#this is apropos of nothing except me remembering this annoys me

[ajeckaea]

I have no respect for people who write/arrange music with 5+ sharps or flats.

Like buddy I do not CARE what you were trying to do, there is ZERO reason for ANY performance piece to be in Gb instead of G, you are just making it overly complicated and difficult for your performers.

[kooriicolada]

I’ve decided to share some snippets from fic that I’m working on... Hopefully to maybe drum up my energy to write more.  There’ll be one from both of my MadaTobi fics. 

This is from my upcoming ABO Madatobi fic The Slow Release of Tension:

Over the years he'd heard a lot about Senju Tobirama and his failings as a being— such as existing and being able to parry that strike that Izuna had practiced really hard with.  But he'd also heard other things:  Things like the unnaturally still way Tobirama held his tail, how it only seemed to move when he needed the balance.  Or the way his ears always remained tucked close, closing off every signal he could give off just as much as the smoothness of his expression.  The hyper aggressive way he stood, paws spread wide, shoulders up and arms crossed when he wasn't bearing steel.

Izuna wasn't wrong when he said that Tobirama was wrong in a bad way.  Feline he might be, but everything about him was abrasive and off-putting.  Except, of course, how gods be damned gorgeous the man was.

Another frequent complaint from more than one Uchiha, really.  Madara couldn't blame them.

It was a shame about the rest of him, though.

"I bet he's a beta," Madara said, apropos of nothing.  "He's calm.  Downright cold, really."

Izuna scoffed.  "With how aggressive he is?  No way.  You don't have to fight him so you don't know him like I do."

"You think he's an alpha then?"  There was, after all, no way he was an omega.  Omega just didn't go out to the frontlines the way Tobirama did.  The stress alone would run any omega into the ground, let alone a feline one.

"Don't you ever wonder how the Senju wound up with a snow leopard?" Izuna asked.  He dropped Madara's tail to prop his chin on his hand.  "It's a good thing that he told me who he was when we first met or they could have sent him in as a spy.  We never would have picked him out as a Senju."

"The Yuki, right?  They used to live around Frost and Lightning country, didn't they?"  At least, Madara was fairly sure that's what he read.  His fingers twitched to go look through his personal archives— inherited from his father —to see what they had on them.  Had the Senju allied with them at some point?  Clearly, at least Tobirama was born from a Yuki parent.

"Used to, yeah."  Izuna bent his legs up, white socked paws swaying back and forth.  "But they were almost wiped over before we were born.  Though a fish peddler in that caravan a few months ago told me that there are Yuki living in Water now.  I'd guess they got pushed out of their territory and fled there."

Izuna and his ridiculously chatty ways.

Madara narrowed his eyes.  "And one ended up here."

"Either Tobirama's adopted or—"

"Or the two of you could be doing something other than gossiping about our enemies,"  Hikaku said dryly from the doorway.  "A runner just got back.  One of our border patrols ran into one of the Senju's."

And one from In Bold Strokes:

A sudden, hot, gusty breath washed over him from behind.  Goosebumps broke out across his flesh, a feeling of sharp terror lancing through him before a massive snout pressed against his back.  Long, knife-like tusks curled around his sides as he sat, frozen.  Slowly, so slowly, he turned his head.  Out of the corner of his eye he could see white, bristly fur stretched over thick, heavy muscles which were outlined in red stripes.  A round, beetle-shell red eye stared back at him, as big as an adult man's fist.

A boar.  A boar bigger than any he'd ever seen.  It lifted it's head, massive nostrils flaring as it inhaled.  "Ah, Amaterasu-omikami," it— he said.  "So small, so diminished!  I, Bakugami, God of Explosions, am saddened to see you this way."

Tobirama relaxed minutely.  Just another deity.  Not a summon out to kill him, not some sort of monster or beast to devour him.  He felt rather silly all of a sudden and that made him scowl.  "Don't sneak up on me," he hissed.

The boar guffawed, loud as a landslide and as squealing as any pig.  Another shot of terror and adrenaline shot through him and Tobirama leaped up.  He flung himself across Bakugami's snout, grasping at his lower jaw as if he could hold his mouth closed.  "Be quiet!" he snarled.  "Don't draw attention."

"Pfah," Bakugami scoffed, jerking his head as if to throw Tobirama off. "Only those with eyes blessed with divinity can see the truth of me."

Eyes blessed with…?  The Uchiha did believe that Amaterasu had gifted them their Sharingan. Tobirama released his grasp and slid down onto his feet.  "Hashirama could see Nuregami."

"But could he see the marks of godhood upon her?"  A shockingly gentle tusk nudged against Tobirama's cheek.

He blinked.  The red stripes.   It made sense in some ways but…  "Everyone can see mine," he pointed out.

"But can they see them when you are a wolf?" That tusk brushed him again.  "This body of yours is mortal right now, but your wolfshape is closer to your divinity."

He had assumed so, given that the marks could be seen on his body.  After all he'd had to endure Hashirama's poking and Father's lecture about being too memorable. But he'd never actually asked if they could see them on his pelt.  Madara could, he knew, but if what Bakugami said was true…

Something for later. 

"Are there people other than the Uchiha who have divine sight?"  The Hyuuga, maybe…

"I know Susanoo-no-mikoto grew jealous of your chosen people while you were gone and eventually picked his own.  They don't have the same blessing yours do, but they can probably see you."

The headache that came from dealing with annoying siblings hit him full force.  He didn't fully remember Susanoo, but he had read as many stories on his past as he could find.  If Susanoo was anything like Hashirama…  No, he seemed worse in some ways.  Wonderful.

"It doesn't matter," he decided.  "The people I'm hiding from are the ones with the divine eyes."  

Bakugami grunted, peering at him blearily.  "Why would you hide from your own worshippers?"

[sparrowwritings]

Final Fantasy 14 Writing Challenge Day Eight: Bells

Day Seven -- Masterpost -- Day Nine

Alisaie stood with her back straight and her hands to her sides as she stared at the retreating forms of the Maelstrom private and the small kobold child that followed in her wake. She stared and she willed him to stop walking and turn around and...and have something of himself in his eyes again. Not the emptiness that stared back from the depths of the helmet he wore. Alisaie stood there and the two figures disappeared into Maelstrom headquarters rather sooner than she wished. Ga Bu was still completely enthralled. Nothing had changed since last she saw him. There was nothing she could do to help him.

It was only when she noticed the ache in her now curled hands that she realized that her nails were a hair’s breadth from puncturing the skin of her palms.

Turning her will inward, Alisaie took several breaths and eased loose her fists. The Warriors of Light were still here. They had graciously accepted her invitation to visit the koboldling. But. She would not allow herself to cry in front of them. 

They had helped her and others with a myriad of problems, yes. They had agreed to visit Ga Bu apropo of nothing, also yes. They were the closest she’d ever felt to having proper friends, and ones who could handle Alphinaud as well, yes a third time. However, there were too many things for her to focus on to allow herself to open up like that. Especially when Lara and Roger themselves often had far more to deal with than even she needed to. Crying would make her seem vulnerable, and she could not let them see how hurt she was. They didn’t need to be burdened by her feelings.

The chiming of bells from Maelstrom Command, followed by a series of them going all about the port town pulled Alisaie from her thoughts. She turned to face the Warriors of Light and gave a sharp nod. “Thank you for coming. I’m sure that somewhere in there, Ga Bu is also thankful for your presence. I’m also sure there’s plenty more for you to be doing other than staying here.”

To say that Lara and Roger looked pensive would be an understatement. The two were shifting in place and giving herself and each other looks that she did not care to examine. “If you’ll excuse me,” She made to push past the two and was startled to find that both of her arms had been captured. By the Warriors of Light. She turned a bewildered look from Roger to Lara. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“The noon bell just rang out,” Lara explained as if she were speaking to someone new to Limsa Lominsa. “And I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Since we’re here anyway, we might as well visit the Bismarck and have lunch besides.” She turned her dark blue gaze to meet Roger’s eye just barely above Alisaie’s head. “What do you think, Roger?”

“Oh yeah, we should go.” The cheerful way he said it made Alisaie turn to face him with a suspicious glare. He flinched, but refused to release the arm he was holding. “They have tons of good food that don’t even have any meat in it. Not a lot of places do that!” 

Just what were they planning? “Seven hells, what are you doing?” 

“Inviting you to lunch, of course,” Lara said airily while adjusting her grip so that her right arm was linked in a more casual way around Alisaie’s left. Roger pulled a similar maneuver to her right. “If you don’t want to eat that’s fine, but I insist you come with us.” 

Experimentally, Alisaie attempted to pull her arms away. As she suspected, the twin grips only held onto her tighter. With an annoyed sigh, she relented, “I suppose I’m outnumbered in this regard. Is this how you two befriended Alphinaud?”

“No, he fell into that one all on his own.” Roger grinned as the three of them started walking down the walkway. “We weren’t even trying back then.”

------

It took far longer for the three of them to be seated and have their orders taken then expected. This was mostly due to what felt like (and perhaps was) the entirety of the wait and kitchen staff of the Bismarck coming by their table and catching up with what Lara had been up to. Each time that one of her former coworkers left, she apologized profusely. “You come to be like family when you work here. So that means everything is everyone’s business.” 

Roger nodded enthusiastically. “It’s kind of like that at the chocobo stables too!” He paused, then amended, “Well, with the birds at least. You get to know their personalities so well, the more lonely people start talking to them like they’re actually responding.”

Alisaie leaned a hand against her chin while her elbow was propped on the table. The complementary bread slices had long been eaten, and with how distracted the wait staff was with talking to Lara no one had thought to refill the basket yet. This left her more time to think on the statements of her current lunchmates. She directed her gaze at Roger and lifted a white eyebrow. “Were you particularly lonely at the stables?”

Pink colored his cheeks while he looked in any direction that wasn’t towards her. “N-no���” His pause lasted a relative eon but must have only taken a few seconds. “...Bell’s always been a great listener and Pepper does chatter back at me, I swear. Or did when I took care of him.”

If she wasn’t so upset at life, Alisaie probably would have laughed. Instead she let the smile tugging at her lips grow a little. Lara at least had the decency to hide her giggles behind a hand, though the sound of them were hardly muffled. 

He huffed and pointed back at his best friend. “And that’s rich coming from someone who has about a million older friends.” 

Taken aback, Lara retorted, “So do you! Most of the Scions are older than us!” 

“You still have a ton more, though.”

“I’d have to agree,” Alisaie turned to face Lara. She looked and acted scandalized, but she was probably playing it up. It was an easy enough lead to follow in this playact. “There’s been a veritable parade of staff here to greet you. Enough so that we’ve spent more time talking than eating. What did you do, reinvent some cooking technique?”

With a snort, Lara folded her arms and leaned back against the chair she sat in. “Hardly. I was apprenticed here when I was 14.”

Alisaie blinked owlishly. “They take apprentices that young?” 

“It depends. I was something of a special case.” 

“Of course.” Alisaie rolled her eyes. “I forgot, you both are so good at everything you put your hands on.”

“Hardly.” Lara returned the eye roll. “I could barely figure out how to scramble eggs back then. But the family that took me in were about to be out at sea for several months and I needed to be taken care of until then. Once I’d gotten over a few hurdles, I took to being a Culinarian like a fish to water. My schooling and lodging were paid for by my work at the Bismarck and here we are now.”

That second statement gave Alisaie pause. A glance back at Roger made it clear that he was already aware of this story. “‘The family that took care of you,’ you say. Not your parents?”

The other girl’s face was unconcerned as she shrugged. “Couldn’t find them since I couldn’t remember who they were.”

“And why’s that?”

“No one really knows. I was found by a Fisher family at the age of 12. All I could recall from before then was my given name and my nameday. And since no one knew a Lara who looked like me...” She indicated herself, making extra gestures at her wavy blonde hair that had streaks of red throughout and her dark blue eyes. “Well, orphans on Limsa sometimes get taken in by families to teach the trade to. I was horrible at fishing, though Tanion was never upset with me about it.” 

“Who is Tanion?”

“Er...I guess you could say he’s my adoptive uncle? He was the main one that took charge of trying to teach me life skills. Venor, his partner, stuck strictly to his thaumaturgy but he could be fun to talk to when he felt like it.” 

Alisaie was hooked (to pardon the pun) by this new information. She hadn’t heard any of this from the other Scions. Had Alphinaud even known…? She’d ask him about that later. “He sounds like a total pill.” 

Lara laughed. “He is! I don’t see what Tanion sees in him, but apparently it’s something strong enough that they’re still together. He sends me letters every so often.”

“I did not know that.” She genuinely didn’t. “Do they not worry about you enough to send more?”

“Kind of? Venor doesn’t seem to care one way or another and Tanion does have some vague worries in his letters, but they don’t ask if they can help or anything. It’s why I don’t really think of them as parents.” Lara shrugged. “It might be a culture thing or it might be an orphan thing. Limsa Lominsa’s descended from pirates. Independence is something you’re taught pretty young around here so I never felt incapable. Anyway, I still respect that they took care of me when I had nothing but my name, so I’ve kept their family one in return."

The idea left Alisaie’s head spinning. To have grown up with people who were less parents and more babysitters until the time came to work. To have worked until very recently to survive. That Lara could come out of it so cheerful was...extraordinary. 

Speaking of cheerful, though.

She turned to Roger, who had been quiet this whole time. “What about yourself? You’ve from the Black Shroud, yes?” 

He scratched the back of his head while he came up with an answer. “Actually, I was found me in the Black Shroud.”

“What??” Just like Roger knew her side of things, Lara didn’t seem at all surprised by this statement.

“I know right?? There’s all these stories about people getting lost forever in the woods...a patrol of Twin Adders found me and took me back to Gridania. I was 12 at the time.” 

Sensing the pattern, Alisaie finished with, “And you don’t remember anything from before then except for your given name and nameday.” 

He looked sheepish as he smiled. “Yep.” 

“You two accumulate the oddest of coincidences.”

“So everyone keeps telling us,” Lara commented. 

“Don’t tell me you also had caretakers who had no parental skills?”

“Oh no, my mom and dad were really nice,” Alisaie let loose a relieved sigh, then she realized what he’d said just as he added, “They died a couple of years ago, in their sleep. I got to be their kid since their other ones were fully grown and they were too old to fight on the front lines.” 

She couldn’t help a wince as she offered, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Roger smiled, as if he hadn’t been talking about the death of his adoptive parents. “Thank you.”

“What were their names?” 

“Landaeg and Terama Briden.”

“No wonder you were lonely.” She meant it as a serious statement, but Roger seemed to take it as a joke.

“I told you, I had Bell and Pepper to help me out! And Walker too. He’s the one that taught me what I know about Botany. He wasn’t too happy when I started adventuring, but when he found out I wasn’t actually alone in fighting, he let me keep going.”

Lara leaned both of her elbows onto the table with a wicked grin. “And just how much do you leave out of your letters to him?”

His flushed face was more red than pink this time. “N-not a--hey I don’t need to answer you!” 

As the two started to bicker, Alisaie leaned back and took it all in. She only had anecdotes of students and stories of the world outside of the Studium to give her an idea of what “normal” was supposed to look like. Being powerless in the face of things far too vast to fight...she was well aware of this phenomenon. She experienced it constantly. And yet, to confront the Warriors of Light and their common background of being too powerless to prevent the losses they had experienced even before they’d started adventuring…

It really felt like they were still on her level. Not up high in the clouds where she could never reach them. They were...she glanced at Lara then Roger in turn. Literally close enough to touch. She had the power to do just that. Deliberately or no, the Warriors of Light had given her a way to feel like there was something she could do, no matter how little it was.

Alisaie could have cried, if not for the sudden arrival of all of the food the three had ordered. She blamed her need to rub at them on how good it smelled and if Roger and Lara suspected anything, they didn’t say. 

Bells rang out again as the three ate and continued to talk.

[babbushka]

Chapter 2/12

Supreme Leader Kylo Ren x Reader 

You do a good job of it, staying out of the way. You’re quiet, you’re unsuspecting, you’re practically invisible; just the way you like it. Until one sunny summer day in 1962, the government base where you work acquires an unusual asset, and everything you know is about to change. 

In the race to save this lonely, desperate, beautiful man, loyalties are shaken on all sides – and the bonds of true love are tested. 

 12.7k ; Warnings: NSFW, mentions of violence, death, blood, mild gore. 

                                              -------------------

“They did what?” Armitage asks, eyebrows raised high as you walk arm in arm down the street to your favorite diner.

Your dreams had been quiet, uneventful during the night. It was almost a disappointment that there was no sign of him, of the figure just beyond the door. You had so been hoping to see him, to get a better glimpse of his face. It was almost a disappointment that there was no dream at all.

Until you remembered that you had been given the day off as a reward for helping in the lab, a reward for keeping your head down and not asking too many questions. And as it was your day off, Armitage had all but demanded that you spend the day together, as was tradition whenever you managed to get a break in your schedule.

So, the light of late morning warms your skin as you count the cracks in the sidewalk, sunglasses that nearly never get any use perched on your nose as you tell your friend of all that happened the day before.

“They kidnapped someone! An actual human person, ‘Tidge!” You’re careful to keep your voice down, careful to not gesture too wildly as to attract attention as you recount the sight of the lab in the state you and Gwen had been given it. “They’re torturing him, there was blood all over the place.”

Armitage isn’t so convinced, not nearly as convinced as you were that something cruel was taking place. He opens the door for you and shakes his head when you look at him expectantly.

“This is the United States government you’re talking about, they would never do something like that.” Armitage says quietly yet firmly, the both of you especially careful now that you were in an enclosed space with other patrons around. “They must have just found him like that.”

You roll your eyes fondly at your friend – the man could be so blind sometimes, patriotism clouding all his judgements. You blame him father for that, but you don’t dare say it out loud.

“No, you don’t understand, I saw him when they first brought him in and he was fine but it was like…” You say instead, trying to make your point and then eventually falling flat. “I don’t know. I don’t know what it was like. They call him the Asset, they want something from him, to use him somehow. It doesn’t feel Kosher.”

Armitage doesn’t have anything to say about that, electing to pick a booth against the window.

You always had a habit of sitting at the same booth every time the two of you went to the diner; it had the most perfect view of the street and Armitage adored people-watching. He liked to comment on the fashions of those who were so unfortunate to pass by his line of vision, making all sorts of scathing remarks on the mixing of patterns and colors.

He had asked you for your opinions on his outfit today, as he tends to do every day when time isn’t of the essence. Always stylish in an understated manner, Armitage was. Even on his day off like this, he was in a suit. You wonder how he does it sometimes, the heat of the Nevada desert beating down on him like this, in his light grey pleated trousers and matching jacket. His vest and tie matched, a grassy green color that complimented his eyes.

You weren’t nearly as concerned, dressed in some light-weight cotton garments in a fashionable cut. You did however opt for a pair of sandals on this excursion out into the daytime world, not having much opportunity to wear them as open-toed shoes were forbidden at work.

The waitress comes over, and she’s a familiar face that you’re eager to see.

“Good morning Professor, (Y/N)! Coffee?” You’ve always liked her, this happy-go-lucky high school girl who will probably take over the diner when she graduates in a year.

You wonder if you were ever so chipper as a junior as you flip through the menu, not having had a chance to spare it a glance yet.

“Yes please, the usual for me and (Y/N) will have the special.” Armitage doesn’t bother looking at her, too occupied with his silent, and sometimes not so silent, judgements of the world outside.

“I don’t like when you order for me, you know that.” You pinch the back of his hand and close the menu.

“Is the special alright?” The waitress asks, and you turn your charms back on her.

“The special’s fine, thank you.” You say, the two of you sharing a smile at the expense of your friend.

When she leaves and comes back with coffee, you and Armitage cheers to a lazy day off, both enjoying the holiday. You doctor it how you like it, and then you too return your gaze out the window while you wait for your food.

It’s so interesting, to see the world during the day.

Sometimes you forget, forget that not everyone has such a bizarre schedule. People are walking their dogs, others are pushing children in strollers. Some are sharing a cigarette by the fire hydrant, and some are reading the newspaper at the bus stop. Cars honk at one another in a friendly and not so friendly manner, and you can’t help but wonder if the man in the tank were free, how he would spend his morning.

You wonder where he comes from, if he would enjoy the summer heat, or if he’s used to a much cooler climate.  

“What does he look like?” Armitage asks, apropos of nothing, as if he reads your mind while he sips his coffee, before clarifying as if you didn’t already know, “The Asset?”

You shrug, annoyed at yourself for not having the chance to get a better look.

“It was hard to tell, he was strapped into a breathing mask – and this awful collar, it looks like he’s in shackles. They’ve got him in this aquarium like he’s some fish.” You try explaining, tapping your finger against the glass of the window in that way that all the zoos tell you not to. “Except it’s not water that’s in the tank, I don’t know, it’s like they poured jell-o all over him, I couldn’t get a good grasp of him.”

“Must be one exotic fish.” Armitage scoffs into his coffee, and you want to have a banter with him but something in your chest aches with the way the man had seemed so sad.

“He looked lonely.” You say, sipping your coffee and watching a group of kids play in the street, their laughs muted through the glass. You wonder if there are people missing him, people looking for him, wherever he comes from.

Armitage knows that tone of your voice, it’s the same one that’s convinced him to rescue small animals or strays before, it’s the reason he’s got an exceptionally spoiled cat.  

“Don’t go falling in love with him,” He warns, pointing his spoon at you aggressively, “They have him for a reason, and if you’re right then it must mean he’s dangerous.”

“I won’t, but I don’t know...” You bat the spoon away, right as the waitress comes back with your breakfast.

“One special and your usual, enjoy.” She says, lightening the mood and changing the atmosphere once again.

This wasn’t the time or place to really have this conversation, you both know. So instead you dig in, enjoying a delicious breakfast at the proper breakfast time, for the first time in…well you don’t know how long.

“I was thinking, maybe we could go to the park.” You suggest, hopeful that he’ll agree. “It’s been a long time since I’ve let the sun properly on my skin.”

Armitage gives you a strange look then, as he cuts into his egg white omelet, and you respond with a look of your own.

“You worry me sometimes, you know?” He says, not really a real question.

“What do you mean?” You frown; Armitage wasn’t really one to worry, not in the typical sense. He worried about the intelligence of his students, the health of his mother, and that was about it.

“People need the sunshine, drives us crazy if we don’t get it – it’s been scientifically proven don’t give me that look.” He cuts himself off when you start to roll your eyes at his spiel, or the beginning of it anyway.

“I’m not going to go crazy, I promise.” You stop him in his tracks, an argument you’ve had too many times with him that you wonder if he’ll ever learn to let go.

From the way his brow is set, you know that he probably won’t.

“Have you ever thought about maybe a different job? You could work with me, at the University.” Armitage doesn’t beat around the bush, “They’re always in need of secretaries, hell, you get a degree and you could teach, god knows you’re smarter than some of the adjuncts there and – ”

“And pull my hair out trying to teach snot-nosed brats who think they know it all because they’ve taken one philosophy course?” You challenge.

Armitage shakes his head and sighs, strikes up a cigarette and lets the smoke waft about, clinging and curling against the sunny window.

“I just don’t know why you’re wasting yourself away at the…airport.” He says carefully, and you bristle at that insinuation.

“I don’t consider it a waste.” Is all you say.

He doesn’t know, he can’t know, why you’re really there. You can’t tell him, because then you’d have to kill him, and you really do value him as a very good friend. You weren’t afforded many friends, and you didn’t want to lose him, so you bring the conversation back to your original question that had gotten so derailed, “Can we go to the park?”

And if Armitage suspects, if he thinks he knows there’s something else going on, he at least has the sense of self-preservation to drop the subject entirely. He eats his omelet and drinks his coffee and smokes his cigarette.

“We can go to the park. I’ll even put the convertible top down, we can drive with the wind in our hair.” He smiles at you, a measured smile, one that just barely reaches his eyes.

You put your hand over his own, a small gesture of appreciation.

“Thank you.” You say sincerely, for his understanding of things known and unknown, and the two of you turn to your breakfasts and continue to judge the town outside.

                                             -------------------  

The park is bustling with activity, when Armitage turns the car off in the nearly full lot.

The holiday gave everyone a chance for some much-needed fun, it would seem. There were families and friends of all ages enjoying the summer sun, dressed all in bright vibrant colors and patterns as they ran about. You and Armitage were set up on a large picnic blanket out in the open, not bothering to look for a spot with a shady tree when the whole point was to soak up the rays as much as you could.

Armitage had brought a couple books with him, and was busy skimming through them, marking and highlighting little passages here and there. You can’t help but smile at the titles, each one relating to the relationship between war and cinema in some way, the grandeur of the military as it’s portrayed.

Unsurprising, but still amusing nonetheless.

What’s even more amusing though, is how Armitage seems to be paying very little attention to the books at hand. You know he must see you looking at him, as he looks over the tops of his books at the group of handsome men romping about in shorts too short.

There’s a friendly game of frisbee in action, some yards away from where you’re lounging in the sun and he’s reading. The men must be in their late twenties, possibly college students but maybe not. They’ve got a cooler of glass bottles of some kind, whether it’s beer or colas you’re not sure, but Armitage certainly looks like he could use a drink, with the way he keeps having to swallow.

“Like what you see?” You tease, and he immediately snaps his book closed.

“Shut up.” He hisses, scowling at you.

“You could offer to play, I’m sure they’d be thrilled to have one more in their company.” You disregard his sour mood at being caught, and encourage him to go live a little.

“I don’t know.” Armitage shakes his head, despite already taking off his suit jacket, revealing the blue vest and white shirt underneath as he complains, “I’m old.”

“You’re thirty-five, that’s not old!” You sit up enough to nudge him happily, “And not much older than them, by the looks of it. The worst they can do is say no.”

You stare at one another for a little while, before he relents.

“Alright, alright fuck, fine. I’ll go ask.” He says, getting up and brushing off imaginary dirt from his trousers while he steps out of his shiny dress shoes and socks.

You yourself have removed your sandals, happy to feel the earth under your feet for the short walk that you had taken across the lawns of the park.

“Proud of you! And if they reject you I’ll only tease you a little for it.” You call after him playfully as he jogs lightly over to the group of men, who pause their playing to greet him.

You wait with bated breath as you watch them talking, and break into a big grin when Armitage turns around and gives you a thumbs up with a wide smile – the first time you’ve seen him so openly happy in a while.

Armitage may worry about you all he likes, but you worry about him too. You worry that his only friend is you, worry that he doesn’t have anyone to call his own, aside from the cats he so adores. You worry what would happen to him, if you were to one day leave.

But that’s a train of thought you blink out of your mind. You weren’t planning on going anywhere, and for now, it’s nice to see him enjoying himself, you think, as he is assigned a frisbee team and the game resumes.

You almost feel like a proud mom, convincing him to go socialize like this. But you can only watch him from across the park for so long, so while he runs about chasing a disc of purple plastic with men who laugh with him and cheer him on, you dig into your purse and pull out a notebook.

If anyone were to look inside the notebook, it would appear absolute gibberish to them. Nothing but loops in long succession, possibly the result of someone’s bored imagination, a hand needing to move while the mind wanders.

To those who knew what to look for, they’d be able to see these were notes, extremely specific and thorough, simply recorded in the script of another language.

You hadn’t had a chance yet to record the Asset in the notebook, and you take the opportunity to do so while Armitage is distracted. Your blue fountain pen glides easily over the lined paper as you map out the timeline of the Asset’s arrival, his containment, the team that brought him.

You get lost in the details of it, and soon you find yourself getting lost in the thought of him.

Who was he? Why was he there? How long would he be there? You wonder what the hell the jell-o is and why he needs it, why he’s shackled in the way he is.

He looked handsome, you think, when you had gotten that one glimpse of him. You weren’t sure how handsome someone could be with half their face obstructed by a mask and the rest filtered through thick blue slime, but something told you he was handsome. You don’t include that part in the notes.

You wonder how he had sliced off those fingers – because clearly it had to have been him. Which meant that he must have been removed from the tank for some period of time, enough time to get aggressive. Your heart began to beat quickly at the thought of that, the thought of a display of power. He was large, so large, you could tell from the form of his body in the tank, such a display of aggression must have been remarkable.

 Then – suddenly and out of nowhere, your vision goes black.

You feel like you’re falling for a moment, a split second, darkness all around you.

You try to open your mouth to speak, to scream to yell shout call for help, something, but you find your lips won’t move.

Then it’s not black, not any longer – it’s red, bright vibrant red, crackling energy that’s searing hot, unstable and angry, so angry. The world around you is filled with it, with this flame which burns too strongly, and you wonder if it’s really a flame at all.

You feel nothing but sheer terror, intense pain. It’s so painful that you almost worry you’re having some sort of organ failure, your body collapsing in on itself. Searing hot blinding pain that hisses through you, your stomach boiling.

 But when you blink, you’re just as you were, sitting on the picnic blanket in the park.

Your hands immediately reach to your stomach, looking for an injury, looking for anything, but you are perfectly fine. The pain was only a phantom, a ghost, but whose you aren’t sure.

You’re covered in a cold sweat, and as it dries you shiver, a shaking hand reaching into your picnic basket. What was the time, how long had you been there, at the park? Your sugar must be low, that’s all, that must be the explanation for this dizzying pounding headache you were now saddled with.

The sun suddenly seems too bright, the breeze too windy, the park too loud. You want to go home, want to curl up in your bed and sleep, want to – you don’t know. You don’t know what you want, you don’t know what will fix this. You don’t know why now all of a sudden these dizzy spells are hitting you, especially two days in a row. Maybe you’ll go to the doctor, get yourself checked out.

Maybe not.

You pull out a small paper bag of some citrus fruits, small clementines that were perfectly ripe and juicy. You love the fruit, but you hate peeling it, the chunks of outer rind always coming off in ugly pieces instead of a nice smooth spiral like some larger oranges.

Eating helps, you chew methodically and really savor each segment of the fruit, the juice of it trickling down onto your chin which you wipe away with the back of your hand. You try to calm yourself and watch Armitage play happily with the men, waving to him when he casts a grin over his shoulder to you to show off his catch of the frisbee.

Eventually, you’re fine once again, the sudden blip of the vision no more than a dull throb in the base of your skull, and you lay back down onto the picnic blanket and look up with a sigh. The clouds are fluffy and white, stretching as far as the eye can see across the powder blue sky.

You look for shapes in the clouds, until a flushed face obstructs your vision, a bright eyed and smiling Professor who sits himself back down on the blanket, jostling you slightly.

“Did you win?” You ask, rolling onto your side and regarding his appearance as you prop your head up on your elbow. Somewhere along the way he had taken off his vest and tie, rolled his sleeves up. It was a good look on him, this casual attire.

“No, but that’s alright, I had a lot of fun anyway.” He says, smiling to himself.

You raise an eyebrow and he pulls out a small slip of paper, one with a carefully written phone number across it in slightly smudged ink, that has you gasping and congratulating him for a moment, reaching for the paper with grabby hands to get a better look.

You wonder which of the men gave it to him, which had been so bold. You cast your gaze over to the men who were now packing up their own belongings, having had enough fun for the day. One in particular, a handsome brunette, can’t stop smiling in Armitage’s direction, and joy bubbles up in your chest for your friend.

It was still something to be careful about, you know. You hate it, hate how secretive so many people had to be. You hope that one day, one day soon, people will rise up the same way they are for civil rights, and like racism they combat the homophobia that runs deep through the country.

There was much to be combatted, throughout the country, you think bitterly to yourself for a moment, before turning your attention to your friend once more.

“You must use an absurd amount of gel for your hair to still be that perfect after running around all afternoon.” You tease, pretending to knock on the hard shell of his somehow still immaculate hair.

“I use the exact correct amount.” He waves your hand away with a blush that brings out his freckles, before checking his watch and mulling the time over in his head. “Are you ready to go? You really should get some sleep.”

“You’re right, and there’s some laundry I’ve been meaning to tend to. I hate being a grown-up sometimes. Laundry never fucking ends, does it? Even when I’ve folded and washed all that I’ve got, I still have to wash and fold what I’m wearing.” You complain in agreement, that feeling of wanting to go home returning ten-fold.

“Maybe we should run away to a nudist colony.” Armitage offers, and you laugh as you pack up your things.

“Now there’s an idea.” You say, before linking arms with him and walking back to his car.

                                               -------------------

You had grown to love the apartment, over the years.

When you had first moved in it was an empty barren space, no furniture or decorations to speak of. Boris had been so excited to find an interested renter for the place, that he had given you a reduced price as incentive and you were grateful for that because it had allowed you to put some money towards sprucing up the place.

You remember the early days, back when all you had was a mattress on the floor and a single frying pan to your name, having traveled here with nothing more than the clothes on your back and a briefcase of paperwork.

But now, now that it had been some time, the apartment felt less like an old storage space above a movie theater, and more like a home.

You had completely re-wallpapered the faded and ugly grey drywall, had polished and waxed the hardwood floors. The furniture was exactly to your taste, and it felt lived in, with things all over. Not overly cluttered, not more than you needed, but enough to be a place of comfort, your own little sanctuary.

It's not very big, not the largest but it’s also not the smallest. When you first walk in there’s the living room with the TV you adore set into a big wall-unit covered in trinkets and things that make you smile. To the right is a small closet of your clothing and beyond that is the master bedroom, large enough that it could really be a secondary living room, should you ever want to switch up the layout. On the other side of the living room is the bathroom, fitted with a leaky clawfoot tub that you always swear you’re going to get fixed, and through a door to the left is the kitchen.

You didn’t use your kitchen much, opting to cook your few meals at home in Armitage’s place, as he had a much larger area for dining. You didn’t mind your own small space, but why cramp yourself when your best friend next door had counter-tops for days? In fact, the only times you really are in your kitchen are to brew a pot of coffee on the stove, and to pass through the sliding glass door to the balcony where you spend much of your time catching those last bits of sun.

You almost want to tell him that you get plenty of Vitamin D from your sun naps, but it’s not important. He’s already said goodnight and returned to his own apartment for the rest of the day, as was your usual tradition. Armitage has always been very good about maintaining a strict schedule, leftover from his upbringing you suppose – although it’s something so intrinsically Armitage that you’re sure he’d be a sticker for schedules no matter how he had been raised.

The apartment is buttery gold with late afternoon sun that comes through all the open curtains around the windows, but you can’t stop yourself from yawning. You don’t need to look at the clock to know it must be nearing five o’clock, your body telling you to get some shut eye all on its own. You both know that once two in the morning rolls around, your alarm will go off and he’ll be pissed, and you’ll soothe him with coffee once more, back to the routine you’re used to.

You put on a soft 45 and turn the volume on the record player down low as you fold what’s left of your laundry, a basket or two having been washed a few days before that you never got around to. You hum and dance slightly to it, an old movie soundtrack you adore. You never cared much for films or musicals before moving into this apartment, where it was nearly unavoidable to escape.

But like most other things, you’d been here long enough that between being friends with Armitage, and living in the place you did, you had such an affection for film that now you can’t imagine yourself without it.  

Once the last apron and pair of socks have been folded, you take your notebook out of your purse and walk it to the foyer of the apartment. There underneath the welcome mat, you lift a loose panel of the floorboard, and pull out a tin box.

You place the notebook among the blueprints and maps of your work, photographs and photocopied memos nestling underneath it. You’ll hand all this information over soon, you know. But until then, back under the floorboard the tin box stays, and off to sleep you go.

                                               -------------------

All too soon, you find yourself waiting for the bus once more.

The night is warm, but not so hot that it’s uncomfortable. Night-time in the desert wasn’t so harsh as it was during the day, and could actually get quite chilly on occasion, something that you were very surprised to learn when you first moved to Vegas. You’re in your uniform, belly full of coffee and bags slung on your shoulder, pleasantly watching the night-life around you and waiting for Mr. Henry to arrive.

You don’t have to wait long, the bus rounding the corner and coming to a hissing stop exactly on time.

As per usual, you take your seat and enjoy the emptiness of the bus.

“Missed you last night (Y/N)!” The kind bus driver is happy to see you, and that warms your heart.

“I know I’m sorry, I had an unexpected day off if you can believe.” You say, making his eyebrows shoot up as he pulls away from the stop when it’s clear no other passengers are2 getting on.

“You know I used to think you were a vampire, never seeing you out and about in the daytime and all?” Mr. Henry jokes, glancing at you through the rear-view mirror as he navigates the minor traffic.  

“Vampires don’t exist, Mr. Henry, you know that.” You smile, pillowing your head against the window. You always put down a little cushion of sorts, whether it’s your hat that day or a sweater, or even your bag. You find that if you don’t, your head bounces and rattles against the glass, and it’s not the most pleasant feeling.

“Can’t an old man have a little imagination?” Mr. Henry laughs to himself, a dry chuckle that only makes you want to give him a hug, even more-so when he asks, “How’s that friend of yours, Professor Hux?”

“He’s good! Very excited that the summer session is almost over, the students this time around are giving him some grief.” You’re glad to talk about him, being around Armitage always gave you funny anecdotes whether he knew it or not. “He calls them incompetent and says that all of their IQs put together wouldn’t be enough to register on the scale.”

That brings about an even bigger laugh from the kind driver, one that draws a cough out of him.

“Well not everyone can live above a twenty-four-hour movie theater like him.” He clears his throat and you attempt to bring the mood down to something less rowdy, not wanting your friend to injure himself accidentally.

“No, we certainly are very lucky.” You say, suddenly curious about something. “Where do you live, Mr. Henry?”

“Oh not far, my wife and I have a home in the suburbs just outside of town. She didn’t want to be in the city with all the craziness. I don’t blame her, with some of the things I see on my routes.” He gestures with one hand at a red light, out at the street.

The Vegas Strip was known for being extravagant, showgirls and gambling and far too much alcohol. It was flashy, with its neon lights and pulsing golden bulbs, but it had an underbelly that a good sensible woman like Odette shouldn’t be exposed to.

“I don’t blame her either.” You agree. Sometimes you think about the brawls you pass on the way to the bus exchange, you think about the people passed out drunk or drugged up on the sidewalks or in alleys.

You don’t think about it much now though.

“It’s nice, quiet where we live. Me and her, we were thinkin’ of having ourselves a garden, we’ve got a little piece of the backyard already squared away for it.” Mr. Henry talks in that friendly way of his, and you’re happy to make conversation.

“I’m surprised you can grow anything, with the soil being so sandy like it is here.” You remark honestly.

“There’s lots that you can grow in the desert! Carrots, beets, all sorts of peppers and melons and corn.” Mr. Henry says, and you have a feeling he’d make a magnificent garden, even if by sheer passion alone.

“Maybe I’ll join you, I’ve got a balcony, maybe I’ll get myself a pot of soil and grow some tomatoes. I can trade you for some beets.” You smile at him as he approaches a stop which has quite a few people on it.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” He replies, before the two of you retreat to silence so as to not disturb the many new passengers which board his bus.

                                               -------------------

Running and weaving your way through the crowd at the exchange, you once again narrowly make the departure time of your second bus. Gwen as always holds your seat for you, and as always she snaps at the woman who complains.

In the very back row of the bus, you hug one another in greeting, and you pour her a thermos of coffee which she eagerly chugs. Sometimes you wonder how she can stand to do that, with it still so piping hot as it is, but then again, very little deters Gwen when she wants something.

“What did you do yesterday?” You ask by way of starting the conversation as Gwen shuffles a deck of cards in her lap.

“I slept!” She laughed, as if that were the height of luxury. “God it felt so fucking good to sleep without the alarm clock ringing in my damn ear, let me tell you. What about you? Did you get some sleep?”

“We went to the diner and the park, I took a bit of a nap in the sunshine, but the place was fucking packed with people, seems like everyone had the same idea to go spend the holiday in the fresh air. Armitage even made some new friends.” You say with a smile, and Gwen can only smile back.

“He wasn’t the only one.” She is filled with a nervous sort of excitement, one that you don’t normally get to see on your friend.

“Oh?” You prompt, nosy and curious.

“I went out for a car wash, and wouldn’t you know it but that pretty red head who works in the observation building? She was there too, and we wound up talking for the whole time they were caring for our cars.” Gwen can’t get the smile off her face, one that makes her cheeks pink up as she shuffles and re-shuffles the deck.

“There’s lots of pretty red heads in the observation building. Secretary?” You note, trying to figure out which one she means.

“No, custodial like us.” Gwen corrects, and it clicks in your brain.  

“Oh, Mary.” You nod, knowing exactly which pretty red head has caught Gwen’s eye.

Not a bad choice at all, you think to yourself.

“Yes! Shit it was so awkward, I knew I knew her name and she knew mine but we’ve never actually been introduced and I didn’t want to call her a name that wasn’t actually hers, you know? We both did our best not to embarrass the other – you would have laughed at us you’re so good with names.” Gwen deals the cards and she’s right, you do laugh and tease your friend good-naturedly.

“No I’m not, you’re just really bad.” You nudge her with your elbow, and she swats at your shoulder with a big grin.

 The bus ride was uneventful, and before you knew it, the passengers all trickled out one by one. The bus emptied nicely, steadily, enough that you and Gwen could spread out just a small bit, not so squished against one another.

It’s still dark out when the driver bulls over to the side of the road, so dark and so far away from the city that you can see a thousand stars up there in the night sky. It makes your chest ache, missing the dream that didn’t come once again. You felt like you were on the precipice of something with it, had hoped that maybe while you slept you’d get to walk among those stars.

But it hadn’t come, and you don’t remember if you dreamt or not, so the best you can get is glancing out the window up at the constellations above, as the bus driver clears his throat.

“Identification?” He glances at you, and almost on auto-pilot you hold up your card from the back of the bus.

“Just for you.” Gwen says as she holds her up too.

That earns you a chuckle from the driver, and he pulls back onto the main road.

Sometimes you wonder what would happen, if there were a stowaway. If someone were to just not get off at their stop. He is armed, you know that – everyone in connection to the base’s security was armed. But would this kindly bus driver gun someone down for perhaps falling asleep from the early hour and missing their stop?

You rest your head against the window and look up at the constellations. They seem so bright, though they are so far away. You’ve always had an affinity for space, the final frontier. It’s what made this job so appealing, among other things. You got to learn, learn so much about the great expanse of the universe. Silently observing and taking in the grandeur of the galaxy.

 You’re still thinking about it, about space, when you arrive at the checkpoint, when the security team jokes with you and you pass the clearance test. You’re thinking about it all the way to the locker room, how wonderful it might be to one day get a taste of it, of the cosmos.

Gwen, as usual, brings you back to reality.

“Ooh, we’ve got engineering today.” She flips through the clipboard with eyebrows raised.

“Really? The whole day?” You try and peek over her exceptionally tall frame to look at the paperwork yourself.

“Looks like it yeah. We haven’t been in there for a while, have we?” She frowns.

“Let’s hope it’s not a shitshow, and they’ve not assigned it to us because no one else wants to clean it.” You groan, stowing your things away in the lockers you have side by side.

“You don’t think the engineers will be covered in blood, do you?” Gwen asks, looking genuinely worried by the thought.

“Nah, I think the worst we’ll get is emptying out the ashtrays.” You reassure her, and she cracks a grin as she lights up a cigarette of her own.

 It’s no secret that the engineering labs are the most notorious places for custodial to be assigned, nor is it a secret that no one ever wants to go in there. The people are so highly secretive and protective of the work they do that half the time they bitch and moan that cleaners have to come in at all. But with all their complaining, you’d think that they’d try and do the custodial team a favor by keeping their stations organized and clear.

You’d think.

The first room you and Gwen tackle is the vehicle assembly room, and it’s nearly chaotic in the way that there’s things absolutely everywhere. Things you aren’t by any means allowed to touch. Big pieces of steel and iron waiting to be transformed into you don’t know what. It looks almost like a hangar, some large warehouse where employees are putting together new types of fighter jets.

In fact, for it being an assembly hangar, it looked like the place was swarming with engineers who were currently disassembling a plane. They were quick, efficient, too many men with clipboards watching too many men with saws and screwdrivers rip and hack apart a piece of…

You didn’t actually know, what it was.

“What the hell?” Gwen murmurs to herself as the two of you clean the glass in one of the observation offices on the ground floor of the hangar.

“I’ve never seen anything like that before, that shape.” You agree, spritzing cleaning solution onto the window that overlooks the big warehouse, engineers buzzing like bees.

They’re climbing all over it, this big hulking mass of metal. It has to be a plane, but it’s not one you’ve ever seen before. The body of the ship is a large orb, nearly perfectly circular and made of black metal with dark red accents. There’s a circular window which must serve as the windshield, but the glass has been shattered. Protruding from the sides of the orb are supports which are connected to what appear to be wings.

Except the wings on this plane don’t face sideways like any aircraft you’ve seen before, no, these wings face forward. In fact, they are so long that the extend far beyond the orb itself, and you wonder how that could be aerodynamic.

The plane, or whatever it is, looks like it suffered a massive crash – two of the wings are broken, and the glass of the shield is shattered, the orb dented in some places. Despite its poor condition, you find you can’t help yourself from admiring it, wondering which country could have designed something so unique.

 But there are more pressing matters at hand, more rooms to clean, so the two of you shrug at one another and you move on.

 Another one of these rooms happens to be an engines testing facility, up on the third floor of the hangar. It’s a much smaller space compared to the assembly room, with a lesser surface area to accumulate dust, and yet it seems as though it’s consistently one of the dustiest rooms. You and Gwen take your time going over every counter, every table-top.

No one pays you any mind, thankfully, as you go about your business. Gwen doesn’t seem to be in a very chatty mood today, which you don’t consider to be too out of the ordinary. She is over on the other side of the room, and the lack of her present company allows you a chance to absorb as much as you can of what’s on these tables in front of you.

This engine must have been taken from the plane, it must have been. It’s such a specific shape, circular like the body of the plane had been, that it only makes sense to have been from the fallen piece of machinery. It’s got a silver metal casing which has been broken and removed to expose all sorts of tubing, pipes and wires.

Under the guise of wiping down and sanitizing the sides of the whiteboards which the engineers write on, you read the scrawl that’s been left there, take in how each part has been labeled. You wish you had a camera, wish you had photographic memory, because what you read is fascinating, absolutely fucking fascinating.

It’s a reactor, a plasma propulsion engine – an Ion engine. You had only ever heard rumors of such a means of energy, had actually only ever overheard the rumors. Engines like these were supposed to reach up to speeds of almost ninety-thousand meters per second – completely dwarfing any comprehension of how fast a ship could fly.

Didn’t they say commercial planes only went a little over three-hundred meters per second?

You nearly drop your cleaning rag, nearly drop the bottle of solution at the comparison. If these figures were correct, then that would mean someone out there had begun the work to travel at the speed of light – maybe even faster.

The thought makes you nearly overwhelmed, and you worry for a moment you were going to have another one of those strange spells, but none such thing came.

 Thankfully, Gwen returns to your side soon enough, and you continue to move through the building as the shift goes on. You clean the bathrooms and the kitchen areas, the floors are mopped and the windows and mirrors all polished. You empty trash bin after trash bin – and dozens of ashtrays, some nearly overflowing with a mix of cigarette brands.

You’re grateful that there’s no other monumentally lifechanging material to be confronted with in this moment, and your hands itch to get home so that you can write it all down. They’ll be interested, so interested in this news – because you’re nearly positive it’s not them who made it, they’d be much more panicked if they knew the government had a hold of one of their ships.

Which begs the question, if it’s not the Russians, then whose is it? If the ship was built with an Ion engine, what else could it have possibly held – what weapons was it fitted with?

 Before you know it, you and Gwen are returning to the locker rooms.

Gwen opens her locker and takes exactly ten seconds before she curses and slams the slender door shut.

“Oh, fuck me!” She groans, sitting down on the bench between the aisles of the lockers, peering into her brown paper bag lunch.

“What, what’s wrong?” You’re alarmed, sitting down and trying to see if she’s alright, already wondering how you can help.

“My sandwich accidentally got crushed, juice spilled all over and now everything’s sticky.” She bemoans, pulling out a tuna sandwich that’s now more a mangled mess of bread than anything else.

“Want to split mine? You can have the clementine.” You’re sympathetic to her cause, as the both of your stomachs rumble.

She sighs, gets up and throws the lunch in the garbage bin in the hallway, shuffling her feet in disappointment before huffing and puffing and sitting back down next to you, pillowing her head on your shoulder.

“No thanks, I don’t know how you’re not more concerned with your enamel.” She says, and you quirk an eyebrow at her.

“My what?” You laugh a little at her melodrama.

“You know, your teeth. Acid from things like citrus wears it down, my dentist told me that.” She says, as she lights up a cigarette.

Something about that feels counter-intuitive, but you keep that thought to yourself.

“I’ve been eating a clementine a day every year that I’ve worked here, and my enamel is just fine, so you can tell your dentist that he shouldn’t be scaring nice pretty women.” You pull out the small citrus from your own lunch bag, and offer it to her sincerely.

Though she gives a smile of gratitude, she shakes her head and pushes it back into your own lap. She blows smoke out the cracked window of the locker room, tucked away in your safe little corner. Some people elected to eat lunch outside, there was a small patio area with tables and chairs for the very purpose, since it wasn’t allowed to leave the property and then return if you were still on shift.

Gwen sometimes joked that if she got a taste of the sun for lunch, she’d be hungry for it more and more, so it was better to hide away in the locker room, enjoying the peace and quiet.  

“How has it already been five hours?” She wonders out loud, checking her watch.

You check yours too, and sigh.

“Don’t you think it’s wild that it’s only ten o’clock in the morning?” You muse, your mind wandering back to the day before where you pretended to be a normal person for once. “Some people are just waking up now, others are finishing breakfast-- the milk-man is doing his rounds right now.”

“Oh, shit.” Gwen groans again, and you can’t help but smile.

“What?” You ask, although you already know.

“I forgot to put my bottles on the front step.” Gwen smacks a hand to her forehead, predictable in the way she somehow manages to do this every week.

“Armitage does it for me, the angel. Although don’t ever let him know I called him that.” You wink, and she raises her eyebrow in a manner that has you already bracing for some sort of inane question.

“Do you think the two of you would ever, you know…?” She asks, waggling that brow and making your nose crinkle up.

“No chance in hell.” You say, before your tone softens. That immediate reaction maybe wasn’t the nicest, which wasn’t very fair to him, so you amend, “I love him, but he’s…well. He’s like you.”

“Like me, how?” Gwen frowns, and you look around for a moment to make sure no one was there to overhear.

“Plays for the other team.” You say simply when the coast is proven clear.

“But he was married to a woman!” Gwen’s volume doubles and you wince, “For ten years!”

“Not very happily, clearly.” You shrug, and she stares at you, before staring down at the floor, and then back at you, and then out the window.

“Huh.” Is all she can articulate – before breaking out into a fit of laughter.

“What’s so funny?” You challenge, ready to defend your neighbor, when she shakes her head.

“You’ve got two friends and both of them are gay, what are you a magnet for homosexuals? No wonder you’re still single.” She teases, leaving you to smack at her strong thigh.

“Hey! It’ll happen, I just have to meet the right guy, I’m holding out for him.” You say, peeling apart your clementine and plucking the segments apart, throwing a piece of the poorly ripped rind at her playfully.

Her laughter dies down a bit after a while and she blows more smoke out the window, stubbing the end of the cigarette against the concrete wall.

She sits down and puts her head back on your shoulder, and sighs.

“Just…don’t hold out too long, okay?” She says quietly, her tone having shifted to something far too somber. “I don’t want you blinking your eyes and all of a sudden you’re nearing forty and single, living alone in that apartment.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being forty and single,” You counter, because really, there wasn’t. You knew that in your line of work, finding someone to settle down with would be nearly impossible, and you’ve resigned yourself to that. Still, matchmaking was such a big deal to those in your age group, that the pressure was almost inescapable, so to appease her, you shrug. “But I don’t know, I have a good feeling about it, about meeting Mr. Right.”

“Was it that dream of yours again?” Gwen asks, still soft spoken, her confident personality pared back a tad.

“Mhm, I got closer the last time it happened.” You whisper, heart beginning to beat a little faster at the admittance of, “I saw someone.”

“Really?” Gwen sits up properly, eagerly faces you. “Who was it – someone we know? You know I was reading this thing about how brains aren’t smart enough to come up with a completely new person when you’re dreaming, so it recycles the image of someone you’ve glimpsed before even if you don’t know them personally.”

“He didn’t have a face, it was just the outline of a person.” Your mild disappointment and frustration at the lack of information in your brain makes you quirk your mouth down into a frown, and Gwen nods in understanding.

“Well, when your dream is a little more forthcoming, I better be the first to know.” She says sincerely, and that makes you smile, makes you remember how grateful you are that you have such supportive friends – even for silly things like dreams.

You try offering Gwen the clementine once more, and she smiles and reluctantly accepts a single segment, before fishing out a couple coins from her purse and heading to the vending machine.

She comes back with two sodas, one for each of you, and you cheers the little glass bottles together, back in good spirits once again.

                                               -------------------

As you’re leaving the locker room, ready to embark on your next set of rooms in the engineering building, your boss shows up out of nowhere and stands before you. Mr. Robert is in a much better mood now that he had been the last time you saw him. He was calm and collected, not dripping with sweat and looking like he was about to pass out from worry.

“(Y/N), Gwen, Mr. Tarkin would like to speak with you.” He says, before continuing on down the hallway.

You and Gwen exchange looks, and leave your carts tucked against the wall in a corner so that they’re out of the way, before heading down to the administrative offices.

The offices are probably the closest the base will ever come to being a normal workplace. The entire the third floor of the main building was a large room desks of secretaries and cubicles of pencil-pushers, surrounded by four walls of offices.

It’s almost jarring, hearing the ring of telephones and the clack of typewriters, the bustle of men gossiping by the water cooler, chatter of women recounting their holiday. It was easy to forget that some people had nine-to-fives, even in your own base. Not everyone worked the early morning shift, after-all.

Mr. Tarkin’s office is right next to Mr. Robert’s, so it’s easy enough to find. You’re very impressed with how much hes’ made himself at home, having only been there for two days. Already personal affects decorate the space, desk covered in little practicalities, cabinets with folders and stacks of paperwork securely tucked against the walls.

Behind his desk is a multitude of security screens, all focusing on different areas of the base. You wonder if those had always been there, or if it was something Mr. Tarkin had specifically requested.  

“Hello again ladies.” Speak of the devil, the man himself walks in after you, his attention seemingly needed elsewhere when he had sent the request for you to visit.

“Good morning Mr. Tarkin, how may we help you?” Gwen asks, as he rounds the table and sits down.

He doesn’t offer for you to sit, so you don’t.

“I’ve been informed that it was the two of you who found my fingers.” Mr. Tarkin lifts his hand, which is heavily bandaged with hospital dressings. You’re grateful that it would appear to be completely covered with gauze, not an inch exposed.

“I did, yes.” You confirm, “They were under a cabinet, sir.”

Mr. Tarkin’s expression is unreadable, entirely stoic, composed.

“I cannot thank you enough.” He says, although there’s no hint of gratitude in his tone, “The hospital was able to reattach them, let’s hope it sticks.”

“Yes, sir.” You agree, flexing your own fingers behind your back. You couldn’t imagine having them hacked off and reattached, the whole thing felt very Frankenstein.

“Are you familiar with that particular lab, misses…?” Mr. Tarkin trails off, prompting you to introduce yourselves.

“(Y/L/N) and Psalm.” Gwen says, making Mr. Tarkin’s lip twitch.  

“Psalm?” He repeats, curious.

“Yes sir, it is an unconventional last name, I am aware.” She is ready for a challenge, but one never comes.

“We can’t help our names.” Mr. Tarkin cuts right to the chase, “Are you familiar with science labs, Miss Psalm?”

You and Gwen look at one another, and she looks back at him, meets his steely gaze with one of her own. Gwen had a bad habit of being openly antagonistic towards people – men particularly – who spoke down to her, or assumed her intelligence was lesser because she happened to be a beautiful woman. Too many men though you could either have big tits or a big brain, and Gwen didn’t give a shit how powerful or how high in the command chain someone was, she’d cut them down to size.

“Yes sir, we have the appropriate clearance levels, so we often are assigned to detail and sanitize the many intricate facilities at the base.” She says, voice clipped.  

“I know you have the clearance, I ran a check on the both of you myself.” Mr. Tarkin surprises you both once again by not immediately attempting to explain the type of work that goes on in the labs in a condescending manner. Instead he leans forward in his chair at his desk and regards you both carefully. “When you were cleaning and consequently finding my fingers, did you happen to get a good look at it? The Asset?”

“No sir.” You lie.

It’s not really a lie, not really. You hadn’t gotten as good of a look as you had wanted.

“How long have you and Miss Psalm known one another?” Mr. Tarkin returns his attention to you.

“About ten years now, if memory serves.” You look to your friend, and she nods in confirmation, so you’re more confident when you say, “As long as I’ve been working here.”

“Ten years, that’s mighty impressive.” Mr. Tarkin’s lip twitches again. “I’ve been reading your files. What, if you don’t mind my asking, possesses a pair of beautiful young women like yourselves, to spend the prime of their youth cleaning up other people’s messes?”

And there it was again, that notion of wasting one’s youth away. You grit your teeth but attempt to be polite, attempt to not lunge over the counter and strangle this man. You imagine the way his neck would feel snapped between your hands, wonder what he might look like with that cold mask contorted into one of pain.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this, but you get settled and find an environment that gives you what you need, fulfills you in some way, and you stick with it.” Gwen shrugs.

“How does being a custodian fulfill you, Miss (Y/L/N)?” Mr. Tarkin asks you, clearly trying to get a rise out of you.

“I like knowing that without people like me, this place would be a nightmare.” You say truthfully, a sharp gaze of your own cutting into his self-importance while your tone is kept light, unassuming. “Without people like me, people like you might not have had their fingers found.”

Mr. Tarkin regards you for a long while. You are not one to back down, and he seems to be realizing this.

“The Asset, whatever you think it is, it’s not.” Mr. Tarkin says as he stands up, puts his hands on his hips, careful of the bandages.

“We don’t think – ” Gwen starts, but apparently he wasn’t finished.

“When you’re assigned to clean, you clean, and then you get out. Is that clear? The thing we keep in there is an abomination, an aggressive and dangerous creature. I should know.” Mr. Tarkin raises his hand, but you don’t appreciate the way he talks about him, about the man in the tank.

“Is he not human, sir?” You ask.

That seems to be the wrong question.

“You clean, you get out.” He repeats himself once more.

“Yes sir, we understand.” You whisper, casting your eyes down in a faux submission to placate him.

He looks like he wants to say something else, but the red phone on the desk rings, and his attention snaps to that instead.

“You’re dismissed.” He waves you both away, “Close the door on your way out.”

 You do as your told, giving him an overly polite curtsy, partially to be dramatic and sarcastic, before closing the door.

You and Gwen hold your tongues until you make it to the elevators, and you wait for an empty one to come by before getting in, allowing other people ahead of you to pass the time.  

“I don’t like him.” You say, once an empty elevator car appears, and the doors close in front of you, sealing you both away from the office as the feeling of dropping whooshes through your stomach.

“Yeah me fucking neither.” Gwen grumbles, before taking in a deep breath and going, “Hey, I was wondering if I could ask you a question?”

“You just did.” You point out, making her roll her eyes.

“Don’t be difficult.” She scoffs, and your tone softens.

“Go for it.” You encourage her sincerely.

She’s nervous, you can tell by the way she picks at her nicely manicured hands, inspects them thoroughly for imperfections that don’t exist.

“Remember how I was telling you that yesterday I ran into Mary, you know Mary?” She asks, and you smile, deciding not to bring up how yes, you were the one who told Gwen her name earlier that morning.

“I know Mary.” You nod, wondering what all this is about.

“She asked me if I would be interested in spending some time with her, possibly share the second half of the shifts with her from now on.” Gwen admits, looking guilty, guilty for breaking a tradition the two of you have kept for a decade.

“Is she…?” You ask, gesturing at your friend in a manner that insinuates being gay like Gwen.

“I think so.” Gwen nods, speaks carefully, quietly. “And I think I would like her very much, if I got to know her.”

“Then what are you doing hanging around me for?” You smile at her, bump your hip against hers as the elevator doors open on the ground floor, and the two of you return to your carts which thankfully haven’t been touched or moved this entire time. “Go, I can talk to Parker and have lists switched around, if it all works out.”

Gwen pulls you into a tight hug, one that makes you worry for her in the same way that you worry about Armitage.

“I’m not abandoning you, I want you to know that up front. I fully intend to spend the first half of the shifts with you, but maybe after lunch we can go off. Maybe you can meet your Mr. Right that way, without me hanging around.” Gwen tries to justify her desires to herself, but you won’t have any of it.

You support her, wholeheartedly, even if it makes you a little sad. Her friendship means more to you than that, than holding her captive.

“Sounds like a plan Gwen, go get to know Mary.” You hug her back tightly, arms squeezed around this beautiful woman who deserves nothing but the best chances at a life that will make her happy.  

“Thank you, (Y/N).” She whispers, before taking a big breath and pushing her cart away in the opposite direction of where you would both normally walk together.

                                               -------------------

Walking down the long hallway deep in the bowels of the base, you find yourself in front of the lab once more. It’s strange, not having Gwen by your side, strange not having her to comment and complain in that familiar way. But it’s also not together unwelcome. You wonder if maybe, since you’re coming alone, the Asset will be more inclined to show himself.

Just as you’re about to scan your identification card however, the steel doors hiss open and out stumbles a screaming scientist. You aren’t sure which one this is, but he doesn’t make it more than a few steps, before the top half of his torso slides off of the bottom half, a clean slice through his body.

You cover your mouth and nose in shock at the sight, stifling your own gasp, as the man falls to the ground in two pieces. It is quite the scene, and you tuck yourself out of sight behind the large mechanical mechanism which operates the doors as those in the hallway begin to scream and run away.

More scientists rush around the fallen man, panicked and desperately calling for help.

You cannot stop looking at him though, because though he is severed into two, there is no blood. You smell the stench of burnt flesh and it makes you gag, and only then do you realize that whatever has murdered this man has done so in a way where the seams of his body are cauterized shut, sealed on impact.

People flood the hallway, and you make the quick decision in all the commotion, to slip through the steel doors just as they’re beginning to close.

You don’t know what compels you to do so, but you do, bracing yourself against the shut door when it hisses closed behind you.

Unlike the other day, there are no pools of blood sloshing about on the floor. The room looks a disaster, chairs and tables toppled over, papers strewn absolutely all over every surface. You quickly bend down and pick one up, read through it hastily.

Bacta, you read, that’s what this jell-o shit is. It’s not entirely dissimilar to jell-o at all, from the looks of the paperwork.

“Stage four bacta composition,” You speak it aloud so that it better sticks in your brain, “Testing for the aid in regenerative properties of biological tissue.”

They were healing him? Regenerating biological tissue…did that mean they were torturing him to see how fast this shit could fix him back again?

You put the paper down right where you found it, careful not to disturb anything else for the time being, as you approach the tank.

He’s floating there, unconscious. The bacta around him is still, and as a result it’s much more clear than it had been the other day. You figure the more he moves, the more it agitates the gel and makes it more difficult to see. But he is still, once again hooked up to a breathing mask and that collar, as he floats peacefully.

He must be sedated, that’s the only explanation. He had to be the one who had killed the scientist, and he must have been shut down for it. But you place your hands on the glass anyway, leaning in close.

This close, you can see some features of his face, and you decide yes, he must be handsome.

His hair is black and beautiful as it suspends around his face. Of his face you can only see his eyes, see how they are closed against the gel, lashes long and dark as they brush against his cheek. He has a couple beauty marks dotting the exposed skin, one above his eyebrow and one on his cheek. You trace the spots with your finger, dragging it against the tank, entranced.

His body is another marvel altogether, you decide, as your gaze travels downwards. He wears nothing but what looks like a pair of swim trunks, a small sense of modesty. He is exceptionally well built, muscular and strong. His arms and thighs look like he could crush your skull between them, and you smile to yourself at the thought that he probably would, if given the chance.

He’s…he’s just so wide. His stomach does not sport defined abs, but there is clear power in the muscle there, the absolute thickness of him. His shoulders look sturdy enough to carry a carload of people without breaking a sweat.

But the thing that somehow, for some reason breaks your heart, is he is absolutely littered in scars and bruises. Even his face, there is a healed gash peeking out from the mask which you think connects to the one that splits down his neck and onto his shoulder. His stomach looks like bullet-holes which have healed, scattered about and mingling with criss-crossing patterns of weapons designed for torture.

You wonder if he came with those, or if they’d be souvenirs he leaves with. You’re not so sure which is more sad.

You wonder if he will ever leave, if they’ll ever let him.

Your eyes fix themselves on a new wound, one that must have just been inflicted, and watch in awe as the bacta does what it’s designed to do.

You’ve never seen anything like this before, never in all your years at the base. You nearly press yourself to the tank, smudge the glass with your breath as you level your face with his torso. There is a deep wound, one that had carved its way down into the Asset’s bone, and you nearly can’t believe your eyes as you watch it heal.

The bacta penetrates the wound and stitches it closed, almost like magic. It works from the inside out, works to rebuild and grow the tissues in the layers of their importance, until in only a matter of minutes, it is completely smooth, the only sign of any sort of injury being freshly pink skin.

And then, almost as if he knows, as if he can sense you, he raises his hand and presses it against the glass.

You dart to stand up once more, having been crouching in front of his stomach to watch the mesmerizing process of the bacta healing. His eyes are still closed, and he doesn’t move aside from his hand, and you wonder if it hurts, if it’s painful to regrow tissue that quickly.

Outside the door you hear talking, footsteps. And though they don’t stop in front of the lab, it’s a reminder that you’re not technically supposed to be here now, you’re not technically assigned to clean in this moment.

“I have to go.” You tell him, even though he can’t hear you – both because he’s asleep, and because he’s behind bulletproof glass. “I have to go but I’ll come back, okay? Tomorrow I’ll come back.”

You collect yourself and leave his side, leave the tank. You try your best not to step on anything, not to disturb any of the toppled furniture, not to make a sound. It aches you to leave him, but you know that he doesn’t even know you’re there to begin with.

You scan the identification card and wait for the blast doors to open, and without a look back, you leave.

You don’t see it, but his hand tenses against the glass, a silent plea for you to stay.

                                               -------------------

Once back at home, you make a beeline for the bathroom. There’s so much to process from the day, so much from the engine rooms, from the paperwork and the white boards and and and. There’s so much change all at once, and you’re still a little sad at the change in your routine, a routine which you held so dearly, now that Gwen has met someone new.

You drop your bags in the living room, put your shoes in their cubby on your way to the small bathroom where you plug the drain and turn on the leaky faucet.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, really stare at your face. You looked like you could use some care, and that was exactly what you intended to provide for yourself, care where no one else could. Armitage could have that handsome brunette, and Gwen could have the kind Mary, and you could have yourself, there was nothing wrong with that.

With the tub filled, you shut off all the lights, encased in darkness. Carefully, you shed your clothes, letting them pool on the floor at your feet, before taking a few steps into the tub and situating yourself in the nearly too-hot water. You close your eyes even though you don’t need to, you don’t, not with the lights off, every sunbeam sealed away.

It’s a beautiful familiarity, floating there in the dark.

It feels like you’re supposed to be there, like this is the world you belong in. Not the desert, not America, not planet Earth. In your mind’s eye, you can see the stars twinkling at you, a galaxy laid before you ready for the taking.

It pulls you, draws you in, and before you can even decide upon touching yourself, your hands slide down your body, smoothing over every curve and contour in the water. You can’t stop a smile from teasing the corners of your mouth as your body responds so quickly to your intentions.

You hadn’t had a chance to do this in a while, and the stress of the day melts away under your fingers as your legs part easily. You fit perfectly in this tub, perfectly enough that you can bend your leg in a manner that has your hips open without having to stick your foot out of the water. The shock of the air conditioning would be too jarring, you think, as you let yourself get wrapped up in it all.

You feel weightless in the bathtub, absolutely weightless, and you wonder if this is how the cosmonauts must feel, bouncing around in a vacuum of time and space.

You moan softly, as your fingers work inside of your body, sliding in and out of your pussy with care. You’re unhurried, in no rush to get yourself off. You want to savor this, savor the velvety feeling of your own pleasure. Your other hand trails back up your stomach, and you cup a breast in your palm, giving it a squeeze that has you moaning a little louder, your fingers teasing at your nipple and clit at the same time.

Your breath comes a little faster as you stroke your walls, finding a rhythm that has your hips lifting into your hand, has your thighs trembling. Everything feels a million miles away, everything aside from the curling heat that builds in the pit of your stomach, that blooms through you.

You bite at your lip, your cheeks, groans and moans and pants and gasps filling the vast expanse of inky blackness all around you.

You grin, because though you are not asleep, the familiar glow of red light behind your eyelids beckons you, and your pussy throbs for it. You can’t suppress a moan, so pleased, that the dream is returning to you, that familiar welcoming light that you want so badly to walk towards.

It’s just out of reach, and you cling to it, cling to the vision of it.

In your mind, ribbons of red silk wind around your hands once more, but this time, they don’t pull you forward over a threshold into the unknown. No, instead they focus their attention on your body, tugging your hands back down to pleasure yourself, seemingly having stopped to revel in the joy of the dream returning to you once more.

You are eager to get yourself off, an orgasm would make this the most perfect way to unwind. You pinch and roll gently at your clit and your chest presses out of the water as you moan, nipples stiff and desperate for some friction.

Before you can tweak your own nipple, that invisible force caresses your flesh, sends shudders down your spine as your fingers rub and circle your pussy. You lick your lips and give yourself over to the feeling of the hand on your body. It is so confident in the way it touches you that you know it can’t be real, can’t be more than your own imagination.

When you do come, it’s such a slow build that it washes over you, peaceful and calm. It, much like the darkness in your mind, the darkness which once more begs for you to join, envelops you completely, from the top of your head all the way down to your toes which curl against the porcelain.

Your body relaxes completely in the water, water which has now began to run cool. You’re sweating, whether from the steam of the room or the orgasm you gave yourself, you’re not sure. You don’t care, you’ve got no one to impress in that moment, no one to look good for.

You ride out the bliss for as long as you can, before the reality of the world comes creeping in and your exhaustion from the day settles into your bones. You have to get out of the tub before you fall asleep there, you know. So, carefully, you open your eyes to the dark of the bathroom and unplug the drain, turn on the shower to wash and rinse off.

 Once you’ve crawled into your bed and have the sleep-mask securely over your eyes to block out the setting sun, you fall almost immediately asleep.

 The dream is different this time. Very much the same, but different.

You are walking through the stars once again, they twinkle at you, greeting you happily, as if they are just as glad to see you as you are them. You approach the edge of the universe without a hint of fear, but this time, this time there is no man on the other side. No figure, no ribbons of smoke to reach out for, no figure to greet.

Instead, there are the jumbled sounds of what you recognize as your voice, echoing words that you spoke that day.

I’ll come back…….. I’ll come back………… I’ll come back……….

Seemingly on a loop, the words come from all sides, above and below. They wrap themselves around you, but they are distorted, distorted from a lack of understanding, confusion. You don’t know how to explain it, how the feeling of your words is confused, but it’s almost as if the darkness doesn’t know what that means.

You think of him, of the man whom you gave these words.

You wonder if he had heard them, or if he had been dreaming too. You wonder what he dreams about, wonder what plagues his own mind. You wonder what his name is, what he sounds like, what jokes he likes to tell.

“I’ll come back,” You agree into the dark, promising the world around you, and everything it holds.

And you can feel the world thrumming, can feel it singing in your bones, echoing your words back to you with so much joy that you almost miss a face, half hidden behind a breathing mask, floating some million miles away.

Almost.

You smile at him, at the face which your brain has assigned the figure beyond the red veil, and though his mouth is hidden by the mask, you can tell.

You can tell he’s smiling back.

                                             -------------------

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[tsarisfanfiction]

Treasured Family: Chapter 3

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Scott, John, Alan, Gordon, Virgil

Scott's day hadn't gone well, and was about to get worse. John doesn't care for that, and Alan makes a good accomplice. Post-Episode Tag for 3.22 "Buried Treasure"

Previous chapter

When Scott wasn't waiting in the den for a debrief, Gordon's scowl deepened. Behind him, banging away at the poor piano in a way that almost made him wince, Virgil made his own displeasure at their eldest brother's absence known. They knew Scott was home – Thunderbird One hadn't been so far ahead of them that they hadn't seen her land, and a trail of mud Grandma was muttering at darkly leading from her hanger up towards the bedrooms plainly stated where he had gone.

Scott was hiding from them, and Gordon's frustration at him bubbled higher. Why did Scott bother hanging back with Two uncomfortably if he was going to ignore them as soon as they got home? If he needed his space to come to terms with why exactly he'd messed up, why hadn't he zoomed off at Mach ridiculous to sulk before they got back?

Of course, it wasn't that simple, and Gordon knew it. While Virgil fumed about inconsiderate brothers and insincere apologies, Gordon was well aware that the genuine culprit for his grievances was out of reach. He was just too mad at Scott for wrecking that one of a kind find to play with it. There were plenty of toys they could play with if he so desired. So maybe he was playing Virgil against Scott as part of his own vengeance, but he was getting fed up of Scott not listening to him.

"Hey guys."

Gordon blinked up at the hologram of his second eldest brother, who had materialised all of a sudden for no apparent reason. No International Rescue, we have a situation. Just hey guys.

His squid sense pickled.

"Not in the mood, John," Virgil grunted, not stopping his staccato rendition of… something. One of those pieces Gordon recognised but hell if you asked him to name it.

"Your topiary wasn't Scott's fault, you know," John pointed out, blunt and tactless in his annoying way. "I'm the one that told Gordon where to surface."

The piano didn't stop.

"I know," Virgil replied, a throwaway comment at odds with the angry piano. "I was still in the comms loop."

"Wait, what?" Gordon cut in, startled. He'd been sure Virgil was mad at Scott for that. What else did he even have to be mad at him about, if not the destruction of his art? Virgil always got foul after his art got ruined – a lesson he'd learnt the hard way.

"'The good news is the emergency's over'," Virgil mimicked. "Do you know how long it took me to calm the gardener down? And then Scott comes in and puts his foot in it and everything's back to square one."

"Tact has never been Scott's strong point," John pointed out. "You know this, Virgil."

"What are you trying to say, Johnny?" Gordon cut in, his squid sense still tingling away. "There's more to this than just us being mad at Scott. It's not like you to intervene when you know this'll all blow over in a few hours."

Sure, he was mad at Scott. And he really needed to have a talk with Scott about being listened to because a super rare collectable is one thing, but not being taken seriously on a mission is another entirely. He's still not entirely over Four being buried in sea sludge.

But they're family and he knows Scott's trying. It's impossible to stay truly mad at Scott for long when in a few hours he'll get up for a glass of water in the middle of the night and find him passed out at the desk because he's working himself too hard again.

John didn't protest at being called Johnny. The tingle turned into a full blown pins and needles.

The piano stopped.

"Brains freed the Mechanic while you were gone," John said, apropos of nothing. Unrelated. Except this was John and there's always a point with John, even if it's obscure. "The good news is that it worked."

"And the bad?" Virgil asked when he paused, flopping down on the sofa beside Gordon. A united front against older brothers, even if one of them was still notably absent from the conversation.

"The Hood found out about the T-Drive."

Well, shit. Gordon clenched his fist. Beside him, Virgil inhaled sharply.

"Scott knows?" his immediate brother asked. Gordon blinked when John shook his head.

"Not yet."

"He'd want to know." Virgil raked a hand through his gelled hair. Not a strand left its rigid positioning – Virgil liked to point out how much effort Scott put into his own hair, but Gordon knew who the real hair diva of the family was.

"I know."

Gordon squinted at John. His squid sense was still bothered.

"He's going to blow a fuse when he finds out you told us first," he pointed out. "Why?"

John rubbed his face, a tic he'd picked up from Scott years ago when particularly weary about something. He didn't use it anywhere near as much as Scott.

"Because today was the first time I've seen Scott happy in too long," he finally caved. "Since the Mechanic agreed to help us he's been sleeping better and his stress levels have reduced slightly. He played with that toy, Gordon."

Oh yes, Gordon was well aware of that. Taking a mint condition ancient collector's item out of its box was taboo yet Scott had torn it open without a second thought and immediately started to pull at its arms and watch it bounce back in delight. He'd looked like Alan then, for a moment.

Suddenly he realised what John was trying to say.

"I'm still mad about the figure," he said, crossing his arms. "I mean, come on. That was a once in a lifetime find! Who even does that?"

"I really am sorry I didn't take you seriously, Gordon."

He whirled around, hearing a muffled curse from Virgil as his brother did the same next to him. Scott was still in his uniform, far more splattered with mud than he remembered him being, but then again he'd been too busy talking with Scraps – and too mad at Scott – to really look at him after the mission. It seemed like being on the outside of the Dragonfly while the WRM chased them was far rougher than Scott had let on. Alan was bouncing beside him, controller clutched in one hand. It had traces of mud on it, too. Clearly their youngest brother had been on distraction duty.

"And Virgil," Scott was still talking. "I'm sorry your peacemaking with the gardener got ruined. And your… tree sculpture."

"Topiary," Virgil corrected, crossing his arms. "Next time, leave the bystanders to me. Or Gordon. Or even Alan."

"Hey!"

Scott chuckled, a sound Gordon had heard far too little of recently now John had him thinking about it.

"I can do that."

-----------

END

[bruciewayne]

mr. rogers & dr. stark

stevetony, teachers au, secret relationship

‘field trip’, @iron-man-bingo

-

“Okay, thanks for packing away earlier,” Steve starts, as a couple people are putting away some of their supplies, “as some of you may know, Dr. Banner and Dr. Stark’s classes are going on field trips and both of them have spare places, so everyone who’s doing ‘manmade’ for their projects, the blue sheets are for Dr. Stark’s trip, everyone who’s doing ‘natural’, the green sheets are for Dr. Banners.”

He hands out the sheets - he knows what everyone is doing, as he talks, “The physics trip is going to the motor museum on the Thursday and then the space center on Friday, the biology trip is going to the natural history museum and a couple other places. You don’t have to go, but it might be useful for some of you.”

“Mr. Rogers, are you going?” Peter asks - he’s a good kid, and Steve’s fairly sure that he’s going on the physics trip anyway.

“I’m going with Dr. Stark.”

There’s a flurry of laughter and groans, because if there’s anything they know about the interpersonal relationships between their teachers, it’s that Mr. Rogers and Dr. Stark do not get along. Not in a ‘detrimental to learning’ way, more of a ‘they irritate each other and everyone finds it hilarious’. 

“Why are you going with Dr. Stark if you don’t like him?” MJ asks.

And before Steve gets a chance to answer, the man in question walks in, “My ears are burning Rogers, what lies are you filling the youth of today with?”

“We’re talking about the trip, Mr. Stark,” Steve says, emphasis on the ‘Mr’.

“Doctor,” Tony hisses back, before there’s a loud crash in the direction of his classroom and he has to high-tail it out of there, with a cheery goodbye. He’s… eccentric, for lack of a better word, but he’s a good teacher, so that makes up for it.

“Anyway, Mr. Odinson is going on the bio trip, so I’m on physics. Any more questions?”

There’s a resounding ‘no’ from the class, so, after making sure that everything is tidy and put away properly, he lets them go a couple minutes early, it’s Friday and he wants to go home too. 

When everyone’s gone, and it’s long past the end of the school day, he settles down to do some marking but Tony comes back in, sitting right on his lap.

“Hi.”

“Hello,” Steve says, laughing and tightening his arms around his waist, “Mr. Stark.”

Tony scowls, annoyed, but kisses him anyway, “I prefer husband.”

Steve hums, “Me too.” They sit like that in silence for a bit, Tony fully wrapping himself around Steve, cuddling into his chest - he locked the door when he came in and shut the blinds. They’re not particularly ashamed of their relationship, the staff know, and the school is incredibly accepting and diverse, but it’s just fun, sneaking around like this.

“I can’t believe we’re going on a science date and I can’t even hold your hand,” Tony grumbles, apropos of nothing.

“It doesn’t count as a science date if there’s 30 kids coming,” Steve says, laughing, they’ve been to the space center together, early in their relationship, and Steve can’t remember a single thing about space he learned that day, in favour of Tony, and the way he talked and talked about space and told him more about how it worked, more than what was on the captions of the exhibits.

“Date-shmate,” Tony says, shrugging and leaning halfway in for a kiss. 

Steve closes the gap, “It’s gonna be hard,” he mumbles after they pull away.

“Hard?” Tony asks, teasing, with a barely-there roll of his hips. 

Steve very much ignores whatever Tony’s doing from the waist down when they’re at work, it’s in the best interests of everyone if he does.

“Hard not to do this,” he kisses Tony, full and on the lips, “and this,” he kisses his nose, “this,” cheek, “this,” jaw, “and this,” he nibbles gently on the hinge of his jaw, enough to draw blood under his skin, not enough to leave a bruise.

He pulls away, smiling, and gently shoves Tony off his lap so he’s standing up, but Steve keeps his arms around him, “You have essays to grade.”

Tony shakes his head in disbelief, “You’re such an ass, Rogers.”

Steve just grins - he’s not wrong, Tony refuses to take work home, so does Steve, and coming to see Steve just ends up being procrastination. 

He really should give them fewer essays.

“You love my ass,” Steve murmurs, looking up at Tony through his lashes and squeezing his butt, before he pushes him fully away.

“Tease,” Tony breathes, hands coming up to tug on Steve’s tie.

-

Later, Tony makes him pay for the teasing.

“Do you care that much, that none of the kids know about us?” Tony asks, when they’re lying in bed, trying to catch their breath.

Steve’s well used to this, Tony’s pillow talk usually ends up being something to do with what happened that day. Sometimes it’s something entirely left field. Yesterday, he brought up the merits of circle pizzas in square boxes.

“Nah.” In truth, Steve honestly doesn’t really have any reason to hide, other than the sneaking around is funny, and it’s basically habit now.

“Huh.” Tony says, and that could mean a myriad of things, so Steve just rolls over, pulls him flush to his chest and kisses the side of his neck.

“Sleep.”

-

Much later, it’s Thursday morning of the trip, about half of both classes are coming. Steve and Tony stand by the doors of the bus to sign in everyone. When everyone’s seated, Steve stands up at the front, “You’ll know who you’re in a room with when we get there, anyone misbehaves, you’ll be written off the rest of the trip this year, understood?”

When he receives a chorus of ‘Yes, sir’, he sits back down next to Tony and his phone bleeps seconds later.

You’re hot when you’re threatening kids

“Thanks,” he mutters, laughing, “are you just gonna text me for the rest of the trip?”

Unless you want me to tell everyone how much I want your dick right now

“Touché.”

For half of the ride, they’re undisturbed, Tony’s fallen asleep and Steve’s replying to emails on his phone.

Tony stirs, and tucks himself into Steve on instinct - they’re at the front of the coach with a couple rows between them and the kids, “Morning.”

“Not quite,” Steve says, running his hand through his soft, curly, brown hair.

“Ugh,” Tony groans, taking stock of where they were and the road signs outside.

“Hey Dr. Stark!”

Tony does not jump, nor scream, nor yell, because he’s a grown man who doesn’t get spooked by oddly quiet teenagers. He jabs Steve with his elbow in his ribs when he sees him trying, and failing to hide a smile.

“Sorry,” RiRi says, not sounding particularly sorry, “anyway, Peter wanted to know--” “Everyone wants to know!” “--everyone wanted to know if you’re married. Are you?”

“Happily,” Tony says, grouchily.

“Don’t mind him, he’s cranky when he wakes up,” Steve says, grinning at her.

“Are you, Mr. Rogers?” 

Before Steve can respond, Tony takes the question for him, “Nope. One personal question an hour. Ask him about Picasso, or something.”

Steve just shrugs helplessly, RiRi’s not one of his students this year, and she seems to respect Tony enough to go back to her friends and tell them of Tony’s marital status.

They don’t get any more questions until they get to the motor museum.

“Okay, make sure no one wanders off alone, keep in groups or pairs, you can leave your stuff on the bus, but it’s going to be locked until we leave, so take your lunch. Meet back here at quarter to six,” Steve says to everyone before they got off.

“Make sure to take photos and jot down anything you need,” Tony adds.

When everyone gets off, they hand them an emergency contact card, “Remember, me and Mr. Rogers will be around, call us if you need help, or if someone’s injured.”

“I can’t believe they gave us a flip phone,” Tony mutters as they’re left alone, flipping the emergency phone in his hands.

“It’s cheap and lasts a million years, and doesn’t get broken,” Steve reasons, although they both know that he’ll never get Tony to admit that the flip phone is a decent phone. It’s good for its current purpose, but Tony shoves it in Steve’s hands anyway. The sight of it makes him want to start sending carrier pigeons to his lover.

Steve, a Brooklynite, probably would appreciate pigeons.

They wander around the museum for a bit, then sit in the car wing on a bench. Steve does a few observations and Tony flicks through something on his phone.

“Mr. Rogers, can we ask you if you’re married now?”

Tony doesn’t jump this time, but it’s a near thing.

“I am.”

“He’s a looker too,” Tony adds, nudging Steve, who rolls his eyes.

The ‘he’ catches a few of them out, but Steve’s been out, personally and professionally for a good few years now anyway.

“Better looking than yours?” Steve asks Tony.

“You may have decent taste, but mine’s far better,” Tony grins.

The revving of an engine distracts them and they disappear off to watch a demonstration. With the exception of America.

“Dr. Stark,” she starts when Steve goes to the other side of the room, “do you not like Mr. Rogers because he has a husband?”

“What, oh, god no, I have a husband,” Tony says in a rush, “I don’t hate Mr. Rogers, all of this is just teasing, banter, if you may.”

“Good,” she says, and with that, walks away, jogging a little to catch up with her friends.

Tony walks up to Steve, wrapping an arm around him to announce his presence.

“You know, I think it’s about time we come out.”

(When they do, they see money, and other trade goods, pass hands of both students and staff.)

--

iron man bingo masterpost

tell me what you thought?

[chemicalmagecraft]

I Would Totally Kick Jiraiya’s Butt Chapter 4

A/N: Same as last time, thanks to whoever put me in a community. Still don't know what those are, but I figure it's a good thing.

Apropos to nothing, but apparently that bumpy thing on my ear that I mentioned in the last chapter is called a Darwin's tubercle. Fun fact.

kukukuku~

I yawned. I probably shouldn't have stayed up so late, and using my Shōraigan apparently didn't help. "You wanted to see me?" I asked as I sat down. Hiashi had told Hinata to tell me to meet him in his office (I was actually already on my way there because future vision), which currently was empty except for him.

Hiashi nodded, then took a sip of his tea. "First, would you like some tea?" He gestured at a cup of tea obviously set out for me. I cautiously took a sip, not wanting to be rude, then gagged. Seriously, how do people drink something that bitter? "Not a big tea fan, I guess..." he muttered to himself. I wordlessly pushed the cup away from me, relying on my look of disgust to indicate that he was right. "I wished to see if you have the ability to sense chakra, as you requested. Before that, however, I want to know if you have any more observations about your eyes."

I smirked. "Well first off, and I know that this isn't my eyes, but it's eye-adjacent, soooo..." My smile grew slightly as I channeled a small amount of chakra into the white markings on my eye rings like I did when I activated my Shōraigan, causing the markings to light up like little flashlights for a second. "I know that future sight is objectively the better power, but I still really like this. I'm also hoping that I can somehow turn this into some sort of offensive jutsu somehow, maybe something like Storm Release: Laser Circus."

Hiashi frowned. "Isn't Storm Release a Kekkei Genkai?" My smug grin returned, which caused him to chuckle. "Ah, right. I'll see if I can find..." He trailed off, then sighed. "I honestly have no idea what we could do for that aside from testing the hand seals used in similar jutsu and perhaps adding elemental chakra in to see if that does anything, but if I somehow come across anything, I'll let you know."

"Thanks. I also figured out that I can displace my senses in just space and not time, which I can use to spy on people undetected. So far, I've noticed no upper limit to the range of that, so if there is one, it's already far enough away that I can see other hidden villages without any problems. I guess that displacing my vision in space is a lot less ludicrous than displacing my vision in time. I've also noticed that, for some reason, it's easiest to view a future where I don't exist, if that makes sense." In other words, canon. "With me, I can reliably see about a day into the future. Without me, I've managed to see about thirteen years into the future. I'm sure that I can improve both over time, though."

Hiashi frowned. "Such a powerful dōjutsu... using it must have some drawback."

I rolled my eyes and licked my lips. "The Rinnegan only really has a major downside aside from chakra drain if you start using the Outer Path, which 'just' leaves you with summoning everything and anything, turning your body parts into highly advanced technology, attraction and repulsion powers that can be utilized at a magnitude high enough to level a hidden village, sucking up chakra fast enough to destroy and stop ninjutsu, stealing people's souls to read their minds, and some sort of 'if you lie, you die' jutsu. Probably other stuff, too."

Hiashi gaped. "The Rinnegan is real?" he asked with disbelief.

"Yeeeup," I said, making a popping noise with the "p" sound. "I mean, the Shōraigan totally has a weakness, but the Rinnegan isn't a myth."

He frowned. "Why did you mention the Rinnegan, then?"

"I just wanted to see your reaction," I admitted with a chuckle. He sighed. "The downside of the Shōraigan is that using it makes me really tired." Okay, this is the part where I explain something. I've always had a rather... unhealthy relationship with sleep. If something interests me enough, I have a tendency to get really absorbed into it and end up getting to bed super late or just not sleeping at all sometimes. That used to mean reading, YouTube videos, or watching anime, but now that I was in a world where I couldn't do two of those and didn't yet have much access to the other, that meant chakra and jutsu practice. I'd noticed early on that I just wasn't getting tired after sneaking out stupid late hours a couple of times to practice chakra control when I couldn't sleep (even though I still sucked at being a morning person), so I ended up staying up a whole night doing nothing but chakra exercises with intermittent breaks to let my chakra regenerate as a test. Then I stayed up the next day when I felt totally fine. And the next day. And the next day. It took five whole days (literally) for me to start to feel really tired, which I had, at the time, chalked up to having abnormal amounts of mental energy or something combined with already having a lot of experience with not falling asleep or something like that. But now, though... "I got decent sleep yesterday, but I feel like I've been up for almost a week now."

For the fourth time, Hiashi looked as if his brain bluescreened because of something I said. I was honestly starting to feel a little bad for him at this point. Did he get a concussion recently? "Repeat that last part again?"

It didn't stop me from laughing internally as I answered, though. "I got decent sleep yesterday, but I feel like I've been up for almost a week," I said, as if I was the one speaking to a child. It's not like a small child with my eyes but not my memories would realize anything was wrong with how weird my sleep schedule was without being told, which I was not.

He gave me a concerned look. "How are you still awake?"

I gave him a quizzical head tilt. "I'm not really sure what you..." Pause for idea to form... light bulb expression... "Maybe I don't get sleepy. I remember you said that Kekkei Genkai users have better chakra reserves so they can use their Kekkei Genkai. Maybe the Shōraigan has something similar, but with getting tired." I placed a finger on my chin. "Do people get tired after not sleeping for a day?"

"Yes, yes they do. Your theory is... plausible." Hiashi speculated. "Hyūga are resistant to eye strain and sensory overload, which is a must for using the Byakugan. How much did you use your eyes last night?"

"I spent... like two or three hours testing out my future vision and remote viewing. I found out that I can speed up my future sight, which may have affected how tired it made me."

"How much?"

"I can tell you every noteworthy event that's going to happen in Konohagakure no Sato within the next twenty-four hours, some of the goings-on of other major villages in that same time period," Found out that Gaara didn't have his love tat yet and looked in on the other jinchuriki, "and major events within the next thirteen." Okay, I did review some stuff, so that's technically true.

"What else did you do that made you stay up so late?" he asked.

"Jutsu practice, writing down everything I thought I should tell the Hokage, existential horror, trying to shoot lasers out of my markings, and trying to make other new jutsu," I listed off.

"What was that third one?"

"Lasers are awesome. Weren't you going to teach me how to sensor?"

He chuckled. "Fine, just make sure to get some rest later and don't stay up more than three days in a row." He paused for a moment, then said, "I feel like that isn't the sort of thing that a parent normally tells his child... As for chakra sensing, I want you to start by trying to feel the chakra that I'm going to produce." He held his hand out to me, making chakra emanate from his palm. "Hold your hand out if you have to feel it better, just don't touch the chakra." I held out my hand and started to feel... something from it. "Do you feel it?" I nodded. "Good, now close your eyes. Concentrate on how it feels." I did as he asked, sticking my tongue out a little in concentration. "Good. I'm going to pull my chakra away from you a bit, so try to keep feeling the chakra." I already knew where this was going, so I wasn't surprised at all when I heard his voice from across the room a few minutes later, saying, "Now open your eyes." I saw him standing on the far side of the room. "Did you feel it?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

He gave me a small, but warm smile. "Great, that's the first step. You have the potential."

kukukuku~

"I have a question," I told Hiashi as switched to lying on my stomach on the floor and started lazily kicking my legs into the air. I'd just finished another session with Kakashi where he'd taught me the basics of genjutsu, as Hiashi had asked him. I'd... almost gotten yin release down and could already disrupt some genjutsu. Sure, it was super low-leveled genjutsu, but I was looking on the bright side. I knew illusion powers.

"What is it, Kouki-kun?" he asked.

"What are you going to do about the Caged Bird Seal?"

Hiashi sighed. "Ideally, I'd like to replace it with a seal actually meant to protect our bloodline, but the only seal masters in the Hyūga family are too stuck in their ways to even consider it and nobody would trust a seal not made by a Hyūga."

I licked my lips. Exactly the dialogue prompt that I wanted. "So it has to be a Hyūga, but there aren't any Hyūga seal masters that you can trust enough to do it." I faux-sighed and exaggeratedly pretended to be annoyed with the implication. "Fiiiiiine, I guess I just have to do it myself."

"What?"

"I'm being raised by the Hyūga clan head, so hopefully I'll gain the trust of the family within time. It wouldn't look suspicious at all for me to learn about seals, seeing how I've already persuaded you to get me knowledge on the subjects of ninjutsu, genjutsu, sensing, and maybe eventually healing. Plus, we've already established that I can stay up for three nights in a row without needing to sleep at all, so that might make me able to learn faster," I listed off.

He stared at me. "You planned this, didn't you?"

I smirked and placed my hand on my chest. "Why father! Are you suggesting, perchance, that I knew you would say that and thus decided to use it as an opportunity to persuade you to have me taught in the ways of sealing?" I smiled slightly at him for a second, then said, "Because if so, I did and I am." He laughed and ruffled my hair. "Hey!" I yelled.

"You're lucky you're cute," he told me.

"Curses!" I shouted. "My attempts to be taken seriously have been thwarted by my cuteness yet again." He just laughed.

kukukuku~

Sarutobi Hiruzen sighed. He had had a very long day. In addition to the usual paperwork of the Hokage, he'd needed to deal with his advisors and their complete inability to realize why it was a terrible idea to declare war on Kumogakure. Again. Yes, a Kumo-nin had tried to kidnap the Hyūga child, but the Raikage himself had said that the man was acting rogue and the Hyūga clan head said that it was fine so long as another incident like that didn't happen. He took off his hat as he finally entered his bedroom, intent on finally getting to take a nice, long nap.

And then he saw the small child of doom sitting cross-legged on his futon. "Hiyah!" I told him.

"Hyūga Kouki," he sighed. "How did you get in here?"

"I'd say that your guards need to step up their game, but to be fair, I did cheat," I told him, quickly flashing him my eyes as explanation. With my eyes, it'd been pretty easy to know exactly what the patrol was. That, plus the fact that I have really good ears to hear when they were close, made stealthing my way into the Hokage's room pretty easy. My ears were more sensitive than I remembered them being, but I'm pretty sure that that one was just the fact that I was younger and hadn't had to deal with The Loudmouth and Crazy McBarksalot. Seriously, I love my little sister, but the best way I can think of to describe her is a younger, female Present Mic with a weaker Quirk and who doesn't talk like a radio show host all the time. Our dog is cute, too, but she's literally barking mad. "Do you want to know why I'm here?" I asked him.

He sighed. "I'm sure you have some grand revelation that's going to leave me questioning everything again."

"Bingo," I said. "First, though, I have to give you my official first bit of advice as your advisor." He nodded and stared at me intently. "You really shouldn't have made some random kid your advisor just because he could see the future. You got lucky that I'm so wise beyond my years."

"I was thinking more about later, when you have more experience, but it's good to know that you're good enough to realize the flaws in my decisions now," he retorted.

"True, buuuut there's also the fact that you have no idea what my intentions are," I countered. "For all you know, I could resent the people of the village for their terrible treatment of Naru-chan. In fact, I do resent them somewhat, but I just forgive them enough to not want to do something stupid. I only resent them enough to want to make them see how horrible their actions are and feel despair from it."

Sarutobi nodded. "I thought of that, but I also decided that if you saved Hinata-chan in the way you did, then your intentions must be good."

I rested my cheek on my hand, my elbow on my leg. "Or I could have just used the incident to get into your good graces. For all you know, I could've unlocked my Shōraigan before the Hyūga incident and planned that all out in advance."

"Your point is?" It wasn't angry or anything, just resigned.

"I'd take my advice with a grain of salt if I were you. Sure, I could just be super upfront about everything, but I could also just be doing all this to lull you into a false sense of security. Best to be careful."

"Okay..." he said. I laughed to myself. He was starting to look confused. "What are your intentions, then?"

I took out my journal, now full of every major event and character that I could think of from Naruto and details about them. "In this book, there are several major events that I plan to stop or mitigate the fallout of." I offered it to him. "Read it all, please."

He took the book and began to leaf through the pages of it. "When did you learn to read and write this well?" he asked me. It was a fair question. Despite the fact that we were speaking Japanese and everything was written in Japanese, I was fully capable of comprehending it all as well as I comprehended English (don't ask how the puns work, just don't). My guess was that author!Me just made me able to speak Japanese and didn't adjust my skill to be at my age level. That guy's a lazy jerk, y'know? At any rate, that wouldn't be a good answer for him for multiple reasons. I would have paused to think of an answer if I hadn't seen this whole exchange already.

"I used my eyes to find someone teaching a kid how to read. Managed to get really good from that, somehow." I should probably be disturbed by how well and how nonchalantly I can lie if I have it planned out in advance, but meh. It's probably a good skill for a ninja, anyway. "I think that we should start by doing something about Gaara, then the Uchiha incident, and then start worrying about the invasion," I suggested. "By the way, just in case, you really shouldn't just arrest the people involved immediately. Some of them have yet to do anything. Just be wary of them until you can prove that they've done a punishable offense or are about to do a punishable offense."

"I know that. If I may ask, why would you suggest helping Sunagakure if you know they're going to betray us?" I could tell that it was more of a "test his character" question than a "give me one good reason" question.

"Gaara doesn't deserve it, Suna could be less likely to betray us if we help them, and Gaara and I are raccoon-eye buddies," I listed.

He blinked at that last one. "Raccoon-eye buddies?"

"He has markings around his eyes and I have markings around my eyes," I explained like it was the most obvious thing ever. "I mean, it's as plain as the markings my face." Sarutobi sighed at that.

"What could we even do for Gaara?" he asked, looking at his entry.

"I'm hopefully going to learn about seals, so I'm going to try using my Shōraigan and maybe an unconscious Naru-chan to figure something out if I get good enough. Speaking of that, I don't suppose you could get me some sealing notes from an Uzumaki? Preferably something about Biju-sealing?"

"If you think it'll help, then fine, I'll see what I can do. Having another seal master loyal to Konoha is always a good thing. Are there any other things that you'd like?"

"Jutsu scrolls for Transparency Jutsu, and if you can get them, Earth Release: Earth Spears and Earth Release: Underground Projection Fish or jutsu like them. Preferably the fish one because it doesn't disturb the earth and looks super cool." He nodded. "Next, I'd like to say something that I thought of that could help with the Uchiha incident."

"If you think it might help."

"Set up a council of advisors with clan heads, other important shinobi, and elected civilian heads," I advised. "Put more than one highly competent Uchiha on the non-clan shinobi council so that it appeases the Uchiha."

"I'll think about it. If that is all, shouldn't you be off to bed? I'm sure your father's worried about you."

I laughed, then started preparing chakra threads so I could Spider-Man away from there. "He knows I'm here. I still should be going, though. The next time window where I can leave is right... about..." Instead of finishing that thought, I jumped out the window into the night, leaving behind a note that said, "Is there any reason why you don't use shadow clones for paperwork?" I didn't see it, but I knew that he was hitting himself as he read it. Because Shōraigan.

kukukuku~

I got up and stretched for a bit. Sure, that book on seals that Father got me was really interesting, but I couldn't just sit still the whole night. I was amazed at how intuitive it was. It was like what little I'd learned of how to code, but I had yet to lose interest in it because I was learning how to code what was essentially magic. I'd already managed to make a basic seal that just glowed when you put chakra in it. Sure, I could do that myself, but I did it by hacking the universe! That's even cooler than flashlight eyes! Plus it was apparently the first step in making paper bombs (converts chakra into radiant energy, change it to a burst of thermal and kinetic). I did some of my exercises, making sure to be quiet so as not to wake anyone up. 

When I was done, I reached out my senses, hoping to practice my chakra-sensing. It'd been a few weeks since Father had first started me on my chakra-sensing training and I could already sense people by their chakra at a good distance. Sure, I had to concentrate really hard to do it, but I could sense people. From a distance! It was so cool! I always thought that characters in shows with those powers that allow them to tell where people are were really cool, and it was even cooler to be doing to sensing myself! I did a sweep of the general area that I knew the orphanage was in. I figured that it'd be easier trying to pinpoint a specific person in a group if I started first with the ridiculous chakra beacon that was Naru-chan. He wasn't quite as ridiculous as he would be in ten years, but in an orphanage full of untrained children and with him having already practiced chakra? I found him almost immediately. I remembered what Karin said about him. Even now, his chakra had that warm glow to it that Karin had felt. I "looked" more closely and felt the seething and sinister chakra of Kurama boiling inside of him. I honestly felt bad for him. I'm pretty sure that in every incident that caused Kurama to have a reputation as a mindless, rampaging beast, he was just controlled by some jerk Uchiha calling himself Madara. Plus, he was sealed in someone for about one lifetime, then transferred to another person, this one with the nickname "Red-Hot Habanero," then when he was finally freed to stretch his legs he was mind-controlled by that masked jerk who I'm pretty sure is actually Obito, then split in half and sealed in an infant. I'd certainly be grumpy if that happened to me. 

"A human who actually cares what a bijū thinks. Now that's a first," a deep voice said from within my head. I suddenly felt like I was falling, and found myself in a familiar-looking... was it supposed to be a sewer? Thankfully, this time around the floor wasn't wet, though there were two canals on either side of the spacious room where the mind water flowed. I looked up at the giant fox. "Hello, Kurama," I greeted him.

"Tch. So you are the seer boy my jailor is so fond of," he said. "I should've realized that you would find some way to get in here."

"The word 'jailor' implies that Naru-chan is aware of your presence and is willingly keeping you here," I corrected, then sat down. "If anything, he's a jail."

"That doesn't change the fact that I'm stuck in here until the seal weakens."

"True," I said. "While I can't outright destroy Naru-chan's seal to set you free, seeing as that would kill him and brand me a traitor to Konoha, I'd like to help you"

"Feh. You just want to get on my good side so you can use me for something," he scoffed.

I licked my lips. "I admit that I would like to pick your brains on the subject of seals, considering how you were inside two Uzumaki, one of whom had Namikaze Minato inside of her," at this point Kurama started laughing hysterically. I waited for him to stop and then continued, "But I'll only do that if you want to. No coercion aside from trying to be nice to you, which you are also totally free to refuse, though I feel that I should remind you that I seem to be the only one aside from Naru-chan capable of entering here. Do you know anything about that, by the way?"

He blinked. "I thought that you were using some sort of jutsu meant to contact me."

I shrugged. "I just used chakra-sensing on Naru-chan and got here somehow. I figured that you had something to do with that, what with your bijū telepathy and all."

"I can't use that unless I'm close to another bijū or Naruto lets me. It'd have to have been you."

"Huh," I said. "I'm starting to think that I was exposed to your chakra back when that intangible guy I doubt isn't actually Uchiha Obito took control of you and... absorbed it, I guess. It'd explain how my eyes can turn red and why I have more chakra than I probably should. Could be the reason behind my Shōraigan. It also sounds like the kind of stupid twist that I'd write in a Naruto SI fic, which also corroborates that theory."

Kurama stared at me, and I felt like his eyes were piercing deep into my soul. "I don't know what that last thing you said means, but I do sense some of my chakra on you. It's disproportionally yin, which explains why you were able to use bijū telepathy despite not actively using any of it, but you seem to have been soaked in enough of my chakra that you now naturally produce small amounts of it." That was exactly my headcanon on how Sora, Ginkaku, and Kinkaku worked. I wonder why I was right. It almost seemed like I was the one writing it... "How that happened to specifically you, I don't know, though I suppose if you were only an infant, then you'd need a lot less to get to that point. Perhaps you were just close enough to me that the chakra I gave off was enough."

I blinked. "Did you just... scan me?"

"I used the link you so graciously provided me to sense your chakra, yes."

I tapped my lip with my finger. "Stare into the abyss and it stares back..." I muttered. "Say, what do you think I could do with your chakra?"

"Back when I had actual yin chakra, I could use it to easily use genjutsu, at least easily for me. I have no doubts that you could use my chakra to increase your ability to use genjutsu. You could also probably use it to telepathically communicate with other humans, and perhaps even use my malice-sensing with your chakra sensing. Can I ask you a favor?"

"Did you miss the part where I literally said that I would do things for you with no expectation of anything in return?" I snarked, giving him a flat look. "Because last I checked, that's exactly what a favor is."

He chuckled lightly. "Because that asshole Minato sealed most of my yin chakra in himself with the Shiki Fujin, I'm currently at half power. I can't use it at the moment and I'm still cataclysmically powerful anyway, but my power is a matter of pride for me. Even now, my power is slowly regenerating, but it'd come back much faster if someone on the outside who was producing my yin chakra were to contribute. It won't be much, but it'll help. Just for added motivation, I'd have to teach you to use my yin chakra for you to do it and expending my yin chakra like that would increase not only your stores of human chakra but your ability to produce my chakra as well."

I licked my lips. "You do realize that you don't have to give me any motivation for me to help you like that, right?" I was silent for a moment, then thought of something. "How would I give you your yin chakra, anyway? Hiruzen had a point when he made you a secret from Naru-chan. The boy should be allowed a normal childhood."

He sighed loudly. "Fine. As much as I'd like to break the boy, I suppose I have to follow your rules if you're going to help me. You should be able to slowly but steadily transfuse small amounts of yin chakra into the boy through touch. It wouldn't be enough for any form of negative repercussion, and the seal will cause my chakra in his system to flow back to me when he's not using it. All you need is to learn how to use my chakra."

I nodded. "Okay." I thought for a few moments. "Hey, do you think that it'd be possible for me to use some sort of jutsu to, say, temporarily transfer your mind into some form of... I don't know, plush cat maybe?"

Kurama's eyes widened. He grinned, then started to laugh. "Heheheheh... HAHAHAHAHAHAH! I once made a seal to do exactly that after hearing Tobirama explain the Edo Tensei to my first jailor. I gave up on it after realizing that I would need someone with my chakra to use it, and there was no way that she would ever agree to that. You, however?" His grin widened. "I don't even care how limited my freedom would be. I'd be free!"

I smiled at him. "Good, good. I'll probably have to tell my father before we do it, though. I feel like he might want to know beforehand if I summon the mind of a giant demon fox that attacked the village to put in Fluffy-san."

He grumbled. "I suppose. You'd better give a very good argument as to why you should be allowed to do it."

"You said it's an idea you got from the Edo Tensei, right? I'm sure that Father would be at ease if I knew of a way to send you back without trouble."

"There is a set of seals that releases it like the Edo Tensei, yes. Beyond that, I wouldn't have any of my powers in that body and would eventually be sent back when I run out of chakra, which means that I'd be completely dependent on you. I suggest that you tell him that."

I nodded. "That seems like a good enough argument, especially if I mention how you were controlled during that one incident." I walked up to the bars of his cage and held my hand out to him. He stared at it. "It's called a handshake, though for you it'd be more of a clawshake."

"What?"

"It's something that people do when they agree on something, or something like that. All I know for sure is that it's a sign of respect." He blinked, then slowly held a single claw out to me. I grabbed it and shook it with both hands.

"You are most certainly the strangest human that I've ever met, and that includes the Sage of Six Paths, who had horns."

"Tseheheh~," I chuckled. "Is that really a bad thing?"

He huffed. "I never said that."

kukukuku~

A/N: Because apparently I can't resist giving my characters new and awesome powers. Just wait and see what I'm going to do to team seven (hint: Uzumaki Naruto is an Uzumaki). As for why I gave Kurama's yin chakra genjutsu boosting, I feel like every fox should have some kind of illusion or hallucination power. Even real-life, mundane foxes. Maybe they already do and they're just really sneaky about it.

Shout out to Ashes of the Past by Saphroneth. That's what inspired the scene for how to teach chakra-sensing, though it was slightly different. It just seemed like the logical first step in sensing chakra.

[eenefangirlanalysis]

Returning from our fourth commercial break viewers are presented with this really well drawn and animated sunflower field. These sun flowers add a unique touch to the scene. It feels as if they’re drawn in a unique way. Which is the purpose of this scene. 

Big Picture Show gives viewers new locations. We’ve been stuck in one spot for ten years. If we’re amazed at what we see then that’s how the Ed’s feel. They’re seeing the world for the first time. Through their eyes. Which is why the atmosphere feels so free, energetic, and calming. That’s what flowers do.

Oh look, a barn in the background.

Could the farmer who owns all those cows live there?

If so, that means that Ed’s have not gone far from the cow field.

I have never studied the locations in this movie until now. Which means, the kids aren’t far behind. They could have caught up with them if they weren’t distracted with their own needs. 

Since Rolf is all alone that is a much bigger distraction. We distract ourselves when we want to get things done. It would have made the movie better if Rolf did go along with Kevin and Nazz there would been less arguing and Rolf telling them to concentrate. Therefore, we wouldn’t have had a whole scene watching Rolf make an egg for himself. 

And then Kevin and Nazz wouldn’t be constantly bickering. Rolf tends to play the mediator between Kevin and Nazz. Kevin has always obsessed about his bike but it seemed a little out of character to always push Nazz to the side when they’re good friends.

Edd is walking through the field inspecting through a device that he prepared with objects from nature. This device is made out from sticks, leaves, maybe flat rocks, and water droplet to replace as a lens.

The Ed’s have always improvised with tools they don’t have. That is really inspiring and I hope that fans have noticed this. Everything may not come out the way you want it to. You have to improvise. That’s what I love about Edd. He is a unique inventor. 

As we would have learned through Edd’s confession he has been inventing since a young age. The dodge ball incident affected him greatly. I have a head canon that Edd’s parents never noticed that their child invented until the incident which game them a wrong impression about their son. They’ve always been too busy working or avoiding their son to observe his special talents.

And so Edd gave up inventing until he became friends with Ed and Eddy. They met as kids when Edd first moved into the neighborhood. My head canon is that the boys didn’t fully connect until some time late in the fourth grade. Have you ever noticed how they still feel as if they’re getting to know one another, or just Edd, through season 1? Ed and Eddy had no idea that Edd’s parents wrote to him through sticky notes. 

His friends inspired Edd to invent again. Eddy always gave him the credit he deserved before he started obsessing over becoming the best scam conniver like Bro. Eddy gave Edd new hope. He looks at himself in a more positive way. Still, he is unsure and holds back due to his past. 

Ed and Eddy are the best things that ever happened to Edd.

An excited Eddy calls out for Edd.

Aw, look at that smile Edd gives Eddy.

He’s so excited that he nearly runs past Edd and his to cling to his shirt.

Adorable.

Edd is protecting his device at all costs.

Eddy has something to show Edd when Ed rams into Eddy.

Once again these X marks appear in Eddy’s eyes and he grimaces.

And only Eddy is in pain upon the impact of falling to the ground.

I wonder if that means Eddy hurts more then he puts on. He always ignores pains. Eddy is one of the strongest people to ever walk the earth. He has taken so much pain and throws it into the shadows. He moves forward. That may not be the healthiest thing for Eddy as he is bottling all his failures and self esteem issues. You have to admire how he can put everything in the past and move on as if nothing happened.

Does that mean he’s going to have a tougher time post BPS now that his mask has been shattered?

“Oh, um....”

“Cute.”

Edd returns to his mature adult mask not wanting to lose focus. He has been given an important task. Which means he doesn’t want to let down Eddy if he really does want to locate his brother.

Letting someone down is not a part of Edd’s vocabulary. Especially a person who cares about him.

There will be a BIG line later on which implies so much about the relationship Edd has with his parents right now. I wonder if he still continues to do all those sticky note chores. Edd being who he is has to do them all. He has stopped relying on his parents mentally, but physically he needs to get all his chores done. He believes that his parents will one day come back into his life and act as if he’s their son for once.

Edd is about to walk away when Eddy pulls him back by his hat.

Look how freaked out Edd is. His hat was seconds away from slipping off his head.

I notice that Edd’s hat doesn’t stay suction cupped to his head along their journey. Edd needs to hold on to it. They may live in a cartoon world, but they’re facing reality. All children believe the cartoon world exists and will mimic dangerous stunts that happen in the shows they watch. 

This relates to the Ed’s. Living in a cartoon world would be the most amazing life to live. Except cartoon characters can’t have everything. There comes a point where their survival skills are tested. Edd can’t keep what is hidden under his hat a secret for long. This is the first time he has been out in the real world on his own. He feels vulnerable.

Eddy tares out this sunflower.

I love the animation on this, btw. It has a really unique feel in the movement.

And slams Ed in the face.

Eddy laughs hysterically at this scene holding himself against Edd who’s mouth turns into his ear for a moment.

Eddy loves causing trouble. He has to make it with the right people. Oh, he’ll learn his lesson during a famous scene.

“Uh Oh!” Literally this is the cutest Eddy reaction ever.

Eddy runs for it as Ed gives chase acting as if he were a ferocious lion.

Great facial expressions by Edd who is confused on how to act with his friends play. He needs to protect his invention at all costs.

“I AM THE MIGHTY AGAMUSHIN! I AM FROM OUTER SPACE!”

“Don't bite me, oh Agam... ah- whatcha-whatchamacallit!”

Eddy is so adorable throughout this scene.

This little scene is a callback to all the times where the Ed’s played with each other. There were openings to early episodes with them running through the fields, horsing around in the junkyard, and their famous signature dog pile. These were my favorite moment because they gave off the vibe of the show. 

Ed, Edd n Eddy is not just about three boys scamming neighborhood kids to buy jawbreakers. It’s about three outcasts trying to understand the world and each other. They’re kids who grow up too fast because they want to impress people who never respected them.

The Ed’s changed due to the people who affected them in their lives. These people made them have a negative outlook on themselves

I really want to take a minute and talk about Eddy’s character through this scene.

Eddy is usually annoyed with Ed’s antics or won’t play with him at all. He’ll just ignore it. This time away from the cul-de-sac is what he needed. He felt imprisoned with the constant bullying and harsh remarks.

Each Ed feels at peace. 

I remember in Look Before You Ed Eddy stared bewildered at Ed and Edd playing with one another. And then he grows angry. He fears that he gave up his childhood to do these pointless scams and mask a person who he disliked. Eddy has always regretted that. 

This journey is an opportunity to give Eddy a chance to be himself, enjoy life and be a kid.

@cyanidefilledcandy once analyzed this scene. I really liked the line she ended off with. The Ed’s escape from their imprisoned cul-de-sac gives them hope for a better life. They’re getting back in touch with their season 1 selves knowing they’ve become unlikable.

It’s a chance to reconnect. 

Edd is even giggling at Ed and Eddy’s play.

Edd Mentally made himself grow up. He wishes he could enjoy the days where he was kid. I love the way Edd acted through season 1 and 2. He actually initiated the dog pile in the first episode. He found a sense of belonging with Ed and Eddy.

Honestly, I think Edd misses those days. That’s why he’s laughing along at this scene. In the scene from Look Before You Ed that I mentioned above instead of rubbing off Ed’s play he plays along. This is the remainder of his childhood. And most of it was taken away.

Nice face, Edd.

“Agamushin. A forest substrate. How apropos.”

Apropos: Very appropriate to a particular situation.

Hmm? 

The lion is after the lamb bible passage?

[agentdagonet]

Echoes, Ch. 9

Find it here on AO3

Find it here on tumblr:  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Fic Summary: Feet dangling off the edge of the bed, hands still resting on the earpieces of his glasses, Eggsy opened his eyes.

       And promptly shut them again, screwing them shut like a child who had the distinct misfortune of biting into a raw lemon. Breathing harshly in his nose and out his mouth, trying to stave off whatever delusional panic had befallen him, Eggsy reopened his eyes.

‘Harry?’

Or: The Hologram Story Nobody Asked For

I can’t believe it’s been over a year. I am so bloody sorry for the wait, guys- I obviously got caught up in other projects, and then I got a full time job that’s completely eaten all of my energy. I’m honestly doing not much besides eating, sleeping, and working, but I’ve managed a little bit here and there and now I actually have something to show for it! I hope it was worth the wait :)

         Eggsy started small. He wore his glasses around the house and tried not to flinch every time he saw Harry. It took a while to get used to putting them on every morning- as if he actually needed them to see- and keep himself from tapping on his coms and alerting Merlin to what he was doing. It was a reflex now- glasses on, tap in periodically to make sure everything's going according to plan- it took conscious effort to do otherwise.

         There's a Harry in the kitchen. It follows him through the dining room and to the stairs before turning around. A separate one sitting in the drawing room. One in the Office. Another walking from the front door holds up an arm to gesture to the bathroom Mr. Pickle resides in.

Creepy, but wasn't this entire situation?          Eggsy refused to make contact, didn't speak to them, but their eyes followed the frames of his glasses all the same. Eggsy swore he could feel them watching, despite not really having eyes. He certainly didn't feel like that when at Round Table meetings- or perhaps that was just because he wasn't as hyper-aware of them as he was of Harry.          Yes, even the Holo-Harry seemed to be keyed into the very fibre of his being- now that he knew he was there it was impossible to un-notice him. But he wasn't ready to talk yet.          He struggled with his cast, incredibly annoyed at his inability to function like a normal human being, but adjusted by wearing soft, loose, clothing as opposed to his suits or denims. Who was around to care if he ran about in his trackies and a t-shirt? Holo-Harry certainly wouldn't care- or know, come to think of it. He didn't feel entirely comfortable wandering around topless- he hadn't before the Hologram Incident and he certainly didn't now- even though it would be way more comfortable than pushing his cast through a sleeve every morning.          Eggsy let himself grow used to the odd abundance of Holo-Harrys; able to walk both by and through them without flinching, able to look them in the eye and nod as he went by and watch how they followed his eye-level. Merlin checked in, sometimes- the glasses pinging just long enough for Eggsy to arrange himself inconspicuously before answering.          (And honestly wasn't that a load of shite. He felt like he was hiding in his own (Harry's) home and needed to pretend to be the same as things always had been. Even when they both knew how different they actually were.)

         Eggsy took his forced down time to set up a proper trust for Daisy, and write up his own will (as morbid as that was) just in case. Roxy had come in and left again for another mission in the span of a week, Merlin refused to give him any sort of busywork (I'd rather not have to do it twice, lad) and had little spare time to just chat with Eggsy with his being Merthur and all. He could call up Jamal and Ryan, but none of their schedules really synced up anymore- Ryan had gotten a job at a pub and Jamal was working with a construction company. He'd helped a bit with the rebuilding right after V-Day, and when that slowed down the company decided to keep him. Good work ethic, or something. Ryan's pub job was little more than clearing tables- but he was training to be a bartender, which'd definitely be a step up.

         He called up his mum, stammering his way through an apology he honestly only half felt was deserved (they hadn't seen each other for months and she decided that she was going to pry her way into his mourning? What right did she have?) but necessary. His mum had apologised in turn for pushing too hard, which he accepted, and for treating him like the boy he no longer was (it's hard to remember you're all grown up now, babes) which had resulted in some teasing; they'd hung up on a high note, and Eggsy felt lighter than he'd expected. He had less than a week left with the cast when he decided to bite the bullet and talk to Harry.

         'So what's so important about the kitchen, Haz?' Calling Holo-Harry by something he had never called the actual Harry helped him feel more distanced. 'Why're you in here?'          'Eggsy, if you're seeing this then I'm either dead or severely incapacitated. Or dying, I suppose. All pleasant options, and obviously ideal dinner conversation. Have a seat.' Eggsy did so on autopilot, and was only mildly displeased with himself for giving in so easily. As he pulled out the same chair he'd sat in after the train test, he kept his eyes locked onto Holo-Harry's as he sat. He nodded to himself and turned toward the globe. 'Obviously I can't pour for you, but feel free to get yourself something if you feel you'll need it for this conversation. Well, more of a monologue, but the point remains.' Eggsy couldn't have moved if he'd wanted to, struck by seeing Harry in such casual motion. Riveted as he poured a healthy serving of whisky from an equally holographic decanter before seating himself across from Eggsy.          'A gentleman is known for his manners, Eggsy- it's not about his wealth or his status, but on how he treats his fellow man. I began teaching you the formalities in this very room, but you were already far more gentlemanly than most privileged people- a glance at Mr. Hesketh should be enough to prove my point.' Harry sipped at his glass, tipping it once in Eggsy's direction before setting it back to the table. 'To be perfectly frank, I didn't have much to teach you outside of the airs and graces those who think themselves better seek out in companionship. I gave you the sheep's clothing, as it were, to your already impressive wolf.'

         'I didn't know anythin' about gentlemanly shit, Harry- I just did what I had to do to keep on keepin' on.' Eggsy could feel the flush running up his neck and along the tops of his ears. Hologram or not, Harry's attention was piercing and his words caused something not unlike pride to curl deep within him.          'Eggsy, you continuously kept from violence in the face of cruelty. Yes,' Harry smirked and raised an eyebrow conspiratorially, 'probably not in the best of ways, but you never fought violence with outright violence. You were never intentionally cruel despite every right to be so in your circumstances. Most all of the poor decisions in your file were indirectly or directly caused by your incessant need to help and be there for those you care for. I'd say I was sorry for the way I spoke to you at the pub when we met- but I cannot regret the things that led us to where we are.          'Except, perhaps, whatever circumstances have led to my premature demise. I assume Valentine was involved as he's the only active case I'm working on. I hope that gets sorted.'

'It was, it's over, and now I'm just wondering why the fuck I'm sitting in your kitchen talking at a blue ghost of you drinking.'

         'Do you see that decanter, Eggsy?' The hologram said, apropos of nothing. He gestured with the glass in his hand, eyebrows slightly raised, and Eggsy couldn't help but turn fully in his seat to look, despite knowing exactly the decanter he was gesturing to.

'Yes, Harry.'          'As you surely know by now, when a Knight falls in the line of duty the rest of us gather in whatever way we're able to hold a toast. At the shop, at the Table, there's a decanter of Napoleonic brandy reserved for this purpose. The Lancelot before you-' Eggsy flinched at the sudden reminder that he hadn't disappointed this Harry, 'and James was the first toast I ever participated in. It seems that Lancelot is to be the position we need replacing of most often. Do break that chain now, won't you?          'I'd been Knighted for nearly 16 years before the decanter was opened in my presence, and it certainly didn't seem like enough of a gesture for a man who had done as much as he had. He'd been Percival's mentor, and had certainly been willing to teach me the things he knew, if I asked. But we had no opportunity to retrieve his body, it was deemed unimportant in the grand scheme of things, and there was work to be done.' 'There's always bloody work to be done.' Eggsy muttered, lips pursed, as Harry's hologram chuckled.          'Yes, there's always work to be done- it's the life we lead, my boy. Percival took it upon himself to bring the medal to his wife, who knew some but not all of Kingsman's secrets, and I didn't hear from him for over a week. He came back with tattoos and little memory of how they got there- but he treasures the throwing knives on his wrists the way one covets a priceless artifact.          'The point being, Eggsy, that though Kingsman has a ritual for mourning the loss of a Knight it is not always enough. Not for those who care deeply for their friends and comrades- as I'm sure you do. As I certainly did.' Harry stops for a moment, taking a sip from his glass before looking at it thoughtfully. It reminds Eggsy starkly of his first visit to the tailor shop, after Dean's beating at the start of everything, and he can see clearly the moment the decision is made.          'The decanter behind you is what I drink from for toasts when I can't make it to the shop- call in from the chair at the head of the table and it projects what I'm doing to the Table there. Not much unlike this system I'm using to talk to you now. I've only drunk from that decanter three times- twice for Lancelots, and once in a blatant disregard for tradition between said toasts.' Eggsy was suddenly very unsure if he wanted to be sitting at this table, listening to the things this hologram of his dead mentor had to say.          'The day your father sacrificed himself for the sake of everyone on that team- Merlin, myself, and James- James was knighted there in the field, we cleaned the scene, and I came back here as soon as we touched down. I blew off Arthur's false sympathy, shrugged off Merlin's sincere empathy, congratulated James on his new position, and ran back into my hidey-hole to lick my wounds.          'It was the first time I had personally pulled someone into this lifestyle. It was the first time I had ever presented a candidate, and I had found my colleagues bland and unwilling to adapt and knew we needed new blood and ideas. I had pulled someone unrelated to myself and unconnected to any sort of influence- I had chosen someone I saw as loyal and skilled despite any other circumstance. And I had taken that person away from a life and a family in the interest of offering him the chance at something better- something he certainly deserved- and I had gotten him killed.'          'He made 'is own choices, Harry- he knew what he was doin'. He was in the army, he knew what would happen to everyone and one of the first things they shove into your skull at basic is the needs of the many. The whole tripe about the team being more important than you an' shit to keep 'em from getting big heads. You didn' shove him in the way, he put himself there, an' that makes all the difference. It weren't your fault.' Eggsy interrupted, compelled beyond reason to pull Holo-Harry from his self-deprecation.          'I still blame myself, Eggsy- it's not rational, but it's the truth- so I came back here and poured myself a drink to the Lancelot that should have been.' Harry took a deep breath, placing the glass on the table before locking eyes with Eggsy. Eggsy froze, feeling pinned and vulnerable in a way wholly irrational considering this was a hologram and not the real man. 'I've done a lot of things with my life, Eggsy. Not all of them good, but they were the tasks assigned to me and I take great pride in a job well done. Your father's death has influenced my life in more ways than I probably know or could possibly express. I'm honoured to have known him, and in turn have known you- I can only wish you could have known each other.' Eggsy pushed himself from the table, glancing briefly back at Harry still sitting with his hands clasped together, and ran from the room.