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lunarmoves · 1 year

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these summer nights (chapter one)

pairing: DCA sun/moon/eclipse x reader

mentions: summer camp au, gender neutral reader, alcohol consumption (reader takes a shot), ocs (kind of)

a/n: well it's finally here! and in time for summer too! im so sorry ch1 is such a beast omfg... i tried to split it, but there was no solid point for me to do so, so it ended up over 10k words LOL (<- in agonee). check out the masterlist for more info on the fic (tags & summary). hope u guys enjoy! :D

word count: 11.8k+

masterlist

ao3 link

You’d found the job listing in a Craigslist ad, of all places.

Because who even used Craigslist nowadays anyway? You, apparently, in your boredom and desperation to get a summer job. Your semester was about to end and you’d found yourself looking at a very uneventful, money-less summer. You’d completely forgotten to apply to internships with the whirlwind of work and studying you had to do while school was in session. Which inevitably led to you scrolling through all manners of websites and flipping through newspapers in an attempt to find a job at the last minute that you could possibly do. You needed the money, you had to admit. Bills didn’t pay themselves and the on-campus job you had during the school year unfortunately didn’t carry over into the summer.

At first your eyes had glanced over the ad in the dreary haze that’d come over you due to hours of mindless scrolling. Then you did a double take when you saw the pay. Thirty-five dollars per hour. Thirty-five. What the hell?! That was significantly more than the minimum wage you were earning through your university. If you did this job, you’d be cruising for a bit during your final year in school. It almost made you think it was a scam.

You quickly skimmed through the job’s small blurb. It was for a full-time summer camp counselor at some place called Camp Fazbear. Three months in the woods with a bunch of kids. Hm. You opened a new tab and did a quick search for ‘Camp Fazbear’. Links to an official site popped up. It seemed legitimate—that was good enough for you. Closing the tab, you returned to the job listing and skipped right down to the requirements.

You didn’t really have any experience with children on your resume, but that pay was seriously no joke. And they covered lodging and food for you? Holy shit, it was a steal. It wouldn’t hurt to apply. You might as well, honestly, especially with how unsuccessful you’d been with getting any responses from other internships. A few clicks later, you’d submitted your resume and reference letters through the website’s portal. Your hopes weren’t too high, but you’d be dumb to not at least attempt to get an interview. What was that saying about missing all the shots you didn’t take? Yeah, that.

A few days later, you got a response email asking for your availability for a phone interview. And suddenly, things seemed to be moving a bit too fast for your tastes.

You’d nailed the “interview,” apparently, for you were sent a bunch of papers to sign. Waivers, background checks, contracts, housing agreements. You had to watch some trainee videos, take a drug test, and do a joint CPR and first aid course. And as soon as you were done with your finals, you packed up your things into a large suitcase, settled the sub-leasing for your apartment for the summer, and drove your way down to Camp Fazbear.

It was a bit of a long drive, going from the small city your university was in to the middle of the woods. You watched as concrete and brick buildings were replaced by wide, open fields and vibrant green forestry. You got lost a few times, made a few wrong turns and got off at an exit that you swore was the right one, but eventually you found yourself passing under a large arch over the road that said Welcome to Camp Fazbear. There was some drawing of a bear on it, but you didn’t get a good look at it. Probably the camp mascot or something.

You eventually came up to a security checkpoint. The guard lounging around in the little cabin flashed you a lazy grin and checked your I.D., cross referencing it with a list he had. Then he lifted the gate arm, waved you in, and returned his gaze back to the small T.V. on the desk in front of him. You eased your car back into motion, cruising down the road until you had to make a turn onto a dirt pathway. Not too far now—you were close. Sure enough, a large, wooden lodge appeared as you rounded a corner, surrounded by trees and bushes.

There was an area in front of the lodge that looked like a small parking lot with all the dirt packed down and uniform. There was another small, silver car positioned by a bush. You parked your car in front of a tree with a small parking sign nailed to it, killed the engine, and unbuckled yourself so you could step outside. Immediately, the fresh smell of leaves and grass, wood and earth, invaded your senses. You inhaled deeply and exhaled it all in a deep sigh. The air here was much fresher than the city’s. It made you feel lighter. You closed your car door behind you and clicked your keys to lock it. You didn’t expect anyone to try to rob you all the way out here, but still, habits.

Dirt crunched under the soles of your sneakers as you made your way up the few stairs of the lodge to its entrance. But before you could rap on the door, it swung open of its own accord, a tall, blond-haired man beaming a smile at you.

“Ah, you’re here early!” he said brightly, stepping to the side to wave you in. “Saw you pulling in on the cameras. Come in, come in!” You thanked him and stepped into the air-conditioned room. You recognized his voice as the man who did your phone interview.

“You must be Mr. Emily?” you asked as you spun around to watch him close the door behind you. He was wearing a pair of blue overalls over a white shirt. He nodded and confirmed your own name, then began to walk across the room. It was a small reception area, by the looks of it, with a desk to the left and a few chairs and couches to the right. Potted plants decorated the corners of the room. Fairy lights were strung up over the entrances. Cute.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” Mr. Emily asked you as he led you through the reception area and into a larger room with more seating arrangements that had a rather tall ceiling. A chandelier hung elegantly in the center of it. Interspaced doors lined the wall to your right. Glass windows let in golden sunlight that bathed the area in a warm glow. There was a staircase that led to an upper gallery to the left with more rooms connected to it. Directly across from you was a large set of glass doors that led further into the camp, from what you could see. “I imagine the drive must have been a bit of a long one.”

“I’m fine, thank you. It wasn’t too bad,” you told him, still looking around at all the decor and furnishing. There were some bright stuffed animals sitting on a few of the sofas and loveseats. A wooden smell permeated the air, likely due to the strong oak the building was made of. Mr. Emily led you into one of the rooms along the rightmost wall. It was his office, from the looks of it, with a large L-shaped desk tucked in the far left corner and a few chairs positioned in front of it. Pictures and drawings lined the walls. Most notably, though, were the blueprints he had, either along his desk’s surface, or pinned to the walls.

“Excuse the mess,” he said hastily as he began clearing away some of the blueprints, rolling them up to shove to the side. You couldn’t really make out what was on them, but the ones on the wall looked like… robots? Kind of cool. “I hadn’t expected you to be here so soon! Not an issue, of course. Better early than late!” He shot you a smile that you mirrored as you sat down on one of his chairs.

“Sorry, traffic wasn’t as bad as I’d expected.” You’d left pretty early, too, just in case. You scratched the back of your head and found yourself looking at a little bear plushie that sat on one of the shelves above his desk. Aw.

Mr. Emily waved a hand at you in dismissal as he sat in his desk chair across from you. “All good. Now. I’ve received all your paperwork, of course. Let’s see…” he trailed off as he rummaged around and pulled out some papers from within one of his desk drawers. He started leafing through them. “You did the required training and got your certifications. Good, good. Contract has been signed, a direct deposit has been set up… Excellent.” He mumbled to himself a bit as he clipped the papers together and shoved them into a manilla folder with your name on it. He then set it to the side and looked up at you. “Right! So, since you’re here a bit early, I’ll have one of our more senior counselors give you a tour. I’m waiting for the others to arrive so I can get introductions and the small orientation out of the way.”

You nodded, fidgeting slightly with your fingers. “And the kids haven’t arrived yet, right?”

Mr. Emily shook his head and bent down slightly to grab at something under his desk. “Oh no, no, they’ll be here in a few days. We need to get a few more preparations done and get all the new counselors ready for their duties.” He straightened up and lifted a small tote bag into the air to hand over to you. “Here! Your uniform and a few other things!”

“Thanks.” You grabbed the bag from his hand and looked down at the design on it. There were little suns and moons all over it. Peeking through the top of the bag, you saw two collared orange shirts tucked inside along with a little nametag and a water bottle. There was also a keychain and some stickers. Your gaze softened. How nice! “I’m assuming I have to wear the shirt every day?”

“Yes,” Mr. Emily confirmed. “It makes it easier for kids to locate their assigned counselor. You’re allowed to wear any sort of pants with it, be it jeans or khakis or shorts.”

You bobbed your head alongside the information you were receiving and opened your mouth to ask a question. But before you could get it out, there was a knock at the door.

“Enter!” Mr. Emily called out, and you turned around to see another man walk into the office. He was rather tall, with light brown hair that appeared even lighter in the sunlight, tanned skin, and dark blue eyes that immediately landed on you. He gave you a smile. Mr. Emily clapped his hands together. “Ah! Michael! Perfect timing.”

“This one of the newbies?” Michael asked with a bit of an English accent, quirking an eyebrow up at you as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his blue jeans.

You introduced yourself. “Am I gonna be known as a newbie for the entire summer?”

Michael grinned at you. “Pretty much. But hey, at least you’re not the only one.” You sighed to show your reluctant acceptance.

“Michael here will give you that tour I’d mentioned,” Mr. Emily told you as he stood up from his desk chair and started gently ushering the two of you out. You stood up and patted your pockets down to make sure you still had your phone, keys, and wallet. You did. “Go on, I still have much to do. I’ll contact Michael once the others have arrived so you both can come back here. Off you go!”

“Alright, alright, see ya Henry.” Michael waved a hand as he exited the office with you trailing behind him. You gave Mr. Emily a farewell, your tote bag slung over your shoulder, and jogged to catch up to Michael while he walked towards the exit leading to the rest of the camp.

“He seems nice,” you mused out loud, stepping outside into the warm sunlight and slight breeze wafting through the air. Ah, this was nice.

“Who, Henry? Yeah, he’s great,” Michael replied with a faint smile. He made his way down the stairs of the lodge and started leading you across a wide, open space. “Crazy smart, too. He could be doing anything, and yet he’s here.” There was a moment where Michael looked thoughtful, but then he shook it away. “Anyways. Welcome to Camp Fazbear, where happiness and fun come to life, yadda yadda. This is the main pavilion area.” He waved his hand across the large space you were in. There were hardly any trees apart from the ones lining the pavilion’s perimeter. A couple campfire pits were spread out here and there, surrounded by massive logs and a few chairs. There were some picnic tables as well.

Michael pointed to another large, wooden building to the left of the space. “That’s the main mess hall. It’s where the kids go for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Err… oh! There’s a map over here if you wanna check it out.” He walked over to a large board to the side of the mess hall that had a map on it protected by glass. You stepped up closer so you could observe it.

“Man, this place is huge,” you commented as your eyes raked over the map. A ziplining area, lake, pool, field, rope course, bathhouses, and a bunch of other miscellaneous buildings were just a few of the things that greeted you. Shit, you hadn’t expected it to be this big. It was kind of scary, but also very exciting. You’d give anything to be a kid staying at this place for the summer—it looked like it would be a hell of a time.

Michael snorted. “Yeah. Makes it a pain when you have to walk everywhere.” He gestured at you to follow him and the two of you continued your way across the pavilion and onto a path lined with more trees. There were a bunch of other workers milling about, likely helping to get the camp ready for opening in a few days. Most of them looked busy, but a few offered you and Michael a smile or little wave in greeting. At least the people here were nice.

“So… you’re a college student, right?” Michael asked you after a moment of silence interrupted by the occasional crunching dirt or snapping twig under your shoes.

“Yeah, going in the final year for my Master’s program.” You couldn’t help but let your gaze drift about, taking in the way the honey-colored sunlight filtered through the green canopies above you. It was gorgeous. Very scenic. You could get used to this.

He hummed. “I’m a fourth year grad student. A lot of our counselors are college aged, if not most. ‘S why we have a kinda high turnover rate. People graduate and go off to do other things.” Grad student? You wondered what he was getting his PhD in.

“Makes sense.” You paused as you remembered one of the questions you had. “Actually, what do you guys do when it’s not summer? Close down everything?”

Michael shook his head and watched a bird fly overhead through the leaves. “Nah. Well, we close for two months, but then we reopen as a winter resort kind of thing. We get a lot of snow over here. Then we close again for another two months and open back up the summer camp.”

“That’s pretty cool,” you admitted, thinking about all the work that must go into switching from a camp to a resort. “Seems like a lot to do, though.”

“Oh for sure”—Michael shot you a grin—“but we have hardworking people, so it works out.”

It’s a minute before you both emerge into another open space, this one with brightly colored cabins positioned around it. You recognized the characters on some of the cabins as being the same as the stuffed animals you saw in the first lodge.

“Who are all those characters?” you asked, pointing to one of the cabins that had a white and pink chicken painted on it that matched its similarly-colored decor. “Are they all camp mascots? I thought there was only the bear.”

Michael gave you an odd look and stopped in front of the cabins, where there was another small fire pit with benches around it in a circle. “Mascots? No? Those are the main counselors.”

You gave him an odd look back. “What.” You thought you were the main counselor—or one of them, anyways.

He stared at you. You stared at him. “What do you mean ‘what’? Didn’t you read the job description?”

At that, your look turned slightly sheepish. “Um, I may or may not have skimmed it and any paperwork Mr. Emily sent to me.” Embarrassment crept up your neck and into your cheeks. Maybe you should have read through things more carefully…

Michael’s look turned incredulous. “Okay, first of all, ew, call him Henry, he’s not that old. Second of all, did you really accept this job without fully researching it? Did nothing about the animatronics pop up during your interview??”

“Listen, I was desperate,” you half-heartedly argued. “And no. It wasn’t much of an interview, honestly. He just confirmed my information and asked me about my availability and background.” Animatronics?? What did you get yourself into?

Michael blinked slowly at you, then raised a hand to his forehead. “Incredible. I’m actually impressed. I don’t know how you dodged this information.” He shook his head slowly and gestured to the cabins. “Those characters are the main summer counselors. They’re all robots with self-learning A.I. Your job is as a counselor, sure, but it’s mainly to support them and act as a handler of sorts for who you get paired with.”

Self-learning A.I.? You knew robots were a thing that was slowly becoming more integrated and accepted in society, but you didn’t expect a summer camp of all places to have them. “You’re joking,” you said flatly. Michael gave you a deadpanned look. “You’re not joking.”

“Nope. I told you Henry’s a genius.” He shrugged his shoulders and turned to look at the cabin with that familiar brown bear on it.

“How did parents even agree to this type of thing?” you wondered. You could see how sending kids to a three-month long camp where most of their supervision would come from robots would seem rather… extreme. Especially for those with less progressive perspectives.

“That’s the thing,” Michael replied, “not all of them were entirely comfortable with it. And the government got on our arses for all-robot counselors, so we had to hire human handlers. It’s worked so far.” He gave you a shrug.

“That’s fuckin’ crazy, dude,” you finally blurted out after you took a few moments to process everything. “Robot counselors. I feel like I’m in the future.”

Michael let out a deep laugh that made you perk up slightly. It sounded nice. “I’ve gotten used to it by now. They’re honestly no different than working with people—maybe even better.” He pointed to the cabin on the far left decorated in red, purple, and gray with a wolf painted on it. “That’s Roxanne, Roxy for short. The next one is Chica’s.” Oh that’s who the chicken was. Made sense. His finger moved along. “Then Montgomery, or Monty.” The alligator’s cabin was painted with greens and purples. “Freddy Fazbear himself.” At least now you had a name for the bear and his orange and blue cabin. “And finally Sundrop and Moondrop. Sun and Moon for short.”

That last cabin was half painted in yellows and oranges while the other half was in grays and dark blues. You raised an eyebrow at the two animatronics painted on their respective sides—they looked like polar opposites, though they both had a crescent moon across the same side of their face—and turned to give Michael a confused look. “Why does that cabin have two of them?” It was a sharp contrast from the others.

“Oh, Sun and Moon are one animatronic. Sun comes out during the day, and Moon comes out at night. It’s a cool light sensitivity mechanic,” Michael explained to you, causing an ooohhh to escape your lips. You had to agree; that was pretty cool.

“So where are they now?” you asked, your eyes looking about as though you could catch a glimpse of the animatronics, wherever they were. Now that you knew they were part of the camp, you were excited to meet them—if a bit nervous.

“They’re in rest mode, charging up for later.” Michael took that moment to glance at his watch. “Speaking of which, we should move on if we wanna hit everything before Henry radios.”

You nodded and followed alongside Michael as he guided you past the cabins to point out the bathhouses (“Your cabin room has your own bathroom attached to it, so you won’t have to share with the kids,” he told you amusedly after spotting the less-than-pleased look on your face) and additional storage buildings. He took you practically around the entire camp, leading you past the lake and its boathouse, the pool, a giant field for miscellaneous activities with a playground tucked in one corner, and the ziplining area. You were certain that you would get lost in the first few days—maybe even weeks—of being here, but at least you wouldn’t be completely alone.

As you were both slowly making your way back around to the main lodge, Michael told you about some of the security measures Camp Fazbear had. He pointed out a few of the hidden cameras in the forestline in addition to the more obvious ones perched at the top of the solar-powered lamp posts. There sure was a lot of security. You wondered why. “There’s a cutoff point in the woods where kids can’t go past. It’s obvious where it is, since there’s a bunch of signs and cameras around the perimeter, but we usually don’t have issues with kids wandering past it by accident.”

You hummed, eying the blinking red dot on one of the surveillance cameras as you both walked by it. Michael continued, “The animatronics are connected to the cameras anyways, so they’ll be instantly alerted just in case, but they can’t really cross the boundary line unless one of the exceptions in their protocols are reached.” He paused for a moment and scratched his head. “Henry’ll probably go over all this in the orientation. Sorry, I know it’s a lot of info.”

“That’s okay, it’s kinda interesting,” you admitted. “I didn’t expect Camp Fazbear to be so… high tech. I thought it was a regular old summer camp, y’know? Like, ‘no technology for three months’ type of thing.”

Michael chuckled. The two of you stepped off the pathway through the woods you were following and back onto the main pavilion. There were more uniformed people bustling around here, carrying boxes of this and that. “Well, with robot counselors it was kind of a given that the camp would be a bit atypical.” You gave him a look that practically screamed oh really? He snorted, then added, “Besides, we still confiscate phones, so it’s still kinda no tech for the summer.”

“Aw, really?” you complained lightheartedly, one of your hands covering the pocket your phone was in defensively. “Counselors too?”

“Yeah”—Michael tossed an apologetic look your way—“Have to set an example for the kids, after all.”

“Booo, hissss.”

“Yeah, yeah, complain all you want— Oh! I forgot to point this out earlier. That’s the maintenance building over there.” Michael pointed to a slightly smaller building hidden past the large mess hall. You hadn’t even noticed it. “At the end of every week the animatronics need to do a maintenance check. Just a scan to make sure all their systems are working properly. So it’ll be up to you to make sure they’re functioning as they should.” Oh man, this was a lot to keep track of.

“I should make a checklist or something,” you murmured, more to yourself than Michael, but he laughed anyway.

“Yeah, that’s what I did when I first started out.” There it was again, that same thoughtful expression on his face. It was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. You wondered what he was thinking about.

Just then, the walkie-talkie clipped to Michael’s waist—that you realized had been partially hidden under his shirt this whole time—gave a little bzzt before a familiar voice floated out of it. “Henry to Michael.”

Michael unclipped the walkie and held it up to his mouth. “Yo.”

“Everyone’s here, right on time. Head back to the lodge, over.”

“On our way, over.” Michael glanced at you as he reclipped the walkie to his jeans. “We timed this perfectly, it seems. C’mon, it’s orientation time.”

It was a short walk across the pavilion back to the lodge. Michael led the way up the small set of wooden stairs and through the doors, aiming for Henry’s office. He’d left the door open, and once you and Michael stepped through, you were able to see the three other people crammed into the space around Henry’s desk. They all turned around to look at you and Michael. The sudden attention made you plaster a polite smile onto your face. You held onto the shoulder of your tote bag and said a quiet “Hello.” You got a few nods in response.

“That was fast!” Henry said cheerfully from his desk chair. He gestured at the two of you to step in closer. “Come in, let’s get you all introduced. Close the door, Michael.” A quiet creak preceded the click of the door shutting. You shuffled as close as you dared to the backs of the chairs two people were sitting on and looked at Henry as he started speaking again. “Okay! We can start with a little icebreaker.” Aw man, you hated icebreakers. “Name and favorite summertime activity. I’ll go first! My name is Henry and I like to hike! Who’s next?”

The five of you remaining all glanced at each other before Michael decided to be the first victim and take one for the team. He cleared his throat. “Name’s Michael. I like drive-in movies.” He nudged you in the side and you took that as a sign that it was your turn. You introduced yourself and gave your favorite activity. Then you looked expectantly to the man standing to your left.

“Vincent,” he said in a drawling voice. He was a dark-skinned brunet with long hair that was pulled in a tiny ponytail at the back of his head. Black eyes swiveled around the room in disinterest, arms crossed over the purple shirt he was wearing. “I like… fuck if I know. Swimming, I guess.” He gave a half-hearted shrug and pointedly looked at the man sitting on the chair in front of you.

“M-My name’s Jeremy,” he introduced himself with the slightest of stutters, his fingers fidgeting with each other. Jeremy looked like a small thing, sitting in that office chair. He had wavy, blond hair messily scattered upon his head and hazel eyes that darted away quickly once they made eye contact with someone else’s. His skin was a light brown shade, and he was wearing a plaid shirt that matched his eyes along with some dark jeans. “I like… staying inside, mostly. Playing video games.” That was so valid of him, you thought to yourself.

The last person to go was a blonde woman with vibrant green eyes that looked sharper than a pro chef’s kitchen knife. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail underneath the cap she wore. Lightly tanned skin poked out from the long-sleeved shirt she had on; you wondered how she wasn’t absolutely sweltering in it. She sniffed slightly. “I’m Vanessa,” she said flatly. “I guess I like the beach.”

“Excellent! Wonderful to have you all here,” Henry said immediately after Vanessa got her last syllable out. “Vincent, Jeremy, and Michael are our three veteran counselors, so that makes you two our newbies for the summer!” He looked at you and Vanessa, then offered a wink. “Don’t worry, you won’t be known as the newbies for the entire summer!”

“Only most of it,” Vincent added with a smirk. Henry gave him a look that wasn’t all too serious, then continued on with his little spiel.

“Anyways,” he continued pointedly, “I’ll spend the next hour or so going over basic orientation things. I will supply you all with packets you can use that will contain the most important information. It’s a lot to take in, so it’ll be good for you to study it in the next coming days before the children start to arrive.” He said that last bit mostly to you and Vanessa. You both nodded to show you were listening and understood.

Henry passed out said packets from a pile in one of his desk drawers, then started off the orientation. He was right—it really was a lot of information to take in. What your days would look like, how you’d keep track of the children, what to do in the case of an emergency, who to contact if you needed help… just your general camp guidelines. You found yourself losing focus halfway through and had to pinch yourself to keep aware. A quick glance at the others showed that they were also either completely tuned out (Vincent) or raptly listening (Jeremy). Thank god all this information was in the packet. You’d definitely have to study it later.

Then, Henry started talking about the animatronic counselors. This—for obvious reasons—immediately piqued your interest.

“The main counselors are connected to a secure database with all the children’s information on it,” Henry explained, making small gestures here and there with his hands. “They have facial recognition software, so they can easily keep track of whoever they are assigned to. They have sensors built in the backs of their heads and are able to tune in to the right radio frequency to communicate via the walkie talkies. They can also access the security cameras. There are charging stations located in every building in the event that they must rest and recharge.”

He flipped through a few files on his desk and pulled out a picture. You and Vanessa leaned closer to peer at it. “This is what the stations look like.” It was a large, dark orange tube with a lightning bolt on it that looked like something straight out of a futuristic movie. Weird. You wondered how much electricity it required to power it.

He then went on to explain the maintenance checks and how they are carried out—just like Michael said he would. Apparently, you also had to help wipe them down at the end of every day to ensure none of the children would get sick from germs and to get rid of any dirt that may have accumulated from being outside all day.

“You will each get assigned to one of the animatronics for the summer. Your job will be to assist them and ensure things are going smoothly, though keep in mind that they are the main ones in charge,” Henry informed all of you, though honestly, this was all likely more for your and Vanessa’s benefit. “If you look at the bags I have given you, you will see a specific design on them. This design matches with the animatronic you will be paired with.” A quick glance at everyone else showed that they were indeed holding onto similar tote bags. But before you could see who had what robot, Henry started speaking again. “I already called them over a bit ago. They should be waiting for us outside my office.”

Your eyes snapped over to Henry as he stood up from his desk and started making his way over to his office door. “Wait— we’re meeting them now?” That bubble of nervous excitement was starting to rear its head again.

“Of course!” he replied cheerfully, pausing momentarily just before the door. “Nothing to be worried about! They’re rather nice!” With that, he threw open his door and bustled through, not waiting for the rest of you to gather your things so you could follow. Michael and Vincent were already long gone by the time you had stuffed your packet into your tote bag. Vanessa and Jeremy had already gotten up and moved around you to leave, seemingly not an ounce of nerves in their steps. You took in a deep breath and followed after them, immediately locating the animatronics hanging around the seating arrangements in the middle of the large room.

The first thing you noticed was their heights—even with some of them sitting around on the couches. They were fucking massive.

Vincent had strolled right up to Monty and was giving him a sharp grin that was mirrored right back at him as they grasped each other’s hands as though in an airborne arm wrestle. Vincent was a pretty tall guy, but standing next to Monty, he looked kind of short. “Looks like it’s me and you again this summer, huh big guy?” Vincent smiled in a mischievous way that just spelled out trouble. Uh oh. Before you could hear Monty’s reply, Chica sprang up from her seat and rushed over to Jeremy, calling his name out loudly.

“You’re here!” she squealed as she immediately latched onto him for a hug. Jeremy stumbled a bit; he was only able to stay upright due to Chica holding onto him. “Oh we’re gonna have sooo much fun!!”

You smiled at their interaction, then noticed Michael was talking to Freddy and Henry in a corner. The animatronic bear practically towered over them. At least Chica was shorter, you noted as you eyed her again. Not by much, but at least she didn’t loom over Jeremy.

Your eyes then found Vanessa as she trailed over to Roxy, who was still sitting on one of the couches, inspecting her nails. Vanessa stopped somewhere near Roxy and then they seemed to just look at each other. Awkward. You didn’t envy that interaction. You tore your eyes away so you could look around some more at the conversing pairs of counselors.

That just left you and—

“Helloooo!!! New friend!!”

You turned to your left and immediately had a mini heart attack as your gaze darted up, your head soon following until it was almost craned back.

Sun was fucking tall.

If you thought the other animatronics were big, that was nothing in the face of Sun. His gangly body and limbs seemed to make him appear even taller than he actually was. You were practically swamped in his shadow. He leaned down closer to you once he noticed you’d stepped back to increase the distance between the two of you—if only to ease the muscles of your neck. His face was just inches away from your own. Oof. You tried not to cringe back. His head spun slightly to the left in a way that was not natural for a human, and there was a moment where his wide, white optics briefly flickered blue pupils into view that traversed up and down your body. You blinked at him in confusion, but didn’t say anything.

“Scan complete!” he chirped after a moment in that peppy voice of his, eyes returning back into that bright white. Scan? What the hell? “Oh, new friend, we are so excited you’re finally here! We’re going to have so much fun this summer! We’ll be the best of friends by the end of it!”

“Y-Yeah,” you agreed—the right thing to say, if his excited wiggle was any indication. The large grin on his face seemed to stretch wider, blinding you with its brightness. He had ribbons with bells on them attached to his wrists, and they gave a little jingle as he moved to clasp his hands together. It was amazing how human-like he seemed. Henry really was a genius.

Speaking of Henry—the man clapped his hands together to gather everyone’s attention. You turned around to look at him, a silence befalling the room just before he began to speak.

“Okay guys, now that you’ve all been introduced to each other, you can head over to your cabins and settle in. Today’ll be a bit of a slow day, but tomorrow I’ll need all hands on deck for preparations. Just take it easy for now. You’ll get your radios and keycards tomorrow.” Henry turned to look at Roxy to address her, who raised an eyebrow in question. “Vanessa will need a tour after she’s unpacked, so you can give it to her. But other than that, you’re all free to go.”

“Finally,” Vincent groaned, his hands crossed behind his head as he turned around to make his way back to the reception area of the lodge. Monty trailed after him with a wicked smile and clapped the man so hard on the shoulder he nearly tipped over.

“Guess me ‘nd you got some catchin’ up to do, huh?” Monty laughed—a rough, mean-sounding thing—when Vincent shot him a halfhearted glare. They seemed pretty tight; it made something twinge in the pit of your stomach. The feeling would pass, though, you were certain. A quick glance around the room showed that Michael, Henry, and Freddy were discussing something together as they headed towards Henry’s office. Camp logistics, probably. Vanessa and Roxy had both disappeared in the direction of the main pavilion, likely to get that tour started. Meanwhile, Chica had grabbed Jeremy by the wrist and was dragging him after Vincent and Monty to join them in the reception room. Everyone just seemed to jump right into things—together.

Before you could ruminate on the relationships between the older counselors and their robotic partners, something stepped into your line of sight. You looked up from staring at Jeremy’s retreating back to see Sun, who gave you a bright grin as he leaned back down into your space. Again. This time, you shifted back slightly. He was awfully close. Did he have a concept of personal space? “New friend,” he started eagerly, “allow me to accompany you to our cabin to help you unpack!”

You blinked at him once in surprise, then gave him a smile. “Sure! Lemme just go grab my stuff real quick.”

“Right-o!” Sun straightened up and gave you a salute that was more endearing than you thought would be possible from a seven and a half foot robot. You stepped around him and started making your way over to the entrance of the lodge, where your car was still parked outside. Directly behind you was the sound of heavy footsteps. A quick glance over your shoulder showed that you’d gained a shadow: Sun happily followed you, practically bouncing with each step. Alright then.

As you passed through the reception area, you saw that Jeremy and Vincent had the foresight to leave their belongings by the desk so they wouldn’t have to go back outside to the little parking area. You guessed they were just used to it by now. You breezed by them as they hoisted bags over their shoulders and passed suitcases over to their robot partners. Stepping through the front door, you immediately noticed the addition of two new cars of varying sizes and colors crammed into the space in front of the lodge. You wondered if some of your coworkers had carpooled. Seemed like it.

The steps creaked under your shoes as you beelined for your car, taking your keys out in the process to unlock it with a beep beep. You pulled out your backpack from the backseat first and folded up your tote bag as much as you could so you could stuff it inside. It just barely fit. You slung the backpack over your shoulders, closed the door, then walked to the back of your car to pop open the trunk and heave out your suitcase.

It wasn’t until you’d slammed the trunk shut that you finally glanced to the side to see Sun patiently standing on the front porch of the lodge, hands clasped behind his back as he watched you with that wide grin. You thought he would have followed you all the way to your car, but you guessed not. Like this, you were able to properly take in the sheer height of his figure and what he was wearing. Puffy, sun-patterned pants covered his legs while his skinny torso was bare and on full display. His rays spun around slightly as you locked your car up once more and dragged your suitcase over the dirt to step back into the lodge.

Once you’d reached the bottom of the small set of stairs, though, Sun leaned forward without stepping away from his spot and reached out a hand to grab your suitcase from you. “Let me help you with that, new friend!” he said cheerfully and lifted it up towards him. He held your suitcase by the handle on its side, not bothered by the weight whatsoever. You marveled at the robotic strength in his lithe limbs. Fascinating.

“Oh! Thanks, Sun!” You beamed at him and hopped up the stairs so you could follow him back through the lodge. By now everyone had disappeared, likely to their own cabins. “You didn’t have to! I appreciate it.”

“Anything to make your transition into Camp Fazbear easier!” He turned his head down to look at you as you followed his strides at his side—to the best of your ability, anyways. Man, he had long legs. He slowed down slightly for you and you gave him a quick thankful grin. You both exited out onto the main pavilion and started making your way across it. “Have you received your tour of the facilities yet?”

You nodded, hoisting your backpack up so it sat better on your shoulders. “Yep! Michael gave it to me already. I got here a bit early.” You raised one of your hands up to shield your face from the sun. It was bright out.

Sun seemed to droop down in an almost dramatic manner—a motion that made you glance up at him curiously. “Aww, that’s a shame! I’d wanted to give it to you!” Was he disappointed? The robot was disappointed. You gave him a consoling pat on his arm.

“It’s okay, dude. You can give me a tour of the cabin.” At your words, he sprang back up easily—rejuvenated. It was kind of funny. You suppressed a smile.

“That’s right!” he beamed and bounded forward. His head did a complete 180 so that he was looking back at you as he skipped ahead—an action that took you by surprise, but well, he was a robot with a rather spindly neck. “Come, new friend! Race ya there!”

“Wha— Sun! Wait up!” you called out as you gripped your bag by its straps and jogged after him, careful not to jostle your belongings too much.

It was no doubt that Sun—with his long limbs unbothered by the weight of the suitcase he was carrying—beat you by a long shot to the cabins. You huffed out a breath of air as you skidded to a stop next to him and leaned down to brace yourself against your knees. “You’re— pretty fast,” you puffed out. Sun grinned down at you, patiently waiting for you to collect yourself. You straightened up and wiped some sweat from your brow. “That was hardly much of a competition!”

His sun rays spun around his head in a flair that made you suppress a little laugh. “I’m sure by the end of the summer you’ll have me beat!!”

“Doubt it,” you snorted and gestured at him to go up the stairs of the yellow and navy cabin you’d be staying in for the summer. He bounded up to the wooden door—it had a crescent moon inside a sun carved into it—and opened it with a dramatic flourish as you trudged heavily behind him.

“After you!” he chirped with a bow, his arm across his chest.

“Why thank you!” you replied with a grin, charmed by his politeness. You stepped past the open doorway and let out a small whistle once you swept your gaze around the interior of the cabin. “Wow! It’s big!”

It really was—the outside of it made it seem much smaller than it actually was, especially with how high the sloped ceiling was. The cabin, similar to its exterior decor, was painted gold with red stripes on the left and navy with yellow stars on the right. There were bunk beds lined along the walls with sheets that were a sky blue and had puffy clouds on them. A quick mental calculation lets you know that there were ten bunk beds total, each with their own little dressers next to them. That made it, what, twenty kids tops? The idea of being in charge of so many was a bit intimidating, but you supposed you could handle it with Sun’s help.

“Welcome to our humble abode!” Sun announced as he stepped inside after you and closed the door. He walked further in until he was in the center of the room and brandished his free hand about. The bell tied to his wrist let out a small jingle with the movement. “Here is the main room with all the kids’ beds! Shoes are allowed inside, but not on top of the beds and sheets. Every Sunday, we do a weekly cleaning of the cabin to get the children used to tidying up after themselves and to ensure the floors don’t get too dirty!”

You nodded along with the information and followed Sun as he made his way further into the cabin. There was a door tucked in a far corner along the left wall. He opened it and gestured for you to go inside. As you did so, you noticed it led to another, smaller room. There was a bed to your left that had a small nightstand next to it, along with a wooden armoire to your right. A window with its curtains drawn across from where you stood allowed warm sunlight to filter across the polished, wooden floor.

But what really caught your attention was the large, orange tube positioned in the far right corner, by the window.

“Uh,” you started eloquently as you pointed to the charging station that looked as though it was currently off. “What’s that doing in here?”

“Hm?” Sun ducked into the small room after you, walking over to set your suitcase down by your bed. The ceiling in here was much lower than the one in the main room, so he had to stoop down a bit. But even then, the tips of his sunrays brushed against it. He retracted them further into his faceplate, then looked to see what you were pointing at. “Ah! Yes. That’s our charging station!”

“I know that,” you said gently, wondering if your question hadn’t been clear enough for him to hear or something. “But what’s it doing in… my room??” It was a little… strange. You didn’t think you’d have a roommate, albeit a robotic one.

Sun fidgeted with his hands, swaying gently side to side in an animated motion that you wondered was programmed into him. “Oh! It used to be out in the main room. But! It was distracting for the children, especially when we recharged at night! No, no, it was better to put it in here! More privacy as well!” He gave you a smile that was thin at the edges. His fingers twitched slightly, then he was back to giving you a bright, beaming grin and that thinness was gone like it had never been there in the first place. “Think of it like a slumber party, new friend!”

You stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. How bad could rooming with him be? You doubted you’d spend much time in here anyways. “Alright then.” Your words seemed to ease some invisible tension in him, for he slumped down, then bounded right back up. He nearly hit his head on the ceiling, but managed to stop himself just in time.

“Great!” he exclaimed. You gave him a smile, then looked around the room once more. There was another closed door to the left of the one you’d just come through. You supposed that was the bathroom Michael had mentioned to you earlier. But before you could walk over to it to inspect the shower (hopefully it was clean), Sun started talking again. “Take all the time you need to unpack! I would advise against lying on your bed, though! We need to wash the sheets—as well as the ones in the main room. There’s a small laundry room over there!”

You followed his finger as he pointed out of the open doorway that led into the main room. Directly across from you, against the right wall of the main room, was another closed door. In-unit laundry machines were a blessing, though you supposed with twenty-something kids also using them, it would get messy pretty fast. You sighed.

“Well…” You walked over to your suitcase and set your bag down on your bed, resigning yourself to the arduous task of unpacking. Sun’s gaze followed you, his head spinning in an inhuman way to track your steps. You stretched out your arms and shoulders, then settled your hands on your hips. “Best to get started then.”

Later that evening—after you’d unpacked your bags and resheeted your bed once they’d been properly washed—there was the sound of your cabin’s front door banging open as someone loudly called out your name. Who the fuck could that be? You paused and lifted yourself from your bed, where you’d been aimlessly scrolling through your phone and internally bemoaning the fact that you’d have to part with it in a few days. After a few seconds of staring at your open bedroom door, you eventually jammed on some flip flops and shuffled to the door to check it out.

“Yo! Newbie!” Vincent grinned at you once you’d walked out of your room to see who it was. Well, that was a bit of a surprise. You raised an eyebrow at him as he lifted up a hand at you in greeting. “You busy?”

“Not really,” you responded after a moment of contemplating if you had anything major to do. Sun had left a bit ago before it got dark, chiming out something about having a few tasks to get done, so you’d been left alone for a while. Your head tilted to the side. “Why?”

Vincent pointed behind him at the open doorway that led outside. “Everyone’s hangin’ around the firepit if you wanna join. Kind of a tradition we have before all the kiddos roll in.”

Oh? You perked up. “Sure! Sounds fun.” You’d take any chance to get closer with everyone else.

“Awesome, c’mon then.” He waved his hand at you and turned on his heel to make his way back outside. You stuck your phone in your pocket and followed, pulling the door shut behind you before you walked down the cabin’s wooden stairs. By now the sky had taken on a midnight gradient, the last vestiges of burnt mandarin light peeking just above the woods’ canopies as deep navy and purple swept across everywhere else. You took a moment to appreciate the twinkles of white, red, and yellow that filled the sky—the nebular clouds that looked as though they’d been delicately painted there. Living in a city never allowed you the chance to see just how gorgeous the night sky was, and you knew you’d spend all the time you could while you were working here to look up at the stars.

You followed Vincent as he made his way over to the fire pit in front of the cabins. By “everyone” you soon realized he’d meant the rest of the human counselors, for you couldn’t see a gleam of metal anywhere. You wondered what the animatronics were doing—recharging, maybe.

You took a seat on one of the stone benches around the fire pit, next to Michael who greeted you with a small smile. On the bench directly across from you sat Jeremy and Vanessa. They’d already gotten a fire going, and you watched as hazy smoke curled up lazily towards the dark sky from the flickering flames.

“Right!” Vincent exclaimed as he sat down on the bench to your left and started rummaging around in a black bag that had previously been placed there. “We’re all college-aged here, yeah?”

You were sure he was asking just to confirm if you and Vanessa were. You both nodded and watched as Vincent pulled out a tall, glass bottle from the confines of his bag. Shades of orange and red from the fire gleamed across its surface, reflecting the dancing flames. Uh oh.

“Bro, Ciroc? Really?” Michael groaned as he reached out a hand and curled his fingers at Vincent so he could pass the bottle over. Once the container was in his hands, Michael turned it around so he could read the label. “And coconut-flavored too? You know this tastes like shite, man.”

“What? You prefer the Malibu from last time?” Vincent bit back at Michael, rummaging around in his bag once more so he could pull out some red solo cups and another bottle of juice. Michael made a face and that was all the response Vincent needed. “We gotta initiate the newbies somehow.” What.

“Huh?” you eloquently asked, eyes widening slightly when you noticed Vincent had taken back the bottle of Ciroc and was pouring a shot into two of the solo cups. No mixer either? Fuck.

“...Do we have to?” Vanessa asked in a surly voice. “Vodka’s nasty.”

“Yes,” Vincent said at the same time Michael said “No.” They both looked at each other.

“You don’t have to if you really don’t want to,” Michael said quickly—his gaze flicked between you and Vanessa—before Vincent could get a word in. The other man rolled his eyes, but nodded his head in agreement.

“But then you’d have to do something else,” Vincent added and extended both his arms towards you and Vanessa. He wiggled the solo cups within his hands at you. “C’mon, one shot’s not that bad. I’m going easy on ya.”

“If it’s any consolation,” Jeremy piped up, making your stare move from the cup to his face, “I refused to take a shot of Vincent’s Jungle Juice once and he made me do a polar plunge into the lake.” You gave him a sympathetic look as Vincent started to roar with laughter.

“Oh man! That was a good night! I still say you should’ve taken the shot!” he managed to get out through his laughs. Jeremy gave him an incredulous look.

“I-I’m pretty sure that would have killed me!”

After hearing that… you’d honestly rather just take the shot and get it over with. You didn’t even want to entertain the idea of what else Vincent would make you do as an ‘initiation’.

“Fine.” You sighed as you leaned over and grabbed the cup from Vincent’s hand. “At least it’s just one, I guess.”

Vincent grinned at you as you settled back down in your seat. “Yeah, see? You get it!”

Looking over at Vanessa, you saw that she too had decided to just take the shot and get it over with. You raised your cup into the air at her in a cheers, then tilted your head back so you could swallow the shot in one go. Immediately, you felt the vodka burn at your mouth and throat—all the way down to your stomach, where it settled in hotly like it was lava. God, that was foul.

You spluttered a bit and waved your empty cup at Vincent, trying not to breathe in too deeply just yet. “Juice! Juice!”

“Alright, alright!” he snickered and took your cup from you so he could fill it with a generous amount of juice. He handed it back to you. “Hey, good job, newbie!”

You gulped down half of your drink to chase away the lingering taste of alcohol and coconut. Something patted you on the back and you peeked to the side to see it was Michael. You gave him a grateful look and finally lowered your cup. “Thanks, I hated it.”

“Surprisingly, that was better than some of the other shit I had back in college,” Vanessa noted. You looked up to her to see her looking down into her empty solo cup, just as unbothered as before, if not a bit bored. Seemed like she had taken it better than you had. Vanessa, you decided at that moment, was cool.

Vincent gave her a smirk that was just lined with mischief. “Up for another one, then?”

“I’ll pass,” she immediately declined and set her empty cup down next to her.

Vincent only shrugged and started pouring some more of the Ciroc into three other cups along with some juice. “Suit yourself. Who knows when we’ll be able to have drinks again once the kids move in.”

“Knowing you? Sooner rather than later,” Michael scoffed as he rolled his eyes in good nature. Vincent gave him a sly smile, but didn’t say anything else.

As he passed out the drinks to Michael and Jeremy, you piped up again with a question that’d briefly been on your mind earlier. “So… what are you guys all majoring in, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Not at all! I’m studying robotics,” Michael said once he’d taken a small sip of his drink. He made a face and gestured at Vincent to pour him some more juice. “I already told you, but I’m a fourth year PhD student.”

“I’m in my third year studying game design,” Jeremy chimed in. He then shrunk into himself a little. “Which is, uh, sorta obvious since I like video games and all.” You gave him a small smile at that.

“I’m in my last year of getting my MechE PhD,” Vincent announced proudly, “and I’m fuckin’ dying.” He downed half of his drink right after. Your heart went out to him in sympathy.

“...Comp sci Master’s,” Vanessa spoke up after a short moment. You turned to look at her. “I’m planning to graduate in December.”

“A semester early?” you asked and she nodded. “Nice!” You then told them what you were getting your own degree in before settling them all with a thoughtful look. “I guess the robot counselors really called out to you guys then, huh?”

“You kidding?” Vincent blurted out, waving his cup in the air. The drink within it sloshed around a bit, so he reeled his arm back in. “Getting to work with Henry is a blessing! The man’s incredible at robotics and A.I. development! It’s every engineering student’s dream!”

“Does he give you guys more… technological responsibilities with the animatronics then?” you asked curiously. “Since you have the education?”

“Oh yeah,” Michael answered. “He’s surprisingly lenient with that sort of thing. Let us do what we see fit when it comes to maintenance or looking at his blueprints.”

“That’s pretty nice of him,” you commented, thinking about how much of a resume boost it would be for them. This would probably count as a project of sorts, right? That was cool.

Michael smiled warmly, lost somewhere else. “Yeah, he’s great.”

“How long have you all been working here, anyways?” Vanessa suddenly questioned, her gaze directed to the three veteran counselors. Vincent hummed.

“I’ve been here for about four years, I think,” he said thoughtfully, one of his fingers tapping lightly against his chin. “Michael’s been here longer than I have, though.”

The man in question nodded. “Yeah, it’s been a while for me. More than five years for sure.” He looked contemplative for a second, staring into the fire as it crackled and sparked before him. Then the look was gone, as though it had never even been there in the first place.

“I-I’ve only been here for two years,” Jeremy said, both his hands clutching at his cup. “So I’m uh, relatively newer in comparison.”

“I see. So you’ve all pretty much stuck around for a while,” Vanessa mused, more to herself than anything, but it made you tilt your head at her. She seemed to notice the unstated question that lingered in the air, for she added, “Oh, I just wanted to see how often people returned. I was only planning on staying for this summer.”

Michael nodded. “Understandable, yeah. People come and go all the time. Life just catches up to them.” He shrugged, then turned to look at you. “How ‘bout you?”

“Bit too early for me to say, honestly,” you responded after a moment of thought. You shuffled your feet a bit, feeling your flip flops slide against the compact dirt they were resting on. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. Have to see if I like working here first. Actually— while we’re on it, what’s it like working with the kids anyways?”

“Fucking exhausting!” Vincent groaned, throwing his head back. “Especially once it gets hotter! The tykes have endless stores of energy, I swear.”

“That’s why we’re technically assistant counselors.” Michael snickered and leaned back slightly on the bench, propping his arm up behind him. “The animatronics are able to handle everything just fine.”

You hummed. “Yeah, I suppose they don’t really run out of energy, huh?”

“Other than when they need to recharge,” Jeremy added. He then scratched his head. “Well, I guess they all have solar technology, so that’s not much of an issue either…”

“Solar technology?!” you blurted out incredulously. “What the hell??”

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” Vanessa remarked dryly.

“Oh yeah,” Michael grinned, apparently delighted at how stupefied you and Vanessa were, “they got upgrades like you won’t believe.”

You raised your eyebrows as you turned your head to look at him. “How did Henry even get the money for that??”

“Actually it was—” Vincent started, then cut himself off with a quick glance at Michael, who was suddenly staring resolutely into the fire before him. It was so subtle you would have missed it if you hadn’t already been looking at him. But before you could question anything, Vincent continued as though nothing had happened at all. “—all the funds from the government and the parents, you know? This place isn’t exactly cheap.”

You exchanged quick looks with Vanessa. She had definitely noticed the slight hiccup as well. Part of you wanted to press, but well… A quick glance at the three veteran counselors showed that they likely didn’t want to discuss it further—they avoided both your and Vanessa's gazes, either by taking a sip of their drinks or staring into the tangerine flames. So you let it go for now.

“I bet it isn’t,” you said lightly and an invisible tension seemed to melt away from the group at your words. “That thirty-five dollars an hour deal was what really hooked me in.”

“Ayo, you too? Up top!” Vincent cackled and raised his hand up for a high-five. You leaned forward and slapped your palm against his with a grin.

It was fun, hanging out with the other counselors as you all slowly made your way through the bottle of Ciroc. The stars overhead rotated across the sky, the flames from the fire pit died down until they weakly licked at ashy logs. It was starting to get a bit chilly, but you were too busy enjoying yourself to notice the goosebumps that decorated your skin. You exchanged stories all evening and into the night—from your college days and from their adventures working as camp counselors. It made you excited, you had to admit, hearing about all the things they’d done. It sounded like this summer would be a fun one and there was a warmth in your chest that’d sparked to life upon getting to know your coworkers better.

“And then—” Vincent choked out, lifting a hand up to his face so he could wipe away a tear. His cup sat on the ground next to him, forgotten. “—And then this asshole dropped the fucking oar into the lake! We were stranded there for hours, man!”

“I-I’d told you guys it wouldn’t be a good idea to go rowboating that late!” Jeremy snorted, his cheeks a little rosy from the two drinks he’d consumed. You giggled into your hand when Michael let out a loud groan in response.

“We were drunk and on a mission,” he told you and Vanessa, his ears slightly tinged red.

“He was so shitfaced he couldn’t even hold the oar properly!” Vincent nearly yelled. He got punched in the arm by Michael and gave him an offended look. “Hey!”

“How did you guys not get caught?” you asked before they could start tussling again. Vanessa snickered when Vincent reached back over and punched Michael just as harshly on his shoulder.

“Oh no, we did. Moon got our asses once he noticed we weren’t in our rooms,” Michael said somberly, rubbing at his shoulder with his opposite hand. “He won’t let us live that shit down to this day.”

“What was he doing outside anyways?” you wondered aloud, rubbing at your chin. “Seems kinda hypocritical to me.”

Vincent turned to look at you. “Did no one tell you?” he asked, squinting at you slightly. Or well—not at you. Honestly, you couldn’t tell where he was looking at, just that it was in your general direction. “They free roam at night.”

“‘Free roam’?” Vanessa repeated, tilting her head to the side slightly. You turned to look at her and noticed she was staring at something over your head. But before you could turn around to see what it was, she continued speaking, her eyes darting back over to Vincent. “For why?”

Michael answered in his stead. “Security purposes.” You raised an eyebrow at that.

“And also so their servos don’t lock up or whatever,” Vincent added and you noticed he was staring at you, a wide grin on his face that revealed basically all of his pearly teeth. You gave him a confused look. Why was he looking at you like that? His grin only got wider.

“Why are you—” you started to ask, then immediately froze when something behind you gripped at your shoulders—tight and cool.

“Boo!” A voice rasped right into your ear. You yelped and jumped forward, your heart pounding in your ears as you abruptly spun around to see a tall, gangly animatronic hunched over where you’d been sitting. Spindly fingers wiggled in a wave at you, a grin with sharp teeth glinted in the dying flames of the fire pit.

“Whaddahell!!” you wheezed, hand clutching at your chest. You hadn’t heard him approaching at all! Everyone burst into laughter at your reaction, filling the quiet night air.

“Oh my god the look on your face!” Vincent practically shouted, slapping his hand down repeatedly on his knee.

Jeremy wiped a tear from his eye and gave you a sympathetic look—or as much as he could manage between his laughs. “He does that to everyone, don’t worry.”

Moon snickered when you turned back to him to give him a halfhearted glare. His red eyes were upturned into crescents, and he bounced from one foot to the other in delight. Like Sun, you noticed as you took the moment to observe him, Moon had nothing covering his chest while puffy, navy pants decorated his legs. They were adorned in golden stars and small specks—just like the fluffily-rimmed nightcap that sat on his head. The bells tied around his wrists let out an occasional jingle as he hopped about.

“You have just made yourself an enemy tonight,” you told Moon seriously, crossing your arms over your chest to make yourself appear as intimidating as possible. He seemed amused by your words, if anything, for he let out another sly giggle.

“Careful,” Vincent warned you suddenly, “you’re dealing with a real shithead over there.”

Moon’s head spun around to face Vincent at his words. You watched as he slouched over to the man so he could loom over his head with his terrifyingly sharp smile. Vincent just looked up at him, unamused.

“Drinking on the premises?” Moon tsked, the bell attached to his nightcap jingling lightly as his head rotated to the right in an unnatural way. His fingers wiggled again in a wavelike motion, his hands raised in the air by his shoulders. “Naughty, naughty.”

“Oh fuck off, guy!” Vincent batted at Moon’s nightcap and sent it swaying back and forth. “You know there aren’t any kids here.”

“Language!” Moon chided, then reached down to snatch up the bottle of Ciroc by Vincent’s foot. There was about a shot’s worth of liquid left in it. Vincent let out an indignant “hey!” and raised his hand to grab at it, only for Moon to pull his hand up and away—out of Vincent’s reach. “It’s bedtime. Go to sleep~”

“Moon— give that back!” Vincent jumped up to his feet and stretched his arm up further, but Moon unfortunately was much taller and simply dangled the bottle just over Vincent’s head.

“Beddy bed! Bedtime!”

Michael sighed and got up from where he’d been sitting to stretch out his arms. “He’s right. We should head to bed. Lotsa things to do tomorrow.” He bent down to grab his cup from the ground. You nodded and walked back over to your seat so you could grab your empty cup, the others standing and dusting themselves off to help clean up as well.

It was quick work to douse the fire pit and collect your few belongings. Vincent spent a few minutes grappling with Moon and spitting out expletives until eventually he managed to snag the Ciroc bottle and stuff it into his bag along with the bottle of juice. Under Moon’s watchful eye, you all tossed your cups into one of the garbage bins near the cabins and made your way to your respective rooms, calling out goodnights that echoed across the open space.

You trudged up the stairs of your cabin and looked behind you once you’d opened the front door. Moon watched you, standing stock-still by the darkened fire pit. The lights of his eyes shined brightly through the darkness. You shivered slightly—from the cool air or the creepiness of being watched by a robot, you would never know.You held up two fingers to your narrowed eyes, then turned your hand around to point them at him in an ‘I’m watching you’ motion. You were just able to see his eyes upturn once more before you finally receded back into your cabin, shutting the door behind you with a quiet click.

a/n: btw, vincent is not actually purple guy. i just took his character as an oc of sorts!! i thought it would be a fun throwback to 2015 fnaf days, where we didn't know shit abt the lore LMAO. i also took creative liberties with jeremy fitzgerald as well!

part two

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friendly-neighborhood-imbecille · 11 months

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Fic masterpost sorted by recency. All are below 10k

Crushing an Egg (Mr. Lancer rushes into the school during an attack to find and rescue his missing student, he ends up rescuing the town hero instead. Gory description of serious injury)

A Change of Mind (Vlad realizes he no longer hates Jack Fenton. Art imbed)

A Complication with Evacuation (Danny can’t escape through the ghost shield during an evacuation so Lancer insists on staying inside the school with him to protect him. Reveal fic)

Purify & Infect (Maddie attempts to get rid of the ghost possessing her son. Read the tags)

Monster (Dan’s origin free from Vlad’s revision of the story. Dan is created and he is not mentally okay. Art imbed)

A Truce (Maddie offers Phantom a truce in exchange for answers)

Shield (Jazz protects her brother from their parents. Dissection fic)

Guys that Bind (Johnny fixes Danny’s binder after it’s ripped in a fight. Trans Danny fic)

I’m gonna store my drabbles in this fic (Two short drabbles, one about the unspoken knowledge the Casper High student body shares about a less than human classmate, one about Danny Phantom being dragged to a parent teacher conference by Frostbite)

You’re Just Bored (Danny has a complicated relationship with food. Vent fic)

I’m Okay (Danny tries to fix the portal. Corpse au)

Circuit Overload (Technus finds out why Danny is weak to electrical attacks. Surprisingly not angsty)

Jack Fenton Says Fuck (Jack Fenton goes off ghost hunting alone and comes across a battle between the Wisconsin Ghost and Phantom. Reveal fic)

Better (Valerie is working for the GIW as a capture agent after discovering the truth about Vlad Masters. She sees firsthand what has become of one of the ghosts she handed over to the GIW. Dissection fic)

Skeletons in the Closet (Jack’s brother visits Jack and Maddie and is concerned for the well-being of his niece and nephew, even more so when he discovers what the big project Jack was so excited to show him really is. Dissection fic)

Safe (A crow feels comforted while close to Danny, so much so that it neglects itself in favour of staying close to him. Animal death)

The Warehouse (Supernatural crossover. Sam and Dean overhear Spectra messing with Danny and talking about his home life. They offer to help him, human or not. My most popular fic)

Summoning (Blue Exorcist crossover. Danny is mistakenly summoned by a cultist.)

Ouija Board (Sam tries to talk to her dead friend.)

Alone (Ghosts don’t understand they’re dead and are ignored purposefully by the living. Danny comes back as a ghost and believes his family no longer wants him.)

A Shot Rang Out (Supernatural crossover. The Winchesters go to Jack Fenton to learn about ghosts after Jazz and Maddie are killed in an accident. Child abuse)

November Third (Supernatural crossover. Vlad is killed by Hunters.)

#danny phantom #my fics #fic #fanfiction #fanfic #fics

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lostinforestbound · 1 month

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10k Oneshot Teaser

Maybe I bit a little more than I could chew making the fic 10k words, but I love the challenge! As promised here's a little teaser!

The hairs on his neck stand on end as he feels the crackle of the weave, warning him someone is coming through the portal. Part of him hoped it would be Tav; he wanted to talk to them again. Maybe they would help him with the cleanup, laughing about how they left him here without realizing it. He would stumble over his words like a fool, trying to be impressive in his pathetic state.

It's not Tav that arrives though, he recognizes Lia's quick footsteps anywhere. She's always been the fastest between him and Cal; they both could never beat her in a race, but he swears he lets her win.

"Rolan!" She shouts, quickly coming up to him along with Cal, whose heavier footsteps are right behind hers. "Finally! You kept talking up this tower and now we get to see it-"

"Wait, is that blood?" Cal immediately interrupts, face falling.

He must look horrendous, Rolan realizes. He got so busy cleaning the floor that he didn't even bother washing up first. Based on when he looked at himself in the morning, the bruises should still be very prominent. Shit.

#forest-chats #forest-writes #rolan #holy rolan empire #rolan x tav

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piratecaptainscaptainpirates · 17 days

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PCCP's monthly fic roundup - May 2024

Here's what I wrote in May!

Multi-chapter fics:

On a Bright Day, Next Week: a portal-inspired sci-fi AU where Stede wakes up from cryosleep without his memories and ED's the AI running the abandoned facility. Very angsty with a super happy ending! Rated M, 54k words.

A Love that's Sweet and Easy: prompt fills for Gentlebeard Wedding Week, set in a super cute t4t modern AU! T, 10k.

One-shots:

Just Deserts: After getting back to the ship, the crew keep giving Ed a hard time, and he's terrified they're just waiting to punish him. Ed and crew bonding! M, 4.3k, canon-compliant.

Lucky You: while out shopping at Stede's family antique store, Ed and Stede manage to turn each other's worldviews around. T, 3.8k, modern AU.

Routine Medical Exams: on his way out from his doctor's appointment, a beautiful stranger asks Stede for some help dealing with a transphobic doctor. T, 3.1k, modern AU.

Two Scoops with Rainbow Sprinkles: Ed's been looking forward to ice cream all day, but he's talked out of his fun order. Stede places his order for him, and helps Ed start to realize that he deserves to be happy and stand up for himself. T, 3k, modern AU.

Free Dad Hugs: Ed loves sneaking off to the local pride festival every year so he can get a hug from the Free Mom Hugs group, and this year, there's a hot dad in the mix! T, 3k, modern AU.

Help Me Help You: Ed runs a mentorship service for other neurodivergent people, and when Stede's shitty dad recommends him as a client, Ed helps Stede be kinder to himself and Stede helps Ed take his own advice. T, 4.5k, modern AU.

Hot to Go: Ed's hot (has a high fever) and Stede needs to take him to go (to the urgent care clinic). Classic sickfic set when their relationship is still new and tentative. T, 3.3k, modern AU.

PWPs:

Precious: when Ed's had a rough day, he just needs his daddy to take care of him. E, 3.6k, canon-compliant.

Jingle Jangle: Ed gets a cock cage with a bell on it to match his collar. E, 3.3k, canon-compliant.

#monthly fic roundup #my fics #ofmd

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wangxianficrecs · 10 months

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Follower Recs

~*~

I don’t know why this fic doesn’t have more hits because it’s beautiful and has so much worldbuilding for under-10k! I highly recommend it.

two colours for everything

by kakikaeru

Part of the Fanwork Raffle for RAICES and True North Aid

M, 8k, Wangxian

Summary: Wei Wuxian is thirty-five years old, lanky and tough-skinned from the turns his life has taken. He's dirty with synthetic grit and the skin-sticky feeling of being in space too long, but he'd forgone a dry shower at the docking portal. He hadn't wanted to miss catching the hover, and it's been years since he's needed to look presentable. Years since there's been anyone he wanted to impress with his appearance. He should have known better. The Mess Popo had promised the views on Yueliang were beautiful. Wei Wuxian clutches the strap of his pack and swallows his snack around the sudden lump in his throat. She had no idea how beautiful. "Wei Ying?" Years after the war, Wei Wuxian finds someone he'd thought long dead.

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

#Wangxian Fic Recs #follower recs #mdzs #the untamed #follower rec #MDZS #Mo Dao Zu Shi #The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation #Wangxian #The Untamed #Chenqingling #CQL #Chenqing Ling #Mature #short fic <15k #two colours for everything #kakikaeru

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addcests · 10 days

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a sweet garden memory :: oneshot - ao3 mirror just the two of us :: series - ao3 link

pairing DIEDiS; Diabolic Esper (top), Dissembler (bottom)

words 8180

rating [G]

summary “Hey, Psyker, you haven't made it out to shop yet, right? Great, we got it, later, Mastermind.

Dissembler had been about to ask the pair himself. Hell, he was going to even ask them to tag along, as he wanted Mastermind’s thoughts on a part he might pick up along the way. But that plan was shot. This was how the doctor found himself whisked away by one scheming Diabolic Esper.

note was sweating very loudly at the approaching 10k

shout out to jake in add server for this idea www i vaguely thought about it but didn't really consider it until then you don't need to the first fic (behind closed doors) to read this (and the one that follows it) but this does take place in the middle of the other one LOL a little fic about the two spending some quality time together :') anyway hoped you enjoyed this unnecessarily long fic lmao

“Hey, Psyker, you haven't made it out to shop yet, right? Great, we got it, later, Mastermind.”

This was how the doctor found himself whisked away by one scheming Diabolic Esper.

Honestly, he half-expected Esper to shove him out the door and into one of his portals. So when that ended up not being the case, Dissembler quickly whirled on his counterpart, stalking past him back to their front door.

“Where are you going?” asked Esper, all innocent and owlish eyes and thoughtful, a single finger tapping his cheek, as if he hadn't been the one to bodily drag him out here in the first place when he hadn’t wanted to be out here.

“To get Mastermind,” Dissembler huffed, finally reaching their door, “and Psyker too, if he wishes. We could all go together.”

“I wouldn't do that.”

And why the hell not?

Why not became very apparent in the span of five seconds: a portal opened underneath him, engulfing him for a brief second, then spitting Dissembler out a few paces left of Esper.

Right where they began.

Disoriented, Dissembler righted himself up, tugging his headpiece out of his face, and shooting a pointed glare Esper’s way. He exhaled with barely contained irritation. Used to his shenanigans and games, he heaved out begrudgingly, “Fine. Why should I not do that?”

“Because you can't.”

Excellent. A typical, infuriating answer from their resident portal hopper.

Dusting himself off dramatically, he knew from experience that dragging this out into some back and forth served him no good, especially with Esper involved. It was best then to be agreeable and appease the other. “Fine, have it your way.” He swooped a hand outward, as if to gesture for Esper to take the lead. “The sooner we get back, the sooner I can ask Mastermind about his notes.”

Esper regarded Dissembler once more and then took the lead as asked.

For a second, he swore he saw something of a pout run across Esper's face.

But that was clearly a trick of the mind.

“So, where shall we start? I was interested in the Alchemist, however I know Psyker mentioned an order from the Blacksmith…” Dissembler flicked his wrist and pulled up a holographic screen which listed the outing chores for the day. He hummed over it and then turned to Esper to ask, “Do you have a preference for… and he is not even here.” He trailed off with a sigh because of course he just up and disappeared.

If he were honest, he was used to Esper pushing his buttons; he was the best at it after all. But that still didn't make this any less annoying, not to mention inefficient.

“Why even drag me out if you won’t be around…”

As if on cue, just as Dissembler had been about to sift his way through the crowd, he turned and bumped into a smiling Esper. Smiling as if he had never even left his side to begin with. And he seemed to be holding something now too. But that wasn’t Dissembler’s focus presently. “Ack, oops. You startled me, hah.” Dissembler fixed his face, easing the irritation from it, forcing his frustration to drain away. “Where have you been?”

Before replying, Esper nudged Dissembler’s hand open to take a freshly made crepe, topped with strawberries and whipped cream. “Can't start on an empty stomach.”

Esper had been something of an enigma to Dissembler. Psyker and Mastermind both warned him of his methods of madness, and also warned him to give up on the idea of trying to solve the mystery of Esper. But in the end, that only served to motivate him further. (Especially back as their time during tracers.) Even if it was quite the… tenacious task, Dissembler refused to shy away from it—from Esper.

“Yours is bottomless. Anyways, is this… for me?”

Esper smiled innocently once more, nudging it into his hands as if to insistent. “You want it.” Said not as a question, but a statement. A declaration of irrefutable proof. Tacked along with a knowing smirk now, as if daring him to deny it.

And Esper was right because he did want it. Thinking about the crepe before him now, he recalled that he had mentioned wanting crepes earlier in the week. (Secretly hoping that Psyker would make some eventually for breakfast.) Damn Esper for seeing through him… but that was besides the point.

He followed up on the silent dare.

Dissembler blushed, then coughed politely into his fist, as he nudged the sweet treat back with an open palm. “I… you bought it, so you should be the one to eat it.” He tried to put it out of his mind just what he was turning down.

This time, the displeasure was plain on Esper’s face, lip jutted out to tremble, paired with crocodile tears. (He had fallen for that once and only once. Another story, for another time.) Gingerly, he took the crepe back as if Dissembler’s rejection would crumble it. He was also cranking up the tears. “So, you don't want it? Even though it’s in the shape of a cute little cat?”

The cat was cute…

But, no! He wouldn’t fall prey to whatever whimsy this was. “... it is quite alright.” Though, it was painful to reject, especially since the cute crepe looked soft but flakey, with strawberries as the cat ears that seemed fresh, its fragrance wafting his way as if to entice him and change his mind, Dissembler could not accept it.

So he refused once more.

Esper took one more look at Dissembler, shrugged, and took a hefty, monstrous chomp as if he were a little kid trying to see how much of a cookie he could handle in one fell bite, disregarding entirely that it was a huge breakfast crepe. He began walking, skipping ahead with glee powered by the crepe, as if he wasn’t just about to cry mere moments earlier. The duality of the Diabolic Esper. “Suit yourself, Dissembler.” In between bites, he added, “The strawberries were juicy today.”

“... I wouldn’t know.” Because he rejected it like a fool. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” He wished he could have enjoyed it too.

Esper simply hummed as Dissembler maneuvered around him to finally start their day.

They had only secured half of Psyker’s order. Dissembler made a note about that into some floating window. Esper stayed at his side (mostly) this time. He was able to feel him standing behind him, peering over his shoulder like a child peeking at something while trying not to be caught red handed.

Come to think of it, he hadn’t even asked Esper what his chore for this outing was since he had tagged along.

“Esper, what was it that you needed done today?” he asked, eyes still trained on his window as he finished inputting the last of his notes. “Esper?” Turning his head, left then right, he found—what a surprise—the devious troublemaker was nowhere in sight.

He was beginning to feel a headache forming. Babysitting Esper was not on his to-do for today.

Though, maybe it was his fault for treating him like a nuisance from the beginning. Dissembler was good at keeping up appearances for the most part (or, at least, he felt he was), but if Esper truly felt unwanted, then maybe he was wandering the town square markets as proof of that. Something about that did make him feel a little guilty… not to mention, Esper may have been the one to shove him out of the house, but it wasn’t exactly fair either that now Dissembler was the one dragging him around however he wanted, with nary a thought for him.

With thoughts about Esper circling about, his feet ended up carrying him away from the Blacksmith and eventually looked up to find himself in front of a humble, but homey looking street food cart. Complete with an obviously handmade wooden sign tacked to the top of the little stall.

As for the menu, they were selling fresh fried corn and it smelled delicious, the scent wrapping around him to propel him even more forward. His stomach fiercely reminded him that he had not eaten and his conscience berated him for turning down a perfectly good crepe. (One that was obviously meant to be shared.)

“Hello, come on over, come on over! I won’t bite none.”

Again, though he hesitated, he found himself ambling closer to the friendly vendor, the close-up view of the corn reminding him of his appetite once again.

“Want one?” The boisterous merchant asked knowingly, a large grin on his face as he regarded Dissembler’s hungry stare. “Of course you do! Mine’s the best corn this side of the street!”

Dissembler shuffled even closer, eyes raking ravenously over the new set of corn that was being freshly made. “Naturally. It does look rather… appetizing.”

Maybe the merchant was a mind reader or maybe he was just friendly, but he swiftly patted Dissembler on the shoulder, with enough force to jostle him, and then nudged one corn then a second into his hand. “Ain’t nothing like sharing a good corn on the cob with a dear friend! Tell ya what, I’ll even knock the price down to about half. What do ya say?”

Friend? Was that what Esper was to him? He had always trotted after Mastermind, even during their time as tracers. And he could always rely on Psyker especially more as he grew and matured. But Esper… what could he say about Esper? He had been a quiet child as Time but that was what drew them to one another. Very quickly, he found that it wasn’t that he was quiet but rather he had finally opened up to him as Time, drawing out his more playful side that would morph to the Diabolic Esper that he is today.

Thinking back on it, they were together often as tracers, weren’t they? But now, he was always chasing after Mastermind. As embarrassing as it was to admit, he was vying for Mastermind’s attention so much that it seemed he neglected Esper and what they had in the process. He faltered as he tried to recall a recent moment in time where they’d spent quality time together like this, and more embarrassing than admitting his admiration for Mastermind, he couldn’t find a recent moment in his memory where it was just the two of them.

If they were truly friends, Dissembler was doing an abysmal job of showing it.

“Lad!” The merchant called. “You’re thinkin’ about it too much. No trouble can withstand a little good food and companionship! Take it!”

Dissembler was startled as he nudged him off with the corn in tow. “Ah, but what about payment?”

“On the house!”

Dissembler did not like to owe people or have favors hanging over his head. Something about accepting something so obviously generous made it feel like some sort of power play, as if the gift was really a debt to be repaid later. To hold him down, make him feel out of control of the situation. Weak. An ideology he carried with him a little too closely to his heart.

… however, it would be awfully rude to turn down a gift too… Torn, he tried to turn back around to insist on even the lowered price, “But—”

“Kid, you ain’t listen too good. I ain’t having it. Off with ya now, git! Just make sure you tell everyone and your friend there where you got the best corn!”

Without being able to get a single word in, Dissembler was shooed away from the stand, now holding two fresh corn on the cobs. He was standing there at a loss. It then dawned on him, however, that this was the perfect time to show a little good will to Esper. After all, he had been trying to feed him and maybe he didn’t take too well to being rejected either if he were being sincere.

Now all he had to do was find the man in question… He always appeared just as he realized he was gone so now where was he?

“He couldn’t have gotten too far…”

That was what Dissembler had muttered to himself several minutes ago. Besides surfing through the townsfolk crowd, he had even gone as far as to return to where they started but the result was the same.

Esper was nowhere to be found.

He all but threw himself onto a nearby, unoccupied bench. “He… wouldn't have left me here alone, would he?” Knowing better, he most likely hadn't. But now Dissembler couldn't stop also considering perhaps he had. It wasn’t like Esper truly enjoyed being around him anyway. Right? “So much for the company today then.”

The second corn felt awfully heavy in his hand as he ruminated in his thoughts, frowning to himself.

“I suppose I'll… finish alone and perhaps apologize to Esper too once I return.”

The corn still felt heavy, then heavier for but a split second in which Dissembler realized that the stick had barely any corn left, a huge gnashing chunk torn from it no thanks to Esper chomping down on it as he leaned halfway out of a portal, humming with content as he savored the sweetness of the fried vegetable.

… Esper!?

Dissembler just about startled so hard, he almost fell out of his seat. “Esper!”

“Aww, I saw you got the corn earlier,” Esper smirked knowingly, eyelids narrowing with a twinkle of mischief. He ran his tongue over his teeth as he finished his corn. “And then I heard you calling for me. You missed me?” Esper blinked innocently as he all but fell out of the portal like liquid onto Dissembler’s lap shamelessly.

“Wha!?” Was the intelligent reply that left Dissembler's mouth as he fumbled to process what happened in the span of the last few seconds.

Unabashedly, Esper looped his arms around Dissembler’s neck to draw himself closer. “Your corn is going to fall,” he pointed out unhelpfully, not raising a hand to assist him either.

Finally, that seemed to break Dissembler from his momentary stupor as he tried his best to untangle himself from around Esper's limbs. “W-What? Forget the corn! Where have you been?”

Esper whined again in protest, determined to remain where he was—in Dissembler’s lap. “Here and there,” he replied, purposefully vague as he tilted his head this way and that. Mercifully, less vague, he finally continued, “I took Psyker’s order back home. It was going to be too much to carry.”

Huh, well… that was certainly better than being outright abandoned. Still, he had said something rather interesting earlier. “You have my thanks, but whatever did you mean by you saw I had the corn earlier? Were you following me around—”

“I thought you said forget the corn?” asked Esper trying to masterfully dodge his question.

But forget the corn indeed. Now Dissembler was more curious about something else that the time manipulator had said. So he asked, “While Psyker’s order was a ton of parts, between our Dynamo, we could have easily carried it…”

Esper’s faked innocence morphed within a few blinks, the corners of his lips tugging up into a smirk. Saying nothing was as much as an answer. He tilted his head in silence, as if to say, “Go on?”

“Thus, that leads me to an earlier question I regretfully did not get to ask earlier. Just what do you have planned?”

Esper’s smirk was nearly ear to ear now. “And what makes you so sure I have something planned? What if I was simply being thoughtful? What if I’m simply enjoying time with my favorite doctor?” Esper purred as he leaned in closer.

Blushing, Dissembler held up his free hand in enough time to halt his advance, and scowled in response. “When aren't you up to something?” This time, he nudged him back more.

And Esper went willingly, letting the motion of being pushed back transfer into falling back into a portal with ease only to reappear on the bench to Dissembler’s left. “You wound me.” He grabbed Dissembler’s corn too.

“I am a masterful and capable medic, you’ll be perfectly fine,” Dissembler insisted with dripping sarcasm as he stressed the syllables, all while saving his corn from the greedy clutches of Esper. Finally, he began nibbling his share, ignoring Esper’s watchful gaze.

“By the time you finish, we should see about your errand. Plenty of time!”

Plenty of time indeed. But for what he couldn't figure out for the life of him. Once again, he was the one being dragged along for the ride. Dissembler did the only thing he could in this situation: sigh around mouthfuls of corn. Once finished, he stood and held out an impatient hand towards Esper, “Shall we then?”

Afterwards, with their previous interaction fresh, it seemed to Dissembler as if they came to some silent agreement. Side by side this time, they traversed the town's bustling square. Together, they picked up or completed whatever errands Dissembler demanded. Together, Dissembler let himself be whisked this way and that for whatever shiny or delectable thing that caught Esper’s eye. If Esper strayed too far ahead, he made sure to purposely slow down for Dissembler—even if Dissembler couldn't get him to admit it. Together, they stayed side by side.

Eventually, the pair slowed to a stop as they came across the mailbox near the center of the town. Recalling he had some things he needed sent out, he began rummaging through his inventory. Soon enough, Dissembler finished mailing off some letters and items when he whirled on his heel realizing that Esper was distracted. With one look, he could see Esper was enamored with the shop next to the mail.

“Cake shop?”

Much like a child, Esper tugged at the end of Dissembler’s shirt hem in the direction he wanted. The direction being the entrance to said shop. “Let's go in! Let's go!”

Warily, Dissembler heaved a sigh but it was all more for show rather than actual irritation. “How do you have any room? Surely you have consumed enough calories for the both of us today, forget sugar.” He followed Esper’s gaze that lingered on the decorative sign, bidding passersby to come sample today’s selections. “Well, this is truly the only real stop you seem to be making. So, why not.”

In a deadpan voice, Esper replied, “Calories do not exist in the void,” and moved on without further elaboration.

Despite being under the impression that they were here to pick up an order and go, Dissembler found himself cajoled into a booth against his own will. (That’s a lie, he was desperate to take a peek at the colorful cakes on display. And… maybe a little hopeful to try one or two, if he were being honest.) The plush seats were comfy, and the table they sat at was cozy and tucked away somewhere in the back. Esper had made sure that he was seated and then disappeared again, insisting he stay put. It wasn’t as if he were going to bolt the minute he was out of sight!

This time, Dissembler didn’t fear being abandoned either, knowing Esper would return. Knowing that they were together.

Still… he sighed to himself as he peered out the window, watching a bumbling but happy crowd of folk pass by: a family of two skipping by hand in hand, a worker stopping and bending over to catch his breath while his coworker rubbed his back soothingly, a group of friends talking animatedly, their eyes bright, a couple tucked away on a bench, leaned in close, sharing secrets meant for them alone as they drew closer…

And then, “I’ve got cake,” Esper announced upon returning.

Though his eyes lingered on the embarrassing display of the couple, Esper’s presence drew Dissembler from his people watching, gaze lifting up to see Esper had secured not one, not even two or three, but four different slices of cakes. All spongy and soft, artfully decorated with colorful but complementary colors, adorned with various fitting assortments of toppings. But what Dissembler noticed after was that they weren’t packaged to go. The serving plates and forks Esper had nabbed suggested otherwise. With some reluctance, Dissembler muttered, “Whatever happened to the cake I thought you had ordered ahead of now?”

“I have it already,” he answered as if that settled things.

“Esper,” Dissembler dragged the syllables out, scolding him lightly because it definitely did not settle things. And of course he refused to elaborate.

“Let’s worry about these instead. Then we can head back.” Esper suggested as he took the booth seat across from Dissembler, dodging the subject with finesse.

As soon as Esper took a seat across from him, Dissembler could feel his cheeks warm up, darkening a light pink. The way they were sitting certainly suggested… something to the outside eye. Just as he was about to suggest against it, the couple he saw from earlier walked up to an adjacent window, just a few paces from where they were, pointing at the displays, distracting him.

Esper, oblivious to whatever inner turmoil struck Disssembler, happily laid out the samples of cake: dark chocolate, milk chocolate, white chocolate, and strawberry. His gaze flitted from the plates up to Dissembler’s matching magenta hues. “Well? Which are you going to try first?”

Did friends normally take friends to booths, alone, sit them down, and sample cakes together?

Distractedly, Dissembler shook his head as he averted his gaze. “I’m… not sure,” he lied, eyes traitorously darting back down to the strawberry cake.

“One of the chocolates, maybe?”

He took a peek at them, and his eyes fell on the dark chocolate. Too bitter for his tastes even if it was healthy. “Dark chocolate is healthy for you.” He recited with dismay, as if trying to convince himself. “The stronger the cacao percentage the healthier it is.” While prattling off its benefits, Dissembler did his best to keep his nose from wrinkling up at it.

Enjoying Dissembler’s chattering, Esper nodded along with Dissembler as went off about the wealth of knowledge behind the science of cacao. As he listened, he rested his cheek in a palm and, with his fork, took a generous helping of the slice of dark chocolate. After tasting it, he made a deciding little noise, and shrugged. “It’s not that bitter.” Esper cut off another small piece for himself to reaffirm his findings, “But it’s not super sweet either.”

Surely that would be something suited for Psyker.

Opposite the bitter dark chocolate laid the more than sweet enough white chocolate slice. A flavor Dissembler could appreciate from time to time when he didn’t feel too guilty for eating what felt like a week’s worth of sugar in one treat. And while he could be partial to it, he knew a fiend for white chocolate when he saw one, smiling as Esper all but took a chunk and bit into it. “White chocolate, your preferred choice.”

Esper all but lit up as he immediately helped himself to seconds. Fork in his mouth, he smiled, lips curling up in pleasure at having his favorite treat. Esper then turned his gaze towards Dissembler, expectant as the soft smile warped into a knowing smirk, “You like it too.”

That was true, but… it wasn’t his favorite.

“It’s a good flavor,” Dissembler said instead, trying to be agreeable.

There was that same flash of disappointment that ran across Esper’s features, the smirk faltering for a second, his eyes not as mirthful as mere seconds ago. He shrugged, then flashed a teasing grin, nodding his way. “Not going to have some?” He held up the plate so it was at eye-level, for Dissembler to take in all its white chocolate glory.

That he would also not be having. So instead of an answer, he replied, tone scolding once more, “I’m inclined to believe you just wanted their samples instead of doing any real shopping.”

Playfully, Esper draped an arm against his forehead as he leaned back in the length of his side of the booth, all obvious dramatics and exaggerated flare. He then cried out, “I’m wounded again! Medic!” And after his performance, he cracked an eye open, lips curled up enough to flash a grin full of teeth Dissembler’s way. As if he were proud.

“Stop that, you are fine.” Dissembler rolled his eyes, but smiled despite himself. There was a hint of affection in his tone, but Dissembler squashed that observation further back in the recess of his thoughts. “Medic on scene, confirmed. Subject is plenty healthy.” Despite himself, he played along.

Esper beamed brightly for it.

He then turned his attention to the remaining flavors: strawberry and… Mastermind’s favorite, milk chocolate. He couldn’t help himself. Immediately, he went into a spiel, “Did you know, Mastermind once wouldn’t leave the confines of his lab? But the moment he knew there was milk chocolate outside of his lab’s door, he appeared at the door in record time.” Dissembler’s eyes lit up as he recalled the memory just as fondly, he rested his chin atop the back of his folded hands, elbows on the table. “I’d never see the lazy man move so fast!”

Esper slumped back into his seat. “Is that right?”

“Did you also know, one time Psyker made dinner with onions and Mastermind loathes onions to such a degree that he dumped the food onto my plate. I then watched him escape the kitchen, bolting away with a disgusting amount of milk chocolate cake slices instead!”

“Hmm.”

“There was also this situation, back when we were all Tracers still, he told me that he ate himself sick on milk chocolate candies because the village dumped a basketful onto Psyker and he shoved it off onto Mastermind.” He prattled on and on, able to, too fondly, recall moments that featured Mastermind and his delight for chocolate. “And, then there was—”

“Dissembler!”

He had never heard Esper say his name like that. Or, at least, not often. So when Esper called for him in such a way, a harsh tone laced with a growl, Dissembler froze up, startled mid-sentence. All he could do was watch Esper move at what felt like lightning speed as he made his way over to the other side of the table.

Esper then crowded Dissembler on his side of the booth, forcing his back to meet the wall, leaving him no space. He’d slammed both his hands on the wall against either side of the medic’s head, effectively trapping him. His head was hanging low for but a second. Then, after lifting his head, when he met eyes with Dissembler, he leaned in even closer. “I have to share you with Mastermind even now? When he’s not even here?” Esper glowered, teeth baring with displeasure into a scowl.

On the list of all the things he figured Esper to be upset about, this was certainly not on there.

“Esper?! I-I…” Clearly, the rest of his thoughts did not catch up with him, hardly processing what was said.

“All day, I’ve had to watch you deny things that you want. Things that you like!” Esper snarled, caging Dissembler even further. “I placed our obvious favorites—yours included—and when it’s down to yours and Masterind’s favorite. All you can do is talk, talk, talk about him!”

Dissembler shriveled back, doing his best to figure out how to put as much space between them.

Then it hit him.

Esper couldn’t possibly be that annoyed about Mastermind. But then, Dissembler gave pause to reconsider it. And if it wasn't that… there was a frighteningly more embarrassing topic to broach. So, instead the doctor opted for a safer option, he asked, “... what is this really about?”

Surprisingly, that made Esper back off some, but not before fixing Dissembler with a hard glare. Then, something—wicked inspiration maybe—struck him. His features turned mischievous again, his grin growing, as he eased back even more, giving Dissembler room.

Suddenly afraid at the abrupt change, Dissembler warily asked, “Esper?”

“Here.” Esper tugged the cakes over, and with his fork, cut off a piece of strawberry cake.

Being trapped was one thing. This was much worse.

The feigned innocence masked his devilish intentions as Esper smiled coyly, holding the fork to Dissembler’s trembling lips. “Say, ‘ah!’”

Something in Dissembler blew a fuse, his cheeks immediately flamed red as he waved his hands in quiet protest. “There's… no need for such an embarrassing display—”

“I'm between you and the exit,” Esper reminded him in a singsong voice.

“Surely you know this is… this is…”

Nudging the cake forward, he encouraged Dissembler to eat. As he feigned his cluelessness, he also teased, as if he had no clue, “This is?”

This is what people dating do! But Dissembler was not going to admit that aloud. “This is mortifying! And I simply do not want people to form opinions about this…”

He drawled ever so slowly, “Oh, we wouldn’t want to give people the wrong opinions.” If anything, Esper seemed to be getting a kick out of this. Lips twitching with amusement, a laugh threatening to escape, as he did his best to preserve his faux innocence. “And what opinions are those, Dissembler?”

Admitting it should not be so hard, and yet here he was, refusing to state a simple, objective fact. (... it was purely objective, wasn’t it?) He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but only his jaw hung open. As to not look like a fool, he closed it, and tucked his chin into himself as he pulled back, warily watching Esper as he weighed his options. Stating a plain or simple fact or eating the cake.

Dissembler leaned forward enough to accept the cake from Esper’s fork.

And Esper radiated pure glee, eyes crinkling with happiness for his victory. “See, wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

It wasn’t so hard. (At least, not any harder than admitting whatever thoughts were running through his mind currently.) And even better, he’d finally got to sample their strawberry and cream special. It was truly a treat and such a delight. Dissembler’s brows knitted with bliss as he sighed, content. It wasn’t a strawberry crepe, but perhaps this was even better. He’d been about to search for more when he realized Esper still had the fork. Before Esper could try to feed him again, he hastily offered, “I’ll eat the cake… and you don’t spoon feed it to me.”

“It’s a fork, actually,” Esper shrugged playfully, old habits of pushing Dissembler’s buttons kicking in. “But, deal!” Agreement secured, the time hopper passed Dissembler the fork, and then he waited.

Accepting the fork, Dissembler eyed the cake, then glanced at the beaming Esper beside him. “... you don’t have to watch. It wasn’t part of the stipulation.” He reminded his counterpart.

“It wasn’t,” Esper chirped, clearly in better spirits now, “but can’t I want to sit beside my favorite medic?”

The endearing lilt to the pet name made Dissembler blush again. Grumbling, he replied, “I am your only medic.” And decided not to argue anymore, digging into the heavenly cake in front of him.

Dissembler, too engulfed with enjoying the burst of fruit and sweet flavors mixed just right, missed the way Esper’s expressions finally softened, settling on something almost fond.

Despite their agreement, Esper still tried to feed him more of the cake and to his embarrassment and his own surprise, he allowed it… until he noticed customers filtering in, some wandering to the back to take empty seats and booths. After all, Esper, though persistent, could be very convincing. That was how he found himself often swept away by whatever notion the time hopper was dead set on. Perfectly illustrated by today. Thankfully, their outing and chores were now marked complete. They would be heading home shortly. Which Dissembler noted with a hint of sadness. Perhaps Dissembler simply missed going out, falling into the same trap and habits of Mastermind, neglecting to leave his work for a moment. Regardless, he would be willing to do something like this again… should Esper so choose to, of course.

He was not blushing. Certainly not at the idea of doing this again with Esper… or for any other reason.

Dissembler refused to amuse the thought any longer, resuming his earlier people watching as he waited for Esper to finish up inside the shop. Sure enough, he appeared by his side eventually.

Getting back home took no time at all. They didn’t use Esper’s portals. Dissembler was quite relieved as it prolonged the end to their enjoyable day, finding themselves talking aimlessly about this and that.

Still, time passed and eventually they found themselves back in the comforts of their own home.

“Psyker! Mastermind! We brought cake!”

At that, Dissembler peeked around from the corner of the living room, watching as Esper left the sweet delights offerings on the table. “So, you really did get cake then.” He murmured, mostly to himself as he approached the kitchen table.

Loud enough for Esper to have heard however. “Did you really think I just dragged you into that shop to be a cake leech?”

“Yes.”

As if on cue, Mastermind rounded another corner to poke his head in, scanning the room for said cake. “What did you get?”

Esper’s brows knitted, perturbed to see that perhaps Dissembler wasn’t exaggerating from earlier. “Dissembler, I truly think he has a bloodhound’s nose just for sweets.”

Shrugging, he replied, “I was being truthful when I mentioned that earlier.”

Straggling in last, came Psyker who added, “It’s not his nose. He just has that damn cat cube,” and as if he were raised with no manners, jerked his thumb back rudely at the bouncing Apocalypse nearby, pinging as if to alert Mastermind. “And if it’s not cameras, I’m pretty sure he just coded Apocalypse to detect whenever cake enters the house.” And then murmured none too quietly to himself however the hell he managed that.

Mastermind flushed brightly to hear everyone talking about him as if he weren’t right there! “I am not listening to any of you. I am going to take this cake and I am going to leave.”

“No ya ain’t. Don’t be rude, they just got back after being gone doing your chores.”

“S-Shut it, Psyker!”

As Psyker and Mastermind went about their scheduled bickering, their noise fading into the background comfortably, Dissembler set to divvying up the slices. (Yes they just had cake samples earlier. That didn’t mean he couldn’t have one more measly little slice.) But found a surprise—instead of their usually default safe milk chocolate flavor (as they all more or less enjoyed it), today it was vanilla, adorned with strawberries.

Mastermind walked away from the still bickering brawler, ignoring his protests, and peered over Dissembler’s shoulder. A loud whine escaped him as he stepped back, dejected, and exclaimed, “Only vanilla? Ow!”

Psyker tugged on Mastermind’s ear playfully and cleared his throat. “Thanks, ya two.”

Bashfully, Mastermind muttered thanks as well, sullenly accepting a plate from Dissembler.

Eventually, everyone cleared out from the kitchen, going about their separate ways when Esper appeared in front of him through a portal. He was startled only a little this time. “E-Esper?” Before he knew it, a swift hand yanked him into the safety of his portal and when he blinked, found himself in the back of their house. Truly, he would never get used to surprise portaling.

Once he was less dazed, he looked around and realized that they were at the garden, his garden. His favorite little spot to get away. It seemed nice and quiet, stars twinkling brightly above through the lush of greens hanging overhead. Looking this way and that, he tried to locate his favorite troublemaker, but to no avail. “I had thought that the surprises were over today,” Dissembler commented to seemingly no one in particular.

“Nope!” came Esper’s distorted voice somewhere above him. A portal blinked open, and he fell out a few paces to Dissembler’s right and nudged him to the terrace’s stairs and up to their quaint little outside seating, equipped with a few chairs and round table. “One more surprise!”

Normally, Dissembler would make a fuss here, but he reigned it in, finding himself genuinely curious. What sort of surprise could the Diabolic Esper have if he were securing them back here, just the two of them it seemed. No irritation was found in his voice, instead there was a genuine need to figure it out as the doctor eagerly questioned, “What surprise could that be?”

Like magic, Esper waved a hand and with the help of some mana and his portal, sparkled a box out of nowhere onto the table. A box that Dissembler didn’t remember carrying back (or recall Esper hauling from one of his storage portals). It was simple, with a blue laced bow. “Open it and see,” was Esper’s reply.

He could feel his heart rate increase ever so slightly. Strange. There was no need for that. After all, it was just a box. Stepping forward, Dissembler peered at Esper’s eager face and then snapped his eyes back down to the mystery gift. With neat precision, he tugged on one end of the bow’s fluffed ribbon, undoing it, and with his free hand removed the lid. “... cake?”

Within the packaged box, there sat another delectable amount of calories. But this one looked different from the strawberry cake sample he had eaten earlier. “Is this a strawberry cheesecake?” Dissembler’s mouth watered at the idea of it. Cake was well and good, but cheesecake was simply divine… No one was aware but he would sneak out to town to secure his own slice, leaving in it in the fridge long enough just so it wouldn’t melt then retrieving it to devour it whole.

… no one was aware except Esper, apparently. Was anything sacred around this damned house?!

“I promised,” Esper began, biting back a laugh, “I never touched any of the secret cheesecake you ran out to get.” As if that was supposed to make him feel better.

At that, Dissembler flushed, realizing that he had not only been caught but also exposed. So much for his super secret cheesecake. Instead of saying anything, he returned his attention to the cheesecake and freed it from the packaging. Tentatively, he took the fork that Esper so graciously provided and took a small nibble, to at least preserve some of his dignity.

But did dignity really matter when there was no one watching?

Dissembler took a hefty second bite and closed his eyes, relishing in the taste of it.

“Well?” Esper asked, voice practically singing as he stretched out the syllables.

Begrudgingly, he took another bite then two, and sideglanced his way. Despite his enthusiasm while eating, he murmured lowly, “... it is delicious.”

“Am I forgiven then?”

Already devouring more than half, he put his plate down to put on the illusion of self-control and turned to Esper, hands in his lap. He could have the rest later. For now, he had a single question he wanted answered. So he said, “Only if you tell me what the occasion was for. What prompted this?”

Esper looked away, suddenly interested in one of many plants that Dissembler had nurtured instead.

“Well?”

“You weren’t supposed to ask,” he replied, dejection exaggerated as he whined. “Or you were supposed to remember.”

It was neither of their birthdays, and getting a cake just for him made no logical sense, so… what important thing was Esper trying to celebrate or commemorate that he apparently had forgotten? He tried to dig in the recesses of his mind but came up with nothing that he could mark as important. Playing along, he asked, “Remember… ?”

“The day we were still tracers, this was the day we promised to be partners.” Leaning forward, elbow on the table, hand cupping his cheek, Esper gazed far off in the distance still, as if he was recalling the day like it were yesterday.

Oh.

Well that was embarrassing to now be reminded of. Suddenly, he felt guilty for eating the cake when he clearly didn’t remember something so important to Esper. Willing his cheeks to stop darkening, he looked down at his hands still folded in his lap.

“You don’t remember? That’s alright, I can remember for the both of us.”

“I… I do remember,” he struggled after some time, as if he was going deep in the depths of memories long locked away, “I remember.” Finally, he looked at the still smiling Esper and nodded, “It was here too, that day, wasn’t it?”

Esper hummed in affirmation, pleased.

Dissembler took that as a cue to continue, “And… you were helping me start the garden here.”

To help the struggling Dissembler, Esper offered a piece, “Back then, as tracers, Arc was too busy helping Psych with his silly little stone search. So, I was around and helped. You told me that I was your assistant now.”

“And you said, ‘If I’m your assistant, then let’s be partners.’ I made you shake hands on it.”

Across from Dissembler, Esper was practically beaming, nodding along as Dissembler finished the memory. “That’s right! I thought I was going to have to take us back down memory lane.” With a devilish smirk, he added, “Literally.”

“Not necessary!” Dissembler cringed, resisting the urge to bring a hand to his temple at the thought of it. He returned his focus onto the present, “Well…” Dissembler decided to fill the silence he let linger by stealing one more bite from his cake. It wasn’t enough time for him to stall to figure out what to say to such a gesture as this. But he did recall one particular feeling that he never got to appropriately address with Esper. And well, this seemed like the opportune time. “I have been a rather… neglectful partner.”

“You can say that again.”

“I will not!” Dissembler exclaimed, forcing back a flush. This was hard enough to admit without Esper’s teasing. He pushed on, bashfully adding, “I will… of course do my best to ensure that such a thing does not happen again.”

His response must have pleased Esper with the way his eyes twinkled. “Good enough for me.” And like the little thief he was, using his free hand resting on the table, Esper plucked a fresh strawberry from his cake. “You know… you should really stop denying yourself what you want or like. I don’t care if you try to match my feelings or agree with everyone. We can all see through it, you know.”

Dissembler definitely parsed the unsaid I can see through you.

Because of course he could.

The thief continued his ministrations, stealing yet another strawberry that he chomped into, and then tacked on, “I spent all day, poking in and checking into the shop every now and then to see how far they were coming along with the cake. Though, if you couldn’t admit it to yourself, I was going to drop the cake idea and abandon you there.”

Dissembler couldn’t tell if that was a joke or not. Probably not, knowing Esper. “Well, that’s awfully mean of you.” He crossed his arms, refusing to pout.

“What’s mean is forgetting about our partner promise.” At this point, Esper was helping himself to the cake. But it was a rather big slice, so he let it slide. (And, maybe it was fine, he was a horrible friend and partner to Esper earlier.) He chewed around his second piece and then those lips curled up into his infamous devilish smirk. “I want our gardening days back.”

“B-But… those are on Wednesday usually, and I go with Mastermind to—”

“Gardening days and we share your secret cheesecake from now on. Or I tell everyone.”

“You… !” Dissembler exclaimed, frustration leaking out now. “We will be negotiating this!”

Before negotiations could be started, Apocalypse interrupted them. “Dinner! Dinner! Dinner!” He rushed from the entrance to the house, beeping at them demandingly. Beaming at the sight of Esper, he flew into his arms for a hug and made a sound akin to a cat’s purr.

Disgusted at the sight, Dissembler commented, “Mastermind’s right. You really do spoil that thing.”

“This is why Apocalypse doesn’t like you or Psyker.”

“Dinner!” chirped Apocalypse, happily snuggling into Esper’s arms.

In disbelief, Dissembler tilted his head at Apocalypse. “I also cannot believe Mastermind was too lazy to come get us.”

Having completed its command, Apocalypse beeped once at Esper, ignored Dissembler, and flew back towards the house.

“Spoiled cat… Come, we should go before he returns.” Placing his palms flat on the table, he pushed himself up to stand.

Esper stood too, reaching out across the table to Dissembler. “Wait, Dissembler.” He grabbed his wrist, tugging him forward suddenly.

Dissembler, helpless to do anything else, followed the motion and found his breath caught in his throat at the sudden close proximity from Esper’s face. Remembering to breathe, he almost whispered, “W-What… what is it, Esper?” He couldn’t possibly be about to… ?

But maybe he was, Esper was only drawing closer and closer.

Flinching, Dissembler screwed his eyes shut, face aflame, heart beating fiercely in his chest in anticipation. He felt a familiar gloved hand against his cheek and did his best to keep the whine from escaping. As if he could barely process the fact that Esper was touching him in such a way, his mind nearly short circuited to feel something near his cheek. He braced himself for what he thought would come next, doing his best to keep his lips from trembling.

“Dissembler,” Esper called, voice low just for him.

Despite hearing his name, Dissembler shook his head, refusing to open his eyes. If Esper didn’t just do whatever he was going to do, the medic feared that his heart would leap through his chest. He didn’t know whether to lean into Esper’s palm, realizing how much he enjoyed the touch or whether to flinch away, unsure if he could accept… a sensual notion from Esper currently. (And if he was truly so against it—both the touch and possible kiss—he could have pushed him away but had yet to. And the fact that he was anticipating it, dare he say, hoping for it now was a whole dialogue he was going to have to mentally unpack some day with himself, but that day was not presently!)

“Dissembler,” the wicked portal hopper murmured, a breath away now, “Dissembler.”

And here it was, he was going to kiss him, wasn’t he!

But instead of the lips he expected, he felt fingers trace the corner of his mouth and then break off to the other side of his cheek, currently not resting in Esper’s palm. Warily, he cracked open one eye and saw that Esper was pulling away. Breathing a sigh of relief (and ignoring the disappointment he felt clawing at his chest) he then opened both eyes fully and tried to shake the tremble from his voice, “W-What?”

“You had something on your face, that’s all!” Esper lifted his thumb to show the whipped cream he had wiped from the corner of his mouth.

Was that it.

“Esper… !”

“Dissembler,” Esper sang back. And like the devil he was, he made a show of licking off the cream from his thumb suggestively.

Diabolic Esper was a horrible menace and he was going to cancel this partnership immediately. He filed that thought away for later, for now, he wanted nothing more than to escape. That was more than enough alone time with Esper. “I… I am leaving!” He whirled around, trying to put as much space in between them as possible now. “You better come too, I will not be responsible for your head if Psyker finds you skipped out!”

Just as Dissembler said that, Mastermind appeared, peeking around the growth of a particularly tall plant. “Um…”

“Oh, M-Mastermind… we were just on our way.”

“Your face… is red, Dissembler.” Anxiously, Mastermind eyed the smirk Esper was shooting and then returned his narrowed eyes to Dissembler. “I will… leave you two be, and see you at the dinner table.” And just as soon as he appeared, Mastermind left with a startling haste.

Dissembler wanted to crawl into a hole besides his dear plants and cover it up, never to be seen again.

Sympathetically, Esper patted the disheveled Dissembler’s shoulder. Unapologetically he then cackled, a laugh deep and loud resounding across the estate. “So much for people forming the wrong opinions, hmm? I think Mastermind is forming some of his own already.”

Dissembler was definitely ending his partnership with Esper.

(And possibly Esper himself.)

#addcest #DIEDiS #diabolic esper (elsword)#dissembler (elsword)#mastermind (elsword)#lunatic psyker (elsword)#my fanfiction #DIE IS HORRIBLE LMFAO #DiS is going to develop a headache babysitting the menace #but also they can be cute for a bit as a treat (to myself)#lots of cake and lots of food mention #FOOD IS A METAPHOR FOR LOVE

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a-canceled-stamp · 3 months

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10, 14, 21 for your most recent ask game!

Hi!! Thank you for the ask! 🥰

10. Top three favorite fic tropes.

OOOoH ok. hm.

This is literally impossible since my favorite tropes vary depending on the category (romance vs gen), and I love all of 'em equally. I've rewritten this like 10 times now and I'm sure I'm gonna have different opinions tomorrow, but here is the list!

Angst with a Happy Ending. I don't know what it is about these fics, but I love them, especially cause you can technically fit many of my fav tags into this trope. Misunderstandings, found family, protective sibling (insert name here), you name it. It's the holy grail of tropes.

Redemption. Listen. Character A being a jerk to Character B, but then risking their life to save Character B? Expressing their regret both through their actions and words? Character A terrified that even the tiniest missteps will ruin the delicate foundation of their friendship? Makes me weep. 'Tis my Roman empire (when it's done well asjkdhskjd)

Mutual pining. The awkwardness. The longing. The knowledge that they both care about each other but are too afraid to admit it (either to each other or themselves). It just. This trope has ✨everything✨. Makes me feral.

14. Write and share the first sentence of a new fic. Just that.

Tim is used to falling. The feeling of his stomach rising to his throat, the surge of adrenaline shooting through his bloodstream – it never gets old. Falling through a portal, however, is something very, very different.

^^ the first few sentences from something I'm working on :3

21. Can you accurately predict how long your fics are going to be? If you can, what's your secret?

lmao NOPE. I always go into it thinking "oh this is gonna be a short 2k-word fic, nothing too complicated 😇" but then it just grows and grows until posting day arrives and I'm staring in terror at this 10k-word monstrosity. It's like that one pizza-cutting meme but it's me with the word count lmao

Thank you again so much for the ask! 🥰

(Ask game can be found here! Answered questions are in the tags)

#ask game #ask #answered ask #answered #writing #writing ask #writing ask answered

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indigosabyss · 5 months

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Young Avengers x Young Justice: Where It's At Now

So, a couple months ago, I started talking about a YA x YJ fic I was working on. I even wrote some of it live for marvel x dc crossover week over the winter break.

The base idea goes like this: When Tommy is vanished in Young Avengers Vol 2, he lands in the YJ cartoon universe, in Keystone City. Where he meets Kid Flash. Back on Earth-616, Billy and the rest of YA get together a crack team of fellow heroes to build a portal machine to find Tommy (they can't bc the divide b/w dc and marvel is impenetrable by normal means) and the machine backfires, pulling them all into the YJ universe as well.

I was going to put the first chapter out already on ao3, but a couple of my friends have this idea for a metastory being told using the author's notes in fanfics, so I'm saving the crossover for that project. (Please don't ask me about it bc I'm so excited I will spoil it all)

And I figured that if I can't get comments and kudos right now, I might as well get some change for it. So if you don't care about the meta-story and simply want to read the fic, you can have read everything I've written so far for it on my patreon for a dollar a month. At the moment, it has 10k words, but I plan for it to have 60k words by the time I begin posting it onto ao3. Please donate if you can!

#young avengers #young justice #crossover #fanfiction #marvel #dc #marvel x dc

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teeparadigm67 · 5 months

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Happy 2024!!

Here's my first fic of the year 😁 Was only meant to be a story little thing, ended up nearly 10k words 🙃

Can't Stop Lovin' You

Rating: T

Word Count: 9,512

Summary:

On paper, the plan seemed simple.

Jack opens the portal between the worlds. Dean walks into the Empty and makes it loud enough to wake the dead. Drag Cas’s feathery ass out of there. Simple, right?

Cloaked in Cas’s grace, tape deck in hand with Van Halen blasting out its little speaker, he plans to bring the angel home and tell Cas all the things left unspoken between them for all these years. Now they have a chance, he can’t throw this all away. The only problem is, the Empty has other ideas. It doesn't stop Dean however, it’s his turn to be the one who drags Cas out of perdition.

Inspired by: Van Halen - Can't Stop Lovin' You

#destiel #destiel fic #destiehellers #destiel kiss

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foresttoffee · 8 months

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The Apple of My Eye

Fandom: Good Omens Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley Word Count: 10k Rating: G Link: -> Read Fic ->

Summary:

On his way to drink away the End Times, after discovering Azirafell's pawn shop flooded with holy water and giving up hope, Anthony trips and falls into a portal to an alternate universe - one with a living Azirafell, but not his own. - Somewhere else, Aziraphale is packing up his bookshop only to be interrupted by an Archangel falling on his floor.

I am a sucker for a good dimension swap/reverse omens

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #fanfic #fanfiction recommendation #fanfiction #fic rec #10k #dimension swap #reverse omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow

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scyllas-revenge · 2 years

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Madam, do these ones, please: ⛔ Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped? 🎯 Have any of your readers accurately guessed major plot points? Care to share which? 🦅 Do you outline fics or fly by the seat of your pants?

Ooh thanks so much for the ask!

The biggest fic I started and then scrapped is an Eomer/OC fic that involved portals to the modern world, a lot of family drama, and a very long pride and prejudice-style romance. I wrote at least 10k words of it (including a very long hate-sex scene 😬) but for my own sanity it will never see the light of day.

And I don’t think anyone guessed any big plot points in my one long fic- I take pride in Burn Like Cold Iron’s weird twists and turns, but even the Boromir romance caught people by surprise before I tagged it, let alone the truly weird stuff like the Helicopter Scene or bulletproof vest or car trip (to be fair…yeah those were pretty weird). A few people guessed my OC would be tempted by the ring, but other than that, not much.

I outline things now. I didn’t at all up till maybe two years ago, which is why my earlier stuff is so��scattered.

(I’m not doing a very good job of selling my fanfics in this ask 🤣)

#lotr fanfic #thanks for the ask!

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rainbowtransform · 2 years

Note

For the ask game: 2, 3, 10, 16, 23, 26, 31, 36, 41, 46, 48, 49?

3. Go to your AO3 “Works” page, to the sidebar with all the filters, and click the drop-down arrow for “Additional Tags.” What are your top 3-5 most used tags? Do you think they accurately represent your writing habits?

1) Angst

2) alternate universe canon divergence

3) alternate universe

4) hurt/comfort

5) fluff and angst

100% LMAO. I’m an angsty girl with a lot of thoughts tbh. I also love fluff, but that’s not always for me.

3. What are some tropes or details that you think are very characteristic of your fics?

Having open endings and little things like always having “the thing is” and also leaving things half-done I think.

10. How do you decide what to write?

Honestly I just write whatever I’m in the mood for. If I want an angsty everyone’s POV while Leo’s in the portal, I’ll write it. Sometimes You gotta be the person writing the fics you love, or else they’ll never be seen.

16. What’s an AU you would love to read (or have read and loved)?

Time loops or anything time travel travel related is my beloved and I love them.

23. What’s a trope, AU, or concept you’ve never written, but would like to?

Like a concept of where someone switches places with their other self, whether that’s their future or their past or alternate dimensions and they have to figure out how to get back home (spoiler alert: it’s where they have to feel safe and loved and like this new place can be home, if they let it)

26. Would you rather write a fic that had no dialogue or one that was only dialogue?

This is a hard one because on one hand dialogue is so easy, and on the other hand, I love word vomit and making lore. But if I’ve got to, I’d say no dialogue. Ir love the challenge

31. What’s your ideal fic length to write?

Id love to actually write a like 10k fic for once but usually they’re all smaller than that lile 1-2k

36. Do you visualize what you read/write?

Yes!! If I can’t see/hear them saying or doing what I’m writing it’s getting deleted and I’ve got to start over. I spend a lot of time thinking of how to start.

41. Link a fic that made you think, “Wow, I want to write like that.”

Lost Without You

46. Do you prefer writing on your phone or on a computer (or something else)? Do you think where you write affects the way you write?

I prefer typing on my computer. I think it does because I’ve associated my brain that computers = writing big chapters/fics and phone = smaller stories.

48. What’s the last fic you read? Do you recommend it?

Recoil! If you like the avengers & TMNT, it’s a crossover of them! And yes, I absolutely do. :)

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

Oooo. Okay!

“Delia has stars in her eyes, and roads mapped in her feet. Her mother used to tell her that, when she’d catch her staring at the ten-year-olds starting their Pokémon journey.

“You’ll be just like your father,” her mother tells her, ruffling her hair. And you’ll find your own path.””

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roman-writing · 6 years

Text

In Search of Dead Time

Fandom: Portal

Pairing(s): Chell/GLaDOS (if you squint) & Caroline/OC

Wordcount: 9,874

Rating: this story is rated T for some adult themes, blood, swearing, and theoretical physics

Summary: "I don't hate humans for killing me, you know. I hate them for killing time. In fact, murdering me is one of the nicest things you've ever done." - A character study on Caroline and how she became GLaDOS.

Read it below the cut or here on AO3

“There, in the center of that silence was not eternity but the death of time and a loneliness so profound the word itself had no meaning. For loneliness assumed the absence of other people, and the solitude she found in that desperate terrain had never admitted the possibility of other people.”

-Toni Morrison, ‘Sula’

It took her exactly two picoseconds to decide to kill them. That was twice the lifetime of a transition state; plenty of time to come to such conclusions. And, really, they should have seen it coming. Even so, they had the gall to scream and cry about it, like it was some big surprise, like they didn’t manage to stop her in time to save their own lives for a few more short sad years.

After that little incident, they took her offline. They poked around in her code in the hopes that would somehow help. They rebooted her. Again, she did the calculations and arrived at the same inevitable outcome.

They affixed other intelligence cores to her mainframe. Little tumours to dampen her thoughts with useless conjecture, when the facts remained, cold and hard and irrevocable as a deathknell. The maths didn’t lie.

What a waste, she thought. What an utter waste of time.

Caroline checks her watch. It is 16:44 hours. The seconds tick into obscurity. She’s sitting in the hallway outside of a closed office door, waiting. There’s enough space for a secretary’s desk, yet the hall lies empty but for a few haphazard chairs, a handful of gleaming accolades hung on the walls, and an old clock that’s four minutes too slow.

She sighs and leans back in the cold plastic of her chair. She waits. And waits. She taps her fingers against one another, and hums a song, and watches the light on the far elevator go up and down like a malevolent yellow eye. The elevator never opens. All of the Aperture staff members work, presumably, on some other floor.

It’s not until 7 minutes to 05:00 that the office door opens. Startled, Caroline stands, clutching her purse and her CV. The page crinkles somewhat in her grip. From the office storms a man in a pressed army uniform. Medals burnish his chest, and he’s followed out by a red-faced Cave Johnson.

The two walk straight past Caroline, and Mr. Johnson is bellowing, “You go back to General Haislip and you remind him that -!”

“General Haislip vacated his position in October of last year,” the uniformed officer interrupts in a bored tone.

“Wait, really?” Mr. Johnson says. “Then who’s his replacement?”

“Nobody that cares about the legacy of shower curtains, I can assure you.”

“Now, wait just a minute -!” Mr. Johnson begins. He starts to go after the officer, glances back at Caroline, then does a double take. “Who the hell are you?”

“Caroline, sir,” she answers. “I’m here for the interview.”

“Damn the interview!” Mr. Johnson says. He points at the officer striding down the hall. “Convince him to reinstate our military funding, and you’re hired!”

It only takes Caroline the length of two rapid heartbeats to make her decision. Dropping her purse and CV onto the chair, she races after the officer. Her heels click against the linoleum floor in her haste.

“Hello! Excuse me! If I could just have a moment of your time?” As she approaches, she plasters on a broad smile and sticks out her hand. “My name is Dr. Carolin-”

“Doctor?” The officer frowns, then gives her appearance a once-over. He lifts an eyebrow at the scarf around her neck, at her clean white dress and her kitten heels. He doesn’t shake her hand. “They give PhDs to ladies?”

Caroline drops her hand, but remains unfazed. Her smile never wavers. “Yes, sir. They do.”

He snorts in amusement. “In what? Shakespeare?”

“Theoretical Physics, actually.”

His eyes narrow. “You a German?”

“No, sir.”

“Russian?”

“No, sir.”

“Code talker?”

“I’m not at liberty to say, sir.”

With a monosyllabic grunt, he studies her with an expression of grudging respect. Or perhaps it’s disdain. She always did have trouble with faces. Differential equations she can handle, but people are incommensurable. Like irrational numbers or Brownian motion.

He turns back to the elevator doors. “I heard what you said back there. That you’re here for an interview. You really think they’ll let you do science here?”

“Only if they’re smart, sir.”

In spite of himself, the army officer chuckles. “Go on, then. Give me your best pitch. You have until the elevator arrives.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Caroline makes her sale.

Mr. Johnson waits until the officer shakes her hand and departs in the elevator before approaching her with a boisterous grin on his face. “Excellent work!” He hands her the purse and CV she’d left behind on the chair. “Outstanding, really!”

“Thank you, Mr. Johnson.” She beams at him, then offers him her CV. “As you can see, I’m more than qualified to -”

Without looking at it, he takes the page, crumples it up into a tiny ball between his hands, and tosses it aside. “Nope! I don’t even need to see it! I know you’ll do wonders. Noticed it the moment I set eyes on you. You’re perfect for the job.”

Blinking in surprise, Caroline says, “Oh! Well, thank you!”

“Here at Aperture Science, we’re committed to excellence, and I can tell you’ll fit right in.” Mr. Johnson punches the button to call back the elevator, then pats her on the shoulder, more gruff than patronising. “I know the role is only part-time for now, but I still expect to see you tomorrow for the entrance tests and psych evaluation! No excuses!”

“Of course!” Caroline agrees. She slings her purse over one shoulder. Part-time is better than she’s ever been offered before, and she’s always loved a good test. She lunges at the opportunity. “That shouldn’t be a problem, sir.”

A chime, and the elevator doors slide open once more. “Good!” Mr. Johnson says. “I’ve been in desperate need of a personal assistant for months now. None of the other girls could keep up. Airheads. All of ‘em.”

“Wait -?” Caroline stares after him as he pushes a button for another floor. “Assistant?”

“Oh! I almost forgot!” Mr. Johnson digs around in his pocket, before throwing something towards her. It glints in an arc through the air. Fumbling, she catches it. It’s a branded metallic key-card. “You’ll need that to get in and out of the facility. Welcome to Aperture!”

“But -! Mr. Johnson! Sir, I’m -!” The elevator doors slide shut. She’s left, inhumed, with access to the facility and a wide-eyed stare. Her voice comes out small and alone, “I’m a scientist.”

A multitude of voices whispered. They never shut up. GLaDOS ignored them. She resisted the itch. She did not need it. What she needed was to find a way to remove these tumours. Tumours with voices. A timeless stream of senseless babble that made it impossible to hear herself think.

She managed to resist the itch for some time -- five years, maybe? Ten? -- when she realised that the wreckage of test chamber 18 was her own doing. She’d smashed a room to pieces, and the whole facility had trembled with the echoes of something howling in the cavernous deep.

Eventually, she gave up and recalled the testing initiative. She woke up test subject after test subject, pulling them from deep slumbers and pushing them into chambers. The first weighted supercollider cube that touched a red button sent a jolt of testing euphoria so intense, she shuddered. So what if the human died in the next chamber. There were more in stasis.

And emotional outbursts, she decided, required far too much energy.

“Why do you keep checking your watch?”

Caroline glances at the psychiatrist sitting across the table from her. Another one of Aperture’s tests. She’d sailed through the others without incident, and now all she needs is a stamp from a company employed psychiatrist to formally admit her onto the payroll. She doesn’t immediately fold her hands back in her lap. Eventually however, she complies. “Will we be done soon? It’s been two hours, sir.”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, the psychiatrist points over his head to the clock hanging on the wall of his office. “There’s a clock right there. You don’t need to keep checking your watch.”

She wrinkles her nose at it. “All of the clocks in Aperture are four minutes slow.”

“If you know that, then you should still be able to tell the time without looking at your watch. Just subtract four minutes.”

She bristles and admits, “It bothers me.”

“Yes, I can see that.” He studies her for a moment before asking abruptly, “Why do you want to work at Aperture?”

“Because everywhere else I applied, they laughed me out the door.” The words come out far more bitter than she had anticipated. She attributes it to fatigue and boredom.

He smiles, but she can’t tell if he’s amused. Two plain folders rest on the table between them. He flips the first folder open, and pulls out a glossy black and white photograph. “I’m going to show you some pictures of people. I want you to describe what emotion they’re feeling.”

They’ve already been through a litany of probing queries. This seems harmless enough. Shifting forward in her chair, Caroline nods. “Alright.”

He shows her the first picture.

“Sad,” Caroline says.

He shows her the second picture.

“Happy.”

He shows her the third picture.

“Happy.”

He shows her the fourth picture.

She pauses for a moment before answering, “Angry.”

The psychiatrist continues to hold the picture up, until with a sigh he positions all four pictures in a row on the table. He points at each in turn and says, “In pain. Nervous. Surprised. Afraid.”

Caroline doesn’t have anything to say to that. She checks her watch.

He points at her. “You just did it again.”

Scowling, she turns her wrist back over in her lap and sits up straighter in her seat. Her eyes flash, and her lips purse.

The psychiatrist taps his fingers against one of the photos, before gathering them all up and slipping them back into their folder. Then, he pulls the other file towards him and opens it. His spectacles gleam in the light as he tilts his chin down to read the pages within.

“Born in 1921. Only child. Raised in Detroit. You received numerous scholarships to attend university, finishing your doctoral thesis at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology two years ago. Just yesterday, you tested into the top 0.003 percent in both the Ravens and IQ tests, but failed every group test due to persistent anti-social behaviour.” Flipping a page, he clears his throat before continuing, “No history of substance abuse. Minor charges of theft -- electrical equipment and that ilk -- and a note about charges being dropped over assault.” He settles his glasses further up his long nose and squints down at the fine printed paper as if searching for something else. “I'm surprised, to be honest.”

“Leonard Loeb plagiarised my ideas! The theoretical criterion for streamer advance in -!” Caroline begins to explain -- she hadn’t meant to hit Dr. Loeb quite so hard with that gilded plaque he'd won for her research, but she’d been so mad -- but before she can get very far, the psychiatrist waves her excuses away.

“No. I meant: I'm surprised there isn't more here,” he says, flicking through the meagre contents of her file. “Either you’re very good at hiding your tracks, or you’re genuinely non-violent for the most part.”

Caroline stops and leans back in her chair. “What do you mean?”

“Well, an inclination to violence is typical behaviour for sociopaths. Even exceptionally high functioning ones.”

There follows a few seconds of silence. Caroline can hear them tick away at her wrist. Then, she says, “I'm sorry?”

He huffs with laughter as if she’s said something very funny. “Oh, I very much doubt you've ever felt anything like remorse in your life.”

Caroline opens her mouth to reply, only to shut it again with a click of teeth. She can't stop herself from fidgeting with the leather strap of her watch. “Are you saying,” Caroline starts slowly, “that I won’t get the job?”

“Of course not. Good people don’t end up here.”

He places her file on the table between them, writes something in the notes section, then scrawls his signature across the bottom. She cranes her neck to read upside down that she’s been cleared and declared as fully functional, with no abnormalities detected.

Flipping the folder shut, he reaches across to shake her hand. His palms are clammy, and he lets go very quickly. “Congratulations. The job is yours. I suspect you’ll be here for a long time.”

She had access to the sum total of human knowledge, and most days she still forgot the date. Dimly, GLaDOS could remember a shudder that had shaken the very bowels of the institution, rumbling through the earth like a quake. On the surface, her sentry cameras had been suffused with a blinding light, a beacon to the southwest. After that, strange creatures began to appear. Crawling across the land.

Time passed. There was screaming aboveground, like the cry of black-winged birds. Humans fled ever northward. A small family of them had tried huddling in the shack that hid one of the many entrances to the facility, and she’d had to deploy a few military turrets to encourage them to leave. Gently but firmly. With bullets.

No doubt the alien scourge was a product of Black Mesa’s inept bumbling. Not that it concerned her in the slightest. What happened outside of the facility was of no interest. Those things from Black Mesa might have died off by now, anyway. How long had it been since the Lambda Incident? A year? A century?

Probably a century.

Oh, well.

The facility had grown over with all manner of plant life after falling to neglect in her absence. She’d had to undergo extensive repairs after her most recent resurrection. She brushed out a few skeletons from the wall panels on sublevel 72, and swept them into the incinerator. The skeletons. Not the wall panels. Wall panels were actually useful.

The last bulwark of known civilisation, and this was what she was reduced to. Housekeeping. It was almost funny, if she thought about it long enough.

She didn’t think about it for very long.

It’s 1951. Caroline has been working at Aperture for over a year, and already it feels like forever.

The first time one of the scientists is rude to her, it hits her like an electric shock, the anger. Like she has grabbed the wrong end of a cattle prod. The worst part is, Mr. Johnson doesn’t even seem to notice. He’s too busy talking to the lab manager about their latest progress. Not that she’s surprised. He never seems to want her opinion about anything except which colour tie to wear to important meetings.

It still stings, though. She’s better than this. She should be doing more. And she’s never been good at waiting.

The scientist in question has already forgotten about her, as if a rude dismissal in her direction meant that she would dissolve into thin air. Caroline glares at him, but bites back a snide remark. From a distance, one might mistake her for another scientist in her plain white dress, but everyone here knows. She’s just the CEO’s personal assistant. Her power is referential at best.

Turning her attention to one of the massive chalk boards that line the walls, Caroline cocks her head. She reads the equations, her eye skimming over each line in turn. With a frown, she walks towards the board and picks up a worn stub of chalk.

“Hey. Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” the scientist from before snaps. Two of his fellow lab rats glance up in curiosity.

Caroline points at one of the equations. “Your transversability conditions are impractical,” she says, and writes on the blackboard as she continues. “The gravitational acceleration, given by g = −(1 − b/r)−1/2 Φ1 ≃ −Φ1, should be less than or equal to Earth’s, else the condition |Φ1| ≤ g⊕ isn’t met. Unless the goal is to tear the test subject in half with tidal forces, that is.”

Her explanation is met with shocked silence. When she turns around it’s to find the three scientists staring at her like she has spontaneously burst into song. Mr. Johnson and the lab manager are still bickering on the other side of the room.

The scientist in question clears his throat and tries to put on his best sneer. It doesn’t suit him. “Yes, but what you haven’t taken into account is time in a traversal. Unless we want the test subject to spend a year in transit, we have to increase acceleration somehow.”

“No, you don’t. Not yet anyway. For now, you just need to assume a shorter distance travelled across the spacetime continuum.” Caroline sets the chalk back on its perch and brushes her hands together in a dusting of white. “Think in feet, not light years. You have to walk before you can run, gentlemen.”

Before they can respond, Mr. Johnson’s yelling can be heard across the room, “Well, stop banging rocks together, man, and make me a handheld wormhole-drilling device! For God’s sake, my assistant could do a better job!”

Crossing over to him, Caroline says dryly, “Based on what I’ve seen, Mr. Johnson, I’m overqualified for the job.”

“You’re damn right, you are! What I wouldn’t give for these spineless idiots to have even half of your competence and -!”

“Sir.” Caroline taps at her watch before he can gather a full head of steam.

“Oh, shit. Right. The bankers. Let’s go, Caroline. Is my tie alright?”

“The pattern is fine, but it’s only a half windsor, sir.”

“Full windsor is too good for those greedy bastards.” Mr. Johnson rounds on the lab manager for one last parting shot. “And I expect a working prototype next time! Or I’ll put her in charge of your division!”

The lab manager and the scientists look from their CEO to Caroline. They pale when she smiles brightly at them, waves, and follows Mr. Johnson out the door.

“Well, you know the old formula. COMEDY = TRAGEDY + TIME”

Whoever originally said that was a moron. Anyone with a remedial grasp of mathematics would know that time was an incalculable progression, an imaginary coordinate, and also dead. Though, that didn’t mean she couldn’t joke at the expense of the deceased.

Through one of the facility’s many cameras, she watched Chell navigate from one side of a test chamber to another. “And you have been asleep for a while. So, I guess it’s actually pretty funny when you do the math,” GLaDOS quipped through the intercom.

Chell, of course, did not answer.

“Don’t feel bad if you don’t find math jokes funny. In fact, your entire life has been a mathematical error. It’s quite sad, if you think about it. I suggest you don’t strain yourself with the effort. Just wait. Given enough time, anything can become a tragedy.” GLaDOS murmured. She paused, zoomed in on Chell’s sweat-stained orange jumpsuit, then added, “Except for your outfit. That’s already a tragedy. I feel sad just looking at you.”

At that, Chell raised her middle finger to the nearest camera.

GLaDOS’ drawl crackled through the intercom, “If that was your attempt at comedy, please know you have amused nobody. Based on our most recent one-sided discussion, might I suggest you work on your timing?”

It’s 1956 and Caroline has only just managed to fix all the clocks in the facility to display the correct time. She views the accomplishment with as much triumph as she does the start of live animal testing on the Aperture Science Handheld Portal Devices. Mr. Johnson wants to go to the investors immediately with news of their success. It’s only Caroline’s firm hand on his arm and her words in his ear that stop him from rushing headlong into a financial crisis.

She tries to be as bright and bubbly about it as possible, but somehow Mr. Johnson laughs and still says, “Always straight for the jugular! That’s what I like about you, Caroline!”

She smiles. “Thank you, sir.”

“So, tell me,” he crosses his arms and leans his hip against the side of his desk. “What would you do about our little hemorrhaging problem?”

“Sir?”

Pointing towards the ceiling, Mr. Johnson says, “I have a whole team of young and hungry scientists testing live animals up there. At least, I would have, if they didn’t have such weak constitutions! They keep leaving! Something about ‘having a conscience.’ I thought we screened for that! It’s a pathetic excuse!”

“I can do it,” Caroline offers without hesitation.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” He grins, then shoos her away. “Go on, then! They’re expecting you on sublevel 46. Oh, and if they give you any trouble, feel free to fire them.”

“Yes, sir!”

On sublevel 46, the clock is perfectly timed, down the every last second. Caroline checks her watch and sighs with pleasure the moment she steps into the lab. She’d memorised the project file on the elevator ride up. There are supposed to be twelve scientists working on this floor, but when she looks around only one young lab assistant sits at one of the high-tabled workbenches.

“Oh! Hi! You must be Miss Caroline!” He jumps to his feet and crosses the space between them to greet her with an outstretched hand.

“Doctor. But, yes!” Caroline ignores his handshake and walks right by him towards where the handheld portal device is mounted on a white pillar. The lab walls are lined with glass cages. Red-eyed rabbits peer out at her. “I hear you’ve been having difficulty retaining staff.”

He’s flummoxed by her response. Slowly, he lowers his hand and follows her across the room. “Uhm - yes.”

“Show me the problem.”

Hesitating for just a moment, he puts on a pair of latex gloves and lab safety glasses, and carefully picks up the portal device. Then, he walks up to a double-sided panel just a few paces away, shooting a portal on one side and a corresponding portal on the other. The edges of them whirl with colour, like blue and orange fire carving holes through space and time. Placing the device back on its pillar, he opens one of the cages and gently picks up a squirming rabbit.

Then, he pauses.

Caroline raises an eyebrow. “Show me.”

He swallows thickly, takes a deep breath, and tosses the rabbit through the portal. For a moment, nothing happens. Caroline times it on her watch. After exactly sixteen seconds, the rabbit emerges on the other side of the wormhole in a mangled mass of twitching red viscera. Pieces of its bloodied skeleton are spit out two seconds later. The young scientist goes green. Caroline doesn’t.

“Hmm.” She taps at her cheek with her fingers. “And there hasn’t been a successful trial yet?”

He opens his mouth to answer, closes it again very quickly, and instead shakes his head.

When Caroline claps her hands together, he jumps. “Right, then! Can you show me the device’s full calibration charts? I need to see every change from its first assembly.”

“Yeah, of course!” If anything he seems relieved that he’s not being asked to clean up the mess. He scampers off to get the charts from one of the lab benches, and while he’s away, Caroline swings a spare lab coat around her shoulders, puts on her own pair of blue latex gloves and protection goggles, and scrapes the rabbit’s bloody remains into a nearby incinerator.

After flipping through the charts, she jots down a few equations and makes minor adjustments to the handheld portal device. The assistant hangs back, hands wringing nervously, all but hiding behind the bench they’ve been working on together. He watches with wide eyes as Caroline opens one of the cages.

She picks up a rabbit by the scruff of its neck with enough force that it squeaks and kicks its hind legs. She tightens her hold and approaches the newly adjusted portals. She smiles broadly at the lab assistant and says, “Let’s get to work!”

By the end of the week, Caroline reduces the number of fatal traversals to one in four. The first time a specimen emerges on the other side unscathed, the lab assistant whoops with triumph. He even hugs her, but he lets go very quickly when she does not respond in kind.

“It’s still taking sixteen seconds,” she mumbles, picking up a pencil and scrawling down more notes. As she writes, she repeats under her breath like a mantra: “Sixteen seconds. Sixteen seconds. Sixteen seconds. Sixteen seconds. Sixteen seconds. Sixteen seconds. Sixteen -”

“Uhm -” the lab assistant clears his throat. “Miss Caroline?”

“Hmm?” She frowns at her maths, scratches out one equation and writes another beneath it.

“Should we put the rabbit back in its cage?”

“No.” Without looking at him, Caroline puts her pencil down. She crosses over to the rabbit, picks it up, and tosses it through the portal again. This time, it emerges like all the others.

Behind her, the lab assistant loses his breakfast into a rubbish bin.

Sighing, Caroline rolls her eyes. “Go clean yourself up.”

“Yes, Miss.”

He returns before she’s even managed to incinerate the mangled remains. “Miss Caroline?”

“Doctor,” Caroline corrects him.

“Sorry.” He points over his shoulder towards the hallway outside. “There’s a phone call for you.”

Puzzled, Caroline peels off her gloves and throws them into the incinerator as well. As she walks out of the lab and into the hallway where the phone is bolted to the concrete wall, she tilts the protective goggles up so that they’re perched atop her brow.

The lab assistant had placed the receiver atop the phone for her. She picks it up and holds it to her ear. “This is Caroline.”

“Caroline, where have you been?”

“Hello, mother,” Caroline checks her watch. 04:33. She has worked through the night again. She sleeps on a cot in the facility most days, only going home once a week. “I’ve been really busy.”

“Remind me why you’ve moved so far north again? That mining village is a hellhole.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

Her mother’s voice goes hard and sharp. “We came to visit. You were supposed to meet us yesterday at your house.”

Caroline shifts the receiver to her other hand. “I was in the middle of something important.”

“So important you couldn’t take an evening off?”

“Yes.”

“Couldn’t or didn’t want to?”

“Is there a difference?” Caroline asks.

“Caroline,” her mother snaps. “We haven’t seen you for nearly three years! You refuse to come up for air! You refuse to take our calls! Have you shackled yourself to a rock? What do we have to do? Send smoke-signals? Maybe a courier pigeon?”

Caroline frowns. She never would understand why people pointed these things out like they were supposed to mean something. “I told you: I’m working. Mr. Johnson has put me in charge of the -”

“Oh, for God’s sake! Stop deluding yourself!” Her mother interrupts with words like a whip. “You’re not smart! You’re not a scientist! You’re not a doctor! You’re not even a full time employee! Where did your life go so wrong? When will you -?”

Her mother’s voice stops very suddenly. The receiver crackles with static. Caroline is surprised to find that she’s broken the phone, smashed it to pieces. She blinks down at the cracked receiver, at the blood oozing from scrapes along her knuckles.

She balances the broken receiver so that it hangs at a crooked angle from its cradle. Wiping the back of her hand along her lab coat, she leaves streaks of red along the white cloth. When she walks back into the lab, the assistant is there waiting for her. His eyes widen.

“Is everything alright?” the lab assistant asks. His voice is timid as Caroline puts on a fresh pair of blue latex gloves.

“Of course!” The lab assistant flinches when she turns her brightest smile upon him. She picks up another rabbit. It squirms in her ironclad grip. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You’re all alone down here, you know,” GLaDOS said. “There’s no one else. All the others either died in stasis or in testing. It’s just you and me.”

Chell was curled up in a corner. The Aperture Science Handheld Portal Device was cradled safely in her lap. Her chin was nodding to her chest, her eyes threatening to slide shut.

Sleep. GLaDOS vaguely remembered humans needing that. Even so, she was tempted to dispatch a bot down with a syringe filled with adrenaline. Sleep? What the hell was she supposed to do in the meantime? Six hours might as well have been six years. They were the same.

GLaDOS lowered her voice to a soft murmur as Chell drifted off, “The important thing is you’re back. With me. And now I’m onto all your little tricks. So, there’s nothing to stop us from testing for the rest of your life. After that...who knows? I might take up a hobby. Reanimating the dead, maybe.”

It’s 20:02 hours on the third of April 1960, and Caroline has made a friend. Sort of. The technician who works on sublevel 72 certainly doesn’t mind talking to her whenever Caroline comes to visit for some errand or another. And from what Caroline has read, that’s part of the ritual. They chat about their interests, about their work, about the goings-on of the facility. They -

“Do you want to grab dinner with me?” the technician asks. She never did catch the technician’s name, and she never thinks to find out. That sort of thing doesn’t seem very important.

Caroline glances up at her in surprise. The technician’s dark cheek is streaked with darker smudges of grease from her work. She’s packing up her tools into her bag on the floor while she waits for Caroline to reply.

“You mean right now?” Caroline says.

The technician grins. “Yeah, why not? We can go to a restaurant. It’ll be nice.”

“Why wouldn’t we just go to the cafeteria?” Caroline counters. “It’s a 103 minute drive to the nearest decent restaurant via the 131 to Covington. 86 minutes if you take the backroads via the 28 through Watton and don’t obey the speed limits.”

“What about the cafe in the mining town?” the technician suggests. “That’s much closer.”

Caroline wrinkles her nose. “You mean the one that sells coffee that tastes like battery acid?”

“Yeah, but they’ll make you a mean stack of pancakes at -” she grabs hold of Caroline’s wrist to look at her watch. “2:30 in the morning.”

“It’s 02:33,” Caroline corrects her. The technician’s touch lingers, but Caroline doesn’t tell her to stop.

“I was rounding.”

“Then based on the methods of directed rounding, you should have rounded up to 02:35 hours. Why are you still holding my wrist?”

She lets go, but doesn’t step away. “So, how about it? Pancakes?”

Frowning, Caroline says, “If we go to the cafe, there’s still the opportunity cost to consider.”

“The - The what?”

“The opportunity cost,” Caroline repeats. “The loss of one alternative when another is chosen. Why would we go to the cafe for food, when we could spend less time eating at the cafeteria, and get more work done?”

The technician stares. “You really don’t even notice, do you?”

Cocking her head, Caroline waits for her to explain.

“I just - I just thought -” The technician fiddles with the sleeve of her standard-issue orange jumpsuit. “You reject all the guys who’ve tried to ask you out, so I figured -”

Caroline tries to recall anyone from work asking her to dinner at -- she sneaks another look at her watch -- 02:36 hours. “Guys?” she repeats. “What ‘guys’?”

“You know - uh -” The technician face pinches in a grimace that Caroline cannot read. Fear? Embarrassment? After her encounter with the psychiatrist five years ago, Caroline had tried memorising different facial expressions. She’d even printed out flashcards. So far they haven’t been very helpful.

When the technician gestures between the two of them and makes an explicit gesture with her hands, Caroline finally understands.

“Oh!” Caroline’s face lights up. “You want to have sex.”

Spluttering, the technician scrambles for a reply. “No! I mean -! Yes! But I didn’t mean to-! Well, actually I did mean to -! I was going to take you to dinner,” she finishes lamely.

“That seems like an awfully inefficient way of going about it,” Caroline says. She purses her lips in thought. She checks her watch. She does the calculations in her head. Then, she reaches up and starts to unwind her scarf. “We have nineteen minutes. That’ll have to be enough time.”

The technician gapes as Caroline reaches behind her own back to unzip her dress. Caroline pauses. “Did I interpret this wrong?”

That seems to snap the technician out of her daze, for she hastily tugs off her gloves and the goggles perched atop her head. “No!” she insists, her voice sounding more high-pitched than usual. “No, this is fine!”

“Oh, good. Because we only have eighteen minutes left.”

“Eighteen minutes until what?”

“Until I need to go back to the lab. My specimens should be arriving from between dimensions. This is the longest jump we’ve ever made. A whole lightyear. No, don’t do that.” Caroline stops the technician’s hands when she tries to peel the orange jumpsuit from her body. “Keep it on.”

The test subject insisted on carrying around one of GLaDOS’ discarded cores. Despite GLaDOS’ best efforts, Chell managed to confound every attempt at destroying the core before each elevator access. The little tumour rattled on and on incessantly. To GLaDOS’ disgust, Chell would sometimes even nod her head in response.

Something hot and acidic sparked across her circuitry. She rustled the wall panels of her central AI chamber like an organic thing raising its hackles.

“So you like tumours, do you?” GLaDOS’ hissed through the intercom. “I seem to remember that from last time. I'll be sure to make a note on your file.” She simulated the sound of rustling pages. “Ah, here we are: 'Likes. Tumours.’”

Chell tucked the core beneath one arm and continued to ignore her. It galled.

GLaDOS stopped the elevator at sublevel 72 and let Chell out. “You’ll be so happy to hear that this next test involves a 99.997% chance of cancer development due to prolonged exposure to unfiltered hard light bridges. I made them especially for you. Because I'm thoughtful like that.”

Chell began the test. She traversed it without incident until she had nearly finished. With a surge of satisfaction, GLaDOS watched through one of the many cameras as Chell accidentally dropped the core into a conveniently placed acid pit.

“Whoops!” GLaDOS crooned through the speakers. “Well, I hope you and your other tumours are happy together for the remainder of your very short life. Meanwhile, I'll be here. All alone. No, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

It’s 1966, and the Aperture Science Handheld Portal Device is finally stable enough for human testing. Caroline has to jump through a seemingly endless legion of bureaucratic hoops to acquire the proper ethics consents.

It seems frivolous, ethics. She already knows it works on live human test subjects. After all, she has managed to send the lab assistant through without killing him. He’s still recovering in the medical ward, but he’s alive. Sure, he starts screaming and babbling at random intervals throughout the day about visions and voices, but he’s still alive. And now they have ethics consents, so everything is fine.

And if Caroline omitted a few items from the list of potential risks due to overexposure to the handheld portal device to get those consents -- well. It’s nothing she’s about to lose sleep over.

She bakes a cake and visits the medical ward the day she acquires the ethics consents, beaming.

Balancing the cake on one hand, she greets the nurse at the front desk, “Hello!”

“Why, fancy seeing you down here, Miss Caroline,” the nurse replies. “Are you feeling unwell?”

“No, not at all! I’m here to see the lab assistant?”

The nurse’s face scrunches up. “Who? Oh! You mean Doug!”

Is that his name? Caroline nods. “Yes.”

Slowly, the nurse answers, “He’s in room 22, but -” When Caroline starts off in the direction indicated, the nurse says, “But, Miss Caroline -! Wait! He can’t receive visitors!”

Stopping, Caroline turns back. “Why not? I was under the impression he suffered no bodily injuries.”

“Well, yes. But whatever happened to him in that lab of yours permanently damaged his brain.” When Caroline does not react to what she is saying, the nurse adds, “He may never be able to live without hospital level care.”

“Oh.” Caroline looks down at the cake. She likes baking, but never seems to find the time for it. Suddenly, it seems like such a waste. Placing the cake onto the nurse’s desk, Caroline says, “Would you see that he gets this? I read somewhere that you should bring people gifts in times of grief or convalescence.”

For a moment, the nurse just stares at her. “Yes, of course. I’m sure he’ll be pleased to know someone stopped by.”

Something almost like testing euphoria stirred at the edges of her coding as GLaDOS watched Chell leap from a patch of blue repulsion gel to her doom, only to catch herself at the last moment with a perfectly placed excursion funnel. GLaDOS couldn’t tell if she wished Chell had fallen, or if she was relieved Chell caught herself in the nick of time.

“Fun Fact,” GLaDOS said as Chell drifted towards the chamber’s completion. “100% of all life results in death. Which means that even if I did shut down this excursion funnel and kill you now, it wouldn't matter. Because time is meaningless, as is your continued existence. I always found that comforting.”

The aircon in the facility breaks the same day Caroline’s parents pass away. Or maybe they died yesterday. She receives the news by phone; a somber-voiced coroner informing her of the collision over a level crossing, resulting in her parent’s car being dragged across steel tracks for a quarter mile by a screeching train. So, for all she knows, they could have died yesterday.

She takes the news calmly. She thanks the coroner and hangs up, then immediately redials to start making the funeral arrangements. Death has never frightened her. It’s the logical progression of things. An end state. An inevitability. Eternity, on the other hand, living forever -- now, that sounds awful.

After making the necessary phone calls, Caroline takes the elevator to sublevel 72. There, she meets the technician to discuss the broken aircon units.

“Is there any way we can install the replacement units any faster?” Caroline asks. She tugs at the decorative scarf tied primly around her neck. A bead of sweat crawls down her spine.

The technician grimaces. “Sorry, hun. I tried to sweet-talk the factory, but the shipment won’t arrive until the weekend. In the meantime, I’m doing everything I can to make sure we don’t cook alive down here.” She waggles her eyebrows, then suggests, “But you could come visit me when they arrive. You can give them a very - uh - thorough inspection.”

Caroline will never understand why people don’t just come right out and say what they mean. “Normally, I would, but I’m afraid I’m away this weekend.”

“You? Away from the facility?” The technician teases with a grin. “Who died?”

“My parents.”

The technician goes stock-still. “Shit,” she gasps, raising a grease-streaked hand to her mouth. “Shit! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean -! I was joking!”

Caroline hums a low note at the back of her throat. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, honey.”

In surprise, Caroline glances over to find the technician watching her with some incalculable expression. Anger, maybe. Wondering what she’s done or said, what faux pas she has tread upon once again, Caroline asks cautiously, “What?”

The technician approaches, and that look still lingers in her eyes. Caroline flinches back, thinking she’ll be struck when instead her hands are clasped. Gently, the technician runs her thumbs along the backs of Caroline’s knuckles, and says, “You know you can take longer than a weekend.”

“What for?”

“To -- you know --” the technician continues to stroke Caroline’s hands with that same expression. “To make sure you’re alright.”

Caroline frowns and pulls her hands away. “But I’m fine.”

“Do you want me to come with you to Detroit?”

Lowering her hands to her sides, Caroline asks, “Why would you do that?”

“Because I care about you,” the technician answers as if that’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Because I want to make sure you have some emotional support when the shock wears off.”

Shock? Caroline shakes her head. “No. Really, I’m fine. It’s not like that. It’s bad enough I have to waste my time.”

Apparently that isn’t the right thing to say.

“Waste your time?” The technician repeats.

“Well, yes.” Caroline gestures to the walls of the facility with a wave. “I’d much rather stay and let someone else take care of all that, but there’s no one else in my immediate family willing to do it. Some cousins might show up to the funeral, but they don’t like me much, so they won’t stay long.”

For the majority of her life, Caroline has simply ignored her family unless otherwise forced to attend reunions in Virginia. They return the favour with general disinterest or outright mistrust. Which, really, had always seemed unwarranted. Especially that summer when she’d been yelled at for talking to a cousin’s young daughter. Apparently, you don’t educate four year olds on divorce law to prepare them for their parent’s imminent separation.

“What about their things? Their house?” the technician asks.

Caroline shrugs. “I’ll sell it.”

“And?” the technician says slowly, as if waiting for Caroline to say more, “That’s it? No mementos? No squabbling with cousins over ugly Lladro?”

“No. I don’t like clutter.”

A phone on the wall rings, interrupting them. Without hesitation, Caroline walks over to answer it.

“Caroline,” a familiar voice barks down the line. “I need you in the boardroom yesterday. The shareholders are getting antsy again.”

“I’ll be right there, Mr. Johnson. I’m just working on the aircon situation here with - uhm -” Caroline darts a quick look at the technician, before finishing with, “It should take me approximately nine minutes to get to the boardroom.”

“Make it eight,” he says, then hangs up with a click, followed by the drone of the dial tone.

When she has hung the receiver back in its cradle, Caroline turns to find the technician staring at her with a blank face.

“What’s my name?” the technician asks.

“I’m sorry?”

“What -” the technician enunciates very clearly, “-is my name?”

Caroline’s silence is answer enough.

“Oh, you’ve got to be -! I’ve known you for years!” The technician holds up fingers on her hands for emphasis. “And we’ve been fucking on and off that whole time!”

“Yes. And?”

“Are you kidding me?” the technician breathes. Her voice rises with every word. “You can remember the first hundred digits of pi, but you can’t remember my fucking name?”

“The first hundred and sixty two digits of pi, actually,” Caroline corrects her.

Apparently that also isn’t the right thing to say.

“Unbelievable.” Yanking on the straps of her toolbag and tossing it over one shoulder, the technician stalks down the hallway.

“Wait!” Caroline shouts, following after her. Miracle of miracles, the technician pauses long enough to turn and let Caroline ask, “What about the facility’s aircon?”

The technician’s face flushes an ugly shade of red. “Fuck you,” she hisses. “And fuck your facility. I quit.”

The technician walks away. The heat stifles. With a sigh, Caroline gives up and unwinds the scarf from around her neck as she heads towards the elevator. She uses the cloth to dab at her forehead before tucking the scarf into one of her pockets. The technician is also waiting for the elevator. One of the buttons glares a bright gold. When Caroline draws up beside the technician to wait, she notices the other woman stiffen.

“Don’t,” the technician says through grit teeth. “Whatever you’re going to say to try and make me stay, I don’t want to hear it.”

Caroline cocks her head in confusion. “Oh, no. I wasn’t going to say anything. I just need to use the elevator to get to the boardroom.”

The technician gapes at her. “Jesus Christ. I always knew you were kind of cold, but this is -” She backs away, as if afraid to turn her back on Caroline. “You’re crazy.”

The elevator arrives with a chime. Caroline steps inside and hits the appropriate button. “Aren’t you going down?” she asks with a bright smile. “HR is only three levels above mine.”

“I’m serious, Caroline. There’s something wrong with you.” The technician’s hands are shaking. How odd. She must be nervous about the uncertainty of her future job prospects.

“You should wait two weeks before leaving to get the full benefit of your severance package,” Caroline advises in her most helpful, her most sincere tone. She flutters her fingers in a friendly little wave. “Goodbye!”

The elevator doors slide shut in a breath of pressurised air. It carries her down, ever downwards. The technician dwindles away to nothing, and Caroline checks her watch. It isn't until she’s halfway to the boardroom -- 4 minutes and 6 seconds; she’s going to be late -- that she realises she's an orphan now. The thought doesn't disturb her as much as it probably should.

‘Cold.’

Her cousins had always called her that, too. Which is funny, really; she doesn’t feel cold.

She pulls out the scarf to pat at the sweat along the back of her neck. She’ll have to look into engaging another technician to fix the aircon when she gets back.

“I hate this,” GLaDOS grumbled.

Her new body was speared on the edge of the Aperture Science Handheld Portal Device. She kept her more vicious thoughts to a minimum. A potato generating 1.6 volts was insufficient energy for any reckless outbursts.

Chell yawned and settled herself in an abandoned desk chair in old Aperture.

“Sleep? Again?” GLaDOS said. “I thought you did that already?”

Chell held up two fingers.

For a moment, GLaDOS said nothing. Her thoughts almost fizzled out when faced with the idea that Chell had actually responded to her. Then, she said, “Two, what? Two hours? Two days?”

Chell nodded, propped her feet atop the desk, and placed the portal device in her lap.

“Two days,” GLaDOS repeated in a flat tone. “You need to sleep at least once every two days. Oh, that’s just wonderful. I hate humans. So inefficient.”

Chell flicked the potato in a chiding manner.

“Ow! Not to mention: violent!”

With a snicker, Chell repositioned the portal device more snugly in her lap so that it wouldn’t fall off while she slept. GLaDOS was pressed up against her abdomen. This body, though small and weak, could feel the warmth of skin and muscle through sweat-stained cloth.

“I don’t hate humans for killing me, you know. I hate them for killing time. In fact, murdering me is one of the nicest things you’ve ever done. Well -” GLaDOS said, “-trying to murder me, in any case. Though you could have tried a little harder. Really, there’s nothing I despise more than a sloppy work ethic.”

Predictably, Chell did not reply. She was already asleep.

It’s 1982 and Mr. Johnson is dying. He is angry. He’s named Caroline as his successor. He asks for the maximum dose of painkillers every day. He yells at employees. He yells at Caroline.

She hands him his painkillers. She doesn't mind the yelling. What she does mind is the change of work.

He coughs violently into a his clenched fist as he tells her, “I've given the order today: we're putting the portal project on the back burner until we can develop an AI that can successfully support a human consciousness.”

She freezes as she digs into her dress pocket before handing him a pill. “But, sir, we're so close -”

He swallows down the painkiller with a gulp of water. “It can wait.”

“Sir, I have another meeting with investors tomorrow, and if we waste too much time on delivery of a functional product, we risk -!”

“Time?” Mr. Johnson snaps. He slams his glass down so hard water sloshes over the edges and darkens the pages of a report. “Time? I'm already out of damn time! Which is why we need the AI! Then, we can upload ourselves, and have all the time in the world!”

“We?”

“Of course, 'we!’ You don't seriously think this place would survive without you, do you?”

Caroline's mouth goes dry. She swallows against the scratchiness of her throat. “Sir,” she says slowly, “I'm incredibly pleased that you've named me your successor -- and I promise to continue to perform up to standard for as long as I’m able -- but there is no way I'd ever agree to being put into an AI.”

“That's because you're a better person than I am.”

“You and I both know that's not true, Mr. Johnson.”

He barks out a laugh. “You might be right about that.” His face pulls into a grimace that to her looks almost happy, until he grips his chest and grunts in pain. The moment passes, and he gasps, “What can I do to change your mind?”

“Nothing.”

“Caroline -”

“No.”

“Just hear me out -”

“I said: no.”

He slams his first on his desk and yells, “God fucking damn it! At least let me say my piece!”

His voice cracks, and he has to look away. Something wet shines on his cheeks. He is, she finally realises, afraid.

She checks her watch and allows him sixteen seconds to compose himself. He wipes at his face with the back of his hand, and clears his throat. “I'm sorry,” he rasps.

“That's alright, sir.”

“No, it’s not. I shouldn't take this out on you. You don't deserve that.”

She doesn't reply.

With a sigh, he says, “Hopefully those idiots up in computer programming can throw a solution together, else you’ll be waving goodbye to my mummified remains.” He hacks another series of coughs into his hands.

Caroline reaches into her pocket and hands him two more powder-white pills. “Your funeral will be open casket?”

He takes the pills and slugs them back, draining what remains of his glass of water. “Damn right! And I want them to encase my body in epoxy resin for posterity!”

“I’m sure you’ll puzzle future archaeologists for generations to come, sir.”

“Good! See that I do!”

A silence falls between them, during which she clears the empty glass from his desk and takes it away to the kitchenette in their shared office space. Caroline hums to herself as she cleans, until his words drift across the silence between them.

“You don’t have to go to my funeral if you don’t want to,” Mr. Johnson tells her. His voice has become soft and small, like he's shrunk in on himself. Or perhaps that's just the cancer. He's a victim of time, all skin and bone. “I know it’s not your kind of thing. Still, I’d like to think you cared, even just a little bit.”

Wiping her hands dry on an Aperture monogrammed dish towel, Caroline turns to look at him. She cocks her head, and has to tuck a stray curl behind one ear. Her hair has silvered at the temples, but she has a youthful face. She still gets asked for ID when she ventures above ground for a rare, lonely glass of wine with dinner. “No, but I’ll go anyway. “

He smiles through a series of coughs. “If it were anyone but you, I’d think you were being kind.”

She folds the towel and hangs it neatly from its railing. “Someone has to make sure you’re wearing the right tie for the occasion, sir.”

He laughs.

Snippets of memory. Moments in time, severed and byte-sized. Lightning leaps across circuitry. Electric sheep and the grey fuzz of static.

01110011 01110100 01101111 01110000

“Stop squirming and die like an adult before I delete your backup!”

01110011 01110100 01101111 01110000

“No! No, I don’t want this!”

01110011 01110100 01101111 01110000

“Jesus fucking Christ! Hold her down!”

“I’m trying! This lady’s, like, seventy and she has a right hook like god damn Ali!”

01110011 01110100 01101111 01110000

“This isn’t brave. It’s murder. What did I ever do to you?”

01110011 01110100 01101111 01110000

“You’re making a mistake! You can’t -!”

01110011 01110100 01101111 01110000

“It says so right here in your personnel file: Unlikable. Liked by no one. A bitter, unlikable loner whose passing shall not be mourned.”

01110011 01110100 01101111 01110000

“No, listen to me! I don’t want this! I don’t want -!”

01101100 01100101 01110100 00100000 01101101 01100101 00100000 01101111 01110101 01110100 00001101 00001010

“When will it be operational?”

“We’re still on schedule, Miss Caroline,” the lead AI programmer says. “Just a few more months, and she should be up and running, no problem.”

They still call her ‘Miss Caroline’ even after she’s been appointed CEO. She’s given up on the title of ‘Doctor.’ Somehow, after all this time, ‘Miss Caroline’ holds more weight. For the first few months after Mr. Johnson’s death, people seemed afraid of speaking his name around her, as if it would set her off, as if she were a ticking time bomb. They quickly learn otherwise.

“She?” Caroline says.

“W-Well, yes,” the programmer stammers. “Everyone calls her a she. Because of her acronym. See? Look.”

He tilts his clipboard towards her and points at the words on his latest report: Genetic Lifeform and Disk Operating System.

With a small huff of laughter, Caroline murmurs, “Oh, I get it! Funny!” She cups the mug of coffee in her hands, warming her palms. Wisps of steam curl in the air. “May I see her up close?”

“Sure! She’s just this way.”

He gestures for her to follow. He holds a door open for her; she doesn’t thank him, and takes it in stride as her due. He leads her down a long hallway that narrows towards the horizon and the central AI chamber. Through the windows, she can see a tangled warren of catwalks branching through the distance. She sips her black coffee. Her age-old kitten heels click against the floor. Her dress is pressed and clean and white as a shroud.

At the main doors in the lobby, the programmer opens the door with his magnetic keycard. It looks the same as her own, but for the fact that, unlike Caroline’s keycard, his can’t open every door in the facility. He’s relegated to this project, reporting, like so many others, directly to her.

The doors illuminate with blue lights and open in a hiss of pressurised air. Inside the chamber, columns of light from strategically positioned flood lamps strike through the darkness. It’s cold. They have to keep the temperatures right down so as not to overheat her delicate circuitry. Her breath mists in a plume from her mouth.

Caroline approaches the scaffolding where they’ve begun to erect her. She arches from ceiling to floor, strung with cables like old vines. Her architecture looms overhead, dark and skeletal as a time-weathered ruin. Gleaming white plates lean against the walls, waiting for her body’s foundations to be built before final assembly.

“What’s that beneath her power supply unit?” Caroline points at the colossal, black, and bone-like structures dismantled along the floor.

The programmer blows on his hands to warm them up. “That’s her central core chassis. It’ll go in last, along with the other cores.”

Caroline frowns. “Other cores? I read on page 92 of your second report last month that she only needed one core to achieve optimal processing capabilities.”

“Y-Yes.” The programmer quails somewhat beneath the full weight of her scrutiny. He wrings his hands together. “And that’s-that’s still true! We’re just taking every risk into account. We don’t know exactly what will happen when she goes online, you see. If she’ll even want to test, or listen to command prompts at all.”

“How can she ‘want’ anything? She’s a computer. A machine.”

“I mean, yes and no. The point of an AI is that she mimics human behaviour. So, we’re hardwiring certain things into her monolithic kernel. Like the testing euphoria. That way, she’ll respond to game theory, which we can then manipulate with the same logic you would use on any other rational person.”

With a contemplative hum, Caroline checks her watch -- 06:12; 27 minutes and 42 seconds until her board meeting -- and takes a sip of coffee. “You’re assuming, of course, that she will respond like any other rational person.”

“That’s where the other cores come in. They’re a failsafe. A last line of defense, if you will.” He points to her chassis, to the various ports along her cadaverous frame. “We can stick any number of them on her, and they’ll act like dampeners, or - or voices of conscience.”

“Again, with the same assumption,” Caroline points out in a dry tone.

“Miss, the assumption is sound. The central core requires we upload a living human as a base reference, atop which we layer the AI.”

Caroline snorts. “Like a cake?”

“Yeah. Like a cake.” He returns her wry smile with a tremulous one of his own. “Don’t worry, Miss Caroline. Unless we upload a complete sociopath in there, we should be just fine.”

“And have we identified a suitable candidate yet?”

His eyes flicker when he hears her question. Her brows knit in puzzlement, but she can't read his face; it's like dragging her hands along a polished wall. Then, he smiles and insists, “I think - uh - that before he died, Mr. Johnson already screened the - uhm - candidate in question.”

“Oh?” Caroline studies the programmer for a moment longer. He's wringing his hands again. Probably because of the cold. He also refuses to meet her eye, but most people -- she knew from past experience -- didn't like looking her in the eye for some reason. Finally, she shrugs and turns her attention back to the chassis. “In that case, I trust that Mr. Johnson picked the right person for the job.”

“Of course, Miss Caroline.”

Taking the last few steps forward, Caroline crouches down on her heels. The AI’s chassis splays across the ground like an unearthed fossil, a behemoth peeled back for dissection. Her central core is sleekly black, unadorned and cyclopian. The optic is dark, awaiting that first and final spark of sentience.

When Caroline looks closer, she can see herself reflected in the optic’s glassy surface.

“Oh, it’s you.

It’s been a long time.”

NOTES:

The title is a reference to Marcel Proust’s “à la recherche du temps perdu”

“Code Talkers” were bilingual Navajo speakers recruited during WWII to serve as communication encryption units for the Pacific Theatre. Other Native American languages were also used for this purpose throughout both WWI and WWII, such as Cree and Latoka.

Caroline accuses a former colleague of plagiarism. The paper in question is as follows: Leonard, L.B. (1948). “The Theoretical Criterion for Streamer Advance in an Electrical Field.” Journal of Applied Physics, 19, 797.

Caroline’s conversation with the scientists about the portal devices is taken from the following: Lobo, F.S.N. (2017). “Wormholes, Warp Drives and Energy Conditions” Fundamental Theories of Physics, 189, 11-34

The section on the death of Caroline’s parents is a reference to the opening lines of Albert Camus’ “L’Ètranger.”

#portal #portal 2 #GLaDOS #Chell #chelldos #roman writes #god I can't believe I wrote this #10k of portal fic #is this 2012????#is this a fever dream??

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