#they found one source of bleeding but there’s another one they haven’t sorted yet

[tundrakatiebean]

I’m just gonna do a wee ramble in the tags. You can ignore me if you want.

[wannabe-fic-writer]

Moment In Time

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Just when you've gotten out, you’re given a reason to come back.

Warnings: Mild Language

Chapter 5

* * * * * * *

“You and Fury seem to forget that I’m retired pretty easily.” You say, eyes focused on your surroundings instead of the man talking to you.

A nice breeze flows past, followed by another crowd of passersby. The street is busy as always at this time of day but you always appreciate the hustle and bustle of the city. Something about it appealed to you. 

New York has always been busy, for as long as you can remember. Admittedly, with the lack of advanced technology in your time, people spent a lot more time talking to each other in passing than they now spend on their phones.

“No one’s forgotten, except maybe you,” Tony says and you turn to refocus your attention on him.“ Or did you forget that it was you who copped a ride with Fury to Sokovia.”

Of course you didn’t forget that. That mission had been more dangerous and life threatening than any one you’d previously been on. 

The man hums and nods, a soft chuckle leaves his lips,“ unless of course you weren’t there for the team.” 

“What?” Your eyebrows pinch together,“ what’re you talking about?” 

“I’m talkin about you and Romanoff.” He leans forward, pushing his coffee cup away a little.“ Clint told me about that little moment you two had before the city fell. What’d you do? Spring to action when you realized Natasha was in danger?”

Your eyes roll but you avoid answering his question. Cause that is actually what you did. On top of being generally concerned with the safety of your friends, your main focus was Natasha. You’d never admit it, out loud, but you know that’s what happened. And you know why you did, even if you won’t admit it at all. 

“Awe, don’t want me exposing your crush on Nat?” He further teases and your nose turns up at him.

“Think I liked you better when you were running around in pjs and building robots and stuff.” He makes an offended face and you smile sarcastically at it.“ If I agree to train the Maximoff kids will you not mention these supposed feelings for Natasha that you assume I have.”

For a moment he looks at you, then nods.“ You’ve got yourself a deal Y/ln. Also,” he pushes his chair back and stands up,“ you’re just training the girl. Rogers apparently has some special plan for Speedy.” Picking up his cup, he claps his hand on your shoulder with extra force, and walks away.

Just as you’re about to slouch into your seat to stay an extra few minutes he calls out for you to come with him and you resist the urge to groan. Sighing softly, you finish your tea and get up. 

As you expected Tony takes you to the tower. His choice of music blasts through the sports car and you can’t help but chuckle. Since he was thirteen he’d been obsessed with classic rock. You have no idea what the first song he heard was but whatever it was it hooked him to the genre.

Through the loud music he explains everything you’ll have to go over with Wanda and mentions that he’s getting a facility together upstate that will become the new Avengers HQ, but that move is going to take some time so the tower is still “home” as of now. You nod along, knowing that if not for your enhanced abilities you wouldn’t be able to hear him correctly.

By the time Tony pulls into the private parking garage, whipping into his spot and turning the car off, you completely understand what role you’re about to play in terms of training Wanda.

“What? Eager to get to work?” He asks after you’ve practically sprinted out of the car. 

“More like eager to get out before my ears start bleeding.” You tell him, glancing over your shoulder at him to stick your tongue out playfully. You don’t have to keep looking at him to know he rolled his eyes. 

The familiarity of the building makes it easy to navigate. Pretty much leaving Tony in the dust, you walk through the lobby to the elevators. Taking them up to the training floor. 

Your plan hadn’t been to see anyone just yet. Mainly coming here to form some sort of plan as far as training the Maximoff girl goes. Only for her to be the person you run into once having stepped into the training room.

She’s across the room, fingers running over the edges of a treadmill as her eyes look through the large floor to ceiling window. You imagine she’s taking in the sight the tower provides of New York. 

“Beautiful isn’t it?” You ask, effectively grabbing the young woman’s attention. She turns her head to face you, eyebrows pinching together as she’s not familiar with you, only having seen you just before you hugged Natasha in Sokovia. 

“It is.” She replies shortly and you chuckle at it, stepping further into the room. 

Giving her a soft smile you introduce yourself,“ I’m Y/n,” you move over to the weight benches,“ Stark asked me to come in and help you adjust.”

Her eyes narrow and that draws your attention to the fact that her eyes are green.“ Are you an Avenger? Because I haven’t seen you around here.”

“I am not. I’m supposed to be retired but no one seems to give a damn so here I am.” Spreading your arms a little to emphasize your current location.

For whatever reason your words make her giggle and you smile at that, happy to have broken the ice at least a little. 

“So how’re you going to help me adjust Y/n?” Her inquisitive gaze follows her moving closer to you.

“Not sure. What do you need help adjusting to?” Your head tilts and your eyebrow quirks.“ The training regiment? Your new chaotic teammates? Living in New York?” 

“Is all of the above an option?” She asks, and although you know she’s serious you still hear the teasing in her tone. 

With a quiet laugh you nod,“ all of the above is an option.” You let her know.“ Um, I’m not sure of all the details with the move upstate but how about I show you around the tower and we can go over the basics of your training and such?” You decide to pose it as a question in case she doesn’t want to.

“That would be nice actually.” She smiles and you notice that it’s truly genuine. So with a smile in return, you motion for her to follow you out of the room. 

With her being on this floor, you assume she’s seen it all. Not that there’s much to see. It’s the training floor so there’s nothing but gyms and a locker room. Getting in the elevator, you press the number for one of the floors dedicated to just hanging out.

Not liking the silence of the elevators, Wanda breaks it with a question.“ So why didn’t you join the Avengers?” 

“Um,” you take a deep breath and release it as a sigh,“ I’d already done the whole superhero thing before. The Avengers came in and I was no longer needed.”

“Oh really?” She asks and her tone of voice makes you chuckle, then nod.“ And what made you want to be a superhero?”

The elevator stops and the doors slide open.“ I saw what they could do. The difference superheroes make in people's lives.”

Picking up on the shift in your energy, Wanda frowns, ignoring the very expensive looking stuff in the room.“ What happened?” She asked carefully, as if she were trying not to trigger something. 

“I-” you sigh softly, contemplating whether to actually tell her or not. Looking into her eyes you see past the general curiosity and what you find pushes you to tell her. 

So you both get comfortable on one of the couches in the room and you open up to her.“ I was taken by HYDRA when I was fairly young. And it’s not like the guards and scientists were interested in anything other than making me the perfect weapon. So when they started to experiment on me I was already in a horrible state physically. My health was on a steady decline and none of their experiments worked, it actually made me fatally ill. And with no further use of me, they’d left me there to die.” 

Wanda listens intently, eyes misting with tears at the information of your mistreatment.“ But you didn’t.”

“No I didn’t,” you both laugh softly at that.“ The, at the time soon to be, founders of SHIELD were working with the US military to shut down HYDRA after World War II and they found the facility I was being held in. While they saved everyone who was being held captive there, I was in the worst shape. Seeing that I was on the verge of death, they made a decision to administer the super soldier serum to me to save my life.”

Wanda’s eyebrows raise and you have to admit that her expression is amusing.“ You’re a super soldier from World War II?” You nod.“ How old would that make you?” 

“I’m 90. And I wasn’t in the war. I was born before the war. When it started I was 16 and already in a HYDRA base.”

She looks down and bites her bottom lip. You know she has another question on the tip of her tongue. And with her background, having volunteered to be experimented on by HYDRA, you know she’ll have a lot more questions after that.

So with a deep breath, you ask what’s on her mind and tuck in for a long conversation.

* * * 

After a long day at SHIELD, going over papers to further induct the twins into the Avengers, Natasha finally gets back to the tower. She ignores all the SHIELD agents rushing in and out of the lobby and goes straight for the elevators. 

Mentally, she admits that after the headache that is going into SHIELD, the sound of your laugh as soon as she gets on the main floor is refreshing. A small smile forms on her face and she makes her way towards the kitchen where she hears your voice.

While she knows you’re friends with the rest of her team, she can’t help but wonder if you came here to see her.

That thought falls short the instant she reaches the kitchen doorway. She quickly finds that the source of your laugh is the same young woman she’d just been recruiting onto her team. 

In fact, laughter comes from you and Wanda as you cook together. The aroma smells incredible but she can’t help but to remember that this is the very same thing the two of you had done on multiple occasions. 

“Nat, hey, when’d you get here?” 

Your voice pulls Natasha from her thoughts and she almost smiles again. Almost. 

“A few minutes ago.” She decides to take a step closer, which puts her right in the doorway.“ What’re you two making?”

“Um,” your eyebrows pinch together and you look at Wanda.

“Paprikash.” She answers with a quiet giggle and a shake of her head. 

You smile at her then look back up at Natasha,“ we’re making Paprikash.”

The redhead hums, debating with herself on whether she should stay or not. An indescribable feeling nagged in the back of her mind, growing more persistent as she looks at you and Wanda happily interacting with one another. It gradually chips away at her excitement to spend time with you and she hates it.

With a huff she says,“ I’ll leave you two to it.”

She turns on her heel and walks away, effectively dodging the blue blur that is Pietro running into the kitchen, heading back to the elevator. With her floor practically empty due to the move, she wasn’t eager to go up but it seemed more relaxing than watching someone else make you laugh and smile how she did. 

Just as the elevator doors have started to close you slip through, narrowly missing getting your arm caught between the doors, and stand directly in front of her. Your eyes scan her form, up to her face and lingering there. She watches as you take her in, your eyes finally meeting. 

In a soft voice, one that practically melts her heart, you ask,“ are you okay?” She can’t say she expected you to ask that, plus the equally as soft look in your eyes, she grasps for an answer. One that isn’t ‘I didn’t like seeing you so happy with someone else’.

“Just tired. It’s been a long day and my floor isn’t exactly relaxation friendly right now.” She excuses. 

Nodding along, you smile a little at her,“ think I could help with that if you’d let me.” And there’s no way she’s saying no.

That’s how, a little over thirty minutes later, she finds herself following you into your apartment building with takeout bags and beer in hand. 

You hadn’t explained the plan until you were picking up the food. Telling her that a change of scenery might be exactly what she needs. Her trying to relax and unwind at the Tower was equivalent to a lawyer trying to relax at their firm.“ You can’t destress from work at work.” You reasoned. 

Unlocking your door, you gently push it open and hold it for Natasha. She wasn’t sure what to expect of your apartment, but what she finds definitely isn’t it.

Walking into your apartment makes her a little confused. It’s like stepping into a time vault that housed a number of different eras all at once. While things like your appliances and a few tables or paintings were modern or at least from the last decade, your couch, chairs, and even your cabinets look dated.

It was as if you furnished your home without a single clue of what you actually knew you wanted to present. But it’s you. Natasha finds that it almost perfectly embodies the person she’s come to know you to be. 

Since the moment she met you it was clear you were equally as present as you were stuck in the past. Your friendships with Tony and Steve showed that in an ironic way. With Tony the majority of your conversations or bonding was over the future, things he was planning, building, or tinkering with that would change the future. While with Steve you focused on the way things used to be in the era you grew up and were raised in.

“Nice place.” She finally says, moving her eyes from the kitchen to you.“ Very, you.”

The look you give her makes a small giggle leave her lips. You seemed so proud of her first comment and then the second one made you frown, as if you couldn’t tell if you should take it as an insult or a compliment. 

“Don’t think too hard Y/ln, your ears are starting to smoke.” She says jokingly, patting your cheek without giving it any thought. Her turning away makes her miss the way you flush at her inconsequential touch. 

At your invitation, she makes herself at home, finding a spot on the couch and starting to unpack the food. You join her shortly after with plates and forks, turning the tv on and going to a channel you both enjoy watching. 

“How you feelin about the move?” You ask, picking up your plate and leaning back against the couch. Even though the tv is on, Natasha can’t help but notice that all your attention seems to be on her. 

While she is definitely used to the attention, men and women alike focusing solely on her because of her looks, your attention is different. She knows it would be unreasonable of her to think you aren’t paying attention to her for her looks because well, when she gives you attention the first thing she looks at is your looks. You’re incredibly attractive, especially to the redhead. But it was more than that. 

On both ends, yourself and Natasha saw the physical beauty, but you looked beyond that. You saw the beauty of each other’s personalities. 

You’re lighthearted, you have an outlook on life that she finds intriguing, and not just because you’re decades older than her, it was how you maintained a fairly optimistic view on things despite the cards you’d been dealt in the past. On top of that you’re honest and caring, especially to the people you consider friends and family.

As far as she goes, you see her in, almost, the same way she sees you. She’s honest. Shows her care in a way that you find adorable, mainly because it’s so nonchalant. Her will to keep going, to endure the many trials she’s been through. Her strength never fails to amaze you. Not to mention the absolute admiration you have for her in regards to her clearing her ledger. Especially since being an Avenger means so much more to her than just that. 

That thought alone sends a rumbling of butterflies in her stomach and she hates how childish it feels but loves it all the same. 

“Um,” she looks down, letting her hair curtain between you two to hide the blush that rises.“ I can’t say I feel any particular way about it.”

When she feels your fingers ghost over her cheek, she has half a mind to grab your hand and break it, but it’s you and she’s been secretly craving your touch. In the softest gesture she’d ever been on the end of, you brush her hair back. Your fingers lightly run over her cheek and temple as you hook her hair behind her ear. 

She looks over to see you drop your head slightly to catch her eye, a little smile on your face.“ It is okay if you aren’t all that happy to be leaving. The tower has been your home for the last few years. An attachment or even familiarity with it is understandable.” 

“I-” she sighs, just barely tilts her head closer to your touch, then lifts her head.“ I’ve never had a home Y/ln.” She knows you can hear the hurt in her words, cause admittedly she didn’t hide it like she usually would. She doesn’t feel the need to with you.

You go quiet for a moment and Natasha wonders if maybe she should’ve kept her somber comment to herself. The instant she considers walling herself off again, you speak.“ Well then maybe,”

She raises an eyebrow at you.“ Maybe what?”

“Maybe this could be your home.” You swallow, nerves manifesting in the way you play with your food.“ I know you’ve only just been here today but, everyone deserves a safe haven. Somewhere they can escape from the rest of the world. Everyone deserves a home.” You finally look back into her eyes,“ especially you Nat.”

You didn’t know but in that moment you got to her in a way no one else ever had. You didn’t tear her walls down. Instead, as if understanding the very reason the walls had been put up in the first place, you built a door to her heart and soul. And only you hold the key to it.

She’s hit with the weight of her feelings for you, feelings she’d never had for anyone before. As terrifying as she finds it, she can’t help but think that if there’s anyone who she could trust to be gentle with these feelings it’s you.

* * * * * * *

Taglist: @owloftheshadows @natasha-danvers @blackxwidowsxwife @yumusak-yastik @b-5by5 @fayhar @lostandsearching @iliketozoneout @thewidowsghost @ecruzsalaz

[arigatouiris]

redamancy // akaashi keiji x reader (2/2)

Author’s Note: There are far too less notes for this story, but it’s alright. I’ve started to understand and like writing on tumblr for myself. :”) It’s the sort of self-motivation I needed, and I guess I do have it. But, if some of you really like this, do let me know? Also, I have many more strange ideas for fics. Let me know if you would like to see more of them! :”D

Word count: 5k+

Pairing: Vampire! Akaashi x Golden Blood! Reader

Summary: You were head over heels for Akaashi Keiji.

He was a perfect gentleman—hard-worker, handsome, kind, shy, and confident; a perfect blend of all the right things that a human boy could have at the age of 18.

But, what if he wasn’t human? And what if he wasn’t just 18?

As you search for your own answers, Akaashi doesn’t make it easy for you to channel your common sense. After all, a rare blood type only meant danger—especially for a handsome predator with feral eyes.

Warnings: unrequited love, one-sided crush, slight angst, pining, mentions of blood, blood-drinking, vampire akaashi, rare blooded reader, haikyuu manga spoilers???, fluff

The next morning, you saw Akaashi in class; sitting and reading a book. It looked like he had almost finished the book, just a few pages left. He turned to you upon your entrance and gave you an apologetic look, and a soft smile, a question mark plastered on his face. You didn't know how he communicated it to you, but he begged you to not tell a soul just from his eyes, and you really wanted to listen to him. There was still no one in class yet, and for a second, you were just glad.

    "It's called golden blood," You said, almost a whisper, causing his eyes to widen, "It's the—"

    "Rarest blood group in the world." He finished, eyes locked to your form.

You pressed your lips together before nodding, "Akaashi-kun... Can we please talk after school?"

    "Alright—"

    "And even if I cut off my arm and bleed all over the floor, don't run away." You almost ordered him, intending for it to be a joke.

Akaashi smiled almost playfully, but simultaneously there was something dangerous about the very smile that ghosted his lips, "Trust me, if that happens, I won't be able to run away."

You sat at your desk and almost felt the need to count down the hours to being able to speak to Akaashi after school. No one still entered the class, and you wanted to continue talking to him. You couldn't understand why you said what you said, but after saying it, you were surprised to see how you didn't regret it.

    "That day..." Akaashi turned to you with curious eyes, "I wanted to tell you that I liked you."

Akaashi's eyes widened uncharacteristically before a softness swarmed within his pupils. He blinked a couple of times before nodding once and turning away, looking almost hurt at your apparent confession. It wasn't even a confession if you were just stating it to him the way you were; you were informing him of what you intended on doing, but you were not confessing.

After school, you held your notebook firmly in your hands as you walked out of class. You knew that the rooftop on the third building was always empty, giving you and Akaashi enough privacy. Akaashi followed after you, but his eyes wandered to the book you were holding, wondering what it was about. Were you going to take notes? He wasn't too sure what your idea was. Despite walking beside you, Akaashi ensured that there lay a significant bit of distance and that he didn't touch you at all—which would definitely make things difficult for him. He found your scent all the more intoxicating now that he knew about your blood type, but since there was no blood on you, your skin and the perfume and your body's own scent did well to mask the smell of your blood. Even then, Akaashi turned to look at you with uncharacteristic softness in his eyes, you were definitely something else.

On reaching the third building's rooftop, you took out the notebook and cleared your throat. You noticed that he was standing almost five feet away from you, but you didn't question him on his choice.

    "How old are you?"

Akaashi chuckled, "I think you have a significant misunderstanding about vampires."

    "Were you born like a person?"

    "No, not exactly," Akaashi said, smiling at you, "And while your first question is valid, I'm certain that the understanding you have of vampires is incorrect."

    "How old are you, Akaashi-kun?" You pressed, now frowning.

    "I'm over 500 years old," He said, "But, I'm only 18."

    "How does that work?" You asked, genuinely curious.

    "My body is frozen in time. I was turned when I was 18, set to be 18 forever. Time does not pass through me like the rest of you, it passes beside me. So age really doesn't apply to me."

    "Why haven't you killed any humans?"

    "You're assuming I haven't," When you gasped, he chuckled, "No, I haven't killed anyone, but you assumed and it was flattering. I was human when I was turned, so I found it a bit... odd. However, I have tasted human blood. I...receive blood donations regularly."

    "So you don't attack anyone?"

Akaashi shook his head, "Not... Not in a while. You surprised me, that's all. And I truly am very sorry for the way I treated you."

    "You... You think what you did was attack me? B-But, in movies they show that you have fangs and—"

   "Once again, (s/n)-san," Akaashi's smile could literally end you, "You have a significant misunderstanding of vampires."

You blushed at the way he called your name before clearing your throat again and continuing with the questions. Akaashi answered them all patiently, almost expected a few of them, but he didn't move from the spot where he stood. It was almost as if he was afraid to move like he was afraid to get close to you, and while you thought that was quite noble of him, you wanted to know his hesitance.

    "Why are you standing so far from me?"

Now this was the question Akaashi was hoping you'd not ask. He offered you a rather disgruntled look, before gulping. He turned away from you, and let out a breath, almost as if he was put in the spot.

    "The rarer a person's blood group, the harder it is for me to quench my thirst. I'm not... My appetite isn't heavy. I feed once every three months, and while I can digest human food, I do not need it to survive. However," He turned to look at you, and the birth of that feral aspect was evident in his eye, "Your scent is ridiculously strong, (s/n)-san. It almost makes it quite hard for me to... just stay here and do nothing."

    "What'll happen if... if you had a bit of my blood?"

Akaashi chuckled, sounding almost nervous. "Don't even suggest something so preposterous, (s/n)-san, it would do me no good to picture it."

    "But, what would happen?"

    "I honestly don't know," Akaashi said, looking straight at you, "I've never met someone like you."

    "That sounds almost romantic, Akaashi-kun." You said, helplessly.

    "(s/n)-san, about the—"

    "That does it, then," You slammed the book and smiled at him, almost awkwardly. "Akaashi-kun, I like you."

    "(s/n)-san—"

    "And I know you're going to turn me down, so don't even bother. I'll keep your secret safe, no strings attached. I just wanted to confirm to myself that I could like you even if you were a vampire and..." You tilted your head and gave him the nicest smile you could conjure, "...I do."

Akaashi couldn't believe what was happening. Surely, there had been girls and boys who had confessed to him before, several over the years, but you were the first one who had gotten to know him for what he was; and your feelings still remained? One could wonder why Akaashi never took a lover for all these years, living in isolation, afraid and away from human beings yet careful and precise when it came to his appetite. Akaashi loved people and did not want to hurt them, but the secret desire still remained.

Akaashi one day wished to fall in love.

It was the sort of wish a child has about owning an elephant for a pet. It is a wish that felt good while you have it, yet, there was no semblance of a possibility for it to actually happen. Akaashi could dream of love and wonder what it would feel like but he would never know. He would never understand it since he remained unaffected by time but people would move on, people would live and die.

But, there you were, standing and smiling at him, validating his existence as a vampire while the universe had never done; it was a charming sight to see. In over 500 years of living as a vampire, Akaashi had never been moved to tears. But, he came quite close when he saw you smile.

    "Also, if... if I do injure myself in any way around you... Would you lose control?"

Akaashi deadpanned at you, "Please do not speak to me about such hypotheticals, (s/n)-san, it wounds me."

You threw your hands in front of you so as to defend your claim, "N-No, I didn't mean it like a threat or anything! Akaashi-kun," You pouted angrily, "Don't put me in the spot like that! I'm still wrapping my head around you being a vampire! A part of me still thinks you're going to point at a camera and say psyche!"

Akaashi laughed once before shaking his head, "No, I won't do that. I understand this must be a lot to process. I've never told another human being that I'm a vampire."

    "Not even Bokuto-senpai?"

Akaashi shook his head.

    "What about the person who gives you blood donations? Are they..."

    "Ah," Akaashi rubbed the back of his head, gulping and thinking of a certain gold-eyed vampire, "He has sources. Meeting him is quite tasking but he gets the job done."

    "I see," You tapped your chin, "You still didn't answer my question."

    "I won't either. I'm late to practice, (s/n)-san."

    "Also, last question!" Akaashi turned to you and waited, "Did you always play volleyball? I get why you go to school every time, since... It can be boring, I guess?"

    "I ran track in my old high school."

Your heart skipped a beat when Akaashi smiled at you warmly, the feral look completely missing from his gaze. After answering your question, he waited for you to accompany him downstairs, to get off the rooftop. It was strange, how kind he was being to you, and it was strange how he was telling you everything without hesitation. Perhaps, he trusted you? Maybe, it was because since you knew he was a vampire, there was nothing more to hide? Even so, even if you knew that vital piece of information, it felt eerily good that he told you so many details of himself. You followed after him downstairs and felt a ghost of a smile press upon your lips; yes, you liked Akaashi Keiji despite the fact that he was a vampire, and his trust in you gave you a reason to feel joy.

The next day, you greeted Akaashi rather cheerfully and he simply chuckled at your enthusiasm. You leaned over to see that he had a new book in his hand this time, an English book nonetheless. Your eyes widened a bit before giving him a strange look, which he simply returned with an expressionless face.

    "Your English must be really good, huh?"

    "I've had some time to learn it."

You scoffed before noticing the teasing glint in his eye, "Some time, huh?"

Chuckling, you walked over to your desk and sat down right before noticing Akaashi's gaze on you. You smiled back at him, wondering if he had something to say, but he simply shook his head and looked away. You were a bit confused, and in the back of your mind, the feral look Akaashi had was still plastered firmly, but this was a good look too. There were still many things you didn't understand about him being a vampire, and a part of you still suspected if it was even real, but as each hour passed, it sunk in further that perhaps, Akaashi was indeed a vampire.

You had lunch with Sora, and while you knew Akaashi preferred to eat alone (Bokuto-senpai would eat with him before graduating), you wanted to call him over, but with Sora being there, you were certain that there weren't many things you could speak to Akaashi about.

    "You've been staring at Akaashi's back for hours now." Sora whispered, leaning forward. He sat right behind you.

    "What?" You seethed.

    "It's getting a bit desperate," Sora scoffed, "You didn't tell him, did you?"

    "Uh," I did tell him, but I didn't exactly confess in a traditional sense, so... "Not yet."

    "When are you going to tell him?"

    "(s/n)-san, Mamoru-kun, is there something really interesting you'd like to share with the class?" The teacher suddenly called out, freezing you and Sora in place.

You turned away bashfully before the class erupted in chuckles; you noticed Akaashi look at you from the corner of his eye and you felt even more embarrassed than before, but there was yet again a very teasing glint in his eye, which made it all the worse. You groaned before placing your head on the desk wanting to evaporate altogether. After school, you quickly rushed to the library, wanting to grab a particular book. You remembered the title from Akaashi's hands perfectly, and it wasn't as if you wanted to read the book for him or even just to impress him, which was a factor, but it was also because you were curious.

You were curious to see what books he likes, what kind of language he had within his own mind. While understanding his immortality, you knew that Akaashi would perhaps not have had anyone he could share ideas with, thoughts with, or connect with; and maybe, a part of you wanted to be that for him. Even if it wasn't romantic, you wanted him to feel less lonely—at least for this school year.

Because, you weren't sure if you'd ever see him after.

On reaching the English section, you froze to find Akaashi sitting there at the desk, confusing you as to why he wasn't at practice.

    "Akaashi-kun?"

He turned to you with wide eyes, before they regained their regular size. A soft smile presented on his features, before he automatically closed the book, keeping the bookmark in place.

    "What brings you here?"

    "Uh..." Your eyes ran over the books on the shelf before turning to him awkwardly, "I... I wanted a book."

    "Do you need help finding it?"

Your heart rate accelerated. Did it really not matter that he was a vampire? Why was his vague answer to your previous question clouding your mind? You were curious; oh, you were so very curious to see Akaashi in his element, this overwhelming desire to learn more about him made you want to scream. Perhaps, Akaashi sensed a battle raging within your mind and chose to give you a sympathetic look, a look that made you like him more.

    "Listen, (s/n)-san, I really appreciate that you are keeping this a secret. And while I know of your..." He gulped, "...feelings for me, I cannot accept them."

    "But, why?" Akaashi narrowed his eyes with confusion, "No, I'm not asking why you didn't accept my confession, I just... What's so wrong with letting yourself be with someone?"

    "I might sound like a hypocrite, but I dislike lying, (s/n)-san. I have no choice but to do it right now, but... I cannot do it to someone who admires me."

    "You're not lying to me, though."

Akaashi's eyes widened as he stared at you. No, he wasn't. He felt his chest constrict with an uncomfortable feeling, but he ignored it primarily because the look you had in your eye was almost blinding.

    "Ah," You rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly, "I... I'll just go before I say some more embarrassing things."

No, Akaashi thought before feeling his heart rate increase, Don't go.

For the first time in a long while, he found himself wishing for someone to stay. He watched your retreating figure and he waited before turning to his book once again. Of all the times authors spoke about love in the books he read, Akaashi believed that was as far as he would go, but then, a slight turn of events simply scared him. While he was aware that for love to flourish there would be tops and turns that could perhaps shake his entire being, Akaashi was not ready. He had been awake for 500 years, but he was still not ready.

Getting up, he followed after you, knowing exactly where you were headed. You were headed home, the scent you left behind was intoxicating enough; it was rather easy following you. He found you near the gate with the speed he had gone, and the desire to call out your name stumbled him. He couldn't actually recall feeling this way before, and he wasn't quite sure if it was a good thing.

    "(s/n)-san," Akaashi's face was expressionless, "Please, wait."

You turned around with a wide-eyed expression, face flushed red at his sudden arrival. It was almost...cute.

    "I can't let myself get close to a human being for a wide number of reasons," He began, letting out a breath, "Firstly, while I do not age, I can change my appearance slightly to accommodate lifestyle. Which is why it was easy to grow as a high school student to mid-20s. However, I do not age. If I were with someone, they're bound to notice and they are bound to age, even if they are accepting of my nature."

    "Akaashi—"

    "Secondly, and this is the most important,"

Akaashi turned to look at you again, but froze you in your spot since the look in his eye was feral. The very same look he had given you the first time you realized that Akaashi Keiji was not normal.

    "If one day, I lose control and bite you, I'm not sure if love is a reason enough to stop myself from killing you."

You felt nauseous suddenly at his statement. Your eyes were wide and fixed to his feral ones, ones that could stare into your soul as his fangs devoured you, but it was strange how despite the way these eyes had made you feel before, your hand still reached forward to grasp his. Akaashi froze at the sudden warmth radiating from your skin, transferring to his like osmosis, and he felt his chest tighten.

    "What if it's a risk I'm willing to take?"

Akaashi felt anger bubble in his chest. He swatted your hand away before glaring at you, ready to combust.

    "It's not a risk I'm willing to take!"

You gulped before nodding, looking away from his eyes. Akaashi watched you carefully, unaware of why or how you could be so calm at a moment like this. Perhaps, your mind hadn't completely registered the danger that he could be; your eyes had seen his external features and had found it easy to accept him because he was easy on the eye. Maybe, you didn't truly believe him about being a vampire. Maybe, you were living in denial.

     "I'm glad I like you, Akaashi-kun," You said a moment later, twirling a strand of your hair between your fingers, which caused him to gasp at your sudden statement, "Well, anyway, I'll see you tomorrow."

He watched your retreating figure almost in awe. His eyes softened at your words, at the memory of them, and at the thought of you; but he was aware that your unacceptability of the actual fact was what was causing you to have these feelings. If you saw him feed, or if you saw blood dripping from his lips or even his fangs out in the open, he was certain you would change your mind.

*

Akaashi found it humiliatingly difficult to not notice what you were doing in class. He didn't have to look at you to know what you were doing; since his hearing was elevated, he merely had to focus on your voice and he would know. Strangely, Akaashi found himself focusing on you a lot more than he ever did before, and it was when he consciously made an effort not to did he realize he had a problem.

He could hear your breathing slow down as time passed; it was a Japanese history class, and even he found the class a tad bit boring. A smile ghosted on his lips as he understood that you were trying to stay awake, but were failing rather badly. He noticed the teacher walking over to your desk, and he knew instantly that you were going to be reprimanded.

    "(s/n)-san, you must be very tired."

    "Ah, I'm so sorry!"

Akaashi fought a chuckle before pressing his hand to his lips, before listening to the sound of your accelerating heartbeat.

It was during the next period, English, when the teacher asked you to read out a passage did he think you were adorable for the first time. You were struggling to read the excerpt aloud, your face red and your ears red too, and your heart rate was high—embarrassed and anxious at the same time. The teacher sighed before Akaashi allowed himself to turn to catch your expression, before feeling his chest tighten at the sight. You were looking at the book with a pout, clearly unhappy with yourself.

    "You will need some tutoring for English, (s/n)-san," The teacher scolded, "Mid-terms are around the corner."

Akaashi wondered if it would be weird if he offered to help you. But, at the same time, he wanted you to ask him; so that he could say yes after acting like he could give it thought. While the entire ordeal within his mind seemed preposterous, it was perhaps the first time he was behaving like a regular high schoolboy.

During the lunch break, Akaashi noticed you approach him. However, just before you could reach him, your friend Mamoru-kun pulled you away for something else. Akaashi blinked before a bit before turning away, feeling a strange uncomfortable feeling nestle in his chest. He took a sharp breath before walking away from there, unable to take his mind off the incident. Right after school, before Akaashi could leave class, his ears fell on your voice once more, to hear soft laughter exit your lips.

    "...Sora! That's silly..."

Akaashi felt that unfamiliar tightening in his chest once again but swallowed it as he walked to practice. He didn't realize he was clenching his jaw until he had reached the gym, but what shocked him was a soft presence tugging at his shirt sleeve. Akaashi froze before turning around with feral eyes, locking on to your form, which froze in mid-air. You looked almost terrified at his sudden response before Akaashi backed away ashamed.

    "I'm sorry, I must have startled you—"

    "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't..." What was that? "I shouldn't lose control like that."

    "Can you help me with English? Sora was so certain you'd say no," You said, rubbing the back of your neck, avoiding his gaze, "I don't want the teacher to hate on me."

Akaashi had believed this would have made him happy, but it filled his chest with nervousness instead. He opened his mouth to say something, but he was too afraid to see you look disappointed. Instead, he smiled before letting his eyes soften and thinking about the time your fingers had held his.

    "I'd be happy to."

He noticed the sudden elation in your eye, glistening like gold. Akaashi almost laughed at how naked your emotions were, and how easy-going you were with what you were feeling; it was a blessed feeling to have, to watch you be yourself.

The next morning, Akaashi spotted you enter the classroom, giving him a wide smile, which he had been waiting to return all morning. Almost stopping in your tracks, you walk over to his desk before narrowing your eyes at him.

    "Is something wrong?"

    "Do you sleep?"

Akaashi chuckled before once again giving you a teasing look, "You think I don't?"

    "Do you have a coffin bed or something?"

    "No, (s/n)-san," He said, chuckling lowly, sending fire straight to your heart, "I can sleep if I want to."

    "You should really stop smiling like that, Akaashi-kun, it's making it quite hard for me to... just..."

Akaashi leaned on his hand, balanced on his elbow, "Quite hard for you to?"

    "You're a tease." You gasp, before walking away, listening to his chuckle.

He caught his actions instantly before realizing he had been...flirting with you? Akaashi paused before wanting to turn and look at you, but when his ears circled around your form, he could hear how heavy your heartbeat was; and then he could hear his own that rivaled the way yours seemed to be moving.

You meet up with Akaashi during lunch, after having eaten yours in just minutes. Sitting in the library alone with him was sure to make you nervous, but you felt strangely calm. You listened to him talk with dreamy eyes, aware that he caught you staring at him a couple of times but chose to ignore you. The library was strangely empty that Tuesday afternoon, but that didn't matter. The bookshelves hid you from the rest of the library, which left Akaashi and yourself to just sit there, actually studying English because Akaashi was Akaashi.

You didn't realize you were biting your lip at the way Akaashi's steel-blue eyes moved across the pages, and how his lips were spilling out words with a voice that could make the Gods shiver. However, you realized you bit your lip a bit too hard when you winced and leaned back, immediately pressing your hand to your newly acquired wound. However, your eyes widened when you heard the sound of a chair move swiftly, before a force pushed itself on you—Akaashi's hand was on the arms of your chair, and his other hand was on your face before you could blink. Your eyes were fixed to his feral ones, which were gazing straight into yours. His finger slowly pressed itself to your lip, letting a small drop of blood graze on his finger.

You couldn't look away from him, because while it seemed almost strangely erotic, you caught the pain in his eyes, you caught that he was striving hard not to move, to not even breathe, for even doing that could change the air.

Your heart was rummaging and you didn't know if what you did next was courageous or stupid.

You moved forward and pressed your lips to his, slowly pressing your right hand to his cheek. He was cold, not as cold as ice, but as if he had forgotten his jacket during winter. Akaashi's body did not move a muscle, and he desperately wanted to move away, since you felt him shuddering—however, you continued kissing him, feeling your little wound burn a tad bit at the force you were exerting.

In less than a second, Akaashi sucked on your lip softly, afraid he was going to hurt you, and the precise care that he took in kissing you/sucking the little bit of blood from your lip was enough to let you know that this boy was not a monster. He never really could be.

Just before you could extend the kiss, Akaashi pulled away, his lips stained with a little of your blood, before noticing his eyes widen and his face contort with fear; you wanted to know what he was thinking, what he was going through, but something told you he wasn't going to do any of those things.

    "Akaashi—"

In one quick movement, he walked away from you and exited the library. You gulped before feeling the taste of his lips against yours, and feeling how dry your wound suddenly felt. However, your eyes fell on the hands of the chair and you froze. They were broken into two, each of them, as if Akaashi's strength was exerted not at your lips, but elsewhere, just so that he wouldn't hurt you.

Akaashi didn't come to school the next day, but you knew he was somehow nearby. You felt someone's gaze on you as you walked to school, and you wondered if what you had done was wrong or if it offended Akaashi in any way. You ignored Sora's rants on how Akaashi didn't come to school again because he was teaching you, and that he was shy, but when you actually knew the reason, your heart fell.

Your mind thought back to the kiss and you felt strangely elevated at how it happened. He was soft against you, and no part of him had hurt you. Surely, the kiss did sting because of the wound in your lip, which was smaller than any paper cut you've ever had, but at the same time, with Akaashi sucking on your lip the way he was, it was oddly satisfying. You wanted to see him, you wanted to kiss him again, you wanted to hold him this time and see what he felt—however, the look he gave you in the end, the one where he was both confused and terrified, that look broke your heart. It told you right away that he wasn't used to what was going on, he wasn't used to what had happened.

Right before bed, you stared out your window again, feeling eyes on you for the umpteenth time that day. With your heart bursting the way it was, you knew it was Akaashi who was looking at you. You knew it was him at a distance, but you didn't want him at a distance anymore.

    "Akaashi-kun," you said softly, "Please, I know you're there."

There was obviously no response. Frowning, you once again bit your lip hard before feeling your back pressed against the bed just as soon as your teeth touched your lower lip. You gasped when you felt Akaashi's hand around your throat, his blue eyes were glowing in the moonlight as they bore into yours. Tears struck the sides of your eyes as your hands reached over to touch his face, but Akaashi's hand gripped both of your hands by their wrists and pinned them above your head.

Leaning down, he slowly licked the blood trickling off your lower lip before letting out a breath.

    "You shouldn't do that," He sounded like he was in pain, "You really shouldn't—"

    "Bite me," You said, conviction present in your voice.

Akaashi didn't move an inch.

    "You're finding it difficult because you had a taste of my blood, right? It's killing you because nothing makes it feel better, no matter how much blood you have. The downside of having a rare blood type, I guess."

Your explanation made sense, but at the same time, Akaashi knew that you didn't exactly know what was going on. It was simply the curse of being tempted that Akaashi was finding it all too painful. Blood that he got in little packets was not as fresh as human blood that was stuck behind the skin, and there was you—whose blood was by far the richest he had ever tasted. It wasn't about quenching his thirst, it was hurting you, it was seeing your eyes contort in pain.

He couldn't let that happen.

Leaning back, he released your hands and he froze when he saw you smile.

    "You said once," Your hand grazed over his cheek, "That love might not be a strong reason for you to stop if you do bite me."

He couldn't look away from you.

    "I believe, it's too late for that, no?"

He felt tears sting the back of his eyelids. Ah, he thought before moving forward to touch your cheek. The warmth on your skin was intoxicating, but not as much as your smile was.

    "I've never been this afraid before, (s/n)-san," He said, voice shaking. His hand moved from your cheek to your neck, and the temptation presented itself once more, "I can't... I won't be able to."

    "I trust you."

His lips quivered as he moved in, his nose grazing your neck—he felt goosebumps rise on your skin, and again he felt the need to stop; but you pressed your hand to the back of his neck, holding him close. He had bitten off humans before, but none were this inviting, none were you.

None were humans he had been in love with.

Akaashi's teeth sunk into your skin and he heard you swallow your yelp instantly as he sucked in, drinking the nourishment that you so readily offered; he felt his eyes close in absolute elation, and his grip on you grew stronger by the second. However, his other hand pressed against your cheek, wiping your lone tear away. He felt your hand grip his, which was on your cheek and held on tightly, slowly intertwining your hands together. A second later, Akaashi's heart began to race. He directed his hearing to your heart—noticing how it began to drop by just a fraction of a second.

He pulled away immediately before blinking away the tears that fell from his own eyes. You were looking at him with wide eyes now, noticing the residue of blood within his mouth, and how his eyes were no longer feral.

    "If you're going to kiss me please drink some water."

Akaashi laughed right then before leaning away from you and feeling his lips quiver some more. You got up, wincing at the small wound at your neck, feeling two small punctures having formed there. You weren't sure what you'd tell your parents that those were, but that was for another time.

Leaning forward, you embraced Akaashi before smelling him; your chest was pressed firmly at his side, feeling his arm snake around your waist, bringing you closer.

    "How did I taste?"

    "That's a strangely perverted question, (s/n)-san."

    "I didn't mean it like that! Your mind's in the gutter."

Akaashi chuckled before turning to you, brushing some of the hair behind your ear. For some reason, your mind told you that you would no longer see Akaashi's eyes cloud with a feral expression again.

    "I'm in love with you, (s/n)-san."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words and all you could do was smile.

    "I love you, Akaashi-kun," You moved forward and pressed your nose against his cheek, "But please, drink some water, I want to kiss you so bad."

*

The next morning, Sora yawned for the fourth time as he entered the classroom. He blinked when he saw you and Akaashi—you were sitting on his desk, talking to him about something he had no idea about. You were wearing a scarf around your neck and one of your hands was in Akaashi's.

Sora's eyes widened.

    "Your hands!"

You turned to look at Sora and felt Akaashi's hand grip yours a tad bit tighter, making you smile some more. That small grip had told him more than it told you; a desire he had long nestled in the darkest recesses of his heart was allowed to bloom. Maybe this was why, whenever Akaashi saw you, his heart picked up pace, and he felt the smallest urge to shed a tear.

[bouwrites]

Even Heroes Have the Right to Dream: Chapter 4

You took for granted all the times I never let you down.

First, Previous, Next. Ao3.

Story under read-more.

“Jon? Can I bother you for a second?”

Jon looks up from his assignment to Marinette. Honestly, it’s a bit of a relief to take a break from it. “Sure.” He says. “What do you need?”

“I’m planning to call Alya, soon. You know who she is, right?”

“Your best friend, right? Through a lot of grade school, I think you said. Is she the one that wants to be a reporter?”

“Yeah. She’s been bugging me to meet you, recently, so I was just wondering if you’d pop in to say hi for a bit.”

Jon smiles. “I get to meet your Paris friends? Cool. I’m down. You calling her now?”

“If you’re not busy.”

He shrugs. “I’ve got some homework, but I need to take a break anyway. I’m good.”

“Awesome!” Marinette chirps, taking out her phone. “Uh, fair warning, though, your parents are sort of her journalism idols, so she might be a little weird.”

Jon laughs. It’s not everyday someone outside Metropolis knows his parents well enough to bother connecting him to them, but the ones that do are all journalists, so Alya knowing makes sense. “And she hasn’t wanted to meet me before now?”

Marinette ducks her head nervously. “I… may have not told her your last name.”

“Pfft. Really, Marinette? Is she pissed with you for keeping that secret from her?”

“Oh, absolutely. In my defense, I didn’t know until almost the end of the semester! You told me your parents are journalists, but I don’t know names like Alya does. And she does talk about Lois Lane a lot, but I didn’t know your mom’s name. I just assumed it’d be Kent. I would have told her sooner if I realized.”

Jon shrugs. “That’s fair. Journalists aren’t really big names unless they’re, like, T.V. anchors. Can’t blame you for not knowing.”

Marinette snorts. “Tell that to Alya. Anyway, I’ll call her. Get ready, and don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She hits the call button, and nearly immediately another girl’s voice is coming from the speakers. “Marinette! Is he there?!”

Marinette rolls her eyes. “Yes, Alya, he’s here.” She pushes Jon towards the couch and sits down next to him where they can sit comfortably close enough together for the camera to pick up the both of them. “See? Meet Jon, my roommate.”

“You’re Jonathan Kent!!!” Alya shrieks. She lets out a long string of something in French before taking a deep breath. “Marinette, I cannot believe you! You’ve been living with Jonathan Kent for months and you didn’t tell me?!”

“I didn’t know his parents were the people you’re always going on about! I told you as soon as I did!”

“Mari.” Alya draws out the last vowel in a long whine. “Lois Lane is my hero! How did you forget?!”

“Uh, because her name is Lane? I’ve never met Jon’s parents. I didn’t know his mom’s name. I just knew his is Kent.”

“And how many times have I talked about Clark Kent?!”

Marinette covers her face. “That I just forgot. To be fair, what are the odds that my roommate’s parents are your heroes? It just never occurred to me.”

Alya laughs boisterously. “Good point, girl. I guess I can’t be too mad at you, since you are finally introducing me.”

“Aha. Speaking of.” Jon says. “Nice to meet you. Marinette’s told me a lot about you.”

“Hi! Oh my god. Have you seen my blog?” Alya flinches. “Wait,” she says to herself. “Can I just ask if he’s read my blog?” She shakes her head. “Will you read my blog? If I can get feedback from the Jonathan Kent, I’ll be that much closer to being the best reporter I can be.”

“Alya!” Marinette chastises. “Jon is very busy with University. He doesn’t have time to review your blog for you.”

“It doesn’t have to be right away!” Alya protests. “He can do it when he gets to it!”

Jon clears his throat. “I, uh, also don’t speak French, so…” Alya curses. Jon thinks. It’s in French, but it sounds like a curse. He laughs. “I’m flattered, but I’m not sure I can help you much. I’m not a journalist yet myself, anyway.”

“But you are studying it, aren’t you?” Alya asks.

Jon rubs his neck. “Well… no. I’m still undeclared. To be honest, I’m not really sure what I want to do, yet.” He sighs. “And am quickly running out of time to figure it out.”

He feels Marinette’s comforting touch on his shoulder. “You’ll figure it out.” She says.

“Yeah, maybe.” He shakes his head, looking back to Alya. “Anyway, you have a blog? It’s about the superheroes there, right? Ladybug and Black Cat?”

“Chat Noir.” Marinette corrects him. “Ladybug’s name is in English, Chat Noir’s sounds so weird translated.”

Jon laughs. “What’s weird about Black Cat? I’m pretty sure there’s like, four different cat burglars going by variations of that exact name. At least.”

“Exactly. French, Chat Noir, is a hero. Black Cat is a villain name.”

Jon rolls his eyes. “Fine, fine. Chat Noir. I haven’t heard much on them lately. Not since the big news when they beat their bad guy.”

“They’re still around.” Alya says. “They’re doing more conventional heroism now. Or, at least, Chat Noir is. Ladybug hasn’t been seen for some time.”

Jon frowns. That’s news to him, but then since he’s off-duty he’s fallen out of touch with the most recent hero news. His dad has been respectfully keeping that stuff out of their talks, thankfully. It’s none of his business, anyway. “Huh. Hope she’s okay.”

“We think she is.” Alya says. “Chat won’t give us much, but apparently it was her decision.”

That’s relatable. “Ah. Cool. Good for her.”

Both Marinette and Alya give him strange looks. He shifts awkwardly under their stares. “I hear Superboy is off-duty, though.” Alya says. “Your parents are the number one source for super news. Would you happen to know what happened to him?”

Jon shrugs. “Can’t say. Mom and Dad usually don’t share details of articles with me, so I don’t know any more than they’ve made public.”

“You’re not worried about one of your superheroes just vanishing all of a sudden? The Justice League says he’s just taking leave, but don’t you think it’s a bit odd?” Alya asks. “It’s been months since anyone’s seen him.”

Good. Jon thinks. He laughs, but the sound rings bitter to him. “Why should I be worried? He’s Superboy. I’m sure he’s fine. The same could be said for your Ladybug, and you don’t seem worried.”

“Oh, I’m worried.” Alya says pointedly. Jon isn’t quite sure what the emphasis is for, but… talk about superheroes is normal, superhero business is none of his. Whatever Alya’s hinting at isn’t his concern. Ladybug is probably fine, if Chat Noir says so. “But I know the situation with Ladybug better than I do Superboy.”

“Funny, I’m the other way around. I guess there’s nothing to worry about, after all.”

Alya hums. “Maybe. I hope not.”

Marinette shifts the conversation to a lighter topic, to Jon’s relief, but something inside him stays unsettled. He doesn’t like worrying everyone, but he’s not in charge of the PR. The League is surely just trying to maintain some control over the situation, implying that he’s on some temporary break and not gone indefinitely, or maybe they just… don’t believe that he’s serious about this.

He can… he can buy that. The son of the boy scout in blue giving up heroics? Laughable. A Kryptonian living on Earth like he’s just a guy and not some god among men? Why would he lower himself that way? Because I am just a guy. Jon thinks bitterly.

The League does a lot of good in the world, and Jon respects them for that, but they just don’t understand having power and not wanting to use it. To refrain from using it makes sense to them. To hold back from using all his power is exactly what they want him to do. But they just can’t even imagine not wanting to use power that they have.

To be fair, there was a time that Jon thought the same way. His powers are a part of him, so why shouldn’t he use them? Now, when he finally has some semblance of peace, when he’s living his own life with ordinary people in an ordinary way… going back terrifies him. He’d rather lose his powers entirely than go back to using them to fight all the time.

He still feels guilty that his powers can be used to fight for good. He can, so he has to. That’s what his dad says. But… he doesn’t want to fight again. It doesn’t matter if he’s fighting for good if he’s still fighting. He’s tired, and he wants to live this ordinary life he’s found.

Super-hearing sucks. Jon decides this at God-knows-O’clock in the morning when he wakes up to the distinct and unfortunately familiar sound of glass being cut. By one of Damian’s Goddamned toys.

Damian, you motherf-

His thoughts are interrupted when he tunes in to the sound more and hears ragged, uneven breathing and the pitter-patter of liquid hitting hardwood.

Hell.

Jon throws himself out of bed and floats over the ground to make no noise – the last thing he wants to do is wake up Marinette – to go see what the damage is.

He enters the living room and there, naturally, is Damian. In his hero costume. Bleeding on Jon’s furniture. And there’s a hole in the window. There go our deposits. Sorry, Marinette. “I hate you so much.” Jon hisses.

“I’ll fix the window.” Damian snaps. “Just help me with this.” He’s holding his thigh tightly, trying to keep pressure on two different areas.

“Did you get… shot and stabbed? In the same leg?”

“I do not need your judgement, Kent. I need your supplies.”

Jon sighs and flies over to the bathroom to retrieve the first-aid kit. Luckily, Damian is more than capable of stitching himself back together, because right now Jon is doing his absolute darndest to not crush his friend instead of simply keeping pressure on him. As Damian focuses on the blade wound, Jon keeps pressure on the bullet wound, gritting his teeth all the while.

And while Damian focuses on his bullet wound, Jon gets the lovely job of cleaning up all the blood before Marinette sees it. Goddamnit, Damian.

Damian huffs. “There. Now suit up, I’ll need your assistance to finish this mission with my leg the way it is.”

Jon wrings out the towel he’s absolutely going to have to throw away now into the sink. “No.” He says. “I’m retired. Find someone else.”

Damian scoffs. “You’re clearly not busy. With you there it won’t take long, we simply need to-”

“I said no, Damian!” Jon throws the towel at him. At least Damian has the decency to start cleaning up the rest of his mess himself now that he’s not busy staying alive. “I’m not Superboy anymore. There are plenty of heroes who can help you. Call one of them.”

“Jon. Seriously.” He deadpans. “Stop trying to make this difficult. It will be simple. You’ll be back before sunrise; it won’t be any bother at all. Now come on.”

“What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand? I’m. Not. A. Hero. Anymore. It’s bad enough you’re breaking into my home. I’m not getting dragged onto another stupid mission with you because you can’t understand what off-duty means.”

“What is wrong with you? I came here because I was bleeding out!”

“And now you’re patched up.” Jon bites. “So, bye!”

“You’ve taken a long enough break. While you act like a child, people’s lives could be in danger.” Damian growls. “Stop whining and suit up. I need your help.”

Jon’s gut screams at him. It sinks sharpened fangs into his flesh and tears and rips and revels, because Jon knows Damian is right. People are out there right now who need help. Help he can provide. It is beyond selfish of him to refuse for such childish reasons like he’s tired or stressed or shaking with barely suppressed terror at the very idea of putting the cape back on.

Before Damian shows up in his apartment, Jon doubts he’s a good person. Maybe he was once, maybe he was just acting in some facsimile of one in his dad’s shadow, but now? Now Jon is certain. He’s a failure. A disappointment. A blot, marring that almighty “S” everyone cherishes so dearly. Because even now, even as Damian, who has dragged him out on so many missions before, comes to him crippled and bleeding, asking for his help to save innocents, Jon can’t bring himself to go with his old friend. He begs to, he yearns to, but he can’t. Something cold and pale and stony holds him back and solidifies his… resolve seems too positive a word for it. It isn’t strength at the core of his refusal. It’s fear, pure and simple. “Find someone else.” Jon says. “You’re the one overstaying your welcome. If lives are in danger, you’d save them faster if you called in backup from heroes who are actually working.”

“How can you sit idly-”

Because I’m not the person you think I am. “Because I’m not a hero!” Because I’m not strong enough. “You’re the one ignoring procedure! It’s been made crystal clear that I’m not an active hero, anymore!” Jon fears Damian can see how his tightly clenched fists shake at his side. Damian is certainly too observant to miss such an obvious tell. Pathetic. “Superboy is retired! Don’t assume I’ll drop everything I’ve been doing to run out the moment you decide I should!”

“Jon! Superboy is needed! Will you just ignore the call of duty?”

Don’t ask me that. Please. “I will! That’s not my job anymore!”

“Then why did you help me?”

Jon sputters. Because you’re my friend. Because you could die. Because… I’m selfish and I can’t distance myself enough from you to stop. “Because you were bleeding on my floors. I don’t know what you’re doing, and I don’t care.” This much, at least, is honest. Jon doesn’t necessarily not care at all, but he cares far less than he should. And he does desperately wish to not know. “I’m done with that life. I’m finally starting to feel-”

“I don’t care what kind of tantrum your leave has been about.” Damian says. “You’re needed now, so come on!”

Stop pushing. There’s a tightness in Jon’s chest, restricting his breath, stronger than any chains. If you don’t, I don’t know what… “Are you just incapable of listening?!”

“…Jon? Wha-”

Thunk.

Everything falls into deathly silence as all three people in the room absorb what just happened. Marinette, in her nightgown, sleepy and disoriented from being woken up by the yelling, is standing there in the entranceway, wide alert now, looking between Jon, Damian, the window, Damian’s bandaged leg, the bloody towel on the coffee table, and the batarang firmly rooted in the wall an inch from her head.

Damian just threw a batarang at Marinette. At Marinette.

“Never mind.” Marinette says coldly. Jon’s heart turns to ice at the frigid tone. It doesn’t belong in her voice. “I don’t want to know.” She turns away, like Jon is up at such a dumb hour eating ice cream instead of fighting with a hero standing in front of a man-sized hole in their window.

When Jon hears the click of her door closing, he rounds on Damian. Self-pity, self-loathing, doubt, all of it leave his heart in an instant. All he feels now is anger. Something fiery consumes him and he sees red. “Get the hell out of my home.”

“I-”

“How fucking dare you! You break into my house, demand my help when I’ve already made it clear you shouldn’t call me for that, and you attack my roommate?! Do you realize what you’ve just done?!”

“She has remarkable reflexes.” Damian says.

“Get the hell out of my house!”

Damian clears his throat awkwardly. In a calmer state of mind, Jon will later remember this is a sign of Damian’s embarrassment, but at the moment he doesn’t care to think twice about the gesture. “Yes… of course. You clearly have damage control to do here, with your identity possibly compromised to a civilian. I’ll find someone unoccupied to assist with my mission.”

Jon just gapes at him. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Damian picks up the circle of glass and hangs outside the window for a moment to fix it back in place and seal it before he takes off.

The window looks good as new, but there’s a bloody rag on Jon’s coffee table and… the damage is done. Oh, God. He sighs, picking up the towel again and throwing it in the sink. Now what?

He has no idea how much Marinette heard, if anything, but even just seeing Damian here in his hero costume is dangerous. She’ll wonder how he knows Damian, why Damian came here.

All this, coming to New York, all this work in college, his entire life right now, is to get away from heroism. In one night, Damian breaks in and uproots all of it. Months of building up his life here, and now he’s in the deep end of the hero nonsense again. Great. Just great.

Maybe… maybe it’s salvageable. Maybe it’s okay. Maybe… there’s only one way to find out. He has to start damage control as soon as he can. God, I’m tired.

He spends another few minutes wringing the blood out of the towel. It’s as good as it’s going to get, but he thinks he’ll still probably buy a new one tomorrow. Then, with a heavy sigh, Jon trods over to Marinette’s door.

He raps gently on the wood. “Marinette?”

“I don’t want to know, Jon!” Marinette’s icy voice cuts into him. This… isn’t the reaction he expects. Especially with Alya as her best friend, he expects her to be asking him for all the details. He expects it’ll change everything, and he hates that it will, but he certainly doesn’t expect that all the kindness and warmth, all the friendliness and cheer, will vanish just like that.

He knows the batarang must have scared her. He deserves her anger, her confusion, her fear. That, he understands. But this? Cold fury, something deep, something hurt, like betrayal. A wall of ice built between them in an instant. He doesn’t understand, he can’t understand, but it hurts him regardless, to hear her voice that way. To hear the pain in her voice. “Marinette? At least let me explain.”

“I said I don’t want to know!” The door swings open, giving Jon a clear view of Marinette’s clenched jaw and white knuckles and her deadly glare. “I don’t care why he was here. I don’t care how you know him. I don’t want to know. Whatever your business is with heroes, I don’t want anything to do with it. Understand? Leave me out of it.”

She slams the door in his face.

Jon has never heard her sound that way before. It’s frightening, but mostly it makes him feel like his world is falling apart. Months of his life, all the normal he’s managed to find, gone. Just like that. With the slam of a door.

Now what?

Marinette won’t talk to him. Jon fixes the hole in the wall and snaps the batarang that caused it in half with his bare hands. He hides the pieces away in his closet where he doesn’t have to look at them. There’s a new towel in their kitchen. At any glance, the apartment is back to normal.

But Marinette won’t talk to him. She treats him like the plague. She comes home late, going straight to her room when she does. If she sticks around in the morning long enough to make coffee or tea, she makes her own cup and leaves. The few times she’s home for dinner, she cooks just for herself and eats in her room.

Life is… normal. He’s still going to class, he’s still living here in New York, his apartment is back to normal. But it doesn’t feel like normal. It feels like hell. It feels like everything he tried to run away from when he left the hero life behind him is kicking him square in the butt over and over again. Every time Marinette’s gaze sweeps over him and continues like he’s not even there, every quiet, quiet evening in when she’s not in the apartment and he doesn’t know if she’s out getting dinner or working late in the library, or… or anything.

It’s almost like she isn’t even there anymore.

Jon leaves a post-it note in the entranceway, right inside the door, before the hallway turns. It says to take off his shoes. He’s not sure if he’s trying to get her attention somehow or if he just misses her getting on his case about it. It works, though. He replaces his shoes with the indoor ones Marinette got for him early on. She doesn’t comment on it.

He can’t focus anymore. When he sits down to study, he just feels this dread hang over him. When he’s in class he just feels out of place. Like he doesn’t belong. It’s frustrating, and it pisses him off, and that only makes it harder to focus on his work.

He tries. He tries so hard. He’s doing everything he can, but he can’t sit still and let that overhanging pain consume him. He can’t stop to look at his notes, because if he does it’ll catch up with him and he can’t handle that. He feels like he’s always on the move, searching for something to do, something to distract him, but at the same time he can feel himself stagnating and it makes him feel dirty and gross and he hates it and he scrubs himself so thoroughly every day but the filth he feels never goes away.

Even being a hero was better than this. But then he listens for that tell-tale shriek he’s been shutting out for so many months and he’s not sure it’s not coming from him because the thought of flying to the rescue, of punching some thief and getting involved in something that’s none of his business makes him nauseous. It makes his heart race and he can’t breathe, and he aches all over, wondering what’s wrong with him.

A small, sensible part of him says, “You were ten. Of course, you’re messed up, now.”

A more cynical part says, “Damian was younger. He’s not having a panic attack because some lady is getting her purse stolen.”

Surprisingly, it’s that same cynical part of him that helpfully counters itself. “Sure, he’s still a hero, but do you really want to call Damian okay?”

Yeah, that’s fair.

This is all his fault, anyway.

Diligently, like clockwork, he works on the schedule that he built over his first semester. He goes to class, and when he gets home, he writes down all his assignments on the whiteboard over his desk. Marinette’s idea. It’s the only reason he made it through the transition to college from high school.

Now, though, he just stares at the assignments there in black ink and stares and stares and wills himself to do them but doesn’t ever actually move. He hates it so much. He’s never been just unable to do things before, but now the farthest he ever gets is pulling the paper out, then all he can do is stare at it until his mind wanders and he ends up clicking through websites like a tiger pacing it’s cage at the zoo. Always moving, always going back and forth, but never doing anything.

When he gets his midterm scores back, Jon decides he can’t do this anymore. If he keeps going at this rate, he’ll lose what grip he does still have on his grades and he won’t have a choice but to go home and back to… back to Superboy.

He can’t go back to Superboy. Whatever else this reprieve of duty has done to him, he just can’t handle that anymore. He knows what he needs. He had a taste of it. Just a tiny, tiny, prototype of it, but he had it. That normalcy. That feeling like he knows what he’s doing, that he’s okay, and that things will work out. He had it and he lost it. And he doesn’t know how to get it back.

“Mom?”

He hears his mom’s gentle sigh over the phone. That familiar, knowing sigh she does when she knows she’s gearing up for something big. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

Jon explains the situation to her. No details spared. He tells her about Damian showing up, about Marinette seeing him, about her avoiding him and his slipping grades, and about how much going back to being Superboy terrifies him. He tells her how frustrated he is because he had, for just a moment, exactly what he wanted right in his hands and Damian came and knocked it to the floor and shattered it. He tells her how angry he is with Damian. With himself. With how he’s afraid what his dad will think of him if he’s so weak he can’t even save himself, much less be a hero worthy of being the son of Superman. He tells her how alone and stagnant he feels, how evil he feels for turning down Damian in the first place, and he begs her for help.

It’s a long, long, mostly one-sided conversation, punctuated by long periods of nothing but crying, but he tells her everything because he doesn’t have any other route to take.

“Sweetie, if you can’t be Superboy, then you can’t be Superboy.” His mom says. “Your dad and I do feel differently about it, but you remember what he said when you first talked to him about this? Good people help because they can. Honey, you can’t. And that’s okay. Not doing something you can’t do doesn’t make you a bad person. It makes you normal.” And now he’s crying again. “He won’t be upset with you if you don’t go back to being a hero. He just wants you to be happy, same as I do. And it takes a lot more strength to admit when we can’t do something than to kill ourselves trying anyway. I’m proud of you. And he is, too.

“And I’m sorry, I don’t know what to tell you about Marinette. If she doesn’t want to be around you, then… there’s not much you can do but keep trying to be happy without her. I know she’s your friend, but… there’s only so much you can do. If she’s really against it, you might have to say goodbye.”

“I don’t want to.” Jon chokes out. “Mom, she’s my normal.”

“You found normal once. You can do it again.”

Jon frantically scrubs at his eyes, trying to stop the tears. “I… S’pose.” The thought doesn’t make him feel better, but it does make sense.

“And I think you should talk to Damian.”

“I don’t want to see him.” Jon growls.

“Jon, he’s your friend, too. You both woke up Marinette. It was wrong of him to ask you to help with his mission, but don’t blame him for what isn’t entirely his fault.”

There’s a spike in Jon’s heart, and it’s twisted because he knows she’s right.

“Don’t lose two friends over this, Jon.”

God, she’s right. Jon has to go talk to him. He doesn’t want to, but… he has to. Knowing Damian, he probably doesn’t fully understand why Jon’s even mad at him, so he has to. To at least give Damian a chance to understand.

Even if a part of him says good riddance, and that he’s better off without Damian always there to drag him back into the world of heroes.

Alfred answers the door of the manor and barely looks him up and down before telling Jon that Damian is in the batcave. Jon trudges past the old butler, following old paths through the manor he’d memorized a lifetime ago.

Damian catches sight of him the moment he enters and nods his acknowledgement. Jon notes that Tim is here, but he can’t bring himself to care.

It feels weird, walking into the batcave in an old flannel and worn-out jeans. It’s weird to not even have his suit underneath. This place feels so deeply entrenched with Jon’s memory of heroism that he feels out of place as he is. Underdressed, in a way.

“You should be talking to your father about returning to duty.” Damian says. “Hiding here won’t help.”

“I’m not returning to duty.” Jon says tiredly. “I’m here to talk to you.”

Damian pauses. He’s not expressive, per se, but Jon knows him too well. He knows Damian is embarrassed about the incident. Perhaps even… guilty? Jon’s too tired to think too much about it. “Ah. Right. Speak, then.”

Jon takes a deep breath to stamp down on the rage that bubbles up at Damian’s dismissive tone. Like he didn’t do anything wrong. Like he didn’t come by uninvited and… “You ruined my life.” Jon says quietly. “Do you understand that?”

Damian frowns at him. “There’s no need to get dramatic. This Marinette girl may have heard a bit too much, but she’s only one person. This can be solved easily.”

Jon groans. “That’s not what I’m talking about!” He pauses to breathe some more. He refuses to cry in the batcave. Especially not in front of Damian. “I’m not Superboy anymore. I’m not a hero anymore. I quit for a reason, Damian. I quit because I wanted… I just wanted one thing. I wanted something that could make me feel… okay. I can’t be Superboy, because I- because I…” More deep breaths. Stay calm. “Because I’m not okay. And I went to New York, to college, because I thought I could find something normal. I thought I could- I could be me and not have to fight all the time. And I did! I was happy! I felt safe, and I felt like I could- like I could- I felt like things would be okay.

“And then you came in. Now Marinette won’t talk to me. I’m all alone and I’m only getting worse, but every time I think about going back to being Superboy I panic because I can’t- I can’t fight like that again. I just… physically… I…” He sighs and focuses on his breathing again. “I thought I could be happy. But now that’s ruined.”

Jon notes that Damian stops looking at him somewhere along the line, but all he hears is Damian’s flippant retort. “You’ll get over her. Just because you love this girl doesn’t mean her not liking you is the end of the world.”

That’s where Jon sees red. He stalks up and grabs Damian by the collar, half-surprised that Damian lets him, but not hesitating to lift Damian into the air. “Don’t talk about her like that! You don’t understand anything! Don’t trivialize this like that! It’s not about love, Damian! I’m not in love with her! She was my normal! She was- She was…” Jon chokes on his own words and drops Damian so he can turn away and focus on keeping his tears from slipping free. “You don’t get it. I don’t know why I came here. I’m just going to- I’m going to go.”

“Wait, Jon.” Jon stops, turning back to look at Damian. Damian sighs, though it comes out as more of a huff. “I’m sorry.” He says. “I… I didn’t know why you quit, and I assumed… I shouldn’t have, and I apologize.”

It’s not much, but it’s an apology. It doesn’t fix anything, but it does make Jon feel just a little less broken. “Thanks.” Jon says quietly. “I’m sorry, too. I was yelling, too. It’s not entirely your fault she woke up.”

Damian just nods stiffly in acknowledgement, still refusing to meet Jon’s eye. “Would you… like help reconciling with Marinette? Perhaps if I-”

“God, no. For Christ’s sake, please don’t even step foot in New York.” Jon says it more biting than he means, but that doesn’t seem to bother Damian much. “Marinette doesn’t want anything to do with heroes. Quite frankly, I don’t disagree. If you come in trying to fix everything, it’ll only get worse.”

“…I understand. If you do need my assistance, I will be available for you.”

Jon stares at him for a while, wondering how he feels about that. He’s still resentful, a bit, but Damian is trying. He’s a far cry from that bratty thirteen-year-old that dragged little ten-year-old Jon around on wacky, life-threatening adventures. Jon supposes he’s pretty different now himself, too.

“Thanks, Damian. I appreciate that.”

-------=-------

Tag List: @moonystars14 @pawsitivelymiraculous @magic-miraculous @vixen-uchiha @buticaaba @bigpicklebananatree @lozzybowe  @moonlightstar64 @amayakans <3

[dadsnape]

Snape’s Snakes #2

Snape’s demeanour isn’t always the most pleasant but when it come to the well being of his snakes he really goes above and beyond. In a way when each Slytherin is sorted into his house they gain a father in Snape, regardless of whether they had one before.

Augusta Rookwood is the daughter of Augustus Rookwood the now imprisoned Death Eater. She’s found that there are those willing to hold that against her especially those who’s families were victim to her father’s crimes. 

(Trigger Warnings: Bullying, Swearing)

"Finite incatatum." The spell around Augusta's legs finally faded. She tried to move, relieved when she was able to bend her legs once more even if they were a little stiff. She sighed bringing her knees to her chest. That leg locker jinx had been unexpected and she was sure she was already late for Potions. She wiped her damp eyes deciding Snape would likely be just as angry at her for being five minutes late as he would for twenty minutes. There was no point in rushing down to the dungeons.

Her head hurt a little and when she touched the source of the pain her fingers came away red. She winced, she’d hit her head against the wall when she’d fallen. She hadn’t been ready for the attack and when she drew her wand to cancel the jinx a disarming spell had sent it flying down the stairs. No one had helped her, no one ever did. Not that she expected them to.

The laughs from her attacker had echoed in her ears as she eased her way down the staircase, dragging her bound legs along like dead weight. As she moved she’d cursed herself for allowing this to happen, it had only been a momentary lapse in concentration and her attackers had got the best of her.

She’d finally reached her wand and thankfully it was unbroken. She didn’t know what she’d do without her wand. Without it she was defenceless and that was a feeling Augusta wanted to avoid at all costs.

Augusta stood slowly, using the wall to support her. She slipped her wand back into her pocket and made her way on unsteady legs towards the girl’s toilets. The toilets were empty, not that Augusta expected there to be many people there. Most students had class now and those with free periods wouldn’t spend it on the first floor of all places. She stumbled over to a sink, turning the water on and carefully rinsing her face. It took her a long moment before she was able to look up at herself in the mirror.

Her lip curled back over her teeth as she touched the small graze on her forehead gingerly. It bled steadily but luckily the wound was minor. She just hoped she didn’t have another concussion she was getting fed up of explaining to Madame Pomfrey where all these injuries were coming from. Lucky for her the Matron seemed content to believe her lies about accidental falls and would only chide her for being so clumsy.

Augusta retreated into a stall, grabbing some toilet paper and holding it to her head. She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes as she waited for the bleeding to stop. The words of her attackers were burned into her mind, they repeated over and over leaving her stomach churning with things she didn’t want to think about right now. Evil, vile, dirty and worst of all, Death Eater.

She returned to the mirror, checking on the bleeding, glad to find that it had slowed to a stop. She drew her wand and banished the wad of toilet paper before pointing it towards her head.  

“Dissimulato.” She said clearly, waving the her wand over the graze. Her skin blurred before her eyes and looking at her reflection she could see a blurry shape almost the same colour as her skin concealing the injury. She sighed hoping it would work for now. At least it was less obvious than the red mark that had been there before, only Dowson and her gang would know to look for it. It still hurt of course but there was little she could do about that unless she could get her hands on some salve for it.

It was about time she made her way to Potions. She gulped not looking forward to facing Snape’s wrath. He wasn’t going to be pleased but skipping wasn’t an option, he’d be angrier if she skipped entirely, he might even throw her out of his N.E.W.T level Potions class entirely and she couldn’t have that, she needed to pass that class.

As she made her way down to the dungeons she imagined Dowson giggling to her friend at her entrance. How their eyes would skip over the glamoured mark on her forehead. She wondered how many students would have heard what happened. Dowson wasn’t exactly the best at keeping her mouth shut.

She took a deep breath as she stared at the door leading into the classroom, brushing her hair over her forehead just in case Snape were to notice that a patch of her forehead wasn’t quite the same colour as the rest. Waiting wouldn’t make anything better, if Snape found her skulking out here he wouldn’t be pleased. With this in mind she opened the door, ducking her head as she entered.

Snape was giving a lecture at the front of the class, a huge cauldron in front of him. The room smelt strangely of woodsmoke and something else extremely distinctive that felt so familiar yet she couldn’t quite place. She heard sniggering from across the room and noticed Dowson grinning at her.

“Silence!” Snape snapped, sending a glare her way before turning his attention to Augusta. Augusta shrunk back under the black look he fixed her with. “Nice of you to join us Miss Rookwood.” He hissed, his voice dripping with venom. Augusta cringed back but gave him what she hoped was an apologetic look “If it isn’t too much trouble then perhaps you could take your seat and cease this disruption of my class.”

“Yes sir, sorry.” She said clearly as she ducked her head and made her way towards her seat next to Gemma Farley. The girl looked at her questioningly but quickly turned her attention back to Snape.

She sat down quietly and looked over at Snape. She could feel his dark eyes scrutinising her and she wished she could shrink back in her seat. He quickly recovered continuing his lecture as if she’d never entered. Augusta tried to follow along but it was tough having missed the first part. The potion she gathered was Amortentia. A powerful love potion that smelled different to each person according to what attracted them. That explained the wonderful scent coming from the cauldron.

“As such this potion is extremely dangerous. Today you will be brewing an antidote for Amortentia I expect your potions to be finished within the hour and on my desk.” Snape drawled. “I’d advise you to put great effort into your antidote for I’ll be grading it to Newt standard.” He paused looking over the class with a look of distaste. “Well. Why haven’t you started?” The classroom erupted into activity, people making their way to collect their cauldrons and start brewing.

Augusta took a deep breath savouring the scent of the Amortentia before Snape banished it with a flick of his wand. She quickly pulled out her potions textbook finding the recipe for the antidote and moving to gather the ingredients she needed.

Most of the class were already returning to their cauldrons when she entered the storeroom. Only a Ravenclaw boy she couldn’t remember the name of remained. His eyes widened when she entered and he flinched back as if she’d hurt him. Augusta fixed him with withering look trying to ignore the way her heart ached to see him afraid of her. He had nothing to fear. Not from her. The boy sidestepped around her a darted out of the room as if he’d been stung.  

She went to take a sprig of peppermint from the container in the storeroom only for the bowl shoot up in the air and tip its contents over her head. A cruel laugh sounded behind her.

“Oops.” Dowson sneered, her wand in her hand. She supposed she should be glad it was only peppermint this time, last time it was sloth brain mucus and it had taken hours to wash that stuff out of her hair. “Careful Rookwood you’re causing a mess as usual.”

Augusta glared at her, pulling her wand out in one smooth motion. Dowson took a step back, pointing her own wand at her threateningly. “You going to curse me?” She asked harshly. Augusta flinched but met her gaze evenly, even as her brow furrowed at her words. “Go on do your best.” Dowson hissed. “I’m sure Snape would love to see what sort of dark magic you come out with.”

Augusta looked away, her stomach churning. She lowered her wand, she wouldn’t fight Dowson. Especially not here, there was little she could do anyway. Any spell she could throw at the other girl would only confirm what they all thought of her. That she was nothing but the daughter of a Death Eater, someone who would join the Dark Lord as soon as he returned, if he ever returned.

Dowson scoffed looking at her with an expression of contempt. “What’s wrong? Can’t remember anything your pathetic excuse of a daddy taught you?” She sneered, Augusta tensed, a shock-wave running through her as if she’d been cursed. “Or was he too busy to teach you? Huh? Too busy murdering muggles. Tell me did he not want anything to do with you after torturing my sister?” Augusta inhaled sharply, her words like a knife between her ribs. Her lips curling over her teeth as she raised her wand, aiming the tip directly between Dowson’s eyes.

“Shut up.” She snarled, she could feel her eyes burning with tears, she willed them not to fall. If she cried now she wouldn’t be able to live down the humiliation. Dowson only laughed, raising her own wand hesitantly.

“Oh hit a nerve have I?” Dowson jeered, Augusta held her ground, staring her dead in the eyes her wand at the ready. Dowson wouldn’t get a free curse in this time. She noticed the way the other girls hands shook slightly and smirked.

“What’s wrong Dowson? Scared? I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave. Or do you prefer targets that aren’t ready to fight back?”

“How dare you!” Dowson snarled. “You’re one to talk about courage. With your coward of a father, not even brave enough to go kill defenceless muggles on his own. How many families did your scumbag father murder? How many children?” Augusta’s lip curled back over her teeth, she took a step forwards her eyes blazing ready to wipe that smug look of Dowson’s face one and for all.

“What is going on in here?” Snape barked, appearing in the doorway. Augusta shrunk back, the fire inside her dying immediately leaving only an empty numbness accompanied by guilt. She had forgotten herself, she had intended to really hurt Dowson. She would have proved to everyone they were right. She hung her head, her hands shaking very slightly.

Snape looked between the two girls with a look of utter rage. Augusta quickly shoved her wand back into her pocket. Looking away from him. The colour was draining from Dowson’s face as she looked up at Snape, Augusta supposed she should be pleased to see the girl knocked down a peg or two but instead she just felt vaguely sick.

“As I would hope you’ve noticed though perhaps not considering your dunderheaded actions, this is a potions storeroom not a duelling ground.” Snape hissed, Augusta glanced at him, his words were directed towards Dowson not her. “Put your wand away you foolish girl. Thirty points from Gryffindor for starting fights. Another ten for choosing such a senseless location, an errant spell in here could be disastrous, I shouldn’t have to explain why to sixth year students.” Dowson flushed, putting her wand away quickly sending a glare Augusta’s way as she did so.  

“You have your ingredients Miss Dowson now get to your potion.” The girl turned picking up the ingredients she had already gathered that she’d dropped on the floor when Snape entered and rushed out of the room. Augusta wiped her eyes quickly hoping Dowson hadn’t noticed the few tears that had nearly escaped her.

Peppermint still littered the floor and sat tangled in Augusta’s hair so she worked on plucking it out. She kneeled down to clean up the mess on the floor. Snape was silent for a long moment as he turned his dark glare to her. “Make haste Miss Rookwood, I will not be making allowances for partially brewed potions.” He snarled. “Get your ingredients and start brewing now.”

“But sir.” Augusta looked at the mess. Snape waved his wand and the loose peppermint vanished. Augusta tried to ignore the instinct that screamed at her to draw her own wand at the sight of his.  

“Your potion Rookwood.”

“Yes sir.” Augusta said quickly grabbing the rest of what she needed almost knocking a jar of flobberworms over as she did so, she grabbed it in shaking hands just in time pushing it back onto the shelf unharmed.

“Miss Rookwood if you damage any more of my ingredients I assure you you’ll be helping me harvest bubotuber pus for the rest of the month.” Snape warned  as she stood aside to let her out of the cupboard.

“Sorry sir.” She could feel Snape glaring at her as she rushed past him with her ingredients in her hands.

“Dirty Death Eater.” She heard Dowson hiss as she passed her. Augusta ground her teeth together but made her way towards her cauldron. Snape returned to patrolling the classroom, occasionally stopping near someone’s cauldron and disparagingly commenting on their potion.

Augusta began chopping her ingredients while waiting for the base, which for this potion was purified water, to boil. She felt something hit her back and flinched, itching to hold her wand and send a defensive spell over he back. She could hear snickering behind her. Something hit the back of her head and she ran her fingers through her hair pulling out a billywig wing and placing it in her pile of the useless parts of the ingredients to be thrown away later. She sighed as more pieces of random ingredients landed over her work space getting mixed up with the neat piles of ingredients she was preparing. She picked out the contamination as best she could but knew her potion wouldn’t be her best work today.

Augusta worked quickly, adding the ingredients at the correct intervals and stirring carefully. The potion bubbled quietly turning a dark blue. She frowned knowing it was supposed to be light blue at this stage. Something flew past her ear and if it hadn’t been for her reflexes, swinging her arm out and knocking it away it would have landed in her mixture. She could hear Dowson giggling loudly behind her.

“Miss Dowson! Concentrate on your potion or leave my class.” Snape yelled suddenly. “And five points from Gryffindor for the disruption.” The giggling stopped abruptly and luckily so did the flying ingredients. Augusta sighed, looking down at her potion and trying her best to focus on it despite the twisting in her stomach.

Snape finally came to her cauldron. He leaned over it, wrinkling his nose as he peered into the dark coloured liquid. Augusta kept her head down as she cut up her billywigs. Hyper aware of Snape who stood silently by her cauldron. She waited for him to scold her brew, she knew it was far from perfect not that it was entirely her fault. She doubted it would even have its intended effect. As much as she hated to admit it Dowson’s words in the storeroom had rattled her which had made concentrating on her potion difficult even if it hadn’t been for the girl’s constant attempts to sabotage her.

When Augusta looked up Snape noticed him looking at her oddly. “See me after class Miss Rookwood.” She frowned, wondering if her potion was really that bad, she slouched in defeat. It looked like she wouldn’t be catching a break today.

“Yes sir.” She mumbled, staring into her potion. She could hear Dowson sniggering behind her, she wished she’d stop.

“Death Eater’s in trouble.” She hissed loudly to her friend as soon as Snape had moved on. Augusta scowled into her potion, adding her billywigs a little more roughly than she intended and splashing the desk in boiling fluid. She jumped back just in time to avoid any coming in contact with her skin.

The rest of the lesson passed uneventfully. Mostly, Dowson seemed keen on mocking her behind Snape’s back even after he snapped at her and deducted even more points from Gryffindor. It took him threatening to throw her out of the class for her to stop.  

With Dowson’s distractions and the lump that was forming in her throat Augusta had barely managed to complete the potion in time. She knew the substance she placed on Snape’s desk was substandard. She just hoped she’d get an acceptable grade at least. She couldn’t afford to fail Potions. She couldn’t afford to fail any of her subjects.

She sat at her desk fiddling with her bag while the other students filed out, waiting until they’d all left before approaching Snape. She’d rather the other students didn’t hear her Head of House chew her out. Especially Dowson, she was sure Dowson would have a field day listening to that.

Snape didn’t look up at first, instead writing something on a piece of parchment whilst half hunched over the table. He rarely sat in the worn chair behind his desk, Augusta often wondered why it was there at all. When he finally acknowledged her it was to give her a scrutinising look. “You do realise the importance of attending your classes on time Miss Rookwood?” He asked icily.

“Yes sir.” Augusta nodded, hoping her tardiness was the only issue he had with her today. Perhaps he’d decided that she wasn’t at fault at all for what happened in the storeroom or the dire condition of her potion. “It won’t happen again sir.”

“Indeed.” Snape sneered, straightening to his full height. “And yet, you have been late to three of my classes this term. Not to mention the reports I’ve been hearing from your other professors.” He picked up the vial of her potion squinting at it distastefully. “Substandard work is being turned in, not only to me but to Professors Quirrel and Flitwick.”

Augusta gulped, she hadn’t thought her work was bad enough for them to mention it to her Head of House. The lessons she shared with Dowson were always the hardest, the girl seemed intent on distracting her no matter how hard Augusta tried to ignore her taunts. What had her professors been saying about her behind her back? She knew she wasn’t exactly the most popular student. Most teachers seemed more likely to side with the outgoing and friendly Dowson rather than the quiet, surly girl with an imprisoned Death Eater for a father.

Only Snape stood up for her, but Snape stood up for all the Slytherins. She was surprised Dowson had started her usual routine of tormenting her during Potions class. Gryffindors weren’t renowned for their intelligence but she would have thought even Dowson would be wary of evoking Snape’s wrath.

She stood rigidly waiting for Snape to continue. Waiting for him to tell her just what her professors had been saying to him. He may be her Head of House but that didn’t mean he was above turning his deriding tone to his Slytherins if he felt they deserved it.

“Well?” Snape asked, gesturing to her with one hand. “Is there a reason for your lacklustre performance?”

“I’m sorry sir, I’ll try harder.” She promised through gritted teeth, her stomach churned as she said those words. She had to try harder, she was set on getting O’s. She wouldn’t let Dowson of all people prevent her success. No number of hexes, jinxes and words could stop her from achieving her ambition.

“Do you still wish to become an Auror?” Snape asked suddenly, not taking his eyes off her for a second.

“Yes sir.”

“Then you understand you will need at least five O’s at Newt level.” Snape stated, folding his arms across his chest. “And yet you are achieving A’s at best. It seems strange to me that a student as diligent as you should suddenly experience such a drop in performance.” Augusta forced herself to meet Snape’s gaze, his eyes glittered dangerously as he fixed her with another one of his scrutinising glares.

Augusta wanted very much to scream and possibly throw something. She inhaled slowly trying to gain control over her emotions even as he gut twisted into knots. She’d be getting those O’s if Dowson and the other Gryffindors would just leave her alone. She remembered the Ravenclaw boy from ealrier, the way he’d looked at her with terror and her anger dissipated slightly only to be replaced with guilt.

They feared her, they all did. Except the Slytherins of course, at least with them they just saw her as just Augusta not some Death Eater to be. Not as the daughter of Augustus Rookwood. Augusta swallows her heart aching as she remembered her father’s name. Even if she dropped her family name she was still connected to him. Even if she changed her name entirely his eyes would still look back at her whenever she saw her reflection. Her stomach churned, she felt sick again.  

“What happened to your head?” The quiet question caught her by surprise almost as much as the sudden change in tone. Her first instinct was to duck her head and cover the glamoured area with her hair but that would only draw more attention to it.

“What do you mean sir?” She asked quickly, feigning confusion. Snape rolled his eyes, drawing his wand. Augusta’s hand instinctively went to draw her own, her heart skipping a beat as she prepared to fight her way out. Snape gave her an odd look as she gripped her wand without pulling it from her pocket. Her skin prickled with adrenaline as she fixed Snape with a challenging glare. He raised an eyebrow, lowering his wand slowly and holding his other hand up in a gesture of peace.

This was Snape, she reminded herself. He was about as far from Dowson and her friends as you could get, there would be no curses from him. Even if he wasn’t a teacher and forbidden to harm his students he wouldn’t dare. Slowly she released her wand and let her hands fall to her sides.

“I can see you have cast a glamour over your forehead Miss Rookwood.” Snape said smoothly. “A glamour I might add that is wearing off and by the looks of it, you haven't merely hidden a spot underneath.”

“It’s nothing sir.” Augusta told him, her brow furrowing as she looked away.

“Then you won’t mind me taking a look.” Snape raised his wand deliberately, not quite pointing towards her. Augusta sighed, slouching in defeat, she shrugged, throwing her hands up in the air to tell him to go ahead. She knew he wouldn’t let this be.

“Finite incatatum.” Snape waved his wand lazily and Augusta felt a tingling of magic as her glamour charm faded. Now Augusta ducked her head, not that it mattered now that he’d seen the graze. She tried to ignore the wave of shame that washed over her that Snape was seeing this. That now he’d think she couldn’t defend herself. Snape was silent for a long moment, Augusta wished he’d break the silence. He watched her with an unreadable look in his eyes.

“I fell sir, that’s all.” She answered his unasked question, it was technically the truth after all even if it wasn’t the whole truth.

“Hm.” Snape grunted, raising his wand casually. “May I?” He asked, it wasn’t really a question. Augusta knew she only had two choices here. Snape or Pomfrey. It was a choice many an injured Slytherin was presented with in their time at Hogwarts. Minor injuries could be healed by Snape with his potions while he’d send students to Madame Pomfrey for anything more serious.  

Augusta preferred hiding minor injuries if she could and only went to Madame Pomfrey if she had to. It was better to go to the Infirmary yourself if you had something to hide. The Matron was much easier to deceive than Snape with his searching looks and seemingly endless questions. But Snape had already seen, and there would be questions regardless of whether she went to see Pomfrey or not. With this in mind she nodded, raising her head and brushing her hair away from the injury so Snape could see it properly.

Snape muttered a diagnostic spell and a light appeared around her head. Moments later it was gone. “You’re lucky. There’s no sign of concussion. I will give you a salve for the wound but it’s shallow, it should heal quickly.”

Augusta didn’t respond instead watching him as he rifled through the drawer in his desk. She caught the sight of a few potions within, a box of pale blue vials that looked like calming draughts, pots of burn salve next to them and what looked like an antidote to uncommon poisons. He pulled out a round tub and handed it to her.

“I expect you’ll want to use that now.” He said brusquely, Augusta nodded, twisting the lid and squinting at the pale green paste within. “Apply generously twice a day until the graze has healed. I suggest mornings and evenings.” Snape advised as she scooped some out with her fingers and smeared it over her head. The pain faded instantly and she sighed in relief.

“Thanks” She grunted in an extremely unladylike way, if her mother could hear her she’d have a fit. She sighed looking anywhere but at Snape. She half hoped he’d let her go now but knew he’d have questions. He always had questions.

“You say you fell. How did that happen?” Augusta nearly laughed but managed to keep it in. Here they were the questions she didn’t want to answer.

“I just fell sir.” She told him, shrugging nonchalantly. She replaced the lid of the salve and shoved it into her robe pocket. “It happens sometimes.”

“I see.” A glance at Snape revealed a displeased expression on his face. “Am I correct to assume you fell on you way to my class?”  

“Yes sir.”

“Were you alone?”

“No sir.” Augusta resolved to keep her answers a short as possible. She didn’t want to talk about what had happened. She was sure Snape could guess if he wanted but she wouldn’t talk about it.

“Who were you with?”

“I don’t know sir.” Augusta sighed irritably, she wondered what it mattered if she was alone or not, she tried to ignore the churning in her gut. “A bunch of people in the corridor.

“Which corridor?”

“The second floor sir.”

“And no one helped you up after falling and hitting your head?” Snape asked his voice carrying an edge to it.

“Why would they?” Augusta snapped, finally turning her fiery gaze to him. Surely Snape of all people would know that no one helped a Slytherin. Let alone the daughter of a Death Eater. She supposed if there had been other Slytherins in the corridor they may have stopped but there hadn’t, not that Augusta had seen anyway. “No one helps a disgusting Death Eater! No one helps someone who’s father’s a murderer!” She screamed, why didn’t he understand that? He was supposed to be the Head of Slytherin he should know this. 

“I wasn’t fast enough. I should’ve known Dowson would be heading the same way. But I wasn’t and she fucking got a leg locker off on me.”

“Language Miss Rookwood.” Snape warned, bringing himself to his full height.

“No fuck you!” Augusta roared, now she’d started it felt extremely good to shout and just let out her frustrations. “You don’t know what it’s like!  Every single fucking day I have to on high alert in case those Gryffindors try anything. All because my father is a piece of shit murderer. He’s rotting in Azkaban and I’m here being tortured because of him.” She could feel her eyes burning but she didn’t care, she let the tears fall freely now. “As soon as I let my guard down this happens!” She waved her hand over her forehead before throwing her hands in the air.

“I’m good at curses. I could beat any one of them in a duel but I don’t. You know why? Because it’s what they’re waiting for. Waiting for Death Eater Rookwood the second to hex one of them into oblivion so they can say they always knew I was a no good Death Eater. So I just sit there and take it. I’m always late because they get me in the corridors, they mess up my work when I finally get to class. Everyone is just waiting for me to snap, to prove to them I’m like my father. Even the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs look at me like I’m going to do something awful to them. I’ve done nothing to them, I’ve done nothing to warrant them looking at me like that but they know of my father. They think I’m him.”

She should stop now, but Snape hadn’t moved, instead just watching he with an unreadable expression.  “I’m not a Death Eater.” She said firmly, her voice quieter now. Snape raised an eyebrow. “I’m going to become an Auror and I’m going to round up scum like them and put them where they belong.” She continued savagely.

 Snape’s lips twitched. He opened his mouth to speak but Augusta deflated looking away in thought. “I’m not going to be like my dad.” She mumbled, slumping in defeat, she wiped her eyes turning away from Snape sure that her outburst wouldn’t go down well.

She heard a long sigh coming from Snape. “Are you quite done?” He drawled, pressing his lips together as he stared at her with the same unreadable expression. Augusta didn’t respond, instead looking down. “Five points will be taken from Slytherin for foul language and speaking disrespectfully to a professor.” Augusta resisted the urge to roll her eyes, after all she’d said did he really think she cared about points?

“As for what you’ve said.” He summoned a piece of paper and a quill. “I’ll need the names of all involved in harassing you along with the specifics of as many situations you can recall.”

“Sir?” Augusta frowned in confusion.

“You don’t think I will stand by and allow such behaviour. Especially not directed towards one from my own house.” Snape hissed. Augusta shook her head. If he stepped in it would only make things worse.

“It’s fine sir.” Augusta shook her head, she did not want Snape involved. “I deserve it anyway.”

“Why do you say that?” Snape’s voice had an edge to it that made Augusta cringe. She wasn’t so angry any more now only filled with feelings of guilt and shame.

“My dad sir…. He tortured Dowson’s sister.” She muttered, it wasn’t like he didn’t already know. He would have seen the Daily Prophet article that told the world what kind of man her father really was.

“I want you to listen to me very carefully Miss Rookwood.” Snape took a step towards her. She raised her head meeting his eyes cautiously. He had a very serious expression as he unfolded his arms slowly. “Your father’s actions are not your own. You do not owe penance to those your father harmed.” Augusta swallowed, her lips shaking slightly, she lowered her gaze unable to continue looking into Snape’s dark eyes. She felt a solid pressure on her shoulder and looked up to find Snape squeezing her shoulder gently. “You are not your father.”

Augusta nodded slowly as Snape released her. To her shame she felt a few tears escape her eyes. She shook her head wiping them away with her sleeve, how she wished she could stop crying. The brief pressure of her teacher’s hand had been comforting, a thought that only seemed to add to the hollow ache in her chest.

She was momentarily reminded of her childhood. When she had been very small her father would return from work and take her in his arms. Laughing as he called her his little princess and holding her tight while she giggled and hugged him. She forced those memories away, she hated them. Hated how she now knew her father had been returning to her after doing unspeakable things.But the day before her father’s arrest had been the last time she’d experienced such casual comfort, her mother wasn’t exactly the maternal type and was much more interested in raising her to be a proper young lady. 

Snape sighed, turning away from her very slightly. “You are capable of making your own choices. Independent of those your father made.” He told her firmly. “You told me you wish to become an Auror, I know you are more than capable of achieving the required grades, if you put in the effort. I expect you’ll go far in the Auror Office.”

Augusta stared at him, amazed and confused that he believed in her. Her own mother had scoffed when she’d told her of her intentions to join the Aurors. Telling her she’d be better off finding a rich, pure blooded man to marry. But Augusta was determined to succeed. She felt a warmth flooding through her chest that she couldn’t quite explain, she supposed it was nice to know her Head of House, if no one else, believed in her.  

“I’ll put in the effort.” She assured him firmly, standing up straighter. 

“Then I expect to hear only of your improvement from your professors.” He fixed her with a scrutinising glare. “And if you are assaulted any further I expect you to inform me. I will not allow such actions to go unpunished. Do I make myself clear?”

“I… Yes sir.” Augusta wasn’t sure if she would tell him. She didn’t want him getting involved if she could help it. He scowled at her as if he knew what she was thinking and slid the parchment towards her.

“The names and specifics Miss Rookwood. I’ll need them on my desk by this evening.” He told her firmly. “And if you should ever feel the need to talk about this further my door is open. Perhaps this will prevent any further outbursts.” Augusta flushed, grabbing the parchment from the desk.

“Yes sir. I’m sorry.” She mumbled, feeling incredibly foolish for blowing up like that.

“Good, then I suggest you make your way to lunch.” Snape told her nodding to the door. Augusta nodded turning to leave, before exiting through the door she paused turning back towards her Head of House.

“Thank you sir.” She called after him, darting out of the room without giving him a chance to respond. This time she meant it.

((A//N: Thank you to my amazing partner for giving me the idea for this character))

[simplysnexual]

Got inspired by @doctor492 ‘s SCP!au with Erasermic! I don’t often post my stories so have mercy! I took some creative liberties with their abilities and such. I’m also not terribly educated when it comes to all the SCP lore. 

Excerpts from a guard’s journal.

Day 1

My first day in this sector of the facility. There are 4 keter class anomalies in this sector. Two of which I am in charge of dealing with. These two are kinda...humanoid in appearance but I have yet to see more than quick glances. Training is extensive in this sector as one wrong move either means death or worse: the escape of a dangerous creature. Training has mostly been computerized and kinda boring. Can't wait to get to the hands on stuff. 

Day 5

Finally onto some interesting stuff. I’ve had my first encounter with the SCP nicknamed Eraserhead. He...well I suppose it, though it does have a masculine body type. Plus its kinda weird calling such a humanoid creature an it so I’ll just say him. Anyway, he is a shadowy figure that appears to be made of an ever shifting inky mass. He has bright, misty yellow “eyes.” These eye-like features could be something else entirely their own but appear to act like eyes, blinking and fixating on whatever his attention is on. White cloth-like ribbons float around him constantly like thin snakes writhing in the air. Wispy outlines that look like hair also frame his head and face. I don't know much else about Eraserhead but I’m excited to learn more.

Day 7

First encounter with the “Voice Demon.” Yet another humanoid anomaly, this one more so than Eraserhead. The Voice Demon appears to be a 6’1” white male with long blonde hair. The most jaring and notably inhuman feature is its mouth. A wide maw stretches past the normal stretch of a human mouth, wrapping around all the way to its ears. Its, well I’d called this one a he too. He has lacerations around his throat that appear to have been stitched up and plucked at only to be stitched again. I don’t know for sure but I believe those injuries were inflicted by the Foundation…

Day 10

Something rather interesting happened today. On my usual rounds to check on the anomalies, I discovered Eraserhead standing at the plexi glass window of his containment unit. Mirroring him on the other side of the hall was the “Voice Demon.” The demon’s spirling green eyes seemed softer than his usual jaring glare. As could be said for Eraserhead. But shortly after they noticed my presence, they went back to the darker corners of their units. 

Day 12

I’ve finally found out more about my two favorite SCPs. Turns out Eraserhead has the ability to not only control the writhing ribbons around him, but can also erase one function of the human body, such as the respiratory system or cardiac system. Pretty scary stuff right? A few guards have fallen to this creature’s abilities. I guess I have to be wary not to piss him off huh? As for the Voice Demon, his name is very fitting. His voice can reach beyond 177 decibels, a range passing which is dangerous to humans. This level of sound can burst cells in your lungs, shake your bones and even cause long term damage to your joints. I believe the facility tried to sever his vocal chords but found that not to be the source of his ability. I’ve yet to hear (hehe) of his ability being used or how they keep him from using it. 

Day 16

First incident on my shift, A fellow guard wasn’t being so careful around Eraserhead’s unit. There's an existing rule that you don’t stick around the plexi glass viewing window of his unit. Apparently this guy forgot or didn’t listen to the warning. Dude’s respiratory system shut down and I found him after hearing his gasping wheezes. The SCP medical team took him away. I’m not sure where to but I have a feeling it wasn’t to a hospital…

Day 18

Caught my favorite two charges interacting across the hall again. I hid around the corner to see what they did away from prying eyes. They seemed to be making gestures to each other and after a bit I noticed the Voice Demon fogging up the glass with his breath and drawing things, cats and flowers and the like. Eraserhead’s yellow slits of eyes squinted like how mine do when I smile. Strange...but endearing. Humanizing almost... 

Day 21

Found out what the Voice Demon’s smile looks like...Seems I made him laugh, not sure I can call it that but I’m guessing it was a laugh. I tripped on my idiot coworkers spilled coffee and kissed the floor. Once the Voice Demon made his laugh like noise, I turned to him and saw his lips had curved up and his eyes squinted. Eraserhead matched his squinting. I couldn’t help but smile myself...heh I guess I’m just as strange huh? Smiling at the strange and deadly creatures I guard from the world everyday. But hey it’s the little things that remind you of your humanity when you’re stuck in sterile white hallways all the time.

Day 25

A few guards went into Voice Demon’s unit to try to draw blood or something. Most came out with bleeding ears. Two came out in body bags after a gas filled the room to incapacitate the creature. I’m beginning to doubt the Foundation’s care for its employees…

Day 26

After reviewing the security footage of yesterday’s incident, I noticed the shifting form and writhing ribbons of Eraserhead had increased in their violent motion. His inky, ever-moving form had gone rough around the edges and his ribbons whipped as if in a tornado. Almost like...he was upset?  Angered that his neighbor, maybe even his friend was hurt?

Day 31 

Eraserhead and the Voice Demon are definitely friends of some sort. Yes I know I’m not supposed to humanize the anomalies but I can’t help myself. Their interactions continue and grow in complexity and frequency. It's kinda endearing to be honest. I don’t see much friendly interaction in this place. I feel just as trapped as they do sometimes…

Day 40

My first interaction with the Voice Demon. Guess I pissed off the facility or something cuz they sent me in ALONE to try to draw blood. I’d pretty much accepted my death sentence the second the doors closed behind me. But to my surprise the creature looked at me...curiously? I knelt down to try to seem less threatening and spoke to him like I would a scared child, like my siblings when they hid from a storm. Across the hall I caught a glimpse of Eraserhead’s form shifting violently again. I sat cross legged for a while, slowly trying to coax him over. I couldn’t believe it when the creature approached me and extended his arm for me. I held his wrist like I had when my little sister scraped her elbow. I spoke softly like I had to her as I took the Voice Demons blood, totally unaware of why but fixated on the sentience in his eyes. 

Day 45

The facility sent me into Eraserhead’s unit after my success with the Voice Demon. They didn’t send me for blood, I don’t even know if he has blood?? I think they sent me in for the hell of it, to watch a keter class at work or see what this one did with a human actually in his unit not just outside his window. Turns out, not much. The creature merely stared me down before shifting away and turning his back on me. Without anything really interesting happening for a good while, the high ups let me back out. I’m just as much contained as they are these days. I haven’t been allowed to leave since the interaction with the Voice Demon. But I can’t find it in myself to regret it.

Day 50

I don’t trust this place anymore. The staggering number of guards lost in a month is beyond what could be just “accidents.” The measures they go to “contain” these creatures they label monsters are beyond what’s right. Nearly worse than what the creatures do themselves. A place which considers beating what I could nearly call a person into submission just doesn’t seem right.

Day 51

I treated the Voice demon’s wounds today. He seemed sedated as I worked with him as gently as I could. I talked softly to him, about nothing in general but just to give him some comfort, something to focus on. My heart nearly stopped when I heard his voice. It was only a soft. “Thank you.”. His voice was soft but raspy from lack of use. I met his gaze and that’s when I made my decision. I’m getting them out of here. Him and Eraserhead. After all, what use is it freeing a lone creature to face the world outside without a friend?

Day 55

This Foundation is run by idiots. All this secretive crap covers up their incompetence. But this plan isn’t going to go through without sacrifice. It’s worth it. Without my family around to need me anymore I’m happy to die for a good reason. I’ve faced death before just for this stupid Foundation’s fun. Tomorrow during shift change I’m cutting the power on the sector where Eraserhead and the Voice Demon reside. It’ll be just long enough for the locks to fail and let them escape. I hope they get far away from this hell hole and pathe their way in the outside world. And maybe….just maybe, remember me fondly.

This was the last entry written in the young man’s journal. SCP guard Scarleton lay dying in the glistening blood pooling around him. The red flashing of alarms briefly illuminating the hall in intervals. His dying sight was the Voice Demon’s toxic green eyes spilling over with tears as he grasped the only guard, hell the only human to treat him like anything other than a monster. One more little smile found the man’s lips as he showed his blood stained teeth, eyes sliding closed. “Go on….be free.” He let out a wet laugh and went still. A shifting black form took the arm of the green eyed creature and drug him away to follow through on the guard’s dying words.

[messedupessy]

Sorry, but I couldn't find anything on this, what kinda curse to the seaswap, and seafell Bois have? Probably missed lok

Hey no worries man! It was awhile since I explained the so called curse of the Seaswap boys, and for the Seafell I haven’t done so yet xD 

But for the Seaswap boys, their curse is explained HERE, on the first ever post and the proper ref of Boney I made. You can also, to easier find stuff, go to my Seaswap sideblog at @seaswap, where I got literally everything and anything connecting to Seaswap reblogged to.

Seafell though, like I said I haven’t actually told how the curse works for them or their like backstory, though did a little bit of basic info on the like first idea ref for Seafell pap aka Crow HERE, but going to explain a bit about the curse they got down below, here goes:

Seafell:

The source of their curse, similarly to how it is in Seaswap, is caused by a so called monster artifact the brothers found while still human. 

Unlike the Seaswap brothers though, so is the artifact not a necklace with 7 gems in it, but it is something else entirely. In truth, I haven’t fully decided yet what exactly it is or how it looks like, but I do kind of imagine it as this rock looking ancient object at least.

Kind of this ancient rock tablet, or something.

But, the Seafell brothers found this ancient rock while out pirating with a part of their father’s pirate armada, since their father is this famous and greatly feared pirate captain who got several ships under his command. 

Crow, Seafell Papyrus, instantly had a bad feeling about this monster artifact, like there was this bad feeling about the whole thing. He even suggested in just leaving the thing where they found it, but Memo, his older brother and Seafell Sans, brushed away his concern.

Monster artifacts are very, very wanted and valuable on the market, and leaving such a fine artifact would be downright criminal. And besides, their father would be pissed when he found out that they left such a prized object, so they ended up bringing it back to their father.

And that’s where things, of course, began to go extremely wrong.

See, their father became like obsessed with this artifact. Their usual cold and overly collected father, slowly but yet so quickly became this paranoid and kind of unhinged man, so obsessed about this artifact that the two brothers, as their fathers two seconds in command, made an intervention. 

Where it was clear the old man had completely lost his marbles, and that the artifact was clearly the thing to blame. So Memo made a move to grab it so he could get rid of it, which was very much the wrong thing to do since his father pulled out a massive gun in his panic, ranting how Memo clearly wanted the thing for himself.

Which then resulted in Memo getting the entire back of his head blown off.

And before Crow had a chance to react, someone or something came up behind him and slit his throat. Which did not kill him instantly, but instead made him fall onto the floor and quickly bleed out, all the while their father who was now clearly insane ranting how he had to do it, that otherwise they would have taken the artifact away from him and use it for their own means.

Their father would never have hurt or killed them if it hadn’t been for the artifact, they were too important to him, and it was also something neither brother never would have expected to ever happen. Like they never had the best relationship with the man, but they both knew they were too important to him to just get disposed of, they were far too important to just get killed off.

Family was also something very important during these times, as most often family was the only people you could truly trust, even if you didn’t like each other much. 

Their bodies were then simply thrown overboard, where as they sunk into the water something strange happened. A strange light began to emit from their bodies, growing brighter and brighter until it sort of exploded, leaving only their skeletons.

As their father wasn’t the only one affected by the artifact, they were now also cursed by it. But how exactly is a complete mystery.

Since unlike the Seaswap boys, who got it all explained by the queen of all monsters, so did the Seafell brothers get no such explanation. They simply woke up on a random beach, where their bodies had ended up at, suddenly living and moving skeletons.

Crow instantly deciding to find a way to get turned back to normal, to take revenge on their father, and to finally quit being a pirate since that was something he never had wanted to start with.

No, he was going to become a pirate hunter, and hunt down every bad and cruel pirate he could find, since he was unable to do it officially for any navy thanks to his dad and the fact he was now a literal skeleton. 

But then another thing was revealed, Memo had completely lost all of his memories thanks to literally getting his head blown off. The only thing he knew and could remember was that Crow was family, but that was it.

So now Crow had yet another goal set, to help his brother regain the memories he now had lost. 

And that’s pretty much it, there aren’t any proper details just yet how exactly their curse is like or how it works. Only thing is that the monster artifact is clearly to blame, since it drove their father mad and then instead of letting the two brothers die, turned them into skeletons. 

Neither brother has any clue as to how their curse works, if it’s even reversible in any way, or if there is anything they need to know about, it’s all a mystery for now. 

[thegempage]

hey y’all what’s up shit happened in d&d today, i ate some ice cream, nightcore dam dadi do is on, and it’s time! to! write!

content warning for... well it’s trickster mode. but also an implication of vomit and a lot of being very angry

You didn’t think things could get any worse. But you thought that before, too, when you didn’t even know that there was a murderer on the loose.

You really need to stop thinking that, actually, the universe always takes it as a challenge.

A few... however long it’s been, you wouldn’t even have thought this was that bad. You’re on a relatively safe part of the Battlefield, away from the war you can still hear happening in the distant part of your brain in charge of processing that mess. Jaynne is still next to you, safe for now (for now). You caught a glimpse of Aerith and Zierre, and your relief that they really are okay, it wasn’t just a trick of the universe when you saw them through Jaynne’s watch. Nobody seems to be in immediate danger. Nobody is dying, not even bleeding! At least, nobody you know the whereabouts of!

Except that the air tastes... strange. Sticky. Spicy? But sweet? And something (Ritzie) tried to pull you two to the Battlefield against your will. And you were pushed here by a big explosion of something sparkly enough that your eyes still burn. Probably the source of the taste, actually, when you have a second to think about it. Not great. Your stomach fills with a dread that would come up as bile if you had eaten anything since you went god tier. You grip Jaynne’s hand tighter as something, a shadow maybe, pulls your gaze skyward.

You’ve been imagining what reuniting with Zierre would be like since you found out she was alive. This is not it. Because everything in your body screams that the troll in front of you is not the same troll you love. Everything in your body is rejecting the way the air gets thicker, sweeter, harder to think through. You’ve struggled to think in your life -- for most of your life, actually -- but the second the eye-strain colored, umbrella-twirling, compliment-slinging figure launches herself at the two of you thinking feels like wading through grub sauce and if you were, say, some sort of computer program, you would be glitching out of existence from the sheer overwhelming sensations that rocket your think pan to try to make you stop thinking, to make you pull in, to accept the embrace of whatever force is zapping Zierre around you, washing you all in bright colors and playing a tune you don’t think you’ve heard, but that might be because you can’t fucking think!

None of the words being fired at you make it through to your think pan, but you don’t think they’re supposed to. They’re doing their job, scrambling any thoughts you might’ve had and pinning you between an instinct to run and the feeling in your blood pusher that makes you want nothing more than to take Zierre’s face in your hands and give her a big kiss. She’s just talking, talking and talking and then you’re being lifted in the air, which almost shocks you more than everything else because Zierre, despite the color change and the new hair accessory you can’t name, still looks like she might blow away in a steady breeze. You’re usually the one picking people up, except for maybe Aerith. The name makes a little spike of nerves shoot through your chest.

And then you’re being lifted and being teleported around, further deepening the dread in your stomach and making your vision swirl in a way that doesn’t seem... normal. Too much like an actual spiral. Too much like an --

You’re back on the ground but Zierre is hovering in the air, zapping around. The lights still dance around you. Jaynne is trying to talk to her, you’re trying to interject, but you feel like you’re freezing from the feet up. If you could feel your face, it’d probably be on fire, because somewhere in the little jabs and questions and comments Zierre keeps complimenting you, and you were somehow prepared for that least of all? Your thoughts start turning into questions? This can’t be right?

Jaynne explodes for the second time in less than an hour.

Except this time it isn’t in an attempt to save her life.

No, it’s the same sparkly explosion as before, the kind that leaves your mouth feeling weird and your eyes hurting. You reel back, stumble back a few steps. You rub the sparkles out of your eyes, and.

And.

And.

And in front of you are two figures of living eye-strain, talking and laughing and twirling around together in the air, existing faster than you can comprehend. Zierre is still there, as bright as before, twirling her umbrella. And the other is Jaynne, bright blue and reminding you too vividly of the indigo that coated your arms not long ago, except wrong, too bright, too much. You feel like you’ve lost them all over again, somehow, and your blood pusher threatens to give up under the pressure, cracking under the slap of grief all over again, because they are not themselves anymore, and you don’t know what’s replaced them.

This is too much. You’re trembling on the spot, unable to summon the will to move or talk or resist or even summon the wind, like you did the first time you ended up on the Battlefield. This wasn’t supposed to go like this! This wasn’t supposed to be like this! This wasn’t how you’d imagined this would go at all! The anger bubbles up inside of you, hot against the chill of confusion, and you almost don’t notice when the two start talking about you, almost don’t notice when they talk about kissing you, almost don’t notice when someone dares someone else.

And you’re not sure whose lips are on yours, but the part of you that clings on before everything goes sparkly thinks about how two of your three flushed kisses have been like this, someone kissing you when you weren’t expecting it, yet you welcomed it.

Damn, it doesn’t feel so bad now, does it?!

The grin that splits your lips is more than you’ve ever felt before, and your blood is rushing through your veins with a new vigor. You can’t even remember why you were so sad before! This is great! Things are great! You were looking at it all wrong, you didn’t lose your matesprits, silly, they were just waiting for you to not be such a bummer! Bummers are no fun, didn’t you know? Zierre only wanted to help you all! And she did such a good job!

You think you’re laughing? You’re probably laughing! Nothing has ever been so funny in your whole life! And you’re with your two favorite people in the whole wide world! All together again, with nothing wrong! Even when Zierre tackles you to the ground, because you love sparring! And anyway, you can just get back up! Remember, you’re immortal! You keep laughing. It’s more like giggling, you suppose, but that’s even cuter! You lie on the ground for a moment before Zierre pulls you up, and you two are spinning, teleporting, and you almost go in for another kiss before something distracts you for a moment too long and you lose the thought to the sweet air.

Oh, you realize, Ritzie is here! And you’re pretty sure you were mad at her, but it’s okay! Water under the bridge, right? You’re pretty sure that’s the phrase, but you lose it as soon as it passes, like... liquid under a... Huh! But it’s fine, you don’t need to worry about it, because there’s nothing to worry about anymore!

You’re smiling, laughing. Smiling and laughing. You manage to give Zierre another kiss on the cheek, or maybe three? You don’t really bother keeping track, because who needs to! There’ll be plenty of kisses to go around and plenty more coming your way, you hope. You might be blushing? You’re probably blushing. Maybe they’ll think it’s cute? Oh, you hope Jaynne and Zierre think it is. Thinking about them is what’s making you blush, after all!

You bump into Jaynne! She’s soft and she smells like sugar and you wrap your arms around her before you can even really think about what you’re doing. She doesn’t seem to mind you weight, though you think you might be giving yourself a little boost with your wings? You’re not sure! There’s a delightful song playing in your head and it drowns out the sound your wings may or may not be making. But not your lovely friend and lovers’ voices! Zierre or maybe Ritzie mentions something about getting married? It’s a human thing, which makes you laugh more, because humans are so silly! You wish you knew where your human friend was, maybe she’d be able to tell you more about this marriage thing, because spending forever and forever with the ones you love sounds too good to be true! You nuzzle the back of Jaynne’s neck to muffle some of your giggles at the prospect, but you think it’s probably not working very well!

Aw, Ritzie doesn’t want to invite Aerith or Persephone to your wedding! She says that Persephone is too big of a bummer, but you’re sure with four of you she’d be no problem, and oh! If you got Aerith, too, there could be five against one! And Persephone likes Aerith a whole bunch, she’d probably come around for her! And they could get married at the same time as you three do!

Also, you want to hate-marry Aerith, you’re pretty sure you say! You haven’t even gotten the chance to really kiss her, yet, since she took off her mask! You don’t know if you say that part. Things are in and out of your head and you don’t bother trying to hunt them down. No time, no time! Because there’s a wedding to plan, a big wedding, and oh, knives, you like knives! You can make a knife! You do! And you think Zierre gives you a piece of candy? And you think maybe the knife you made was made of candy? The thought makes you laugh.

Your pusher is rushing, rushing, rushing, your face is hot and you can’t stop smiling and everything is so, so good, and you’re in the perfect spot to give Jaynne lots of tiny kisses and you think marriage involves even more kisses, won’t that be exciting? Nothing in the world can ever go wrong again, you decide! Won’t that be nice, everything going swell for once? No more heartbreak or death or messy anger or, or, or, or other things that you can’t think of because you’re just! So! Excited!!

You’ll just have to find the others, you think! Kind of! Then everyone can be this happy! And wouldn’t that be swell? Wouldn’t that be sweet? You think so! Maybe! Are you thinking?

You laugh.

[chiseler]

Utopia and Apocalypse: Pynchon’s Populist/Fatalist Cinema

The rhythmic clapping resonates inside these walls, which are hard and glossy as coal: Come-on! Start-the-show! Come-on! Start-the-show! The screen is a dim page spread before us, white and silent. The film has broken, or a projector bulb has burned out. It was difficult even for us, old fans who’ve always been at the movies (haven’t we?) to tell which before the darkness swept in.

--from the last page of Gravity’s Rainbow

To begin with a personal anecdote: Writing my first book (to be published) in the late 1970s, an experimental autobiography titled Moving Places: A Life at the Movies (Harper & Row, 1980), published in French as Mouvements: Une vie au cinéma (P.O.L, 2003), I wanted to include four texts by other authors—two short stories (“In Dreams Begin Responsibilities” by Delmore Schwartz, “The Secret Integration” by Thomas Pynchon) and two essays (“The Carole Lombard in Macy’s Window” by Charles Eckert, “My Life With Kong” by Elliott Stein)—but was prevented from doing so by my editor, who argued that because the book was mine, texts by other authors didn’t belong there. My motives were both pluralistic and populist: a desire both to respect fiction and non-fiction as equal creative partners and to insist that the book was about more than just myself and my own life. Because my book was largely about the creative roles played by the fictions of cinema on the non-fictions of personal lives, the anti-elitist nature of cinema played a crucial part in these transactions.`

In the case of Pynchon’s 1964 story—which twenty years later, in his collection Slow Learner, he would admit was the only early story of his that he still liked—the cinematic relevance to Moving Places could be found in a single fleeting but resonant detail: the momentary bonding of a little white boy named Tim Santora with a black, homeless, alcoholic jazz musician named Carl McAfee in a hotel room when they discover that they’ve both seen Blood Alley (1955), an anticommunist action-adventure with John Wayne and Lauren Bacall, directed by William Wellman. Pynchon mentions only the film’s title, but the complex synergy of this passing moment of mutual recognition between two of its dissimilar viewers represented for me an epiphany, in part because of the irony of such casual camaraderie occurring in relation to a routine example of Manichean Cold War mythology. Moreover, as a right-wing cinematic touchstone, Blood Alley is dialectically complemented in the same story by Tim and his friends categorizing their rebellious schoolboy pranks as Operation Spartacus, inspired by the left-wing Spartacus (1960) of Kirk Douglas, Dalton Trumbo, and Stanley Kubrick.

For better and for worse, all of Pynchon’s fiction partakes of this populism by customarily defining cinema as the cultural air that everyone breathes, or at least the river in which everyone swims and bathes. This is equally apparent in the only Pynchon novel that qualifies as hackwork, Inherent Vice (2009), and the fact that Paul Thomas Anderson’s adaptation of it is also his worst film to date—a hippie remake of Chinatown in the same way that the novel is a hippie remake of Raymond Chandler and Ross Macdonald—seems logical insofar as it seems to have been written with an eye towards selling the screen rights. As Geoffrey O’Brien observed (while defending this indefensible book and film) in the New York Review of Books (January 3, 2015), “Perhaps the novel really was crying out for such a cinematic transformation, for in its pages people watch movies, remember them, compare events in the ‘real world’ to their plots, re-experience their soundtracks as auditory hallucinations, even work their technical components (the lighting style of cinematographer James Wong Howe, for instance) into aspects of complex conspiratorial schemes.” (Despite a few glancing virtues, such as  Josh Brolin’s Nixonesque performance as "Bigfoot" Bjornsen, Anderson’s film seems just as cynical as its source and infused with the same sort of misplaced would-be nostalgia for the counterculture of the late 60s and early 70s, pitched to a generation that didn’t experience it, as Bertolucci’s Innocents: The Dreamers.)

From The Crying of Lot 49’s evocation of an orgasm in cinematic terms (“She awoke at last to find herself getting laid; she’d come in on a sexual crescendo in progress, like a cut to a scene where the camera’s already moving”) to the magical-surreal guest star appearance of Mickey Rooney in wartime Europe in Gravity’s Rainbow, cinema is invariably a form of lingua franca in Pynchon’s fiction, an expedient form of shorthand, calling up common experiences that seem light years away from the sectarianism of the politique des auteurs. This explains why his novels set in mid-20th century, such as the two just cited, when cinema was still a common currency cutting across classes, age groups, and diverse levels of education, tend to have the greatest number of movie references. In Gravity’s Rainbow—set mostly in war-torn Europe, with a few flashbacks to the east coast U.S. and flash-forwards to the contemporary west coast—this even includes such anachronistic pop ephemera as the 1949 serial King of the Rocket Men and the 1955 Western The Return of Jack Slade (which a character named Waxwing Blodgett is said to have seen at U.S. Army bases during World War 2 no less than twenty-seven times), along with various comic books.

Significantly, “The Secret Integration”, a title evoking both conspiracy and countercultural utopia, is set in the same cozy suburban neighborhood in the Berkshires from which Tyrone Slothrop, the wartime hero or antihero of Gravity’s Rainbow (1973), aka “Rocketman,” springs, with his kid brother and father among the story’s characters. It’s also the same region where Pynchon himself grew up. And Gravity’s Rainbow, Pynchon’s magnum opus and richest work, is by all measures the most film-drenched of his novels in its design as well as its details—so much so that even its blocks of text are separated typographically by what resemble sprocket holes. Unlike, say, Vineland (1990), where cinema figures mostly in terms of imaginary TV reruns (e.g., Woody Allen in Young Kissinger) and diverse cultural appropriations (e.g., a Noir Center shopping mall), or the post-cinematic adventures in cyberspace found in the noirish (and far superior) east-coast companion volume to Inherent Vice, Bleeding Edge (2013), cinema in Gravity’s Rainbow is basically a theatrical event with a social impact, where Fritz Lang’s invention of the rocket countdown as a suspense device (in the 1929 Frau im mond) and the separate “frames” of a rocket’s trajectory are equally relevant and operative factors. There are also passing references to Lang’s Der müde Tod, Die Nibelungen, Dr. Mabuse, der Spieler, and Metropolis—not to mention De Mille’s Cleopatra, Dumbo, Freaks, Son of Frankenstein, White Zombie, at least two Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers musicals, Pabst, and Lubitsch—and the epigraphs introducing the novel’s second and third sections (“You will have the tallest, darkest leading man in Hollywood — Merian C. Cooper to Fay Wray” and “Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas any more…. –Dorothy, arriving in Oz”) are equally steeped in familiar movie mythology.

These are all populist allusions, yet the bane of populism as a rightwing curse is another near-constant in Pynchon’s work. The same ambivalence can be felt in the novel’s last two words, “Now everybody—“, at once frightening and comforting in its immediacy and universality. With the possible exception of Mason & Dixon (1997), every Pynchon novel over the past three decades—Vineland, Against the Day (2006), Inherent Vice, and Bleeding Edge—has an attractive, prominent, and sympathetic female character betraying or at least acting against her leftist roots and/or principles by being first drawn erotically towards and then being seduced by a fascistic male. In Bleeding Edge, this even happens to the novel’s earthy protagonist, the middle-aged detective Maxine Tarnow. Given the teasing amount of autobiographical concealment and revelation Pynchon carries on with his public while rigorously avoiding the press, it is tempting to see this recurring theme as a personal obsession grounded in some private psychic wound, and one that points to sadder-but-wiser challenges brought by Pynchon to his own populism, eventually reflecting a certain cynicism about human behavior. It also calls to mind some of the reflections of Luc Moullet (in “Sainte Janet,” Cahiers du cinéma no. 86, août 1958) aroused by Howard Hughes’ and Josef von Sternberg’s Jet Pilot and (more incidentally) by Ayn Rand’s and King Vidor’s The Fountainhead whereby “erotic verve” is tied to a contempt for collectivity—implicitly suggesting that rightwing art may be sexier than leftwing art, especially if the sexual delirium in question has some of the adolescent energy found in, for example, Hughes, Sternberg, Rand, Vidor, Kubrick, Tashlin, Jerry Lewis, and, yes, Pynchon.

One of the most impressive things about Pynchon’s fiction is the way in which it often represents the narrative shapes of individual novels in explicit visual terms. V, his first novel, has two heroes and narrative lines that converge at the bottom point of a V; Gravity’s Rainbow, his second—a V2 in more ways than one—unfolds across an epic skyscape like a rocket’s (linear) ascent and its (scattered) descent; Vineland offers a narrative tangle of lives to rhyme with its crisscrossing vines, and the curving ampersand in the middle of Mason & Dixon suggests another form of digressive tangle between its two male leads; Against the Day, which opens with a balloon flight, seems to follow the curving shape and rotation of the planet.

This compulsive patterning suggests that the sprocket-hole design in Gravity’s Rainbow’s section breaks is more than just a decorative detail. The recurrence of sprockets and film frames carries metaphorical resonance in the novel’s action, so that Franz Pökler, a German rocket engineer allowed by his superiors to see his long-lost daughter (whom he calls his “movie child” because she was conceived the night he and her mother saw a porn film) only once a year, at a children’s village called Zwölfkinder, and can’t even be sure if it’s the same girl each time:

So it has gone for the six years since. A daughter a year, each one about a year older, each time taking up nearly from scratch. The only continuity has been her name, and Zwölfkinder, and Pökler’s love—love something like the persistence of vision, for They have used it to create for him the moving image of a daughter, flashing him only these summertime frames of her, leaving it to him to build the illusion of a single child—what would the time scale matter, a 24th of a second or a year (no more, the engineer thought, than in a wind tunnel, or an oscillograph whose turning drum you can speed or slow at will…)?

***

Cinema, in short, is both delightful and sinister—a utopian dream and an apocalyptic nightmare, a stark juxtaposition reflected in the abrupt shift in the earlier Pynchon passage quoted at the beginning of this essay from present tense to past tense, and from third person to first person. Much the same could be said about the various displacements experienced while moving from the positive to the negative consequences of  populism.

Pynchon’s allegiance to the irreverent vulgarity of kazoos sounding like farts and concomitant Spike Jones parodies seems wholly in keeping with his disdain for David Raksin and Johnny Mercer’s popular song “Laura” and what he perceives as the snobbish elitism  of the Preminger film it derives from, as expressed in his passionate liner notes to the CD compilation “Spiked!: The Music of Spike Jones” a half-century later:

The song had been featured in the 1945 movie of the same name, supposed to evoke the hotsy-totsy social life where all these sophisticated New York City folks had time for faces in the misty light and so forth, not to mention expensive outfits, fancy interiors,witty repartee—a world of pseudos as inviting to…class hostility as fish in a barrel, including a presumed audience fatally unhip enough to still believe in the old prewar fantasies, though surely it was already too late for that, Tin Pan Alley wisdom about life had not stood a chance under the realities of global war, too many people by then knew better.

Consequently, neither art cinema nor auteur cinema figures much in Pynchon’s otherwise hefty lexicon of film culture, aside from a jokey mention of a Bengt Ekerot/Maria Casares Film Festival (actors playing Death in The Seventh Seal and Orphée) held in Los Angeles—and significantly, even the “underground”, 16-millimeter radical political filmmaking in northern California charted in Vineland becomes emblematic of the perceived failure of the 60s counterculture as a whole. This also helps to account for why the paranoia and solipsism found in Jacques Rivette’s Paris nous appartient and Out 1, perhaps the closest equivalents to Pynchon’s own notions of mass conspiracy juxtaposed with solitary despair, are never mentioned in his writing, and the films that are referenced belong almost exclusively to the commercial mainstream, unlike the examples of painting, music, and literature, such as the surrealist painting of Remedios Varo described in detail at the beginning of The Crying of Lot 49,  the importance of Ornette Coleman in V and Anton Webern in Gravity’s Rainbow, or the visible impact of both Jorge Luis Borges and William S. Burroughs on the latter novel. (1) And much of the novel’s supply of movie folklore—e.g., the fatal ambushing of John Dillinger while leaving Chicago’s Biograph theater--is mainstream as well.

Nevertheless, one can find a fairly precise philosophical and metaphysical description of these aforementioned Rivette films in Gravity’s Rainbow: “If there is something comforting -- religious, if you want — about paranoia, there is still also anti-paranoia, where nothing is connected to anything, a condition not many of us can bear for long.” And the white, empty movie screen that appears apocalyptically on the novel’s final page—as white and as blank as the fusion of all the colors in a rainbow—also appears in Rivette’s first feature when a 16-millimeter print of Lang’s Metropolis breaks during the projection of the Tower of Babel sequence.

Is such a physically and metaphysically similar affective climax of a halted film projection foretelling an apocalypse a mere coincidence? It’s impossible to know whether Pynchon might have seen Paris nous appartient during its brief New York run in the early 60s. But even if he hadn’t (or still hasn’t), a bitter sense of betrayed utopian possibilities in that film, in Out 1, and in most of his fiction is hard to overlook. Old fans who’ve always been at the movies (haven’t we?) don’t like to be woken from their dreams.

by Jonathan Rosenbaum

Footnote

For this reason, among others, I’m skeptical about accepting the hypothesis of the otherwise reliable Pynchon critic Richard Poirier that Gravity’s Rainbow’s enigmatic references to “the Kenosha Kid” might allude to Orson Welles, who was born in Kenosha, Wisconsin. Steven C. Weisenburger, in A Gravity’s Rainbow Companion (Athens/London: The University of Georgia Press, 2006), reports more plausibly that “the Kenosha Kid” was a pulp magazine character created by Forbes Parkhill in Western stories published from the 1920s through the 1940s. Once again, Pynchon’s populism trumps—i.e. exceeds—his cinephilia.

[bookandcranny]

Stone Heart Gambit

Part 1 - Chapter 5

It starts with clothes. Wearing rags might have worked for Adami when he was made of stone, but not so much now that he’s walking around. Finding something that would fit his broad, inhuman frame was a challenge, but eventually Soso pins down an online seller who stocks a full range of extra-large sizes and provides fast delivery. Adamantius had looked so confused at the offering, and it occurred to Soso suddenly that he probably wasn’t someone who was used to getting gifts. Thus, since then she’d begun bringing new things with her every visit, to get him accustomed.

It’s little things. Today Nessa, awake and active before nightfall for the first time that Soso has ever seen, indulgently leads her through a beginner’s lesson in baking. It had seemed like a good practical gift, since Surehouser only cooked when he fancied the diversion. There was always plenty of food in his home, but only when he bothered to remember that there should be. Something to do with the passively magical nature of the place, he said, though as always the simple answer was wrapped in a layer of riddles and vaguery.

The result is a batch of cookies so hard and dry that one bite has Nessa diving for the milk. Still, she thinks, not terrible for her first try, and Adami will probably be happy with literally anything she brings him.

The outside of the library is looking well restored from Halloween’s havoc, with the exception of the conspicuously missing statue, although the interior is more chaotic than ever before. After a brief investigation, the events of that night have been officially written off as a large-scale prank. It eases Soso’s nerves a little, knowing that she isn’t about to be interrogated at any given moment, but doesn’t solve the main problem. No amount of new clothes or socialization is going to make Adami able to walk the streets freely looking like he does, and harboring him at the library will only work for so long. Not long at all, if he can’t learn to play nice with his host. The fact that they haven’t been caught yet feels like a miracle.

“Nothing so dramatic,” Surehouser says. “Humans are remarkably good at looking the other way when the truth is inconvenient to them. The unseen bleeds into your world more than you realize. This spot, Ensfield- although it didn’t have a name much less a town at the time- rests on what’s essentially a faultline of wild magic, magic that’s not attached to or being used by anyone. It’s a powerful point of contact between the two worlds. One of a handful scattered all over the globe.”

He had explained some of it to her, though of course not as much as she’d like. You could only keep the human world so distant from its shadow without having some bleed-through. Underhill and Overhill were in many ways mirror images of another, hanging in a precarious balance. In order to keep that balance in check, there were a lot of rules about the way faefolk were to conduct themselves while in Overhill, and breaking them could be met with consequences ranging from a slap on the wrist to being banished from Underhill altogether. The general consensus, it seemed, was that the human’s domain was a fun place to visit but not one anyone wished to stay in.

Soso, who has no basis for comparison, wonders if she should be offended.

“So, out of curiosity,” she says. “Just how much trouble would you be in if your bosses found out about big boy over here?”

He snorts. She likes the man but he has the uncanny ability to make her feel like an idiot whenever she opens her mouth about anything fae-wise. “You assume you’d be exempt.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Uncertainty creeps into her tone. “I mean, this is sort of my turf. Because human?”

“It does muddy things,” he admits. “I can’t say I know what they’d do.”

“Give me a best and worst case scenario.”

“Best case, I lose my position and standing and become the laughing stock of my court for failing a task that was essentially ‘make sure this rock doesn’t move’. Worst case, the library gets a few new lawn ornaments.”

She grimaces. Yeah, that’s pretty bad.

Adamantius comes in from the other room and makes a face that she recognizes as his version of a smile. The mouthful of teeth and tusks don’t lend themselves well to the expression, but the nuances between happy monster and angry monster and bored monster are ones she’s coming to appreciate.

“Lady Willoughby, I was not aware it was you. I’ve been instructed to stay hidden at the sound of the door,” he says. “Then I remembered that I’m not bound to the commands of faeries.”

Surehouser rolls his eyes theatrically and takes a bite of a proffered cookie, wincing at the crunch. “Have some, abomination. Your jaws are probably much more suited.”

Soso’s face heats. They aren’t that bad, are they? Adamantius takes two before she can stop him, rumbling with contentment as he chews, and she wonders if it’s for her sake. He can be remarkably astute when he wants to be.

“You could maybe be a teensy bit more careful about being spotted.” She gestures around her. The quirky but overall neat hideaway in the woods Soso knew has been growing more disorganized by the day. Apparently Adami has been trying to catch up his limited knowledge of modern-day Overhill by tearing through the library’s main collection. She can surmise by the look of the place that his attention span is even more erratic than her own. She can nearly pinpoint the exact moment Surehouser must have given up. “Like, just in case anybody else ever stops by.”

“Let them come. I don’t fear any man.”

“Well, I personally fear lots of men.”

Adami clenches one oversized fist. “I would not let them harm you.”

And that instant leap to violence in my defense is a big part of why. Soso’s trying to think of a gentle way to explain this, when there’s the sound of knock on the door. Surehouser leaps up and ushers him out of the room, much to his annoyance, just as the door cracks open.

“Oh hey, I wasn’t sure you guys were open,” says the visitor. It’s a man, still young but old enough that, upon sighting Soso, his face slips into that condescending smile that every man over twenty-five seems to default to around her. Her height and the softness of her features often paints her as younger than she is. She’ll be getting carded for another ten years at least.

“Yep, the librarian’s just, uh, taking a break.”

“I see. And you’re…?”

“Ah, Soso. I’m… an intern?” She resists the urge to slap herself and appends, “I’m new, sorry.”

She’s relieved that the visitor doesn’t call her bluff. She can feign confidence with the best of them but it doesn’t help matters that this guy is uncannily good looking. He’s dressed like he’s just come from an office job, the crisp white sleeves of his button=up rolled to the elbows and his sandy brown hair ruffled in a way that seems somehow calculated and effortless all at once.

“Nice to meet you, miss intern,” he grins. “Can you help me out with something? See, I’m a reporter doing a story on an incident that was reported in the area a few nights ago. You know what I’m talking about?”

Soso stiffens. “Oh yeah, those crazy kids and their pranks. I hate to ruin your scoop but there really isn’t anything to tell about it.”

The man stalks towards her, his smile never wavering. “Really? Because what I heard was that the culprit still hasn’t been caught.” He gives her a casual once-over. “Culprit, or culprits.”

The insinuation irks her. “What makes you think you’re going to find anything about it here?”

He shrugs. “Sources tell me this library is a common target for ‘pranks’ like these. Maybe you saw something?”

“We were closed that night,” she bites out. Something about this reporter’s cocky attitude sets her on edge.

“Maybe I should talk to your boss. He lives out of this same building, right? Anthony Surehouser?”

Her frown deepens. A lucky guess? An attempt to bluff his way in? That itself seems odd though. Who puts this much effort into sleuthing out a story about a supposed prank on a night notorious for stupid pranks? Something isn’t adding up.

“What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t, but neither did you.”

“I told you, my name is Soso.”

That actually throws him for a second. “Oh that’s your name. I thought you just had a stutter. My fault.” He puts out his hand. “Jamison D’Leon. Sorry, as a kid my grandma always told me never to give my name to someone who wouldn’t give me theirs first.”

“It’s okay. It’s an unusual name, I know.”

“I’d say unique.” He has the audacity to wink at her as she shakes his hand.

“Mr D’Leon-“

“Call me Jamie, please. I’m not ready to be a Mr D’Leon just yet.”

This guy is too much. “Okay, Jamie, I can tell my boss you came by, but like I said neither of us saw anything, so unless you’re looking for a book or directions to the highway, I can’t help you.”

For the first time, Jamie’s grin falters. “You are a tough one.” He takes a phone out of his pocket and selects the first contact on the list. “Bancroft, my darling, are you still sure this is the place?” A beat. “In that case, I’m gonna need some backup. Mhm, mhm.”

He ends the call and reclines into a lazy lean against the circulation desk. Feeling at a loss, Soso is contemplating calling for some backup of her own when the doors open again. This time the newcomer is a serious looking woman with long dark hair, dark skin, and a dark suit to match.

“Excuse me, who are you?”

The woman adjusts her glasses. She’s looking around at the room, hardly taking notice of Soso, like she’s just a part of the scenery and an uninteresting one at that.

“Agent Dana Bancroft,” she answers.

“Agent?”

“What’s the verdict?” asks Jamie.

“No doubt, this is the place.” She looks at Soso as if her presence has only just registered. “Oh, you need to leave.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This building is a powderkeg of ma-“

Jamie clears his throat loudly. Soso narrows her eyes. She thinks of what Surehouser had said, about faefolk walking unnoticed among common men. These two don’t look like magical creatures in disguise, but then, neither had he. That’s the point.

There must be some sort of tell, she thinks, otherwise how would those in the know recognize one another? She feigns obedience under their intimidating stares and moves to gather her things. She might not know just who or what these two are, but she can still recognize bad news when she sees it.

Rifling through her bag for a way out of this, her hands find her camera. She still carries it around with her as a habit even though she hasn’t used it much lately. Surehouser is averse to having his picture taken, and she finds herself too unsure to ask Adami even if he would most likely agree. That line of thought causes her to consider, would a glamour- the illusory magic the fae use to disguise themselves among humans- show up on camera?

“Hey ‘agents’, say cheese.”

No sooner has the shutter clicked than something like a purple bolt of lightning shoots it from her hands. When she scrambles to pick it back up, the smoldering plastic sparks and she yelps in pain and shock.

“Bancroft, was that necessary?”

“She knows,” the agent says with cool certainty. Her hands are sparkling with that same iridescent energy.

At this point several things happen at once. Bancroft raises her hands, gathering more power to her. Jamie is saying something to her, trying to talk her down or maybe just throwing around ideas about where to hide the body- Soso can’t focus on that either way because she hears heavy footfalls swiftly approaching and seconds later Adamantius bursts into the room, nearly upending several shelves and roaring like a zoo lion past feeding time. He picks up the agent closest to him, Jamie, and tosses him. His partner whirls towards him and sends a blast of that built up energy directly into his chest. The area glows for a moment like iron in a forge, and then fades, the raging man unaffected.

Surehouser comes in hot on his heels, red in the face. She imagines it was a struggle for him to keep him subdued for as long as he had. The woman readies another attack, shaken but not stalled, and Adamantius seizes and encircles her hands with his own, bearing down like he intends to tear them off before giving her the chance.

“Wait!” Soso yells, but he’s too far gone now. He doesn’t seem to even hear her.

The woman cries out in pain and Soso, panicked, lobs a cookie at his head. It crumbles on impact, but it at least gets his attention. While she has an opening, she rushes him head-first. He doesn’t so much as budge as she rails into him with the full force of her weight. He shoves the agent away just long enough to keep her from braining herself, for all the good it does. She swears she can feel her brain bouncing around the inside of her skull.

“Tha’s enough,” she slurs, shaking her head clear.

“I heard you scream,” Adami protests, eyes wide.

She holds up her hands. The one that touched the camera is burned slightly, the skin at the base of fingers turned paler than that surrounding it, but it’s nothing severe. He must come to the same conclusion, although he still doesn’t look happy about it.

“I’m fine,” she insists. “Things got a little crazy there, but we’re gonna sit down and talk it out like adults.”

“No more talking!” he roars. “All you ever want to do is talk! Why will you not allow me to defend you!”

Agent Bancroft, holding herself up by means of shaking legs and sheer will, opens her suit jacket to reveal an ornate patch stitched into the lining. At a glance it looks like a family crest, split into quarters with each section containing a discreet, delicately embroidered symbol.

“Oh fuck,” sighs Mr Surehouser, so abruptly that Soso almost laughs. “It’s the goddamn feds.”

“Federation of Magical Affairs,” she corrects in between labored breaths. “May I sit down?”

He pulls out a chair. Several rows down, the other agent picks himself up off the floor and limps over.

“Knew I shouldn’t’ve left my sword in the car,” he grumbles.

“Lady Willoughby,” Adami is all but pleading with her now. “Please let me remove the intruders. They are a threat to your safety.”

“Oh we’re a threat!” Jamie scoffs. “You-! You are getting such a citation, mister.”

“I think I’ll be fine,” says Soso.

“Can we agree on a temporary truce?” Bancroft asks. “I think there’s been some confusion. Jamison and I are agents of the FMA assigned to investigate reports of an incident that signaled a potential rogue element. You,” She looks to the librarian. “You’re the watcher assigned to this area, going by the name Anthony Surehouser? We’ve been trying to contact you. You’re running late on your annual report.”

He looks caught. “The date must’ve gotten away from me.”

Jamie says, “We were told to look for a lone building past the woods with a big gargoyle out front. Well we found the building, and now I guess we’ve found the gargoyle too.” He glares at Adamantius, cradling his injured arm. “What is this? Some kind of botched animation spell?”

He growls warningly.

“Adami,” Soso says, trying for a calming tone but landing somewhere closer to tired. “Will you get me some ice for my hand? And for our, er, guest’s arm?”

“Leave you alone with them? The woman reeks of magic.”

Said woman is looking more intrigued by the second. “What did you just call it?” she asks Soso.

A protective impulse flares in her chest despite it all. “His name is Adamantius.”

“The son of man,” she finishes, her eyes alight with wonder. “A feat of magic and science combined, leagues beyond anything created before or since. I thought he was a myth.”

A tense quiet falls over the room.

“For pity’s sake,” Surehouser pipes up at last. “I’ll get the ice.”

 --

 An involuntary hiss escapes her as Soso nurses her burnt hand.

“I could heal that for you,” offers Bancroft. She’s currently checking her partner’s arm for breaks, a soft light emanating from her fingertips, smoothing out the lines of tension on his brow by degrees.

Soso would like to accept, but Adami looks like he’s about a wayward glance away from snapping again and she’d rather not push her luck. His eyes are locked on the sorceress’ hands, even as the violet glow dims to nothing.

“Is it always so… sparkly?” Soso asks, and immediately feels foolish for it.

Either she doesn’t mind the question or she is very good at faking it. “Not always. Spellcasting doesn’t necessarily need a visual aspect, but healing isn’t my foremost specialty so it’s good to be able to see what I’m doing. Wouldn’t want to accidentally fuse any joints together.”

“Again,” Jamie mutters.

“Hush.”

When they aren’t being all secretive and posturing, or throwing balls of lightning around, these so-called agents aren’t bad company, Soso thinks. Though she would wager she’s alone in that sentiment. Adami is still... Adami, and Surehouser seems to be waiting for the other shoe to drop and someone to announce that he’s headed straight for fae jail, if there is such a thing.

The Federation of Magical Affairs, she learns, is an organization whose purpose is keeping the balance between the two worlds. Underhill has its own governing bodies, its countries and courts and what seems to be an awful lot of political drama, but compared to most human government structures their control over the citizens is fairly lax, which means that those who live on the Overhill side of things, human and otherwise, often have to pick up the slack to make sure the majority of humans don’t find out about the faefolk and wind up setting off another war.

It’s the TMA that conducts the regular check-ins with Surehouser to make sure that the contents of the library-beneath-the-library remain preserved and undisturbed, as they have been for the past several centuries. When word came in that there had been a disturbance in the area, possibly of an inhuman nature, Agents D’Leon and Bancroft were sent to investigate.

“The best in the business!” Jamie boasts. He cuts himself off with a whine as his partner pokes his still tender arm.

“I believe we rank seventy-sixth on the leaderboard right now, actually.”

“That’s not so bad,” says Soso. She figures with a job as important sounding as theirs, there must be hundreds, maybe even thousands of agents.

“Out of ninety-nine.”

Or not. “I feel like I should be offended that some mysterious magical agency thought our town was under attack and only sent out a C-rank team to handle it.”

She shrugs. “It was an isolated incident, no real casualties, plenty of signs pointing to a possible hoax. We’ve investigated a lot of hoaxes recently.”

“But it only takes one real one flying under the radar for this whole thing to fall apart,” argues Jamie. “Isn’t it worth following a few false leads if just once we manage to stop something big?”

Dana levels Soso a conspiratorial look. “Jamison fancies himself a knight in shining armor. In reality, the job’s mostly de-escalating minor incidents and filing a whole lot of paperwork. It’s nothing fancy, but there aren’t many good job opportunities for mages these days so…”

“Well it sounds exciting to me,” Soso says, and means it. She can’t imagine getting so used to a job involving real magic and monsters and mystery that it would become mundane. If only this sort of career track had been offered to her in high school. How does a person even get into this business, she wonders.

There’s a none-too-subtle exasperated sound to her right and she’s brought back to the situation at hand.

“Is there any chance this could be written up as one of those false alarms?”

The agents look at one another. Jamie barks a laugh.

“We can’t just not report something like this. We’d lose our jobs, or worse. Plus, a mythical monster warrior living on the outskirts of a human town does seem like kind of a safety concern.”

“You should be very concerned about your safety shortly,” threatens Adamantius.

Surehouser glances worriedly between them. “Isn’t there any way we could keep this under wraps a bit longer? I’m not ready to return home as a disgrace.” Soso clears her throat. He sighs. “And, while I had my doubts, I must admit the beast has been fairly well-behaved since he was released. Technically speaking, no real harm has been done, and he’s served a long enough sentence. In the days of old it’s said the warrior Adamantius served humanity, now it seems he’s chosen a new master, and one less given to warlike tendencies. That can only be an improvement.”

“I don’t want to be Adami’s master,” Soso argues. “He isn’t my servant or my soldier, he’s- he’s my friend. And I think after a thousand years the least he deserves is a chance.”

She looks up at him, and he at her. There’s a look on his face Soso has yet to identify, but behind all the hardness and fire in his eyes, she sees the face of a good man, a man who is more than the monstrosity assigned to him.

“That’s sweet,” says Jamie. “But I don’t know how well the power of friendship defense is going to hold up before the federation. And I gotta say, after being thrown into a wall, my vote is not with you.”

“He was trying to defend me,” Soso insists. “After you guys blasted my camera to bits.”

“Your camera?”

She shrinks back a bit. “I was trying to see if they were, you know, glamoured to look human by using the camera.”

Surehouser claps his hands together. “Soso. That was smart. That might have actually worked.”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

“I’m trying to pay you a compliment.”

“Well, keep trying, I’m sure you’ll get there eventually.” She rubs her thumb over the burnt skin of her hand, no longer hot to the touch but still tender. She doesn’t even want to look at her poor camera.

Bancroft at least has the decency to look guilty about it. “There is a lot of magical energy in this place, a lot of wild magic. It makes me jumpy.”

Surehouser coughs pointedly. There’s a glimmer in his eyes that even Soso doesn’t all the way trust. “Perhaps I can suggest a compromise?”

Adamantius sneers. “Faeries and their gambits.”

“We’re listening,” says Dana.

Under his breath, Jamie adds, “We are?”

“First let me ask you, how soon does the FMA expect you to be back from your present investigation?”

“Investigations can last anywhere from a few days to a few months depending on the nature of the case. As long as we keep HQ updated, we can be here indefinitely.”

His smile broadens. “Then what I propose is this: collect some more data before you make your final decision. If you close the case now, what do you have? You have a legendary war criminal, a potentially dangerous creature of humanity’s own creation holed up in an unaware human town. That doesn’t sound so good. Doesn’t reflect well on me, on you, on the entire federation. Going back with this story would mean telling the FMA to its face that you’ve all failed your core mission statement.

“They can throw our dear Adamantius in some jail somewhere, call it a day, but when this story gets out, no amount of damage control, no amount of PR is going to cover up the fact that they let this happen, and didn’t so much as send out a response team for days. Anything could have happened in that time! And when they finally do file the paperwork and get a team out here, who arrives? Two agents ranked a hair’s width from the bottom of the barrel. No offense.”

“Harsh, but accurate,” she allows.

“It’s not a good look, I think we can all agree,” he continues. “But if you were to stay, gather more intel, and say, came to the conclusion that a human and a faerie had successfully reformed the biggest bad in Underhill history, why that would be a tremendous success! Proof of the balance- the peace- that the FMA has been working towards since its conception. Don’t you think you owe it to the federation, to yourselves, to give this grand experiment more time. If he fails to live up to expectations, well, at least you tried. And you still get to be the heroes who brought in Adamantius the unbreakable. It’s a wager you can’t lose.”

Unless we’re wrong, Soso adds internally, hoping her worries don’t show. Unless Adami really is violence and rage all the way down. She shakes herself. No, it helps nothing thinking like that.

The agents step away to confer amongst themselves, while Surehouser dabs away a drop of sweat with the cuff of his shirtsleeve. Adamantius is as stoic as Soso’s seen him since he was a statue. On impulse, she reaches out and touches his arm in a way she hopes comes off as reassuring. She’s never been the best at this sort of thing, and she can only guess at what’s going through his mind right now, but she wants him to know he’s not alone.

At length, the pair return to the group to give their verdict.

“We will take you up on your offer,” says Jamie, holding himself so rigid you’d think he was pleading guilty to murder. She almost prefers him smirking and swaggering. “Agent Bancroft and I will stay and survey you until we feel we’ve collected enough information.”

Relief washes over her. It’s not a solution, but it’s the next best thing: time. Still, something nags at her. “You mean you’ll be surveying Adami, right?”

“We’ll be watching all of you,” Bancroft corrects. “As far as we’re concerned, you are all under suspicion for the time being.”

“Suspicion of what?”

“Just under suspicion,” she says. “We’ll be taking notes on everything that goes on here and reporting anything suspect.”

The librarian tenses but keeps his expression carefully neutral. “That’s… fair, I suppose.”

He puts out his hand, and she takes it. A small spark of magic flickers between them upon contact.

“I am bound to my word,” says the sorceress.

“And I mine,” the faerie man replies.

Soso isn’t entirely sure what’s just happened, but the tension in the room is thick as pudding and it’s making her want for an exit.

“Adami,” she says. “Let’s go, uh, over there.”

“Mind if I join?” Jamie chirps gleefully. “Of course you don’t! We’re all going to become real good friends, aren’t we?”

Soso’s stomach drops and Adamantius bites down on a low growl. What have they gotten themselves into?

[proxylynn]

Underfell: File Name not Edgy Enough #24

Chapter 24: Drama

WARNING: I WANT NO RESPONSIBILITY OVER SPOILING THINGS FOR OTHERS. THAT BEING SAID, THIS IS HOW FILE NAME NOT FOUND WOULD FUNCTION IN THE AU OF UNDERFELL. BEFORE YOU READ THIS, UNLIKE THE NICE TIME OF UNDERTALE, THIS WORLD IS KILL OR BE KILLED. THIS STORY WILL BE GRAPHIC, GORY, USE SWEARS LIKE NOBODY'S BUSINESS, AND DEAL WITH SENSITIVE SUBJECT MATTERS. FOR EXAMPLE, THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVE READ THE FILE NAME RELOCATED SPOOF WILL KNOW HOW I PICTURE THIS VERSION OF LYNSIE COMING TO THE UNDERGROUND. IT IS NOT AN ACCIDENT. IT IS NOT BECAUSE OF SOMETHING DUMB. IT IS BECAUSE SHE CHOOSES TO END HER LIFE. SO TAKE THIS WITH A GRAIN OF SALT. I MADE IT BECAUSE I NEEDED TO LET SOME OF THIS EDGINESS OUT OF MYSELF. WHICH I GUESS MAKES UNDERFELL LYNSIE EVEN MORE TRUE TO WHO I REALLY AM. ANYWAY, ENJOY. ^_^

You know...I used to love darkness. It was the one element that felt the most kind to me. Now it's a different story. At this point I hate it. Nothing good comes when I'm in darkness anymore. If I'm not dreaming then I'm being used by a maniacal scientist as his personal experiment.

{What are you doing here?}

Or this crap happens.

"Seeing as I don't get a choice in these matters, I should be asking you that. So...Why am I here, Chara?"

{Go away.}

"Why so serious? You've been avoiding me like the plague."

{You've been listening to Gaster behind my back.}

I sigh.

"Are we really about to do this?"

{Do what?}

"A childish back and forth of 'how could you do this' b.s."

{I warned you not to trust him. And what do you do? You cut deals with him.}

"You've been rummaging in my head. Not very nice of you, bro."

{Don't call me bro. Family doesn't backstab family.}

"Heh...You've been dead so long you forget what humanity is like. And I didn't backstab anyone."

{Yes you did!}

"How? How does seeking aid from the best source of soul knowledge so I don't go kill-crazy backstab you or the family?"

{That's not the point! You didn't listen to me! Why doesn't anyone ever listen to me?!}

Where is this coming from?

"Dude, calm down. You're a kid. A dead kid. You should be used to no one listening."

The darkness rumbles with thunder. Energy swirls around like wind or unseen water. A form begins to take shape, distinctly that of a male child. The boy is pale-skinned, has bright pink cheeks, piercing red eyes, as well as light brown hair, and dressed in a red sweater with a black stripe across the middle, black pants, and brown boots. This is Chara...at least...Chara pre-death. And oddly he's intimidating.

{I am so sick and tired of people not listening to me.}

"*scoff* Join the club, kid. You really think I ended up here because others heard what I had to say? You can't expect me to ignore help because you tell me no. It's MY soul. MY problems. And I will deal with them MY way. Not anyone else's."

The energy gets stronger. It's starting to become visible as it clashes around him.

{Not again...I won't let it happen again...}

I don't like the looks of this. But what can I do about it? It's not like I have power here.

"Look, I'm sorry if I piss you off. I have an annoying tendency to do that. It's not intentional. I..."

{I won't let you kill Asriel again!}

Confusion seems to be my normal state of mind these days. Does he actually mean me? Is he having a moment like Sans and thinks I'm Frisk? Could he even be thinking of Gaster? Or is he calling out all the other past humans to fall before me? Either way, I'm not going to get through to him. The look in those eyes of his gives me the message loud and clear. Talking is pointless. Now I'm left to do the one move I've done all my life...brace for impact.

{Not again! NEVER AGAIN!}

As expected, his rage causes the energy to lash out at me and all I can do block. Damn things cut like knives. I can't tell if bleeding is possible here but it feels like it.

"*mutter* Geez...And I thought I had issues. *grunt* No one is out to kill Asriel! Calm down!"

He doesn't say a word. Yet the energy intensifies. Hitting harder. Pushing back. Pushing me away.

"*strained* Do you think this solves anything? That lashing out at me keeps him safe? Harming me only puts him in more danger!"

Again, he's not in a mood to listen. The energy is cutting away at me more. I won't be able to take it much longer at this rate.

"*snarl* Damn it, Chara! Don't be like Toriel and put your problems on me like it's my fault!"

For only a moment there's a break in his attack and I think that maybe...just maybe...maybe he sees that this isn't the right way of handling the situation. This hope is dashed when he suddenly rushes me and grabs my shirt. The look he has. So spiteful. It breaks my guard.

{If we're really family...You won't come back here again.}

He blasts me at point-blank range and everything flashes from black, red, and then white.

"*gasp and cough*"

God, I hate this shit. Each time I wake up I feel closer to dying. Like one day, I'll open my eyes but be unable to breathe or I won't wake up at all.

"Bad dream?"

...Or I'll wake up in an unknown place with lord only knows who.

"With the wack you took, a little nightmare is the best outcome you could've gotten. Though we still can't rule out brain damage quiet yet."

I can't see anything apart from the ceiling. A brace of some sort is restraining my head. I can feel bands on my wrists and ankles. And something else...something cold.

"Hmmm...Vitals look stable. Then again, it's been a long time since I've had to human hooked to this thing. Oh well."

Great. From bad to worse.

"Not a big talker, huh? Or are you just slow to take in what's going on?"

I am in no mood for this crap.

"In any case, the short version is you're now in Hotland. No one knows you're here. And if you ever want to go home, it's best that you cooperate."

The sigh that leaves me is one oozing with boredom. I'm numb to this. I've been here too long to care.

"You're taking this oddly well, human."

"I'm in no position to care. I'm restrained in a place I don't know. You already have points on me I can't bounce back from. So why not skip the spiel and be blunt. It'll be easier on us both."

There's a scribbling noise.

"Subject is reasonable yet bitchy after having woken up."

Okay...Now I have some clue.

"You're Alphys, right?"

By the sudden startle that shakes her, she wasn't expecting me to know.

"H-H-How do you...?"

"People talk. It's not like there are others down here that know what a human is and have done things to them before. Makes for a very select list of names."

She huffs through her nose.

"Perhaps you'll be of more interest than your predecessors after all. Aside from your soul that is."

She taps on something and it makes me snarl in discomfort. No wild guess needed that it's my soul.

"You're a first. I've never seen a human soul infused with magic before. Though it is funny how it can be afflicted with something so common to growing children and you are...clearly not one."

I try to not think about that stupid issue of soul puberty.

"Yeah, well...What can do? Stuff happens."

"Lucky for you...it's a condition that is easily fixed with some stabilizing magic. You might be able to feel it. It's rather cold. Much like everything else in this world."

So that's another mystery solved. I'm basically getting the equivalent to hormone balancers. The question...Why?

"Seems a little odd."

"How so?"

"No offense, but experience has taught me that no one does something for someone else down here without there being a reason. So spill it, doc. What reason could you have for treating my condition?"

There's a sigh and a loud click before the slab I'm on begins to move, slanting me to almost stand. Now I can see the room better, the machinery, the odd patch on my exposed purple soul, and her. A slightly corpulent reptile-monster that appears smaller than she is due to slouching. She has yellow skin/scales, wears spiral-shaped glasses, a red and black striped sweater with a matching black skirt, and topped off with a classic white lab coat with a few frayed ends.

"If you must know...He insisted on you being fully healed. I swear things would be more interesting if I didn't fix you. But no...he was going to annoy the piss out of me. And frankly, I'm not in the mood to tear him apart for scrap."

He? Oh...Him.

"Ah, I see. Mettaton is a crafty guy. Must be his inner ghost."

She gives me a questionable look.

"Why would you say that?"

"Because I know his cousin and he told me."

She groans and adjusts her glasses with her middle finger.

"That information is not for the public to know. You'd be wise not to spread any rumors about it."

"*scoff* Please. If I haven't blabbed by now than I ain't blabbing ever. Besides...There's no point telling anyone anyway."

She scribbles on a pad.

"You'd be wise to keep that mentality."

I roll my eyes.

"So where is he? Dude went so far as to have his flunky give me my second bat to skull injury and drag me here, the least he could do is show himself before overly explaining some elaborate plan."

She stops writing to look at me.

"HE is getting himself and I quote 'ready to shine like the star he was born to be' end quote."

If ego was hot air that metal body of his would be floating like a parade balloon.

"But what you said makes me wonder. You've watched his shows before, haven't you?"

"Enough to notice predictable patterns. Sure, the first show is fresh. But then he repeats the same theme in every show the rest of the day. It's hard not to notice."

"Like he tries too hard and looks like a moron."

"I wouldn't say that. It's endearing that he tries when it comes to an idea he likes. Whether or not the audience likes that sort of thing is subjective. You can't please all the people all of the time. Only some people some times."

"Try none and ever. Ratings have been in the dumper. The only small increase to have happened was that time he tricked you into phoning in. Heh...I still can't believe that worked."

"I'm not heartless. I don't want to see anyone hurt or die if I can help it."

She goes back to scribbling.

"Subject is a bleeding heart idiot."

I struggle to shake my head.

"Not the first time I've heard that and it won't be the last. Yet you can't honestly tell yourself that there isn't at least one person you'd risk it all for."

She pauses. Her scribbling stops to tap the pad. But this is not a long pause before she resumes again.

"Side note...If the subject is this stupid, how has it lived this long and what does that mean for surface humans?"

I can't roll my eyes hard enough.

"So you'd do anything for that fire elemental, huh?"

This has my attention.

"It's one thing to associate with monsters. Most are ignorant of what a human is. Making it easy to blend in and not be killed. But to be romantic with a monster? And to have been so dumb as to do so in public no less? That's just begging for trouble."

My glare has her smirking.

"Be a real shame if something unfortunate were to happen to him."

"You do not want to go down this road. Not on those tires."

"You are in no position to stop me if I do."

"Trust me, doc. You don't want to make me angry. Bad things happen when I snap."

My seriousness is not taken seriously.

"I'll be sure to enjoy studying every moment of it."

I sneer daggers at her.

"Humans are such pathetic and pitiful creatures."

"And yet we won the war. Go figure."

That earns me a very nasty look.

"I think you need to learn your place, human."

"I'm strapped to a table. I think I know my place."

"Let's double-check that..."

She reaches into her pocket and suddenly I'm thrashing harshly as electricity is sent shooting into me. After the longest five seconds ever, it stops. I'm left panting through my teeth and smoking faintly.

"Seems your tolerance is stronger than expected. Still...that should be enough to remind you to behave. Right, human?"

I want to defy her. I know I can. But the situation is not favoring me. She holds the power and knows it.

"*huff* Whatever."

She smiles and heads for the doorway.

"This will be interesting. That much is sure."

The door closes behind her and I sigh. Is it wrong that I miss the days of Papyrus beating me? Fuck my life. Okay...Time to make a plan.

[Meanwhile: The Ruins]

Fear. Fear is laced on the wind. Paternal fear of a mother for her child. When Toriel's voice was met by silence alarms went off. When she found the doors open when last she had shut them panic sank in. Her child's belongings were left behind, including the flower called brother. And one look at the snow beyond the door only added to her worry. The pristine snow was a disheveled mess. Footprints. In every and all direction. The worst part is the snowfall beginning to fill in the indents.

Searching.

Screaming.

Scanning for any clues as to where her child was. Yet she was lost. Second-guessing which set of tracks were the human's and uncertain if the ones she first picked were indeed the right ones. Scrambling, she picked another set and stuck to it. Swerving and swiveling through trees like dogs along a pole line. These tracks seemed hopeful enough. Stretching further into the distance than previous sets. At the rate she was headed, she would find herself in town and the location of the child would then follow suit. Just a little more. Just a bit further and then the real path shall be clear.

Yet...Why were the trees still constant?

The environment the same?

Where was this going?

...

The bridge.

These tracks made her head back towards home. Never faltering as they beelined for the bottomless pit. No deviation. No hesitation. Just clear forward motion to death. Her heart stopped. Everything stopped. She just stood there. Staring into the abyss. Contemplating just how deep or where it led. Could the human...did she...was this her fate? No...NO! There...There had to be a way to check. The...Oh! The phone! If she was in that pit or not, the ringing of that simple phone will provide her with answers.

[RING...]

She held that object muffled in her paws. Listening to the wind and anything at all.

But there was nothing. Simply the sound of snow landing on the world.

This...gave her hope. Hope touched the monster's soul for the first time in ages. Yet this begged the real question...Where is she? Perhaps some aid to this situation will be necessary. Seems like a visit to the town is in order.

[A cold walk later]

The hour is late. No one is out and about. Except for one. One that has very limited options at her disposal. In all their talks and jokes, Toriel never learned what Sans's house looked like. With a nervous lump in her throat, she approaches the bar and trembles as she knocks on the door of the obviously closed establishment. As one would guess there is no response. So she continues to knock, pressing with her urgency. After about five minutes of the most polite pounding on a door ever, a faint light approaches.

"*grumble* We're closed. Can't you read the sign?"

She ignores the annoyance due to the situation.

"Please, I need your help."

There's a pause. The door clambers open enough to show part of Grillby's face.

"M-Mrs. Dreemurr?"

"Forgive my rudeness. But I must speak to you about Lynsie."

"I didn't mean for it to be so big! It's just a hickey! I didn't hurt her, I swear!"

His defensive words confuse her and this makes the panicked man of flame become shamefully aware.

"You didn't know about that...Did you?"

Her eyes squint in judgmental frustration.

"I did not."

A small snort of steam comes out of her snout. Grillby, feeling like shit is going to end badly, slams the door in fear. Her own fear, overwriting her motherly rage, has her pounding on the door.

"Open this door!"

"I don't want to die!"

"Please! My daughter is missing!"

"...What?"

He opens the door fully now, knowing well the former queen would not lie about such a thing.

"She's missing?"

"Yes. I can not find her. Only footprints from many bodies."

She is surprised by the real concern coming to Grillby's face. He is quick to go for his phone but she shakes her head.

"I have already tried. She does not respond."

"Hmmm...This is sounding like an abduction. Has there been any notice left for you? A note? A call?"

She mopes.

"No. Nothing. I was hoping you might have a clue. Was there anything odd you noticed on your way home?"

He shakes his head.

"Unfortunately, no."

Her heart sinks. Seeing this has Grillby goes into support mode.

"Don't lose hope. We don't have much left. You know her better than I. She's prone to getting into trouble. But you know what?"

"What?"

"I know someone that can help. Just...Let me bundle up. If you can imagine, the cold and I..."

"Understood."

Grillby shuts the door and Toriel waits outside.

[Elsewhere: the Ruins]

"Ugh...my head..."

A dazed and delirious Flowey stirs in the dark confines of a bag. Unzipping a pack from the inside is bad enough, but doing so with leaves for hands is fucking ridiculous. And while hungover to boot. After some time, mixed with muffled swearing, the great escape is complete! The flower is free! Yet...Something is amiss. The bag he was contained in was not in the bedroom as he would have expected and the doors leading outside are wide open. This isn't right. It is time to ditch the pot and sink his roots into the ground to do some stealthy investigating. Covert flower style.

[Meanwhile: in Snowdin]

"Are you certain we will not be bothering them at such a late hour?"

"Don't worry about that, Mrs. Dreemurr. It's part of their job to deal with stuff like this. Plus, you're the Queen and they are in charge of looking after her. If they don't want to go through hell, they'll help."

"I hope so."

Grillby guilds Toriel the out of place house on the edge of town. Of course, they lived in a place like this. Why she expected different she didn't know. The curtains were closed yet glowed with the light of activity still going on inside. Muffled chuckling could be heard behind the walls. She recognized it easily...Sans.

"Sounds like someone's having a good time."

"Is it normal for others to be up still at such an hour?"

"Depends."

"Depends?"

"You know. Reasons. Some can't get these kinds of moments during day hours. Others just can't fall asleep all that well. Him? I think his reason is therapeutic. Ending the day on a laugh to forget all the bad stuff. But that's just my guess."

She pouts as he knocks on the door. Sans's puns when behind the Ruins exit were always on the borderline of being sad, she never thought much of it other than guessing the outside was just terrible. Now, learning more and more, she couldn't dismiss it as easily as before. But such thoughts are broken with the movement of the curtain and door opening seconds later to show the confused skeleton.

"what happened?"

Even with no word said, Sans is smart enough to know that their being here means nothing good.

"She's gone."

Sans's sockets widen.

"...get inside."

Further goading wasn't needed and once inside the door was locked much to the former queen's concern.

"now what do ya mean she's gone?"

"Not getting Papyrus? You know how he gets."

Sans sighs.

"fine...hey, pap! get your ass down here!"

A loud thud bangs the inside of a door upstairs.

"*MUFFLED* I TOLD YOU NOT TO BUG ME!"

"the queen's here! the human's gone!"

Rampant scuffling rushes to a door that is flung wildly open.

"SHE'S WHAT?!"

Toriel fiddles with her fingers.

"My child is missing. I believe someone has taken her."

Now in serious guard mode, Papyrus joins the group.

"ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT SOMEONE HAD THE GALL TO COMIT SUCH A BRAZEN ACT IN MY TERRITORY?!"

"what clues do you have that she didn't just pull a stupid stunt like last time?"

She swallows dryly.

"There were tracks. Lots of them. All scattered about the snow that were not there before. It looked like some person or persons were trying to make it as difficult as possible to distinguish what track lead where."

Papyrus growls lowly.

"SANS, CONFIRM THIS AND SEARCH FOR ANYTHING SHE MIGHT HAVE OVERLOOKED."

Sans nods and teleports out.

"Overlooked? I searched those woods for what felt like ages. I overlooked nothing."

"DO NOT TAKE IT AS AN INSULT. IN SITUATIONS OF PANIC, IT IS EASY TO MISS DETAILS. I AM MERELY CHECKING FOR THE BEST RESULTS. AND, AS LAZY AS MY BROTHER IS, HE HAS SHARP EYES. IF SOMETHING IS AMISS, HE WILL FIND IT."

"Awww..."

Grillby smirks.

"You actually complimented him. Shame he wasn't here to hear it."

Papyrus folds his arms and glares at the elemental.

"AND YOU'RE HERE, WHY?"

Grillby copies his pose except his expression is that of cocky smugness.

"I think any monster worth their dust would be man enough to care about what's happened to their girlfriend. Don't you?"

Papyrus opens his mouth to say a condescending remark but then doesn't due to his mind registering what was just said and putting things together now that it's clear.

"YOU...YOU! YOU'RE THE ONE HAVING THE INAPPROPRIATE RELATIONSHIP WITH THE ENEMY!"

"If you want to put it that way, yes."

"YOU'RE SICK."

"And loving it. What's your point?"

A weird energy could be felt between them as if they had something to say yet weren't, and it was making Toriel feel rather uncomfortable. Though part of her was miffed at Grillby for being too blatant about being with her daughter while she is present.

"YOU KNOW NOTHING GOOD WILL COME FROM MAKING YOURSELF SO VULNERABLE."

Of all the things Papyrus could've said, no one saw that coming. Yet Grillby takes it well.

"I've been spurned before. If it happens again, it won't sting so much."

"THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT."

This had the flaming man sneer and bite his tongue, holding back words that weren't ready to be said at this moment. Papyrus turns his attention to Toriel and she flinches.

"I NEED YOU TO TELL ME EVERYTHING."

She nods.

"Understood."

[Elsewhere: Snowdin forest]

The old lady wasn't kidding. The path outside of the Ruins looked like the frenzy made on kids the last day of school. The only difference was these tracks were randomly deliberate. Whoever made these wanted them to be seen. Not a thing normal folk do around here unless goading others into a trap. Following them would be pointless. They likely only go where they wanted them to go and covered up the real tracks. Bastard smugglers. They know what they're doing. Though someone was a little sloppy. A few stray drops of blood dot the tread of a couple of tracks. Who told them about a human being down here?

[RING]

Must be Papyrus. Maybe Toriel shared something helpful.

"sup."

"WHAT HAVE YOU FOUND SO FAR?"

Guess she didn't say much.

"not a lot. but from what's here, it looks like the work of the body snatchers."

"IN SNOWDIN? ARE YOU POSITIVE?"

Why would he not be?

"it's like the reports undyne briefed us on. a group goes about making distractions and cleans up the evidence made by the single soul doing the dirty work."

As if life down here isn't hard enough.

"ANY LEADS?"

Sans looks back towards the Ruins.

"her boot tread doesn't go past the exit door all that much and i found a few stray drops of blood. my guess is they laid her ass out with a sneak attack then carried her off. such active numbers couldn't have just got here all at once or it would be too noticeable."

"YES, IT'S POSSIBLE THEY WENT THERE ONE AT A TIME THROUGHOUT THE DAY AND HID TILL THE TIME WAS RIGHT."

"bet it helped that this was our worse day."

"TRUE. THESE PRICKS ARE CLEVER."

Is it really clever to take advantage of a missing worker and one too distracted to pay attention?

"don't praise them just yet. i might have an idea of where they come from."

"REALLY?"

"yeah. some moron decided to wear mtt brand shoes. you know? the expensive ones that have his likeness on the bottom."

"HMMM...MTT BRAND ITEMS AREN'T COMMON OUTSIDE OF HOTLAND. THERE'S NOT A LOT OF JOBS IN THE OTHER ZONES TO MAKE GOLD FROM."

"yeah. so either someone saved up for ages or we're looking at scum from hotland."

"YOU DON'T SUPPOSE ALPHYS IS INVOLVED?"

"Then what are you doing with the human? Because, frankly, it should've been sent to my lab by now."

"wouldn't surprise me. bitch knows about the human. and i've had the feeling she's been behind most of the reported disappearances. but you know undyne would never question it. thirsty fish bitch."

"IF TRUE, THEN THINGS ARE ABOUT TO GET VERY DIFFICULT."

"so...they told ya anything?"

"BOTH OF THEM REPORT NOTHING UNUSUAL LEADING UP TO THE HUMAN'S ABDUCTION. THOUGH THE QUEEN MENTIONED THE GIRL RECEIVING A PHONE CALL BEFORE SHE DISAPPEARED."

"a phone call?"

"THE QUEEN ALSO NOTES SHE HAS SEEN AN UNKNOWN NUMBER POP UP IN THE HUMAN'S PHONE. WOULD YOU HAPPEN TO KNOW ABOUT THIS?"

"can't say i do. it's not like she told me about..."

"Hell, you used Mettaton for that tile puzzle. The guy's been obsessive ever since seeing her. He hasn't stopped talking about being so close to the human since he came back from Snowdin Forest."

"It was Mettaton! He traced my phone number from the other night."

"It's Mettaton. He called me again. And you know that he knows what I am."

"*soft* BUT DID I JUST HEAR THAT SOMEONE IS LAYING THEIR NASTY HANDS ON MY HUMAN?"

The realization hits Sans like a brick to the skull.

"...*whisper* oh shit."

A faint ringing can be heard.

"HOLD ON. SOMETHING'S HAPPENING."

The soft voice of Toriel answers a random call, possibly from the kidnappers. But her worried tone quickly turns to excited hope and the word child is heard.

"COME HOME, SANS. YOU'LL BE NEEDED FOR RECOVERY EXTRACTION."

"got it. be there in a sec."

He hangs up and sighs. This was worse than he figured if Mettaton was indeed the culprit. Damn machine was the reason for a RESET on what was a peaceful timeline. Well, at least there are some things he can count on when it came to the human. The girl was no damsel in distress. He just hoped nothing triggered her soul to turn black. He teleports back home completely unaware of the flower spying on him the entire time and intends to follow to find out more.

[HOTLAND LAB: around the same time]

Alphys has left me alone for a good long time now. Letting me assess my surroundings and bonds. They're tight. While one of my wrists is slightly loose. It's a trap. A ploy. She wants me to try. To make an escape attempt. I can do it. The issue is what happens when I do. Probability is not on my side. A scientist of unknown IQ has my on their turf and has who knows what in the line of traps lined up for prey that it has studied for years. Mines. Turrets. Lasers. Gas. Flamethrowers. Swinging blades. Spike pits. Razor wire. Possibility is limitless. Yet the possibilities only worsen if I remain here. I hate double edge swords. Damned if do and don't. Argh...Fuck my life.

"*wince*"

Yanking my wrist through the restraint brings back memories of the skeleton's shed. Seems like this is my role in life. Getting taken and escape. So annoying. At least that damn thing didn't dislocate. I need to keep quiet. Though it's kinda pointless. I'm more than likely being monitored in some way. Still, my odds are better if I adhere to being paranoid and ninja my ass through this place. Belt restraints are effective but old fashioned and flawed, easy to get out of if you have a free hand. I'm free in less than a minute and rips the patch off. Medical or not, I don't like my soul being out. It makes this already messed up thing even more messed up. If my paranoia and overthinking brain are on point, then the door is most likely unlocked. There's probably even a set path I'll be forced on too. Drive the cattle to the slaughter, or so they say.

A light touch on the door has it open to a dimly lit hall. Totally giving off horror movie vibes. The air has a faint stale scent, this area most likely hasn't been active in a long time. The darkness makes the hall look exceptionally long. But down it I must travel and travel I do. My steps echo like I'm walking in an empty school. Giving me unease. Like, at any second, someone or something will pop out. I haven't felt so skittish since my middle school days dodging campus security to cut class and leave the building. I'm too on edge. A slight humming isn't helping my equilibrium either. Did she set up some sort of audio mind scrambler? Am I overthinking shit? It's a 50/50% on either at this point. So I change tactics. I run. If something happens it'll at least happen quickly.

Yet...I don't seem to be going anywhere. I pass countless doors without turning a corner. I must be going deeper into insanity or something isn't normal about it. It's almost like it's...

"Son of a whore!"

I stop and grab onto the edge of a door frame. Only for the floor and walls to pull me in two directions.

"A möbius strip? No...A treadmill. Very sneaky either way. Almost didn't catch on if it weren't for that humming getting louder when I ran. Heh...Willing to bet the motor is basic and can't push past its standard limits. Which means..."

I start running backward, the hum grinding loudly as momentum builds before stopping and allowing the convener to drag me in the direction I was headed before.

"You can't correct the way it moves until it slows down to the bare minimum speed."

I ride the out of control road up to where a door, unlike the rest, becomes noticeable, this thing has a knob. Flinging it open and jumping out saves me from that dumb endless hall. One annoying trap beat. Who knows how many more to go. At least this area looks normal enough. It's open, much like a normal living space, but it's not that exactly. The interior is faint red. There are two floors, the ground floor is what looks like a workplace and the second floor is a more personal space. I'm on the second floor.

"The hell...?"

The door behind me shuts itself, sealing to blend with the wall and its knob covered by a decorative mask of an angry looking cat-girl. Everything up here seems out of place and clearly belongs in some oddball bedroom. Beside me are five fully stocked bookcases containing all sorts of things. Alphys's obsessions and hobbies, comics, anime figures, an ice cream machine, unopened letters, etc. litter her room. It's honestly very creepy. Especially the wall posters of that same angry cat-girl that have eyes that follow you. I bumpy slide down the escalator handrail, not trusting the walkway to not be a trap, and feel instant unease once my feet touch the tile floor. On the ground floor, there is a large screen that's probably been used to monitor me, a fridge with a supply of instant noodles, a messy desk with her computer surrounded by odd instruments, and a washroom. This place is creepy. Where's the exit?

*RUMBLE*

The building shakes faintly though the sound was rather loud.

*RUMBLE*

It feels like it's moving...closer?

*RUMBLE*

*RUMBLE*

*RUMBLE*

*RUMBLE*

"The hell is going on?"

The lights suddenly go out. All is very still. Till...something explodes and sends into what I guess is a wall.

"SURPRISE!"

The lights come back on and reveal Mettaton, who is now posing after bursting through a different wall.

"SUCH A FABULOUS AND RANDOM ENTRANCE. DON'T YOU THINK SO, DARLING? HUH...DARLING?"

I am less than happy shoving rubble off of me.

"Unnecessary and overly flashy. Yep...That's a Mettaton entrance alright."

"TOO MUCH?"

I dust myself off.

"Just a tad. Though, I'll give you points for it being memorable."

"BUT IF GIVEN THE CHANCE TO RATE IT?"

"Um...7 out of 10."

"HMMM...NOTE TO SELF, NEXT TIME ADD FIREWORKS AND LASERS."

Is it cute that he's trying to be cool?

"So...Is being whacked with a bat your way of saying I was taking too long to get here? Or is that how you treat all your fans?"

His screen flashes.

"OH! NO. THAT WAS MORE OF AN IMPROVISATION ON BURGERPANTS'S PART. I DO HOPE YOU CAN OVERLOOK MY POOR JUDGEMENT IN HIS COMPETENCE."

I rub my head.

"I'll give you a pass this time. Mainly because I'm thick-skulled. But no more headshots. It sucks being unconscious so often."

"FAIR ENOUGH, DEAR."

"Well, you got me here. Caused a little trouble maybe? So now what? What does a bot like you want from little ol' me?"

"OH, DARLING...WHERE TO BEGIN?"

He rolls over to me and my creep vibes are tingling. Especially when two of his four hands start posing my arms and the other two cup my face.

"AMAZING. I'M ACTUALLY IN THE PRESENCE OF A REAL LIVING HUMAN. I'VE HEARD STORIES AND SEEN FOOTAGE, BUT I NEVER THOUGHT I'D EVER GET...TO TOUCH...YOU."

What the...? Why is he saying that in such a captivating tone of voice? And why is it making feel like a dumb cliché girl? I thought Alphys fixed my soul's emotional sensitivity? I shake it off. Now's not the time for this.

"Getting a bit handsy don't you think?"

I usually save that joke when talking about Gaster, but this fits the situation too. His screen blanks for a moment at my playful voice, though I feel stupid on the inside, before flickering randomly and he lets me go.

"MY APOLOGIES. I LET MY EXCITEMENT GET THE BETTER OF ME. PLEASE...FORGIVE MY ILL BEHAVIOR."

It's so hard to get a read on him. His TV self and off-camera self are like night and day. I don't know if I can drop my guard around him just yet. This isn't normal. I'm out of my element and still dealing with lots of unknowns. Better to play safe than end up sorry...or dead. I sigh and clap my hands.

"Be kind, let's rewind."

A "?" appears on his screen while I offer my hand to him.

"Howdy, Mettaton. It's nice to finally meet you. I'm Lynsie."

He's confused, that much is certain. Though it's short-lived as he swoons dramatically and falls into my arms. Dear lord! He's heavy! Must be the junk needed to work those four arms.

"MY GOODNESS. AFTER BEING TREATED SO RUDELY, YOU CHARM ME WITH A SIMPLE GREETING? OH, WHAT MARVELOUS CHEMISTRY! I KNEW YOU'D BE PERFECT FOR THIS."

I knew there was something sketchy. I drop him.

"Once again, I encounter the creature known as selfish d-bag. I'm going home."

Not sure where the exit is but I walk away from him anyway. He, of course, scrambles to get us and zips in front to block my path.

"NO, NO, NO, DARLING. YOU HAVE IT ALL WRONG. PLEASE DON'T BE SO HASTY TO LEAVE."

"Then to prevent my irritated departure you must answer me these questions three. Doing so truthfully will have you see me remaining here with thee. But...if deception is sensed, then you shall be cast into the Gorge of Eternal Peril. But since it's under renovations, I'll resort to smacking you instead."

God, I'm a nerd. Like he, or anyone else down here, knows Monty Python and the Holy Grail. However, the idea of a game seems to excite him.

"A Q&A? OH, DARLING, DO ASK AWAY. MY ANSWERS WILL SURELY BE THE STUFF YOU LONG TO HEAR."

I hold up a finger.

"First question...What are your plans for me since you have me here?"

His top set of hands twiddles their fingers while the bottom hands move as one does when dramatically speaking creatively.

"MY PLANS? OH, NOTHING MUCH REALLY."

I cock my eyes.

"Mind telling me what exactly what that is?"

"DO YOU WANT THAT TO BE YOUR SECOND QUESTION?"

I sneer.

"No. But you're not doing this right."

"HOW SO?"

"While you technically answered the question, you did so in the laziest and non-informative way."

"VERY WELL. I SHALL BE MORE INFORMATIVE WITH MY NEXT ANSWER."

"Thank you."

A second finger is put out.

"Second question...Nothing weird happened while I was unconscious, right?"

"*GASP* DARLING! THAT IS VULGAR OF THE HIGHEST DEGREE! WHILE I SHALL ADMIT..."

His hands cup my face and hold my shoulders.

"SEEING SUCH A HAPLESS FLOWER LIKE YOURSELF BE BROUGHT HERE. HURT AND UNRESPONSIVE. A LESSER MONSTER WOULD BE TEMPTED TO DO ALL SORTS OF THINGS. FORBIN THINGS. ANYTHING WOULD BE ON THE TABLE. LIMITED ONLY BY IMAGINATION..."

His voice is different. Completely monotone. All too personal. A shiver trembles down my neck. He lets the hands drop from my face but not the shoulders.

"BUT I AM NOT LIKE THOSE WEAKLINGS. I KNOW BETTER THAN TO PLUCK A FLOWER BEFORE IT BLOSSOMS. AND OURS IS ONE THAT IS JUST STARTING TO BUD."

I hate so much right now.

"DARLING?"

"Too much info."

"WELL, YOU DID ASK FOR MORE."

"Then...*sigh*...Never mind."

"AND YOUR THIRD QUESTION?"

My third? Oh! Oh shit!

"Yeah, my third question...Did you or your goon bother to inform Toriel of this impromptu adventure/kidnapping in a way that won't result in property damage/loss of life?"

"WELL..."

Big red flag warning! Fuck being nice! serious time!

"Where's my phone?"

"HUH?"

"I know it's not on me. Do you think I can't tell if there's suddenly no weight in my baggy pockets? Now if you want to escape death at her hands or mine, please...Hand it over."

He throws his hands up.

"DARLING I DON'T..."

*Bang*

He is surprised by the sudden strike.

"Don't make me do that again. Now, please, give me my phone."

"I PROMISE, DARLING, I DON'T HAVE IT."

I want to hit him again, but my throbbing hand is screaming. Change of plans.

"Give me your phone."

"W-WHAT? WHY?"

"Don't make me break my hand in repeating myself."

He rumbles and a phone shoots out of a port on his side.

"YOU ARE SCARY WHEN SERIOUS. HERE."

"Thank you."

I reach for it and he pulls back.

"AH AH AH. FIRST, A LITTLE PROMISE. YOU CAN USE THIS, BUT THEN YOU HAVE TO DO SOMETHING FOR ME."

I growl in building annoyance.

"WELL? THE CLOCK IS TICKING."

I don't have time for this crap.

"...Fine."

He giggles and hands it to me. I scroll through his past calls. My number appears under some others all marked as SLAVE #...I guess he fits in down here more than I thought. Metal boss from hell. My phone could be with any of the goons so I thank my lucky stars that Toriel's number is burned into my head. Time to brace for impact.

[Snowdin: Skeleton House in present time]

Sans returns home in the kitchen, needing a drink to replenish his magic if he's to teleport any more tonight. He steps into the room to see the other three all trying to listen to the small phone at once. Guessing they are too focused to remember phones have an intercom function.

"Child where are you? Are you hurt?"

"A little sore, but otherwise okay."

Oh...never mind then. They're just being weird.

"As for the where I assume this is the Lab in Hotland. *muffled* There are no other labs in the Underground, right?"

"*faint* THAT'S CORRECT, DARLING."

The electronic voice is recognized by all except Toriel.

"Young one, who is that with you?"

"Would you believe a robotic TV star?"

"*faint* OH, DARLING, YOU FLATTER ME."

"Make that a robotic TV star with an ego bigger than Papyrus's."

"FUCK YOU, HUMAN."

Papyrus interrupts.

"Oh wow. I expected this but had my doubts Nanny would actually do it. Who else is there?"

"You had us worried, pussycat."

There's a pause.

"Don't tell me you thought he took me?"

Toriel laughs nervously.

"*groan* Mom..."

"ENOUGH WITH THE CHIT CHAT. ARE YOU ABLE TO LEAVE ON YOUR OWN OR NOT?"

"Hmmm...As far as I know, I'm able to go. But I have to do something for Mettaton first."

"Why?"

"I had to promise to do a favor to use his phone. Mine might be in the hands of some goon."

"What is it you have to do?"

"That's a good question. *muffled* Yo, what's this thing I have to do?"

"*faint* NOTHING TOO DIFFICULT. I JUST NEED YOU TO BE YOURSELF FOR THE NEXT...OH...LET'S SAY TWO HOURS."

"*muffled* What?"

"*faint* I THINK IT WOULD BE EASIER TO UNDERSTAND IF YOU TELL YOUR FRIENDS TO TURN ON THE TELEVISION."

The mood shifts ominously.

"*muffled* You can't mean what I think you mean."

"*faint* GO ON. TELL THEM."

"Uh...Turn on the TV?"

Sans grabbed the remote before the other could scramble and with a heavy feeling in his soul hits the on the button. The screen comes alive to a timer counting down. The caption above reading "Live Once In a Lifetime Event Special". The timer has less than five minutes remaining. Panic strikes. Papyrus steals the phone.

"GET OUT OF THERE, HUMAN!"

"Okay, ow, my ears are bleeding."

Grillby snatches the phone.

"Lynsie, you need to get out of there. You're being set up to appear on TV."

The next sound the group hears is the phone clattering to the floor and sprinting feet hitting tile flooring. Other sounds can be heard. Mechanical and aggressive sounds. Then...the line goes dead.

"SANS, GO GET..."

"i can't."

"What? Why not?"

"all she said was she's at the lab. do you know how big that place is? i need to know exactly where or i'm just wasting magic."

"But, Sans, you promised me you would..."

"i know tori, i ain't forgetting it. i don't want her exposed to the underground either. trust me on that. but i can't just poof to a secured building. alphys is probably expecting interference. and trust me, it's not a good thing to just pop in with no quick plan to get out."

Suddenly the TV begins beeping. The timer clocking down the remaining ten seconds. And all they could do was watch and wait. At the timer's end, the screen darkens to black before a flashy title screen appears while glam-rock plays. The image then cuts to live footage in a weird game show looking room and then...

"GREETINGS ALL YOU BITCHES AND BASTARDS. WELCOME TO A VERY SPECIAL EVENING OF ENTERTAINMENT. TO START THINGS OFF...A QUIZ SHOW!"

Mettaton flamboyantly parades around.

"BUT WAIT. WHAT MAKES THIS SPECIAL THAT IT WARRANTS LIVE BROADCASTING? WELL, YOU INGRATES, IT'S BECAUSE WE HAVE A GUEST THAT'S GOING TO BE WORTH WATCHING. ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE OUR LEADING LADY...THE ONE THE ONLY..."

The camera jumps to a stand where a spotlight illuminates onto the bound and gagged human. Arms restrained behind her back and ankles cuffed to the floor.

"THE HUMAN!"

Her glare is full of rage and the beastly noises escaping the gag as she trashes in the binds make her look as dangerous as the humans of old.

"THAT'S RIGHT, A REAL LIVING HUMAN. YOU MIGHT BE QUESTIONING THE AUTHENTICITY OF THIS CLAIM. YET I ASSURE YOU, SHE IS THE REAL DEAL."

One of his hands stretches out towards her. She recoils from the grasping appendage but she can't move from the metal hand that proceeds to taser at the chest. The pain makes her screech and her light blue soul briefly emerges. Upon seeing the heart, Mettaton stops the attack.

"AS YOU CAN SEE, HER SOUL IS CLEARLY THAT OF A HUMAN'S. SHE IS 100% HUMAN AND NOT CGI OR SOMEONE IN CUSTOM. FOR NOT EVEN THE GREATEST ACTOR OR SPECIAL EFFECTS CAN MAKE A HUMAN SOUL. AND DEFINITELY NOT ONE SO LOVELY."

The assaulting hand tease touches where the soul came from and the human cringes. Though she's not the only one. Toriel is appalled and Grillby is fuming.

"OH BOY! I CAN ALREADY TELL IT'S GONNA BE A GREAT SHOW! EVERYONE GIVE A BIG HAND FOR OUR WONDERFUL CONTESTANT!"

All four of his hands clap as he moves over to podium across from her.

"I TAKE IT YOU'VE NEVER PLAYED BEFORE, GORGEOUS?"

She huffs loudly through her nose.

"NO PROBLEM! IT'S SIMPLE! THERE'S ONLY ONE RULE. ANSWER CORRECTLY...OR YOU DIE!"

Mettaton laughs evilly yet the human rolls her eyes. The others look to Sans again.

"don't look at me. i have no clue where that room is."

Their attention goes back to the screen as the Fair Fight Field actives as if they were in battle.

[METAL CRUSHER begins to play in the background.]

[Mettaton attacks!]

"YOUR MOVE, DARLING. YOU GET ONE FREE TURN BEFORE WE START."

The girl weighs her limited options.

[FIGHT]

[ACT]

[̴͝SP͜͞E͡L̵͜L͟͠͏]͘͢

[ITEM]

[MERCY]

Her confusion is warranted. An unknown option could lead to bad things.

[ACT selected.]

[New options available.]

[CHECK]

[CRY]

She huffs and makes a choice.

[CHECK selected.]

[Mettaton – HP: 9999 ATK: 300 DEF: 999 – His metal body renders him invulnerable to attack.]

Her eyes nearly bug out of her head.

"NOT A BAD FIRST MOVE, DEAR. IT'S NEVER BAD TO CHECK ME OUT."

A screen mounted behind him blinks on.

"LET'S START WITH AN EASY ONE!"

A question appears on the screen.

[What's the prize for answering correctly?]

A) Money

B) Death

C) Freedom

D) More questions

Four buttons pop up on her stand.

"CHOOSE CORRECTLY OR BE MET WITH TERRIBLE PAIN."

The look she has is one filled with hate. Yet she complies and presses the D button with her chin. A pleasant fanfare goes off.

"RIGHT! SOUNDS LIKE YOU GET IT! HERE'S YOUR TERRIFIC PRIZE!"

Her turn is skipped due and the screen puts up another question.

"What sort of crap is this?"

Grillby interjects.

"Her turn was skipped. How is that even possible?"

Toriel ponders.

"leave it to that quack to figure out a way to break the rules."

Sans says between drinks.

[What's the king's full name?]

A) Lord Deathbeard

B) Killer Killington

C) Asgore Dreemurr

D) Krampus

The human quickly presses the C button and the fanfare goes off again.

"CORRECT! WHAT A TERRIFIC ANSWER! ARE YOU SURE YOU'VE NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE?"

She nods.

"ENOUGH ABOUT YOU. LET'S TALK ABOUT ME!"

She groans as the screen brings up another question.

[What are robots made of?]

A) Hopes&Dreams

B) Metal&Magic

C) Blood&Guts

D) Hate&Spite

She pops her neck and presses the B button. Once more the fanfare plays. This time Mettaton gets some attitude.

"TOO EASY FOR YOU, HUH?"

She shrugs.

"WELL THEN...HERE'S ANOTHER EASY ONE FOR YOU "

[Two trains, Train A, and Train B, simultaneously depart Station A and Station B. Station A, and Station B are 252.5 miles apart from each other. Train A is moving at 124.7mph towards Station B, and Train B is moving at 253.5mph towards Station A. If both trains departed at 10:00 AM and it is now 10:08, how much longer until both trains pass each other?]

A) 31.054 minutes

B) 16.232 minutes

C) 32.049 minutes

D) 32.058 minutes

She's hesitant now. Her eyes hold uncertainty.

"Oh no..."

Toriel mutters.

"We have yet to go over such math lessons."

"THEN SHE BETTER BE A GOOD GUESSER."

The human's eyes dart from button to button. She has no clue. She picks one at random...A. A buzzer goes off.

"WRONG! WRONG! WROOOOOOOONG!"

Mettaton points at her and fires a laser blast into her left shoulder. If it weren't for the gag her cries would be excruciating.

[HP ██████████████████████████ 26/36]

She pants, biting the gag to brace some of the pain.

Toriel is understandably horrified and Grillby is worried. Though Sans and Papyrus are impressed.

"SHE'S GOTTEN TOUGHER."

"the is no pushover. the tin can is gonna learn that the hard way."

"SORRY, DARLING. BUT THE CORRECT ANSWER WAS D. MAYBE YOU'LL HAVE BETTER LUCK WITH THE NEXT QUESTION. THEN AGAIN...DON'T 'COUNT' ON YOUR VICTORY."

The next question pops up.

[How many eyes are in this jar?]

An image appears for a split second.

A) 54

B) 53

C) 55

D) 52

Not given much time to study the image, she once more has to guess.

"What kind of game is this? She is not being given a fair play."

Toriel complains.

"ACTUALLY, AS WRONG AS IT LOOKS, HE IS FOLLOWING THE LAW."

Papyrus corrects.

"You must be joking."

"he's not. one of the laws enforced after you left the king was to stop humans at all costs while giving them some form of a chance. the tin can is giving her multiple choices and only inflicting minimal damage. if he wanted to, he could just off her right there."

Explains Sans.

"As much as I don't like it, it makes sense. With one soul remaining to break the barrier extremes are bound to be made to get it. For what is the life of one human when held next to the entire Underground?"

Grillby comments and Toriel frowns. Even she sees the point in that. But that does mean she likes it.

The human contemplates her choices and seems to do a mental coin flip before pressing the D button. This time, the buzzer sounds.

"COMPLETELY UTTERLY WRONG!"

Mettaton blasts her again in the right shoulder and her roar is bloodcurdling.

[HP ████████████████ 16/36]

The bloody gaping holes in her shoulders make her slump over against the stand. She won't last much longer if this keeps up.

"THE CORRECT ANSWER WAS A. YOU MIGHT WANT TO TRY HARDER FROM HERE ON."

An annoyed groan was her reply.

"HMMM...MAYBE YOU NEED SOMETHING ELSE. LET'S PLAY A MEMORY GAME."

The screen produces a new question and image.

[What monster is this?]

The monster shown is half of a Froggit's face.

A) Froggit

B) Whimsun

C) Moldsmal

D) Mettaton

This one seems like a no-brainer yet the human seems unsure. Mostly because blood loss makes it hard to think.

"WHY IS SHE HESITATING? THE ANSWER IS CLEARLY A."

Papyrus bitches.

"Really? You think it's that easy?"

Grillby retorts.

"THEN WHAT DO YOU THINK IT IS?"

"I'm surprised you do see it. It's obviously D."

"BULL CRAP. I BET YOU 10G IT'S A."

"Fine. Just don't be upset when you're wrong."

After thinking long and hard about the question, the human presses the D button. The fanfare plays.

"I'M SO FLATTERED YOU REMEMBERED! LET'S TAKE A LOOK AT THE WHOLE IMAGE."

The picture unfolds to reveal Mettaton wearing a shirt with a Froggit's face on it.

Papyrus's jaw clenches as Grillby folds his hands behind his head with a smug attitude.

"You need to listen to pussycat more often. She did say he had an ego bigger than yours."

"FUCK YOU."

"Just pay me by week's end."

Papyrus grumbles while turning back to the TV.

"YOU'VE BEEN ON A ROLL SO FAR. BUT CAN YOU GET THIS ONE?"

The screen brings up a new and rather odd question.

[Would you smooch a ghost?]

A) Heck Yeah

B) Heck Yeah

C) Heck Yeah

D) Heck Yeah

The human and the watching group all share the say "what the fuck" look.

"GO ON. CONSIDER THIS AN ACT OF MERCY."

She sneers and reluctantly presses the B button. With no wrong choice to make, the fanfare plays.

"GREAT ANSWER! I LOVE IT!"

A steaming Grillby hates it.

"HERE'S A SIMPLE ONE."

The screen pops up the next question.

[How many letters in the name Mettaton?]

A) 11

B) 6

C) 8

D) 10

A relatively easy question except for the number of Ns at the name's end increases and eventually goes out of the screen with the numbers in the answers increasing accordingly.

"How in the world do you answer that?"

Toriel puzzles.

"it's c."

Sans says softly to the confusion of the others.

"for a second, the real numbers were there. c had eight, which is the right answer regardless of the increasing."

"Here's hoping she saw that too."

Says Grillby while adjusting his glasses.

The human is beginning to look paler than normal. The strain on her body and mind making things difficult. She wearily presses the C button, mainly due to landing on it after a slight dizzy spell, and the fanfare plays.

"OF COURSE THAT WAS EASY FOR YOU!"

She grunts against the stand, pushing herself to keep going even as her body wants her to stop.

"Come on, pussycat. You can hold out just a bit longer."

Grillby says to himself before flinching at the feel of Toriel's hand holding his. She gives him a motherly smile and it helps calm his nerves for now.

"YOU'LL BE SURE TO KNOW THE ANSWER TO THIS ONE!"

The screen pops up another random question.

[What's a pretzel's favorite color?]

A) Black

B) Yellow

C) Red

D) Dusk

This had to be one of the odder questions to be done though tame. The human wastes no time picking a button. Either to end it faster or knowing it, who's to say. But her head thuds onto the B button and the fanfare plays.

"CORRECT! YOU'RE SO LUCKY TODAY!"

The amount of blood pooling on the floor says otherwise.

"TIME TO BREAK OUT THE BIG GUNS! HERE IS YOUR FINAL QUESTION."

The screen shows the question.

[How bright is this text?]

A) 85% Bright

B) 84% Bright

C) 86% Bright

D) 83% Bright

This made little sense. The question text was the same color as all other questions. How was this even answerable to her when she can hardly even look up at the screen?

The group is just as confused. How do you tell the percentage of brightness to text?

Though after some time of no movement from the human, Mettaton rolls around his podium.

"DARLING? ARE YOU ABLE TO MAKE A CHOICE?"

A tired moan drones out of the gag.

"TELL YOU WHAT, I'LL BE NICE AND HELP YOU OUT."

Mettaton zips over to the slumped over human.

"MY MY. SUCH A MESS YOU'VE MADE BACK HERE. GOOD THING NO MESS IS TOO BIG FOR MTT BRAND INDUSTRIAL CLEANER. IN STORES NOW."

The robot plugs his latest product in the middle of a show...real classy.

"what a jackass."

Scoffs Sans.

The other soundly agree.

"OKAY, DEAR, ALL YOU NEED TO DO IS STARE AT THE BUTTON YOU WANT TO ANSWER FOR AND I SHALL PUSH IT FOR YOU."

She tilts her head and stares.

"IS C YOU'RE FINAL ANSWER?"

She exhales long and loud through her nose.

"I'LL TAKE THAT AS A YES."

He unnecessarily extends his arm in a twisty and bendy way before pushing the C button. However...Buzzer sounds.

"OH BOY, THAT'S EMBARRASSING, HUH?"

This time he blasts through her right leg making her buckle in pain to the crimson soaked floor.

[HP ██████ 06/36]

[Background music briefly pauses in silence]

"WELL WELL WELL. THAT SETTLES THAT, DOESN'T IT?"

To much befuddlement, Mettaton proceeds to remove the restraints and gag from the broken girl.

"*weak* W-What are you doing?"

"SUCH A SILLY QUESTION. IF YOU DIE THE SHOW HAS NO DRAMATIC TENSION! WE CAN'T GO ON LIKE THIS!"

She's in no position to fight this or wants to. He collects her from the ground and seems to gently hold her in two of his arms. So much red coats just about everything. He then addresses one of the many hidden cameras in the room.

"I KNOW WHAT YOU ALL MIGHT BE THINKING. BUT METTATON, WHY AREN'T YOU GOING TO KILL THE HUMAN? YOU CLEARLY HAVE THE CHANCE. TO THAT I SAY, NO. SHE WON THIS GAME. AND THEREFORE, SHE PROCEEDS TO THE NEXT ROUND OF OUR LITTLE GAME. THAT'S RIGHT! THIS WAS JUST THE FIRST ACT! NEXT UP, MORE DRAMA! MORE ROMANCE! MORE BLOODSHED! STAY TUNED, LOSERS...! NOW IF YOU'LL EXCUSE ME...THIS LOVELY LADY NEEDS TO HEAL. WE'LL BE RIGHT BACK AFTER THESE COMMERCIAL MESSAGES."

The broadcast fades into commercials. The four of them are left with more questions than answers. But at least one thing is going in their favor. Mettaton wants to keep her alive. Perhaps in the next show, she'll appear in a location that's more recognizable and rescue can be done before anyone else tries to get her. Though the four of them weren't the only ones watching the show. A small indent in the window and ground below were all the tells of the sneaky flower. His mission now clear. Save his sister.

[Hotland Lad: Medical Room]

Alphys finishes setting up life-support systems by the time Mettaton wheels in with the now very near dead human.

"Put her here."

He need not be told twice.

"Some first act. She's almost dead."

Less of a reprimand and more of a statement by Alphys while she begins plugging the human into the machines.

"I WAS WORRIED NEAR THE END. HAD SHE MISSED ANOTHER QUESTION I MIGHT HAVE NEEDED TO GO OFF SCRIPT. MAIN CHARACTERS CAN'T DIE SO EARLY IN THE SHOW."

"You're just lucky I can fix this."

"WILL SHE NEED LONG TO HEAL?"

Alphys sticks in an IV drip and taps it for bubbles.

"Don't rush this. Your blast, while clean, went through a lot of muscle and bone. Not to mention all the blood that'll need to refill. That kind of stuff will need longer to repair."

"BUT...WE CAN'T JUST LEAVE COMMERCIALS GOING TILL THEN."

The annoyed scientist shoots him a look.

"Then I guess you need some filler till then."

Mettaton cringes.

"FILLER?! SUCH A DIRTY WORD. WHAT WOULD IT EVEN BE?"

"How about you figure that out elsewhere? I need to work. Or do you want this to take longer?"

That had him speeding away as she then shouts.

"And clean up all this blood! This is a lab! Not a butcher shop!"

She was unsure he heard all that but focused on monitoring the human.

"*sigh* You are so lucky I'm bored or you'd be under my knife right now."

The human involuntarily twitches, earning a smirk from the spectacle-wearing lizard.

"Maybe you'll heal sooner than expected."

Oh, how she enjoyed her work.

[in-the-abis]

Title: just one last night (until everything ends)

Rating: T

Word Count: 2676

Summary: For a girl who’d already lost so much, this was the final straw. Post Annihilation Route; contains late-game spoilers

AO3 Link

The night lasted too long.

Sleep evaded Mizuki no matter how many sheep she counted, no matter how tightly she squeezed her eyes shut, no matter how she buried herself beneath thin blankets, as if they were capable of smothering the far heavier grief in her chest.

The clock on her phone taunted her every time she dared reach out to check for a message. She needed something, anything. She would even have accepted Ota’s gushing about Iris, but now...

Why did all this happen?

It was nearly 6 in the morning before her phone jolted to life, blinding her sleep-deprived eyes as she scrambled to pick it up. “Stupid Idiot” showed on the screen--an appropriately named contact for Date.

Her voice was strained with forced anger as she hit answer. “Finally, I was beginning to think you died or something, idiot.” Her voice wavered halfway through; she wouldn’t admit it for real, but her mind had been weaving together the worst case scenario as the night progressed.

On the other side, Date hesitated. Any other time, she might’ve teased him for buttdialing her, but before the thought could truly formulate, an unfamiliar voice reached her ears.

“Sorry to wake you, Mizuki. This is Aiba; we haven’t met, but I am Date’s... partner, I suppose you could say.”

Her lips pulled into a frown, uneasiness churning in her gut. “Oh, um, okay...?”

There was another long pause from “Aiba”. “I’m calling to inform you that Pewter is on his way to pick you up. From there, he will take you to Central Hospital, where--”

“Central Hospital?” Mizuki interrupted, voice shaking. The dread grew, and her phone made an odd noise as her grip on it tightened.

“Yes. Unfortunately, Date was injured in his confrontation with the Cyclops Killer. He is currently undergoing emergency surgery.”

What?

Her last words to him played over and over in her head. I want to be left alone. She was always saying that, wasn’t she? Leave me alone, Date. Go away, Date. I don’t wanna talk to you, you’re so stupid, Date.

Her voice caught in her throat. “Is, is he gonna--”

“The wounds shouldn’t be deadly,” Aiba assured. “However, I believe he is experiencing a great deal of shock. His body was bleeding for a period of time before receiving proper treatment.” Although they had never met, her honesty about the severity made Mizuki feel like she could trust this Aiba. After all, his partner had to know that Date was too annoying to die.

Right? He couldn’t die, not until he kept his promise to her.

She didn’t have long to fret about it. There was a knock at the door, and with Aiba’s confirmation that Pewter had arrived and her promptly hanging up, Mizuki rolled out of bed, still in the same outfit she’d worn the day before. The past day--heck, the past week--had been too hard and too busy; she was exhausted.

Pewter looked at her with sympathetic eyes as she opened the door. Though he dressed like a weirdo, he hardly acted of the sort, guiding her to his car with a gentle hand. No words were spoken; there was already an understanding between them. As he pushed the speed limit, she turned the other eye, trying not to think about how much she wanted it to be Date in the driver’s seat so she could tease him for breaking the law.

She blinked and they were in the hospital’s parking lot. She jerked upright as she realized her tired body had dozed off unwillingly, and then shot a look at Pewter that was more of a pout than a scowl. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Don’t worry, we only arrived a few minutes ago. They haven’t cleared him from the ICU yet, so there was no point in rousing you quite yet. And even before that... Well, I believe there are some things I should explain.”

Without waiting for her to respond, Pewter pushed on to an explanation that was verbose in nature and probably could’ve been summarized as one point: Date had agreed to exploit some feature of the Psync machine during negotiations with the serial killer, and as a result, he was no longer in his own body, but rather in the body of Boss. But also apparently Boss wasn’t in Date’s body, since the killer had already swapped with her previously?

That last part was weird; it seemed that a lot had happened overnight.

During Pewter’s lengthy rant, her thoughts drifted back to Iris and Ota. ... How would they have reacted to a story like this? It was so surreal, and if it’d been fictional, it would’ve been something right up their alley...

Her heart clenched.

Finally, Pewter trailed off, coughing into his fist. “I think that about sums it up. I know it’s probably confusing, so I can explain further if need be?”

She shook her head; while it certainly was confusing, she wasn’t stupid or anything. “As long as Date is okay, I don’t really care if he looks different.” She paused, something suddenly occurring to her. “Um, but did they capture the culprit?”

He nodded. “Aiba knocked him out and he was taken into custody. His fate will be determined once the higher ups get everything sorted out.”

A thick silence fell over the car; Mizuki wasn’t sure what to say, and it seemed that Pewter wasn’t either. She stared down at her phone, which was now scarred with thin cracks from the tightness of her grip earlier. Date had given her this phone a year ago, and though he claimed it was something from her Daddy, she knew that this model was one of the cheaper ones--something that would better fit Date’s salary than Daddy’s.

She never did thank him for it.

She watched the minutes drag by, resisting the urge to check NILE when she knew there would be no messages from her two best friends waiting--just days old messages that would serve to remind her that they were gone forever.

“Mizuki.” Pewter’s voice pulled her from sinking into the abyss of her broken heart, a hand reaching over and settling on her shoulder. “I've been given word that he's out of surgery. Would you like to go in?”

She nodded and exited the car with hurried fumbling. She was desperate to confirm that he was safe. She quickly pulled ahead of Pewter, who called after her to slow down. She ignored him.

She burst into the hospital lobby, earning a number of stares from her pounding feet echoing off the silent walls. She ignored them as well, looking for the front desk to demand guidance to Date. She quickly located it and ran over, slamming her hands down in front of the receptionist.

“I wanna see Date! Tell me his room or I’ll-!” She didn’t get far into her threat before Pewter caught up to her, catching her by the shoulder and halting her in her tracks.

“Please, calm down; you’ll have better luck if I talk to them.” Stupid adults. They were always looking down on people younger than them. She glared daggers into the admittedly frightened receptionist, and in her overwhelmed emotions, her mind was blocked out from Pewter’s hushed whispers towards the hospital staff.

Just when she was about to run off to look for the room herself, Pewter returned. “Okay, they cleared you to visit. I told them you were family, since that’s all they’re allowing visitation at the moment. I had wanted to join you, but...”

Mizuki shook her head. “See, this is why you and Date aren’t as cool as Boss; she just blackmails the doctors to get whatever she wants. You could learn from her.”

Pewter gave her a strained smile. “I suppose I could. But anyway, please, go ahead. I’ll wait out here.” She turned to leave, but he quickly spoke again. “Oh, but before you do, please, take this.” He handed her a small orb. As she turned it over in her hand, she realized it was Date’s fake eye--an edgy golden thing that she would poke fun at him for. Seriously, why didn’t he just get one that matched his other eye? Weirdo.

“Oookay then.” She reluctantly pocketed it. It felt weird to hold onto something that had been in someone’s eye socket at some point. “Why do I need this...?”

“Just trust me.” That was his only explanation, and he turned away to approach one of the officers waiting in the lobby.

She made her way up the stairs and into the wards, eyes trailing along and reading the plates on the walls to find the room he was in. She found the number attached to a name that wasn’t Date’s; Shizue Kuranushi. Cautiously, she poked into the room.

As Pewter had explained, within Date’s room was Boss’ body. Mizuki’s lip quivered as she entered the room, closing the door behind her and approaching the bed. Boss’ body didn’t react. The machines on the bedside beeped at a constant, slow pace.

“Date?” She called out, placing a hand on her--his(?) shoulder. No response. She tightened her grip and shook. Nothing.

“Careful, you wouldn’t want to open his stitches,” a voice said, and she jerked in surprise, looking around the empty room for the source.

When she found no one, she shakily responded, “Who’s there?!”

There was a sudden movement in her pocket, and Date’s eye fell out, covered in a clear squishy gel. It landed on the bed, and solidified into the shape of a hamster.

She couldn’t help it; she screamed.

The eye-hamster-thing didn’t seem surprised. “I apologize for startling you, Mizuki. I suppose it’s time for a more formal introduction, since Date continuously put it off.” Its somewhat familiar voice sounded annoyed. “I am Aiba, an artificial intelligence that resides in Date’s eye.”

“You’re Aiba?!” Even though she was shouting, Date didn’t stir.

“Yes. I’m sure you remember all those times Date’s spoken to himself with no one else around.” She did; it happened so frequently that Mizuki used it as ammunition against him. “He was always just responding to something that I said. Inside his head, of course. I also provide him with a variety of functions that aid him in his job, including acting as his phone.”

“Oh.” That made a lot of sense, actually. That explained why Aiba’s call had come in through Date’s phone number. It also explained why she’d never seen Date with a phone.

“Anyway.” Aiba turned towards Date. “It looks like his surgery went well. His vitals seem stable. However...” She paused. “Scans of his brain are showing abnormalities in his EEG. It’s possible that he is comatose.”

Mizuki felt her chest grow tight. A wave of intense loneliness crashed down on her. “Will, will he wake up?”

“Time will tell. However, Date isn’t the type to give up.”

They sat in silence for a long time. Mizuki couldn't decide if she wanted to watch over him for signs of him waking up; him having Boss’ face made her feel disconnected. For an already emotionally troubled preteen, she couldn't process the complex emotions churning in her gut. So, instead, she stared out the window at the drizzling rain, her fingers curled around the too-soft hand that was now Date’s.

Eventually, the rain let up, and it was at that point that a worry slipped from her lips. “If he doesn't wake up, who’s gonna look after me? I mean, I'm fine on my own, but I know adults are weird and would make me have a guardian until he wakes up, right?” When Aiba didn't answer, she continued on. “Maybe I could stay with Hitomi for a while; she probably needs some support too, so...”

Still no response. She hadn't really needed one, but she still wanted someone to give her guidance. So, she turned to Aiba.

She met Mizuki’s gaze, but the AI eyeball had no expressions to give. “Hitomi... Hitomi is dead.”

She felt every muscle in her body tense as her stomach dropped. She couldn't speak. It wasn't aphonia claiming her voice again, but the shock was so intense that she wouldn't have been surprised if it had temporarily returned.

After a long minute, she finally croaked out, “What? No, that's--she couldn't be.”

Aiba continued. “The culprit captured her before we caught him, and... He used her as a hostage to bargain with Date only to... remotely off her once he got what he wanted. I'm sorry.”

Mizuki jerked to her feet. Before she could restrain herself, her arms were on Date’s shoulders, shaking him as hard as she could without hurting him. “Date! Date, wake up! Tell me that Hitomi’s alive! You saved her, right?! C’mon! Date, please!”

As if responding, Date’s monitor roared to life, beeping frantically. She stopped shaking, glancing to the machines to attempt to read them.

Aiba spared her the effort. “His brain waves and heart rate are increasing. Perhaps your words reached him--?”

Before she could say anything further, a handful of doctors and nurses rushed into the room. One quickly ushered Mizuki away from the bedside, trying to direct her out of the room.

Naturally, she resisted. “Hey, wait! No!” The nurse that had grabbed her yelped in pain as she pushed him away, his back roughly slamming into the edge of a table. His colleagues rushed over, two replacing him and grabbing an arm each, still trying to get Mizuki out.

They were trying to comfort her and explain that they needed her to leave, but she couldn’t. Date needed her, and she needed him!

Then, the frantic beeping ceased, the droning flat line that she never wanted to hear--even though she’d never heard it in person, she certainly knew what it meant from media.

“Date! Date!” she yelled past the two bodies blocking her view. She pushed enough that she could glimpse past them and see one of the doctors beginning chest compressions while another was strapping an oxygen mask to his face.

The nurses pushed back and she lost sight of him. Knowing that the two would soon succeed in pushing her out of the room, she did the only thing her panicked mind could think of; she dropped her weight and threw them off balance.

“I’m not leaving! I won’t get in the way, so just--just save him!” She suddenly became aware of the tears cascading down her face and the way her voice choked as she begged for Date’s life to be spared.

Reluctantly, they left her on the ground and returned to the bedside, drawing the curtain around Date’s bed to cut her off from the view. She suddenly felt small and alone. She was reminded of being a young girl, desperate for her mother’s love, but Shoko would just huff and storm away when Mizuki threw a tantrum.

Date... Don’t leave me too.

The drone eventually stopped, but it wasn’t replaced by the steady beeping that had preceded this turn of events. A heavy silence filled the room, the hospital staff murmuring to each other before one emerged from the other side of the divider.

“He’s gone.”

...

She found herself out in the hallway, sitting on a cold bench. She stared at the opposing wall. Her head hurt. She wanted to feel Date’s warm arms wrapped around her again. She wanted him to roll his eyes and throw that stupid jacket of his over her shoulders and gripe that she getting snot all over it, so it was hers now.

But instead, his murderer--everyone’s murderer--was prancing around in his body while he himself was...

Aiba crawled up the bench and onto her clenched fists. The pressure was like a hand, and it was almost comforting. But Mizuki didn’t feel better. In fact, there was probably only one thing at this point that could.

“Where are they keeping that guy,” she muttered darkly, “I want to kill him.”

[nonasuch]

“ben solo vs. the darkest timeline” is not a real title but it’s what I’ve got for now. continued from here.

4. coming in for a landing

Most of the Resistance -- the survivors of Crait, their allies, the new recruits who’d flocked to them in the days since -- had gathered in a handful of bases and camps, scattered through territory that was far enough from the First Order’s reach to be safe. But someone needed to be the public face of the fight, still, again, and so the General was working her way through the Core, meeting with planetary leaders, negotiating, giving interviews: all her least favorite parts of the job.

When she sent Poe on the Falcon with Finn and Chewbacca and the others, he protested. She only had a handful of trusted staff with her. She only had a handful of trusted staff left.

But she held firm, like she always did. “You’ve been overclocking your engines as much as any of us -- more, even,” she said. “Go fly the Falcon for me for a few days. It might be nothing, but if the Force is telling Rey she needs to go back to Ach-To, I’m not going to argue with it. And maybe we’ll have some X-wings for you, by the time you get back.”

What she didn’t say, but Poe heard clearly anyway, was: they weren’t fighting for their lives every minute, any more, but Poe was having a hard time acting like it. He’d already gotten people killed. If he didn’t get his head together, he’d be the kind of liability that the General couldn’t afford.

So Poe went. And when they got to Ach-To, they found someone impossible.

Poe knew Ben Solo, was the thing. He’d known him as a spotty, scowling kid with a whipcrack sense of humor. It was a lot easier to imagine that kid growing up into the guy they found than into the monster that still dogged Poe’s nightmares.

But the monster was what had really happened, and so it was hard for Poe to look at Ben Solo and see anyone else.

Ben seemed to sense this, or maybe he’d just grown into someone who could read a room better than he ever did as a kid. If Poe came into the main cabin when Ben was there, he found some polite excuse and left by the time Poe’s palms got clammy. If Ben came in while Poe was there, he didn’t stay long.

Their third day in transit, Poe found Ben sitting on the floor by the dejarik table with his eyes closed. The handful of times Poe had been to the Jedi temple or the school, before they were destroyed, he’d seen people meditating: sitting tailor-fashion, breathing slow, faces peaceful. But Ben had his knees drawn up in front of him and a frown on his face, though his eyes were closed, and he didn’t seem to notice that he wasn’t alone.

Poe was supposed to relieve Chewbacca at the helm, but he found himself caught, stuck there standing in the middle of the cabin and staring at Ben like an idiot. Poe wasn’t Force-touched, but he had the dim sense of something filling the room, some presence bigger than a person could possibly be.

He’d felt it around Kylo Ren, too, only then it had seethed with menace, a thick fog of fear and rage that made it hard to think straight. This was nothing like that. It wasn’t all joy and light, but it thinned out at the edges, bleeding off the turmoil at the center: the kind of cloud his X-wing could skim over and through in an instant, where Kylo Ren had been the center of a cyclone.

After a while, the cloud dissipated entirely, and Ben opened his eyes. He blinked up at Poe, surprised and a little bleary. Poe knew that expression. He’d found the General drooping over reports, half-asleep at her desk, and seen it there.

“Sorry,” Ben said. “I can go.”

“It’s all right,” said Poe. “I have to go take over for Chewie in a minute. What was that? I could feel it, and I’m not even Force-sensitive.”

“I mean, you probably are a little,” said Ben. “Most good pilots are. But I didn’t mean to be that loud, I’ve just -- got a lot on my mind.”

“No shit,” said Poe. Ben smiled, and Poe knew that expression too: the same grim amusement the General wore, when you were both stuck in the same bad situation.

“Listen,” said Ben, “I don’t know what happened, and to be honest I don’t know that I want to. Finn said he helped you escape from the other version of me. You clearly don’t want me around, and I’m sure it’s for a good reason. But you’ve spent more time with Ma -- with this version of her -- than anyone else here, so if you can stand it I’d like to talk.”

Poe’s palms were clammy again. “Talk to Chewbacca,” he said.

Ben shook his head. “He says they haven’t spent much time together at all, since the other me fucked everything up. She’s your commanding officer. You’ve known her your whole life. Is she -- is she doing okay?”

Poe took a breath, and wiped his hands on his pant legs as discreetly as he could. “It’s complicated,” he said. “C’mon, take the co-pilot’s seat and we can talk.”

Ben followed him in, at enough of a distance that he didn’t loom. Chewbacca made a questioning noise when he saw that Poe wasn’t alone, but Ben said “It’s fine, I won’t be long.” Chewie shrugged, and gave up his seat to Poe.

Ben folded himself into the other seat with familiar ease. He studied the console, reached out as though he was about to start flipping switches, and then drew back. He stayed silent, contained, all that Force-presence under wraps again.

Poe looked out through the viewscreen, at the stars flashing by. Having flight controls under his hands was steadying, like it always was. “She took it hard,” he said. “First General Solo, and now her brother. Most of our people who fought in the Rebellion are gone. She’s doing too much, carrying too much, but there’s no one to hand it off to.”

“Yeah,” said Ben. “That sounds about right.”

It was easier to sit like this, both of them looking out at the path ahead. Easier to separate them: the monster, and the man he could have been.

“He fucked with my head,” said Poe. “Kylo Ren. He wanted information, and he wasn’t careful about getting it.” He didn’t turn to look, but he heard Ben sigh, and the chair creaked like he was slumping into it.

“Yeah,” Ben said again. “That sounds about right.”

“Can you fix it?” said Poe, eyes still fixed on the viewscreen.

“I don’t know,” said Ben. “I don’t know exactly what he did -- I didn’t want to look any closer without permission, under the circumstances.”

“Permission granted,” Poe said. It came out sounding a little strangled, but he meant it.

They arrived a few days later, ship’s evening, mid-afternoon by local time. Poe didn’t feel any better, exactly, but he didn’t break out in a cold sweat every time Ben came near him, and he’d unloaded all his worries about the General to someone who might actually be able to help.

So that was something.

As they came in to land, Ben leaned over the back of the copilot’s chair to look out at the view. Rey frowned up at him for a moment, distracted, but Poe had the helm and the Falcon flew steady and true.

Ben said, “You know, I haven’t been back to Chandrila in months. There’s this little Corellian-style noodle joint by the spaceport that’s just unbelievably good, in my version of the universe.”

“Huh,” said Poe. His hands on the controls didn’t waver. “I think we have that one, too.”

5. chandrila

They put in at the edge of the spaceport, well away from the pomp and circumstance of the diplomatic landing zone. Ma was waiting at the foot of the ramp, no one else in sight but Threepio and Connix a little further back.

Ben tried to do the polite thing and keep his shields up, reining in his Force-sense as far back as he could pull it. He saw Rey notice him doing it, and try to imitate him, as they prepared to go out and meet the General.

“Don’t try to stuff all that power into a box that can’t hold it,” Ben told her. “It’ll pop, or scorch, or worse. You can just let some of it go, for, now; it’ll come back when you need it.” He tried to show her what he meant, easing up his hold on the Force around him long enough for her to see.

“Oh! I get it,” said Rey, with a bright flash like circuits connecting. She closed her eyes for a moment. The perpetual spotlight she walked around in stopped being quite so blinding, with some of the extra wattage safely returned to its source.

Ma saw the whole thing, Ben knew, even before he came down the ramp and they could see each other with just their eyes. But she was better at shielding than him, always had been, and the Force didn’t tell him much about her reaction to it.

She looked tired. Thinner and greyer than the version of her he’d seen last. More lines on her face than his own Ma, the one who reigned calmly over the controlled chaos that was the base on D’Quar.

Ben felt huge and conspicuous under her steady gaze, awkward in a way that he hadn’t since shortly after his last growth spurt. “Hi, Ma,” he said.

“Chewie tells me that you’re from a parallel universe,” she said. “That’s a new one.”

“Yeah, for me too,” he said. “Sounds like your version of me is a real shithead. I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she said. “It wasn’t you that did -- any of that. Was it?”

“No, but,” Ben began, and then stopped. It wasn’t, after all. “I’m just sorry, I guess. That it happened. That he couldn’t sort himself out, and he hurt you and Dad.”

“Oh, Ben,” she said, and her shields cracked, enough that Ben could see how much she was hurting. He gave up on propriety.

Ben flung himself across the space between them, and found yet another thing that was the same across universes. He was still so tall that hugging Ma properly meant folding himself up around her in a way that made his back hurt, and was still absolutely worth doing.

Ma was staying in the same neighborhood where she and Dad kept an apartment in Ben’s version of the universe. But this apartment was in a different building and, apparently, on loan from the Calrissians.

“Lando’s okay?” Ben said, with undisguised relief. Ma nodded.

“He didn’t get our distress call from Crait until after it was all over,” she said. “So he’s trying to make up for it with lavish gifts.”

Not the only one, said Chewbacca. The kitchen of the place was crammed with fruit, flowers, baskets of delicacies from Ma’s political contacts and admirers, most of which she hadn’t even cracked the wrappers on. I’m appointing myself your poison-taster again, yeah?

“Sure,” said Ma. “Knock yourself out.”

You three, with me. You all need feeding up, Chewie said.

He herded Rey and Rose and Finn into the kitchen. Poe had already gone off with Connix, and the droids chased Threepio after them. So it was just Ben, and his mother. The General. The version of Leia Organa who’d lost nearly everyone and everything she loved.

Ma looked at him like he hurt her eyes, but not looking would hurt more. She looked small, sitting there on the big expensive couch that, in any of the places his parents had ever called home, would have lasted about ten minutes in its current pristine state.

“So,” she said, “How’re you holding up, kid?”

Ben laughed, the kind that was halfway to crying, and sank down onto the seat next to her. “No offense,” he said, “but I don’t know if I like your universe all that much.”

“Tell me about it,” she said.

Ben mm-hmmed emphatically and tugged at her elbow, until she unbent a little and let him put his arm around her. He could see it, now, how much she was carrying, how much better off she’d be if she let the Force take some of the weight. But he wasn’t sure he had any right to tell her so. She wasn’t his Ma, not really, and he wasn’t the Ben who had broken her heart.

He asked the Force to lend him some of the peace he couldn’t summon up on his own, and when it answered he felt Ma’s wonder at how easily it came.

“You just have to ask,” he said. “It’ll never turn a Skywalker down, you know that.”

“That’s always been the problem,” Ma said. Which was fair enough, considering.

Ben nodded. “The hard part’s knowing what to ask for. That, and admitting you need the help.”

“Tell me about it,” Ma said, wry as his own Ma, but so much wearier.

“Yeah,” was all Ben could think to say. It was easier to just leave his shields down than try to put any of it into words. He’d been so relieved to be rescued, when he was stranded back on Ach-To. Knowing what he knew now, he might have preferred to stay stranded, but for the way Ma was radiating relief, the solace he seemed to be providing somehow.

After a while, Ma nudged him a little in the ribs. “You can, you know,” she said. “Tell me about it. How things turned out, for you.”

“Would that help?” Ben said. If it were him, it would just make him regret the might-have-beens even more.

Which he didn’t say out loud, but Ma still said “Oh, I’ll regret the might-have-beens anyway. Go on, it’ll be nice to hear some good news for a change.”

Ben could feel Rey’s curiosity leaking in from the kitchen, and Finn’s a little quieter behind that. He asked the Force to shoo them back out, and it obliged. This wasn’t any of their business, just yet.

“Okay,” Ben said. “Well. Before we evacuated to Ach-To, I was at the Temple with Luke. We only had a few people get their Mastery this spring, and the new crop of candidates was bigger than usual.”

“You’re one of the teachers?” Ma asked.

“When I’m not doing your paperwork or putting out Force-sized fires,” Ben said.

“It sounds like you’re good at it,” Ma said.

“I do okay,” said Ben. “Honestly I prefer the Force-sized fires.”

“Mm-hm,” said Ma. “That runs in the family, too.”

[enthusiastic-sarcastic]

One Entirely Haphazard Arrangement (Tim Murphy x Reader) [Pt. 1]

A/N: Ok so this is longggg overdue and I apologize for taking so damn long to post this. I think I said I would write this in early July but I just got so caught up in the story and turned it into a whole three part fic...oh yeah, and I sort of moved to college so that took away some of my time 😂 but it’s finally here! I sort of struggled with this one because I haven’t creatively written anything in so long but it was really fun to write and I'm looking forward to writing more in the future! Anyways, I hope you enjoy this silly little friends-to-lovers Tim fic! Parts 2 and 3 will be up within the next few days. Again, sorry if this is trashhh

Words: Roughly 3.9k

Warnings: cursing, stress/anxious habits, cringeee writing?, I guess a Jersey Boys reference if for some reason you resent the jukebox musical or Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons

You have always had this infuriating habit of excessively scratching at the back of your hand like a cat attacking a toy laced with catnip whenever you become particularly anxious about the current state of your life.

And working at your newly appointed job as co-director of the art department at the museum has certainly proven to be more than stressful enough over these last eight months.

Whether it has you tumbling out of bed before the sun rises to make sure that that damned office projector is working in time for a 6 o’ clock meeting that your boss decided to throw together at the last minute or facing certain embarrassment upon being woken up by the night-watch guard because of a silly intention to stay after for only a few more minutes to finish editing one of your interns’ research reports, you had completely sacrificed any regard for your own basic health at this point for the sake of your job and its lingering promise of a future promotion.

A promotion that could potentially be awaiting you at the other end of your boss’ door in just under half an hour.

A promotion that could finally lead to the publication of the passion project that you’ve been steadily working on since your early college days.

A promotion that has you relying on old habits again as you scratch at the back of your hand under your cluttered office desk and stare down the hands of the clock on the wall across from you like your life depends on it.

Tick. Tick. Ticking away among the plethora of familiar noises that make up the busy atmosphere of your department. Drowning out the occasional flutter of footsteps stumbling down the hallway or the quiet laughs of your coworkers walking out of yet another dreadful planning session or even the absurdly shrill screeching sound that the copier down the hall likes to make every single time someone dares to use it.

Swiftly swallowing up all signs of life that surround you as your throat starts to feel like it’s closing in on itself and your breathing turns into something that more closely resembles gasping.

You’re just too good to be true...

Can’t take my eyes off of you...

And then so suddenly, a voice breaks through the numbness that has almost paralyzed you and reality starts to bleed back into place—a beacon of hope.

You’d be like heaven to touch...

I wanna hold you so much...

It takes a while for you to place the source of the voice as the all-to-familiar sound of your Jersey Boys ringtone blaring out from your phone across the room, but once you finally bring yourself back into a state of complete clarity, you rush out of your chair and stumble towards the singing object, desperate for a distraction.

Without bothering to glance at the name flashing across the screen, you answer the call and bring the phone up to your ear, eager to listen to whatever will take your mind off of that ticking clock.

“Hello?”

“Uh—Hey (Y/N), it’s Tim…”

A smile instantly rises across your face as you recognize the voice of your cute neighbor, Tim Murphy.

“Sorry if I’m interrupting something...I know how busy you’ve been with work lately”

“No—no, it’s fine...you’re fine,” You chime in awkwardly, attempting to reassure him as a familiar fuzzy feeling begins to spread across your entire body.

To say that you had practically fallen hopelessly in love with the paleontologist   ever since you accidentally attempted to break into his apartment at 3 a.m. in a half-asleep daze that led you to believe that you weren’t just one door off would be an understatement. That was an embarrassing introduction, to say the least.

“So...what’s up? Is everything alright?” You honestly hadn’t expected Tim to call you at this time of day...or really ever, seeing as how both of your work schedules are so chaotic that you only ever really interact with each other in the dead of the night, so this was a pleasant surprise.

“Yeah, yeah—everything’s great—It’s just...well, I don’t want to startle you or anything but when I got home from work, I found Stevie prancing around outside on my balcony again and—”

Your heart instantly drops into your stomach and you’re suddenly met with the urge to bang your head against a wall from the sudden embarrassment,

“Ah shit! I’m such a clumsy idiot! I probably left my bedroom window open again…”

“No, it’s okay! Don’t worry! Stuff like this happens to everyone. Stevie’s perfectly fine now! I actually just brought her inside my apartment. Poor thing was shivering so I gave her some food and that pretty much cheered her up instantly” Tim chuckles into the phone, causing your cheeks to flush a light shade of pink.

“Oh god, she’s gonna be so mad at me!” You groan as your head begins to feel like it’s spinning from all the guilt and nerves overwhelming you, “I’m so so sorry, Tim. Thanks for rescuing her from my clumsy antics”

“No need to apologize,” Tim laughs again, which doesn’t exactly help with your lightheadedness, “It’s the least I could do. I mean, especially after all those times you’ve looked after my house plants while I was away on a dig”

“You do have a point, Tim Murphy. What would you or your precious house plants ever do without me?” You tease lightly, attempting to calm your nerves, and pulling another angelic laugh from the other end of the phone.

“No, but in all seriousness,” You continue, “I’m going to make it up to you somehow...No ifs, ands, or buts, Murphy!

Tim groans playfully from the other end of the phone and you shake your head with a smirk before a sudden voice cuts through the uneasy silence of your office and the endearing moment abruptly ceases.

“Miss (L/N), Dr. Vaughn has requested that you head down to his office for that meeting now”

You let out another disgruntled sigh before nodding to the kind intern peeking his head through your office doorway,

“Ugh sorry to cut this short, Tim, but I have something kinda important to discuss with my boss right now and I really can’t afford to screw it up...” You trail off with a sigh, not wanting to end the call so soon.

“Oh...alright—yeah...that’s totally fine—I understand...” Tim rambles, sympathy laced within his voice,

“Good luck! I’m sure everything will go smoothly. I believe in you!”

You let out another nervous laugh, your cheeks now entirely red as you take in his words of encouragement, “Thanks for the kind words...and for taking care of Stevie! I’ll stop by to pick her up whenever I get out of this place”

You say your final goodbyes and end the call, shakily placing your phone back down onto your desk before finally making your way towards your boss’ office, scratching at the back of your hand again.

——————————————————————————————————

“I’m sorry...Are you serious?! This has to be some sort of sick joke…right?” You gawk at your boss, your body shaking in aggravation and utter disbelief.

However, he just simply smirks at you and shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly as his eyes switch between you and your...colleague.

“Dr. Vaughn, don’t you think you’re taking this a little too far?!” You groan in exasperation, shifting your eyes to take a look at your fellow co-director: the one coworker that just so happens to also be your ex.

Yes, your ex, Charles.

The one that abandoned you while you were away on a business trip, moving out of your shared apartment overnight all for his new blonde assistant...cliche and all.

The reason that you’ve worked so hard in this job for the past year of your life.

Not to win him back or follow through with some crude form of revenge—you weren’t at all that type of person.

But to gain back the sense of integrity that he had so swiftly stomped on and finally prove him wrong: to prove to yourself that you are, in fact, good enough.

“I don’t see anything inherently wrong with a little healthy competition, Miss (L/N)”

Your boss speaks up, calmly, the smirk across his face only widening as he looks up at you from his enormous office chair.

“I’m just not particularly fond of the idea that one of us ends up completely jobless by the end of this!”

“Oh please, (Y/N), calm down”

Charles finally speaks up from beside you, causing you to roll your eyes and dig your fingernails into your palms from the sheer rage that now seemed to be pulsating throughout your entire being,

“I’m sure whoever gets the short end of the stick in this...arrangement can always turn to the other for a raving recommendation letter after they track down and apply to whatever museum establishment that’s desperate enough to hire them after this”

The shared dark laughter that escapes the both of them at his sad attempt to reassure you only makes your stomach curl in disgust. How can he just be okay with all of this?

“Honestly, all you have to do is write an introductory speech that addresses the latest contemporary art exhibition for the museum’s annual winter gala next Saturday. That gives you both the same amount of time to prepare your material and secure dates for the event, so I think this whole competition sounds pretty fair to me”

“But Dr. Vaughn—“

Your boss abruptly cuts you off, again, “I will allow you both five minutes. Mr. Sterling, you’ll go first before introducing your fellow co-director to the stage, then Miss (L/N) will give her speech before calling me up to the stage. Whoever gives the best speech in reference to the new exhibition will be promoted to head director of this museum’s contemporary art department...and the other will unfortunately be let go from their current position”

You let out an aggravated sigh, which prompts Charles to smirk in your direction,

“And that’s final! Now, get the hell out of my office!”

——————————————————————————————————

The journey home couldn’t have been more painstakingly difficult.

First, you missed your usual train and had to wait a whole 45 minutes for the next one. Then, it began to rain as soon as you started walking down the street towards your apartment and just as your doorman graciously greeted your shaking figure as you scurried into the building, you remembered that the stack of paperwork that you had planned to finish up was locked away...in your desk...back at the museum.

And now, as you trudge down the hallway of your apartment floor, soaked head to toe from the rain, your heart begins to race as you make your way in front of Tim Murphy’s door and muster up the courage to knock.

It only takes a few minutes for the door to open, but once it finally does, you’re met with the sight of an adorable, half-asleep paleontologist that makes you feel like you could melt into the floor at any given moment.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming”

You chuckle halfheartedly at him, a tired smile making its way across your face regardless of the pounding sensation in your head and the ringing sounds in your ears. Tim always seems to have that effect on you.

“Sorry, I had a long day” You mutter, cheekily.

Tim hums amusedly before moving to the side to let you in,

“I was fully prepared to take Stevie in as my own, actually. I have an extra cat bed and everything. I’m sure she’d get along just fine with Lydia”

You enter the apartment and spot your beloved cat sleeping cozily under the breakfast table near the kitchen, curled up right next to Tim’s orange tabby.

You smile at the sight, taking your wet shoes off before plopping down onto one of the stools at the kitchen counter, exhausted.

“Honestly, you make a better parent than I could ever be” You chuckle, glancing towards Tim as he sets down a glass of water in front of you. His disheveled hair and slightly pouting mouth causes a blush to grow across your cheeks again as you’re reminded of something,

“Sorry if my late arrival woke you up”

He shakes his head at you, a sleepy smile spreading across his face,

“It’s okay, I wasn’t exactly...asleep. I had to finish up some last minute research in preparation for an excavation in Arizona next week”

Next week. Fuck.

You chug the water in front of you, abruptly, before placing the cup back down onto the counter and burying your face into your hands. Your mind spiraling with thoughts about the impending winter gala and him.

“So...I’m assuming that that conversation with your boss didn’t go over very well”

You groan in acknowledgement, before glancing back up at the attentive paleontologist,

“You could say that,” You laugh, sarcastically, “Hell, I may not even have a job by the time next week rolls around”

This seems to get Tim’s attention, because he leans closer to you from the other side of the kitchen counter and your breath hitches in your throat when you notice the way his biceps flex from underneath his sweatshirt.

“Well now you have to tell me what happened” He exclaims, with a tone of genuine curiosity.

You almost can’t formulate a response when you realize just how close your hands are from each other, so you muster out a weak cough and casually begin to play with the empty glass in front of you.

It’s just a hand, (Y/N). Just a nice, particularly soft-looking hand that just so happens to belong to your incredibly brilliant and handsome neighbor, Tim Murphy. Calm down.

“Well, my boss has always been one to enjoy watching people suffer before rewarding them” You sigh in frustration as you recall the last few hours of your day,

“I thought I was walking into his office to finally receive the promotion that I’ve been working day and night over for the last eight months,” You continue, running a finger across the rim of the glass repeatedly, as anxiety starts to rise within your chest again,

“And I suppose my suspicions were right” You chuckle, sadly, “but he ended up making the so-called promotion a competition between my ex and I”

You bite your lip in frustration, the wounds inflicted from the previous conversation still fresh on your mind.

“Wait—you’re not talking about…” Tim trails off in disbelief and you nod your head in confirmation.

Tim Murphy was well acquainted with the sheer emotional damage that Charles had put you through. In fact, after the break-up, it was Tim that so graciously convinced you to get the hell out of bed and resume the rest of your life after coming over to your apartment due to another mail mix-up. While you took a well-needed shower, Tim prepared a nice spaghetti dinner and put on some comedy show for the both of you to watch aimlessly as you attempted to catch up on what the rest of the world was doing after it had seemingly crashed all around you. That night definitely didn’t do anything to alleviate your growing feelings for him.

“Wow” His head tilts in slight surprise, “That’s so unfair!”

“Right! That’s exactly what I said to my boss but he wasn’t having any of it” You scoff as you recall the aggravating image of your boss’ smirking face.

“And now I have to work my ass off trying to write a decent introduction speech commemorating our latest exhibition for the winter gala. Oh! And I have to find a date to the stupid thing with only a weeks notice! Where in the world am I going to find a date to this event with only a weeks notice in this city!?”

You were starting to freak out now, pulling on some strands of damp hair that you had somehow managed to wrap entirely around your fingers as you tried to make sense of your unfortunate predicament.

“I could be your date.”

The words fall from Tim’s mouth so abruptly and effortlessly that it takes a few seconds for you to register their meaning.

“What?”

“Well...I think I still have a nice suit lying around here somewhere from my last work event. Plus, I’ve been to my fair share of museum galas, so it won’t be much of a hassle. I could be your date.”

“Tim, you really don’t have to do this! I mean—What about the excavation to Arizona? You can’t miss out on that! I would feel so bad if I made you miss out on that trip all because of this stupid arrangement” You’re blushing now at his offer and suddenly the wall next to his head is very captivating.

“When exactly is this winter gala anyways?”

“Saturday at 6 p.m.”

A smug, satisfied grin stretches across Tim’s face as he leans even closer to you and the redness across your cheeks grows when your eyes meet,

“I get back Friday night. It’ll be fine.”

You sigh in guilt, not wanting to overstep, “Are you absolutely certain about this? I guarantee you’ll be exhausted once you get back and I don’t wanna drag you into another tedious social event right after a week of strenuous excavation work”

“I mean if you want me to memorize some cue cards, I’m all for that...but I think I have enough experience under my belt from high school theatre group to properly wing it”

You chuckle at his lame attempt to humor you, but your resolve remains undeterred,

“And you’re 100% positive that you’re okay with staying by my side all night, in formal dress attire, chatting up a storm with just about any and most likely all of my colleagues over strictly art related stuff? It’s an exhausting experience.”

Tim shrugs his shoulders, the amused, stubborn grin never leaving his face,

“Like I said before, I go to museum galas all the time, it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

You let out another exasperated sigh in defeat, standing up from your stool at the counter and walking towards the fridge to fill your glass again. A shiver runs down your spine and you want to blame the wet nature of your clothes but you know from the shakiness of your fingers carrying the glass and the heat radiating off your cheeks that it’s because of the close proximity between Tim’s face and yours just moments ago.

“Fine. You can be my date. But I seriously cannot thank you enough for what you’re doing for me, Tim Murphy. I really have done nothing but complain to you all evening and now you’re swooping in and saving my ass again. What—Do I have to sell you my soul this time to properly repay my debt?”

Tim chuckles, turning around to look at you again.

“Luckily for you, I’m feeling generous enough to let you keep your soul for just a little while longer. But seriously, don’t feel pressured to repay me.”

You open your mouth to protest but the words are silenced by the sound of thunder rumbling from just outside the apartment, shaking the floor beneath your feet.

“Shit! I completely forgot that it’s raining,” Tim gestures towards your clothes, his eyes wide with concern, “You must be freezing!”

You blush again as you glance down towards your damp clothes, “Oh no! It’s fine, I sort of forgot about it too...I’m not—”

You trail off when you realize that Tim is no longer standing right in front of you, only to hear the sound of him rummaging through his laundry machine.

You grin widely as you’re reminded of just how insistently kind and compassionate he can be.

He sort of stumbles back into the kitchen from a clumsy attempt at speed-walking, and before you realize it, he’s wrapping a warm bath towel around your shoulders and rubbing the material up and down your arms to help you dry off.

The grin on your face only widens and you lock your eyes onto the floor, hoping to hide the now stark red state of your blushing cheeks.

“Jeez, Tim, you really didn’t have to go through all that trouble, but thanks” You mumble, trying to keep yourself composed.

Tim only laughs in exasperation at your comment, “What kind of host would I be if I let you freeze to death?”

You glance back up at him, attempting to ignore the way that your breath hitches when you notice the close proximity of your faces again,

“Well...technically I forced you to invite me when I stupidly left my bedroom window open this morning…” You trail off when Tim gives you a pointed look, as if to say: You’re always welcome here, regardless of the circumstances.

Your gaze drops to the floor again as another rumble of thunder shakes the whole apartment, and the grin returns to your face when you make out the smallest detail of a mini brachiosaurus on the bath towel,

“Why am I not surprised that you have your own personalized dino bath towels, Tim Murphy”

He laughs bashfully and you glance up to take in the sight. His eyes meet yours and you smile back at each other for what feels like a lifetime, your heart pounding in your chest as the space between the two of you almost seems to get smaller and smaller until...you’re interrupted by the feeling of something fluffy brushing across your feet and the familiar purring sound of your cat, Stevie.

“I should probably go. You need your rest and I need to get started on the first draft of my speech. I gotta get a head start on that asshole, at the very least.”

Tim chuckles understandably and the towel leaves your shoulders, taking the warmth that had so swiftly flooded your body with it.

“Yeah, you’re probably right, I should go to bed and you should start writing a very important introduction speech at one in the morning”

Your eyes widen and Stevie lets out another loud purring noise, as if amused by your blatant clumsiness,

“What the fuck?! I swear it was just 11:30”

Tim only shrugs again in amusement and you promptly lean down to scoop up your cat from the ground in an attempt to hide the blush that seemed to now be permanently etched across your cheeks, desperate for a chance to leave before you could embarrass yourself any further.

“Thanks again, Tim...for everything! I guess I’ll see you next weekend...” You mumble out the words quickly, flashing Tim an awkward smile as you put your slightly damp shoes back onto your feet. 

“(Y/N)...”

“Oh right, and good luck with your Arizona excavation...I just know you’ll discover something truly spectacular this time!” You’re shuffling towards the front door now, silently praying that the sound of your heart pounding against your chest isn’t loud enough for Tim to hear.  

“Thanks, I’ll see-”

But you don't even let him finish before you promptly shut the door behind you, feeling equally elated as you do terrified about the week ahead of you and the absurdity of this entirely haphazard arrangement. 

[lexakomtrikrusbitch-blog]

Jaime Lannister x Targaryen reader P.3

Plot: after fourteen years of hiding from the people who slaughtered her family y/n Targaryen is ready to exact revenge on those people but will a certain lion break through her stone walls.

Warnings: none I think

A/n: ok so it’s about time that I posted the next part and I will admit I���m not happy with this chapter but I can promise you that I will try my hardest to make the next one worthwhile, thanks for all your support xx

As soon as Y/n left the confinements of her room she was on edge, the dwarf that strode next to her seemed too dangerous in his little body, the guards too cautious, Bronn looked bored but still seemed like he knew how to use his weapon and Podrik, the squire Tyrion announced as his, hand all too casually placing his hand near his long sword. It was no lie that even if one of them did try anything she could easily slit their throats before they could draw their swords, it wasn't that that made her uneasy, it was the fact that if she did need to kill them she wouldn't get the chance to do what she came here for. Get revenge.

“They should be just here” Y/n said as she walked confidently into the brothel while Tyrion though showed no signs, was slightly anxious, this brothel was filled with Lannister men. A snake, no two now, in a lions den. 

One of the attendants walked up to the party, though the amount of guards should have given off the impression that they were not here to indulge themselves. “is there anything I can help you with?” he asked, looking Y/n up and down with disgust, her dirty clothes making him think she was just a commoner. 

“We are looking for Lord Martell” Tyrion explained just as a male shout of pain was heard from a room nearby and Y/n immediately sprung into action heading straight towards the source with Tyrion and the others on her heals, the attendant shouting that this wasn't allowed.

When Y/n turned into the room where the shout was heard from she saw her uncle standing above a man, his knife wedged into his wrist. “At least you haven't killed anyone yet” Y/n said with a small smirk. 

Y/n took in her surroundings, the attendant of the brothel long gone after seeing the contents in the room. Oberyn’s knife wedged in the the wrist of a man wearing Lannister colours, a soldier. The soldiers friend stood a few feet away watching everything unfold, not making a move to help his friend. Ellaria stood behind Oberyn, tugging at his jacket “You don't need to do this” she whispered over and over. 

Oberyn looked up to the Soldiers friend, a viscous look filled his brown eyes that made Y/n grin, “I am going to take my knife out, if you do not act immediately your friend will bleed out” the soldier nodded, with a sharp motion Oberyn pulled his knife out of the wrist of the whimpering soldier and in a moment both Lannister men were rushing out of the brothel.Oberyn turned towards the the Party that stood behind Y/n and gave a very dramatic bow and not the respectful kind. “Ah Y/n, I see that you led little Tyrion right towards us” Oberyn said in a playful tone.

“Well considering how much you love Kings Landing I figured I might as well tag along to make sure you haven't murdered anyone” she said with a smirk.“As you can see I haven't yet” he said “so if you do not mind I’d like to get back to what I was in the middle of” dismissal.“If you don't mind, Lord Martell, can we have a word?” the smallest Lannister said from behind her, Y/n knew exactly where he stood without having to turn her head, she needed to. “Ah, Lord Tyrion, you'll have to make it quick, I'm rather busy” Oberyn said and threw a lust filled look at his mistress. “I promise” Tyrion said as he guided Y/n’s uncle to the door out the back of the room, leaving Y/n, Ellaria, Bronn and Podrick alone. Ellaria threw a dismissed look at Y/n and stalked off towards another room. 

Y/n and Ellaria were the best of friends when they were with Oberyn, both so desperate for his love and affection but as soon as they were left alone they were at each others throats. Ellaria had always made sure Y/n knew exactly how much she loathed Y/n, ever since she arrived in Dorne as a child. The Targaryen girl cared little though, too caught up in grief to make much of it but as she got older she started to feel the same towards her.

Once Ellaria had stalked out of the room she turned towards the two men behind her, Podrick flinched but Bronn didn't bother looking up from picking his nails. “Are you Tyrion’s body guard, lap dog or does he just enjoy male company?” Podrick chocked at the words that poured out of Y/n’s mouth.

Bronn looked up from picking his nails and said “I think that even if I did enjoy male company Tyrion would not be my type” before Bronn looked like he would rather be anywhere else but here but now there was a sort of amusement in his eyes as he'd finally found someone in this god forsaken palace that had a sense of humour. 

“Personal guard?” Y/n asked 

“I like to think of myself more as legendary hero, known across all lands who Tyrion pays a great deal of money to to keep his lazy ass safe” he chuckled “unfortunately the only part of that story that is wrong is that Tyrion pays me too little”

“You look more like a middle aged drunk to me but” she drawled “still knows how to use a sword”

“You have very good judgment skills milady”

“I also suppose that if asked for you to train with me you'd say yes?” 

Bronn shook his head, as if in disbelief, “I can tell you know how to protect yourself” he said looking your dirty training clothes up and down “lets see how well. Tomorrow at dawn I’ll send pod rick to come and collect you, don't cry if you get stabbed”

“The only crying I’d be doing is crying of laughter after I kick your ass” Y/n said defiantly as she walked out of the brothel leaving Bronn and Podrick looking at each other with amusement in their eyes. 

When Y/n finally climbed into bed that night she couldn't help but think how well her plan was playing out, if she could gain the trust of Bronn, Tyrion’s most trusted body guard she could get close to Tyrion, then shed move on to Cersie, then the King Slayer, with the Lions cubs gone, Y/n could freely move on too Tywin, the man who ordered the mountain to snatch away Elia’s deceased children, Y/n’s dead siblings and run them through with his sword. The man who ordered those horrid things done to her mother, things that sometimes makes Y/n wake up in a cold sweat. The man who Y/n yearned to kill. With the thought of Tywin Lannister fresh in her mind, Y/n fell asleep clutching the bedsheets.

A/n: I know, I know, I said I’d have Jaime in this chapter but what I had planned just didn’t fit in like I hoped but he will make his debut appearance in the next chapter

Tags:

@camu-winchester

@handplucked

@inhumanhacker

[wykart]

Bill meets 13

New fic where 13 meets yet another one of her previous companions (as well as a little run in with 12) 

Title: Wrong TARDIS

Summary: Two timeships in the wrong place at the wrong time. The Thirteenth Doctor comes face to face with her previous incarnation and a friend she's still grieving.

just some fluff and humour :)

read here on ao3, chapter 1 under the cut

Chariot station; a classy observation deck orbiting one of the fifty seven moons of the planet Krasterfell 7 – an unremarkable world by most standards, war-torn and desolate – but, it had a spectacular view of the Medusa Cascade, a place that the Doctor had explained to Yaz (eyes wide and bouncing with excitement) was her favourite galaxy in the cosmos. Now, if only the Doctor would let her out to see it.

“Yaz, can you pull the wibbly lever?” The Doctor called from below the TARDIS console. She was sitting down amongst the scrap of wires and glowing crystalline pillars, attempting to fix… something. Every now and then there would be a particularly large spark or a clatter of metal, usually followed by a strangled yelp and sometimes a garbled mess of ridiculous curses, her favourite of which was, ‘jammy-dodgers on a bike.’ How the Doctor managed to say these things while sounding angry was a mystery, but it made for some great entertainment while Yaz waited for her to finish.

“The what now?” Yay yelled back while scanning the console for something resembling the Doctor’s description. The TARDIS interface was composed of all manner of strange objects glued together into a haphazard and unorganised mess that by some miracle, functioned as a time machine. It really wasn’t something that one would expect from a legendary spacecraft.

The Doctor let out another yelp as a spark fizzled out with a resounding crack. “Oh, Dalek tits!” she yelled, “sorry Yaz,” she added, as if this was the worse language Yaz had ever been subjected to. “Err, it’s sort of red and it looks like a curly fry – oh!” She exclaimed, seeming to lose her train of thought, as she so often did “I haven’t had fries in this body, oh Yaz, what if I don’t like fries? What if this body doesn’t like fries, can’t have a universe without –“

“Doctor!” Yaz interrupted, stifling a laugh, “I’ve found it, just crank it yeah?”

“Yep that’s right Yaz, give it a good’ol crank.” Yasmin reached over the mass of controls and pulled down of the curly fry lever. Instantly, the lights went out.

“Aww Rassilon’s bleeding arse.” The Doctor groaned from below decks. She let her tools fall to the ground with a deafening clang, defeated.

“I’m sorry, I thought I pressed the right one!” Yaz says, trying to feel her way towards the stairs.

“No, it’s not your fault,” the Doctor popped her head up from beneath the console deck. Yaz could just make out the outlines of her comically large goggles she wore when tinkering, which she had insisted were the epitome of ‘practicality and style.’ “It’s quite possible that there was more than one wibbly lever… I didn’t think to check so far. This new interface is great though, biscuit dispensers, two wibbly levers! What will she think of next?”

“Well, the great new interface doesn’t seem to be working now.”

“Oi, she’s trying her best alright, aren’t ya love,” she murmured gently, stroking the floor absent-mindedly. Yaz thought she would never stoop so low as to feel jealous of a wooden box, yet here she was. As if in response, a low humming sound began to emanate from the centre of the ship, sending a faint orange glow pulsing from the normally vibrant crystalline structures. “See Yaz, told you!” The Doctor exclaimed, jumping to her feet in such a hurry that she almost hit her head on the floor of the deck above. “Lucky I’m so short now,” she muttered, stepping towards the centre of the peculiar machine. She parted layers of wires and metal-rimmed tubing like drapes letting in the morning sun – the mesmerising glow of the TARDIS streaming through the opening. “Look at her go,” she Doctor said, awestruck, “she’s found some sort of external energy source – even out here orbiting a desolate world she’s tapping in to a stream of residual artron energy – look,” she shifted to the side so that Yaz could get a better view. Taking the younger girl’s hand in her own, she moved Yap’s fingertips towards the ball of energy dancing behind that dense jungle of circuit boards and alien machinery.

“See here Yaz,” the Doctor continued, voice softening in the way it always did when she was explaining something like this; something extraordinary and whimsical, something hopeful. “This stuff exists all across the universe – across every universe – like a fingerprint or breath on glass, it’s invisible, but there’s always a trace, the thread that weaves the cosmos together, and this ship harnesses that energy in order to traverse it.” Yaz watched in awe as her fingertips touched that swirling glow – it was warm and fizzing with life. She almost felt as if her body was about to unravel, become one with that brilliant light. “What d’ya think, eh?” The Doctor asks, turning to face Yaz with wide, expectant eyes. Yaz turns slowly, almost unable to tear her eyes away from the light. With the Doctor’s wide, brilliant smile waiting for her, looking away from an ancient broil of vortex energy doesn’t seem so bad. Yasmin’s eyes reflect gold against the light of the vortex, as she stares into the Doctor’s similarly radiant stare, leaning in –

“Wait!” The Doctor yells, so loudly and so abruptly that Yaz jumps. The Doctor hastily rearranges the metal layers of machinery back over the golden light, plunging the room into comparable darkness. The Doctor reels around, sniffing the air in suspicion. As she does, Yaz notices the lights beginning to power up once again, and the familiar whirrs and chirps of the TARDIS fill the empty spaces surrounding.

“Wow, that was quick, I promise I’ll pull the right wibbly lever this time.” Yaz chuckled, getting to her feet and walking up on deck once again.

“No, no this is wrong, it shouldn't have been able to power up so quickly.”

“Well, we just got lucky didn’t we. Just finish up what you were doing and we can go out and see the galaxy” finally, she wanted to add, but kept her mouth shut. Yaz moved to tap the Doctor on the shoulder, grinning “your favourite galaxy in the whole universe, remember?” The Doctor jumped at her touch, and Yaz tried to disguise her hurt as the Doctor went on pacing around the console, ignoring her. The way her eyes grew wide and blank, Yaz could almost see her brain going into overdrive, gears spinning at break-neck pace behind the eyes.

“It should’ve taken at least twenty-four hours for the TARDIS to scrounge up this much artron energy – it’s a trace, remember, not exactly an abundant resource – very rare, very deadly in high concentrations.”

“What are you saying?” Yaz asked, concerned.

“I’m saying there must be another time traveller here – and I’m not talking about some novice like Taco –“

“Krasko.” Yaz corrected.

“Whatever – with his silly vortex manipulator. Have I told you how much I hate those things? They’re downright horrible –“

“Yeah, yeah, cheap and nasty time travel you only mention it every time we come across one. What were you saying?”

“Sorry, sorry Yaz I’m rambling to stop myself from worrying, because I’m properly worrying Yaz, I’m –“

“Doctor, it’s okay. You don’t have to shelter me if it’s dangerous, I can handle it.”

“In such high concentrations, that and the fact that the energy was instantaneously TARDIS compatible with little to no conversion on our part means that there is another TARDIS here, now.”

“And that’s bad?”

“Potentially very, also nigh on impossible. Maybe it’s Clara, wouldn’t that be a nice surprise eh?” The Doctor let herself smile for a moment before scrunching her face up in concentration again. “Either that or it’s another time lord, which means they’ve found a way out of their little self-contained pocket dimension and they’ve decided to pay a visit.”

“But they’re your people right?” Yaz asked, still struggling to understand the Doctor’s fear at this prospect. “Isn’t that good, didn’t you say they were lost?”

“Lost yes, but for good reason. They may not be about to rage war on all creation but they’ve definitely got it in for me after the stunt I pulled last time I was on Gallifrey.” She grabbed Yaz by the shoulders with fierce intensity, trying to communicate the gravity of the situation. “They’re called Time Lords for a reason Yaz, they have appointed themselves overseers, sort of curators of time. I’m a traveller that does a lot of interfering, and they’ve been trying to put a stop to that for a long time. If they’re here, then they’re here for me – and I… I don’t think I can stop them.” Her voice trailed off in her realisation, all her usual energy drained out of her.

“What are they gonna do to you.” Yaz murmured.

“Oh, imprisonment, torture, exile, induced regeneration, it really is a gamble with that lot. More importantly, you. Last time they found me with humans on board they stripped them of all memory of me and dropped them back on earth as if I was never there.”

“No,” Yaz muttered, shaking her head, “no they can’t do that.”

The Doctor turns to meet her gaze, her expression despairing, as if she was already imagining herself through the situation. Worse, she knew just how Yaz felt, and she couldn’t let it happen again. “I’m sorry.” She whispered, looking at Yaz with a sort of hopeless longing that looked so out of place on the face of a woman always so full of life and hope, always so carefree. “I’m so sorry.” She pulled her eyes away, as if she couldn’t bear to look at her. Yaz knew what she was feeling – it was guilt.

“Right,” the Doctor nodded, pulling herself together and slapping a smile back onto her face “no use worrying about it now, I could be wrong. It doesn’t happen regularly but there’s a first time for everything.” Yaz rolled her eyes, smiling, trying desperately not to think about a world without the Doctor, without the TARDIS and the universe and that beautiful tangle of artron energy guiding them along. That had been her world up until a few weeks ago – but now she couldn’t even imagine going back. Worse still, she thought of the Doctor, the bright, beautiful, fierce Doctor who sometimes let her smile slip away and show the enduring pain beneath it. Imprisonment, torture, exile, induced regeneration. Wasn’t that like murder? The time lords were going to kill the Doctor and it would be all her fault for pulling that stupid curly fry lever. Lost in the turmoil of her thoughts, and the sound of the Doctor fiddling with machinery and whirring her sonic, Yaz didn’t notice the figure approaching the TARDIS doors. It was a woman’s voice, hardly the imposing, regal tone she was expecting.

“Oh! there you are,” the voice exclaimed, hardly a tone of reckoning judgement, more like one of pleasant surprise. Her words echoed into the box as she went to open the doors. “I was starting to think I’d gotten los–“ The woman stops short as she entered the entryway, doors creaking inwards as the light of the TARDIS cast a warm glow onto her face. She wore a denim jacket bedecked with patches and enamel pins representing everything from fry packets to flying saucers, and her coiled dark hair sprouted upwards in a tangled ball above dark eyes widened in shock.  Bigger on the inside, Yaz thought, you get used to it. “What the hell happened to the Tardis?” She marvelled, scanning the room until her eyes came to rest on Yasmin. “Oh, hi there,” she said, friendly warmth mixed with a poignant brand of confusion. “Sorry, who are you? My friend was in here a second ago but err…” her eyes once again scanned the room in shock, “something’s happened.”

“Um,” she faltered, wondering if this was some sort of trick. “I’m Yaz. Who are you looking for?”

“The Doctor, have you seen him?” Yaz hesitated before answering, but she was almost completely sure this girl wasn’t a time lord. It wasn’t a risky assumption to make between the patches on her jacket reading things like ‘fries before guys,’ and ‘I was abducted by aliens.’ In fact, Yaz was fairly certain she had seen that exact pin at the shopping centre in Sheffield.

"Err, yeah she’s just below deck – hey Doctor?” She shouted, trying to be heard over the continuing clanging of machinery below.

“Yeah I’m working on it Yaz!” She called back, evidently flustered. “I’m just trying to identify the energy signature and work out our best move, I can do this,” she sounded more as if she were reassuring herself. “I promise you.”

“W-wait,” the woman stuttered, craning her neck to the source of the Doctor’s voice.

“It’s not that, it’s err… someone’s here looking for you and I’m pretty sure she’s not a Time Lord.”

“Doctor, is that you?” She called out, seeming skeptical. Once again, the Doctor poked her head up over the landing to rest her chin on the floor above. Her goggles were propped up on her forehead, setting her short blonde hair sticking out at electric angles. Her eyes widened comically at the sight of the newcomer. Not taking her eyes off the woman, the Doctor scrambled up the stairs clumsily and stepped slowly towards her – brushing past Yasmin with not so much as a second glance. The woman looked taken aback, and still very clearly confused. The Doctor continued forward, taking long, methodical strides like an animal closing in on its prey, she still wasn’t blinking as she lent forwards, peering up at the taller woman. She stuck her chin up, cocking her head to one side while narrowing her eyes.

“Bill.” She murmured, barely audibly, in an unreadable monotone.