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azzibuckets · 8 months ago

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COMPLETE MESS [paige bueckers]

paige bueckers x teacher!oc

summary: natasha meets one of her students’ sisters, and she’s enthralled

a/n: lmk if yall want me to make more parts!

word count: 3.3k

masterlist

I stretched out my back with a groan. I loved teaching; it had been my dream job since I was a kid, but sometimes it drained the life out of my bones. Third graders could be an absolute menace, especially on days like today where they’d figured out how to make paper airplanes and had started flying them across the room, sneakily giggling whenever my back was turned.

It didn’t help that later tonight would be open house, when the families of students would come to visit the school to see for themselves what their children have been learning and working on for the past few months. The parents were always nice enough, but it was a drag having to clean up the classroom, hang up everyone’s projects, and decorate the walls and desks.

I checked my watch. Half an hour to go. I knew some eager children hauling their parents along would start arriving soon, so I smoothed down my skirt. I had to make good impressions, considering the fact that a lot of parents didn’t take me seriously because of how young I was.

Wanting to greet parents in the hallway as they entered my classroom, I stepped outside, but there must have been someone waiting directly outside the door because I heard a thump and a little “Ow!” Panicking at the idea of having just sent a little kid sprawling to the fooor in front of their parents, I rushed around the door, breathing in relief when I only saw one of my students, Drew, with no parents in sight.

“Drew, buddy,” I laughed. “What’re you doing?”

Drew pouted, trying to collect the pieces of Legos that were now scattered across the floor. “I was waiting because the door was locked and you hit me!”

I bent down and started picking up Lego pieces. “What have I told you about standing there, Drew?” I reminded him. Drew was one of my favorite students - he was hyper and often forgot about things like not standing behind the door, but he was so cheerful and positive all the time that I couldn’t help but always smile at his mischievous antics.

“I know, I just got excited! My mom and dad are coming to see my Lego project and so is my big sister!”

I ruffled his hair. “Your big sister! Woah! I would love to meet her.” I couldn’t remember her name, I think it started with a P, but Drew talked about her all the time, and I could tell that he absolutely adored her. “Where are your parents, by the way? You’re very early.”

“I made them come early,” Drew explained, finally grabbing the last Lego and dumping all the pieces unceremoniously into his backpack. “But Paige had to pee, so they went to the bathroom. I think I was supposed to wait outside for them but I wanted to come here!”

“Alright.” I got up, offering a hand to Drew, who accepted but pulled so hard he almost dragged me down again. “Come inside and sit while you wait. But don’t mess around, alright?”

Much to my surprise, Drew stayed quiet in his seat, not making any noise. I busied myself with adjusting the posters on the wall for what seemed like the hundredth time. A piece of tape had gotten loose on one of the papers, and just as I reached to fix it, the entire poster came tumbling to the ground. Signing, I bent down to pick it up.

“Damn, I could study this,” a deep voice whistled from behind me.

I immediately straightened myself, mortified. Cheeks burning, I turned around to reprimand whoever had just made a ridiculously inappropriate joke in a classroom setting, with a student sitting just feet away.

Leaning against the doorway was a blonde woman, whose hair was pulled back into a clean ponytail with shockingly no flyaways. She looked young, but was intimidatingly tall. Although she wasn’t smiling, her deep blue eyes were dancing with amusement, her slightly cocked eyebrows showing intriguement. Both hands were stuffed into the pocket of her sweatpants, her stance nonchalant. Whoever she was, she was gorgeous, with one of those faces people would pause and look back at if they passed on the street.

My mouth opened, but all semblances of what was supposed to be a lecture on respecting women faded. I didn’t know why my throat was suddenly dry, my heart suddenly pounding against my chest so hard I feared my ribs would break.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to end up saying anything, because Drew jumped up from his seat and ran to the blonde. “Miss Natasha!” he exclaimed. “Meet Paige, my sister!”

My eyebrows shot up. This was Drew’s sister? All this time, you’d been imagining a timid and sweet girl, not someone who was dressed in basically pajamas but still looked like they stepped out of a magazine.

Paige stepped closer to me, a dangerous smirk playing on the edge of her lips. “I’m Paige Bueckers,” she introduced herself. “Very nice to meet you.”

My jaw tightened. I didn’t appreciate this girl’s cocky attitude. I’ve known girls like Paige before; sexy and alluring, but with egos up their asses, who thought that they could flirt with you and do whatever they wanted because they were drop dead gorgeous. Especially considering the treatment I often faced, with fathers of my students often making suggestive remarks and creepy innuendos, causing their wives to get angry at me as if it was my fault that their husbands couldn’t stop ogling at someone twenty years younger than them. So I finally gathered my courage. “I don’t know who you think you are,” I said lowly, trying not to let Drew hear, “but you don’t get to come into my classroom and start making unseemly advancements. Especially in front of my students.”

Paige’s eyes flitted down, tracing my face and dropping for a second to my lips before slowly dragging its way down my body. She was blatantly and unashamedly undressing me with her eyes, and I almost reached for my jacket.

“Unseemly,” she echoed, nodding to herself. “Yeah. Definitely a teacher.”

I rolled my eyes, already frustrated. “Drew,” you said sweetly, bending down to look him in the eye. “Where are your parents?”

“They ran into one of his friends’ parents,” Paige responded for him. “But I’m here. Why don’t you walk me through everything, teach?”

I loathed myself for the way my heart skipped a beat at her stupid nickname. “It’s hard to walk you through Drew’s progress this trimester if you’re constantly trying to flirt with me,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

“Paige, stop making Miss Natasha mad!” Drew intervened, giving his sister a little push and running to give you a hug. You smiled gratefully at the little boy, taking delight in the way Paige’s eyes narrowed with jealousy.

“Whatever, I can be chill. But I actually wanna see the projects Drew’s been talking about, so can we get started?” The blonde asked impatiently, as if she hadn’t been the one obnoxiously flirting.

So I started showing Drew’s works that he’d created the past few months. When I got to the Lego Fortnite set he’d built, he’d started rambling about the project and going into a detailed explanation of how he built it. I could see Paige attentively listening at first, but as Drew kept talking, her attention slowly shifted to me.

“Whenever we Facetime, Drew talks about his teacher a lot,” Paige mused quietly as Drew paused his tangent to look over the set and make sure all the pieces were intact. “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.” Her eyes darted to me again, and I wondered at how anybody ever talked to this girl with how intense her stare was.

I chewed my lip. It was always nice seeing the impact U made on your kids; it made all the hard work and tears worth it. It’s what I’ve always aimed to do - change their lives. “Thank you,” I said softly. “Same with you. Drew won’t ever shut up about you, especially at recess when the kids are playing basketball. You play, right?”

Paige’s eyes shined, a smile forming on her face. “I am. I play at UConn.”

I gaped at her. “Please don’t tell me you’re a freshman in college.” Although she had been the one making the innuendos, it still made me uncomfortable at the idea of an 18 year old even thinking about me this way.

Thankfully, Paige shook her head. “I’m 22. A senior. You?”

“I’m 24.”

Paige grinned again. “Perfect. Not too old for me then.”

I rolled my eyes, my annoyance returning. “Do you have no shame? I could have a significant other for all you’d know. I’m also your brother’s teacher.”

Paige tilted her head, studying me. “Do you have a significant other?” Her tone made it clear that she already knew the answer.

“That’s not important,” I said looking away. The corners of Paige’s lips turned upwards, and I wanted to punch the satisfaction off her face.

“I’ve actually always thought teachers were very attractive,” Paige murmured, her tone now husky. She leaned in closer to me, one hand stabilizing herself on the desk. “With their glasses and their skirts.” Her tongue darted out, wetting her bottom lip.

“I’m not wearing glasses,” I stammered. Every cell in my body was screaming at myself to back away and create some distance between me and this random girl, but I couldn’t.

“Maybe not, but you’re wearing a skirt. Although to be honest, I’d like it better if there was nothing there at all,” she rasped. She leaned in closer, the atmosphere between us now charged, but at the same moment Drew’s parents walked in.

I immediately jumped up and stumbled backwards, humiliated at having been caught in such a position with their daughter. I chastised myself - how could I be acting so unprofessionally while on the job? We hadn’t done anything wrong, per se, but the proximity we’d been sitting in was definitely way beyond what was appropriate for a teacher and one of their students’ family members.

“Mr. and Mrs. Bueckers!” I squeaked, clearing my throat and ignoring the way Paige started smirking as she observed my awkwardness. “So nice to see you guys again!”

Bob Bueckers looked curiously between the two of us, but nonetheless he stuck out his hand and flashed a friendly smile. “Miss Natasha! How have you been?”

I re-explained to the Bueckers all of Drew’s activities and achieevments, but this time with Paige silently burning me with her relentless gaze from behind her dad and step-mom. Every time I glared at her in an effort to get her to stop, her intensity only increased. I hated how flustered she was able to make me without even saying a word, so as soon as I finished, I quickly excused myself to talk to other parents.

Somewhere in the midst of my conversations with other families, the Bueckers disappeared, and I assumed they went to visit Drew’s other teachers. I tried to get Paige out of my mind, but for the entire night her face was burned into the back of my mind, God knows why. It seemed like the longest night ever - an endless stream of parents all fighting for my attention so they could talk about their kid, combined with my short interactions from Paige earlier that night still nagging at me. Unsurprisingly, I was completely exhausted by the time open house night ended.

It was almost 10 PM when I finished cleaning and wrapping up for the night. I locked up my classroom and headed to the bathroom for a quick pit stop before leaving. As I walked past the gym, though, I swore I heard sounds filtering in from under the doors. I paused, unsure of what to do. The gym was definitely supposed to be closed by now; almost the entire school was empty and dark save a couple janitors and lingering teachers. But it was getting late, and I honestly didn’t want to have to deal with another issue. Besides, I wasn’t sure if I even heard a noise.

So I turned around and kept walking, until a loud giggle followed by a “Shhh!” turned my feet right back. Marching to the front entrance, I tried to open the doors, but was met with resistance. Huffing, I pushed harder, but whoever was on the other end was strong. I gave one last push before jogging to the side entrance. This time, the door opened with ease, showing a completely empty gym - except for a familiar blonde woman and one of your students leaning against the doors at the front entrance.

Heat flooded your cheeks, and this time it wasn’t from embarrassment, but from anger. “Are you serious right now?” I stomped aggressively towards the two culprits, both of whom looked like guilty children that’d just been caught eating chocolate in the middle of the night - except one was a 22 year old college student who definitely knew better. “I cannot believe this is real right now.” I ran your head through my hair, my voice shocked with disbelief. “How did you even get in here?” I looked around, realizing that there had to be at least 20 basketballs scattered across the floor of the gym. “And where did all these balls come from?”

Paige scratched the back of her neck, sheepishness on her face. “Uh, we might’ve found a way to get into the storage room.”

“How did you even get inside the gym in the first place?” You shrieked, trying not to lose full control over yourself.

Paige winced. “I might’ve taught Drew how to pick locks? And he was trying to show me how much he’s been practicing.” She looked over at her little brother in desperation, who in turn ran behind her and started hiding behind her legs. “I mean, I didn’t think he’d actually be able to unlock the gym when he started showing me!” Paige justified. “But then he unlocked it and then I saw the court and I couldn’t not get a few hoops in.” She trailed off at that last part, slowly realizing how ridiculous she sounded.

“Oh my god.” I started frantically running around, chucking basketballs into the cart. “Never in my two years of teaching have I seen such unapologetic inappropriate behavior.” I turned around and jabbed a finger in Paige’s direction, my chest heaving with exertment. “You are single handedly worse than my entire class of third graders combined.”

Paige’s mouth dropped open. “Hey! This was Drew’s idea!”

“Paigeeee!” Drew whined, cowering further behind his older sister.

After collecting several more balls, I gave up. I slumped down on the floor. “Unbelievable,” I uttered to myself. “Unbelievable. A 22 year old breaking into school property and blaming it on her 8 year old brother. Unbelievable!”

Paige hesitantly walked nearer to me, concern in her eyes. “Stop,” I threatened once she got within a few feet. “Or I might bite.”

Paige started to laugh, but the look I sent her was so menacing that she immediately shut up. “Hey,” she said softly. “Look, I’m sorry. But what’s the big deal? It’s not like you’re gonna get in trouble for anything.”

“I just wanted to go home,” I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “It’s 10 PM and today has been the longest day of my life.”

I startled when I felt a gentle touch on my shoulder. Looking up, I was surprised to see the face of Drew. “I’m sorry, Miss Nat,” he whispered, regret in his eyes. “But Paige hasn’t been home in forever and she said she would help me with basketball when she came back. We didn’t mean to make you mad.”

I knew it shouldn’t, but my heart melted at his words. This is why you’re weak, I cursed to myself. A pair of puppy dog eyes and you’re all bent up. Shaking my head slowly, I took a deep breath to calm my nerves.

“Hey,” Paige interrupted. “The damage is already done. This gym is unlocked and I’m pretty sure everyone else has left. Why don’t we show you what we’ve been working on so you know we haven’t been up to no good?”

I got up from my crumpled position on the floor, tightly gripping my purse. “No,” I said wearily. “I think I’m okay. I just wanna get some sleep at home.”

“Please,” Drew begged. “Can I show you just one of my shots? Paige said it looks a lot better from last time!”

“Just one!” Paige joined in. “One won’t hurt.”

I stared at the two of them, both of them with their hands interlocked as if they were praying, their eyes eager and hopeful. I couldn’t even believe myself, but the words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop it. “Fine. Just one.”

“Yessss!” The two siblings high fived each other and I fought back a smile, trying to maintain my serious demeanor.

“You aren’t ready for this,” Paige smirked, and you only rolled your eyes in response. “Alright, ready bud?”

“Ready!” Drew called back, bouncing excitedly up and down on the balls of his feet. He started sprinting down the court, and Paige quickly passed him a ball.

He dribbled between his legs, almost losing it but recovering as he made his way to the net. “Drew Bueckers on a breakaway!” Paige narrated, cupping her hands around her mouth as she mimicked a sports commentator. “Three seconds remaining on the shot clock!”

Drew started making his way closer to the net, dribbling behind his back and faking out ghost defenders.

“Three….”

Drew landed on his right foot and pivoted.

“Two….”

Drew spun on his foot and faced the basket.

“One….”

Right before Paige finished counting down, Drew cocked his arm and released, sending the ball flying up and then down, straight into the net for a perfect layup.

“And he scooooooreeees!” Paige howled, running towards her brother and wrapping him up in a hug. This time, I couldn’t help it. I found myself smiling the hardest I’d smiled all night as I watched Paige swing Drew around as his infectious giggles filled the room.

“See?” Paige yelled to me once she set him down. “Wasn’t that epic?”

“So epic.” I beamed at the boy, who was now looking at me shyly. I cleared my throat. “But now we gotta clean up before someone finds this and gets yall in trouble.”

“Ooh, so she’s on our side now!” Paige poked Drew in the ribs teasingly, and he scampered away, laughing as he started picking up balls on the other side of the gym.

Paige turned to you, her expression serious now. “I think it’s your turn.”

“What?” I took a step back. “No, I think I’m actually good.”

“You not up for a little challenge?” Paige picked up a ball and spun it on one of her fingers, and I couldn’t deny that she looked incredibly hot while doing it.

“I can shoot a ball,” I insisted, folding my arms. “I just don’t want to right now.”

“Bull.” Paige extended her arm, offering the ball to you. “I bet you can’t make it from here.”

“Are you serious? We’re like three feet from the net!” I scoffed. I haven’t really shot many basketballs in my life, but how hard could it be? The net was right there.

“Alright, then shoot it.” When I stared at her blankly, still refusing to take the ball, Paige tossed it to me so that I was forced to catch it. “We’re not leaving till you shoot.”

Sighing, I bounced the ball once. Praying that the ball would land somewhere around the net, I launched it. The ball hit the backboard, slowly rolling around the rim of the net before falling to the side. I rolled my eyes. “That basically counts.”

Paige stifled a laugh. “If that basically counted, I’d be the all time leading scorer in the NCAA by now.” I pushed her, unamused. “Hey, now.” Paige picked up another ball. “I’ll teach you.”

I backed up, about to protest, but Paige stepped closer to me, so close that I could feel her breath hitting my skin, and I suddenly lost all ability to move. The blonde swallowed, her eyes darting to my lips for barely a moment before she refocused on the ball. Gently, she placed the ball in my hands, then stepped behind me. I felt hands grab my waist and pull me to her. When my hips suddenly collided with hers, I let out a gasp of surprise.

“Relax,” she murmured into my ear, her warm breath fanning my cheek. “You’re so tense.”

Her hands let go of my hips, and my body ached for the loss of her warmth until her arms wrapped around my own and guided them to the position she wanted. After my arms were in the right form, she positioned my legs and feet with her hands. Every time she touched me, her fingers lingering, I felt light headed, as if my blood sugar was about to crash.

“Okay,” she breathed, stepping back to take a look. “Beautiful.” I had a feeling she wasn’t only talking about my shooting form, and my heart lurched.

“Shoot.”

This time when I let the ball go, it reached the net, sliding through with a satisfying swoosh. I let out a little shout and turned around, giving Paige a bright smile. She chuckled at my excitement. “Good, huh?” she teased.

“You’re not bad,” I responded as nonchalantly as I could. A little flirting never hurt anyone.

She raised an eyebrow. “Not bad, huh? You should come to one of my games. You’ll see how ‘not bad’ I really am.”

“Go to one of your games?” I smiled suggestively, closing the distance between us until we were closer than we’d been before. I licked my lips. “You’re moving a little fast, Bueckers.”

“Fast,” Paige repeated, her voice throaty. “That’s how I roll.” I finally let my eyes fall to her lips, finally noticing how pink and soft they looked.

My hands somehow landed on her chest. Her fingers touched my chin, tilting it upward. Before I knew it, her lips were on mine, and I was on fire. I grazed her cheeks with my fingertips, her skin hot and flushed under my touch. She’d barely brushed her lips against mine though, when a basketball suddenly dropped, pulling me into my senses.

I jumped back, staring in disbelief at the blonde. Her hair was slightly mussed up, her eyes darkened as she watched me. “Oh my god,” I whispered to myself. “Oh my god, you just kissed your student’s sister.” I brought my fingers to my lips.

“That was barely a kiss,” Paige complained. “How about you c’mere and I’ll show you how it’s really done?”

“Fucking hell, no!” You steppped back from Paige, glancing over at Drew to see if he’d saw us. Thankfully, he was still preoccupied putting the basketballs away.

“You guys need to hurry and clean up. I gotta go tell the janitors to lock up the gym. You need to be gone from here before they come.” You turned around, frantically looking around for your purse. Once you spotted it, you grabbed it and started rushing out.

“Hey!” Paige yelled out, her hands to her side. “Where are you going?”

I swallowed hard, not responding as the doors of the gym slammed behind me. Ice traveled through my veins. How could I have gotten mixed up in that? If I’d gotten caught by one of my coworkers kissing one of my student’s family members in a gym that was broken into, I’d be fired on the spot. Getting this job had been hard enough - no one wanted a 24 year old female fresh out of college. I could not be participating in risky behavior like this.

Paige was attractive, no doubt. But she was also cocky, and arrogant, and Drew’s sister. She also lived in Connecticut. This would never work out, I reminded yourself. So when I went home and jumped in the shower, I tried to scrub off any memory of Paige’s tantalizing lips.

#paige bueckers #uconnwbb

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tk-duveraun · 20 days ago

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Cw: some unintentional but really messed up transphobia on SY's part

Cumplane AU where they live in a modern with magic world and PIDW is presented as a historical fantasy power fantasy

SY is a magical teacher turned researcher turned homebody as his body deteriorates due to magical illness. But this means he very much knows how magic works and gets very heated in the comments making corrections.

(airplane desperately wanted to study extinct magical creatures but the specialized classes were too expensive)

SY is extra infuriated bc airplane knows so much about magical creatures and lost habitats but then turns them into set pieces for porn!

At one point, airplane posts an AN about how he's entering the lottery for non-magical people to be granted a wish. Most people get their houses fitted so they don't have to pay utilities or so that they're bigger on the inside, or link their lifespan to their beloved pet.

SY who is both rich and has connections sends airplane a private message asking what he wished for. SY is planning to leverage this into special chapters just about the setting.

Airplane knows that while SY is a hater, he's harmless. People have doxxed SY and he only went on insane copy pasta level rants about not talking online stuff too seriously. So airplane admits he put in for magical gender affirming transformation.

SY is extremely disappointed by airplane's lack of creativity and ambition with his wish and airplane, reasonably extremely offended, blocks him.

Airplane doesn't win the lottery and continues to post chapters as usual but leaves out any and all AN's because he's still reasonably hurt by it.

SY obliviously continues ranting as normal in the comments.

Only, a few weeks later, airplane gets contacted by this semi-underground group that does magical gender affirming transformations for free, sent his way none other than sy

SY wasn't meaning to be transphobic, he just thought airplane would ask for his cat to be made into a hulijing or something.

Anyway cue airplane trying to get in touch with sy and thank him but SY bring a brat bc airplane blocked him "for no reason"

Airplane, very reasonably, blows up at him about it. SY complains to his sister, who is just like "OMG you're so stupid"

Eventually they reconcile and meet up IRL, airplane learns how sick sy is and after hearing the details is like "...I swear I've heard of this before" and sy rolls his eyes bc he knows how rare his condition is, but they become "very good friends"

(airplane: I knew he was in the closet but wow

SY sister: I know right)

Airplane with his kind of sugar daddy starts up correspondence courses on the side and finally remembers where he heard about SY's illness before! It's a magical virus only carried by an extinct creature that most humans were immune to already, but guess whose family has a taxidermy of said magical beast in their main house

This information finally leads to a cure and SY's family make a huge ordeal about accepting their new son in law

"I'm not gay!"

Eye rolls

"We're not together!"

".........."

"we kind of are, bro"

SY makes a noise like a teakettle and stomps off.

#svsss #cumplane

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thewidowsghost · 1 year ago

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The Sky (Annabeth Chase x Jackson!Reader)

After hearing Annabeth gripe about her father for the last two years, (Y/n) had expected him to have devil horns and fangs. She had not expected him to be wearing an old-fashioned aviator’s cap and goggles. He looks so strange, with his eyes bugging out through the glasses, that she, her brother Percy, Thalia, and Zoe take a step back on the back porch.

“Hello,” he says in a friendly voice, “Are you delivering my airplanes?”

Thalia, Zoe, Percy, and (Y/n) look at each other warily.

“Um, no, sir,” Percy says.

“Drat,” he says. “I need three more Sopwith Camels.”

“Right,” (Y/n) says, though she has no idea what he’s talking about. “We’re, uh, friends,” - not exactly - “of Annabeth’s.”

“Annabeth?” he straightens, as if (Y/n) had just given him an electric shock. “Is she all right? Has something happened?”

None of the demigods answer, but their faces must’ve told him that something was very wrong. He takes off his cap and goggles. He has the same sandy-colored hair as Annabeth, and intense brown eyes. He’s handsome, for an older guy, but it looks as though he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, and his shirt is buttoned wrong, so one side of his collar sticks up higher than the other side.

“You’d better come in,” Dr. Chase says grimly.

The Chase’s house smells like fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies and jazz music is coming from the kitchen. It seems like a messy, happy kind of home – the kind of place that someone had lived in forever.

“Dad!” a little boy screams. “He’s taking apart my robots!”

“Bobby,” Dr. Chase calls absently, “don’t take apart your brother’s robots.”

“I’m Bobby,” the little boy protests. “He’s Matthew!”

“Mathew,” Dr. Chase calls, “don’t take apart your brother’s robots.”

“Okay, Dad!”

Dr. Chase turns to us. “We’ll go upstairs to my study. This way.”

“Honey?” a woman calls. Annabeth’s stepmother appears in the living room, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Who are our guests?” she asks.

“Oh,” Dr. Chase says. “This is . . .” He stares blankly at the demigods.

“Frederick,” she chides. “You forgot to ask them their names?”

The demigods introduce themselves a little uneasily, but Mrs. Chase seems nice to (Y/n). She asks if the demigods were hungry, and they admit that they were, and she lets them know she’d bring up some cookies, sandwiches, and sodas.

“Dear,” Dr. Chase says. “They came about Annabeth?”

(Y/n) half expects Mrs. Chase to turn into a raving lunatic at the mention of her stepdaughter, but she just purses her lips and looks concerned. “All right. Go on up to the study, and I’ll bring you some food.” Her gaze rests knowingly on (Y/n), and she smiles at the daughter of Poseidon. “Nice meeting you, (Y/n). I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Upstairs, they walk into Dr. Chase’s study, and a gasp of amazement escapes from (Y/n)’s lips.

The room is wall-to-wall books, but what really catches (Y/n)’s attention are the war models. There is a huge table with miniature tanks and soldiers fighting along a blue painted river, with hills and fake trees and stuff. Old-fashioned biplanes hang on strings from the ceiling, tilted at crazy angles like they were in the middle of a dogfight.

Dr. Chase smiles. "Yes. The Third Battle of Ypres. I'm writing a paper, you see, on the use of Sopwith Camels to strafe enemy lines. I believe they played a much greater role than they've been given credit for."

He plucks a biplane from its string and sweeps it across the battlefield, making airplane engine noises as he knocks down little German soldiers.

(Y/n) smiles slightly, looking up at her girlfriend’s father.

Zoe comes over and studies the battlefield. “The German lines were farther from the river.”

Dr. Chase stares at her. “How do you know that?”

"I was there," she says matter-of-factly. "Artemis wanted to show us how horrible war was, the way mortal men fight each other. And how foolish, too. The battle was a complete waste."

Dr. Chase opens his mouth in shock. “You –”

“She’s a Hunter, sir,” Thalia says. “But that’s not wy we’re here. We need –”

"You saw the Sopwith Camels?" Dr. Chase says. "How many were there? What formations did they fly?"

“Sir,” (Y/n) breaks in this time. “Annabeth, sh-she’s in danger.”

That gets his attention. He sets the biplane down.

“Of course,” he says. “Tell me everything.”

It isn’t easy, but they try. Meanwhile, the afternoon light is fading outside.

The demigods were running out of time.

When they'd finished, Dr. Chase collapses in his leather recliner. He laces his hands. "My poor brave Annabeth. We must hurry."

"Sir, we need transportation to Mount Tamalpais," Zoe says. "And we need it immediately."

"I'll drive you. Hmm. it would be faster to fly in my Camel, but it only seats two."

"Whoa, you have an actual biplane?" Percy asks.

"Down at Crissy Field," Dr. Chase says proudly. "That's the reason I had to move here. My sponsor is a private collector with some of the finest World War I relics in the world. He let me restore the Sopwith Camel—"

Sir," (Y/n) says. "Just a car would be great. And it might be better if we went without you. It's too dangerous."

Dr. Chase frowns uncomfortably. “Now wait a minute, young lady. Annabeth is my daughter. Dangerous or not, I . . . I can’t just –”

"Snacks," Mrs. Chase announces. She pushes through the door with a tray full of peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches and Cokes and cookies fresh out of the oven, the chocolate chips still gooey. Thalia and Percy inhale a few cookies while Zoe says, "I can drive, sir. I'm not as young as I look. I promise not to destroy your car."

Mrs. Chase knits her eyebrows. "What's this about?"

“Annabeth is in danger,” Dr. Chase says. “On Mount Tam. I would drive them . . . but apparently it’s no place for mortals.”

It sounds to (Y/n) like it was really hard for him to get that last part out.

(Y/n) waits for Mrs. Chase to say no, but to her surprise, Mrs. Chase just nods. “Then they’d better get going.”

“Right!” Dr. Chase jumps and starts patting his pockets. “My keys . . .”

His wife sighs. "Frederick, honestly. You'd lose your head if it weren't wrapped inside your aviator hat. The keys are hanging on the peg by the front door."

“Right!” Dr. Chase says.

Zoe and (Y/n) each grab a sandwich. “Thank you both,” Zoe says. “We should go. Now!”

The four hustle out the door and down the stairs, the Chases right behind them.

“(Y/n)” Mrs. Chase calls as they’re leaving, “tell Annabeth . . . tell her she still has a home here, will you? Remind her of that.”

(Y/n) takes one last look at the messy living room - Annabeth’s half brothers spilling LEGOs and arguing, and the smell of cookies filling the air. Not a bad place, she thinks.

“I’ll tell her,” (Y/n) replies, smiling slightly at her girlfriend’s stepmother.

They run out to the yellow Volkswagen convertible parked in the driveway. The sun is going down, and (Y/n) figures they have less than an hour to save Annabeth.

. . .

At the top of the mountain are ruins, blocks of black granite and marble as big as houses. Broken columns. Statues of bronze that look as though they’d been half melted.

“The ruins of Mount Othrys,” Thalia whispers in awe.

“Yes,” Zoe says. “It was not here before. This is bad.”

“What’s Mount Othrys?” Percy asks, feeling like a fool as usual.

“The mountain fortress of the Titans,” Zoe explains. “In the first war, Olympus and Othrys were the two rival capitals of the world. Othrys was –” she winces and holds her side.

“You’re hurt,” (Y/n) says, ignoring her own possibly cracked ribs. “Let me see.”

“No!” Zoe protests. “It is nothing. I was saying... in the first war, Othrys was blasted to pieces.”

“But . . . how is it here?”

Thalia looks around cautiously as they pick their way through the rubble, past blocks of marble and broken archways. "It moves in the same way that Olympus moves. It always exists on the edges of civilization. But the fact that it is here, on this mountain, is not good."

“Why?”

"This is Atlas's mountain," Zoe says. "Where he hold s—" She freezes. Her voice is ragged with despair. "Where he used to hold up the sky."

They had reached the summit of the mountain. A few yards ahead of them, gray clouds swirl in a heavy vortex, making a funnel cloud that almost touches the mountaintop, but instead rests on the shoulders of a twelve-year-old girl with auburn hair and a tattered silvery dress: Artemis, her legs bound to the rock with celestial bronze dreams. This is what (Y/n) had seen in her dream - though it hadn't been a cavern roof that Artemis was forced to hold.

It was the weight of the world.

"My lady!" Zoe rushes forward.

But Artemis says, "Stop! It is a trap. You must leave now." Her voice is strained, and she is drenched in sweat. (Y/n) had never seen a goddess in pain before, but the weight of the sky is clearly too much for Artemis.

Zoe is crying. She runs forward, despite Artemis’s protests, and tugs at the chains.

A booming voice speaks behind them: “Ah, how touching.”

They turn.

The General is staging there in his brown suit. At his side are Luke - and half a dozen dracaenae bearing the weight of the golden sarcophagus of Kronos.

Annabeth stands at Luke’s side - her hands cuffed behind her back, a gag in her mouth, and Luke is holding the point of his sword to her throat.

(Y/n) meets her girlfriend’s gaze, her sword, Tsunami, still in pen form in her hand, a thousand questions running through her head. There is one message Annabeth is sending her, however: RUN!

(Y/n)’s face hardens. “Luke,” (Y/n) snarls. “Let her go.”

Luke’s smile is pale and weak. “That is the General’s decision, (Y/n). But it’s good to see you again.”

(Y/n) spats at him.

The general chuckles. “So much for old friends. And you, Zoe. it’s been a long time. How’s my little traitor? I will enjoy killing you.”

“Do not respond,” Artemis groans. “Do not challenge him.”

“Wait a second,” Percy says. “You’re Atlas?”

The General glances at him. "So, even the stupidest of heroes can finally figure something out. Yes, I am Atlas, the general of the Titans and terror of the gods. Congratulations. I will kill you presently, as soon as I deal with this wretched girl."

“You’re not going to hurt anyone,” Percy says, and (Y/n) grunts her agreement. “We won’t let you.”

The General sneers. “You have no right to interfere, little heroes. This is a family matter.”

Percy frowns. “A family matter?”

“Yes,” Zoe says bleakly. “Atlas is my father.”

The terrible thing is: (Y/n) can see the resemblance. Atlas has the same regal expression as Zoe, the same cold proud look in his eyes that Zoe sometimes got when she was mad, though on him, it looks a thousand times more evil. The Titan was all the things (Y/n) had originally disliked about Zoe, with none of the good she’d come to appreciate in her friend.

"Let Artemis go," Zoe demands.

Atlas walks closer to the chained goddess. "Perhaps you'd like to take the sky for her, then? Be my guest."

Zoe opens her mouth to speak, but Artemis says, "No! Do not offer, Zoe! I forbid you."

Atlas smirks. He kneels next to Artemis and tries to touch her face, but the goddess bites at him, almost taking off his fingers.

"Hoo-hoo," Atlas chuckles. "You see, daughter? Lady Artemis likes her new job. I think I will have all the Olympians take turns carrying my burden, once Lord Kronos rules again, and this is the center of our palace. It will teach those weaklings some humility."

(Y/n) looks at Annabeth. She is desperately trying to tell (Y/n) something. She motions her head towards Luke. But all (Y/n) can do is stare at her. (Y/n) hadn't noticed before, but something about her had changed. Her beautiful blond hair was now streaked with gray - but that didn’t make Annabeth look less beautiful in (Y/n)’s eyes.

"From holding the sky," Thalia mutters, as if she'd (Y/n)’s mind. "The weight should've killed her."

"I don't understand," Percy says. "Why can't Artemis just let go of the sky?"

Atlas laughs. "How little you understand, young one. This is the point where the sky and the earth first met, where Ouranos and Gaia first brought forth their mighty children, the Titans. The sky still yearns to embrace the earth. Someone must hold it at bay, or else it would crush down upon this place, instantly flattening the mountain and everything within a hundred leagues. Once you have taken the burden, there is no escape." Atlas smiles. "Unless someone else takes it from you." He approaches the group, studying Thalia, (Y/n), and Percy. "So these are the best heroes of the age, eh? Not much of a challenge."

"Fight us," (Y/n) spits. "And let's see."

"Have the gods taught you nothing? An immortal does not fight a mere mortal directly. It is beneath our dignity. I will have Luke crush you instead."

"So you're another coward," (Y/n) snickers.

Atlas's eyes glow with hatred. With difficulty, he turns his attention to Thalia. "As for you, daughter of Zeus, it seems Luke was wrong about you."

"I wasn't wrong," Luke managed. He looked terribly weak, and he spoke every word as if it were painful. If (Y/n) didn't hate his guts so much, she almost would've felt sorry for him. "Thalia, you still can join us. Call the Ophiotaurus. It will come to you. Look!"

He waves his hand, and next to us a pool of water appears: a pond ringed in black marble, big enough for the Ophiotaurus. Percy can imagine Bessie in that pool. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more he was sure he could hear Bessie mooing.

Don't think about him! Suddenly Grover's voice is inside my mind—the empathy link. Percy could feel his emotions. He is on the verge of panic. I'm losing Bessie. Block the thoughts!

Percy tries to make his mind go blank. He tries to think about basketball players, skateboards, and the different kinds of candy in my mom's shop. Anything but Bessie.

"Thalia, call the Ophiotaurus," Luke persists. "And you will be more powerful than the gods."

"Luke . . ." Her voice is full of pain. "What happened to you?"

"Don't you remember all those times we talked? All those times we cursed the gods?

Our fathers have done nothing for us. They have no right to rule the world!"

Thalia shakes her head. "Free Annabeth. Let her go."

"If you join me," Luke promises, "it can be like old times. The three of us together. Fighting for a better world. Please, Thalia, if you don't agree . . ."His voice falters. "It's my last chance. He will use the other way if you don't agree. Please."

(Y/n) doesn’t know what he means, but the fear in his voice sounds real enough. She could believe that Luke was in danger.

His life depends on Thalia's joining his cause. And (Y/n) is afraid Thalia might believe it, too.

"Do not, Thalia," Zoe warns. "We must fight them."

Luke waves his hand again, and a fire appears. A bronze brazier, just like the one at

camp. A sacrificial flame.

"Thalia," (Y/n) mutters. "No."

Behind Luke, the golden sarcophagus begins to glow. As it did, (Y/n) sees images in the mist

all around us: black marble walls rising, the ruins becoming whole, a terrible and beautiful

palace rising around them, made of fear and shadow.

"We will raise Mount Othrys right here," Luke promises, in a voice so strained it is hardly his. "Once more, it will be stronger and greater than Olympus. Look, Thalia. We are not weak."

He points toward the ocean, and (Y/n)’s heart falls. Marching up the side of the mountain, from the beach where the Princess Andromeda was docked, is a great army. Dracaenae and

Laestrygonians, monsters and half-bloods, hellhounds, harpies, and other things (Y/n) can’t even name. The whole ship must've been emptied, because there are hundreds, many more than (Y/n) had seen on board last summer. And they are marching toward the mountain. In a few minutes, they would be there.

"This is only a taste of what is to come," Luke says "Soon we will be ready to storm Camp Half-Blood. And after that, Olympus itself. All we need is your help."

For a terrible moment, Thalia hesitates. She gazes at Luke, her eyes full of pain, as if the only thing she wants in the world is to believe him. Then she levels her spear. "You aren't Luke. I don't know you anymore."

"Yes, you do, Thalia," he pleads. "Please. Don't make me . . . Don't make him destroy you."

There is no time. If that army gets to the top of the hill, we would be overwhelmed. (Y/n) meets her girlfriend’s eyes again. Annabeth nods.

(Y/n) looks at Percy, Thalia, and Zoe, and she decides it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to die fighting with friends like this.

"Now," (Y/n) says, and together, they charge.

Thalia goes straight for Luke. The power of her shield is so great that his dragon- women bodyguards flee in a panic, dropping the golden coffin and leaving him alone. But despite his sickly appearance, Luke is still quick with his sword. He snarls like a wild animal and counterattacks. When his sword, Backbiter, met Thalia's shield, a ball of lightning erupted between them, frying the air with yellow tendrils of power.

As for (Y/n), she does the stupidest thing in her life - which is saying a lot. She attacks the Titan Lord Atlas.

He laughs as (Y/n) approaches, her sword Tsunami springing to life in her hands. A massive javelin appears in Atlas’s hands and his silk suit melts into full Greek battle armor. “Go on, then!”

“(Y/n)!” Zoe calls. “Beware!”

(Y/n) knows what Zoe is warning her about. Chiron had told her a long time ago: Immortals are constrained by ancient rules. But a hero can go anywhere, challenge anyone, as long as she has the nerve. Once (Y/n) attacked, however, Atlas would be free to attack back directly with all his might.

(Y/n) swings her sword, but Atlas knocks her aside with the shaft of his javelin. (Y/n) flies through the air, and slams into a black wall. It isn’t Mist anymore. The palace is rising, brick by brick. It’s becoming real.

“Fool!” Atlas screams gleefully, swatting aside one of Zoe’s arrows. “Did you think, simply because you could challenge that petty war god, that you could stand up to me?”

The mention of Ares sets a jolt through (Y/n), and, ignoring her throbbing ribs, she shakes off her daze and charges again.

The javelin’s point slashes towards (Y/n) like a scythe. She raises Tsunami, planning to cut off the Titan’s weapon at the shaft, but her arm feels like lead. Suddenly, the sword weighs a ton.

And then (Y/n) remembers Ares's warning, spoken on the beach in Los Angeles so long ago:

When you need it most, your sword will fail you.

Not now! (Y/n) pleads. But it is no good. She tries to dodge, but the javelin catches her in the chest and sends (Y/n) flying like a rag doll. (Y/n) slams into the ground, her head spinning. (Y/n) looks up and finds herself at the feet of Artemis, still straining under the weight of the sky.

“Run, girl,” she tells (Y/n). “You must run!”

Atlas is taking his time coming towards (Y/n). My sword is gone. It had skittered away over the edge of the cliff. It might reappear in her pocket—maybe in a few seconds—but it doesn’t matter. (Y/n) would be dead by then. Luke and Thalia are fighting like demons, lightning crackling around them. Percy is fighting the dracaenae, and Annabeth is on the ground, desperately struggling to free her hands.

“Die, little hero!” Atlas says. He raises his javelin to impale (Y/n).

“No!” Zoe yells, and volley of silver arrows sprout from the armpit chink in Atlas’s armor.

“ARGH!” he bellows and turns back towards his daughter.

(Y/n) reaches down and feels Tsunami back in her pocket. She couldn’t fight Atlas, even with a sword. And then a chill goes down her back. She remembers the words of the prophecy: The Titan’s curse must one withstand. (Y/n) couldn’t hope to beat Atlas, but there is someone who might stand a chance.

“The sky,” (Y/n) tells the goddess. “Give it to me.”

"No, girl," Artemis says. Her forehead is beaded with metallic sweat, like quicksilver. "You don't know what you're asking. It will crush you!"

"Annabeth took it!"

"She barely survived. She had the spirit of a true huntress. You will not last so long."

"I'll die anyway," (Y/n) replies. "Give me the weight of the sky!"

(Y/n) doesn’t wait for her answer. She takes out Tsunami and slashes through her chains. Then she steps next to her and braces herself on one knee—holding up her hands—and touches the cold, heavy clouds. For a moment, Artemis and (Y/n) bare the weight together. It was the heaviest thing she'd ever felt, as if (Y/n) was being crushed under a thousand trucks. She wanted to black out from the pain, but (Y/n) breathes deeply. I can do this.

Then Artemis slips out from under the burden, and (Y/n) holds it alone.

Every muscle in (Y/n)’s body turns to fire. Her bones feel like they’re melting. She wants to scream, but she doesn’t have the strength to open her mouth. She begins to sink, lower and lower to the ground, the sky’s weight crushing her.

(Y/n) concentrates on breathing. (Y/n) thinks about Bianca, who’d given her life so they could get to this moment. If she could do that, then (Y/n) could hold the sky.

(Y/n)’s vision turns fuzzy. Everything is tinged with red. She catches glimpses of the battle, but she isn’t sure if she is seeing anything clearly. There is Atlas in full battle armor, jabbing with his javelin, laughing insanely as he fights. And Artemis, a blur of silver. She has two wicked hunting knives, each as long as her arm, and she slashes wildly at the Titan, dodging and leaping with unbelievable grace. She seems to change form as she maneuvers. She is a tiger, a gazelle, a bear, a falcon. Or perhaps that was just (Y/n)’s fevered brain. Zoe shoots arrows at her father, aiming for the chinks in his armor. He roars in pain each time one finds its mark, but they affect him like bee stings. He just gets madder and keeps fighting.

Thalia and Luke go spear on sword, lighting still flashing around them. Thalia presses Luke back with the aura of her shield. Even he is not immune to it. He retreats, wincing and growing in frustration.

"Yield!" Thalia yells. "You never could beat me, Luke."

He bares his teeth. "Well see, my old friend."

Sweat pours down (Y/n)’s face. Her hands are slippery. Her shoulders would've screamed with agony if they could. (Y/n) feels like the vertebrae in her spine are being welded together by a blowtorch.

In her daze, (Y/n) can’t place Percy’s or Annabeth’s positions. She watches, however, as Artemis advances. The goddess was fast, but the Titan’s strength is impossible. His javelin slammed into the earth where Artemis had been a split second before, and a fissure opens in the rocks. He leaps over it and keeps pursuing her. The goddess was leading him back towards (Y/n).

Get ready, the goddess speaks in her mind.

(Y/n) is loosing the abulity to think through the pain in her ribs. Her responce is somthing like agggghh-owwwww.

“You fight well for a girl,” Atlas laughs. “But you are no match for me.”

He feints with teh tip of his javelin and Artemis dodges. (Y/n) sees the trick coming. Atlas’s javelin sweeps around and knocks Artemis’s legs off the ground. She falls, and Atlas brings up his javelin tip for the kill.

"No!" Zoe screams. She leaps between her father and Artemis and shoots an arrow straight into the Titan's forehead, where it lodges like a unicorn's horn. Atlas bellows in rage. He sweeps aside his daughter with the back of his hand, sending her flying into the black rocks.

(Y/n) wasnts to shout her name, or run to her friend’s aid, but she can’t speak or move. She couldn’t even see where Zoe had landed. Then Atlas turns on Artemis with a look of triumph in his face. Artemis seems to be wounded. And she doesn’t get up.

"The first blood in a new war," Atlas gloats. And he stabs downward.

As fast as thought, Artemis grabs his javelin shaft. It hits the earth right next to her and she pulls backward, using the javelin like a lever, kicking the Titan Lord and sending him flying over her, (Y/n) sees him coming down on top of her and she realizes what would happen. (Y/n) loosened her hold on the sky, and as Atlas slams into her, she doesn’t try to hold on. (Y/n) lets herself be pushed out of the way and she rolls.

The weight of the sky drops onto Atlas’s back, almost smashing him flat until he manages to get to his kness, strugging to get out from under the crushing weight of the sky. But it is too late.

"Noooooo!" He bellows so hard it shakes the mountain. "Not again!"

Atlas is trapped under his old burden. (Y/n) tried to stand and fell back again, dazed from pain. Her body feels like it was burning up.

Thalia backs Luke to the edge of a cliff, but still they fought on, next to the golden coffin. Thalia has tears in her eyes. Luke has a bloody slash across his chest and his pale face glistened with sweat.

He lunges at Thalia and she slams him with her shield. Luke's sword spins out of his

hands and clatters to the rocks. Thalia puts her spear point to his throat.

For a moment, there is silence.

“Well?” Luke asks. He tries to hide it, but (Y/n) can hear the fear in his voice.

Thalia trembles with fury.

Behind her, Annabeth comes scrambling, finally free from her bonds. Her face is bruised and streaked with dirt. "Don't kill him!"

"He's a traitor," Thalia says. "A traitor!"

In her daze, (Y/n) realizes that Artemis is no longer with her, and Percy had taken the goddess’s place at her side. The goddess had run off toward theblack rocks where Zoe had fallen.

"We'll bring Luke back," Annabeth pleads. "To Olympus. He . . . he'll be useful."

"Is that what you want, Thalia?" Luke sneers. "To go back to Olympus in triumph? To please your dad?"

Thalia hesitats, and Luke makes a desperate grab for her spear.

"No!" Annabeth shouts. But without thinking, Thalia kicks Luke away. He looses his balance, terror on his face, and then he falls.

"Luke!" Annabeth screams.

Percy helps (Y/n) as they rush to the cliff’s edge. Below them, the army from the Princess Andromeda had stopped in amazement. They are staring at Luke’s broken from from teh rocks. Despite how much (Y/n) hated him, she couldn’t stand to see it. She wants to belive the son of Hermes is still alive, but that is impossible. The fall is at least fifty feet, and he isn’t moving.

One of the giants looks up and growls, "Kill them!"

Thalia is stiff with grief, tears streaming down her cheeks. (Y/n) pulls her back as a wave of javelins sail over their heads. They run for the rocks, ignoring the curses and threats of Atlas as they pass.

"Artemis!" Percy yells.

The goddess looks up, her face almost as grief-stricken as Thalia's. Zoe lies in the goddess's arms. She is breathing. Her eyes are open. But still . . .

"The wound is poisoned," Artemis says.

"Atlas poisoned her?" Percy asks.

"No," the goddess says. "Not Atlas."

Artemis shows them the wound in Zoe’s side. (Y/n) had almost forgotten her scrape with Ladon the dragon. The bite is so much worse than Zoe had let on. (Y/n) can barely look at the wound. Zoe had charged into battle against her father with a horrible cut already sapping her strengh.

(Y/n) feels a hand lacing through her’s. She glances over to find Annabeth standing beside her.

“The stars,” Zoe murmurs. “I cannot see them.”

“Nectar and ambrosia,” Percy says. “Come one. We have to get her some.”

No one moves. Grief hangs in the air. Even Artemis is too shocked to stir. The demigods may have met their doom right there, but then (Y/n) hears a strang buzzing noise.

Just as the army of monsters come over the hill, a Sopwith Camel swoops down out of the sky.

“Get away from my daugther!” Dr. Chase calls down, and his machine guns burst to life, peppering the groud with bullet holes and startling the whole group of monsters into scattering.

“Dad?” yells Annabeth in disbelief.

“Run!” he calls back, his voice growing fainter as the biplane swoops by.

This shakes Artemis out of her grief. She stares up at teh antique plane, which is now coming back for another strafe.

"A brave man," Artemis says with grudging approval. "Come, We must get Zoe away from here." She raises her hunting horn to her lips, and its clear sound echoes down the valleys of Marin. Zoe's eyes are fluttering.

"Hang in there!" Percy tells her. "It'll be all right!"

The Sopwith Camel swoops down again. A few giants threw javelins, and one flew straight between the wings of the plane, but the machine guns blazed. I realized with amazement that somehow Dr. Chase must've gotten hold of celestial bronze to fashion his bullets. The first row of snake women wailed as the machine gun's volley blew them into sulfurous yellow powder.

"That's . . . my dad!" Annabeth says in amazement.

They don’t have time to admire his flying. The giants and snake women are already recovering from their surprise. Dr. Chase would be in trouble soon.

Just then, the moonlight brights, and a silver chariot appears from the sky, drawn by the most beautiful deer (Y/n) had ever seen. It lands right next to them.

"Get in," Artemis says.

Annabeth helps (Y/n) get Thalia on board, and Percy helps Artemis with Zoe. They wrap

Zoe in a blanket as Artemis pulls the reins and the chariot sped away from the mountain,

straight into the air.

"Like Santa Claus's sleigh," (Y/n) murmurs, still dazed with pain.

Artemis takes time to look back at her. "Indeed, young half-blood. And where do you think that legend came from?"

Seeing them safely away, Dr. Chase turns his biplane and follows like an honor guard. It must have been one of the strangest sights ever, even for the Bay Area: a silver flying chariot pulled by deer, escorted by a Sopwith Camel.

Behind them, the army of Kronos roars in anger as they gather on the summit of Mount Tamalpais, but the loudest sound is the voice of Atlas, bellowing curses against the gods as he struggles under the weight of the sky.

. . .

Annabeth and (Y/n) fly along side by side on the back of the pegasai.

“Your dad seems cool,” (Y/n) tells Annabeth.

It was too dark to see her girlfriend’s expression. She looks back, though California is far behind them now.

“I guess so,” Annabeth replies. “We’ve been arguing for so many years.”

“Mhmm,” (Y/n) hums. “You mentioned that.”

“You think I was lying about that?” It sounds like a challenge to (Y/n), but a pretty half-hearted one, like she is asking it of herself.

"I didn't say you were lying. It's just . . . he seems okay. Your stepmom, too. Maybe they've, uh, gotten cooler since you saw them last."

She hesitates. "They're still in San Francisco, Percy. I can't live so far from camp."

(Y/n) doesn’t want to ask her next question. She is scared to know the answer. But I asks it anyway. "So what are you going to do now?"

They fly over a town, an island of lights in the middle of the dark. It whisks by so fast they might've been in an airplane.

"I don't know," she admits. "But thank you for rescuing me."

"Hey, you’re my girlfriend. I would go through Tartarus to rescue you."

"You didn't believe I was dead?"

"Never."

She hesitates. "Neither is Luke, you know. I mean . . . he isn't dead."

(Y/n) stares at her. She doesn’t know if Annabeth is cracking under the stress or what. "Annabeth, that fall was pretty bad. There's no way —"

"He isn't dead," she insistas. "I know it. The same way you knew about me."

Word Count: 5630 Words

#annabeth chase x reader #annabeth chase x jackson reader #annabeth chase x female reader #annabeth chase x fem reader #percy jackson x sister reader

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shares-a-vest · 5 months ago

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Prompt: Salty (Discord Drabble)

Eddie, Robin and Steve as the most incompetent roommates au.

Robin thinks she might just fall right to sleep on top of her textbook when a steamy, bright red blob of tomato sauce plops onto the page. It soaks through, staining the words and blurring the printed ink.

She looks up in horror to find Eddie standing before her, grinning expectantly.

“Try,” he insists, pushing the dripping spoon closer to her.

Robin recoils.

“I thought the whole point of you preparing dinner was so I could study?”

Eddie makes a face, “That’s what I’m doing. But you need to taste test, hmm? Here comes the airplane!”

He spits out some garbled noises Robin supposes sounds like an engine as he swoops the spoon at enough of an angle that another blob flies halfway across the counter island.

Robin lunges, grabbing Eddie’s wrist before he can do any more damage.

“Fine,” she relents, tugging his hand, “Give it here.”

Still holding on, she maneuvers Eddie’s wrist, twisting it as she moves her head to get the sample in her mouth –

But when the sauce hits her tongue, Robin gags.

“Good, huh?” Eddie beams.

“Bleh – what? Ed – no!” she spits, coughing now as she pushes the offending spoon away, “Eddie, why is it so salty!”

She grabbles for her water bottle.

“I haven’t added salt yet,” Eddie defends and looks down at the spoon.

He falls silent and heads for his recipe book. Robin glares at the back of Eddie’s head as she gulps down her water like a floundering guppy.

There’s a clamboring of jars and spices as Eddie mutters to himself, pouring over his recipe. And Robin rolls her eyes, thinking that making a spaghetti sauce surely couldn’t be this complicated.

“Oregano, olive oil, pap –,” Eddie lists off before promptly cutting himself off.

“Eddie, what did you use?” Robin asks when she comes up for air.

He sets down something and looks up but still doesn’t turn back to face her.

“... Paprika,” he very obviously lies, his hair bouncing as he talks.

Robin pinches her nose, “We really need Steve to hurry up with his night shifts.”

#i dont necessarily think steve would be much better but he'd at least be able to supervise 😂#eddie munson #robin buckley #stwgdailyprompt #lilys drabbles

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dulcua · 6 months ago

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🎧 airplane white noise | flight sounds for studying, focus or sleep

#sdv #sdv harvey #stardew #stardew valley #stardew harvey #dr harvey #sdv art #doodle #sketchbook #sdv fanart #stardew valley fanart #stardew fanart #queue

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dragon-queen21 · 1 year ago

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Straw-hats as Caregivers

requested by a very kind anon <3

My attempt at doing a sort of 'reader insert' type thing. Please spare mercy on me, for I know not what I am doing /lh Oh also, bit of a trigger warning for a couple of mentions of vent regression. Nothing to bad though

~~~

Sanji:

~Sanji would be great at playing pretend. Setting up a fake restaurant, going on a grand make believe adventures!

~If you regressed on the older side he would definitely teach you how to cook. Though he'd be very unsure about letting you into his kitchen if you were too small

~He would be the first to know when your sippy cup needs to be refilled, and each time he’d have a different drink for you to try.

~The type of caregiver to make airplane noises when feeding you and set out an extra plate for your stuffed animal to enjoy as well.

Zoro:

~Zoro would let you sit on top of his shoulders, or carry you around piggy back style. He thinks of it as extra training, you think of it as pure fun

~He'd give you little gifts now and again seemingly at random, with things that he think you might like when small. For example a small pocket sized stuffed animal that he saw on a display, a type of candy he thinks you might be interested in trying, or a pacifier that just happened to be your favorite color.

~You can't tell me he wouldn't enforce nap time. The greatest swords man has no time to deal with overtired and fussy little one when the problem can be so easily avoided by a power nap. Weather or not you agree with this depends on the day

Nami:

~If anyone asked, Nami would say that she is clearly the best caregiver in the world. She has everything under control, thank you very much. Anyone who thinks differently can expect a 20% increase in the debt that they owe her.

~Gives off the vibes of a very cheeky older sister

~A very soft spot for little you. If there’s something you want she’s going to do everything in her power to get it for you.

~She’d be surprisingly sweet and understanding when it comes to you vent regressing. While she’s not the best at comforting people, she does sympathize with the feeling of being overwhelmed, and through pure will power and determination she does her absolute best to cheer you up.

Usopp:

~He'd make a bunch of props for playing make believe with. Foam swords and paper crowns, treasure maps, and of course miniatures for any of your stuffed animals so they can play along

~Usopp would make up the best treasure hunts for you to partake in. With elaborate riddles and a fun prize at the end!

~Him and Luffy would definitely rope you into shenanigans when the two of them are regressed

Luffy:

~He would easily remember each one of your stuffed animals names, along with anything special about them. Treating each one as a special nakama whenever you’re regressed.

~The type of older sibling esc caregiver who would waiting until the adults are busy so that you two could get into mischief together.

~Helps you to come up with new made up games. Something that would confuse the rest of the crew if they weren't there at the time when it was being created.

~He’d have a hard time understanding vent regression. He gets being starting out happy then getting triggered by something and feeling bad, but not regressing from the get go and feeling sad.

Robin:

~Her specialty would be looking after little ones that regress super young. Being able to care and dote over someone would be super soothing for her

~ The rest of the crew refer to her as mama bird taking care of her baby bird

~She’d pick up picture book versions of all the things that she’s studying do that you can read along with her

~Not the best at playing along with your imagination. Too stuck up with the actual details and rules to play make believe.

Chopper:

~Chopper would probably know what age regression is way before you ever told him. Something that he read into while studying at some point in time. He knows enough about regression to know possible triggers , the difference between vent regression and regularly being regressed.

~He’s gotten used to being a cuddle buddy whenever your regressed. It gives him a viable excuse to take a break from his work and join in on nap time

-If you had a nightmare Chopper would do his best to comfort you and get you back to sleep. He’d offer to listen to what it was you dreamt about, although he’d probably get upset as well, in that case he’ll take your hand and the two of you will go and find another straw-hat (probably Zoro) for you to talk to

~He would love to play a bunch of different outdoor games. Things hopscotch, tag, hide and seek

#mayliz rambles #fandom agere #age regression #sfw agere #age regression headcanons #anime agere #one piece agere #agere headcanons #agere little #agere caregiver #I didn’t write franky because I have yet to meet him where I am at in the anime

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bleucaesura · 10 months ago

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STOLITZØ - TWENTY NINE

Blitzø’s mother helped him stand.

“I need to talk to you about Stolas.”

“Stolas?” Blitzø stammered. “What? Why?”

His mother raised an eyebrow at him.

Blitzø blushed.

She chuckled and rolled her eyes.

“I feel your perception of Stolas may leave a lot to be desired…”

Blitzø looked at her confused.

“You may see Stolas as this.”

Blitzø’s mother’s hand flourished and an image appeared of Stolas. It was as if she had plucked it directly from his acid trip nightmare.

Stolas lounged in a throne atop a gold gilded staircase. Shadowed silhouettes of Blitzø stood on either side of Stolas fanning him with great feathered fans. They were chained. Stolas smiled down at Blitzø seductivly, beckoning him to join him. Blitzø knew if he tried to climb those stairs he would just slip and fall over and over trying to reach the top. He also knew he could only reach the top if he crawled.

“You may see some self-important, entitled Royal, oblivious to the ways of the world and your feelings. Someone who enjoys making fun of your lower status and has a fetish for peasant sex and imp shaming.”

Blitzø cringed, blushed and looked away, ashamed.

“Or this.”

She waved her hand again, as if wiping a slate clean, and another image began to form.

Blitzø watched as the Stolas from the night in the human lab took shape. The massive black shape that devoured the light, all for the red glow from his silhouette and eyes (though it could have been the emergency lights, but Blitzø imagined it was Stolas’s demonic presence).

How could all of that fit inside such a twig of an owl?

He could hear Stolas’s voice in his head.

“Who dares threaten my impish little plaything?”

“What’s the matter, demon hunter? Never seen a REAL demon before?”

Blitzø shivered.

His mothers continued. “A terrifying, awe-inspiring force of power. An indestructible demon Prince. Something that could destroy you with a snap of its fingers.”

She snapped her fingers, startling Blitzø. The demonic Stolas disappeared and in its place appeared Stolas as Blitzø had first met him as a child. Bright and smiling and adorable as f*ck.

Blitzø smiled warmly.

“This is what Stolas truly is inside,” She gestured for Blitzø to go over.

Blitzø hesitated, looking at his mom for confirmation, she smiled warmly and shooed him off like a little kid scared to make new friends.

Blitzø walked over and crouched a few feet away. He watched as little Stolas ran around in a circle, making noises like he was an airplane, laughing the whole time. It was so f*cking wholesome.

“Stolas is a kind, hopeful child who was forced to grow up in a life beyond his choosing and was never truly allowed a childhood” Blitzø’s mother said behind him. She placed her hands on his shoulders.

“He may be wise beyond his years in his studies and the ways of the cosmos,” she gestured to the heavens and a swirl of stars and nebulas danced above their heads.

Blitzø watched in awe, his eyes shining with wonder.

“But Stolas was caged, abused and friendless his whole life…. Until he met you.”

Blitzø looked at his mother, shocked. She smiled warmly and nodded. His eyes welled with tears, but she wiped them away and kissed him on the forehead nodding for him to go back to little Stolas.

Blitzø watched fondly as little Stolas played. Then he remembered when he was first brought to the mansion and Stolas’s father had hit him for bowing to Blitzø…

That daddy f*cker…

Blitzø silently seethed wishing he could go back in time and do something very creative to Stolas’s father.

Blitzø watched little Stolas gleefully run in circles, giggling, hopping, spinning, arms wide like the airplane he was supposed to be.

A short while passed before Blitzø noticed something move in the middle of Stolas’s playful circle. He tried to make it out, but it was small and black so it blended in with its surroundings. Blitzø wouldn’t have even noticed it was there if it hadn’t moved.

“Wait…” Blitzø stood cautiously. “Mom… What’s that?” He pointed at the small black figure.

“Why don’t you go take a look?”

Blitzø looked back at his mother, unsure. She nodded in encouragement.

He made his way over to little Stolas, who stopped his airplaning and ran up to meet Blitzø with a giant smile on his face and sparkles in his eyes.

Blitzø’s heart skipped a beat and he smiled warmly down at little Stolas. This apparently made him very happy because he giggled with glee, grabbed Blitzø’s hand, and began pulling him forward. Blitzø blushed at the feeling of Stolas’s tiny hand in his.

Little Stolas cheerfully lead Blitzø over to a small black mass. They both looked down at it. It didn’t move. Stolas looked up at Blitzø with pleading eyes and tugged at his shirt end.

Christ on a stick. Can this bird get any fucking cuter? F*******ck meeeeeee…..

Blitzø crouched down to be eye-level with little Stolas. Stolas beamed, then pulled the hand he was holding toward the mass.

“You want me to touch it?” Blitzø whispered looking at little Stolas.

He nodded excitedly while making adorable hooting noises.

Blitzø blushed.

Yeah ok. Here I go. Just touching some random thing cuz a kid told me to… Please don’t eat my f*cking hand…

Blitzø reached out and lightly touched it. It was soft. Really soft. It shivered under his touch.

He looked at little Stolas.

“What…?”

The thing moved under his hand, startling him. He jerked his hand back and fell on his ass.

It shook like a cat stretching off its sleep. And a very faint red glow began to emit from it.

Blitzø realized what it was.

F*ck…

“Don’t be afraid,” His mother was beside him now. “It can’t harm you here. Not that it ever would”

Blitzø crawled over to it pspsps-ing at it like it was a cat.

The f*ck am I doing? This won’t work… Holy f*cking sh*t! It’s working!

It turned to look at him. And very cautiously began to creep over to his outstretched hand.

“This is Stolas’s demon isn’t it?” He asked his mother.

“It is.”

“Why is it so small?”

“This is how he sees himself and his power.”

The tiny demon cat-like owl sniffed Blitzø’s fingers then began stropping itself all over his hand, seeming very happy with the affection.

Blitzø obligingly pet demon Stolas, relishing in his softness and the thrum of power that emanated off his body.

The tiny demon clambered up onto Blitzø’s lap, curled up, and coo’ed contentedly.

Blitzø bit his lip hard.

F**********ck. I’m going to explode from CUTENESS! F*CK ME!

“Why would he see himself so small?” Blitzø asked.

His mother knelt beside him.

“Stolas has been made to feel small his entire life.”

Blitzø’s heart sank. He looked at demon Stolas sadly.

“His father neglected and belittled him. His wife abuses him. She’s even gone so far as to hire Striker.”

Blitzø felt a rage like he’d never experienced building inside him.

“Striker…” Blitzø growled.

“Blitzo.” His mother placed a hand on his cheek. “I expect you to work through that information with Stolas and NOT act on it. Do. You. Under. Stand. Me?”

The look in her eyes and her words brokered no negotiation. All the wind left Blitzø’s sails and his rage was doused to a seething simmer.

“Yes, momma,” he mumbled.

Blitzø looked down at demon Stolas and pet his deliciously soft feathers. Stolas’s warm glow and snoring coos comforted Blitzø and helped to calm him.

*****

#helluva boss #stolas #blitzø #stolitz #fanfic #vivziepop #vivzieverse #blitzo #vivienne medrano #brandon rogers

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mysteryshoptls · 2 years ago

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SSR Azul Ashengrotto Bloom Birthday Personal Story: Part 1

"Happy Birthday"

Part 1 (Part 2) (Part 3)

[Octavinelle Dorm – Birthday Party Venue]

Azul: This birthday interview is a prime opportunity for others in the school to understand me better. I must take full advantage of this occasion.

Azul: My research into the interview questions has been perfectly compiled. No matter what they ask me, I'll respond flawlessly.

???: I got the worst luck in having to interview this guy of all people. Out of everyone in Octavinelle, he's the guy I can't stand the most.

Azul: …Oh my, it seems my presenter is here.

Jack: It's Jack Howl, your presenter. Azul…...senpai. Happy Birthday.

Azul: Thank you very much, Jack-san. I am looking forward to today.

Jack: Sure. Let's just jump right into the interview. The first question is…

Jack: “Are you good or bad at flying?”

Azul: This one of all the possible questions…?

Azul: Ahem, please ignore me. You said flight, yes? I am receiving grades sufficient enough to pass my courses.

Jack: You usually get the highest grades on your tests, right? So, when you say, "sufficient enough to pass"…

Jack: So basically, you're definitely saying you're terrible at flying, huh.

Azul: …I can't say whether the term "terrible" is relevant to this situation, but I have been putting forth an extreme amount of effort this whole time.

Azul: I would prefer you to not lump me in with others who just decide it's impossible from the start and give up without trying.

Azul: It would be foolish to simply give up. Even people who aren't able to use magic have developed aircraft, you know.

Jack: …I guess I have to agree with you on that point.

Azul: I am truly pleased you agree. And while there are many crafts that can fly through the sky...

Azul: Out of all of them airplanes are quite spectacular. They can transport you safely to distant lands, and in a short amount of time.

Azul: But what surprised me even more are the abundance of the different transportation facilities on land. I never expected there to be that many alternative modes of transport!

Jack: When you say land… Are you talking about cars and trains?

Azul: Indeed. As long as you pay the fare, public transportation will very conveniently bring you to your final destination.

Jack: I mean, the cost is pretty outrageous if you travel by airplane, let alone trains or busses.

Jack: I'm a little… no, a lot surprised that you'd even suggest you're willing to pay that fare.

Azul: Of course, I would rather limit any unnecessary expenses. However, it is well worth the price to use those modes of transportation.

Azul: Not only does it reduce travel time, but there are other various benefits.

Jack: Other benefits…? Like what?

Azul: Perhaps this is simply so obvious to someone who has lived their whole life on the land that it's just taken for granted.

Azul: Some time ago, I took the bus to the town at the foothills.

Azul: Spending the trip watching the scenery drift by the windows was quite the pleasant respite.

Azul: And the greatest benefit of all would be that I am able to use that time efficiently.

Azul: While on the move, I am able to gather information, check my mail, study, or read. There is nothing better than that.

Jack: Yeah, that's true. It feels like a waste to just zone out while sitting there.

Azul: Right? I can work or study with light background noise, and also look out at the scenery to take a break at times.

Azul: The transportation methods on the surface are truly convenient. I am sincerely in awe.

Jack: HM? Somehow the topic completely shifted to transit. I can't help but feel like he skillfully sidestepped the conversation…

Jack: …I guess I got an answer out of it, so I'll just call it good.

Part 1 (Part 2) (Part 3)

Requested by @pianostarinwonderland.

#twisted wonderland #twst #azul ashengrotto #jack howl #twst azul #twst jack #twst translation #twst birthday

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praecurokat · 3 months ago

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as an extreme procrastinator, these are the strategies I use to get assignments done/study:

telling an AI chatbot that I am going to do my assignment (this creates an irrational fear of disappointing the chatbot, thereby pressuring me to do the assignment)

coming up with an even less enjoyable task that also needs to be done, thereby forcing prioritization of the assignment (ex laundry, cleaning)

going to a fun setting + drinking a caffeinated beverage (classic)

listening to white noise/airplane noise at max volume

exercising, then going back to the assignment

treating the assignment like a silly little ao3 story I am writing (& being a little whimsical and fun with my word choice)

staying off tumblr!!!! until it is done.. i try : (

#procrastination #university student #study motivation #studyblr

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creepycrawliesanonymous · 2 years ago

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You broached the question over a night of thai food take-out and queueing various jazz music on your spotify.

"I need a plus-1 for my cousin's wedding."

Neiman gave you a look, mid egg-roll-bite. "Nobody needs a plus-1."

"I ticked the box on the RSVP, and I don't want food to go to waste, and I don't want to look like a loser in front of my extended family." You reached your chopsticks over to his plate and took a lump of his pad thai. "That's why you need to come with me."

He snorted. "This is probably the first time someone has asked me to be their date to a wedding instead of their entertainment."

"Alright well I'm not asking you to be my date, I'm asking you to make me look less pathetic in front of my family."

"Because I already-"

"Look pathetic, see, you're way ahead of me."

"Okay." He took another bite of his egg roll. "Yeah, sure. Whatever, I'll do it. Since you need me so bad."

"Here's one off the soundtrack of In The Mood For Love, be quiet."

That's how the pair of you found yourselves in the corner of the lamest wedding reception known to man, you bitching about various family drama and him silently listening to you(or completely zoning out, to be fair he was looking very intently at a centerpiece at your table and not at you).

"That's why Uncle Richard isn't allowed at Sara's barbeques anymore. Are you going to eat your cake?" Your plate was empty, save for a couple of crumbs, but Neiman hadn't even touched his fork.

"No, no, uh. I'm just thinking right now."

"Well stop." You took his fork and scooped up a piece of the chocolate cake in front of him. "Don't make me make airplane noises in front of people that have changed my diapers when I was a baby."

"Jesus fuck, fine. You're so fucking weird." He took the fork from you and stuffed the cake into his mouth. "Happy?"

"You live to make me happy."

"That's why I'm here, huh?"

You leaned back in your seat, giving him a rather pleased grin. Neiman rolled his eyes and gave you his own, more amused than pleased, grin.

"Why did you invite me?" He prodded.

"I told you, you're a pawn in my family mind-games."

"Yeah, but why did you tick the plus-1 box on the invite in the first place? It's not like you were cornered into saying you were bringing someone."

"I guess I just wanted to bring you." You absentmindedly picked at the crumbs on your plate. "I like being around you."

"O-oh." Andrew fidgeted with his hands. "Uh, me too." His ears were starting to tinge pink under the dim fairy lights.

For the first time since the ceremony you had fallen completely silent. The two of you just looked at each other(although outsiders may classify it as "gazing"), weighing the implications of a seemingly innocuous wedding invite. You were the first to break.

“Should we– um… should we head out now?”

“Oh, uh sure.”

“It’s just, I think I’ve exhausted my weird family stories.” You let out a nervous chuckle.

“Sure, yeah, sure.” The chuckle had seemingly also infected Andrew. You collected your various wares into you small handbag (which went very well with your outfit), and reached your hand out as you stood up. Andrew seemed to study it for a fraction of a second, before also standing up, taking your clammy hand in his equally sweaty one. You were in too deep now, but who cares. Nobody was looking at you. Except for Andrew, who was very much looking at you.

“Let’s go call a cab.”

#andrew neiman x reader #andrew neiman #miles teller x reader #whiplash 2014

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thespacenico · 1 year ago

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not too far (you're my favorite place)

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ klance, 1.1k words

Keith has never been particularly fond of flying.

It’s not that he’s scared—not of the flying itself, at least. Planes just have a tendency to make him claustrophobic, no matter what he tries to make himself more comfortable. Too many people and too little space, too few snacks and way too much noise. There’s no such thing as a good seat on an airplane, and even if there were, there’s no guarantee that there won’t be a fussy baby in the row directly behind.

He’s just very protective of his personal space, something that airlines basically trick people into purchasing in the form of first class tickets, something which a broke college student like Keith can’t afford. If he had his way, he’d rather drive to his destination alone in a quiet, air-conditioned car, even if it added hours and hours and hours to his travel time.

Unfortunately, driving across the Atlantic Ocean isn’t really an option. Keith was just lucky enough to be able to book a direct flight from France to the U.S. so he wouldn’t have to worry about getting lost in a foreign country while trying to catch a connecting flight. The downside is that he’s trapped in a cabin full of strangers for upwards of 10 hours. He has survived on nothing but room temperature water and chips from the airport vending machine.

He’s been in Paris for the last two weeks studying painting techniques for an art internship. Pretty much every art student’s dream, including his. He could have spent days in The Louvre if they’d let him. It feels like only yesterday that he was complaining about how far away the trip was, and now the entire summer has flown by in the blink of an eye.

But as much as he loved his time in France, he’s anxious to get home. Two weeks is a long time. He misses Kosmo, and his bed, and struggling to decide between multiple different sugary sweet iced coffees with an abundance of whipped cream at the coffee shop on campus. The pastries he had from the bakery near his hotel were amazing, but still nothing beats Adam’s banana bread. He misses his friends, and Shiro, and pretending to be annoyed when he comes into his room just to say hi.

When the plane finally touches down and Keith switches his phone off airplane mode, the screen almost immediately lights up with a text.

8:37pm lance ♡: can’t wait to see you :)

Keith bites his lip, no doubt failing miserably to hide his smile. Oh yeah. He supposes he missed Lance, too.

The wait to collect his bag and get off the plane is probably just the same as always, but this one feels particularly infinite. Keith slips into the queue as soon as he gets the chance, his stomach flipping over on itself as he waits for the line to get moving. The moment he steps off the plane, he finally feels like he can breathe again.

He quickly navigates his way through the crowd of fellow passengers, strangely comforted by the familiarity of signs he can read in full without using Google Translate. The line at customs isn’t quite as long as he might have expected, thank goodness, and he makes it through without any issues (also thank goodness). He’s never been so happy to skip the baggage claim, his single suitcase already in tow as he hurries through to the exit.

Despite the hour, the airport terminal is still full of people rushing about. The sound of suitcases rolling and heels clacking is just white noise at this point, and Keith ignores it all as he weaves through the chaos, eyes searching for the person he knows is already waiting for him.

When his gaze finds Lance through the crowd, his shoulders relax and his heart goes still for what feels like the first time in the past 24 hours.

Lance sees him too, his face breaking out into a wide smile as he raises an arm and waves. He’s holding a small bouquet of flowers in his other hand, something he always insists on bringing for Keith no matter how many times he tells him he doesn’t have to. It’s about the gesture for him, something that makes Keith’s chest feel warm just thinking about. His feet carry him forward without even needing to be told, picking up more and more speed with each step.

The second that he’s within reach, Keith drops his suitcase and throws himself into Lance’s waiting arms. Lance wraps his arms around Keith’s shoulders and squeezes, careful not to crush the flowers, and Keith breathes him in as he buries his face in Lance’s neck. They simply hold each other like that for a moment, without speaking, alone together in their own little bubble for the first time in weeks. Tears prick at the corners of Keith’s eyes as Lance presses his face into his hair, kissing his temple.

“Welcome home, sweetheart,” he murmurs. Keith just presses closer, his throat tight.

Lance doesn’t say anything about it when they pull away and Keith wipes underneath his eyes, sniffing a little. It’s been a long day, and Keith is exhausted. Lance has definitely figured as much. He reaches down to pick up the handle of Keith’s suitcase, giving him a little extra time to compose himself. Usually Keith would protest, but he’s learned by now that it’s useless.

“Are you hungry?” Lance asks. Keith is sure he already knows the answer—he’s always too anxious to eat much when flying. It’s sweet of Lance to ask anyway.

“A little,” Keith admits. A lot is what he means, and what Lance has probably gathered.

He smiles as Keith takes the flowers and slides their hands together, tangling their fingers in the space between them. “C’mon. Shiro said we could order takeout, on him. We can put on a movie and crash on the couch, and then you can tell me all about Paris in the morning.”

Keith really could cry. Lance knows him so well, and Keith loves him so much. He nods, swinging their hands a little back and forth. “That sounds nice.”

Lance smiles again, keeps smiling when Keith takes the opportunity to step forward and kiss him properly, lips pressed softly together. His eyes are warm when they separate and he squeezes Keith’s hand, humming. “Let’s go then.”

On the way to the car, Keith drops his head onto Lance’s shoulder. “I missed you,” he says quietly.

In response, Lance lays his head on top of Keith’s and swipes his thumb over his knuckles. Everything about this, about him, is so comforting and familiar that all of Keith’s stress and tension from the day instantly melts away. He could fall asleep right here right now, all just because Lance is there.

He’s never been so happy to be home.

#klance #my writing #started this while on my super long flight last night bc i was too anxious to do anything else :')

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usafphantom2 · 11 months ago

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XB-70 Valkyrie

XB-70 Valkyrie in Cruise Configuration

The No. 1 XB-70A (62-0001) is viewed from above in cruise configuration with the wing tips drooped for improved controllability.

The XB-70 Valkyrie, with a planned cruise speed of Mach 3 and operating altitude of 70,000 feet, was to be the ultimate high-altitude, high-speed manned strategic bomber. Events, however, would cause it to play a far different role in the history of aviation.

To achieve Mach 3 performance, the XB-70 was designed to “ride” its own shock wave, much as a surfer rides an ocean wave. The resulting shape used a delta wing on a slab-sided fuselage that contained the six jet engines that powered the aircraft. The outer wing panels were hinged. During take off, landing, and subsonic flight, they remained in the horizontal position. This feature increased the amount of lift produced, improving the lift-to-drag ratio. Once the aircraft was supersonic, the wing panels would be hinged downward. Changing the position of the wing panels reduced the drag caused by the wingtips interacted with the inlet shock wave. The repositioned wingtips also reduced the area behind the airplane’s center of gravity, which reduced trim drag. The downturned outer panels also provided more vertical surface to improve directional stability at high Mach numbers. Attached to the delta was a long, thin forward fuselage. Behind the cockpit were two large canards, which acted as control surfaces.

XB-70: World's Largest Experimental Aircraft in the 1960s.

The figure standing on the ramp provides a size comparison with the XB-70A aircraft.

As impressive a technological feat as the XB-70 represented, the aircraft was under development at a time when the future of the manned bomber was uncertain. During the late 1950s and early 1960s, many believed that manned aircraft were obsolete, and the future belonged to missiles. As a result, the Kennedy Administration ended plans to deploy the B-70. Two experimental XB-70A prototypes were under construction at North American Aviation when the program was canceled.

At the same time there was growing interest in an American supersonic transport (SST). Jet airliners had cut flight times by more than half in comparison to propeller-powered aircraft. A Mach 2 or 3 SST would make a similar improvement over the new subsonic jet airliners. The Flight Research Center (FRC-now the Armstrong Flight Research Center, Edwards, CA.) had several SST studies underway during the early 1960s. NASA’s Douglas F5D-1 was used for landing studies, a North American F-100C was modified to simulate SST handling qualities, a North American A-5A was used to simulate an SST for tests of the air traffic control system, and a Lockheed JetStar was modified as an in-flight SST simulator.

On the Ramp: XB-70

The XB-70A is shown parked on a ramp at Edwards, California, in 1967.

The XB-70 Valkyrie seemed to be a perfect testbed for SST research. It was the same size as the projected SST designs, and used similar structural materials, such as brazed stainless steel honeycomb and titanium. Thus, the XB-70A’s role changed from a manned bomber prototype to one of the most remarkable research aircraft ever flown.

The XB-70A number 1 (62-001) made its first flight from Palmdale to Edwards Air Force Base, CA, on Sept. 21, 1964. Tests of the XB-70’s airworthiness occurred throughout 1964 and 1965 by North American and Air Force test pilots. The Flight Research Center prepared its instrument package. Although intended to cruise at Mach 3, the first XB-70 was found to have poor directional stability above Mach 2.5, and only made a single flight above Mach 3. Despite the problems, the early flights provided data on a number of issues facing SST designers. These included aircraft noise, operational problems, control system design, comparison of wind tunnel predictions with actual flight data, and high-altitude, clear-air turbulence.

NASA Ames Research Center, Moffett Field, CA, wind-tunnel studies led engineers at North American Aviation in Downey, CA, to build the second XB-70A (62-207) with an added 5 degrees of dihedral on the wings. This aircraft made its first flight on July 17, 1965. The changes resulted in much better handling, and the second XB-70 achieved Mach 3 for the first time on Jan. 3, 1966. The aircraft made a total of nine Mach 3 flights by June.

At the same time, a joint agreement was signed between NASA and the Air Force to use the second XB-70A prototype for high-speed research flights in support of the SST program, selected due to its better aerodynamics, inlet controls, and a much superior instrument package, compared to the first aircraft. The NASA research flights were to begin in mid-June, once the North American Aviation Phase I tests of the vehicle’s airworthiness were completed. NASA research pilot Joe Walker was selected as the project pilot. The flights were to evaluate the aircraft on typical SST flight profiles, and to study the problems of sonic booms on overland flights.

These plans went awry on June 8, 1966, when the second XB-70 crashed following a midair collision with NASA’s F-104N chase plane. Joe Walker, F-104N pilot, died in the accident. North American test pilot Al White ejected from the XB-70 in his escape capsule, but received serious injuries in the process. Co-pilot Maj. Carl Cross, who was making his first flight in the XB-70, was unable to eject and died in the crash.

The deaths of Walker and Cross, and the destruction of the second XB-70 had major consequences for the research program. The second XB-70 had been selected for the Phase II tests, which were to be conducted jointly by NASA and the Air Force. With this aircraft now destroyed, only the first aircraft was available. Given the aircraft’s shortcomings, the Air Force began to doubt that it would be able to meet the Phase II test goals.

The first XB-70 was undergoing maintenance and modifications at the time of the accident to its sister ship. It did not fly again until Nov. 3, 1966. Col. Joe Cotton piloted it, while NASA research pilot Fitzhugh Fulton served as co-pilot. The flight reached a top speed of Mach 2.1. Between November 1966 and the end of January 1967, a total of 11 joint Air Force/NASA research flights occurred. Cotton, Fulton, and Van H. Shepard of North American Aviation were crewmen on these flights. A top speed of Mach 2.57 was the highest attained during the remainder of the XB-70 program.

These flights were made as part of the National Sonic Boom Program. The XB-70 flew at differing altitudes, Mach numbers, and weights over an instrumented test range at Edwards. The “boom carpet” area was determined and the overpressure measured on two specially constructed housing units. The tests showed that a large aircraft, such as the XB-70 or the projected SST, could generate overpressures high enough to cause damage. Moreover, when the XB-70 made a turn, its shock waves converged, and often doubled the overpressure on the ground.

Following these tests, the XB-70 was grounded for maintenance that lasted 2 1/2 months. The Air Force had concluded by that point that the XB-70 program should be turned over to NASA as soon as possible. FRC director Paul Bikle and Air Force Flight Test Center (AFFTC) commander Maj. Gen. Hugh Manson created a joint FRC/AFFTC XB-70 operating committee on March 15, 1967. This was patterned on similar committees established for the X-15 and lifting bodies. The NASA XB-70 program continued to receive Air Force assistance, in terms of aircraft support and Air Force test pilots.

The first NASA XB-70 flight occurred on April 25, 1967, by Fulton and Cotton. By the end of March 1968, another 12 research flights had been completed. The pilots included Fulton, Cotton, and Shepard, as well as Lt. Col. Emil Sturmthal and NASA research pilot Don Mallick. The flights acquired data to correlate with an Ames ground-based SST simulator and the JetStar in-flight SST simulator at FRC. Other XB-70 research goals were to measure its structural response to turbulence; determine the aircraft’s handling qualities during landings; and investigate boundary layer noise, inlet performance, and structural dynamics, including fuselage bending and canard flight loads.

The XB-70 underwent modifications after a final flight on March 21, 1968. During research flights, the XB-70 pilots had frequently experienced trim changes and buffeting during high-speed, high-altitude flights. These resulted from clear-air turbulence and rapidly changing atmospheric temperatures. For a specialized research aircraft, these characteristics were little more than annoying; on a commercial SST, however, they would be uncomfortable for the passengers, increase the pilots’ workload, and shorten the structural fatigue life of the SST.

XB-70A Rolls Out After Landing

The XB-70A No. 1 is shown rolling out after landing, employing drag chutes to slow down.

The XB-70 was fitted with two small vanes for the Identically Located Acceleration and Force (ILAF) experiment. The vanes rotated 12 degrees at a rate of up to 8 cycles per second. This induced a structural vibration in the XB-70 at a known frequency and amplitude. The XB-70’s accelerometers detected the disturbances, then signaled the aircraft’s stability augmentation system to damp out the motion. When XB-70 research flights resumed on June 11, 1968, the ILAF proved its ability to reduce the effects of turbulence and atmospheric temperature changes.

Despite the accomplishments of the XB-70, time was running out for the research program. NASA had reached an agreement with the Air Force to fly research missions with a pair of YF-12As and a “YF-12C,” which was actually an SR-71. These represented a far more advanced technology than that of the XB-70. In all, the two XB-70s had logged 1 hour and 48 minutes of Mach 3 flight time. A YF-12 could log this much Mach 3 time in a single flight.

The final XB-70 research flight occurred on Feb. 4, 1969. Fulton and Sturmthal made a subsonic structural dynamics test and ferry flight. The XB-70 took off from Edwards and flew to Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, OH, where the aircraft was put on display at the Air Force Museum. The first XB-70 made 83 flights totaling 160 hours and 16 minutes, while the second XB-70 logged 46 flights in its brief life, totaling 92 hours and 22 minutes.

@kadonkey via X

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danascullysjournal · 2 years ago

Text

If You Will Let Me

An X-Files Post-Milagro Fic

WC: 4,200

This is chapter is part of a larger fic on AO3. If you like, the full work is available here.

TW: Demonic possession, Demons, Physical Harm, Trauma, Medical Trauma, Mild Alcohol Use

____________________

Chapter 19: Protecting Us

Sleep had come in short, interrupted segments during the red-eye flight from Chicago. Though both were leery of letting down their guard, sleep deprivation had taken its toll, and Scully had found herself succumbing to the constant white noise and gentle vibration of the airplane as it carried them home. Instead of nightmares or demons, she was roused by turbulence and sporadic cries from a baby a few seats in front of them.

Through slitted eyes, she saw Mulder’s head cocked back, lolled to one side. His slow, quiet snores were strangely reassuring. Here, there was rest. A cautiously optimistic thought drifted through her tired mind. Maybe they really did leave the demons behind them. Sighing contentedly, she carefully lay her head on his shoulder and drifted back to sleep.

The plane landed in DC well after midnight, leaving both agents partially rested, but groggy and sluggish as they collected bags and headed out to the parking garage. Their footsteps echoed through the empty concrete cavern, closing in on the car. Each step was further from the calm security of the airplane cabin, further from the reassurance of other people around them.

“Just us again.” Mulder offered a thin grin. “Ready for more quality time?”

Scully pressed her lips together, looking up at him. “I can’t be that bad, can I?”

“Never.” He meant it, but somehow the sentiment caught in his throat and the word fell to the ground, hollow.

Weary, they headed home through empty downtown streets, uneasy silence between them. Bleak buildings towered above them, their shadowed facades sliced by dull blades of flickering street lights. The darkness was suffocating.

Neither dared to mention it.

____________________

The lights in Scully’s bedroom were on, but it did little to calm the anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach. The unease had only grown since leaving the airport. Since being alone with Mulder again. She sat up for what felt like the hundredth time, studying him carefully.

There had been no question, once they had finally landed in DC, of where Mulder would stay. His apartment was still drenched in the memories of her blood, and she couldn’t bring herself to sleep alone. But her bed felt smaller, shrunken down by their bodies prudently spaced apart. It was uncomfortable. Awkward. Mulder was doing his best, she knew. He was respecting her insistence on putting their relationship on hold… But it all felt stilted. Cold. The void between them was mere inches, but somehow insurmountable. It was a chasm she had created for protection, but it only served as a glaring reminder of her vulnerability, her loneliness. Her emptiness.

It ached to be filled.

She felt the pang just as much, if not more. Their breathing seemed magnified, echoing within the emptiness, reminding her of what should be. With each breath, she cursed the house. Cursed the demons. Cursed the chasm of her own making.

Cursed the breaths she took and let out, silent, too afraid to begin again.

Sleep wouldn’t offer her a reprieve. It kept its distance, just as Mulder did. Just out of reach. She fidgeted with the oversized comforter, examining the machine-made stitching that divided the blanket into thick patterned poufs. Stitching fabric, stitching skin. That was easy. But all of this… this was not.

The question of Padgett was layered thickly over the uneasy confusion between them. That man… or body… or spirit… She couldn’t reconcile the pieces. She had been held fast and attacked by a man she knew to be dead. But it had happened. Hadn’t it? Residual visions of the cold corpse strangling her, cutting into her, challenged the validity of her memories of the body. The autopsy. Everything.

It had been him. But logically, it couldn’t be.

Except…

Samantha hadn’t been real. Mulder had said as much. She coveted the certainty he seemed to possess. In the midst of insomnia and awkward tension, it seemed as good a topic to bring up as any. Anything to break this barrier of emptiness.

She cleared her throat.

“Mulder, how did you know it wasn’t her?”

He stared at her for a long moment. The silence was sharpened by the disbelief and hurt etched on his face. When he finally spoke, it was with the voice of someone betrayed. “How could you ask that, Scully?”

“I-”

“Don’t you think I would know the difference between my own sister and an evil spirit?”

She hurried to clarify, struck by the anger in his eyes. “Mulder, I do, that’s why I’m asking- what was your litmus test? How did you know? Because I really think that was Padgett… but that’s impossible. He’s in the morgue.” She licked her lips nervously. “Isn’t he?”

Her eyes screamed the fear she refused to admit.

Mulder’s glare softened.

“Oh.” He lowered his head, rubbing his forehead with his hands. “I’m sorry, Scully. I shouldn’t have thought-”

“It’s okay.” Her fingers touched his. “We’re just… both on edge.”

His hand closed, enveloping her small fingers in his palm. He squeezed softly, briefly, before his hand retreated back to his side of the canyon between them. He gazed toward the corner of the room, at nothing in particular, recalling the demons that had manifested the shell of his sister.

“It was almost her. Almost.” His voice was grim. “It looked like her, walked like her. Acted a lot like her. But the voice.” He nodded, as if to himself. “That’s how I knew for sure. Every time she- they- appeared, the voice would be close to what I remember, but not quite. It’s like… they could get every other part of my memory of her right, but something stopped them from having her voice.”

“Like they didn’t know how?”

“Or they couldn’t. I’m not sure yet, but I think it has something to do with possession. Owning. But the demons don’t have my sister, they don’t have her soul, or her voice. So they… try, with what they can get from our minds, but it’s a facsimile.”

Scully’s brow furrowed. “Like a bad photocopy.”

“Right.”

Crossing her arms, she straightened herself up. The implications of Mulder’s theory shook her. “If you’re right… they have him.” Her blue eyes were uneasy. “That voice… the body… it was Padgett.”

“You’re sure?”

She looked away. “I’m sure. I don’t know how they would have gotten him… unless he isn’t in the morgue anymore.”

Mulder thought for a moment. “What if it isn’t about the body at all? Maybe what they need is the spirit. The soul.”

The bedroom fell silent again, save for their breathing. She felt him watching her, carefully, like a parent watches a child who has just fallen hard. Checking for signs of injury, of fear. Ready to console and reassure. For reasons she didn’t quite understand, she resented it.

“I’m fine, Mulder. Really. And anyway, maybe they won’t come here. We’re so far from that place.”

Mulder studied her, the skeptical eyebrow she usually wore planted firmly out of place on his forehead. “How do you think demons travel, Scully?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Well, I don’t know.”

“I don't know either, but I doubt a few miles are too much for them.” He considered. “I should be thrilled you’re so open to demonic possession as a possibility, really. Never thought I’d see the day. Wish it was better circumstances though.”

She cast an irritated sideways glare.

“I’m not just open to anything. I know what I saw. This particular incident- it’s hard for me to refute.”

“But you could.” His tone was flat. He sat up alongside her.

She shrugged. “Anyone could. It could be hallucinations induced by psychosis, perhaps exacerbated by sleep deprivation, or-”

“That’s what you believe?”

His voice held a tinge of ridicule, but she chose to ignore it.

“Of course not, Mulder.”

He nodded, then looked at her pointedly. “You don’t believe it, but that’s what you’ll say to Kersh?”

Scully sighed.

“Not just that, no, but I do feel it’s my obligation to provide all the facts as well as offer plausible explanations. I’m aware of what Kersh will think if I only present one account with little or no verifiable proof.”

Mulder scoffed. “That’s my point. You’re good at that. Explaining things away. We were almost destroyed, and possessed, and you come up with some alternative, something that’s logical, and safe.”

“There has to be an explanation for what we experienced, Mulder. Supernatural or otherwise. I’m not denying what we saw, what happened. I was there too, remember?” She felt anger rising and tried to tamp it down. “And what’s so bad about being safe?”

“Safe isn’t always what’s right. Or best.”

She eyed him carefully, her lips sealed in a grim line, and stood slowly. Arms crossed. Shielding her heart. “This isn’t about the case, is it?”

He held her tired gaze with his own exhausted eyes.

“Maybe I should sleep on the couch.” He sighed as he pushed aside the plush comforter. His feet padded down on her floor.

She watched, pensive, caught between turning away in defeat and anger, or lunging at his hand in desperation. Her body failed her, and she stood dumbly, staring. As he turned and grabbed his pillow, she cleared her throat and found a quiet sliver of her voice.

“I’m trying to protect you. To protect us. All the I love yous in the world mean nothing if we’re dead.”

Mulder stopped short, pillow dangling from his unconsciously tight fist. He took a deep breath before he spoke. “I respectfully disagree, Scully. Every time I said ‘I love you’ to my sister, it mattered, every time you said it to your father. And to your sister. You can’t say death negates that- you’re the one with a good family. A nice, loving Catholic upbringing- how am I the one explaining this to you?”

His eyes bore into her, demanding an answer that she couldn’t give.

It was no easier for her to banish the demons herself than it was to admit to him: fully loving someone, anyone at all, was confusing. His idea of love in her family was so very opposite her actual experience. Much as the Scully household had lauded it, love was a word. A duty. What she found with him was different from any of the compulsory, sanitized definitions she had learned in childhood. She found herself possessed by it, but paralyzed by her own confusion and fear.

When she finally spoke, it was cautious. Timid. As if her voice carried words that would shatter, should she dare throw them carelessly.

In truth, the words couldn’t shatter. But she could.

“I think… you know more about love, believe more about it, than you say you do.” She drew in a deep breath. “More than I do… but I - I want to learn...” Suddenly she felt astoundingly ignorant. Love should be the first thing learned in life. But what she had learned, had experienced, seemed horrifically wrong. A shadow of what should have been.

If her assertion meant anything to him, he didn’t show it. Instead, he surveyed her thoroughly, almost clinically, studying the creases in her forehead, the thin, drawn line of lips pursed tight. The squeezed skin and fabric on her chest from protective crossed arms, wrapped too tightly. The blinking of pale eyes that fought emotion. He was a profiler at work.

Finally, his eyes rested back on hers.

“Do you feel protected?”

Scully pressed her lips together even tighter, the soft rose color draining from them in favor of nervous white. She lowered her gaze, well aware that he already knew the answer.

“Me either, Scully.” He ran his fingers through his hair and over his jaw, raking over scratchy beard stubble. “Listen. I’m tired, I'm frustrated and I don’t see a point in pretending there’s nothing between us when there is. And we know it. And I’m pretty sure the demons know it too, or I wouldn’t have ended up a possessed puppet on the floor.” His voice was rising, exasperated. “And then, after shoving me away the entire day, you try to tell me that love is meaningless? I don’t understand, Scully. I’m trying. But I don’t.”

“I didn’t mean that it’s meaningless. It isn’t meaningless.” She felt hot tears she had fought so hard to contain, and turned abruptly. “I’m getting us something to drink. That might help.”

She moved to the doorway, checking each corner carefully as she went as a matter of course. And paranoia.

Mulder looked at the clock on her bedside table. 2:37 a.m. He blew a heavy sigh. “I dunno if that’s the best idea, Scully. We have to be back at work in 6 hours.”

She shrugged and left the bedroom without looking back.

____________________

He should go after her.

He stood staring, his lips twisted in an uncomfortable frown. Maybe he had been too harsh… almost certainly, he realized. They were both haggard from the past few days, and he felt his patience stretched too thin, balanced precariously on the blade of a knife. He should go in, apologize, and be there for her. He tried to work himself up to it.

“Dammit, Scully… I’m no good at this either. I’m sorry.”

His muttering was nothing if she didn’t hear it, though. He tossed the pillow back onto her bed, moving toward the doorway.

The shuffling in the kitchen, opening of cabinets and drawers, made Mulder hesitate. He could hear her talking quietly to herself. Processing, or cursing him, he couldn’t be sure.

He huffed in irritation, wishing he could see inside her mind the way the demons had seen into his own. But he was not omniscient, and stood painfully aware of his inadequacies. Without speaking to her, he would remain woefully incapable of seeing or understanding what she truly needed from him.

____________________

Scully startled a bit, surprised by Mulder’s silhouette in the doorway.

“Oh, hey. I didn’t hear you coming.” She shut the cabinet door with the back of her hand. The wine glasses made a pleasant clink as she set them on the counter. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right. I won’t pour much. I don’t want a hangover any more than you do… I just… It’s been a rough week, we both could use this.”

She grabbed the corkscrew from the counter and twisted it into the top of a new bottle.

“We um… we didn’t have some amazing family, Mulder. Not like you think. Not- I mean we had everyone.” She kicked herself for being so callous. “I know it was hard for you, with your dad. And Samantha.”

The cork pulled from the bottle with a low, satisfied pop.

She looked him over, his tired, worn features darkened in the doorway, his eyes studying her. Part of her still wanted to hold back, to keep her emotions and experiences locked away, where they couldn’t be used against her.

So many people had used her weaknesses as weapons to break her down. Including Padgett.

But this was Mulder. If she wouldn’t take that chance on him, would she ever, with anyone?

She gathered herself. “We cared for each other. We still do, what’s left of us. But… Dad was military, you know. We had respect. Duty. Loyalty. I know he loved us, but he didn’t say it much. Didn’t show it.” She looked down, feeling small. Vulnerable. “Not like you do, I mean. Didn’t hug much…. He tried, did the best he could. But. It did hurt Mom… and us.”

Sighing, she turned from him to pour the wine.

“When I said you know more about love, I meant it. It’s… it’s hard for me. You’re different, and caring, and… I do want to protect you from them, if they come here, but I’m also just scared. Scared that I won’t be what you really want. That I can’t be, because… I don’t know how.” She took a small sip from her glass, letting the red wine warm her throat. “But I want to learn. I do.”

She turned back, regarding him cautiously. So much of herself had been laid bare, and she searched his face for signs of understanding. Anything that would help to unbind the thick knot in her stomach.

He nodded, his lips pressed in a thoughtful line. It was a small gesture, but encouraging. He took a step forward.

“Thank you for listening, Mulder. For being so patient with me.” She smiled softly, holding out a glass. “To learning what love is. With you.”

He offered a strange, tilted grin, stepping closer.

She felt a sudden chill on her skin.

“Love is complicated.” The voice rasped unnaturally through Mulder’s mouth, and the grin grew into a sadistic smile.

Scully’s eyes widened in realization. She shuffled backwards, running into the counter. The wine glass dropped from her fingers and shattered on the floor.

His sneer stretched, shifting. Changing. Molding itself into the sallow face she had come to fear more than anything else. In her periphery, she could make out black, wavering mist filling the kitchen, dimming the lights. Pulling itself into pillars of smoke. Before she could think, the dark shadow of his hand clamped down on mouth, hard and cold, slamming her head against the cabinet.

Her stifled cry slipped through the blacked fingers.

“Dana wants to know how to love.” Padgett’s voice trickled through pale, cracked lips tinged a washed-out blue. “I could have taught you. But. The heart wants what it wants. Doesn’t it.” An icy finger traveled across her collarbone, fingernail raking across the path the scalpel had pulled through her skin.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, its rhythm mixing with whispers of ravenous souls that beckoned from the inky swells. She shook her head against the force of his hand, straining against his leaden weight.

Mulder… he was still in the bedroom.

Maybe he could hear.

She tried to scream, but only managed a muffled, gasping yell against the rotten skin of his palm.

____________________

The clattered ringing of broken glass made Mulder’s stomach drop.

He ran.

“Scully?” He barreled through the hallway and into the kitchen, driven by a panic that had become second nature. As he entered, the familiar, writhing darkness surrounded him.

Whispers called to him from inside the mass of smoke. Whispers that sounded almost like Samantha. And another voice, one he wished to never hear again.

____________________

“We can’t leave a story unfinished.” The words wavered, sung in a sickening chorus of voices, Padgett, and thousands more. His cold eyes stared, unblinking. “It’s time.”

She felt the licking of dark mist over her arms, beginning to grasp and tighten. Cold. The souls pricked into her pores. Opening her. Pressing in as Padgett’s body held her fast, his icy fingers digging at the flesh above her heart.

Her blood, a sacrifice to them.

Her heart, his possession.

Her soul, theirs.

A feral scream retched out of her lungs.

“Scully!” Mulder’s voice cut through the whispers around her.

Like a rag doll wrung by a child, Padgett’s head twisted backwards. He stared Mulder down, thin hiss began to rise from his throat. His eyes shone white, glowering at the interruption.

The inky swells of spirits drew themselves up into wavering pillars, pressing on the ceiling, pulling themselves toward Mulder.

It was a small distraction. But enough. Gathering all her strength, Scully pushed herself away from the counter, turning to shove her shoulder into Padgett, forcing him off. She met nothing but the chill of stale air and tumbled down, landing on the hard kitchen floor. The dull thud of her body was muffled by violent hisses of the demons around them.

The kitchen lights were obliterated by the masses filling the apartment. Scully tried to focus through the darkness. She felt dizzy from the gash on the back of her head, sickened by the oppressive smell of rotted flesh that hovered in the room.

“Mulder?” His name tumbled from her lips like a prayer.

“Scully, I’m here.” His eyes searched, frantic in the darkness that had filled the kitchen. “Keep talking… I can’t see you.” He was breathless. “Please? Scully!”

She answered with a weak, muffled moan.

Padgett’s form had dissolved itself into a thick, inky mass, covering the floor, enveloping her. Mulder plunged his hands down into the icy swells, searching desperately. His fingers met clammy, cold skin. Slick with blood.

“Come on.” Mulder’s hand traversed the wet skin on her arm, finding her fingers.

“I can’t.” The voice was small.

He squeezed her hand tightly as the towering forms that filled the room unwound themselves and poured over them.

“We can, Scully. We have to.”

But she didn’t want to.

Neither did he.

The darkness washed over, whispering. Calming. He felt ribbons of inky fingers wrapping around him, digging in. Beginning to enter.

A cracking, thunderous pounding shattered through black kitchen. Again. And again.

“Open the door!”

The apartment door shook with another fist.

“Ms. Scully? Open up!”

Ringing inside his head, Mulder heard the demons scream.

He screamed with them.

Metal jingled, then scraped and turned inside the deadbolt lock. The door flew open, slamming into the wall, doorknob crumpling the drywall behind it.

The demons released their grip. He could feel them in his skin, like a needle pulling from a vein, as they ripped themselves away.

The kitchen lights glared into his eyes, and he squinted.

He could just make out the blurred forms of four men before he lost consciousness.

____________________

The landlord stood near the doorway with the police officer, giving space for the paramedics to work.

Glass shards were strewn across the kitchen floor, sparkling in the incandescent light. In the middle of the room two figures lay still, hand in hand. Spilled wine and spattered blood marred the floorboards.

The blonde paramedic surveyed the kitchen, shaking his head. “Looks like it started as a fun time, anyway.” He stepped over the empty wine bottle on the floor, making his way to the bodies. “These usually do.”

“What do you mean?” The landlord looked irritated, while the remaining men exchanged looks.

“Off record,” the officer said blandly, “looks like domestic violence. Started as a good night, then things went wrong. And now there’s a mess, probably some charges to press when they sober up.”

“Pulse and respiration on both?”

The dark haired paramedic nodded to his partner. “Yeah. Barely.”

The landlord stared at the two forms on the floor. Behind the woman trailed a smeared path of wine mixed with blood, as if she had been pulling herself toward the man.

“Doesn’t seem like domestic violence to me.” He shook his head and looked away.

The officer squinted and surveyed the glass shards on the floor, the blood spattered on the cabinet door. “We’ll decide that. Tell me about this renter.”

“Well, she’s really quiet, but a good tenant. Pays rent early. Works for the government, I think. Takes great care of the place, it’s one of the best kept apartments in the building.” He shrugged. “She’s almost never home, but when she is home, there’s never complaints.”

The police officer nodded, writing in his notepad.

“Do you know the man here?”

“Not by name. I’ve seen him a few times, I think. Nothing unusual or bad that I recall.” The landlord sighed. “Sorry ‘bout all this. Just, Barbara never complains. She’s been here forever, so when she called so concerned at this hour, I figured there’s a problem.”

“Yeah…” Raising his eyebrows, the officer pursed his lips. “It looks like there was a problem, alright.”

“This one’s pulse is really weak. Let’s get her out first so we can start an IV, get her stabilized. Then we’ll move him.” The blonde paramedic rose to retrieve the gurney from behind him.

As if in response, the man on the floor gasped for air, arms flailing wildly. His eyes were wide and he growled, as if fighting something unseen.

“Whoa!” The dark haired paramedic grabbed an arm, pinning him back down. “Hey, you’re okay. You’re okay.” He turned to other men, frantic. “Can I get a hand?”

The officer was already crossing the room. He planted himself firmly on the other arm while the paramedic tried to calm the man down.

“Sir, you’re safe-”

The man’s eyes rolled backward, and he stiffened, turning his head to the side.

The policeman looked to the paramedic, concerned. Just as they began to roll his body over to a safe position for a seizure, the man’s eyes refocused. He blinked, twisting his head back slowly to look up to the officer.

“Where… is she?”

The officer hesitated, but saw the panic in the man’s eyes. “We have her, sir. She’s safe. Who are you?”

The man’s body relaxed and he closed his eyes, satisfied that the woman he was with was alive. He licked his dry lips and drew a labored breath before he spoke.

“Fox Mulder… FBI. She’s Dana Scully. FBI… You have to… keep her safe. Don’t leave … don’t leave her alone…”

The men glanced at each other.

“What happens if we leave her alone?” The police officer’s eyes shot back to the bloody cabinet door.

Fox Mulder rolled his head toward the voice and cracked open his eyes. “If you leave her… if you leave us… he comes back… they… they come back.”

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A huge thank you to all of you who take the time to read these updates, to encourage, and to wait while I take too long to write! You are so very appreciated.

#today-in-fic #txf fic #msr #msr fic #horror fic #mulder and scully #TW: demons #TW: trauma #TW: medical trauma #TW: seizure #TW: blood #TW: mild alcohol use #dana scully #fox mulder #the x files #x files

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