the fuck out of Noirs Realm and back to my shit cave in Thorns realm. My left arm lays lax against my side as my right lifts upward, my wrist twirls then snaps my whip, the razors making a low whistling sound as they slice through the thick air.

Blood rain still pours from the black sky, purple lightening flashes all around us, making shadows dart through the skies as the lightening illuminates the realm for a split second. Shadows that fly and dart too fast, but as more lightening arcs across the sky, I can them flying like vultures. Lower casts of demons circling above, waiting for their time to strike on the remains. They will gorge on the losers’ body, or at least what is left of him. Because there is no way in fucking heaven am I going to go down, again.

My feet squish through the soft ground, a ground that has been almost liquified from the blood that has fallen. The soft gelatinous ground raises up around my feet, presses between my toes with every step I take, my body adding pressure to the surface, making it rise to meet me. To rise and devour my flesh once more. This place of death and hate. The Wall.

Staring at the Demon Lord, my nostrils flare as my senses kick in. My eyes lock on his as I concentrate, his body is thick with muscles, too thick. Muscle stacks upon muscle and I know he will be slow, but what he lacks for in speed he makes up for in viciousness. Every exposed part of his body is made of hardened scales that seem to overlap one another. And as the lightening flashes I see that each scale is doubled, adding to the thickness of his hide. His claws are long and curved inward, claws made for ripping and gutting. My eyes roam down his body towards his thick legs, legs that are also covered in doubled scales and are as thick as tree trunks. Another plus for me. Slow means good, but when he manifests his own whip, I can feel a tremor of anticipation ripple down my spine. He may be slow, but with his own whip, that means he doesn’t have to move, he just has to fucking aim.

Lightening flashes over us, illuminating both of us for a split second, and I use that second to flash away my whip. No weapon I have will pierce his hide. My talons grow into sharp, curved claws, my feet slide to the left as I try and find the best angle to attack. The sludge under my feet sticks to my skin and slides up my legs making it harder to keep my balance. My right foot slides out and I stop, but the Demon Lord uses that as his opening and as his whip arcs across the distance, the sound so loud it mimics the lightening overhead. Sharp teeth latch onto my thigh and as the Demon Lord pulls, the teeth slice into the meaty flesh of my thigh, cutting me to the bone. His body yanks back and my leg lifts out from under me, my body falls and crashes into the muck with a loud thud.

With another hard yank, the Demon Lord starts to pull my body towards him, his whip yanking every so often as his big arms wrangle me in like a cow for slaughter. Twisting in the ground, my body slides as the coagulated body of ground covers me, my hands try to grab onto anything around me, my arms fight for control against my legs as I know I am closer and closer to the Demon. His howls and the howls of the others raise as he thinks he has won.

I feel another pull of the whip, and my flesh moves, the teeth of the whip like a sharks, I am unable to get free from the serrated teeth, but every time I get pulled, my flesh is cleaved from bone. Grinding my teeth my back arches as I fight for control against a battle, I know I am losing.

Another hard tug, my body slides and hits his beefy legs. Flipping my body over, my hands wrap around a beefy wrist as he easily grabs me by my throat and lifts me up. My legs dangle in the air as my hands try to claw under his scaled, but he is so heavily built, all I do is cut my own fingers. My claws break and the stubs of my fingers slice open. The whip on my thigh tightens and with one yank, he flays my thigh down to my knee, my skin is ripped from flesh as the teeth of his weapon get pulled free.

Another bought of lightening covers my scream.

The Demon Lord raises my body as he holds up his prize, making the demons that patrol this wall howl and fight, sending them into a new frenzy. Pulling me in close to him, his thick black tongue swipes across my exposed flesh. His lick swipes away at the much and gel that remained on my skin, leaving a slimy mark that burned with his saliva, marking me as his reward. Lifting my body up once more, his head leans back as he releases a howl of victory.

My eyes narrow as a smirk crosses my face, my arm juts out as I use all my strength and power and force the limb through his open mouth. My claws grow back to sharp points in an instant, reaching the back of his throat, my hand closes on soft tissue and I yank, pulling his trachea and esophagus out with it.

His victory roar ends instantly and his body sways as his eyes grow huge with surprise. His pain makes my body shiver, feeding me instantly. His great lumbering body falls to his knees, his grasp releasing me as his body struggles to gather air into his lungs. Blood gurgles and spurts out of his mouth as my body heals. Licking my lips, my right hand holds his head as my left plucks his eyes out of his head. The first one pops out easily, and as I pop the orb into my mouth and bite, I moan as both flesh and agony feed my starved body. The second orb bursts inside his skull, the viscous liquid oozing over my fingers. Bringing the digits to my mouth, I lick my digits slowly, savoring the taste of his pain. Next is his tongue, I rip the flesh muscle from his mouth and devour it quickly. I can hear his heart slowing; his agony is receding as his gurgled screams begin to soften.

Taking in his last bits of pain, I slide back and away from him, bending down to pick up the discarded trachea. Noticing his fallen whip, my brows raise in surprise as I pick that up and inspect it. The whip is made of demon teeth, no doubt the teeth were his trophies. Looking down at his now dead body I smile.

“Thanks, you won’t be needing this anymore.” My eyes glance up at the demons that realized what was going on and I see them getting closer and closer. The Demon Lord at the gate was dead, and that meant meat. Meat that I wasn’t ready to fight over. My wing slits tingled as I could feel them start to heal from the power in his pain. And with the next lightening crack, I flashed my ass out and back to my cave so I can continue to heal from his death.

#sweetmisery #lostsoul #misery #miserydemon #roleplay #rp #sk #sherrilyn kenyon #mywriting

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akhmorns · 5 years ago

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The Crystalline Ratio (Extreme)

Lightwarden WoL Prompt | L’mihn Sunwalker

Once again you return to the bottom of Malikah’s Well, but upon your arrival at its entrance you find it nearly frozen over. Light creeps up and stains the ground a pale white, the carcasses of the wildlife lie scattered around it as if drained of their aether. Talos lie unmoving, thrown onto the ground as if the life had been stolen. The guards had warned you of what lay beneath the burning light of Amh Araeng; a chimera of unperceived proportions, a hero lain to waste by the selfsame strength they used to slay foes. Beneath the cover of the light, a monster is born anew- Arete they call it, this union between the divine and the tainted- a Primal? No, worse. The night hangs in the balance as you and your party approach the Well, the fate of not only your comrades but this star at risk of a calamity of monstrous proportions. Who will win? The hope of the people born anew, or the one they called the Warrior of Darkness?

TITLE ︰

Arete - Arete (Greek: ἀρετή), in its basic sense, means "excellence of any kind". The term may also mean "moral virtue".

MECHANICS ︰

PHASE O1 ⤑ 100% - 80%

Lunar Dynamo: Donut aoe around Arete, has a cast bar and indication in normal but only has a cast bar in extreme.

Brand of Purgatory: Melee AOE around Arete, has a cast bar and indication in normal but only has a cast bar in extreme.

The Dreadwyrm’s Ire: Tank buster, must be split by both tanks or invulned through.

The Light’s Persuasion: Arete starts casting The Light’s Persuasion as soon as 81% is hit, placing one of two dots on every party member. The two dots are either “Temptation: Hunger” or “Temptation: Light.” When one of these two opposing dots overlap, the two players will explode and die, however if you overlap the same dot nothing happens. Players will be automatically split into 2 groups of 1 tank 1 healer and 2 dps.

Primordial Pact (80%): Once cast, two adds will appear- Piety and Discipline. Arete will become untargetable, and move to the back of the arena. Players marked with Temptation: Hunger will need to attack Discipline, where players marked with Temptation: Light, will attack piety. Both adds alternate between using a mechanic and a tank buster.

Piety:

Heavenly Pall: The four members assigned to Piety will be marked with a prey marker, they will be hit with small aoes on their position followed by a stack, a simple out and then in mechanic.

Light of Eorzea: Tank buster. Piety will rise high above the tank and close its wings, before releasing- unleashing a pillar aoe onto the tank that cannot be split.

Discipline:

The Light’s Imbalance: The four members assigned to Discipline will be marked with 2 stack markers, one on the healer and one on the tank. Once the stacks go off the healer will be marked with prey, if not transferred to a non healer- the healer will gain a minute long infirmary debuff.

Calamitous Roar: Tank buster. Discipline will spread its wings wide and then proceed to launch a similar pillar aoe onto the tank that cannot be split.

During the First Phase, Arete will cast The Light’s Persuasion a total of 10 times, the 10th stack being a soft enrage before leading into the next phase.

PHASE O2 ⤑ 80%- 70%

The Crystalline Ratio- Arete will return to the field damaging all members of the party and the arena, changing it into a circular arena in the illusion of Dalamud. Party members will lose their current Temptation debuffs and obtain a new one: Temptation: Ascension. Temptation: Ascension increases damage done by ‘Crystalline ____’ spells, while lowering damage for ‘Astral ____’ spells.

Crystalline Adoration: Arete will summon shiva-esque AOEs onto the field these will kill and must be dodged accordingly.

Crystalline Accusation: Arete will summon eight Allagan pillars that will fall onto the party and spread the arena into eight pieces- these must be dodged accordingly to avoid death.

Crystalline Abandonment: Casts Lunar Dynamo followed by Brand of Purgatory in succession.

The Astral Calamity: Massive AOE damage that removes Temptation: Ascension and grants Arete the buff Corruption: Humility while beginning the proper phase transition. The arena would become corrupt with light, staining every corner white until the party would be blinded with light, when the arena returns it is a image of ruination- machinery broken and dyed in an ugly white, spreading like mold across the platform.

PHASE O3 ⤑ 70%-3%

Corruption: Humility: Grants the boss a stacking haste buff for every death that occurs from here on out, when at 7 stacks the buff becomes “Dreadwyrm’s Legacy” and Arete will cast ‘Seventh Umbral Calamity’ and wipe the raid.

The Dreadwyrm’s Ire: Massive AOE Tankbuster that must be split or invulned through and will deal more hits the more it is cast.

Fountain of Light: Huge Raidwide damage that must be shielded through or mitigated.

Heavenly Pall: Will Target four random players other than the Main tank.

The Light’s Imbalance: Will Target two random players other than the Main tank.

Crystalline Abandonment

Crystalline Fury: Arete will take off, and summon three spectral shades on the outskirts of the arena. The shades will divebomb first, followed by Arete all on the 4 players locations who will have Markers go out above their heads.

These mechanics will repeat until Arete is low enough to start the enrage, or the fight duration has hit 12:30.

FIGHT ENRAGE ⤑ 3%-0%

The Light’s Finale: Arete will move into the center of the arena, and a giant circle will appear on the floor, flooding the arena with light. One by one every party member will be hit with a pillar of light, with a delay in-between each pillar until the whole party is dead.

Tagged By: None I stole it again ;) Tagging: @crystalaeternam , @ffxivmingxiajiang , whoever else wants to do it tag me ‘^’ i wanna see it

#FFXIV #ffxiv spoilers #shadowbringers spoilers #miqo'te #rp meme #ff14 #jkdsghjgds I SPENT TOO MUCH ON THIS #BIG CHARACTER LORE HERE

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septic-dr-schneep · 6 years ago

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JSE Fanfiction - The Little Things

Summary: Jameson doesn’t need to eat much to be satisfied and does his best to convince the others of it, but how much can his metabolism tolerate when he forgets to eat anything at all?

It wasn’t that Jameson didn’t want to eat—simply that he never had the stomach to eat much. He was easily satisfied with a few finger sandwiches and a roll on the side, but none of the others seemed to share the same viewpoint. Every time they glanced over at the dinner table and saw that his portion was half the size of theirs, one of them would inevitably speak up and offer to get him seconds as soon as he finished. He would simply offer a polite smile and turn it down.

He knew they were only trying to help because they were concerned, but he genuinely didn’t need it! This wasn’t one of those cases where he felt miserable and wasn’t telling them because he was afraid of being a bother; he just didn’t eat as much. To ease the worry in Chase’s eyes, he’d once joked that maybe it was because he just had a smaller stomach.

That had been a mistake with the resident doctor listening nearby. “The smaller the portion you have, Jamie, the more your stomach shrinks to compensate,” Dr. Schneeplestein explained pointedly, inserting himself into the conversation. “Your tummy eventually is forced to accept little bits and bites of food you give it and then you have less room in there! Is why you feel fuller on less—not because you actually are full but because your tummy has gotten so tiny that it can’t have more even when it wants to! Less room means less nutrients! You really ought to take a larger plate than you do.”

“Well, at least I can be sure that my vests will continue to fit,” Jameson had countered, trying to lighten him up a little. He only managed to draw a frustrated huff from the older Ego before he turned back to his reading.

“This is serious, Jem,” Chase insisted. “Is it just that we don’t have food you like? You’ve gotta tell us! We can go to the shop together and find something!”

“No, no, that’s not the case whatsoever! The foodstuff’s perfectly suitable. I simply don’t need as much as the rest of you,” Jameson explained patiently, for neither the first time nor the last.

The conversation never had a conclusion; any time he mentioned that he was remotely hungry within the others’ earshot, he would find a heap of granola bars and fruit cluttering the desk in his room. (As soon as the coast was clear, he would promptly take them into town and hand them out to anyone who sat on the street asking for something.) Schneep would immediately stride to the kitchen and begin cooking a meal that would be enough to feed three Jamesons thrice over. The gentleman just did his best to thank them regardless. It was because they cared.

He just needed to be more emphatic, sincere and dedicated about explaining it to them, he told himself as he forced down one more mouthful so Chase would stop peeking over at him. He didn’t want to waste their resources and he didn’t want to make himself sick trying to eat a whole plate of seconds just to appease them!

That said, even he and his strong metabolism weren’t immune to a raw ache in the stomach as he woke up early this particular morning. He couldn’t go back to sleep hungry, but he wasn’t about to be impolite and eat without the others. He waited until 7:30, their usual breakfast time, but when none of them gave any indication that they were coming to the table, he rose, glancing uncertainly between them as they rushed back and forth.

“Are we gathering for a meal?” he questioned, though it took nearly fifteen seconds for any of them to notice his speech slide hovering there. It happened to be Schneep.

“Jetzt ist keine Zeit zum Frühstücken!” he hollered as he sprinted toward the front door with his collar shirt gaping open and his lab coat flung over his shoulder, unlatched briefcase littering papers in his wake. Jameson automatically jogged to pick them up, but Schneep was out the door before he could offer them.

“W-Was that a no?” he wondered, staring after him in bafflement.

“Sorry, Jameson, I don’t think we have time for a quiet breakfast,” Jackieboy answered apologetically, zipping up his jumpsuit with one hand and tugging his mask over his face with the other. “I’ve got a meeting with the mayor in—well, I probably should’ve already left—and then I’ve gotta get to my patrols!”

“And I’m off to the drycleaner’s,” Marvin interjected, speed-walking past with his suit folded over his arm. “My show’s at a bigger venue tonight so I need to drop this off for a rush job!”

Jameson wasn’t exactly sure what a drycleaner was, but he didn’t have time to ask before Marvin disappeared after Schneep.

“I’ll see you later!” Jackieboy called kindly, making his exit less than a minute later.

“Has anyone seen my—? Aw, man, I missed ’em!” Chase groaned as he emerged from the hallway, cursing faintly as he glanced around the living room and then the dining room and kitchen. “Jem, I can’t find my hat! I’ve looked all over the friggin’ place and it’s just gone! I don’t know where I could’ve put it!”

“Perhaps you should inspect the top of your head,” Jameson offered ruefully.

“Wh—? Oh,” the vlogger realized, laughing for a moment before whisking Jameson’s hat off his head and giving his hair a thorough ruffling before replacing it. “You’re a lifesaver, buddy. Got a big day of filming but I’ll try to text you and say hi on a break. Bye!”

As soon as the door closed behind him, Jameson set the stack of Schneep’s papers on the dining room table and promptly combed his hair back into shape, but beyond that he wasn’t sure what he was meant to do. This was the first time he could remember that all of them had been gone this early. Jackieboy and Schneep were usually the only ones ever absent from the table. This felt…strange. He needed to find something to do.

In the end, he decided to practice his hand at the television remote. All of the others bickered over it when it came to movie night but he was exempt, given that he didn’t know how to work it. Chase had tried to teach him once and now was a good opportunity to test his memory. After he watched three episodes of a cooking show, however, he accidentally set the audio to French and couldn’t figure out how to change it back. Switching that off and sheepishly wondering if the others would know how to fix it, he opted to lose himself in a good book.

Time passed. Robbie stopped by at one point and leaned curiously over the back of the couch to see if Jameson’s book had any pictures, but eventually he got bored and wandered off again to do…whatever it was he did during the day. Jameson was never exactly sure where he went or what he did while he was there, but he wasn’t sure he would understand Robbie’s answer if he were to ask.

When he’d finished his book, Jameson got up for a stretch, wincing a little at the unusual raw pain in his stomach, only to be distracted as he looked out through the sliding glass door and found that Robbie had somehow made it outside his knowledge. He was rolling through the freshly planted flowerbed!

Astonished and dismayed, he rushed outside to stop him but thanks to the zombie’s strength, Jameson ended up having an unexpected roll through the flowerbed with him. After he managed to get up onto wobbly legs, he scolded Robbie thoroughly for getting him dirty and for fighting. Robbie responded with nothing but a pout as he’d brushed down his vest and made his way back inside to shower.

After he got out, Chase happened to text him to see how he was doing and Jameson vented to him for a while. Eventually Chase explained that what Robbie had done was normal and Jameson reluctantly went on a hunt around the house to find him and apologize. Fortunately Robbie had already forgotten the dispute and gave him a simple friendly grin and a pat on the head.

From there, Jameson spent some time doing laundry. His soiled vest and shirt needed a thorough washing and once he saw all of the others’ clothes lying in heaps in the laundry room, he figured he may as well do them a favor and wash those too. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why his hands were trembling as he tried to fold.

Once a few loads of laundry had been done, he glanced at his watch for the first time in hours, eyebrows shooting up. “Golly, it’s evening already!” As if on cue, a yawn caught him by surprise and he paused, glancing back at his book on the coffee table and then deciding against it. “I suppose I ought to take a quick nap before the others come home…”

Thus he padded softly to his bedroom, burrowing underneath his blankets and hugging one of his pillows to keep him company. He fell asleep within minutes and when the others got home later that night, they figured he must have gone to bed early and didn’t disturb him.

Needless to say, he was disoriented when he woke and peeked out from underneath the covers to see morning light glaring through his window. He’d come in here for a nap, hadn’t he? Was it…yesterday? Where had his sense of time gone? More importantly, why did he feel so sick and cold? As soon as he sat up, his stomach curled in on itself, radiating pain and nausea, and his hands shook even more violently than they last had as he hugged himself, swallowing dryly. His throat hurt almost as much as his stomach; it felt as if it was cracked.

Water. Dr. Schneeplestein said that when he felt sick, water was a good place to start. Kicking aside his sheets, he rose, prying one of his arms away from his abdomen to steady himself as a wave of dizziness swept over him.

Judging by the overlapping chatter he heard from the kitchen, the others were already awake, he noted as he shuffled gingerly down the hall. The smell of flapjacks permeated the air and despite how Jameson liked them, his stomach only ached more fiercely at the thought of them.

Chase was already sipping his coffee at the table when JJ reached the kitchen; he glanced up, smiling brightly. “Hey there! I didn’t get to see you when I got home!”

“Apologies,” Jameson managed as he passed, skirting past Marvin where he stood in front of the stove and leaning against the counter for balance as he reached for a glass.

“Jamie, are you feeling okay?” Schneep questioned as Jameson turned from the counter toward the water dispenser in the fridge door. “You look the little bit peaky.”

“Oh, I—I’m fine,” Jameson assured him with a weak smile before returning his attention to the dispenser. The water was icy as it filled the glass, creating condensation under his skin. Just as he lifted it from the dispenser’s ledge, however, his stomach seized up with another sharp cramp. The glass slipped through his fingers, shattering against the floor and causing all of the others to jump.

“Jameson?” one of them called in a warning voice, though he couldn’t tell which one as black mist cascaded through his vision.

“M’fine,” he repeated faintly, curling into himself. “I th-think I need to sit…”

As soon as the notion entered his head, his body latched onto it, losing all strength and pitching bonelessly forward. He couldn’t find it in himself to recover or even break his fall.

When he drifted back to the waking world, wincing tightly and struggling to move, he was still on the kitchen floor, so it couldn’t have been long since he’d fallen. Pinpricks of pain pulsed dimly from his neck and face but he was on his back rather than his front now, his head pillowed in Marvin’s lap.

“Agh, Jamie,” Schneep exhaled in relief and concern as he leaned over him, swiping his thumb over one of the small cuts the broken glass had left in his face. “The good doctor’s got you, tell us what hurts now.”

“Don’t tell us you were sick all day yesterday when none of us were here to take care of you,” Marvin murmured.

“No…N-No, I…My stomach hurts,” he managed, the words slurring slightly on his speech slide.

Pursing his lips, Schneep patted around his sides, asking if anything was tender in particular areas and when that didn’t produce any good information, he scooped up his nearest wrist. “Mm, your little heart is racing,” he commented. “And the fingers have a tremble. What did you eat yesterday?”

Jameson paused, blinking dazedly as he considered. In the end, his hesitation went on too long; the expectation on Schneep’s face gradually changed to stern reproach.

“Jamie,” he said sharply.

It was all he needed to say. Jameson’s next blink was decidedly damper than the last and he tilted his head slightly as Chase knelt, carding a hand through his hair to draw his attention. Though his hand was gentle, his expression mirrored Schneep’s almost exactly.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, Jem: Jackieboy’s gonna get you to your bed. We’re gonna make you a full breakfast, and then I’m going to sit there and feed it to you until all of it is gone,” he instructed lowly. “All of it. You got that?”

Biting his lip, he nodded minutely, resisting the urge to squirm as Schneep cleared the way for Jackieboy. Despite how he was shaking and the weakness forcing his body limp, Jameson couldn’t help but feel a burst of security as the older Ego lifted him, a burst that softened the hunger pangs in his stomach ever so slightly. Tucking his head against Jackie’s neck, he simply caught his breath for a few seconds before peeking back out at the others.

“I might not protest seconds,” he admitted softly, to which Chase granted a rueful half-smile.

“I might just give you some.”

#youtube #jacksepticeye #fanfiction #youtube fanfiction #jameson jackson #dapper jack #jackieboy man #marvin the magnificent #dr schneeplestein #chase brody #let's eat #hunger #whump #hurt comfort #in which jameson forgets things that are important #oh look it's me #this prompt was awhile ago but i loved it #i made a promise and i kept it

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oswald-privileges · 6 years ago

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Loudmouth

(I wrote some statement fic. It’s been a heck of a while since I wrote anything for fandom.)

Statement of Ulla Ness, regarding, um... a peculiar transformation. Original statement given March 14th, 1999. Audio recording by Christopher Peake, in an… unprofessional capacity. Statement begins.

I still don’t see why I had to come to you. I know you have an email address, so wouldn’t it have been easier to just scan the form and send it to me? Hell, I would have taken a physical copy sent to me in the post. It would have been slower, but it would have meant I could have stayed at home. But no. I asked, and you just gave me a lot of waffle about how you have ‘strict acquisition policies’, alongside directions that had been copied from google maps. Which I know, because I checked.

It’s not that I’m lazy, you understand, far from it. I used to have what I regarded as quite the active social life. But recently that’s become impossible for me to maintain, for a number of reasons. Which are also the reasons that I’ve come to talk to you.

I used to be quite a religious person. Still am, I suppose. I’m not entirely sure. I was a member of the congregation of Saint Mary’s, a small anglican church in a small, anglican village up in Lincolnshire. Not everybody there was particularly devout, but it wasn’t one of those places where it especially mattered. It was more about the sense of community we had. Catching up with each other after communion on Thursdays, singing in the choir, arranging cake sales or coffee mornings as fundraisers for whatever bit of the building had fallen off now. I’ve been attending since I was little, and more or less grew up with the congregation.

I miss it quite badly, if I’m being honest. I’ve always been the sort to need other people, but I didn’t realise quite how much losing them would affect me. You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone and all that, I suppose.

It started with another fundraiser, a jumble sale this time. I had volunteered to help manage the event, so I was in charge of sorting through the items that people had brought in for us to sell. Like I said, not everyone there was strictly devout, and didn’t always take care with what they decided to donate. Some people seemed to use it as more of an excuse to toss legitimate junk in our direction and call it a good deed.

This was definitely the case with Mister Ashley. He attended purely because his mother was too old to walk by herself, and I rather think that she insisted that he stay with her throughout the service. It was definitely at her behest that he took part in any communal activities. She would always announce that he would be happy to run stalls or make tea or some other menial duty, while he sat by her side, stony-faced, and saying nothing at all.

The only time I remember him giving any sort of reaction was when when his mother announced that her Jamie would be happy to donate some of his shop’s excess stock for the jumble sale. I remember, he turned to her with the strangest look on his face. At the time, I thought it was one of badly suppressed outrage. I assumed that she had simply gone a bit too far in volunteering his services; Mister Ashley was a second hand book seller, and owned the Jabberwock Bookshop just off from Memorial Square. It can’t have been all that easy to turn a profit. Thinking back on it now, though, and I wonder if his expression was something sharper than just anger. If it could have been alarmed, almost panicked. But I believe that is likely be nothing more than hindsight colouring my memories. If he had had some way of knowing, had been frightened of something like that which came to pass, then… well. I cannot honestly say I ever truly liked James Ashley, but neither can I believe that he would be as cruel or as cowardly as to not have said or done anything.

As it was, he brought the books to the side room the next day, where I was going through the donations and sorting the sellable items from those things too broken, torn, stained, or just plain unusable. I had just set aside yet another jigsaw- this one with almost two thirds of the pieces obviously missing- when he knocked on the outer door. In spite of the heavy rain, he wasn’t wearing a coat, hat, or boots. He didn’t say a word to me when I opened it, just shouldered his way in, dropped a heavy cardboard box on the floor by the unsorted donations, and walked out again. He did this three more times, leaving the door swinging behind him, letting in strong gusts of wind and rain, and reinscribing a damp trail of rainwater on the carpeted floor. Then he was gone as abruptly as he had arrived.

Ashley had taken better care to protect the books from the rain than himself. The cardboard was soaked through, but the books inside had been wrapped in several layers of plastic sheeting. They were stacked upright, and had been fitted in without any attempt to force too many into a single space. They were all, without exception, worn, faded, and almost completely without interest. Paperback romances long since out of print, old text books, children’s encyclopedias. It was rather a relief, if I’m honest. I could just reach into the boxes, grab a book, give it a flick through, and place it on the “for sale” pile.

I was about halfway through the last box when my fingers brushed something that did not feel at all like paper. It was dense and yielding, and ever so slightly damp. I recoiled, shock and disgust crawling their prickling way up my arm. My fingers looked clean, but the ghost feeling of something sticky still clung to them.

My first thought that it was some nasty practical joke. That Ashley, stung by his mother’s willingness to give away his stock, had put something disgusting in there by way of relieving his feelings. But that would have been ridiculous- he was a grown man, for goodness sakes, not a slighted child. It was more likely that the plastic keeping the books wrapped up had slipped, and allowed the rain to seep in through the sides. That was the more likely explanation.

It seemed as though I was right when I looked into the box properly, and saw nothing there but more books. But when I reached in again, all I felt was rough, dry paper. Confused, I went through the contents more slowly, looking where I placed my hand and at the books I chose.

I didn’t feel it again until the fifth book I picked up, that same almost-damp feeling. It was broad and set in landscape, almost like a sketchbook. It was dense with pages all jammed together- dense and heavy. It flopped bonelessly in my hand, and I needed to support it from underneath before I could read the title.

Hymnal, it read. The gold letters gleamed wetly on the slick cover.

It appeared to be full of sheet music. No titles or lyrics, just scratched staves and notes that meandered up and down the lines as though drunk. The smell that rose from the pages as I turned them was odd and unpleasant. I wondered if the leather binding them hadn’t been properly cured. Those areas of page that weren’t covered in music were full of sketches, but so dense and overlapping that I couldn’t tell what they were supposed to be. And, I realised with an unpleasant start, the cover beneath my hands was warm, as though I was touching a live thing.

Suddenly, I’d had enough. I was sitting here, working myself up over an old, graffitied book for no good reason. I shut the thing hurriedly, and it snapped closed with a heavy slithering of pages. I caught the soft part of my forefinger on one of them, and a tiny bead of scarlet began to well from the wound. The stinging was welcome- it gave me something to focus on, mundane annoyance drowning out the confusion that had been threatening to become fear.

I dropped the book onto the discard pile. I couldn’t sell something like that, that much was obvious. Then I picked it up again, and dashed through the rain to the rubbish bins outside. I tossed it in, and followed it up with as much of the discard pile as I could bag up in one go, burying the thing underneath threadbare scarves, broken plastic dolls, and half used art supplies.

I felt a little better when it was done, but not much. Whatever those hymns were praising, I don’t think it was Our Lord.

The cut on my finger didn’t heal like it should. It stopped bleeding without any trouble, but the edges became raised, reddened and sensitive to the touch. I dabbed at it with antiseptic and did my best to put it out of my mind. I succeeded at first. I had plenty to keep me busy, both at church and at my workplace, and for a day or two, I completely forgot about it.

At least until it opened up again.

I don’t remember what caused it, or if anything caused it at all. Just that I was reaching for something, and there was the feeling of… unpeeling, almost, the cold feeling of fresh air on wet skin. I checked to see if the cut was bleeding again.

Instead of a cut, I found myself looking at a tiny, fully formed mouth.

The raised, reddened edges I had thought were a sign of infection had become minute lips. They were slightly parted, and behind them I could see the tiniest slivers of white. And behind that, a dark space where something wet shifted.

I didn’t look at it for long. Already I was reaching for the first aid kit, hastily covering the cut- the mouth- with a plaster. I was already convincing myself that what I’d just seen was some kind of infection I was too squeamish to look at, and that since I couldn’t feel any pain, I should probably go to the doctors, in case it was nerve damage or something. The impression of having seen a mouth rather than a cut was an unpleasant trick my mind had played on me, and one I didn’t feel like closely examining. I told myself I had imagined it.

I hadn’t, though. I could taste the soft fabric patch on the plaster.

I really did mean to go to the doctors. Mouth or no mouth, whatever was happening to the cut on my finger worried me. I even got as far as making an appointment. But the next day I went into work, and there was an accident involving a slippery patch of floor and a very, very sharp knife that I was carrying at the time. I ended up with a nasty slice parallel with the underside of my ribcage.

This time, it was obvious how quickly it stopped bleeding, how it was practically dry before I even changed the gauze once. How the scabs began to flake before I even touched them, leaving nothing but those raised, reddening edges around the cut itself.

I didn’t go to that doctor’s appointment. I don’t think it would have helped me if I had.

It took longer for the second cut to open, but when it did, I could stand in front of the mirror to properly see the flat, white, human teeth, and the tongue that moved behind them.

It didn’t feel alien. That’s what surprised me most. I was scared, of course I was scared, I was growing new bits, opening up in places that I shouldn’t- but that was just it. It was my body doing this, not some… weird infection or surgery. Whatever was happening, it felt like an extension of myself.

I could move them, I found. Not as consciously as I could my original mouth, the one in its proper position on my face, but sort of like moving a limb after it’s fallen asleep. It took concentration, like I was working through partial numbness. Like I needed to focus to wake them up.

I didn’t spend very long doing that, though. I would realise with a start that what I was doing wasn’t normal, it wasn’t sane. I would pull my shirt back down or re-plaster my finger with a feeling almost like shame. I wasn’t as scared as I should have been, and that in itself was somehow a lot more frightening.

I’m not clumsy. I can’t be, considering the sharp tools I have to handle at work. But I started to accumulate injuries. Innocuous things at first. Paper cuts from the prayer books during mass, scrapes from the edges of the metal benches at work. And then other things. Pushing down a door-handle would lay my palm open as though I’d been struck with a metal ruler. The pressure of my jacket across my shoulders would tear the skin. I woke in bed one morning to discover that the folded sheets around me had left cuts going from my hip to my collar bone.

Every single one of them bled, reddened, and opened.

The mouths started to become restless as their number grew. They tried to chew on the clothes I wore to cover them, and if I didn’t focus, they would let out soft, but audible moans or sighs. I tried to quiet them. I even tried feeding them, though I only did that once. It seemed to help, but the mangled sensation of swallowing with a throat that seemed to be lodged under my right kidney was so disorienting I couldn’t bring myself to do it again.

I hadn’t stopped going out altogether. I left the house less, certainly, but as uncertain and uncomfortable as my changing existence was, I didn’t want to give up the company of other people altogether. I get lonely easily.

So, one Friday, when when there was so little skin left under my clothes and gloves that no new mouths could easily form, I patched my face and neck with gauze, and went to take my place in the choir again.

Nobody really seemed to notice anything different about me. I had all the right stories lined up for when I was asked about what had happened to my face, but almost nobody did. A few condolences, a few jokes, and that was it. People apparently preferred to gossip about the death of Mrs Ashley, and how her James had stopped coming to church now, and how they had known his heart wasn’t in it all along.

It felt awful. There I was, standing in the middle of them, skin to skin almost, with the most fragile disguise imaginable hiding a secret that would ruin their perception of the world for good- and they were too wrapped up in their own smug assurance of their own piety to notice. I offered up a brief prayer for patience, but like all my prayers lately, I don’t think I was offering it to the God whose praises we’d all gathered to sing.

And when we raised our voices together for All Things Bright And Beautiful, and I opened my mouth to join in, and then opened my mouth again, and opened my mouth again, and opened my mouth again- I wasn’t singing praises to that God either.

I didn’t realise that the others had stopped at first. It wasn’t until I glanced to one side, and saw Julie Wright staring at me with her powerless mouth open and unmoving, that I realised I was singing in harmony with myself.

I broke off, suddenly embarrassed and frightened by the way that they were all looking at me. There was something like awe in their expressions, but there was something else there too. Something that shuddered and recoiled. I desperately tried to remember the words I’d been singing, if I had gotten them right. I had the horrible sense that I might have subverted something holy.

Adam Bromley was the one to break the silence.

“Well now. You never told us you were getting private training!”

And just like that, the spell was broken. The unexpressed disgust sank back beneath their faces, and the others took up the idea almost with relief. A beautiful voice, they told me, what trick did they teach me to make it resonate like that? I forced a smile and said something non-committal and when we took up the tune again, I was careful to sing only the words that were on the page in front of me.

My own relief was short-lived. When I got home, I found the skin I had left was being pulled apart by the restless movements of the mouths. Blood stained the underside of my shirt, and I couldn’t stop the moans and hissings any more than I could have controlled a spasm or a muscular tic.

I didn’t sleep that night, and called in sick to work the next day. I lay on the bed, and stared up at the ceiling, trying very hard not to move.

It wasn’t any use. My skin had become so fragile that even getting up and walking to the kitchen caused it to split, the blood barely having time to dry before the wound began to twitch and whisper. All my fascination was gone now, as were all my attempts to ignore what was happening. All I did was lie on the bed, and let myself slowly drown in my own body. I lived like that for a week.

When next Friday evening came, my entire body burst into song.

I writhed and moaned and hummed without will, without choice, throwing out snatches of hymn before discarding them as not what I wanted, not right. And for the first time, the indistinct murmurs and whispers grew louder, began to form words. Prayers that had been chewed out of shape, pleas for more, more mouths, more brothers and sisters, to come out of hiding and join the great curdling of flesh.

This went on for the entire night.

That was when I decided that I needed to do something. I’d let… whatever this was go on for too long, long beyond the point of saving myself. But I wanted to tell someone first. So I dragged myself to my computer, and searched as best I could. It’s difficult to type with only a confusion of tongues.

And that’s where you came in. You aren’t special. You were just the closest place that didn’t either ignore my emails, or reply with not so gentle suggestions that I see a psychologist.

I don’t think I’ll be leaving my home again, once I get back. I doubt I’ll even bother uncovering, although there’s no-one there to see me. For all that I wanted to let someone know, I don’t want to be seen.

The cupboard below the stairs locks from the inside. I can push the key out from underneath the crack in the door.

Whatever is happening to me, I won’t allow it come to fruition.

Post-statement follow-up: There wasn’t anyone under the stairs when I went to check. The lock on cupboard door was broken, and so was the one on the back door. Either Ms Ness was, um… successful in her attempts to… halt her transformation, and a housebreaker with some seriously questionable motives took what was- what was left of her. Or she wasn’t. And her resolve either waned or the situation was, um. Taken out of her hands. Or. Whatever she had instead of hands.

I wasn’t… going to record this. It’s not my job, strictly speaking, but I was reading some of the old statements, and this one just… sort of caught my eye. And I’ve seen the Archivist and some of the others do recordings, and it just looked so… I wanted to try it out. I’ll be taking the tape with me, though. None of the others need to know about this.

#The Magnus Archives #tma #the magnus institute #whoops its all OCs

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