#ah well...time to cc hunt...again

[modelbus]

I’m obsessed with the way u write Tommy, the witty dialogue is so >>>> lately I’ve been fixated on the drunk MCC video so if you’d like to write a oneshot based on that it would be super appreciated! Reader probably takes beky’s spot so they’re on the same team, and the more drunk they get the more affectionate and distracted they get and the chat is just eating it up teehee

I actually had to hunt down the video because I haven’t seen it… for anyone curious the video is called “Minecraft But I’m Drunk”!

Pairing: Cc!Tommyinnit x Gn!Reader

Flirting Fools

“IM JUST KEN, WHEN I SEE LOVE I SEE YOUR BALLS—“

The cider you were drinking—same one that Tommy had stocked up on—ends up on your monitor rather than down your throat. Whose idea was it to do a drunk MCC again? Oh, yeah, Tommy fucking Innit.

“Why can’t you say hello like a normal person?” You sigh, wondering if Tommy even has his headphones on.

“Y’know, I want to watch the woman movie but my girlfriend insists I see it with her and I haven’t had the chance.” Jack says, speaking up.

“Oh, Jack, you have a girlfriend?” Tommy asks.

“Acting like you aren’t dating someone too.” You say pointedly, giving a deadpan look to your camera.

“Because you’re amazing! The El-Oh-Em-El! Love of my life!”

“Never spell an acronym out loud again.” You plead.

“What’s an acronym?”

Tubbo’s laugh in the background seems more like a cry of help.

-

“We’re dropping like Fortnite!” Jack exclaims just as the floor vanishes from under you and everyone is out into elytra mode.

“Shit wait we’re playing Fortnite? We playing Fortnite?” Tommy immediately hops on the joke, and you mentally tune him out.

“I love Fortnite!” Jack agrees eagerly. Twenty seconds later, he dies. “I fucking hate Fortnite!”

“I died too.” You inform him, picking up the can of alcoholic cider to take a drink.

“WAIT!” Tommy screeches. “Cheers! Cheers with me!”

You raise your drink to your camera, assuming Tommy is doing the same in his office. Afterward, Tommy slurps his drink far too close to his mic.

“I’m gonna vomit.” Tubbo declares.

“Don’t back down and give up, that’s some shit Kenergy.”

-

“Guys, I just bought myself a pack of ‘Colon the Caterpillar’ and if we win MCC I’ll open them.” Tommy’s voice announces during the loading between games. Do you know what that means? No. Do you want some? Fuck yes.

“Share. Share? Share?” You ask, taking another sip of your drink.

“Come over babygirl.” Tommy answers you. For a second, there’s a complete pause in the call. “…I’m going to kill myself.”

“What the FUCK?” Jack shouts.

“Tom, Tom— never say that again.” Tubbo pleads, are you’re inclined to agree.

“Maybe just… keep your mouth shut.” You advise Tommy.

-

“Oh, Jesus, it’s harder to stream when the— when.” Tommy says, quite eloquently.

“Ah, yes, I when the when all the time with you.” You agree.

“We are when the when-ers.”

“Can you two shut up?” Jack asks.

-

You grit your teeth, groaning when a player kills you, picking up your drink again. Slowly but surely, you’re getting drunker and drunker. So much for not having a hangover tomorrow.

“We’ve literally gotta get this dub guys or I don’t get my sweets.” Tommy reminds everyone. “Why is talking like fuckin’ on extreme difficulty?”

“Is it?” You ask idly, taking another drink just for fun.

“Worse than when I’m kissin’ you and shit.” He confirms.

“Stop making Tubbo and I the third wheel.” Jack pleads.

You grin, laughing. “Nah.”

-

“Listen to me now! Look me in the eyes!” Tubbo says, his character moving to stand directly in front of Tommy’s. “You’re my best friend okay and we’ll get you through this.”

“Tom, Tommy, Toms, listen to me.” You giggle, moving to stand next to Tubbo. “You are my boyfriend. And I will not get you through this.”

“Okay, fuck, well I gotta listen to you. Sorry Tubbo.”

“Oh.”

-

“I’m gonna get the coins in the middle!” After his declaration, Tommy sprints to the middle platform and starts mining away at the yellow coin block.

“Jesus fuck, At least wait!” You sigh, shooting a random person.

“Wha— how are you getting them?” Jack agains, laughing wildly. “How is that working?”

“Cause I’ve got backup! My backup’s the best!” Tommy responds, turning in circles.

“You know I’ve always got your back.” You answer.

“Cause you’re cool like that. You got the moves like Jagger.”

“That I do, Tom Simons. That I do.”

-

“Y’know what? It makes me quiet.” Tommy gives no context, leaving you on your own to puzzle out that he’s talking about being drunk.

“Huh? We literally got plastered that one time and you wouldn’t shut up.” You disagree.

“Well, yeah, ‘cause it was you.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Means I like talking to you, bitch.”

“And you don’t like talking to me?” Jack asks. “Oh, yeah, I see how it is.”

“I got priorities man!” Tommy defends himself.

“Priorities being…?” You question, giggling.

“You.”

-

“I’ve got to say, I think there’s a huge lack of focus on the team.” Jack says, coughing pointedly.

“I think I’ve got to agree with you Jack.” Tubbo hums.

“Yeah, and it ain’t us Tubbo.”

“The fuck you saying about me and my boyfriend?” You ask, splash potion of harming in your hand. “You wanna fucking repeat that?”

“No no no no— you guys are great! Teen love— TUBBO RUN—“

-

“Tommyinnit meet and greet on the rocks outside the pier in Brighton at 1am?” Tommy asks. “Any muggers don’t go there though.”

“I’ll go with. Mug both of us.” You offer.

“Yeah, we team that shit. Power of love right there.”

“Love lets people get mugged together?” Jack laughs.

“Not all love Jack.” Tommy corrects.

“Just ours.” You agree with Tommy. “Our love is special, Jack.”

“Oh, it’s certainly something.”

-

Sands of Time has you immediately frowning at the screen and taking another drink. It’s such a shit game, it deserves to be drank to.

“I went to the bathroom guys and I was just like oh by the way…”

There’s a second where you, Tubbo, and Jack wait for Tommy to finish his sentence. He doesn’t.

“‘Oh by the way’ what?” Jack finally asks.

“Oh— oh, I just stopped.” Tommy laughs. Cackles, more like.

“Oh by the way I’m coming over to your place after?” You ask him.

“Really? We can watch that new movie you’ve been wanting to see, if you want.” He doesn’t even blink at the subject change.

“Works for me. Might be a bit before I sober enough to not get murdered in the streets though.”

“I’ll just come get you, love.”

“You’re drunker than me.”

“I’ll scare everyone off with my many muscles.”

“Do you even have one?” Tubbo asks. “One muscle?”

“Many manly muscles.” Tommy doubles-down.

“I’ll just walk.” You sigh.

-

“Guys stop calling me ‘daddy Tommy’ I’m clearly a twink.”

“Tom?” You ask.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up, please.”

“Whatever you say!”

-

<Tommyinnit> Tubbo kisses his cousins

“I do not!” Tubbo exclaims, outrage painting his voice.

“I’ve seen Tubbo bare-lipsing his cousins.” Jack argues immediately.

“Have you?” You ask Jack.

“I’d kiss you even if you were my cousin.” Tommy says to you. “That’s how much I love you.”

“You’d what?”

“No, cause it’s my love.”

“Tom, man, I think it’s time for you to be done.” Jack says wisely.

“Well, no, cause what’s wrong with what I said?”

“So many things. So so many things.”

-

When you blink your eyes open the next morning, everything is hazy and painful. A throbbing headache makes you immediately close your eyes against the bright sunlight of morning, only for you to try again a few moments later.

There's a weight thrown across your middle; upon further inspection, it's Tommy's arm. Heavy and warm, and also keeping you trapped next to him.

"Tom." You groan, knowing that you need some water and Aspirin. He probably does too, considering he definitely drank more than you. "Tom, please."

He mumbles something, barely relenting his grip on you. It's just enough so that you can stretch across the bed to grab your phone from the charger. There's a few messages from friends checking up on you and Tommy (including a shit ton from Wilbur that you're just going to... ignore...) but you swipe open social media.

Only to immediately close it when you realize that you and Tommy are trending for what happened during MCC last night. Although it could very well also have been from the photo Tommy posted of you two kissing, to be fair.

"Stop moving." Tommy groans, pressing his face into your shoulder.

"We need Aspirin and water." You tell him. "And we're trending on Twitter."

"No." His hold on you tightens. "Five more minutes."

You know damn well five minutes will be ten, then thirty, then two hours, but you relent either way.

"Five more minutes."

[plasmavamp]

hey ✌

so i showed some interest in coming back to sims but uh, unfortunately i've (temporarily? hopefully,) lost all of my files on my usb drive lol-

so... no more morgyn, caleb, nas, the kids', anything to do with my story and their saves—not until i find a way to recover the files, which im already lowkey not very hopeful I:

so until then, im gonna attempt to just...play normally lol. i dont really feel like doing any particular editing or "story" or anything, i just miss playing the sims and just building stuff and having fun.

if i share anything, it'll just be screenshot spam or something, or maybe a legacy if i find something interesting to do ~

so yeah ! just my occasional-update and wanted to clue everyone in who is curious about me ^^ im still kinda spotty in "activity" but i'll try my best to post when i can <3

[grumpyhedgehogs]

those who are left behind (share the grief between them)

Summary: Cody goes to find Rex. Ahsoka finds him first. AO3. Part 2 of “scraps” series. Part 1. Part 3, Part 4, Part 5.

Warnings: Grief/mourning, canon-typical violence.

Cody tries to find Rex.

It’s the only thing he can think of after he manages to get off the Death Star--a feat in and of itself, as he knew it would be. He’d had a couple close calls; he knows he was on the list to be transferred to a teaching job for new initiates, and clones as a whole were kept under close watch. Too many of the vode had killed themselves or disappeared or went berserk and killed their commanding officers. (Cody thinks about those brothers now and wonders how crazy they really were.) He’s not sure if he was under closer observation than most post-Order 66, due to his place at Kenobi's side for years; those memories are hazy, and upsetting besides. Obviously Vader didn’t think he’d be more of a problem than anyone else now, because even with the close watch Cody’d been able to slip security and hitch a ride on a stolen emergency shuttle with little fanfare. The fiasco with the droids weeks earlier taught everyone exactly how much the Empire let slip between the cracks.

The lightsaber was tempting. It still is. But Vader keeps it in his secure chamber, hoarding it like a Krayt dragon. Cody didn’t even try.

So he gets away and goes to find Rex. Rex, who had told him about the chips. Rex, who Cody had dismissed. Rex, who was made commander and promptly had everything else taken from him with Order 66. Rex, who Cody had seen hide nor hair of during his tenure as CC-2224. Cody tries to find Rex.

Ahsoka finds him first.

He's on some backwater planet, somewhere bleak and angry looking; drab grey roads and trees with no foliage against a blood-red sky. The people here live in hovels and call themselves lucky. Cody closes his eyes as he leaves the tiny fishing market on the edge of the docks. The smell clogs his nose and makes him want to retch, but for a moment he can almost feel the weight of Obi-Wan’s hand on his shoulder. He can picture the exact curl of Obi-Wan’s mouth, the twitch of an eyebrow as he tells Cody to find the beauty in the small things. The people here are born with silver scales lining their cheekbones, their fingers webbed with thin, iridescent skin that catches the light just right and turns to millions of colors. There are children who actually play in the street here. There are no stormtroopers raiding the stalls. Happiness comes in small packages, Obi-Wan would say. Cody exhales the smell of dead fish and wraps the robe tighter around himself.

It was probably too big on Obi-Wan by the end; it fits comfortably around his shoulders, and although Obi-Wan was a little taller, he certainly wasn't wider than Cody even on the best day. He’d slimmed down during the war too; they’d had few rations going around in the hard times--it was always a task getting the general to eat when his men were going hungry. Cody nearly put him on an IV a couple times.

The robe covers what’s left of his stark white stormtrooper armor well enough. He’d stripped the leg armor off immediately, stole some fatigues from a clothesline when he’d landed on the first planet he could find and slipped those over his blacks. He’s been planet hopping for a while, chasing rumors of rebels and crossing imperial battlegrounds. They’re burial sites now. Cody doesn’t know enough about the Force to do more than read the fallen their last rights and ask them to be well as they pass on. Every place is the same; empty, except for bones. The Mando’a prayers spill from his lips easily but his voice is rusty and Cody usually settles for a silent vigil instead. There are so many dead.

After the first graveyard, Cody stripped off as much of the white paint from his vambraces as he could. It’s a shoddy job, but it’s the best he can do. Paint is a luxury he can’t afford. Cody doesn’t have a credit to his name.

He bows his head to the small woman who pushes a package filled with row after row of tiny fish into his hands and chatters at him in an unknown language. Places like this, even as untouched by the Empire as they seem, know hardship. The people here are kind. Obi-Wan would be proud to have met them. Cody tries to be proud too, but his chest is so hollow now. The robe flutters and whips against his knees as he walks away.

He’s outside town limits, thinking about a campfire and shelter, when he hears it. There’s the scrape of a boot on rock somewhere above him in the hills that line the dirt road. He should have gotten off the path into the treeline when he’d had the chance. The hood is good cover from the light rain but it gives too much of the movement of his head away; by the time Cody whirls around, there is no one behind him. He scans the trees anyway and counts how many bolts he has in his blaster. He’d taken out those troopers on Florrum weeks ago. A couple of hunting trips when he couldn’t beg or work for any food in townships. He’ll have to make the shots count.

But before he can do more than pull the blaster from his sleeve, they're upon him. There’s a sound of ignition, one that has Cody thrown years into the past, and then a flash of white. A figure in dark clothes bears down on him with a white lightsaber, and Cody doesn’t mean to react how he does, he really doesn’t, it’s not red but—

But he’s spent years as a slave to a lightsaber wielder dressed all in black and he can’t do that again, not after watching Obi-Wan fall. He can't go back to the Death Star. Cody pulls his blaster and fires a shot, dodging to the left and then feigning a stumble, hoping to get around to the attacker's other side. The other fighter, also cloaked and hooded against the rain, is spry and wiry--perhaps female--and obviously trained. One of those Knights of the Empire they were talking about training? They dodge another bolt as Cody curses and then a second ‘saber lights up and--the handles are the wrong way around.

They’re holding their lightsabers wrong. Cody nearly does trip this time, only just scrambling back from a slice that surely would have taken his head off. As he does, the figure speaks.

“Where did you get that robe?” They hiss, and prepare to strike again.

“ Ahsoka?”

“Wh-- Cody? ”

“Oh, Force,” Cody says, feeling like he did when Longshot knocked all the air out of him during a sparring session. He pushes his hood down hurriedly. Rain splashes down his forehead, rolls off the end of his nose, fills his mouth. “It is you. You’re alive!”

He’d been so afraid of being alone.

Ahsoka, older and leaner and sadder than he’s ever seen her, lowers her own hood. One ‘saber stays in her hand. Good. “Cody. You’re...you.”

“I remembered,” Cody chokes out. It’s hard not to vomit when he thinks about it for too long. “Who I was, before the Order. I remembered.”

Ahsoka’s eyes are sharp. Her mouth is a thin line. “Good men lost their lives that day. Dead men walked among us for years afterward. I--I’m sorry for your loss, Cody. It has been a long time.”

“I’m sorry too,” Cody says. It tastes like ash in his mouth, like the pyre he should’ve given Obi-Wan and never got the chance to. “The vode weren’t the only people lost that day.”

She softens, if only just. The lightsaber is hooked onto her belt under her own robe. “It really is you. Come then, I have a fire.”

They settle around her campsite, small and remote, on a perfect vantage point, before she speaks again. Cody is waiting for her when she does. He unwraps the fish, ignoring the mud splashed onto the scales from their impromptu fight, and lays them out on a flat rock in the fire. They are too small to debone individually; they’ll have better luck eating around the skeletons and hoping for the best. (“If you kill my grandpadawan via choking on a fish bone I will never forgive you,” jokes the Obi-Wan in his head and Cody suppresses a snort.)

“The robe.” Ahsoka murmurs. Her lekku twitch, in apprehension or agitation Cody isn’t sure. The pit in his gut, always there, yawns wider. She’s Obi-Wan’s family. Next of kin. He by all rights should give it to her, but… “It has Obi-Wan’s Force signature infused in it, but I recognized that yours was different. I thought…”

“I’d taken it off his body.” Cody finishes for her. Ahsoka nods, grim. He nods too and flips the fish. “You’re almost right. He didn’t leave behind a body, just his lightsaber and the robe. Vader killed him; it’s what woke me up. Chip’s stopped working, I guess. Too old.”

“I felt him when he went.” Ahsoka’s eyes are far away when Cody snatches a glance at her. She sits, back ramrod straight, unyielding, steely. He thinks Obi-Wan would have been like this in the end; untouchable, almost. He was statuesque, carved from marble, right up until the moment he died. “His light went out; that day the Force got much darker.”

“Wasn’t sure it could get darker.”

“Obi-Wan spoke once to me,” Ahsoka tells him after a long silence. She takes the food offered and nods her thanks. Cody’s heart is dead, has been since he left the Death Star, but he curls his fingers into the robe’s edges and listens anyway. He never stops hurting these days. “Through the Force, I mean. It was right after--right after. Just a fleeting thing, a feeling. He wanted to make sure I was safe, that I knew he--”

Cody doesn’t move when her words cut off. He knows. She knows.

It is like stripping off his own skin with a dull blade when Cody shrugs out of the robe and offers it up. “Here.” His voice is hoarse, tortured, not his own. “I just--you’re his family, but I can’t... please.”

Ahsoka is beautiful even when she cries. The robe looks worn, dingy in her hands, but she holds it close, like a child. She has to work hard to get the next sentence out. “You loved him.”

Cody nods. His face is wet too. “Still,” he whispers, almost inaudibly over the fire. “Still.”

“It’s yours,” Ahsoka promises. “Let me meditate with it, just once, and then--it’s yours. It’s yours.”

Ahsoka goes still; her shoulders stop hitching after a while, her cheeks dry, her breathing evens. Cody does not sleep, but he does drift. He knows she will not mind the salt water on his own face when she wakes. Obi-Wan would tell him to release his grief, perhaps that Obi-Wan is not worth it; Cody holds on almost greedily, bottles up the pain and sorrow and regret and keeps it with him, cold as ice in his chest.

He knows she comes back by the small cry that slips past her lips; she jerks in place, nearly toppling from her meditation pose. Ahsoka straightens again and clenches her hands in the robe, head bowed. “Alright?” Softly, softly. He knew her when she was just a child.

“Meditation is rougher than it used to be,” Ahsoka admits, and, reluctant, passes the fabric over in a bundle. “Thank you.”

“I miss him too.”

“What are you doing out here?”

Cody smiles without real feeling. “Following you. Or the Rebellion in general, I guess. Thought maybe I could find Rex that way.”

Ahsoka raises her eyebrows. “The Rebellion hasn’t been here for months; I’m just here checking up to make sure refugees we helped are still doing alright.”

“You guys got a head start on me.”

Her laughter is quiet, like Obi-Wan’s used to be. Cody looks away, twists his hands in the robe.

Wait.

He knows Obi-Wan won’t mind. He lost so many during the war anyway, went through them like tissue paper. It was a game among the 212th, who could find them on the battlefield first.

Cody looks up, eyes Ahsoka shrewdly. She’s taller, more muscular than she used to be. He’s no seamstress. “Scarf or sash?”

Ahsoka blinks at him. He presses his lips together and nods. “Sash. Won’t get in the way.”

The sleeve comes apart at the seams easily enough. Cody ignores her protest, and tears the other sleeve away too before pocketing one--someone else will want it, someone else who can hold vigil with Cody and Ahsoka both. Then he tears open the remaining sleeve and flattens it, before holding it out to her. “Through the belt loops,” he advises, blandly, like the tears on both their faces don’t exist. Her eyes are the size of dinner plates in her head. “Won’t get in the way when you pull your weapon.”

Ahsoka’s lips tremble when she takes the scrap of fabric. Cody doesn’t watch her loop it through her belt, taking the time to wrap the rest of the robe around his shoulders in a makeshift poncho; the hood hangs down his back still, and the ends of the robe are still long enough to cover most of his breastplate, some of the only trooper armor he has kept. There is a scratch on the shoulder from when an overconfident Jawa took a shot at him on Florrum.

Ahsoka gasps when he looks up. She gestures at his chest. “You…”

Cody splays his hand where she indicates, over the insignia he painstakingly etched into the armor covering his heart. The lightsaber was tricky to overlay on the 212th logo. It took him hours. He has a lot more time on his hands now that he’s not being controlled by the chip, though; it was worth it.

“Yes,” Cody answers. “I--I don’t want to forget again. Never again.”

Ahsoka reaches out and takes his hand over the fire that gutters low in their makeshift hearth. A thousand lives lie between them, and a thousand deaths. Her hand holds his so carefully. Cody squeezes back and feels Obi-Wan smile. “Never again,” Ahsoka vows.

[sciencenewsforstudents]

Somewhere on a windswept cliff on the edge of the Hawaiian island of Kauai grows a plant that looks like a cabbage on a stick. It’s the last wild plant of its kind, and its exact location is a closely guarded secret.

Hawaiians call it alula (AH-lou-lah). Even on this island chain, known for its exotic greenery, the alula stands out. Its rosette of wide, leathery leaves sits atop a short, bulbous stem. Creamy yellow flowers give off a honeysuckle scent.

Alula used to be an important lei plant. A lei is a traditional garland of flowers worn around the neck. The alula’s flowers “could be either strung or woven into leis, which were made as gifts of love or for special occasions,” says Kawika Winter. Winter is an ecologist and a Hawaiian who works at the He’eia National Estuarine Research Reserve on Oahu.

As Winter well knows, the days when Hawaiians could use alula flowers in their leis are long gone. Alula were once a common sight in Kauai and on the neighboring island of Nihau. That was before people brought plant-munching goats, pigs and rats to Hawaii. People also brought plants from other places. These plants tended to crowd out native Hawaiian ones, including alula.

Forty years ago, the alula hadn’t yet dwindled to one last, lonely plant. There was still a small population clinging to a cliff face. Steve Perlman rappelled down a cliff to collect their seeds.

Perlman arrived just in time. He is a field botanist with the Plant Extinction Prevention Program at the University of Hawaii at Manoa. Perlman is based at the National Tropical Botanical Gardens (NTBG) in Kalaheo, so he gave his seeds to horticulturists working there.

Horticulturists are experts in cultivating plants. The ones at NTBG knew how rare alula already were when Perlman handed over his seeds 40 years ago. They were eager to grow lots of them and save the plant from extinction.

This is a fabulous green sphinx moth, which pollinates the alula plant. Live moths are a vivid green. But there are so few of them left that people have to pollinate alula flowers by hand.

CREDIT:  ROBERT YOUNG/WIKIMEDIA COMMONS (CC BY 3.0)

But there was a problem. The alula’s natural pollinator is the fabulous green sphinx moth (yes, that’s its real name). And there weren’t enough of the moths to do the job. That’s because so much land has been cleared for houses and food crops, removing the plants the moth needs for food. Today there are very, very few fabulous green sphinx moths left.

NTBG’s horticulturists had a solution to the missing moth problem: pollinate alula by hand. They dipped small paintbrushes into the pollen of some greenhouse alula flowers and dabbed it onto the stigmas (the female reproductive parts) of other alula flowers. It worked. They grew so many that alula plants now are sold around the world as a houseplant called Hawaiian palm. Alula have also been re-introduced into the wild places where they once grew. But these aren’t technically considered wild plants. That’s because humans must constantly tend to them.  

Today, the plant is listed as endangered. And it’s against the law for anyone to damage or kill it. This listing, along with Perlman’s efforts, has been a life preserver for alula.

“We won’t lose this species now,” says Perlman. “It’s a success story.”

At least, he’s pretty sure it’s a success story. But sometimes he wonders. Winter is not so sure either. As they both point out, alula plants would die off if humans stopped hand-pollinating them. True success will come only when they can be planted in the wild and survive on their own, says Winter.

“Researchers and conservationists are trying,” he says. “Hopefully our grandchildren will see these clinging to the cliffs once again.”

For now, constant hand-pollination is better than the alternative — extinction. More than 130 plant species have gone extinct in Hawaii since people began keeping records a couple hundred years ago. Perlman has personally witnessed 20 species go extinct in the state since he started hunting for rare plants 45 years ago. It is, he says, a lot like losing 20 friends.

[sshbpodcast]

Tales from the Holodeck: DS9 Fanfic: Chris’s Teleplay

In celebration of A Star to Steer Her By’s fourth anniversary, we did what pretty much all theaters are doing right now and put together a little Zoom reading. This time around, our latest fanfics in our “Tales from the Holodeck” series are all Deep Space Nine teleplays that you can listen to us cold read here (this one starts at 1:05:58), complete with really dodgy attempts at accents! Follow along with Chris’s teleplay below or read with your friends with your own dodgy accents!

[images © Paramount/CBS]

“Day Trip”

By Chris

Random pick: Bashir

[The DS9 replimat. Garak and Bashir sit at their usual table. The doctor is just wiping his mouth and tosses his napkin casually onto his plate]

Bashir: Well, I’d best be on my way.

Garak: Yes, both of us back to our stitching. The usual time tomorrow?

Bashir: Of course. [beat] Oh, but not the day after.

Garak: Oh?

Bashir: I’m...well, the Chief has been trying to get me to visit Bajor with him and I’ve finally run out of decent excuses not to.

Garak: Excuses? Why, Doctor, I thought your friendship with Mister O’Brien was second only to ours.

Bashir: He wants to go kayaking.

Garak: Ah.

Bashir: Exactly. He somehow manages to injure himself during holosuite kayaking, and that has safety protocols! I dread to think what the real thing might do to him.

Garak: Has he ever gone kayaking outside of a simulation?

Bashir: He says he used to fairly frequently before he joined Starfleet.

Garak: But that was…

Bashir: Over twenty years ago, yes.

Garak: Well. Thank goodness he’s friends with a Doctor. Enjoy your trip. Hopefully you’re wrong and it won’t turn out to be a...what was that charming expression? A busman’s holiday!

Bashir: I sincerely hope so.

[The side of a quickly-rushing river, day. As we pan across the scene we start seeing bits of flotsam and jetsam, equipment, and before long an overturned kayak. Sprawled nearby is Bashir, unconscious, bleeding from a cut on his temple]

Opening credits

[The riverside, where a groaning Bashir slowly comes to. He gets to his feet, glances around for a few moments, lifts kayak and finds nothing]

Bashir: Chief? [pause, then louder] Chief?! [goes to activate commbadge, sees it’s not there] Damn.

[Bashir begins picking up equipment, throws away a few pieces after a brief inspection. The rest go in a small, metal valise. Looks around a bit, then begins walking]

Bashir: Chief?! Chief, can you hear me! Damn it…

[suddenly, a low growling can be heard. Julian stops dead and glances around. From a tree line a wolf emerges. But, you know, a Bajoran wolf. Maybe it has a bumpy nose or antenna or one of those wacky earrings, whatever]

Bashir: I knew we should’ve brought phasers…

[the wolf barks and leaps, Julian throws his arms in front of himself. Suddenly, a high-pitched “thwip” is heard, the wolf lets out a quick, brief whine, slams into the Doctor and the two go down in a heap]

Bashir: I...rather expected mauling to hurt more.

[Bashir pushes the wolf off himself, revealing an arrow having pierced its neck. He glances around, and a Bajoran woman can be seen at the treeline, holding a bow with a second arrow ready to be nocked. Her clothes are unlike any Bajoran outfit we’ve seen before, seemingly made of skins with obvious hand-patching and repairs scattered throughout]

Bashir: I suppose I’ve you to thank for my being alive right now, Miss...?

Ellet: Danzari Ellet.

Bashir: Miss Ellet. My name is...

Ellet: Hold! Do not come closer!

Bashir: Sorry. I don’t mean you any harm.

Ellet: You are neither Bajoran nor Cardassian.

Bashir: I’m human.

Ellet: Human...human... [beat] Federation? Here?

Bashir: Yes.

Ellet: Finally come to end our suffering at the hands of the Cardassians?

Bashir: What?

Ellet: Come now. I know the Federation has ignored the plight of Bajor, but you know what has happened here.

Bashir: Ah, yes, but...well, the Occupation is over. It ended five years ago.

Ellet: What? The Cardassians are...gone?

Bashir: Yes.

Ellet: Do you have proof? For all I know you are a Cardassian agent.

Bashir: Ah...well, no, actually. I was boating with a friend and we capsized. Most of my supplies and communicator were lost. I assume you’ve not seen my friend?

Ellet: You’re the first stranger I’ve seen today.

Bashir: Do you...live near here? Are there many others? Could anyone else have…

Ellet: I cannot trust you with any of that without knowing who you are.

Bashir: I’m Doctor Julian Bashir, from Starfleet. I’m not entirely sure how to prove that, however.

Ellet: Hm. Hands behind your head. I’m going to approach you.

Bashir: Alright.

[Ellet stalks towards Bashir, looks sternly at him. Their eyes lock. He tries a little grin. She suddenly reaches up with the unused arrow and slashes his cheek. He flinches and gasps, and she wipes at the blood with a fingertip]

Ellet: Red. The Cardassians may be able plastic surgeons but even they cannot change blood color.

Bashir: I suppose not.

Ellet: Alright, fine. Drop your arms. Come with me. Tell me what has been happening…

[We see Bashir and Ellet walking into the woods. We are clearly seeing from someone’s Point of View, partially obscured by branches and leaves. There is heavy breathing...commercial break! Oh boy, 90s shit! Vote for Bob Dole! Buy a pager! That Ford Taurus sure is a sexy fuck! AND WE’RE BACK! A small, Bajoran village. There’s no sign of any tech, the homes are simple, aging wooden structures. People do old-timey shit. Bashir and Ellet approach]

Bashir: ...so Winn withdrew her candidacy. Shakaar won the position of First Minister very handily after that.

Ellet: Amazing. A free Bajor. I can’t believe it. I want to.

Bashir: What, my injury isn’t enough proof that I am who I say I am?

Ellet: Plenty of species have red blood, even mine. You could be a collaborator who had his nose shaved down.

Bashir: It would be easier and less traumatic to fill the ridges in, actually. Speaking as a physician. More easily reversed, as well.

Ellet: Which is why the Cardassians would shave it down. Probably without anesthesia.

Bashir: Ah, well…

Pold: Ellet! Ellet come quick!

[a teenage boy rushes up to Ellet and Bashir, barely giving a second glance to the stranger]

Ellet: Pold! What is it?

Pold: It’s Elder Caso! He collapsed!

Bashir: Where is he? I don’t have my full kit, but…

Ellet: Follow me!

[Interior of one of the houses; an old man lays in a bed, his breathing strained and raspy. Other Bajorans stand nearby looking worried. A middle-aged woman, Calra, leans over him, listening to his heart with something that is recognizably a stethoscope. Bashir and Ellet rush in]

Calra: Ellet, who...

Ellet: He’s a Doctor, from Starfleet.

Calra: Starfleet? What…

Bashir: I’ll explain everything in time, but first…

[Bashir kneels next to Calra and pulls his tricorder from his kit. He flips it open and it lets out a somewhat-sickly version of it usual beeps]

Bashir: Damn…

Ellet: What’s wrong?

Bashir: The power supply was damaged. [noting the stethoscope] Did you get a chance to use that?

Calra: Yes. His heartbeat is badly irregular.

Bashir: Does he have any allergies you know of?

Calra: Some hay fever, nothing else.

Bashir: Cordrazine, then. [pulls out a small case from his kit, flips it open to reveal some phials. Pulls one out] Thank goodness, it’s intact. But I haven’t a hypospray. Do you have a syringe or anything?

Calra: Yes. Ellet, over there…

[Calra points and Ellet vanishes for a moment, before reappearing with a tray of needles. Bashir picks one up and glances momentarily at the Bajoran writing]

Bashir: What line is...ah...damn, what’s the Bajoran equivalent of ccs. Ah...right, right! Which one would be half a dectol?

Calra: There.

[Bashir twists the top off the phial and sticks the needle in, slowly pulling the plunger back. He delicately hands the phial to Calra, then starts tapping Pold’s arm]

Bashir: Haven’t had to find a vein since medical school…

[He nods, satisfied, and plunges the needle into the old man’s arm. He picks up the stethoscope, puts it on, and presses the diaphragm to the elder’s chest]

Bashir: He’s stabilizing...good. I suppose it’s too much to hope for that you have IV bags?

Calra: You’re lucky we have syringes.

Bashir: Alright, make sure he stays hydrated. More so than you might think is necessary. Someone should be watching him at all times. Check his heartbeat every hour. If it gets irregular again, a quarter dectol of this. If his breathing becomes rapid at any time try chest compressions. If that doesn’t work get me. [beat] Real, frontier medicine. I knew a young fool who romanticized this stuff…

Caso: Ellet…

Ellet: Father!

Caso: Who...is this?

Ellet: He’s Doctor Bashir, father. He’s from Starfleet. The occupation is over, Father. Bajor is free.

[Exterior, night. We are again watching from an unknown figure’s PoV. We can just make out Bashir sitting with Caso, Ellet, Calra and others by a large fire. Someone hands him a bowl. Switches to the side of the fire as he eats]

Bashir: This is excellent. And you’ve raised or hunted all of this yourselves?

Ellet: It’s what we’ve done since I was born.

Caso: We have been on our own for almost four decades. I was a child when the occupation began. My memories of a free Bajor are...a fog, at best. I can somewhat remember the quiet meetings in my parent’s home. The early days of the Resistance, though I didn’t understand that at the time. I was barely a teenager when we set up our first camp to begin striking at a Cardassian shipping port.

Bashir: So what happened? Resistance camps didn’t tend to become permanent emplacements.

Caso: We had moved here for a major strike planned with another cell. I can’t remember what the target was. Almost every single adult went. Many of the teenagers. I wanted to go, but they said I was just too young. If I’d not been recovering from a sprained ankle they may have taken me. I’m not sure. [pause] No one came back from the mission. We waited for days. Weeks. Before long we began to be sure the Cardassians would arrive and destroy us. But we were mostly children, we didn’t know how best to pull up stakes and resettle. We didn’t know how to contact other cells. We didn’t even know if we were near civilization. After a few months, we realized we were on our own. And...well, we made do.

Bashir: I’d say you’ve thrived. You’ve remained undiscovered and self-sufficient for almost forty years. That’s astounding!

Caso: Yes. But now...now we can rejoin Bajor. A Bajor free of Cardassians. I still scarcely believe it. [beat] I do not mean to seem ungrateful to my savior but...well, have we simply replaced Cardassians with Federation troops?

Bashir: No, no not at all! No, we’re all on a space station. There’s no permanent on-planet presence.

Caso: But your commander is the Emissary?

Bashir: Yes. But he’s a Starfleet officer first. He hasn’t abused his position as Emissary to try and force the issue

Calra: Starfleet is famously hands-off.

Bashir: We try to be. First and foremost we consider ourselves explorers. We’re ambassadors of the Federation, we don’t exist to strongarm anyone into joining.

Calra: Tho you certainly have military might.

Bashir: An unfortunate necessity when not everyone shares our ideals.

Calra: Yes. Like the Klingons. Orion Pirates. Cardassians?

Bashir: Right…

Caso: Calra…

Calra: Tell me, Doctor, when is non-interference just willful ignorance?

Bashir: Sorry?

Caso: Calra, he’s barely older than Ellet, he had nothing to do with…

Calra: Oh, I’m sure they’re making some similar decision now, though. Right, Doctor? What atrocity is your Federation turning a blind eye to now?

Ellet: Calra, come now…

Bashir: No. No, she’s not wrong. The Federation. Starfleet. We let a lot happen in the name of The Prime Directive. I can’t disagree. We don’t live up to our own ideals sometimes. And that’s because we’re flawed. [beat] But that’s the root of it. The Federation has had its brushes with failing itself even more drastically than that. So we stop the Cardassian occupation. Then we get asked to help another culture. Then another. And another. Then one day we don’t get asked but just show up. Then we show up again. And again. And then, suddenly, we’re taking over Bajor instead of the Cardassians. The line is fine. Too fine. And I have yet to meet anyone who I would trust to see it.

Calra: And what do you think about Bajor joining the Federation willingly? Since that is how you see the overture now.

Bashir: Honestly? I don’t know. On the one hand, the Federation has plenty to offer. On the other hand, Bajor is still trying to figure itself out after having its own culture nearly eradicated. But then there is the issue of the worm...Celestial Temple. Bajor is now the most important planet in the Alpha quadrant, which means it could also be a target for countless people.

Calra: You seem to have trouble committing to ideas.

Bashir: I’m a doctor, not a diplomat. My choices are much simpler. If someone is in need of medical help, I provide it. I leave diplomacy to better people than myself.

Caso: Well I, for one, am grateful a Doctor arrived instead of a diplomat. Now, come! No more interrogating Doctor Bashir! Let’s enjoy ourselves, and in the morning we shall send out parties to try and find his friend!

[The spooky PoV shot again. Heavy breathing. WOOOOOO, what could it be?! MOTHERFUCKING COMMERCIAL TIME! It’s a trailer for Twister, fuck did you see that cow?!  It’s the “great googly moogly” Snickers ad! Oh shit they made the Game Boy smaller! BACK TO THE SHOW, HONKIES!

Day, Julian walking through the woods with Ellet]

Bashir: So, are you looking forward to seeing the sites of your homeworld?

Ellet: I...suppose? My whole life has been stories of Bajor. For me, Bajor has just been my village and a few square miles of woodland. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Bashir: Well, the capital has some stunning architecture. The Bajoran Gallery has already managed to rebuild much of its collections. I’d be more than happy to show you around.

Ellet: That could be…

[suddenly, a large rock whizzes past their faces and they both duck down into the brush]

Bashir: What the hell?!

Ellet: Come on! There’s not enough cover here.

Bashir: This way!

[the two start running towards a large boulder near a tree line, Bashir slightly ahead. Suddenly there’s the noise of bending wood and straining rope]

Bashir: WHOA!

[Bashir is now danging upside-down, one of his feet caught in a makeshift rope hanging from a branch. Ellet dives behind the boulder]

Bashir: Ellet, what’s going on?! Is this normal?!

Ellet: No! I have no idea what…

[Another rock spirals in and Ellet dives behind the boulder. It bounces off and barely misses Julian’s head Ellet nocks an arrow and glances over the boulder]

Ellet: Where are you…?

Bashir: Could you get me down maybe?

Ellet: Shh!

Chief: [from a distance] You damn Cardie bastards! You let him go!

Ellet: What?!

Bashir: Chief?! Chief! What are you talking about?!

[The Chief is standing in a shadowy area, having gone full Apocalypse Now. His shirt is gone and he’s covered in mud from waist to face as makeshift camouflage. He holds a homemade sling and a rock. His face is hard]

Chief: It’s alright, Julian! I’ll free you from those bastards before they can scream at you about lights!

Bashir: Ellet, please. That’s my missing friend! Something’s clearly wrong with him!

Ellet: So I can’t kill him.

Bashir: Afraid not.

Ellet: Great.

Bashir: Sorry. If you could get me down I could help…okay.

[Ellet has already launched herself over the boulder and started charging towards the Chief. She barely ducks a stone, which ends up hitting Julian in the gut, making him give out a little oof. The Chief loads another stone, but Ellet shoots an arrow that cuts the handle. Time for a motherfucking fight! Chief goes all Classic Starfleet double-hand punches and Kirk-chops. It’s...well, you know. It’s a “Trek” fight. Then Ellet manages to crack him one across the chin with her bow and he goes down. Before he can get up she puts a foot on his chest and has an arrow drawn and near his face]

Ellet: Calm yourself, Chief. No one wishes to hurt you or the Doctor…

[the interior of DS9’s infirmary. O’Brien, in uniform, lays on a diagnostic table while Julian scans him]

Bashir: So my best guess is that spring you said you found had been tainted by spores from some nearby bitari mushrooms. Calra explained them to me. For a Bajoran they can cause rather pleasant hallucinations. Humans, it would seem, not so much.

O’Brien: I swear, they all looked like Cardassians. It was like I was back in the war. Thank goodness I didn’t hurt anyone.

Bashir: You bruised one of my ribs, actually.

O’Brien: Well, being fair, I wasn’t aiming for you. Still, I’ll get you your next pint to make it up to you. Quark’s?

Bashir: I’m going to need a rain check. I’m acting as an ambassador today.

[Ellet walks in, dressed in modern Bajoran clothing]

Ellet: Doctor?

Bashir: Ah! Ellet! I’ll be right with you! A Vulcan survey ship is due back from the Gamma Quadrant in twenty minutes, so we’ll start with a docking pylon! They have the best view!

Ellet: I’m looking forward to it.

[She exits]

Bashir: Right, well. You’re officially released, Chief. You should be all set. If anything seems off just come back here straightaway.

[Julian exits]

O’Brien: Horny prick.

[THE END! END CREDITS!]

Majel Barrett: Next time on “Star Trek: Deep Space Nine”

Sisko: Why is my razor so stupid?!

Dax: Benjamin, Kai Winn is here to see you.

Kai Winn: [incoherent screeching]

[scene change!]

Bashir: Goddamn it, so itchy…

O’Brien: I really didn’t need to know that, Julian.

[scene change!]

Dax: Kira, you’ve got a message coming in from Gul Dukat.

Kira: Ugh. Put him through.

Gul Dukat: Ah, Major Kira…

Kira: I swear to God if this is another thinly-veiled attempt at hitting on me I will cut of your balls and feed them to your pet vole.

THE END!

Stay tuned for whatever bullshit was on your local station in 1996 after DS9!

—

Check out Caitlin, Ames, and Jake’s stories for more Tales from the Holodeck! Also, be sure to keep listening on SoundCloud, follow us on Facebook and Twitter, and don’t drink the tainted spore water!

[yavannah]

About an hour later, Terri got home and they finally got to discuss that thing, which Cale would have liked to have forgotten, even though the old white scar in his throat didn’t heal it much more. But it didn’t help, because no matter how he looked at it, he would be in trouble.

“You’ll probably remember when I called you today”, Cale began.

“I remember because soon after, a similar proposal was made for me and Danny”, Terry said.

“What!”, Cale cried.

“You heard yes”, Terri snorted.

“Damn”, Cale murmured.

They discussed and turned the matter on both sides, but soon stated that they had to agree, because otherwise they would both lose their jobs, which they could not afford at the time. Neither salary was very high and bills had to be paid and in addition they wanted to save money for their son’s studies. Especially when this had just gotten into college.

“Obviously, all we can do is agree”, Terri said sourly. She wasn’t eager to leave either, but there was no other option.

“All right”, Cale sighed, turned and looked out the window. He was annoyed but couldn’t do anything about it, “let’s go tomorrow together to the curator’s speeches”, he added, glancing at the same time at the old photo that stared at the bookshelf.

That picture had been taken in Manaus before the journey to the river had begun. That cursed, fatal journey that had ended in disaster. He smiled quietly as he remembered the moment Westridge had loudly arrived on the riverboat with all his bags and beloved wines. Bordeaux, that's what it had been, he recalled and smiled again. Another one he vividly remembered was the war of words between Westridge and Danny. It had been inevitable because the backgrounds and preferences of the men were so very different, especially when it came to music.

The most difficult moment of the whole trip had finally been finding the relatives of their deceased travel companions and telling them the grief message. That memory was very gloomy, especially when he had been forced to think at the time what to say, for not everything could be told about it. Especially since at the same time the investigations were still ongoing.

Terri stepped beside Cale and lowered his hand to the man's arm, “Are you okay?”, she asked, looking at Cale’s serious face.

“I am”, Cale replied briefly, looking at Terri, “that photo just reminded me of our last trip”, he said.

“Yeah”, Terri said, looking at the photo, where they all stood happily smiling. Denise and Gary closed to each other in love, Westridge calm proud and Danny of course relaxed as always, “I wonder we didn’t manage to kill each other before Serone joined our expedition”, she smiled.

“Well that was a big miracle”, Cale replied, bowing to press a gentle kiss on Terri’s cheek.

“I’m going to call Danny now”, Terri said in response to a kiss and went elsewhere to call.

As expected, Danny wasn't happy about it either, but agreed. He would not leave his friends in trouble.

The next morning, each of them woke up very early so as not to be late. Breakfast was eaten in deep silence, as neither of them was very excited about what was to come. Eventually the morning activities were taken care of and they drove to the museum where they met Danny. They greet both sides and at the same time, stepping towards the curator’s office.

Cale knocked on the door and heard from there, “come in”.

He opened the door, stepping into the office with Terri and Danny in their wake.

“Good morning”, the curator said, looking at the visitors expressionless.

Cale glanced less kindly at the curator, took a deep breath and said, “we discussed for a very long time and thought carefully about your proposal”.

“Well”, the curator asked, wanting to get an answer as soon as possible.

“We agree”, Cale replied, “I say we’re not happy to do this, but you left us no choice”, he recalled.

"I'm sorry, but I do not know how else would I get you to agree to and, moreover, threatened to sack my self", he pointed out.

“Oh yeah”, Cale murmured, “well but the thing has been agreed, though I still want the thing up on paper so you can’t argue otherwise and then you could finally tell me why you want to send us back to the damned river there. You have enough information, because, as I also mentioned in several sources, we encountered the Shirishamas, although we did not miss a deeper acquaintance for what happened. We had experienced hardships and wanted to go back to civilization”, he recalled.

“Right, I know”, the curator replied and fell silent for a moment, “the thing is, some people would like you to find that tribe again, because they think they know the hiding place of a treasure because they have lived near it presumably for generations”, he finally continued.

“Treasure hunting, Is that what it is? How much do you get for yourself?”,Cale asked angrily.

“I was promised part of the treasure, I would reportedly be able to put it on display here, which would be a very welcome novelty and would bring more visitors to the museum,” the curator replied. "I see", Cale stated coldly, “As has been said, we agree, but we really want a formal agreement. In addition, I want the trip to be handled according to our wishes. Which means we don’t bother that tribe more than we have to and if they don’t know or want to say anything, then that’s clear. After all, we have modern tools to find that treasure you crave”, he recalled. “Okay, I thought you’d like to do just that, so here’s the deal”, the curator said and handed each a thick stack of paper that contained a bunch of terms and other information about the deal, “signatures if I may ask”, he added, leaning comfortably in his chair and pressing his fingertips together.

Cale nodded, but decided to read through the entire stack, not wanting to be fooled by the curator or anyone else. He instructed others to do the same and even read a small print at the end of the entire stack, just below the signature lines.

He had a long and earnest conversation with Terri, as well as Danny, until they finally signed the contracts they received.

“Good, good,” the curator said with satisfaction, already seeing in his mind how the museum would bulge visitors and cash register money.

“Not good at all, because if I suspect you or the financier of that trip of playing a dirty game, your ass is on the line”, Cale recalled less kindly.

“Of course”, the curator replied humbly, but of course he was determined to secure his back, for failure was always possible, “ah, so and here still a memory stick with all the necessary information about the trip, and the people who will come with you, then your ticket that you can get To Manaus”, he added and handed out a black little memory stick, as well as travel tickets to Calelle.

The curator gave another date for the departure so that Cale, Terri and Danny would have time to make the necessary preparations, pack and otherwise prepare for the departure.

The departure date would be next week. Cale also decided to secure his own back and made some arrangements so that he would have enough evidence if the trip went wrong and if they had to deal with authorities and lawyers. It was very great if, and he hoped they wouldn’t get into it, because the previous encounter with those parties hadn’t been pleasant.

***

Thanks again to the cc-makers. And thanks to @natalia-auditore, about those wonderful poses. And ofcourse thanks to my favourite actor, you inspire me once again. Thank you.

[rosesnvines]

Hidden World

(For the Jumanji prompt. Sorry it’s short, but I didn’t want another novella on my hands, lol. I already have one, well, technically three, that I’m trying to write and I have to limit myself. I might return to this at a later point, when I’m not trying to juggle two hugs fanfics and an original. Also, I know there isn’t that much Mericcup in here, but it really was trying to become another novella, lol.) 

“Why are we here again?” asked Chrysta Lejune, better known as CC to her friends. She and three other teens, Zak Storm, Hiccup Haddock, and Merida Dunbroch, were standing in Zak’s basement. She had asked his father the question. 

Mr. Storm chuckled. “This is your assignment. Your teacher wasn’t specific on what you needed to do, so, I’m deciding that you’ll get to clean out out our basement.” CC, Hiccup, and Merida glanced around the basement. It really wasn’t that bad. 

“But what are we supposed to do?” asked Hiccup. “Part of the assignment was to clean up. There’s practically nothing here to clean!” 

“You’re going to complain about that?” asked Merida. 

“Well no, not really,” said Hiccup slowly. “But this is going to our grade, and I want a good grade.” 

Mr. Storm chuckled again. “Don’t worry Hiccup, you’ll get a great grade. Provided you do as I ask you.” He pointed at Zak. “That mean you too, young man.” 

Zak grinned sheepishly. “Right, Dad.” He leaned towards Hiccup and whispered, “Besides, it will give you and Merida a chance to get to spend some time together.” 

Hiccup began to blush. “Shh!” 

“Now here’s what I want you to do.” Mr. Storm began giving them instructions. First off, they were going to sort by items, i.e. clothes, papers, wooden items, if any, etc. Then they would sort by trash, recycling, to sell, and keeping. Zak knew the majority of what would go where, but if he wasn’t sure, then he would ask his dad to take a look, provided Mr. Storm wasn’t helping out a customer. When Mr. Storm was satisfied that they knew the instructions well enough, he left them to open the store. The four fell into a pretty rhythmatic sorting, pulling things off shelves and sorting them into different categories. Things were mostly quiet, that is, the four really didn’t speak much to each other, until Hiccup gave a shout. The other three ran to his side. 

“What is it?” asked Merida. 

“What’s wrong?” asked CC. 

“Uh, what in the world is that doing here?” asked Zak, pointing at the thing Hiccup was holding. 

“Well, that’s why I yelled,” said Hiccup. “Part of the reason, anyway. This thing gave me an electric shock!” 

“Huh,” said Zak, taking the thing from Hiccup. “Does that mean it runs on electricity?” 

“Wait, you’ve never seen this before?” asked CC. 

Zak shook his head as he turned over the thing. “No, but I think it looks like a PS game of some sort. Might explain why it shocked Hiccup.” He walked over to a TV and plugged it in. The screen flickered to life, and the symbol of a dragon appeared, followed by the word “begin”. “Huh, it is a game.” 

“Wait, there’s a game in your house that you don’t know about?” asked CC incredulously. 

Zak shot her a look. “Obviously.” He looked back at the screen. “I wonder why my dad didn’t tell me about it.” 

“Unless he forgot about it,” suggested Hiccup. 

Zak shrugged. “It’s possible. Well, let’s play.” 

“What?” blurted Hiccup and CC. 

Zak pointed at the room. “We’re about halfway done. I think we can pause for a break, don’t you think? Besides, it’s not like we have to spend all day cleaning.” 

“He has a point,” said Merida with a shrug. “But, how do we play?” 

“Hang on,” said Zak. He rummaged around in the electronics section and found four controllers. Merida helped him plug them in. Zak pushed a button, and the screen changed to to having four icons in the corners of the screen and several sentences in the middle. “Huh,” said Zak, getting closer to read the print. “‘Dragons are being hunted left and right in an attempt to rid the world of them. But you know of an old seafaring tale, that of a place so secret that no one but dragons can get to. Find this Hidden World and save the dragons.’” He pointed at each of the icons. “There are four characters, a Scottish princess, an Atlantean princess, a pirate captain, and a Viking chief.” 

“OK, that kinda sounds interesting,” said Hiccup as he picked up a controller. 

“I’m curious too,” said CC. “Atlantis could be the Hidden World.” 

“It might not be,” said Hiccup, “otherwise the game would have said so.” 

“Well, I’m going to be the pirate captain,” said Zak as he quickly made his selection. 

“Calling the Atlantean princess!” CC shouted and clicked on the icon. 

Merida groaned. “I guess I’ll be the Scottish princess then.” 

Hiccup sighed. “And that leaves me with the big, burly Viking chief.” 

“Hey, you’ll be big for once in your life, huh?” 

Hiccup eyed Zak. “If you weren’t one of my closest friends, I would pummel you.” 

Zak grinned mischievously. “You mean you’d try?” 

“Well, if he’s a buff, burly Viking Chief, he can,” said Merida with a grin. 

Zak glanced at the screen. “Yeah, it would also help if you selected your character.” 

Hiccup looked a the screen, blinking. “Oh, I thought I clicked it already.” 

Zak scoffed and pointed at it. “Well, it’s saying you didn’t, so go ahead and click it . . . please.” 

Hiccup rolled his eyes. “Oh, alright, since you  asked so nicely . . . sorta.” Zak grinned as Hiccup pushed the button to select the Viking chief. 

“Alright!” There was a pause as they waited on the screen to change, but nothing happened. 

“Uh, is it broken?” asked CC as she glanced at Zak. 

Zak pushed all the buttons on his controller and pounded it before letting out a grunt. “Oh come on! Ugh! It must be frozen. At least we didn’t start the game yet.” 

“Um, maybe it’s not meant for the TV?” asked Hiccup as Zak put down his controller and walked to the TV. 

“But it has the right cords for it! Well, we can try it again, and if it freezes again, then we’ll try the computer.” Zak tapped the TV screen. The screen seemed to ripple. Zak took a startled step back. 

“Uh, Zak, what’s going on?” asked CC. 

“I, I don’t know . . . maybe we should . . . ah!” The ripple began to swirl and seemed to turn into a whirlpool. “Run!” But before anyone could take another step, the whirlpool widened and engulfed them all. 

The next thing Hiccup remembered was that he was falling. He had barely let out a scream when he hit the ground. He rolled a few feet before picking himself up and dusting himself off. He paused when he noticed the change in his attire. “What the?” Instead of jeans and flannel, he was wearing black leather with red draconian symbols decorating his suit. He jumped when he heard a scream and a body falling to the ground near him. He rushed over to the person, and found it was Merida, dressed in a Scottish dress with a bow and quiver strapped to her back. “Merida? Are you alright?” 

“I thought that fall would have hurt more,” she said as she stood up. 

“I’ll take that to mean that you’re fine.” 

Merida rolled her eyes. “Yes Hiccup, I’m fine, thank you for asking.” Two more yells came from their right and two more people fell to the ground. 

“Zak, CC?” 

“Who else?” muttered CC as she got up. She too was wearing a dress, sort of, her skirt was more of a skort with fishnet leggings . She also had fishnet leggings, matching gloves, a purple and yellow starfish on her bodice, anda golden coronet sitting on top of her head. Zak was wearing the typical pirate outfit, complete with an eye patch that had been pushed up so he could use both eyes. The two let out shrieks when they saw Hiccup and Merida, then each other, and finally at themselves. 

“Hey! Where are my clothes?” blurted Zak. 

“What is up with my hair?” blurted CC as she felt the pink ringlets. 

Zak pulled a sword from his back. “Well, at least I hava cool sword.” 

“Glad you think so, matey.” Zak dropped the sword as everyone screamed and dashed behind a couple of trees. “Ouch!” 

“It it it it . . . it can talk!” 

“It is Calabrass, and I’m supposed to help you find the Hidden World!” A roar echoed in the forest. 

“Uh, what was that?” asked Hiccup. 

“Oh, right, Toothless is supposed to help you too. He’s the last of the Nightfuries and the alpha dragon.” 

CC threw up her hands. “Great! We got sucked into a video game where we get new clothes, and new hairstyles, plus we have a talking sword and dragons?” 

“Well, this is a game about saving the dragons, so . . .” Zak shot her a sheepish grin and shrugged. 

“But how do we get out of here?” asked Merida. 

“In order to finish the game, you have to defeat Skullivar and Grimmel, and get Toothless and his mate to the Hidden World safe and sound. Without getting yourselves killed, of course.” 

Hiccup threw up his hands. “Go figure.” 

Merida raised her hand. “But, if we die here, do we die . . . for good?” The group glanced at each other in alarm. 

“That, Mer, that . . . we really shouldn’t have started playing this game!” 

“You’re telling me!” 

CC glared at Zak. “Telling you? You’re the one who wanted to play it!” 

Zak let out an exasperated breath. “How was I supposed to know we would get sucked into the game?” 

Guys!” Everyone glanced at Hiccup. “Listen, we’re here now, we’re going to have to work together and finish playing the game to get out of here!” 

“That’s the spirit!” said Calabrass enthusiastically. “I like that kid, Toothless.” The group turned, startled. There, sitting on either side of Calabrass were two dragons, one white, the other black. 

“Aw!” said Merida as she dashed forward and began petting the black one. “You’re so cute!” The black dragon began panting like a dog. Hiccup started smiling softly. 

“Oh, so you like her, huh, Toothless? I think you;’re not the only one.” 

Zak walked up to the sword and picked it up. “What do you mean by that?” he asked with a soft chuckle. 

“What? Don’t you know? Your . . . mmph!” 

“Shh, I know!” whispered Zak. “It was a rhetorical question!” He removed his hand from the skeleton’s mouth. 

“I see. Well then, we should get going! You don’t have much information on where the location of this Hidden World, and who knows when Skullivar and Grimmel could catch up to us. Let’s go!” 

“Why would we believe you anyway? You’re a talking pirate sword!” said CC. 

“I’m your only hope against Skullivar and Grimmel. Plus I can help you navigate the waters of the Bermuda Triangle.” 

“The Bermuda Triangle?” 

“Wait, did you just say the Bermuda Triangle?” asked CC incredulously. 

“No, I said the Bermuda Square. Of course I said the Bermuda triangle! It’s one of the speculative theories that’s where the Hidden World is located.” 

Zak groaned. “Oh great, we’re heading to one of the most deadly spots in the entire ocean!” 

“But you’ll have me, and the dragons!” said Calabrass enthusiastically. “We’ll be able to help you through it!” 

Hiccup sighed. “Well, we’d better get going and get this over with so we can get back home.” 

“You got it! I’m really liking this kid.” 

Zak groaned. “Really? I’m the pirate captain!” 

“Doesn’t mean I have to like you. But you could grow on me. We’ll see.” 

Zak groaned again, but the group got on the dragons and flew off, eager to just finish the game and find out exactly why this was happening to them.

[stusbunker]

Known: Hunters

A Supernatural Dark Fan-fiction

Featuring: Dean Winchester x Female OC, Dean Winchester x Demon!Reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: With respect to my readers’ devotion to the show and its story lines, I have included dates relevant to air dates for reference points. I try not to repeat information you already know, but please ask if something doesn’t make sense! xoxo Stu

Warnings: Physical and Emotional Torture, captivity, blood, demons, Hell, Leviathans, show level violence, Slow Burn. More warnings to come. Each chapter will have its own warnings.

Earth Date: November 7, 2011

Location: Rock Port, Missouri

There were things she had seen that could make a military general shit his tighty whities, but never had Chloe Collins seen the unparalleled shift from one being into another. Werewolves, Skin-Walkers and Shifters, none phased that seamlessly. The man took one look at Reynolds, a burly backroad hunter, and instantly took him down with a sleeper hold. And then he WAS Reynolds: voice, gait, everything a complete replica.

“Ah, come on CC, you know he’d been dying for a taste,” the thing looked down at her partner on the case and stepped pointedly on to his neck. “I guess he died for me to have a taste.” Her stomach lurched as it approached her.

Things started falling into place in the panicked walls of her mind. The weird economic booms, the smarmy politicians and their inspirational press conferences. The fact that civilians kept getting dumber by the day. These things were behind it, she wasn’t sure how or why, but there were too many coincidences to ignore it now. Chloe braced herself to square off with an attacker that had half of a foot and fifty pounds on her.

‘Another fucking Apocalypse’, she internally cursed. The unnamed beast reeled back, and its neck opened to reveal rows of teeth and a putrid tongue. Chloe stabbed with all her strength, her signature ceremonial dagger sank into its chest. It swung back, unaffected by the wound. She jumped back, trying to shake off the blow to her head, the one-of-a-kind weapon lodged in the beast’s torso. As she grabbed for the pistol in the waistband of her jeans, deep voices called for her to duck. Surprisingly, she listened, leaving the vision of Sam Winchester a clear shot to douse her attacker with a healthy cascade of industrial cleaner before Dean removed its head.

She had died, this was it. She died with the idiotic hope of a rescue; her memories threw some unexpected pair to her thoughts as her brain started to short circuit. CC closed her eyes and smirked at the way phantom-memory Dean’s lips had curled as he sliced through that black-oozing-shifter with a solid machete stroke. ‘Yeah, at least I wasn’t the only one who went down swinging,’ CC thought as she fell unconscious.

The familiar weight of an old quilt pinned her to the bed. A musty pillow case cooled her cheek as she rolled over, ignoring the world around her until the last moments of her consciousness slammed into focus. Chloe sat up, scrambling for her dagger and her gun. They were waiting for her, cleaned and within arm’s reach on the nightstand. The worn wooden floor led to a large open cabin where her rescuers were casually watching soap operas. It was all too neat and so glaringly wrong at the same time.

The super-shifters had been throwing the Winchesters under the bus for the most public and absurd crimes. They wouldn’t keep her alive, unless they needed her. She tried to justify their use of dead hunters’ faces for their vendetta, but it only resumed the throbbing in her skull. She fell back on the bed, the old mattress bouncing enough to draw the well-trained ears of the man-shaped beasts across the room. She had her weapons in her hands and perched on her knees as Sam stood to approach her.

He raised his massive hands in surrender, “CC, hey, it’s okay. It’s us.”

“Sure, it’s you,” she snarled. “Weird place for a couple of mass murders to be hiding out. Whose place is this? Why are you wearing my friends?”

“Chloe,” Dean’s deep voice caused her to blink, his hands mirrored Sam’s. The concern and honesty defying her fighter’s instincts. “Come on, sweetheart. We’re not Leviathan. Those sonofabitches are really bad for business,” his voice trailed off to Sam, who only shrugged.

Dean stepped closer and she cocked the hammer. “Why would we gift wrap your weapons if we were monsters?”

“Obviously they don’t do much to you, but all I need is to slow you down.” She threw her knife square at Sam’s chest, he barely spun in time, as Dean charged her gun hand. He shoved her hand up. CC got one shot off through the ceiling before Dean fell hard against her atop the bed, wrenching her arm back forcing her to finally drop the weapon.

“It’s us, CC, I swear. Let us show you, please?” Dean’s voice was tired, the last word said on a whisper. Sam stood back, playing with her knife between his long fingers, admiring the runes. His brow was pinched and his chin out, not sure what to say to make her see them in a better light. She nodded, frustration and confusion winning over their insistence.

The man rolled off her, letting her hold her weapon as they talked. Her eyes kept moving, checking the windows and furniture for quick escapes. Something she couldn’t shake was how he even smelled like Dean. They dosed themselves with her Holy Water, salted each other and even cut themselves with both the silver and iron edges of her treasured blade. Their final test was new, they assured her that it was for them, the Leviathan, and nothing happened once Sam and then Dean sprinkled a type of detergent over their opposite hands.

“Okay?” Sam offered, his big puppy dog eyes waiting for her to process it all. She shrugged, holding her gun over the pillow clutched to her chest.

“To answer your question, this was one of Rufus’ safehouses. Bobby brought us here once and when we had to go deep cover--” Dean leaned with his elbows on his knees, trying to remember the last time he had seen her. The past few years had been such a whirlwind, he had barely kept his head up for air.

“Wait, Chloe, let’s say we’re not Sam and Dean, or at least the Sam and Dean you know—”

“Sammy?” Dean’s groaned, rubbing his eyebrows.

“No, Dean, listen. Chloe, why is it so hard for you to believe us?”

She looked at Sam through squinted eyes, his soft tone just like the one he would use on victims’ families. Wary, yet not as distrustful as the first few minutes of their conversation, “because the Sam and Dean I know, are dead. They died stopping Lucifer and the Angels from frying the planet.”

That got their attention, Dean and Sam shared a look, Sam’s eyes brightening with the turn of events.

“Who told you that?” Dean’s voice was brass, obvious with disbelief.

“Bobby Singer.” Chloe spat, her head rolling a little with her certainty. Dean laughed, while Sam paused, but thought it out. She continued, “he said Sam had taken Michael and the Devil to hell himself and Dean—”

“And Dean what?” Sam drew a chair from the breakfast table and sat backwards on it, listening intently.

“was gone,” she finished on a rattled breath.

The brothers shared another look, while the woman stared at them, really and truly taking them in. They had aged, Sam was leaner, Dean’s eyes more lined. Monsters would have taken them as they were, not able to replicate something as unique and unpredictable as human mortality. “Well, it wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth, sweetheart.”

“I was in Hell, but got brought back,” Sam started, letting it sink in.

“And I left hunting, or tried to, had a bit of a domestic hiatus, you could say.” Dean shrugged, the softness of his smile warming the thick block of ice that had settled in her stomach.

“But, why didn’t Bobby tell me?” Chloe countered, trying to out logic their explanations.

“Bobby kind of has a soft spot for us, I think he wanted Dean to have a normal life and, well, I spent a year without a soul. He was protecting his own.” Sam offered, an apologetic grimace on his face.

“Yeah, let’s just be grateful you didn’t meet that Sam. Him, you wouldn’t have believed.” Dean muttered, getting up with a soft pat on CC’s knee. He went to the fridge for a beer.

“Dude!” Sam chastised him. “What is it 10 a.m.?”

“You want one?” Dean offered to Chloe, ignoring his brother’s judgement.

“Got anything stronger?”

“You know it.”

Earth Date: January 13, 2012

Location: Hell, A Never-Ending Hallway

This was worse because it was all an illusion. There was no end in sight, just enough progress to keep that minuscule drop of hope alive. You had to hand it to the king, this was a much more effective and hands-free form of torture. You patrolled the corridor, eyeing the prisoners, souls in every hue and stage of damnation. Your scaled flesh caused many to shudder as you approached; showing your true form was cathartic now. The years as one of the tortured long behind you as you suffered alongside the helpless masses as one of the enforcers.

It was still Hell, but it had grown on you.

Earth Date: August 20, 2012

Location: Odell, Oregon

The call rang on until the clipped voicemail message greeted Chloe, again. She angrily ended the call, biting back the curses at the stubborn man. If the phone had been ditched, it would have gone to voicemail instantly, or to an outdated disconnected message. No, Sam had kept his phone charged and on, he was just choosing to ignore her calls. They had never been close, but his blatant disregard ruffled her sense of mutual respect held amongst hunters. He needed a good head smack. Among other things.

What would Dean say about his little brother’s lack of manners? God only knows, Chloe thought as the familiar clutch of grief writhed within her chest.

 Earth Date: February 25, 2013

Location: Lebanon, Kansas

 “No.”

“Please? Just close your eyes, it’s a surprise.” Dean’s eyes widened, looking like a hopeful third-grader instead of a middle-aged scruff covered hunter. Chloe crossed her arms and shook her head. “Just turn off the huntress-ness, for like three seconds. Help a guy out here?”

“You’re not as cute as you think you are,” she muttered, closing her eyes dramatically as Dean rushed to slip the ornate key into the large metal door. She held out her hand and cleared her throat, expectantly. Sam chuckled beside her and she elbowed him. A warm calloused hand took hers, while the other gathered her at the small of her back.

“Alright, CC, welcome to our new place,” Dean, both proud and excited. She gaped, her mouth open in genuine shock. She looked at Sam, who seemed sick as a dog and then back to Dean who was grinning like a fool. Sam just shook his head, his hair fluttering as the door closed behind him.

“Ready for that tour?”

“Why are you even on this side of the country?” Sam asked as they waited for Dean to bring out their plates. He had insisted on playing host, another surprise for Chloe or just general hospitality from a man who had never had a permanent home? It was quite the coin toss.

“Honestly?” Chloe sighed, resting her feet on the chair next to her at the library table. “A cryptic message from Garth and boredom. Been trying to stay off the ol’ Angel radar, because, no thanks.”

Sam nodded, holding up his hands half in a shrug, half in dismay, “Yeah, tell me about it. Unfortunately, we don’t have that sort of luck.”

“Or good sense,” she added, giving Sam her questioning eyebrow.

“Fair enough. But, uh, you look good, everything going okay otherwise?” Sam cleared his throat, changing the subject from the Winchesters’ poor life choices. Chloe let it slide, ignoring the compliment and sidestep with a generous swig of her beer. She nodded, but before she could reply an exuberant Dean burst from the kitchen with two plates overflowing with homemade potato wedges and bacon cheeseburgers.

“Oh, he cooks too? I’ll take three, please,” she cooed underneath her breath, knowing full well Sam heard her. They ate quickly with large gulps surrounded by appreciative groans. The burgers were mouthwatering, and the fries seasoned to perfection. As Chloe played with the last of the ketchup on her plate, the boys debated their next move. Lots of big talk about Gates of Hell and Trials, she got the distinct impression that Dean was not so pleased with Sam bearing the brunt of the upcoming uncertainty. The Winchesters had always been on a higher echelon of hunters than CC or even most she had ever worked with. But this was big, after everything they had already done, she wondered if their mission had become another crusade. Perhaps that drive is what made them great, perhaps it is what cost them a majority of their friends and all of their family.

It was most definitely the thing that drew her to them since they saved her from that Leviathan. And it was the second most terrifying thing about them that left her questioning her sanity.

Earth Date: March 30, 2013 (Just before the episode Taxi Driver)

Location: Hell, Outside Bobby Singer’s cell

“You’re certain?” You asked the guard in a demonic dialect before peeking through the decorative metal inlay of the unlocked door, having grown over the years, your height allowed you easy access to loom around the bend.

“Everyday. They send someone in with a glamor to confuse the old coot. It’s always one of two brothers. Sam Winchester,” the growl in her voice broke off into a purr. There was still much trepidation over the true vessel of Lucifer, even demons had their kinks. “Or Dean.”

A name that had been barely a rumor over the last centuries, especially the years since the fall of Lucifer’s acolytes Azazel and Lilith and the rise of Crowley. Yet a name you would never forget. The king was a known consort of all manner of beings, from heaven to the scum of humanity. But to have a version of Dean Winchester in Hell where you could see him again? The prospect was overwhelming, even if it was a torment-intended simulation. You hurried back down the row of high priority souls, prisoners that had been won or stolen from Heaven. Souls that had done the most damage to the armies of Hell during their living years. Their pain resonated through the stone walls, sickly sweet.

Over the following months you left your patrols earlier and earlier, escaping to the dungeon that housed the humanly mentor of the man that had irreparably changed you. And each day you watched the various exchanges, smooth and cavalier Dean attempting to rescue Bobby Singer, desperate demonic Dean thirsty to spill the old man’s blood or broken and sobbing Dean begging Bobby to end him. If you weren’t so biased, the Sam illusions would have been equally as moving, Demon-blood strengthened Sam claiming he had found his true family, a preteen Sam begging Bobby to teach him how to shoot only to have his eyes darken and turn on his teacher or a Red-Eyed Sam, a poor rendition of Lucifer, but effective against the soft insides of their paternal figure.

You learned much in your time watching the torture of Robert Singer. He was an impressive soul, even after decades of torture he routinely told the imposters to stick it where the sun didn’t shine. Like any parent, he had a favorite, no matter how he tried to hide it. He preferred Dean, but that was because he saw his own emotional vulnerability in the young hunter. Sam was more like John, with whom Bobby routinely butted heads. His love ran deep, no matter who was favored or understood best. Which was why it was so easy to maintain the doubleganger inflicted agony. And your misery loved their company.

One evening, having missed a turn due to overly flustered messenger demons, you were later than normal to escape your duties and relish in the vision of Dean. The King was not pleased and therefore everyone worked to keep their heads down, patrols were increased, any charge was overly-minded. When you rounded the corner, one of the Sam Winchester doubles was barking at the soul of Bobby Singer and another was screaming that the other was not real. Well this was a twist, but then you saw them, bodies of your fallen brethren zapped from their human meatsuits. It was the real Sam Winchester, as you watched the hunter and the old man run away, you stood frozen. There was no way to salvage this without going toe-to-toe with Lucifer’s vessel who was also the only being Dean would do anything for. You let them go, hiding in the shadows, knowing there was something brewing above.

With the loss of your daily reminder of him from Bobby’s enforcers, your hunger for Dean only intensified.

tags: @dontshootmespence @because-imma-lady-assface @mrswhozeewhatsis @smi727 @sassykayla255 @dxr-supernatural-fanfic @supernaturalboi @dumbthotticus @eve05glee @veroinnumera @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @forgettingthoughts @shokushuhime-stuff @fanfictionrecommendations-com @soullesscollection-world @igotdressedthroughthemess @thoughtslikeaminefield

Next Chapter: Topside Turvy

[stillthewordgirl]

LOT/CC fic: Subterfuge (Ch. 5 of 6)

Subtitle: "Five Times Sara and Len Nearly Got Busted--and One Time They Did." Immediate follow-up to "Date Night." Sara and Len are trying to figure out their new relationship without cluing their teammates in quite yet. That, however, is easier said than done.

Please note the bump in rating to Mature. Can be read here at AO3. (Up later on FF.net, which is being annoying.

Many thanks to @larielromeniel for the beta. And @sylvanheather, who gave me an idea for this. :)

Len really does think about it.

He thinks about staying on Earth-1 a lot, really. He’d been trying not to, but since Sara brought it up, it seems like the decision is always there, nagging at him, a puzzle he can’t solve. He’s between the irresistible force and the immoveable object, in a way, and he just doesn’t know what to do.

Mick and Sara are the two he’s closest to, here, but he doesn’t want to talk to them about the decision for any number of reasons. He considers talking to Gideon about it, but he’s not sure the dispassionate view of an AI is what he truly wants (through he also suspects Gideon’s not quite as dispassionate as she seems). None of the others seem quite right--or rather, they’re all just so…good… that he feels like he already knows what they’d say.

He doesn’t want to hear it.

So he doesn’t ask. He continues on in much the same way, with one unfortunate exception: he’s avoiding Sara.

Len doesn’t even mean to do it. But he remembers that steady gaze on him that morning in her room, and he just…can’t. In a way, he supposes with a bit of gallows humor, that’ll solve his conundrum, won’t it? There are a number of reasons he’d like to stay here in Earth-1, but Sara’s the main one. He’s well and truly fallen for her, this amazing, badass timeship captain, and even if he hadn’t, he has a feeling he’d like to be her friend on any Earth there is.

The woman in question gives him his space after that morning. Still, as the days pass, he starts to see her watching him out of the corner of her eye or even more directly. Maybe he’s imagining the regret in her expression, but it hurts, and he starts to let himself drift back into her vicinity, unsure, cautious of private conversations.

The team realizes that something’s up. Mick actually corners Len in the galley and tries, gruffly and awkwardly, to play relationship counselor—for whatever relationship there might be. This Mick might be very different then his own Earth’s Mick, having been a Legend for several years now, but Len still can’t help being amused and vaguely appalled.

And, yeah, maybe their subterfuge might not have been as successful as they thought it’d been. Because the other members of the team are…hovering. Annoyingly, at times. Jax is just giving them regretful looks. Len’s caught Amaya looking at him a time or two like she’d enjoy letting her tiger manifestation disembowel him. Stein has taken to pontificating about his marriage and how he’d known Clarissa was the one. Ray keeps giving them both puppy eyes. And Nate…well, Len actually sorta likes the historian, but the man’s reaction to…well, whatever the team thinks is going on…is even more embarrassing, so embarrassing he doesn’t even want to think about it.

He’s really quite relieved when a stop in 1993 Central City means, according to Gideon, that the team will be passing far too close to the site when a 21-year-old Earth-1 Leonard Snart will be on a job. Len is quite a bit older and not really the same man, but he looks enough like him that they can’t risk the confusion. (Mick’s apparently in prison at the moment, which the man acknowledges with a shrug, and he actually looks less like his younger self than Len does—sort of does--so he’s less likely to trip alarms anyway.)

Having the ship to himself is sort of neat, but he’s not particularly fond of being alone with his thoughts right now. Len looks up and reads some more of this Earth’s history, just because it’s interesting and he can never tell when something little is going to trip him up. (Lennon died in 1980 here? Damnit.) He realizes after the fact that it’s just one more little sign that he’s somehow mentally planning or hoping to stay here.

The rest of the team has left on the mission, although Amaya and Sara had planned to head to a different site than the others, who were protecting a young police officer on his rounds through the city. The ladies were hunting down a possible second aberration that Gideon wasn’t quite sure of. Len’s not quite clear on it either.

Eventually, he finds himself in the galley, staring moodily into a glass of lemonade. He misses Sara. He misses…

“Hey.”

His head jerks up and he stares at the doorway, where Sara…still in her early ‘90s garb, denim skirt and pink top and kinda floofy hair, and OK, that’s sort of hot, but really what isn’t on her…

“Hey,” he manages. “That, ah, was quicker than I thought. Everything OK?”

Sara tips her head in acknowledgement as she moves into the room, watching him. “Ours was a false alarm. And the others are fine, just, well, a bit bored as they tail this guy.” She shakes her head, smiling a little as she runs a hand through her hair in an apparent attempt to tame it. “Mick’s befriended him.”

Len nearly spits out his sip of lemonade. “The cop?”

“Mmhmm.” Sara’s smile grows as she against the counter next to him. “Just a patrol officer, right now. Mick apparently took pity on him for some reason and gave him some pointers…from the other side of things, although he didn’t really let on to that.”

Len turns that over in his head, glad for the distraction. “Huh. I’ll be damned.” He can’t ever imagine his Earth’s Mick doing such a thing. “This is the guy who’s gonna go on to save all those people 20 years down the road in Ivy Town?”

“Yeah. As an undercover agent who covers a plot.” Her eyes sparkle as she delivers the kicker. “He’s now decided Mick might just be an undercover agent. So he’s very earnestly listening to every word.”

It’s too much. Len laughs out loud, and Sara does too, and, damn, it’s good to see her again, to talk to her…

Just as the laughter starts to die and Len’s forced to start to think about the situation a little more, Sara abruptly holds up a hand, meeting his eyes with a direct gaze.

“Just…listen,” she says before he can get out another word. “Please.” When he nods, she takes a deep breath and nods too.

“When I told you that you had to make a decision, I meant it,” she says quietly. “Because you do. But…I never wanted you to…to withdraw like that.” She gives him a look as he starts to speak, and he subsides as she continues. “I miss you, idiot. And…and whether or not you decide to stay…” Another deep breath and then, even more quietly, “and I hope you do, you know…let’s go back, OK? To before?”

“Before?” His brain is misfiring.

Sara gives him another look, but a smile’s lurking around the edges of it. “Before I said that, no matter how true it is.”

“I…” Len takes his own deep breath, aware of the rapid-fire beating of his heart, the uncharacteristic nerves and the odd feeling of regret. “…it’s not that I don’t want to…it’s just…” The thought of telling her what he’d done, the pain he’d caused, it makes him freeze. Pun definitely not intended. “It’s complicated,” he finishes rather lamely.

But Sara’s shaking her head. “It always is,” she says quietly, then holds up a hand again as he starts to speak. “Seriously. Whatever’s going on with you, with your Earth, whatever you’re so conflicted by…I’m here if you want to talk. But until you make a decision, can we…can you just…”

It’s her turn to let her voice drift off and glance away, then back, almost uncertain. Len, who hates that he’s apparently caused this uncharacteristic hesitation, moves toward her. “Just?”

“Just don’t go away until you have to.” Sara’s eyes are direct now, and for two people who tend to avoid talking about feelings, there are sure a lot of feelings in this room. “OK?”

Ah, hell, maybe it hurts more, but it’s worth it. “OK. Promise.” He steps closer yet. “For what it’s worth, I missed you too. A lot.”

The corner of Sara’s mouth lifts. “Good,” she murmurs, then turns away before things can intensify again. “Want a drink? I could use one.”

“Sure.” He remembers something. “Where’s Amaya? She was with you, right?”

“I sent her to check on the others.” Sara lifts an eyebrow at him as she pulls two glasses out of a cupboard, then opens another to study some old glass bottles that are, he’s told, what remains of the former Waverider captain’s stash of alcohol. “I wanted a chance to talk to you, just the two of us.”

“Ah?” Smooth, Len. He clears his throat, getting up from his perch at the counter. “Anything else you wanted to say?” And that wasn’t much smoother…

The smile is sparkling in Sara’s eyes again as she glances over her shoulder. “Well,” she says, glancing at the cabinet, selecting an unlabeled bottle apparently at random and turning back to him. “Not yet…”

Maybe it’s the booze.

Sara will admit she’d grabbed something without much thought. Gone are the days of Rob Roy’s scotch, at least, unless they want to go find him and get some themselves. (Now there’s a thought…) The few bottles left of Rip’s old cache are less notable, with fading, peeling labels or no labels at all, like they’d been filled at some shabby backwoods still decades ago.

It’s not like either of them have much of it, either. Sara, despite her, well, legendary tolerance, is still captain with people still out in the field. And Len, child of an abusive alcoholic and possessor of still-uncertain metahuman powers, is cautious about how much he drinks, although he’s generally amenable to nursing a glass of something for a while over cards.

But the mysterious, slightly sweet amber liquid goes straight to her head, making her feel nearly giddy—and quite warm—as they sit together with their drinks, chatting quietly about some topic neither of them will even remember later. From the way Len’s eyes are focused on hers, direct and incredibly intent, she’s pretty sure he’s feeling the same.

Maybe it’s the fact they’re alone together for the first time in a week.

Sara, not to put too fine a point on it, has become quite happily used to copious amounts of excellent, mind-blowing sex. And the desire she’s feeling has very little to do with the alcohol that they’re consuming, and everything to do with the thought of that, and the look in Len’s eyes as he watches her.

And maybe’s it’s partly the realization that…yes. He wants to stay. Maybe he hadn’t actually managed to say it clearly, but Sara’s perceptive. She’d listened, and she’d watched him, and while there’s obviously something holding him back, the pull here is just as strong…and that’s strong indeed.

She barely even lets herself think it…but he wants to stay with her.

Without any planning, without any particular agreement that they’re back together, that they’re still together, that they’re…whatever they are…that “conversation and a drink” turns into a stolen kiss, an almost unintentional brush of lips as Sara looks up at him, as Leonard tilts his head down to her. Then another, far more intentional, slow and deliberate. And another, heating up, deepening, tongues sliding together slowly, the taste of the honey liquor, hands reaching out to grasp and hold.

It’s not long before things are…well, if not totally out of control, then far closer than they would normally let them get, at least here. Len has Sara boosted up against the counter, evening some of the height difference, and she’s managed to get her skirt rucked up and legs locked around his waist as they…well, “kiss” seems far too mild, she thinks distantly, letting a gasp escape as Len moves his mouth to her jaw for a moment, her nails scratching faintly across his hair even as her other hand reaches around to grab his ass, pressing him closer.

Make out? It seems so…juvenile. Sara smirks as it’s Len’s turn to let out a low moan as she grinds up against him, bringing her hands around to frame his face, dragging his mouth back to hers as they move against each other, sadly still with too many layers of clothing between them. Well, there’s one way to make sure the terminology is a little more precise…

But Len freezes, just a moment, as Sara settles herself a little more firmly on the counter, moving her hands down to the zipper of his jeans. “Uh…here?” he mutters, pulling back a little, flushed and pupils shot in a way that’s very satisfying. “Really?”

“Would you rather stop and take the time to move to one of our rooms?” she asks, fingers moving along the rough fabric and the warm hardness underneath, hearing him swallow another moan. “That cop needs to be protected until at least the end of the day. We shouldn’t be interrupted.”

She laughs at the resigned look he gives her. “I know, I know.” Sara moves one hand to his jaw, watching him intently. “Len, we can move if you want. But…” She flexes the fingers of her other hand again, deliberately. “…there’s a certain…excitement in this…”

His eyes spark, but he doesn’t answer in words. Instead, he moves his hands down, over her hand, helping her work the button, then moves them up again, stroking lightly against the skin of her thighs, then under her short skirt, catching in the skimpy panties she’s wearing, moving them…

“Len…ahhh…” Sara’s free hand, on the way down to help her work the jeans down over his hips, catches in his shirt, jerking involuntarily, and there’s the sound of ripping fabric.

And there are no words, then, not for the moment, at least not coherent ones, just half-gasped names and murmured suggestions and noises of great approval as they carry on with their activities. They’re each focused on the other intently, to the exclusion of pretty much everything else, and the sensations building to an unescapable conclusion.

Analytically, Sara knows that Len has had to battle mightily to get his powers under control. And she knows that while he’s largely managed that, it’s still not 100 percent. Moments of intense stress, or great distraction, can foil his control, sending a wave of ice radiating out until he’s recovered it again, although it generally doesn’t take him long to do that.

She’s not thinking analytically right now.

Neither is he.

She’s also not thinking about how she’d earlier asked Gideon not to interrupt them, simply because she and Len needed to have that conversation. It’s a request she hasn’t rescinded…and Gideon, for an AI, is possessed of enough of a sense of humor to make use of that.

Both of them tend to be highly aware of their surroundings, but between physical sensation, emotional entanglement, and the remaining warm buzz of the mystery alcohol, well…they’re not, not this time. They don’t hear anyone enter the ship, or anyone call for them. Just each other.

“Sara…I…” Len’s voice is unhinged, and oh, Sara’s pretty sure they’re both so very close. She doesn’t want to talk, so she stops his mouth with hers.

Which might have, in hindsight, been a mistake. He doesn’t tell her he feels control about to slip, even as they both know another sort of control is about to go, for both of them.

Only a moment later, indeed, Len jerks his hands away from her, bracing them on the counter instead. Sara gasps at the lack of that touch, but then gasps again, leaning her head back, letting go, even as she (very, very distantly) feels a rising chill around them through the warmth that envelopes her.

Len cries out, even as she does, and the cold intensifies as they move together one more time. Sara, breathing hard, opens her eyes and stares at the ceiling, then slowly moves her head to look at Len, who, eyes dark, is staring back at her as he pulls away, as she gingerly lowers her unsteady feet to the ground. Then she looks down, at the ice around her, around his hands as they’re still tensed on the edge of the counter, at the sheen of the ice across the countertop, at the shards sparkling here and there, in the bowl of apples a few feet away, lodged in the box of cookies Nate keeps leaving out on the counter.

Not a single shining fragment had touched her.

Len’s blinking at her, sense coming back to his eyes. “Are you OK?” he asks urgently. “Sara…”

“I’m fine,” she hastens to tell him. “I’m better than fine. Len…”

And then they hear the voice, coming closer.

“Sara? Where are you?”

Her eyes widen, meeting Len’s startled blue gaze. He blinks, then pulls his hands free of the ice, looking down at his torn shirt, at the pants pushed down past his ass, at the icy mess around them. And then, darting her an apologetic look, he promptly ducks down, behind the counter.

Well, they do say turnabout is fair play. Sara sighs, adjusting her skirt, turning to the door and smiling at Jax as he pauses in the doorway.

“Everything OK?” she asks casually, ignoring the melting ice around her, running a hand through her mussed hair.

Jax eyes her, but he doesn’t move farther into the room. “Uh. We asked Gideon where you were, but she didn’t answer. Are you OK?”

“Fine.” Sara lets her smile widen, hoping it doesn’t look too much like, well, like she’d just been doing precisely what she’d been doing with their mutual teammate. She’s pretty sure, though, that she doesn’t quite pull it off.

Jax’s brow furrows. He may not have multiple degrees like his counterpart in Firestorm, but he’s not stupid. In fact, she thinks, sometimes he’s smarter than all of them.

He doesn’t comment on that situation, though.

“Gray didn’t bother to tell any of us that he, ah, still ran with a rather interesting crowd even into the ‘90s,” he says instead, leaning against the doorway. “We got outta Dodge even as younger Gray did, avoiding the cops looking for weed. Thought it’d be better to avoid running into him again, or complicating matters. The others are still guarding that cop.”

Sara snorts in laughter even as she turns the situation over in her head…and tries to ignore the way Len has decided to start kissing her inner ankle, because he’s just an asshole like that.

“Good,” she says. “Everyone’s good?”

Jax smirks at her in a way that gives Sara the uneasy feeling he’s definitely more aware of what’s going on than he lets on. “Yeah. Mick’s still that dude’s new BFF. Which is weird, but hey. You OK?”

“Just fine, little brother.” Sara tries to convey the relaxation she doesn’t want to explain. “Um,” she says, answering the question the second time around. “I’m fine. Really. It’s…good. How are you?”

Jax grin grows. Oh, hell. “Oh, I’m fine, too,” he returns. “Though maybe not so fine as you.”

Sara lifts her chin and glares at him, which just makes him laugh. The sound of Stein’s voice farther down the hall reaches them, and she tenses, but Jax winks at her, turning away from the door.

“Hey, Gray,” he calls, moving away from the doorway. “Did you…”

The door slides shut behind him. Sara stares at it, then rolls her eyes.

“Gideon,” she says flatly. “Don’t let anyone else in. And tell me if anyone else comes back on the ship.”

“Yes, Captain Lance,” the AI replies almost sweetly. “Of course.”

Sara ignores her and looks back at Len as he gets to his feet, rebuttoning his jeans and smirking at her. But then, he looks at the mess on the counter, icy fragments and pools of water, and that smirk flees instantly, an odd look taking over his eyes.

Sara surveys the scene, too, even as she wonders about his expression. “Well,” she says with a sigh, “time to clean up. At least ice is ultimately just water.” She throws him a grin. “And it was worth it.”

It’s true. But Len’s still staring at the scene, thinking about how he’d lost control again, even in a small way, even if he hadn’t hurt Sara. And it’s impossible not to think about the other ways he’s screwed up, the damage he has caused. His fingers tighten on the counter, and he closes his eyes, willing the images away.

Sara notices. Of course she does.

“I’m fine,” she tells him quietly, reaching out to put a hand on his wrist. “Wonderful, even. You didn’t hurt me.”

Len shakes his head roughly. “I’m glad. But I…”

“It could be worse.”

“Yeah. It could. It is.”

And then he tells her. About the mistakes he’s made. The mess he’d left behind him, back on his Earth. The debts he has to pay.

And when he’s done, Sara’s staring back at him. She doesn’t seem to recoil from him, or even to think worse of him for his actions, and that’s a relief. But she also tightens her fingers around his wrist, and he knows what she’s going to say.

“You have to go back,” she tells numbly. “You have to fix it.”

They’re not the words he wants to hear, but they’re the ones he knows are true.

“I know.”

[herperlo-d]

How To Be A Saviour Without Trying

In which Tseng meets Cloud way before CC and as a result, saves the future

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Interlude 1] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6]

Chapter 7: Learn to Fake It Better

ShitShitShitShit

Gaia. May the Hel strike me down where I stand.

“I- I- uhh… umm. S- Sir!” Cloud stuttered and snapped to attention, mentally flailing for something to say. He had just ran into SOLDIER Second Lieutenant Zack Fair and Cloud thinks that now would be a great time for the floor to swallow him up. Someone save me from this embarrassment. Beside him, Lee hastily snapped into a salute too, but Zack just waved a hand at them, smiling brightly. 

“At ease, guys. No need to be so stiff.”

Despite the reassurance, Cloud posture remained rigid, cold sweat beading his forehead. Gaia his nose was throbbing. Running into his chest felt like being smashed into a wall. His hands clenched tightly behind him in worry. Would Lieutenant Fair write him up for this? He seemed nice enough, but Cloud had seen more than one person effortlessly hide their cruelty behind a kind smile.

Lee frowned at how Cloud was panicking through the haze of his own mental freak out and clenched his teeth, eyes scanning their surroundings for any excuse at all to leave this conversation. Around them, the few people walking along the hallway either ducked their heads and walked faster, or turned to their friends and started whispering. No one made a move to help them. Cowards.

Zack cheerfully continued, either blissfully oblivious or just blatantly ignoring their nervousness. “So, what are your names?”

Lee broke out of his searching and spoke up first, subtly taking a few steps to put Cloud behind him, eying Zack warily. “ Cadet Lee Thaur and Cadet Cloud Strife, sir.”

Zack’s smile widened and he rocked back on his heels, leisurely swinging his hands up to rest behind his head. “Ah, just call me Zack. Sir makes me feel so old and stuffy,” he laughed.

Both boys nodded at Zack awkwardly, Cloud shuffling forward slightly to lightly press against Lee’s arm. Lee nudged back in return and leaned a bit to the side to shield Cloud a little more with his body.

“So, why were you guys running in the hallways? I’m pretty sure Jay gave a whole long speech on hallway rules and other stuff like that in the first week.”

Lee and Cloud exchanged confused glances and looked back at Zack in askance. “Jay?”

Zack’s eyes lighted up and he scratched the back of his head. “Oh yeah! He’s Lieutenant Hawk? I think. The super strict SOLDIER that acts like he has a stick up his ass?” He tapped his chin, thinking aloud. “Actually, I can’t believe that Sephiroth assigned him as SOLDIER in charge. That man’s worse than Angeal about rules and regulations.”

Lee and Cloud blanched in horror at the casual way that Zack was insulting Lieutenant Hawk and edged slightly away from the Zack, the dead man walking. Every single cadet swore that Lieutenant Hawk was the devil reincarnate. He was just that awful. They casted furtive glances around as though the man in question might appear out of nowhere and order them to run laps for the disrespect. They had seen many cadets being made to run until they puked for the slightest hint of sass and it wasn’t something they wanted to bring upon themselves.

Cloud bit his lip, thinking hard. He couldn’t exactly tell Zack that he was chasing a person who he suspected had been leaving him outrageously expensive presents and stalking him on and off for the past two weeks or more. Cloud’s pretty sure that mental instability was a valid reason to get thrown out of the SOLDIER for. But he had to tell the lieutenant something. Fortunately, just as he was about to answer, a distant call broke through the invisible bubble surrounding the trio.

“Cloud! Lee! C’mon we’re gonna be late for Physical.”

Zack jolted in surprised and laughed again. “Oh wow. You guys better get going then. I wouldn’t want to make the both of you late.”

Both boys mentally sagged in relief and saluted, heading off with a sharp “Yes sir!”

“Try not to run in the halls anymore! You might end up crashing into Sephiroth next!” Zack called at their backs, chuckling when Cloud missed a step and stumble over his own feet, his ears burning red at the thought. Lee quickly caught his arm and pulled him up. As they turned the corner, John, one of their group mates, was anxiously waiting for them. They clapped his shoulder gratefully for the save and the three quickly lopped off to class. Captain Kee was pretty anal about punctuality.

_________

Zack watched them leave until they turned the corner before turning away. He nonchalantly strolled for about a minute before casually commenting, “You know, that was a really close call. He nearly caught you there.” Mako-blue eyes cut to the side where a black suit-clad man had fallen into step with him. “Why not just introduce yourself to him? The poor kid looked so paranoid. You’re freaking him out.”

Tseng returned his look, his face blank except for a raised eyebrow. “And what makes you think that he would remember a stranger from an encounter years ago?”

Zack laughed loudly, slapping Tseng lightly on the shoulder that would have pitched a normal person face-first to the floor. “How could anyone forget the infamous Tseng of the Turks? Your rumours are like legendary. Even the people in the slums know who you are.”

Tseng didn’t say anything, but the small twitch of his eyebrow gave him away.

“Seriously? He doesn’t know?” Zack exclaimed, whirling around to face Tseng. “He has no idea that he has the Tseng of the Turks stalking him around like a baby chocobo?”

When Tseng remained silent, Zack drew back with a loud gasp. “Oh, that’s rich!” He crowed, cackling like a lunatic in the middle of the empty corridor.

Tseng tsked in annoyance and stalked down the corridor, leaving Zack behind.

Calming down, Zack ran after Tseng, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Well, you’d better reintroduce yourself soon or else he’s going to go crazy from paranoia and hunt you down. Then he’ll get mad and you’ll be dead.”

Tseng cut him a harsh glare that completely slid off Zack’s bubbly grin, but did not contradict him. He knew that he should, except that there was a niggling doubt at the back of his mind that stilled his legs whenever he tried to walk over and introduce himself. What if the only person who had ever made him feel so comfortable did not remember him at all? Tseng was pretty sure that it would crush his blackened heart.

Zack slung an arm around Tseng’s shoulder and walked on, dragging him along and whistled merrily to himself, completely oblivious to Tseng’s mental turmoil.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Tseng thought. ‘As long as he is safe I will happily remain unknown, even if he might kill me in the future.’ He paused, remembering a young Cloud being extremely familiar with Nibel wolves and winced. ‘Hopefully he will make it painless.’

_________

Cloud was vibrating excitedly in his seat. They were finally going to be using materia! After two months of mind numbing materia theory and running through hypothetical situations, they were deemed prepared enough to have their first (for most) shot at materia. Of course, there were those who have SOLDIER relatives or had excess to materia even before entering Shinra and so were better versed in using materia. Cloud could already hear some cadets boasting about their past experiences to their group mates- Brute was especially loud, recounting the time where he had managed to produce a Fira. There had also been faint grumblings about the unfairness of it all among some the remaining cadets and Cloud frowned slightly to himself.

Sure, it places them at an advantage, but one of the first things they learnt about materia was that not everyone can use it and sometimes, there are people who can use certain materia better than others. People can train for years and years, yet still remain less proficient than someone training for a few weeks. Materia usage was only trainable to a certain extent. Their instructor had emphasised strongly that it was all about the potential a person had.

A cadet’s potential in using materia was also one of the qualities that Shinra looks for in a SOLDIER candidate. There was a possibility for an inept materia user to become a SOLDIER, but they must have exceptional skills with a sword, and in very rare cases, with a gun. SOLDIERs are required to be able to use materia primarily so that they could heal themselves if needed. The SOLDIERs who had a large potential for materia were placed under General Rhapsodos while those talented with a blade were placed under General Hewley. SOLDIERs who were either not skilled enough in either to were placed under General Sephiroth. However, such positions under the different generals were fluid and interchangeable unless you were an apprentice.

The cadets filed into the classroom, a majority of them rather impatient to try materia for the first time. They lined up at parade-rest in a single row along one length of the room, Lee and Cloud standing side by side. The cadets faced their stern-faced instructor, schooling their faces in a stoic mask as best as they could, their excitement slipping through the cracks.

“Before we begin, there will be three rules that everyone must remember.” Their materia instructor barked. “Number one. Never, under any circumstances are any of you allowed to use materia without permission or supervision.” Sharp eyes scanned the entire line of cadets, sometimes briefly landing on the potential troublemakers for a split second before moving on. “Number two. When using materia, never aim it at another person. The results may be… unpleasant” He narrowed his eyes at them. “Number three. No materia from this case is to ever leave this room.” His hand thumped the long rectangular case resting on the table. “If anyone breaks these rules for what ever reason, I don’t give a damn. You will be placed under General Rhapsodos as his bitch until you take the exam.” If you survive it went unsaid, but everyone understood.

General Rhapsodos was notoriously the fiercest general out of the three. Any cadet punished to be his bitch had an average quitting probability of eighty percent. The last twenty percent either mysteriously vanished or were demoted to infantry even before the exams started. No one messed with General Rhapsodos. Honestly, after the Firaga run rumours, no cadet wanted to even contemplate the possibility of pissing him off (which unfortunately, was a very easy task to accomplish).

The instructor opened the metal case, revealing three neat rows of ten green materia resting in semi-spherical holes pressed into the metal. The entire class of twenty collectively gaped at the glowing orbs, and the whispers started up again. Cloud smiled a bit when Lee nudged him in the side excitedly, bouncing on the balls of his feet as though he wanted to rush forward and grab the materia. He himself felt his hand itch for his own materia locked up safely in his locker, his trusty companions for years. He did not want the materia in front of him. Not when his felt so much better. Even without touching the orbs, Cloud knew that they were manufactured. He could feel that the orbs weren’t thrumming right, a bit out of sync and off rhythm, unlike those found naturally in caves. Cloud had first learnt of this difference when he was travelling, exploring different towns and weapons shops to sell his wares. Many of such shops had cases of artificial materia bought cheaply in bulk from Shinra. After being chased out of the first few shops for saying that their materia felt wrong, Cloud learnt to keep his mouth shut on such topics. Now the weird thrums of manufactured materia felt nearly as familiar as the soothing ones of natural materia.

Everyone went forward eagerly to grab a materia and a bangle each, marvelling at the beautiful crystal and strange bangle. Cloud ran a finger along his bangle, tracing out the cracks and chips in the metal. It looked as though it had been through many different users before falling into his hands. It seemed that President Shinra was as stingy as always, if this is the type of equipment they will be using. The bangle looked so different than the one his mysterious stalker had given to him. Cloud brought up his other hand to examine the materia next. It had the same discordance as all manufactured materia and Cloud frowned at how unresponsive the mana within it was to his prodding. Fire. It was a fire materia. It almost felt as though it was reluctant to be used, wishing to stay within the small sphere. Cloud scratched the surface of his materia, feeling out the hairline cracks in the orb, the result of years of rough manhandling.

Lee was tossing his from palm to palm, occasionally bringing the materia up to the light to admire its shine.

“Say, Cloud. What kind of materia do you think this is?” Lee asked. “Wouldn’t it be cool if it was an ice materia? Maybe we could accidentally freeze off Brute’s face.”

Cloud gave Lee a curious look. “You don’t know what kind of materia this is?”

“No? I mean we did learn that it would normally take a person a lot of practice before they could easily tell different materias apart.”

Cloud pursed his lips. He remembered now- he hadn’t been paying much attention during that lecture because Brute had cornered him again that morning and he was left nursing a throbbing head the rest of the day. It made concentrating in lessons really hard.

He shook his head at Lee. “It’s a fire materia.”

Lee’s eyebrows rose. “You can tell them apart?”

Cloud blushed lightly in embarrassment. “Yeah. Well, I’ve been used them before.” He fibbed.

“Ahh.” Lee nodded, a bit to himself, and went on chatting.

Cloud did not mention that he had always been able to tell materia apart. When he first stumbled upon them, he had gotten impressions of what they were and somehow instinctively knew what they could do. Like a time materia felt slow and a poison materia felt vaguely sick.

Attention is bad. Attention is bad. Attention is bad.

And so Cloud kept silent and gave Lee his usual short replies. No one noticed the troubled look on his face.

Pass the exams with as little drama as possible. You only have one month left to go. One month. One month.

A loud whistle broke them out of their conversation and everyone’s heads snapped up to face his instructor again. “Alright cadets. I will first demonstrate how to make a Fire only once then it will be your turn to do it.”

The entire room fell silent and the cadets watched with bated breath as the instructor gather his mana to the materia in his bangle. He gave them a verbal step-by-step description of what he was doing with his mana as he slowly moulded it to become a Fire. There was a loud gasp when a small fireball about the size of a golf ball shot from his hand and dissipated harmlessly in mid air.

“There. Do it like how I just did. I will be going around to help so keep practicing.” He gave the class one last sweep. “Remember it is all about the potential. Not everyone will get it in this lesson.”

The cadets scrambled to line up properly in a single file, about a meter away from the wall. Cloud and Lee were jostled until they ended up near the tail end of the line. As the cadets started practicing, Cloud came to a horrible realisation that the ease at which he used materia did not apply to everyone else. There had been a few smoking palms and small fires from the cadets that had the opportunity to use a materia before, but that was it. Cloud knew that he could produce a small Fira easy even without the bangle. His frown deepened. This was not what he wanted.

Attention is bad. Attention is bad.

The instructor- really, for the life of him, he can’t remember his name- went around giving instructions and congratulated a particularly smug looking Brute for the small flames being released from his palm sporadically. Cloud started to sweat. Should he fake it?

“Hey Cloud, are you okay?” Lee asked, concerned.

Attention is bad. Attention is bad.

“Ye- yeah.” Cloud gave him a shakey smile. “It just harder than I remembered it to be.”

Lee laughed, ruffling his hair. Cloud batted his hand away with a huff. “It’s okay Cloud. Just try your best. I’m having trouble too!” And he turned back to the wall.

Cloud looked down at his bangle and carefully drew on his mana, gathering it at the bangle for the materia to convert it before releasing it in a slow trickle from his palm. To his satisfaction only a long, thin wisp of smoke appeared and he had to duck his head to hide his smile.

Attention is bad.

Lee ruffled his hair in comfort, assuming that Cloud was trying to hide that he was upset by the result. Cloud did not correct him. He resolved to ‘try’ a couple more times before faking exhaustion to make him seem more believable- as that was the case with all beginner users. So Cloud gathered his mana for a second round, getting another long wisp and wiped the sweat off his brow with obvious effort. It took a surprising amount of work to fake not being able to use materia. He had gotten so used to just pumping a set amount of mana that his mana automatically surged to his palm the moment he tried to connect to the materia. Cloud looked at the clock, and realised that the lesson was over. Ten more minutes left. He might just make it through this unnoticed.

Cloud should really stop jinxing himself.

He concentrated again, taking his time in gathering his mana, and split his attention to scan the classroom. Many of the cadets were already starting to sag from repeated exertion of their mana. Using mana was like a muscle, repeated usage would equate to an increase in ease of materia use, but leave it alone for too long and you skills would ‘atrophy’.

Cloud was getting ready to release another wisp of smoke when there was a loud bang as the doors were flung open and a voice boomed across the entire classroom.

“YOU! What the hell do you think you are doing?”

Cloud’s heart dropped all the way to the pit of his stomach.