#beep beep beep didja get it

[134340am]

have a good day yuna!!

oh!!! you too, dearest val (*^▽^*)

[anony-man]

Stress Relief

Word count: 3,210

Relationships: Ratchet/Wheeljack

Rating: M

Summary: When Ratchet has overworked himself yet again, Wheeljack knows just what to do to help his favorite medic relax a little.

Warnings: Lots of seggsual material. The whole thing basically revolves around Ratchet getting fucked, though, so..

**********

Ratchet had decided long ago that ‘stress’ was a very broad term.

In the field, he was pressed for time. He had a duty to save as many wounded as he possibly could while helping comfort those too far gone along their journey to the Allspark. Being stuck in the heat of the battle while mechs lay all around him bleeding out was practically a textbook definition of stressful. It was a hands-down stressful experience, and not one he was keen to experience again.

Working late into the night, accompanied by the steady beep of various machinery as he monitored a recovering patient was also stressful, but in a different way. Despite his experience, Ratchet still found himself nodding off at times, only to wake up at the slightest shift in a patient’s vitals. His spark thudded in his chest as he listened for the smallest change in the sounds from his patient, the mildest of hints that the patient’s progress was about to take a drastic nosedive. It wasn’t the heat of the battlefield, but it was still stressful.

Standing over a desk he’d created out of bent, rusty metal as he struggled to decipher the formula for an energy source that was dwindling before his very optics, however, was probably one of the most stressful situations Ratchet had ever found himself in. Despite his past experience of hundreds of years spent running back and forth, assessing multiple patients as he struggled to keep everyone under control, Ratchet hadn’t ever felt anything as troubling as he felt now.

Not only was short on time and supplies, but despite his best efforts, Ratchet knew he was out of luck. If they didn’t find a way off of the Primus-forsaken planet they’d gotten themselves stranded on, and soon, well… Ratchet didn’t even want to think about it.

He rubbed his optics and stood up straight, a heavy sigh escaping him. The base had long since grown silent, and Ratchet was left alone to work in the dim light. The children had left hours before, their respective guardians escorting them home. Optimus had done his best to keep Ratchet company for as long as he could manage, but the prime’s own exhaustion had been evident from the look in his optics. Ratchet hadn’t hesitated to send him to his quarters, but he had to admit that Optimus’ presence had been comforting—if only slightly.

Ratchet’s joints creaked and groaned as he reached for one of the empty crates nearby and dragged it closer. After gently lowering himself back down, he prepared to lose himself in the layers of equations and symbols he couldn’t even *begin* to comprehend. However, when he tried to reboot the console—when had it even turned off on him?—it simply refused to work. He tapped the digital keyboard again, starting to feel rather impatient.

Nothing.

“Great,” Ratchet huffed, rolling his optics as he threw his servos up in the air with exasperation. “What’ll be next, a Decepticon invasion?”

“Mm… not quite,” a familiar voice replied. Before Ratchet had a chance to respond, warm servos wrapped their way around his bulky waist, pulling him in close. “We’ve talked about this, doc. Didja really think I’d just sit by and watch you work yourself to death?”

“Hello, you,” Ratchet sighed, his irritation overshadowed by audible affection. “How’d you even manage to get inside?”

“Trade secrets,” was Ratchet’s only response. The newcomer’s servos trailed up and down Ratchet’s sides, digits slipping in between tender mesh to tug at the wires beneath. “Why are you still awake? I thought we agreed on putting the late nights to an end.”

There was a sense of authority to the words that sent a shudder through Ratchet’s frame. Despite his own exhaustion, he could feel the familiar tingling between his thighs, and he didn’t discourage it. He leaned into the tender servos, pressing his aft against the mech’s codpiece. To his surprise, he could sense a warmth just as intense as his own beneath the thick metal.

“Wheeljack,” Ratchet chided, his words breathy as the wrecker’s servos dipped between his thighs. “I’m busy. If you’re here for another session, I suggest you make it quick.”

“You better watch your tone, doc,” Wheeljack grunted, his helm inches away from Ratchet’s audials. “Or do I need to remind you who’s in charge here?”

Ratchet’s breath hitched in his throat at the words, a burst of warmth spreading beneath his panels. He’d never admit it—not to the rest of the team, at least—, but the evenings he had spent with Wheeljack for the past few months had become a form of stress-relief for him. Without another word, Ratchet allowed the wrecker to guide him into a standing position against the makeshift desk, physically turning him around until he was face-to-face with his partner.

“That’s better,” Wheeljack hummed with satisfaction.

Ratchet watched through half-open optics as Wheeljack lowered himself to the floor, crouched between the doctor’s knees. Just the sight of Wheeljack kneeling on the floor, waiting for access to the slick warmth beneath Ratchet’s panels had him shivering with anticipation. He shuddered as Wheeljack traced a careful digit in a slow, lazy circle over the sealed interface array.

“Open up for me,” Wheeljack said, his optics reflecting the impatience he didn’t try to hide.

Seconds later, the wrecker’s demand was punctuated by the sound of Ratchet’s valve cover clicking open. Wheeljack made a small noise of appreciation as he studied the soft, plush opening, his gaze taking in the way Ratchet’s tender lips clenched and pulsed. Despite their given roles during intercourse, Wheeljack had always loved the chances he got to fully worship Ratchet’s valve for the beauty that it was. Tucked between thick, shapely thighs, the plump lips were truly a sight to behold. With one servo squeezing Ratchet’s thigh, Wheeljack traced the edge of his other servo across the outside, eliciting a shuddering groan from Ratchet.

“Shhh,” Wheeljack hushed the medic as he leaned in, his faceplates inches away from the warm, dripping entrance. “Don’t wanna wake the others, do you?”

A quiet, shaky sigh was all Wheeljack recieved in response. Satisfied with his partner’s compliance, Wheeljack pulled his servo away, only to slip one of his digits between the valve lips, drawing in and out with a soft squelching sound. He raised his other servo to brace himself against Ratchet’s hip before dipping a second digit in, carefully rubbing against the tender node on the outside of Ratchet’s valve.

“You must’ve been expecting me, hmm? Were you waiting for me to come and give your pretty little valve the attention it deserves?” Wheeljack whispered, his soaked digits circling the rim of Ratchet’s valve before gently slipping back inside. “Such a beautiful mech you are. Nice and hefty… Just the way I like it.”

Ratchet’s hips jerked forward into the slow, methodical rhythm, encouraged by the sultry words Wheeljack spoke. He gave a small, keening groan as Wheeljack moved faster, his desperation overshadowing the cool exterior he typically wore.

“You like that, doc?” Wheeljack asked, his own frame growing hot from the intimate display. “You want more?”

“Please,” Ratchet shuddered, one servo gripping the edge of the desk while the other held tight to Wheeljack’s shoulder plating.

Wheeljack pulled his digits free, a soft sound of satisfaction escaping him at the way lubricant dripped from the tips. After taking a few moments to relish in the way Ratchet’s frame had begun to shake, sticky heat radiating from between his thighs, Wheeljack leaned in again. This time, instead of using his servos to pleasure his partner, Wheeljack began stroking over the rim of Ratchet’s valve with his tongue. He sucked on the tip of Ratchet’s node, relishing in the tremors it sent through the medic’s frame, before moving down further. Ratchet kept his servos gripped on the edge of his desk, his frame heaving in each breath as his spark thudded in his chest.

“Are you ready, Ratchet?” Wheeljack asked, momentarily pulling away from Ratchet’s quivering valve long enough to stare up at the medic, who stared back down at him with a look of utter desire.

“Don’t make me wait any longer,” Ratchet huffed, his servos already reaching down to pull Wheeljack up to his pedes. “Please, don’t make me wait.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” Wheeljack grinned, slowly rising up to his pedes, “I suppose we can keep moving, sweetspark.”

Ratchet had never been one for pet names, but in the heat of the moment, he couldn’t deny the rush of pleasure it sent through his frame. He drew Wheeljack close, leaving desperate, sloppy kisses up and down the inventor’s neck as Wheeljack prepared himself. Before long, the sound of the wrecker’s spike pressurizing filled the air. Wheeljack’s servo dipped down to fondle Ratchet’s aft, grinding against the medic’s front as he prepared to slip inside of Ratchet’s valve. With every stroke of Wheeljack’s servo, every moment the tip of his spike brushed against his valve opening, the aroused medic gave another soft sound of approval.

Finally, Wheeljack grew tired of teasing. He slipped the head of his spike into Ratchet’s valve, careful not to move too quickly. Ever so gently, Wheeljack pushed deeper until he had completely filled his medic. Then, with slow, grinding motions, Wheeljack started up a steady pace in and out of the soaked valve.

“Frag,” Ratchet groaned, his servos digging into Wheeljack’s plating. “Ohh, frag, Wheeljack—nnghh, please—“

“Talk to me, Ratchet,” Wheeljack panted, the friction increasing as he sped up the pace. “Tell me what you need, sweetspark.”

Ratchet’s servos were caught in a vice grip against Wheeljack’s shoulders, his frame moving back and forth in time with Wheeljack’s thrusting. He threw his helm back with a loud groan as Wheeljack drove deeper, the ridges of his spike catching on tender nodes deep in Ratchet’s valve.

“Oh, yes, please—agh, harder, please!” Ratchet gasped, his voice rising with desperation as he grew closer and closer to his overload. The desk beneath him began to rock, pounding against the table with loud, thundering sounds that echoed through the base. “Nnghh, please—Ahh!”

“Good, that’s good,” Wheeljack panted, his servos braced against Ratchet’s hips as he plowed into the medic’s frame. A low, rhythmic sound of clanging metal against metal was punctuated by the noise of the desk against the wall as the two chased their climax.

A sound between a choked moan and a gargling whine slowly slips out of the sputtering medic’s lips, his frame hot to the touch and his cooling fans on full blast. As Wheeljack’s words sent another jolt of pleasure through his frame, Ratchet couldn’t not beg for more.

“Please,” he moaned, the sound loud and pitiful as he shuddered and jerked against the other mech’s steady pace “Wheeljack, please, more—I need more, I—ohhh, harder, please!”

The shift in position was startling, but Ratchet suddenly found himself being laid down against the cold base floor, Wheeljack’s own shuddering form towering over him. He barely had a chance to speak before the wrecker’s spike was slipping back into the warmth between Ratchet’s thighs.

Primus, he could feel himself teetering over the edge. He’d never been a quiet partner during intimate moments, but this experience was like nothing he’d ever felt before. Sure, their sexual encounters have never been very… well, vanilla, but Ratchet could hardly help the obscene sounds that escaped him, nor could he stop the loud, heavy breaths he sucked in through his vents as he trembled under Wheeljack’s touch.

“Keep talking, doc,” Wheeljack said, his own words punctuated by heavy pants and soft, nearly inaudible grunts. Unlike before, the wrecker didn’t hesitate to begin up a fast, steady pace, causing Ratchet’s frame to rock back and forth into the violent thrusts. “Say my name, yeah? Go on, keep—nghh, keep going.”

Ratchet, not one to disobey the wrecker during their more intimate moments, simply braced himself against the desk as Wheeljack pounded into him, his mouth open wide with sounds of pleasure and approval. “Ungh—ahhh, yes, Wheeljack, yes—frag, harder, harder! Harder, yes—!”

“Go ahead, Ratchet,” Wheeljack groaned, slowing down long enough to lean over Ratchet’s prone form and whisper into his audials. “Overload for me.”

Immediately, Ratchet’s entire frame was suddenly alight with a burst of pleasure stronger than anything he’d ever felt before. As a loud, staticky cry escaped him, Ratchet arched up into Wheeljack’s hold, his hips bucking against the wrecker’s frame with enough force for his paint-job to rub off onto Wheeljack. Waves of heat spread like fire from between his thighs into the rest of his frame, tearing a second loud, desperate moan from the medic as Wheeljack kept a steady pace, drawing the overload out for as long as possible. Only when Ratchet’s systems began to shut down, overwhelmed by the sudden skyrocket in temperature, did Wheeljack stop.

The blackout only lasted for a few seconds, but when Ratchet’s optics online again, he found himself staring up at Wheeljack’s smug expression, his frame quivering and his breath coming in soft, shuddering whimpers. A coating of slick, warm liquid dripping between his inner thighs told him everything he needed to know before he even had a chance to register what had occurred. So caught up in the post-coital haze, Ratchet almost didn't notice when Wheeljack finally slipped free of his entrance.

“Feeling better?” Wheeljack asked, one servo stroking up and down Ratchet’s thigh while he stared down at the medic. “Must’ve been a good bit of stress to unpack. Never heard you scream so loud, doc.”

Ratchet turned away, his faceplates heating up with embarrassment. “Let me up,” he huffed, ignoring Wheeljack’s extended servo as he pushed himself up into a sitting position.

Wheeljack ignored Ratchet’s stubbornness, instead helping the medic up to his pedes. As soon as Ratchet had stood up and settled himself back down onto the storage crate, Ratchet awkwardly cleared his throat. He fiddled with his servos as Wheeljack stood by, not speaking a word as he watched the medic with careful optics.

“Well,” Ratchet finally said, deciding to be the one who broke the silence. “That was… that was nice, Wheeljack. I really needed a break.”

“Uh-huh,” Wheeljack replied. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at the medic, his expression unreadable.

Ratchet glanced between Wheeljack and the console, which was still turned off. The familiar tension he felt when dealing with the energon problem—the one problem he knew he’d never be able to solve—began to rise up in his chest. It took all of his effort not to give in right then and there, and let Wheeljack take over for him… again.

“There’s still a lot of work for me to finish,” he added, one servo rubbing the back of his helm as he waited for Wheeljack’s next move. “You can stay if you’d like, but—“

“I didn’t say we were finished, did I?” Wheeljack said, his arms remaining crossed over his chest as he stared down at Ratchet.

At first, Ratchet was a little surprised. He had agreed to trying out a new dynamic in their relationship, of course, but he hadn’t expected Wheeljack to take new roles so seriously. Still, he couldn’t deny the sense of comfort and satisfaction he felt from the wrecker taking the lead—even if it meant he couldn’t finish the work he so desperately needed to complete. However, the feelings of security he felt didn’t automatically mean he was going down without a fight.

“I can’t just quit working now that you’ve showed up,” Ratchet said, his voice lacking the usual tension he typically carried. “Now step aside and let me finish, Wheeljack.”

There was a brief silence between the two as both mechs waited for the other to give in. Much to Ratchet’s frustration, however, Wheeljack was refusing to budge. He opened his mouth, a snarky retort on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t get a single word out before Wheeljack stopped him.

“Stand up,” the wrecker said, motioning with his servo.

“Wh—what?” Ratchet scoffed. He crossed his arms then, glaring up at the wrecker with a look of defiance. “Wheeljack, I told you—“

“Don’t make me ask twice, doc,” Wheeljack cut in, his frown deepening. “I already told you we aren’t done here. Stand up for me.”

Ratchet made a sound of protest, but eventually complied. Once he did, however, he was a little surprised—just a little—when Wheeljack took a seat on the cargo container instead. The wrecker reclined back against the console, using it as a backrest as he made himself comfortable. At the look of confusion on Ratchet’s expression, Wheeljack merely chuckled, then beckoned for Ratchet to join him.

“You can’t be serious,” Ratchet said, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper. They were alone, as far as he knew, but he still checked to make sure they weren’t being watched by any fellow Autobots.

“Plenty of room,” Wheeljack said, gently patting the space between his legs. “Or are you too good for snuggling your favorite wrecker now, too?”

Ratchet took a step forward, hesitant. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable—he’d done much more drastic things with the wrecker before, after all, but this… it was new, undiscovered territory for him. It felt good, of course, but it also felt wrong. As if sensing his inner dilemma, Wheeljack leaned forward and gently grabbed ahold of Ratchet’s servo, drawing him in close. He didn’t stop until Ratchet was comfortably situated in his lap, and even then, Wheeljack still adjusted and readjusted their position. Once he was satisfied, Wheeljack glanced down at Ratchet, the medic’s helm comfortably positioned to rest against the wrecker’s chest.

“Comfortable?” He asked, on servo stroking up and down Ratchet’s side, the other interlacing with Ratchet’s free servo.

There was silence at first, and Wheeljack was more than willing to remain convinced that Ratchet had finally given into his contentment and allowed himself this one chance to relax and be comforted. As was to be expected when dealing with the stubborn medic, however, Wheeljack was wrong.

“…you didn’t have to come, you know,” Ratchet whispered, speaking just loudly enough for Wheeljack to hear.

“‘Course I did,” Wheeljack replied. He shifted against the cargo box until their frames were pressed together, their arms intertwined and legs comfortably stretched out over the edge. “I’d never leave you here to sulk all by yourself.”

“I do not sulk,” Ratchet grumbled. After a few seconds of silence, he added, “I… I can take care of myself, you know. I am a medic, after all. It’s my job—“

“Your job is to care for the rest of the team,” Wheeljack said, gently correcting Ratchet as he stroked the medic’s faceplates with his free servo. “It’s my job to take care of you, doc.”

Ratchet made a soft sound of acknowledgment, but didn’t respond. Satisfied that he’d finally won the discussion, Wheeljack wrapped both arms around the tired medic and held him close. Their private, more intimate moments were often few and far between, but Wheeljack was happy to take every chance he could get with the medic. His medic.

[tooti-fruiti]

WATCHFUL EYE [CHAPTER NINE]

Late Night Coffee

Sniper gave you a pat on the back. "Told you that you'd do fine, good on ya Sheila."

You smiled at him as Scout cheered.

"OH YEAH! WE GETTING THAT MONEY TONIGHT GUYS!"

Pyro and Heavy also cheered while Spy and Engineer chuckled.

You started to laugh as well, then someone knocked on the door.

Medic opened it and Miss Pauling stepped inside.

"Great work today." She said as she set down a grey briefcase before taking the blue one.

Scout, immediately hearing her voice, sat up. "H-Hey, Miss Pauling! Do you think I could uh-"

"Bye guys!" She said as she closed the door and left.

"W-Wait!" Scout said, rushing after her.

Spy chuckled and opened the briefcase. "Ah, young love."

Inside the briefcase was about ten stacks of five thousand dollars.

Your eyes widened at the amount of money.

"This is...for all of us..?" You asked, absolutely bewildered.

Spy nodded and took a stack before leaving.

"That's right, miss." Engineer said. "We each get five thousand if we win a battle."

"That's amazing!" You said as you took your stack.

•

Later that night, you decided to get yourself some coffee and went into the kitchen.

The others were either watching TV in the living room or were in their own rooms.

"Taking my advice, eh?"

You turned and saw Sniper walking into the kitchen, wearing a tank top and some pajamas. He also wasn't wearing his hat or his glasses.

He looked completely different, but still handsome nonetheless.

You nodded. "Yeah, I am. I'm still having a little trouble accepting the whole 'game' thing and clones and teleporting and dying and-"

Sniper cut you off with a chuckle. "Yeah, I know. It's a lot to get used to."

A little bit of silence followed before you spoke up.

"Is taking a cup of coffee really the way you calmed your nerves?"

Sniper nodded and leaned against the counter as he waited for the coffee to finish.

He then noticed you still had your uniform on and chuckled. "Ya know ya don't have to wear that 24/7 right?"

You giggled and nodded. "Yeah I know, I'm just waiting for Medic to finish his shower so that I can take one."

Sniper hummed before turning to look at the coffee machine. "So, how do ya like it here so far?"

"It's...a lot different than what I'm used to, but I think I'll be fine."

"Glad to hear it, sheila. I saw you from my post during the battle. Didja have fun running over all them bloody blueberries?"

You laughed and nodded. "I enjoyed it way more than I thought I would, it helps to remind that they're clones amd not actual people."

Sniper chuckled and smirked. "That does make it a bit easier, doesn't it?"

You nodded and then the coffee machine beeped.

You made yourself a cup of coffee before Sniper did the same.

"Cheers." He said.

"Cheers." You smiled and clicked your cup with his.

Sniper immediately took a drink of his coffee but you put some stuff in your coffee to make it taste a little better.

"It was nice having this little chat with you, Driver. I'm off to bed." He said as he walked out of the kitchen. "G'night."

"Goodnight." You said.

[Hope you enjoyed. Stay tuned for more and have a good day]

<-Chapter Eight

Chapter Ten->

[parttimepuff]

Wiz, what are you a wiz at? Math? Magic? Architecture? Or didja just like the name? In fact, why is beep called beep?

"Uhhhh… I guess I'm pretty good at math?" Wiz replied, unsure of how exactly they should answer that. "What’s math?" Beep asked, the concept foreign to her. The other matter was incredulous. "You don't-no, sorry, you wouldn't need to know. Uh, do you know numbers?" They asked, dismissing their disbelief. "Uh… kinda? I know people say their age and that’s a number right?" She remembered.

It was definitely a good start. "Right! So, math is just, a bunch of things you can do with numbers." Wiz explained as simply as possible. The idea interested Beep enough to dive into the subject more. "Do you do arky texture with numbers?" She asked, yet another new concept for her. "U-uh, I think? Probably. You need numbers for, measuring things so. Yeah." They decided.

"Huh! Sounds weird." Beep thought, getting a chuckle from the other matter. "Heh, yeah, I guess so." They agreed. "So you’re called Wiz because you’re good at math?" She questioned, remembering why they were on the subject in the first place. "Yeah, that's why." Wiz curtly replied. "I could teach you some math if ya wanted." They went on without skipping a beat. That caught her attention. "Is it hard to learn?" Beep questioned. "The beginning stuff isn't, but the farther you go, the harder it gets." Wiz elaborated. They could always stop when it got too hard. "I wanna know math… I can tell you how to use knives if you want?" She offered in return. The gesture was warmly received. "Ha! Yeah, that'd be great!" The other matter exclaimed, much to Beep's satisfaction. They'd both get to learn something cool.

[dorki-c]

Silence when coming home

Relationship: Dabi X Reader

A/n: Just a domestic dabi drabble uwu

An off-white rock was at the centre of darkened sky where light pollution was at its peak and all you could hear is the loud beeping and rumbling of the cars below your apartment. 

Twisting the door handle clockwise to only discover a silent atmosphere within the apartment, you dropped your bags to the ground after switching on the hallway light and shutting your door with one of your feet. 

(Don't worry, you have your keys in your coat pocket.) 

Is anybody home? You're not sure. Usually, there's an important somebody in your life sleeping on the couch- but there's no sign of his sneakers on the floor- or if they're home, you should be hearing a soft hum echoing out of the kitchen as an exotic aroma wafts itself into your nostrils. 

But… there's nothing like those scenarios. 

There's no harm in calling out. I mean, he could've fallen asleep on the couch with his shoes on… 

"Dabi?" No answer. 

Slipping off your shoes, placing them on the shoe cabinet next to the various other pairs you owned, and grabbing your slippers to put on, you shuffled your way down the narrow corridor and opened another door to reveal the open plan kitchen that had your living room attached to it. 

"I'm home!" Shouted (y/n) as she flicked on the living room light and heard a small groan from the couch. 

"Could ya be a bit quieter!" Grumbled a voice. 

"Well maybe if you didn't ignore me when I called your name, then I wouldn't be shouting at you!" Huffing at your significant others behavior, you turned on the heel of your footwear and went back to the front door in order to grab the groceries. 

"Didja get food for dinner?" A faint holler from the living room asked.

"Yeah... I did." You hollered back.

[striveattemptfail]

Football Vs. Husband: Which Do You Know Better? | Zimbits ft. Tater, G, 1.8k

Summary: Bitty gets quizzed on two of his favourite things: Jack and...... football?

Based on the Buzzfeed video of the same name. Takes place sometime in Sept-Oct 2019. Minor spoilers for 4.25 Faber and 4.26 Check, Please! (If you can call em spoilers LOL.)

Read on Ao3

A/N: Fun fact: At the time I wrote this (2017), it was set in the “future” (2019), but now that year is literally the past for us hahahahahahskfjasldfjasldfjklaskdfj. In the fic summary I say “minor spoilers” because what I originally wrote as wish fulfillment in 2017 became canon in 2020.

Anyway, this is a near verbatim copy of Ned Fulmer getting quizzed on his wife vs football—like fr some of the dialogue is exactly the same LOL. Thanks to @smol0ctopus​ for the beta and the omg stream! please server for advice!<3 Any other mistakes are mine.

YouTube transcript of Football Vs. Husband (Check, Please! #151: A Falconers Special!) [Descriptive captions by biittyyreciipees, airhockeycanbeviolent, and f4lcsboy: Check, Please! Captioning Team]

Eric Hey, y’all! Didja miss me? Because I sure did miss you! Now, today’s video is a lil special. Y’all’ll see that I’ve got myself some lovely guests here from Providence’s own Falconers team. (gestures towards Jack and Tater) Say hi guys!

Tater (waves) Hi!

Jack (single nod, smiles) Hello.

Eric I’ve got here regular guest and my husband, Jack Zimermann, and his teammate, Alexei Mashkov—

Tater But you call me Tater!

Eric (laughs) But we call him Tater! Tater, why don’t you explain what’ll happen here today?

Tater Is collaboration with Falcs TV! We had special tournament to see if players knows their SOAPs more than favorite thing.

ONSCREEN CAPTION SOAPs = Significant Others And Partners, for all y’all non-hockey fans out there! Click here (highlighted annotation inserted) to watch the tournament on the Falconer’s official website or check this video’s description!

Eric I had me such a great time over on Falcs TV with Jack that I wanted to share the fun with y’all here!

Tater (nods) Zimmboni crush everyone in tournament!

ONSCREEN CAPTION “Zimmboni” is Jack’s hockey nickname, like “Tater” is for Alexei. Everyone on the team has one! In fact, I have one too: Bitty! But Alexei likes to call me “B”.

Jack (shrugs, gives small smile) I know history. I know my husband.

Eric (laughs, blushes)

Tater Now, is time to see if B know Zimmboni just as much!

Eric I’m feelin’ pretty confident that I do. What do you think, sweetpea?

Jack I think Bits knows me better than myself, to be honest.

Eric Jack! (blushing again)

Tater Yes, yes, is very cute! But I’m want to ask questions now, yes?

Eric (turns to camera) Now, I tried to get ‘em to quiz me on baking—because y’all and your mama know that I love it—but Jack here insisted that I get asked about football instead.

Jack Baking’s too easy. I figured you’d appreciate the challenge. You know a lot about American football, eh?

Eric (rolls eyes) “American football”—I know y’all in Canada just call it football too! Now, I’d argue, but that’ll take up the rest of this video, so I guess it’s time to get to the quiz!

Tater Yes!

(video transition with dramatic music)

Tater (holds up stack of cards in hands) Here, I’m hold questions about NFL and college football, plus questions about Zimmboni for B to answer. Like during Falcs’ tournament, I’m ask SOAP about their favorite subject first, then ask about their partner. B, is ready?

Eric As I’ll ever be!

Jack Gonna crush it, Bits.

Eric Let’s hope so, sweetheart.

Tater Will be good, B, I’m sure! Question one, name five offensive positions in the NFL.

Eric Lord, how easy—quarterback, running back, wide receiver, offensive tackle, tight end.

ONSCREEN CAPTION Score: 5/5

Tater See, B! You be fine! Name five of Zimmboni’s favourite foods.

Eric Ooh, alright. So PB&J sandwiches, chicken tenders... scrambled eggs, uh, cassoulet... (Caption Note: French food pronunciation is not butchered, because food)

ONSCREEN CAPTION Score: 4/5

Tater One more, B.

Eric Hm, let’s see—

Tater (snickers) Remember this easiest question in stack.

Eric Oh, hush, you.

Jack Bits? Maybe a dessert?

Eric (hits head with base of palm) Oh, goodness me, right! Maple sugar crusted apple pie.

ONSCREEN CAPTION Score: 5/5

Tater (nods) Yes. Okay, how many minutes in football quarter?

ONSCREEN CAPTION Answer: Quarters in the NFL and NCAA football are 15 minutes.

Eric 15 minutes.

Tater How long is Zimmboni’s pre-game ritual?

ONSCREEN CAPTION Answer: 15 minutes max. Like all athletes, hockey players have specific rituals before their games.

Eric About thirty minutes?

Tater (whooping laughter) 15 minutes, max.

Jack (laughs)

Eric (gasps, shakes head) That is not true, that can not be true! Honey, I’ve seen you take 15 minutes making your pre-game PBJ sandwiches. (scoffs)

Jack (makes a face)

Tater Sorry, B. Must give big zero for that question.

Eric (rolls eyes) Hmph!

Tater B, you get 20 seconds—name as many starting quarterbacks in the NFL as possible. Ready, set, go!

Eric Matt Ryan, Aaron Rodgers, Josh Allen, Philip Rivers, Tom Brady—ugh—Baker Mayfield, Derek Carr, Carson Palmer.

ONSCREEN CAPTION Score: 8

Tater Have 10 seconds, name as many as Zimmboni’s lineys when he finally move to first line.

ONSCREEN CAPTION Lineys = Hockey linemates. Fun fact: Jack moved from third to first line during his first season in the Falcs back in 2015!

Eric (opens mouth)

Tater But! Must name them by nickname!

Eric (single nod, determined expression)

Tater Okay? Ready, set, go!

Eric Alright so excluding Jack, that’ll be you, Tater, then we got Marty, Thirdy, Guy, and Snowy if you count the goalies!

Tater (solemnly nods) Always count goalies!

Eric Then that’s five for five. Gettin’ a lil easy there!

ONSCREEN CAPTION Score: 5/5

Tater Haha! Okay, who are on cover of Sports Illustrated for this season’s NFL and college previews?

ONSCREEN CAPTION Answer: Jarvis Landry and Odell Beckham Jr. were on the cover for the NFL preview. Trevor Lawrence was on the cover for the college preview.

Eric Oh, Coach and I were just talkin’ about this! I know the NFL preview was Odell Beckham Jr. and Jarvis Landry, but the college preview... (brief pause, placing chin on fist contemplatively) I think it’s Trevor Lawrence?

Tater Correct! What magazine cover did Zimmboni appear on first?

ONSCREEN CAPTION Answer: Trick question! Jack’s first ever appearance on a magazine cover was not as a hockey player. He first appeared on People Magazine as a baby with his parents, Robert “Bad bob” Zimmermann and Alicia Zimmermann.

Eric Can I ask a question?

Tater ...no.

Eric Well, shoot, alright. If you mean his first cover as an athlete, I’ll say Sports Illustrated, but if you mean his first one ever I think it’s People Magazine when he was a baby.

Tater (censored beep) Wow!

Jack (raises eyebrows) You remember that?

Eric Well, you told me! And Alicia did show me when we visited for Christmas one year. (smug smirk)

Jack (covers face in hand, exasperated sigh) Of course she did.

Tater Next question! How many Super Bowl rings does Tom Brady have?

Eric Oh goodness. I think it’s five?

Tater Six!

Eric What?

Tater Is six!

Eric (groans) Of course it’s six. Whatever, it’s fine, I try not to think about Tom Brady anyway. I don’t mind getting this one wrong. In fact, I’m kinda glad because I certainly don’t care for the man. Like, who—

Jack Bits. We’re in the middle of a game right now?

Eric (blushes) Oh, right.

Tater It’s alright, B, haha. But we move on with game now, yes? (single nod) Now, how many rings Zimmboni normally wear?

ONSCREEN CAPTION Answer: 1.

Eric One! He usually just wears his wedding ring, but today he’s got his 2016 Stanley ring! Wanna show it off, honey?

Jack (sheepishly holds up hands to show the two rings)

ONSCREEN CAPTION Fun fact: The team who wins the Stanley Cup get matching rings. Jack got his first one when the Falcs won the Cup in 2016!

Tater Is tough one now: How many times have the Atlanta Falcons made the playoffs?

ONSCREEN CAPTION Answer: 14.

Eric (sighs) Oh Lordy, that's hard. Alright, so by the time I was born they were at five so— (voice continues in fast forward) —they did in ‘98, then... ‘02? After was 2004, not 2005, or ‘06... so the next one was 2008. Then there was that streak from 2010 to 2012. Then the next one was 2016, and then ‘17. Not ‘18 and ‘19. So that’s... (begins to count on fingers)

Tater (back to regular speed, looking impressed) You have answer, B?

Eric I'm gonna go with fourteen as of this year.

Tater (censored beep)!!!

Eric (laughs)

Jack (censored beep), Bittle.

Tater Is amazing! You have both number and years!

Eric I’m Southern, and my daddy’s a football coach. (shrugs) Can’t help it!

Jack (chuckles) This is why I wanted you to answer stuff about the football instead of baking.

Eric (rolls eyes, swats Jack’s arm) Oh, this boy.

Tater Next question! What is most number of times Zimmboni fight in one season?

ONSCREEN CAPTION Answer: 3 fights.

Eric Ooh, shoot. I should know this one too, huh? Okay, so his first season he only got in one fight— (voice continues in fast forward) —and second season was also one, I think. After that, uhh, I think he finally got in two. Last year was three maybe? And this season hasn’t even started. But last year? Was it three? I don’t quite—hm.

Tater (back to regular speed) Your answer, B?

Eric I’m gonna go with three fights for last season.

Tater (shaking his head)

Jack What did I say?

Tater (censored beep) Is correct. (huffs) What year did Falcons join the NFL?

ONSCREEN CAPTION Answer: 1965.

Eric Uhhh, oh goodness, I know Coach told me this at some point... (pause) I think it was 1965?

Tater Correct! What year Zimmboni first try skating?

ONSCREEN CAPTION Answer: 1992. Fun fact: Bad Bob had Jack skating as soon as Jack could walk!

Eric Skating, huh? ‘Cause I’ll bet the son of Bad Bob tried on his first skates before he even turned one, huh? (smiles cheekily)

Jack (nudges with elbow, gives Eric a small smile) Not the question.

Eric Oh alright, not the question. Hmm, I know it was before you turned three so, I’ll say... (drawling out answer) nineteen-ninety... two?

Tater (throws cards out of hand, shaking his head) Is correct again!

Eric Oh my god!

(high pitched sound as Eric fist pumps the air)

Jack (laughs, bringing an arm around Eric before kissing his cheek)

Tater B, I'm frustrate to say you know Zimmboni as much as you know football.

ONSCREEN CAPTION FINAL SCORE: Football = 6, Husband = 6. T I E ! ! !

Jack Knew it. Told you so, Bits.

Eric That sounds like a chirp, and I will not have that on my vlog, Mr. Zimmermann. So with that, I guess we’re done! (looks towards camera, claps once) Well, that about does it for today’s video! Thank you so much to my special guests, Providence Falconers’ Jack Zimermann and Alexei Mashkov, for joining me today. (gestures towards Jack and Tater)

Tater (nods with a wide smile) Thanks for having us, B!

Jack (smiles and nods) Always great to be here.

Eric Be sure to check out the Falcs TV videos too! Link in the description or right over here! (points to space, highlighted annotation inserted) And thanks for tuning in! Next week, I’ll have a new video for y’all on the best ways to add protein to your favourite sandwiches.

(Eric, Jack, and Tater wave at the camera)

Eric Bye, y’all! See ya next time!

(More notes on Ao3.)

[aquietwritingcorner]

Comfortember 2020 Day 20: Movie night Word Count: 935 Author: Katie/Ally (aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl)   Rating: T Characters: Riza Hawkeye, Kain Fuery Warnings:         Summary: Kain and Riza have a good friendship going. And every friendship just needs a night where you do nothing but turn on something, and proceed to mostly ignore it or make fun of it while you vent about your day.     Notes:  Modern verse AU. Riza’s a teacher, Kain works at Best Buy, they’ve both served in the military. Drawn from ideas talked about with @canisfuria

  Movie Night

  Kain heard the door to his apartment open up, heard someone walk in, accompanied by the pattering of dog feet, and didn’t even look up from what he was doing. He knew who it was. Riza Hawkeye was a valued friend and they had a running tradition of having at least one movie night every two weeks where they watched something, maybe got a bit tipsy, and vented about life—both in general and in specifics.

Lately, though, they had both been busy, and so this had come towards the end of their typical two weeks. Quite frankly, Kain was ready for it. Working retail gave him plenty to complain about. He was sure Riza was ready for this night too, if her texts meant anything. They were a little more vague, since she was a teacher and didn’t need to be caught talking too freely about her students and their parents, but it sounded like she had a whole host of things to actually say once they were in person.

A happy ball of fur was suddenly at his side, breaking him out of his thoughts, and Kain stopped laying out the snacks on the coffee table and knelt down to pet Hayate, who was clearly happy to see him, if the rapidly wagging tail meant anything. “Heya, boy!” he said. “Didja miss me? Huh? Didja?”

Hayate responded with a woof, and Kain couldn’t help but laugh. He looked up at Riza who was standing there with a large bag on her shoulder, looking tired, but smiling at them. “Hey, Riza, how are you?”

“Tired,” she said. “it’s been crazy lately. I need this distraction.”

He looked at the giant bag she had on her shoulder. He could see the papers poking out of it. “Still got a lot of work to do, huh?” he said.

She pulled a face. “You know this is a never-ending job, Kain. Fortunately, most of this just needs a checkmark, and it’ll be good to go. I just want to see that the students at least tried. I do have other work I need to actually grade, but I don’t want to do that tonight. Or at all, really.”

Kain laughed. “Well, if you’ll hand me a pen when you get to it, I’ll check off some for you.”

“You are the best,” she said to him with a smile. “I also brought something else over.”

She sat her impressively heavy bag on the couch and reached into it, pulling out a bottle of wine. “One of the more understanding parents sent this to me. I thought we might get into it tonight.”

“Excellent!” Kain said, reaching for it. “I’ll go get the corkscrew.”

Two and a half hours later they were both sprawled on his couch, the bottle of wine half empty, an abandoned pile of grading between them, Hayate eating the popcorn they had thrown at the screen during parts of the movie.

“That,” Riza said, sounding highly amused, “was an absolutely terrible movie, Kain. Where did you even find it?”

“Yeah…” he said with a grin. “I guess that’s what happens when you just randomly pick a title off the internet.”

“Tsk. And here I thought you might know what the best and newest movies are, since you work at Best Buy, you know.” There was a teasing tone to her words, and Kain picked up on it.

“Ugh,” he rolled his eye. “I swear if I have to see previews for the latest Disney princess movie sequel one more time, I’m going to take the price gun to my head. Beeping myself to death sounds better then hearing that song one more time.”

Riza laughed. “If I get another message from a parent about why their precious baby got a bad grade, I might join you.”

“That bad, huh?” he said sympathetically.

“Sometimes I think I’d rather be back in the desert then having to deal with these parents. Apparently, even if you’d just shoot to wound, that’s not considered and appropriate action when one of them finds you in the school parking lot and proceeds to yell at you about his son’s grades. No, I’m not sorry your kid got an F, I clearly laid out in the syllabus what I wanted done of this project, and if he failed, it was because he didn’t try his best.”

“Bet that went over well,” Fuery said with a wince.

“The school security guard had to get involved, because I’m not suppose to physically retaliate.” She took another swig of her wine. “Man is lucky that he never directly attacked me, because I would have laid him out.”

“Sounds awful,” Kain said.

“Some parents are crazy. I’ve had at least eight nasty messages through the app we use, six email chains that they included the principal in, that ‘meeting’ in the parking lot, and seven nasty phone calls.” She sighed. “I value the parents who understand and worry about the ones that don’t respond at all.”

“Yeah, I can get that,” Kain said.

“What about you?” she asked. “Good week, bad week?”

“Ugh,” he said. “So first the latest shipment of games didn’t come in, and I had angry gamers yelling at me. A whole wrack of DVDs fell, and we had to get those back in order. The power went out and shut us down for a good few hour, but it was only our store. Turns out someone overloaded something and flipped more then a small breaker, and just a litany of angry customers.”

Riza pulled a face. “That’s no fun,” she said.

He shook his head. “No, it isn’t—but you know what is fun?” he grinned. “This. I’m so glad that we got the chance to do this again.”

“You and me both,” she said, and they both grinned as they took another sip of their wine.

Sometimes, all you needed was a good movie night with a friend.

[a-cluttered-gordon-freeman]

Ok. Ok ok. @faebiie you asked for this.

3 days till the defeat of the Combine. The main three had made a camp surrounding a very large apartment complex. It served greatly, there was only one way inside the camp- a small grate that led to the apartments sewers.

Gordon had spent a vast majority outside of the camp. He insisted he do the patrols. There hadn't been any action from the Combine, but Gordon wasn't willing to miss out on the fighting.

Alyx watched Gordon from the penthouse window. She had grown concerned for Gordon. Whether it was the fact he hadn't left the HEV suit for the past two months or had only six (seven?) hours of sleep. Or perhaps it was because Gordon was practically hiding several wounds under the hazard suit. Whatever it was, Alyx hated the thought and hated even more the feeling.

"Gordon's not gonna come in anytime soon if ya keep watchin' him," Barney chuckled, taking another sip on his beer. Alyx rolled her eyes at hom.

"I know Barney. Its just-"

"You love him. I know, Aly. But Gordon doesn't need you ta worry 'bout him. He doesn't need saving. Gordon's got this war won."

Alyx looked down, upset.

A rebel burst in through the door. "We need your help! The Combine are attacking!"

With that, Alyx and Barney ran downstairs and out onto the scene.

The fight only lasted an hour. 1,000 fought, two hundred died and about six hundred injured, half in critical.

As everyone gathered inside to sheild away from the Combine, Alyx waited for Gordon at the gates.

And she waited.

And waited.

In total Alyx waited about five hours before going to search for Gordon. As she searched, she began thinking the worst.

What if he was taken hostage?

What if he was horribly injured?

What if he died?

She shook her head, trying hard, desperately hard, to get such thoughts away for her.

Becoming desperate, and having just made a full lap around the apartment, Alyx began calling for Gordon, running through the streets. Her call didn't go unnoticed, however, for as she called, she heard distantly...

"Alyx....?" Gordon was weak, but safe enough. He could hear Alyx's cries, but alas, couldn't soothe her. Fuck, the man couldn't even stand. His side had been blown off by a hefty shotgun- ironically, his own- and it left him heavily wounded and vulnerable.

As Gordon heard Alyx's cries grow softer, he searched for a flare or a pistol, whatever he could use to attract her attention. Finding only his blasted shotgun, he raised it up and fired.

It wasn't long until he was found. But unfortunately for Gordon, he was found by the wrong people.

Alyx ran around the corner to see Gordon getting the shit shot out of him by a few Combine soldiers. Firing her own gun, Alyx managed to pick off several of the soldiers, unfortunately leaving one to run off.

Ignoring the run away, Alyx set off over to Gordon, who was miraculously still breathing.

Hes still breathing, still alive, hes ok, he needs help, get him help, get him home-

Alyx lifted Gordon over shoulder and started running over to the apartments, the poor man limp and bleeding. As they burst through the door, Gordon was relieved of his armor, which was fully wrecked and therefore trash and soon taken to the medic bay, and Alyx was instructed to shower.

One full day until the Combine were liberated.

Everyone was waiting on Gordon to even slightly show signs of life. He had been left in critical, he had lost way too much blood to even be deemed alive.

Alyx watched over Gordon as the man slept. She gripped his hand, held back tears, and started trying to speak to him about something- anything- to even get a soft nod or a squeeze from him.

Kleiner and Barney watched Alyx hopelessly as she spoke. Soon Kleiner left the room, unable to watch Alyx speak mindlessly.

Barney sat by Alyx. "Y'a know, I don't think he's gonna come back from this. I think its over fer him."

"No its not!" Alyx bowed her head and started crying. "Its not over! He can still come back!"

"Aly, he ain't comin back." Barney set a hand on Alyx, prompting a punch from her.

"He'll make it! He has to! He has to..!" Alyx collapsed, sobbing hard.

Barney watched Alyx before going over and hugging her. They both held the hug for atleast ten minutes before taking tgeir respective spots next to Gordon.

The last day for the rule of the Combine.

As rebelmen and medics prepped for this final battle, Kleiner, Barney and Alyx waited around Gordons bed- either for a flatline or for a wake up.

The hours ticked on as silence, with exception of the heart monitor, filled the room and held still everyone's voices. It felt wrong to talk, wrong to move, wrong to even breathe as they watched Gordon's heart monitor.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Some church bells tolled as noon hit and the first bullet was fired outside. The Combine had been the first to attack, and there were many. Too many for everyone, an upsetting ration of one rebel for every 40 soldiers.

As the sound of gunfire rang outside, Kleiner, Barney, and Alyx waited by Gordon's bed. The noise of the gunfire and heart monitor upset the mood, but there was no stopping the war. No way they could risk killing hundreds of revels just so they could listen to Gordon's life line.

Another hour passed. Kleiner left the room to help the medics with some of the rebel injuries. Alyx and Barney sat uncomfortably as the monitor beeped on.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep beep. Beep beep.

The heart monitor raced as Gordon stirred and sat up, wincing and letting in a sharp and pained gasp of air. Taking a long look around the room, Gordon put on his glasses and grinned weakly.

"Didja miss me?"

"Gordon!" Alyx wrapped her arms tightly around Gordon's neck, nearly strangling the poor man. He patted her back as an attempt at offering consolance.

Barney smiled and took Gordon's free hand. "Glad to have you back."

"Glad to be back."

Alyx backed away from Gordoon and wiped her eyes clear of tears. "You haven't missed much, todays the final day."

Gordon nodded. "Thats great. You two head on out, I'll see to it that I can snipe out the soldiers, for unfortunately I can't be on the front lines. We can chat later."

Alyx and Barney nodded.

"We'll give em hell in your name, doc."

With that, Barney and Alyx left the room with a clear conscience on a single goal: some time with Gordon.

[fallen-gravity]

Change

All of Steven’s talk in the new pair of episode about how he’s afraid of being left behind and all this change being too overwhelming for him put the idea in my head that he could probably benefit from talking to Spinel a lot after the mess that was Prickly Pair, and I couldn’t let go of it until I wrote a fic about it. 

Summary:  Steven needs to talk to somebody, and he's quickly realizing that he's running out of options. 

AO3:

Or under the cut:

You’ve reached Connie Maheswaran, leave a message!

Beep.

…

You’ve reached Connie-

Beep.

....

You’ve reached Connie Maheswaran, leave a message!

“Hey, Connie” Steven murmurs, leaning back against the hood of the Dondai. “I guess I probably should leave a message. I just wanted to talk. It’s nothing serious,” he lies through his teeth, “I just...wanted to talk to you. It’s been a while, and I, uh, just wanted to see how things were going. Call me when you can. Don’t mind all the missed calls. I’m fine.” He pauses for a moment, gazing up at the twinkling stars. “I love you.” 

Beep. 

Steven clicks his phone off, and places his phone face down on his chest. He rests his hands behind his head and contemplates what he could possibly do now. 

Connie was his only resort. Lars already left, he can’t talk to Sadie after that embarrassing fiasco at the graduation ceremony, his poor dad’s already been through enough with Bluebird, and the gems wouldn’t understand. If he went to them he’s sure they’d just pat him on the head and try to tell him how proud they are, or try to offer some sort of advice of how to fix it.  Yeah, well, this time he can’t fix it. Maybe he doesn’t even want to fix it.

Who else is there to go to? If he can’t worry his dad or Connie, and the gems won’t be any help, where else could he go for help? It’s not like he can go to the barn anymore, since it got merged with Little Homeworld.

Actual Homeworld? Now there’s a thought. The Diamonds would love to have him, sure, but what help would they be? If Blue finds out that he’s feeling sad then she’s just going to start crying, and then everyone else on Homeworld is going to start crying, Yellow’s probably just going to try to “solve” everything with violence, and White’s probably going to turn it into another excuse to bring up the offer to live on Homeworld again. It’s a miracle Spinel survived living in the palace with them for more than ten minutes.

Wait a minute.

“Spinel!”  Steven thinks out loud. “Spinel would understand!”

He slides off the car’s hood and climbs into the driver’s seat. He starts the car, ejects Shep’s cassette tape before it can start playing, and makes his way back to Beach City. It’s ironic, really. One moment he’s singing praises about the wonders of change to Spinel, and the next he’s going to her because he can’t cope with change himself. He might as well warp in raising a huge white flag over his head. 

The lights are on in the house when his car pulls up, but word must’ve gotten around that the graduation after party was cancelled without him needing to say it, because there’s no other cars on the beach or any music coming from the house. That’s good. The less people home, the easier it’ll be to sneak out.

“Hey buddy,” Amethyst waves hello from the couch as he comes in, seated in the middle beside Garnet and Pearl. “Nobody saw where you went after the ceremony, you okay? You...want anything to eat?” 

Steven shakes his head as he hangs his jacket up on a hook. “I filled up on cake, thanks”

Pearl’s the next to speak up. “Would you like some tea? I know how tiring planning these things can be”

“No thanks” Steven replies, and fakes a yawn, stretching his arms above his head. “I think I’m just going to try getting some sleep. I’ll see you guys in the morning”. Without waiting for them to reply, he begins heading up the stairs towards his room, until he’s stopped halfway by the sound of Garnet calling his name. He freezes up. Oh no, did I get caught? Is she going to make me stay? Is she going to make me talk to her instead?

He turns to her, expecting to see her with her visor removed and ready to give him a long, powerful speech about family always being there for you, or something. But she’s not. She’s just standing there, one hand on the railing of the stairs. She’s looking at him, but her visor renders her expression unreadable. 

“Have a good night, Steven” she says, and nods very subtly at him. The gesture makes him smile, and he disappears up the stairs. He opens the door to his balcony as quietly as he can, and sneaks into the dome without closing the door behind him to make as little noise as he possibly can. He tentatively steps onto the warp pad, takes a deep breath, and warps away to Homeworld. Now all he needs to do is try to find a way to get Spinel away from the diamonds long enough to talk to her alone without them noticing. 

Not that they’d even mind, anyway, but Steven always has to take things the hard way, doesn’t he. He materializes into the palace, and before he has even a fraction of a second to look around- 

“Well, well, well!” Spinel shouts from Pink’s old throne. “Look what the warp pad dragged in!” She stretches her legs into springs, and projects herself off of the headrest to land beside him. “Mister Savior of the Universe himself!” 

“Hi Spinel”

“What are ya doin’ here? This some top secret diamond meeting I don’t know about? I can go grab ‘em for ya”  She’s about to leave, but Steven grabs her by the wrist before she can so as much take a single step away. 

“N-no, Spinel, that won’t be necessary. I’m here to see you.”

She blinks, and turns to look around her to make sure there’s nobody else in the room. “Me?” 

Steven nods. “Yes, you.”

Her expression changes from a blank stare to a face-splitting grin between one blink and another. “Well, why didn’t ya say so!” She snaps her fingers, and winds an arm around him and uses her other to spring them onto White’s throne. “What brings you out to see lil’ ol me? Didja miss me or something?” 

Steven frowns. “I’m not here to play games, Spinel”

“Oh.”  Her arm holding Steven in place deflates, and she sits down, dangling her legs over the edge. “Then what do you need me for?” She raises an eyebrow at him. “It doesn’t have anything to do with another injector, does it? Because it’s not mine this time”

Steven sighs, and sits down on White’s throne as well. “I just...wanted to talk” 

“Oh, well, then I’m all ears!” She stretches her hand into a megaphone and places it against the side of her head where her ear would be. “What’s on yer mind?” 

Steven twiddles with his thumbs and kicks his feet back and forth. “Everything”. 

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that, Universe”

“I’m being serious!” he throws his arms into the air. “Everything! Everything is happening so quickly! I just got Lars back, we’ve barely had any time to talk since I’ve been running the school, and now he’s leaving again, Sadie and the Suspects broke up, Connie’s thinking about applying to a college halfway across the country, and I’m really proud of her and wish her nothing but the best  because she deserves the best, but I miss her, I miss talking to her, I miss going on dates with her, but she’s so busy studying that I’ve been seeing less and less of her since fall, and don’t even get me started on the gems, they think they know everything about me just because they’ve raised me my entire life, but-”

He’s suddenly cut off by the sound of Spinel laughing hysterically. Steven blushes heavily, and turns to her to see her wiping tears from her eyes. 

“Wow,” she bellows, barely trying to keep the laughter out of her voice. “Talk about irony” 

“Huh? What’s so funny?” Steven’s voice squeaks in embarrassment.

“You.” She replies, wiping tears from her eyes. “You sang this big inspirational number to me about changing for good this, and change is for the best that, and all that talk about how you need to embrace the bad change before you can earn the good, and now you’re coming to me about it?” 

Steven blinks. “I...don’t think I ever said that last part”

“Eh, you implied it” Spinel shrugs. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, if you’ve been through all of this dramatic change before and came out of it just fine, why is this any different?” 

Well that’s a pretty stupid question. “Didn’t you hear anything I said?” Steven scoffs. “It’s different because all of my friends are changing. They’re all moving on with their lives. I don’t have that option”

Spinel shrugs. “Well, why don’t you?” 

“Why don’t I what?”

“Why don’t you have that option?”

Steven blinks. “I don’t follow”. 

Spinel snorts. “You’re the one who told me that nobody could change how I felt except me, right? By that very same logic you told me, isn’t that true about you? Nobody can change how you feel either, Universe. If everyone is moving too fast for you, it isn’t up to them to tell you what pace you should be moving at. It’s not up to them how you work through your feelings about processing all this stuff”. 

“That...doesn’t seem like very sound advice coming from someone who tried to ‘process’ her feelings by trying to kill the earth”

“That’s not my point! My point is that I came to my senses on my own terms. I burnt myself out on anger and then I let myself begin to move on. If I’d forced myself to move on earlier, I neva’ would’ve stopped being angry. I coulda’ taken it out on the diamonds if I wasn’t careful.” She snorts, and takes a small step closer to him and places a hand on his shoulder. “The point is that I know betta than most what it feels like when everyone’s moving on without ya. S’matter of fact, I probably know betta than everyone what that’s like. And I also know that if you don’t take things at your own pace, or if you just leave things the way are, you’ll end up in a much worse place. If I’d left things be, I’d still be stuck in that gemforsaken garden, and if I hadn’t burnt myself out and let the planet die, I’d just be stuck on a dead Earth. If ya keep forcing yourself to change to keep up with your friends, you’re just gonna end up stuck somewhere too”. 

...She does have a point, but…

“What about my friends? I’m just supposed to...let them go? I just have to sit around and watch them move on without me?” 

“Well, have they let you go yet?”

“What do you mean? Lars just left for space the other day.”

Spinel shakes her head. “I mean, your friends who are leaving, did they say goodbye? Did they let you know they were leaving?” 

“Well, yeah, but-” 

“Then they haven’t left you behind. Pink never said goodbye to me, Steven. She never told me where she was going. This Lars person, whoever he is, telling you he’s going to space, that’s more than Pink ever told me about Earth. I may not know as much as I think I do about friendship, Steven, but friends come back. Look at you,” she gestures vaguely towards him with a hand. “I left with the diamonds seemingly “forever”, and you still came back.” She smirks. “And I’m guessing this Connie girl was the one I saw talking to you on Earth? She couldn’t keep her hands off of you, Universe, I wouldn’t worry about her ever leaving you behind, even if she does move halfway across the galaxy or whatever it was you said to me”.

Steven blushes. “Country”, he corrects. 

“Whatever. Point is, Universe, if your friends really are your friends, then they won’t leave you behind when they go through some big exciting change. They’ll take you with them, even if it’s only in spirit” 

Steven snorts.  “And since when are you such an expert on friendship?” 

Spinel smiles upon catching onto the playful nature of his tone, and reaches into her pocket and pulls out a diamond communication device. She smiles at it, fiddling with it in her hands. “As much as you say they’re hard to get along with, my time with the diamonds really has given me a new perspective on friendship.” She offers the communication device out to him, and he takes it from her. “They gave this to me when we got back from Earth. They told me that if I ever got lonely all I’d need to do was twist this device in my hands and they’d be there for me, no matter where they were in the galaxy.” 

She takes it back from him. “They taught me to love again, Steven. They taught me that if someone loves you, they aren’t going to run out on you. If they’re going too fast for you, they’ll slow down and wait for you to catch up so they can walk beside you”. 

Steven laughs. “I’m starting to think they taught you more than I know, Spinel” 

She laughs. “Me? More knowledgeable than Steven Universe, best friend of the galaxy?”  She brings a hand to her gem. “I’m honored”. 

Steven laughs again, but before he can say anything else, his phone starts buzzing in his pocket. He pulls it out, and Spinel stretches her head over his shoulder to read the caller I.D. on the screen. 

Connie.

“See? What’d I tell ya?” she grins at him, and gives him thumbs up. He rolls his eyes at her, and leaps from White’s throne and gently floats to the ground so he can have a bit more privacy. 

“Hello?”

“Steven?” Connie’s panicked voice replies. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry I missed your calls, I was going to call back as soon as I finished studying for the night, and then my parents took me out for a movie and I forgot, and-”

Steven chuckles. “Woah, whoa, Connie. It’s okay. Everything’s okay” he says, and begins to head towards the warp pad to go back home where the reception is decidedly better.  Just as he’s about to warp back out, he turns around to face White’s throne one last time. Spinel, still standing where she had been moments ago, stretches an arm into the air to wave goodbye. 

“Actually,” Steven admits as the warp stream begins to encompass him. “Everything’s not okay.” 

[teacupfulofstarshine]

up up up (ready or not, here i come)

part one of the little and broken, but still good series 

this is an au that i've been planning and thinking about for almost a year, and finally got around to writing for! the basic premise is that patton and virgil are married, and they adopt three children: thomas, roman, and logan. shenanigans ensue.

this work is dedicated to @bumblebeekitten for giving me the motivation to finish the fic! the title comes from the same song patton uses as his alarm, "up up up" by rose falcon (linked in the fic! just don't have your volume up too loud!)

pairing: romantic moxiety, platonic/familial LAMPT

word count: 2126

read it on ao3! 

(cw: food mention) 

“Geeeeeeet ready or not, ‘cause here I come! Dance, dance, dance, have some fun! Six five four, three two one, get up - get up! Geeeet up up up!”

“Shuuuuut up up up,” Virgil groans, rolling over and shoving his head underneath the pillow. Patton sits up, yawning, and stretches, feeling more than hearing his shoulders and neck cracking. He fumbles for his nightstand, locating his phone mostly by sound. Once his fingertips brush the smooth glass, he taps and swipes blindly at the screen until he successfully snoozes his alarm and shuts the song off.

“Good morning, Virgil,” Patton hums, leaning over to press a kiss to what little remains visible of Virgil’s fluffy bedhead. Virgil mumbles incoherently and burrows further into the blankets. Patton feels for his glasses and very narrowly manages to put them on without poking himself in the eye.

He makes his way into the bathroom, leaving his glasses on the sink and his pajamas in a crumpled heap on the bathroom floor as he quickly hops into the warm shower spray. It nearly lulls him right back to sleep, but as he uncaps the shampoo bottle the sharp scent of mint snaps him back to wakefulness.

“Ready or not . . . here I come . . . dance dance dance . . . four three two one . . .”

Patton mumbles the lyrics to his alarm song as he showers, quickly scrubbing his caramel curls and freckled body with mint-scented soap. When he was in college, he prided himself on his spontaneity and his refusal to adhere to any sense of routine whatsoever. Now, as an adult, he can confidently say that college him was an idiot. The easy familiarity and comfort of his daily routine is calming; he’s on autopilot, allowing his body to go through the motions while his mind wakes up.

His mind catches up to his body as he pulls on his scrubs, fluffing up his curly hair with his fingers and sliding his glasses back on. Virgil still hasn’t moved from his lump of blankets, and Patton carefully tugs them down to expose part of his husband’s body to the cold to start the wake-up process.

Patton climbs up from their basement bedroom and turns the light on in the kitchen. Breakfast is a pretty standard affair, and he hears the little beep-diddly-eep! of his phone connecting to the wireless speaker above the cabinet.

“Hey, Siri! Play Patton’s Good Morning playlist, on shuffle!” “Playing Patton’s Good Morning playlist.”

The song Patton uses as an alarm begins to filter through the room as he pokes his head into the fridge and deliberates what to make for breakfast. What does he have time to ensure the completion of before the kids go off to school?

Eggs, eggs seem pretty simple . . . he can probably fry up some bacon, provided they have some . . . and of course, toast. He locates the egg carton and fishes around until he retrieves the package of bacon lodged in the back of the fridge. He’s pretty sure that they have shredded cheese in here somewhere, too . . .

By the time the eggs are cooked, the bacon is fried, and the toaster is popping up, it’s six-thirty. Patton pops one of the crispier pieces into his mouth as he heads up the stairs to wake up his sons. The first door he opens has a rectangular name tag with Thomas written on it, decorated with star stickers.

Thomas’s alarm is going off as Patton opens his door, letting a sliver of light pour in on the mountain of blankets piled high on his son’s bed. A single pale hand emerges from the quilts and slams down onto the alarm clock before quickly retreating from the crisp fall air.

“Tommy, you gotta get up now,” Patton hums. The lump of blankets grunts softly but doesn’t move. “Tooooooommyyyyyy . . . come on, buddy, you have to get up now.” Still no response. Patton sighs, crossing the laundry-covered floor and throws the curtains open. “There’s breakfast waiting in the kitchen, Tommy, but you have to get up now or you’ll miss the bus.”

“Mmmmmnnngggghhh . . . don’ wanna . . .”

Patton grips the bottommost blanket and pulls them all back, revealing his twelve-year-old son. Thomas groans and shoves his head underneath one of his pillows, trying to block out the sunlight, but Patton simply yanks it off. “None of that now, kiddo, you have to wake up!”

“Daaaaaad . . . do I hafta?”

“Yes, bud, you have to,” Patton laughs softly, ruffling Thomas’s hair. “I made eggs and bacon.”

Thomas opens one eye. “. . . didja make th’crispy?”

“Yes, bud, I made the super crispy bacon just like you like.”

Thomas groans and pushes himself to a sitting position, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. Patton kisses his disheveled brown hair before heading to the next bedroom. The door has a golden crown-shaped sign on it, with Roman written in red cursive. The walls are also red, and the curtains are white with glittering golden stars painted on them. The comforter is covered in knights on horseback, piled high with so many stuffed animals that Patton can barely find his son.

“Ro? Sweetie, are you in there?”

The pile of stuffed animals moves a little, and the sleep-rumpled head of his ten-year-old son pops out. “Daddy?”

“Morning, Roman,” Patton says. “It’s time to get up now, honey.”

“Is it breakfast time now, Daddy?” Roman asks. “Is there Crofters on the toast?”

“Yes, Ro, it’s breakfast time, and there’s plenty of Crofters for you and your brother.”

Roman grins. “Yay!”

“Wash your face and put on your clothes before you come downstairs, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy!”

The last door has a satellite-shaped name tag with Logan written on it neat block print. Patton pushes the door open, smiling when he sees his youngest son sitting on his bed, wrapped in his galaxy-patterned quilt, paging through a large book of space photos taken by satellites. “Already awake, Lo?”

Logan blinks up at him. “Morning, Daddy . . . I wanted to look at the space pictures before school.”

“When did you wake up, my little astronaut?” Patton asks, sitting on the bed. Logan pushes the book away and climbs into his lap. Patton happily wraps his arms around the little seven-year-old. “I know you were still awake when Papa and I came in to check on you last night, and you need to make sure you’re getting enough sleep!”

“I woke up at six o’clock, Daddy, I did get enough sleep,” Logan says. “I promise.”

Patton gently kisses Logan’s head, smoothing his fingers through the tangled nest of wavy bronze curls on his son’s head. “I made scrambled eggs and bacon for breakfast today.”

“But I don’t like eggs or bacon, Daddy.” Logan nuzzles into his chest, blinking sleepily, as though he just wants to curl up in bed with his book and go right back to sleep.

“I know, but I made toast, too, just the way you like it.”

Logan perks up at that. “Did you make toast with Crofters, Daddy?”

“There’s plenty of jam in the fridge, sweetheart, and Papa and I will put whatever flavor you want onto your toast when you come down. Wash your face and put on school clothes, okay?”

“Is my nebula shirt clean, Daddy?”

“I think so, little astronaut. Check your drawers, okay?”

“Okay.”

By the time Patton makes it back down to the kitchen, Virgil is sitting at the table and grumpily nursing a cup of coffee. “Good morning, my love.”

“It is certainly morning,” Virgil mutters darkly. Patton gently kisses Virgil’s dark purple hair, and Virgil tips his head up to gently trace his nose along Patton’s jaw before kissing his cheek. Patton turns as Virgil kisses his cheek and catches Virgil’s mouth in his own.

Virgil tastes like black coffee, and he pulls back after a moment to gently bump their noses together. “Hey there, my dark and stormy angel,” Patton hums. Virgil’s pale skin turns a little pink under the praise.

“Shut up,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to Patton’s mouth to force him to stop. Patton happily leans into the kiss, sliding one hand up to the back of Patton’s head to tangle his fingers in the purple strands.

“Daddy, Papa, that’s gross,” a small voice says firmly. Patton and Virgil break their kiss and turn to see Roman standing in the doorway. He’s dressed for school, but his hair is still a wild and wavy mess.

“You know that getting dressed for school involves brushing your hair, right, Roman?”

“But I don’t wanna brush my hair, Dad! Papa’s so much better at it than I am!”

Virgil sighs. “Little prince, you’re going to have to brush your own hair one of these days. You know that, right?”

“But I don’t wanna, Papa! Can you please brush my hair? Pleeeeaaaaaase, please please please please!”

“Eat your breakfast first, Roman, and then we’ll talk about it,” Patton says. Roman pouts, but he still sits in his chair and begins shoveling scrambled egg into his mouth the moment Patton sets his plate in front of him. “Slow down, honey, you don’t wanna choke!”

Thomas and Logan are quick to join the rest of their family at the breakfast table, Thomas yawning and blinking sleepily as he loads his plate with one spoonful of eggs and twelve extra-crispy bacon strips. “Take another spoonful of eggs, Thomas,” Patton says. “You need the protein.

“Okay, Dad . . .”

Logan climbs into his chair and swings his legs back and forth. “Can I have chocolate milk with my toast?” “Yes, Lo-berry, you can,” Virgil says, getting out of his chair to pour a drink for his son. “What flavor of Crofters do you want on your toast today?”

“Strawberry,” Logan says. “Please?”

“But of course, little astronaut!” Patton smiles, taking the jar that Virgil passes him. Roman drops his fork on his empty plate just as Patton sets Logan’s breakfast in front of him.

“Can I have more, Daddy?”

“Of course you can, Roman, but remember that you still have to brush your teeth and your hair before you can go to school, and you have to be ready to walk out the door to catch the bus in twenty minutes.”

“But I want Papa to brush my hair, Daddy!”

“Only if you get all the rest of yourself ready,” Virgil says, taking another sip of his coffee. “Okay?”

“Okay, Papa!”

Patton listens to the hustle and bustle of his family as he packs lunches for himself and his sons, labelling each paper lunchbag with the correct name and a smiley face. He doodles a star on Thomas’s, a crown on Roman’s, and a rocketship on Logan’s, writing each of them a little note of encouragement to slip inside.

“Pat, who’s making dinner tonight, me?” Virgil asks, pulling a brush through Roman’s tangled locks. Roman flaps his hands and cries out as Virgil tugs through the knots in his thick hair.

“Yeah, do you mind? I’m probably going to be home late tonight . . .”

“Don’t worry about it,” Virgil smiles. “I’ve got it. Now, Roman, go get your backpack and your lunch and make sure that you have your brother so that you two catch the bus, okay?”

Roman nods, sprinting off through the house and shouting for his younger brother. “Loooooooogaaaaaaaan, we have to go!”

“Do you have your sneakers?” Virgil asks. “Your homework? Your lunches? Your jackets?”

“Yes, Papa,” Logan says, “we have all of those things.”

“Are you coming to pick us up at the bus stop today, Papa?” Roman asks excitedly.

“Yes, little prince, I’ll be there to pick you and Logan up when the bus drops you off,” Virgil says, ruffling their hair. “Go kiss your Dad goodbye, hm?”

Roman and Logan hurry into the kitchen, and Patton kneels down to hug them. “Have a good day at school, little ones,” he says, kissing both of their foreheads. “I’ll see you when I come home from work.”

“Have a good day at work, Daddy! I love you!” Roman chirps.

“Love you, Daddy,” Logan murmurs, hiding his face in Patton’s neck. “See you tonight.”

Patton watches his sons hug their Papa before sprinting out the door to the bus stop, with Thomas quickly following after them. Virgil wraps his arms around Patton, nuzzling into the back of his neck and relishing in a moment of peace before Patton, too, has to leave for work.

“I love you,” Virgil murmurs. “I love you, my sunshine, the warmth and light of my life.”

“And I love you,” Patton responds. “I love you, my moonlight, the peace and light of my life.”

Patton presses one final kiss to Virgil’s lips before grabbing his lunch and hurrying out to his car. He loves the mornings, no matter what anyone else says.

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[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Forty-Six: What He Found Out ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uzumaki Naruto ] [ SasuHina, vulgarity, student / teacher abuse ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

High school is a cesspool of rumors, lies, and drama. The lucky kids who keep their heads down and make it through unscathed really are fortunate. At times, misplaced words and accusations can ruin lives.

Literally.

For the most part, Sasuke was never one to fall for drama bait. He lost count of how many times people tried to rope him into their conspiracies. About who he was or wasn’t dating, who he’d blown off, or if he was sleeping with his person or that. All lies, of course. The treatment he’d always received from nearly any girl he’d met - shallow affection for his appearance with hardly any consideration of what laid beneath it - had soured him to the idea of dating at all. So even as most people his age did their best to navigate the confusion of hormones and sexuality...Sasuke wanted almost no part in it. Maybe it was his mother’s teachings, but he had almost no interest in ‘putting himself out there’. If he was going to get involved with someone...they had to be worth his time. No hit it and quit its, no one and dones. That sort of thing - in his not so humble opinion - was deserving of more time and effort.

No judgment for any who did things fast and loose. It just...wasn’t his style. Never would be. Besides, he had other things to focus on, like grades, sports, and his family. Getting into a top college had been a dream of his since he was a kid...and it only intensified as Itachi continued his ever-prodigal ways. Someday...he’d prove himself just as talented as his elder brother.

But for now...he has to slog through high school like everyone else. And that means making his way through four years of drama and rumors.

“Hey, didja hear?”

Sighing, Sasuke looks over the book he’s skimming at his desk. Beyond it, grinning foxily, is his friend and antagonist, Naruto. “...odds are, probably not. And odds are, I won’t care.”

“Aw, you’re no fun, Sasuke.”

“Nope, not a shred of it in me,” he replies flatly, going back to his reading.

“Dude, Shikamaru’s totally dating an upperclassman from Suna High!”

“...and?”

“And?! Dude, that’s big news! We’re rivals with them in basketball, remember?”

“...so what? Shikamaru doesn’t play basketball.”

“Well, no...but his new girlfriend does!”

“Oh man, how will he ever survive?” Sasuke drawls, tone dripping with sarcasm.

“That’s, like...totally a conflict of interest!”

“Naruto...I hate to break it to you...but high school sports really aren’t all that important. Unless you’re looking for a scholarship, it’s just games you play as a teenager.”

“Guh, you’re such a stick in the mud! Why do I even talk to you?”

“Good question. I ask myself that all the time.”

“You -!”

“All right class,” their teacher announces, stepping up to the podium at the front of the room. “Time for role call. Then we’ll get straight to the test.”

Stiffening, Naruto whispers harshly, “I didn’t know there was a test!”

“Maybe if you spent more time studying and less time gossiping, you’d remember,” Sasuke cuts back as the blond sits in his chair.

As the man’s voice drones through the list of names, there’s a pause as he reaches an empty desk.

“Hinata Hyūga.”

...silence.

He glances up from his sheet...then continues on.

Sasuke gives the vacant seat a glance. More and more often, that girl’s been absent...the one crushing on Naruto. As far as he’s ever known, she was always a top-notch student...quiet, and maybe a little weird, but not the sort to skip class.

...it brings a furrow to his brow.

As the last student checks in, the door suddenly opens. Within it...is none other than Hinata.

“You’re late,” their teacher announces. “...take your seat.”

Shame coloring her expression, the girl in question does as asked, trying her best to look small.

Around her...the whispers start. Sasuke’s heard them before: ponderings of what it is she keeps ending up late for.

“Maybe she’s seeing someone…?”

“Nah, she’s too shy...I bet it’s something worse…”

“Worse…?”

“You know the calculus teacher…? I heard she bombed a test...but the next day, it got bumped back to an A.”

“...no, you don’t mean…?”

Sighing curtly, Sasuke tries to block it out. What a bunch of jerks...speculating without even checking the facts. It’s rumors like these that make him sick.

Hinata, all the while, either doesn’t hear...or pretends she doesn’t. Receiving her test, she starts in right away, bent over her paper and eyes glued to the questions.

Watching her for a time, Sasuke makes up his mind.

Tomorrow...he’s going to be late.

The rest of his day goes normally, plan still firm in his mind as he walks home. He, for one, can’t bring himself to believe the hearsay. Due to her fawning after Naruto, and her friendship with Sakura (or, at least...up until recently, when the rumors started), he actually knows her. At least, a bit. And he can’t see her behaving that way.

Time to find out what’s really going on…

Studying and homework that night fly by, cranked out in record time as he instead works on his scheme. He happens to know where Hinata lives, being just up the block from him. He’ll get up early, see when she goes by...and follow her. Whatever’s going on, he’ll find out what it is. And then...he can put these damn rumors to rest.

...no one deserves to be talked about like that…

Turning in early, he sets his alarm a full hour before its typical time. He doesn’t want to miss her - who knows where she’ll go? Restless, he nonetheless finds several hours of sleep before the beeping begins. On he throws his clothes, bag already packed as he makes a quick breakfast of toast.

His father, readying for work and knowing he’s early, asks what’s going on. “Got a short thing before class,” he replies vaguely. “Don’t want to be late.”

For a moment, Fugaku looks ready to argue...but lets the subject lie, taking his leave with a wave farewell.

Once he’s gone, it’s only a few minutes before Hinata walks past, pace a quick clip as she heads toward the school.

Shoving the last piece of toast in his mouth, Sasuke follows, careful to stay enough behind to go unnoticed. But Hinata is far too focused on her path to look behind her. She does indeed head into the school, passing through a door and into a hall.

Jogging to catch up, Sasuke sees the turn she takes, slipping in quietly behind her and still in pursuit. Rounding a corner, he’s just in time to see her at her locker, frantically stuffing her things in when someone walks past.

...the calculus teacher.

Sasuke’s heart leaps to his throat. It’s ambiguous enough: he barely brushes her arm on his way by, earning a flinch. A few moments later, she makes to follow.

...he’s got a bad feeling about this.

Jaw clenching, he silently speedwalks to the proper door. It’s closed, the window in the wood obscured by the tiny shade drawn over it. Scowling, he presses an ear to the door. He can hear faint voices within, quiet and muffled. The teacher’s is smooth and low...Hinata’s pitched and jittery. Sure, she stutters...but this seems even worse than usual. She’s uncomfortable.

“...not what you want?”

“...told me you’d leave her…”

“...don’t want them to see, do you?”

“I just wanted Sakura a-away from you!”

Sasuke stiffens, mind making tentative connections. Is she somehow...taking Sakura’s place? Is this guy…?

“What we want is very rarely free. You agreed. If you back out…”

The silence is telling, and he can feel the tension.

“...I-I know...but…”

Something about her tone breaks something in him, and Sasuke can’t stand idly by any longer. He’s heard all he needs to, and swings the door open.

Thank God it wasn’t locked.

Within, Hinata stands in front of a desk, the calculus teacher sat upon it. His hand flies away from her hip, and Sasuke feels hot coals in his chest.

“...get away from her,” he growls, striding furiously across the room.

“Young man, what are you -?”

“Say another word, and I’ll knock your teeth in,” the Uchiha spits. Without pausing, he takes Hinata’s wrist, pulling her behind him before pointing at the man’s chest. “You ever lay another hand on her - or Sakura, or anyone else - I’ll fuck you up. Got it?”

Shock makes the man go pale, unable to retort as Sasuke hauls her out of the room, ignoring her protests. Not until they’re just outside the administrative offices does he stop, turning around to face her.

“...you okay?”

She’s shaking, clearly afraid. “You...y-you…!”

“I’m sorry for being so...abrupt. I couldn’t leave you in there.”

“...how did you…?”

“I noticed you were late, so...I followed you this morning. I had a feeling something was wrong...seems I was right.”

Hinata glances aside, shame evident in her features. “...he’ll be angry…”

“I don’t give a fuck. If he wants to come after someone, he can come after me.” Despite his flare of temper, Sasuke then softens. “...I’m not gonna let him touch you again. You...stepped in because he was after someone else. After Sakura...didn’t you?”

A pause...and then a slow nod. “...she was a-angry I found out. Was sure there would be...c-consequences. That’s why...she stopped talking to me. But I...I couldn’t just…!”

“You don’t have to explain to me, Hinata. But I think you do need to tell someone. This guy’s gonna hurt someone else if you keep quiet. I’ll stand with you. I heard and saw enough. If we both -?”

“I...I don’t know if I...i-if I can…”

Sasuke heaves a curt sigh. “...he won’t stop until you do. Neither will the rumors. Please, Hinata...I already promised he won’t hurt you. Look, my dad’s a cop. I’ll pull whatever strings I have to. You’ll be okay. But this has to stop...all right?”

On the verge of tears, she takes a shuddering breath. “...I’ll try…” Pale eyes then flicker to him. “...you’ll...you’ll go with me?”

“Of course. I’m a witness. And I meant what I told him. I’ll keep you safe. It’s gonna be okay, Hinata. I promise.”

Her gaze moves over his face, as though looking for an excuse, or a reason to doubt him. But apparently, she finds none. “...okay.”

Remaining at her side, Sasuke listens as she requests to speak to the principal, let in through the office door. And as they step through into the office, he stays beside her.

What he found out...it’s going to save her.

It has to.

                                                          .oOo.

     This, admittedly, was edging toward the limit of my comfort zone, buuut it's good to test that sometimes. Hopefully the warning tags are good enough - if I'm missing any, please let me know!      Anyway, this piece mostly just...speaks for itself. Poor Hinata...speculation is so often wrong when made without the facts. But Sasuke's gonna protect her. This won't be happening again. He'll make sure of it!      But yeah, that's all outta me tonight. It's v late and I'm pooped lol - thanks for reading!

[jack-kellys]

“You were my hero.” with jack and crutchie please?

this is literally such a great prompt like I wanted to write it for so long but then like I kinda died in general BUT IM BACK

shout out to @cream--rises for quickly blurting that I should write from crutch’s perspective

————

capeless superman

words: 1340?

warnings: cursing, race instead of crutch is in the refuge au, yeet

————

The street was finally empty; all the newsies practically vanished out of Medda’s theater. No one had looked happy, of course. The whole rally had been a sham. Jack had caved, Jack had sold them out, Jack was a sellout, he was..

Crutchie’s own brother was a sellout.

He tried to block out his anger and replace it with confusion, limping alone down the street he saw Jack turn onto. The burning question of ‘why’ felt branded on his heart, its imprint scalding. Even if Jack told him why he had caved for the money, there was no way Crutchie could ever bring himself to understand it. It just didn’t make sense. That wasn’t Jack.

And he knew Jack.

Jack was the one who gave every hand-me-down he could find to any kid with a hole in their shirt or pants. Jack passed around food from the nuns to the rest of the kids, a big grin on his face in the morning even though Crutch knew he hadn’t slept for a minute the night before. Jack would fight anyone who roughed up one of his kids—he had, Crutchie reminded himself, only the day before; it was only a day before—even if he was one of the worst fighters Crutchie had ever seen.

Jack wasn’t any of the words Spot Conlon had called Jack as he had run the theater, screaming after him those terrible things. That Jack was a coward, and weak and useless, and a traitor—how could Jack Kelly be a traitor? How could Jack Kelly be a traitor?

…Was he?

Crutchie gripped his crutch harder as the thought entered his head. That couldn’t be it. Yes, Crutchie knew, the Santa Fe prospect was often mentioned between the two of them…and maybe the money would cover it…but that had to be just a dream. Every newsie had their own Santa Fe in a way. Finch wanted to be a pitcher one day. Mush wanted to be a real doctor. Henry wanted to make his father’s restaurant into a chain all across the country. It wasn’t any different. Couldn’t be.

Crutch saw the flash of a shadow ahead of him, and without thinking, called out to it.

“You gotta tell me, Jack, right fuckin’ now,” Crutchie cried up the block, watching Jack freeze. After a few moments, Jack retraced his steps, facing Crutchie with tired eyes.

“Tell you what?” Jack said, but it sounded rehearsed.

Crutchie stared harder. “That it didn’t mean nothin’. That you ain’t cavin’, not for just some money—“

“It’s not just some money, Crutch,” Jack interjected. “It’s…enough.”

Crutchie took an involuntary step back. What was he saying? “You’re not leavin’. You’re just not, Jack, that money’s too dirty. It,” Crutchie bit his lip, but continued his words stronger, “that money pays to keep places like the Refuge in business. It pays to keep where Race is hurtin’ in business,” Crutchie choked out.

Crutchie’s other brother, Racetrack, had been dragged to the Refuge just the other day. Actually dragged, too, Crutchie had glimpsed it briefly; Race was out cold thanks to Oscar and lugged into the wagon like he weighed nothing. Like he was nothing.

Jack couldn’t think Race was nothing all of a sudden.

“Crutchie,” Jack whispered, his eyes never leaving the ground. “You knows better than anyone that I gotta get outta here.”

“No,” Crutchie croaked. “This ain’t you, not really. You always think about us first—we always think of each other first.”

“Crutch, I can’t, I—“

“Yes you can!” Crutchie blurted, unintentional emotion trembling in his voice. “Why wouldn’t you. We’re all here, Jack. We ain’t out there. This’s your family, why, why…”

Crutchie scrubbed his eye, looking up at Jack with a small glimmer of hope. There had to be a why, even if he couldn’t figure it himself. Jack always had a reason, if not always a plan. He was an artist; he was full of passion. And though that passion branched into many different areas, Crutchie knew that his newsies were at the heart of it. They had to be. They were all Jack had. They were all any one of them had. At least a third of them would probably be dead without the lodge—Crutchie knew he probably would; he accepted that a long time ago. He was a fighter, sure, but some things were just out of his control.

But Jack was in control. At least, he could have been in control, easily. And yet decided not to, instead turning on his brothers.

“Why?” Jack scoffed. “Why? ‘Cause I don’t wanna any of yous ending up like Racer! I don’t want any more asses beaten so hard into the ground that we’s gotta peel ourselves off’a it! Crutchie, I can’t watch that. I can’t let any ‘a you get...I can’t let you die over this.”

Confusion burned in the back of Crutchie’s throat. “Like we wouldn’t die of starvin’ on the streets with these prices so high or somethin’,” he found himself blurting. “We already got all five boroughs on our side, Jack, a city-side strike could end it, and…”

“No it wouldn’t,” Jack said with force. “Pulitzer don’t give a shit about us, Crutch, he’d keep those prices until we can’t take beatings no more. He thinks this is a war, and he ain’t plannin’ on losin’.”

Something about that struck Crutchie as a little more than strange. A bit personal for just some money. “How...how long didja talk to him?” he asked slowly.

Jack hung his head. “Ain’t gonna lie; it was a while.”

Crutchie stumbled back, incredulous.

“Jack, w-what’d he do to you?”

Jack took a step towards Crutchie, who chose to move back yet again. This wasn’t his Jack. “We just talked, Crutchie,” Jack muttered. “‘S all.”

“It ain’t,” Crutchie could’ve laughed in disbelief. After all this time, Jack still thought Crutchie couldn’t see through him. “You’re lyin’, to me, oh my god. I can’t believe this, I…” Crutchie shook his head, mouth slightly agape.

Jack Kelly was a traitor.

The boy who had never once lied to his face was standing a foot away from him on a street corner in the dark with the guiltiest expression Crutchie had ever seen.

“Crutchie,” Jack was pleading now. What kind of topsy-turvy nightmare was Crutchie living in? “Please. I’m sorry, you gotta know that, but I had to. I had to. I had to do it.”

“No you didn’t,” Crutchie scoffed, a faint ironic smile on his face. This was unbelievable. “No you fucking didn’t. Coulda rejected the money right in front ‘a Spot, shown ‘em all you were on the right side—“

“I’m on your side, Crutch, c’mon—“

“—and instead you cave, man. Caved for those fuckin’ monsters at the top.” Crutchie scrunched his nose slightly. “Jack, I wanna trust ya, but that’s dirty, you know that.”

The look on Jack’s face made Crutchie’s heart sink, but he willed his expression to stay strong; stay strong like he didn’t care that he was losing his brother.

“I’m so sorry, Crutchie,” Jack choked.

“But you ain’t, I mean,” Crutchie let out a bitter laugh, “that wad ‘a cash must feel pretty great in you pocket.” Crutchie’s skin was beginning to crawl just talking to Jack and hearing him flat out lie to him. He had to get out. He couldn’t hide his breakdown for long, and he couldn’t let Jack see that. Especially after the night’s events. “You were my hero, Jacko.” His own voice was too devoid of emotion; it scared him.

“If you’d just let me explain, Crutch, I swear you’d understand,” Jack sounded too desperate, it couldn’t be real, “please, man.”

“Go get your Santa Fe, Jack,” Crutchie muttered, acquiescing to the new reality of Jack’s new backward personality. “We’ll still all be waitin’ here with ours.”

With that, Crutchie adjusted his crutch and turned around, heading back to the lodge, trying to block at Jack’s desperate calls after him, pleading with him to stay, to believe him, to trust him. But Crutchie had to start forcing himself to face the truth.

How could you trust a traitor like Jack Kelly after what he’d done to them?

————

YOWCH get em crutch

TAG LIST

@suddenly-im-respecsable @cream--rises @bencookisagod @felix-loves-albert-and-ralbert @spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn @stopthe-presses @tommy-boyyy @papesdontsellthemselves @fameworks-quicker @seasickdolphin @iamliterallyaghost @beep-beep-byler @the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog @thomasbeingthomas @the-king-of-brooklyn @sunshine-e-cigarettes @thebroadwayaesthetic @spot-me50-papes @i-got-no-clue-what-im-doing @fellthroughableedingtrapdoor @relmer @kingofsantafe @we-dont-sell-papes @bouncyscreamingnewsboys @sure-as-a-star @godhatesjordan @awkwardstranger98 @newsies-and-peggy @big-potato-asshole @have-we-got-news-for-you

[welcometothepenumbra]

JUNO STEEL AND THE LESSON LEARNED (PART TWO)

SOUND: RAIN. TRAIN ARRIVES, CREAKS TO A STOP. DOOR CLANKS OPEN.

CONDUCTOR: Ah, good evening, Traveler. And welcome… to The Penumbra. Take your seat, please, take your seat.

MUSIC: STARTS.

SOUND: DOOR CLANKS SHUT.

The junction lies just ahead, Traveler. If you’ll allow me just a moment.

SOUND: TRAIN WHISTLE.

(CHUCKLES) Well, next stop? Hyperion City.

SOUND: TRAIN MOVING.

Detective Steel entered the Fortezza trying to prevent a murder. But the way this case is going, he might soon be the victim of one. A serial killer from twenty years ago has set her sights on our detective, and if she wins, her murderous curriculum will be renewed.

SOUND: TRAIN BRAKES. DOOR CLANKS OPEN, RAIN.

Our next stop: Juno Steel and the Lesson Learned.

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

***

MICK: Hey, Jay?

JUNO: Yeah, Mick?

MICK: How come it feels like every time I see you we get trapped in some lunatic’s crazy murder-game?

JUNO: I don’t know, Mick. Just lucky, I guess.

MUSIC: STARTS.

MICK: Yeah. Now that you mention it… I think you might have pretty bad luck, Juno.

JUNO: Me?!

MICK: Yeah! I mean, the Proctor locks us up, gives us both guns, and says we’ll have to shoot each other if she’s gonna give us the antidote to the-the-the whatyacallit, the-the Sundial Toxin?

JUNO: Hourglass Venom.

MICK: Ha, that’s a good one, Jay, but I’m pretty sure it’s Hourglass Venom, like I said.

JUNO: That’s not what you—

SOUND: COMMS BEEP.

PROCTOR (FROM COMMS): That’s enough bickering, Mr. Steel, Mr. Mercury. Now, your test is just down this hall. Onward! Education awaits.

JUNO (NARRATOR): The attic of the Fortezza was a condemned cell block from back in the days when this place was for sealing criminals away – not rewarding them. In a lot of ways it reminded me of my old wedding gown: it was dusty, smelled like a lot of dreams had probably died in it, and pushed off into a dark corner somewhere in hopes that everyone would just forget the damn thing ever happened.

And the worst of it all was the tenant here: the Proctor, a fame-seeking serial murderer who’d just come out of retirement and was making up for lost time. First, she planned to kill Mick and me with Intro to Chemistry, and then in two hours she’d move on to the first candidate for mayor in fifty years who might actually try to make this city a better place.

That guy’s name was Ramses O’Flaherty. And my name’s Juno Steel. I’m a private eye. And right then I was the only thing standing between Ramses and death. And me and death.

MICK: (WHISPERING) Psst! Hey, Jay!

JUNO (NARRATOR): And him and death.

MICK: Jayjay! I just thoughta somethin’!

JUNO (NARRATOR): I was usually the only thing standing between Mick and death.

MUSIC: ENDS.

MICK: This is, like, my moment, isn’t it? I took this job so I could prove that danger is what my life’s missing. And hey, this is very dangerous! That’s pretty lucky, I think.

JUNO: With luck like that, you should start investing in lottery tickets.

MICK: Hey, that’s not a bad—

JUNO: Don’t!

(QUIETLY) Can’t make that joke with him, Steel, he’ll really do it.

MICK: What was that?

JUNO: Alright, so you want to be a P.I. or a special agent or something?

MICK: I-I was thinking more like a superhero, but… I’m willin’ to work my way up.

JUNO: If you want to do this, you gotta be able to analyze your situation. So, they must’ve given you some training before they stuffed you in that uniform – didja pick anything up?

MICK: Uhhh, I don’t know. I wasn’t really paying attention.

JUNO: And, there it is.

MICK: Except… oh, oh!! They showed a map of the Fortezza! And I even memorized it!

JUNO: Wait, seriously? That’s perfect, Mercury!

MICK: You’re tellin’ me! And hold on, now, gears are turnin’, gears are turnin’…

Oh! Sweet shining nebula, Jay, I think my brain mighta just done a clue!

JUNO: We’ll clean that up later. This is great! If you remember how this old cell block is organized you should be able to get us to, I don’t know, a boarded up window or wall or something, and maybe we can break through—

MICK: This floor wasn’t on the map!

JUNO: …What?!

MICK: Yeah! They didn’t tell us anything about these floors during training at all! Heh. Wow, this Proctor really is smart, isn’t she? I mean, I’ve lost a room before, but losing two whole floors? You’d have to be, like, a genius to hide two whole floors from the people who own the building!

JUNO: I knew it wouldn’t be that easy. (SIGHS) I don’t know if that’s a sign of genius, Mick, but it’s definitely a sign of something.

MICK: Like what?

JUNO: Not sure yet. But I’ve got a hunch.

MICK: I mean, I didn’t want to say anything, but you should probably work on your posture, buddy.

JUNO: That’s not– nevermind.

(CALLING) Are we there yet? I’m tired and he keeps bugging me.

PROCTOR: Just one more door, Mr. Steel. That’s it… just ahead…

SOUND: DOOR OPENS.

Your next exam!

SOUND: DOOR CLOSES.

JUNO: Wow, more mannequins!

You shouldn’t have. We moving on to Art 102 now?

PROCTOR: No no, art is behind us. The three lessons you’ll have to pass today are the three Rs: Reasoning, Reading Comprehension, and… well, the last one’s a surprise.

MICK: Sure glad spelling isn’t one of them. I didn’t know surprise started with an R.

JUNO (NARRATOR): The test on Reasoning didn’t look like much. Four mannequins stood in front of us, each with a button on its chest and a tangle of wires snaking into its feet. But there was going to be a trick to it. There had to be.

PROCTOR: The mannequins are only half of the test. Are you ready for the second half?

JUNO: Depends. Is it four more mannequins?

MICK: Jay, that was kinda rude.

PROCTOR: No no, I’m afraid not. Now listen closely, because I’m only going to say this twice:

MICK: Twice?

PROCTOR: Sage, Vladimir, Aisha, and Sponge walked down the road together side-by-side, holding hands. Two wore shirts of red, and two wore shirts of blue; but none would stand next to another wearing the same color shirt.

JUNO: Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.

MICK: Who? What? Who??? What???

JUNO: It’s a puzzle, Mick. A stupid puzzle.

PROCTOR: It’s a very good puzzle. Now be quiet.

(CLEARS THROAT) Aisha, the baker whose shirt was red, held hands with only one other person. Sponge’s shirt was also red. Vladimir held hands with two people, one of whom was a detective; the other was Aisha. Sage could not tolerate anyone holding her right hand. Vladimir was not the murderer.

MICK: Well! That got exciting very quickly!

PROCTOR: Among them were a detective, a baker, a fortuneteller, and a murderer. If you do not find the murderer, they will kill everyone else in line – and they will kill you, too. (CACKLES) So tell me: which of these four mannequins is the murderer?

JUNO: This is what you got famous for? Seriously?

PROCTOR: I know! Very impressive, isn’t it? I’ll give you a tip: in a multiple choice exam, always be certain to eliminate silly answers before—

JUNO: It is not impressive! It’s the kind of thing they give to bored middle schoolers when the radiation storms are too bad to go outside for recess!

PROCTOR: So if you can’t solve it, detective, what does that make you?

JUNO: Too busy for this stupid—

MICK: Hey, wait a second, wait a second. You said you’d say all that twice, right? Can you say it again?

JUNO: You’re not really buying into this.

MICK: You said bored middle schoolers did these! And, well! I was a bored middle schooler for nearly five years!

JUNO: Mick, you repeated those grades ‘cause you never went to school.

MICK: Come on, Jay. I really need this. Please?

JUNO: Fine… fine, listen to the dumb puzzle again.

PROCTOR: (CLEARS THROAT) Sage, Vladimir, Aisha, and Sponge walked down the road together side-by-side, holding hands. Two…

JUNO (NARRATOR): While our host gave Mick the rerun of her stupid puzzle, I took this opportunity to investigate my feelings about the last few hours.

Stupid goddamn waste of time puzzles! What am I, some kinda—

MICK: Shh, Jay! I’m tryin’ to listen!

JUNO: Hmph.

PROCTOR: …Vladimir was not the murderer. There. Your last reading. Think carefully – and be sure to check your answers.

JUNO (NARRATOR): It wasn’t an easy puzzle, sure, but it was pretty typical crime scene investigation. Gather the clues, listen to the witnesses, rebuild the past. Hell, this was easier: these witnesses couldn’t even lie to you.

If Mick could solve this… maybe he had a point. Maybe danger was the missing ingredient in the Mick Mercury cocktail.

MICK: Hmm. I see.

JUNO: You… do?

MICK: I thought about it real hard. And my answer is… we press all the buttons at the same time.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Or… not.

PROCTOR: A very… interesting approach.

JUNO: Mick, seriously?

MICK: Yeah! I mean, I thought about the whole puzzle thing, but then I decided it was probably just a red herring. ‘Cause look at them all! They’re so weird and creepy! And I swear a second ago, I saw them all twitch or something, real murrrrderer stuff, so we gotta—

JUNO: They didn’t move, Mick. And the murderer is Sage, on the far right.

MICK: Well, I mean, yeah, that’s the obvious answer.

JUNO: Oh, yeah? Why’s that?

MICK: Because… uh…

(NERVOUS LAUGHING) I-I mean I-I don’t think I gotta waste both our– our time, tryin’ to talk through things we both already know, Jay—

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

JUNO: Mick, where the hell are you going?

MICK: C-c-c-y-y-y… I-I… ‘cause– like, d-don’t you feel p-p-poisoned? Definitely feel poisoned, Jay; at– at least a little poisoned? So, I’ll just press this here button, and—

JUNO: Damn it, Mercury! That’s the wrong button!

SOUND: RUNNING FOOTSTEPS. THUD.

MICK: What gives?! You said far right! I was goin’ for the far right!

JUNO: You were going for our right, Mick. You need to go for their right.

MICK: No, I mea– I mean—! Well that’s just—!

(SIGHS) Yeah. Yeah okay, that’s reasonable.

SOUND: BUTTON CLICKS. CONGRATULATORY JINGLE PLAYS.

PROCTOR: Excellent job, Mr. Steel! You’ve passed your Reasoning exam with flying colors!

SOUND: HINGE CREAKS OPEN.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Above us opened another trap door, and, another ladder fell out. The top floor. Finally. And with an hour to spare.

MICK: Whew! So, uh, good thing we made it through that one, huh… Juno?

…Jayjay?

JUNO: Give me your gun, Mercury.

MICK: …What?

JUNO: The gun the Proctor gave you. Give it to me.

MICK: But Jay – I’d never shoot you, you know that—

JUNO: You’d never shoot me on purpose, sure. But whatever the hell is up there for the Reading Comprehension test? Some monster made of goddamn books or something? You’re gonna aim for its table of contents and shoot me straight through the epilogue.

MICK: But Jay, we always got into trouble and it was always fine—

JUNO: Yeah, when we were kids. You’re forty, Mick. You’re not a kid anymore! You’re a screw-up, and this stupid danger idea of yours is going to get me killed. Now give me your gun.

MICK: I’m a… screw up?

JUNO: Don’t. You say it about yourself all the time.

MICK: Yeah, but… it’s different hearing it from, uh… Alright.

SOUND: FABRIC RUSTLING.

Here’s the gun.

JUNO: Thanks. Now let’s go.

SOUND: ROPES CREAKING.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I didn’t mean to snap at Mick like that.

Well actually I did mean to, but I felt bad about it, at least. And that's gotta be worth something, right?

Anyway, I didn’t have time to let my conscience have the floor. I could already feel the Hourglass Venom working through me – I could feel my head bloat and stomach throb. It would kill me soon. And just a few minutes after that, it’d kill Ramses.

MICK: (COUGHING) Ah, jeez buddy, I… really don’t feel so good.

JUNO: Yeah, a fatal dose of poison’ll do that to you. (COUGHS)

MICK: I guess in some ways we’re lucky, though. Back in the day I remember her tests were all over the news, and they were so…

There was that guy she killed with a geometry test… I’ve never seen someone’s legs go at that angle before. Or the Phys Ed case: the lady she made run so hard she wore holes in her feet. Or, the worst of all… Home Economics. What makes a person do all that, Jay?

JUNO: Who the hell knows, Mick. It’s not my job to psychoanalyze the killers. I just lock ‘em up.

PROCTOR: Then allow me, detective: raw creative genius. The greatest minds in the world are overtaken with it – the need to build, to create. When one is as skilled as I am, it simply… overtakes you. I am but a slave to the Muse within me.

MICK: But… that doesn’t make any sense.

JUNO: Mick, stop humoring her already.

MICK: No, but it doesn’t make any sense! If she’s got this creative bug or whatever, why should she wait twenty years—

PROCTOR: The Muse cannot be tamed!

(CHUCKLES) > Those old murders were excellent, of course. Nobody’s ever thought of all the applications for a protractor that I have. But genius, like wine, only improves with age.

JUNO: Unless the container’s as cracked up as you are. Then it turns into vinegar.

PROCTOR: I am not vinegar! You’ll see. This is a new era for the Proctor. My second creative career begins with you. And it will be even greater than the first. Go. The Reading Comprehension test is just through that door.

SOUND: DOOR OPENS.

MICK: (YELPS)

JUNO: …Wait, seriously?

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

PROCTOR: Deadly seriously, of course! (CACKLES)

JUNO: It’s just… sixteen more mannequins.

PROCTOR: Just sixteen mannequins, he says! Hasn’t anyone ever taught you to read the directions first?

MICK: Hey, Jay! There’s a paper on this table that says “Reading Exam Directions!”

JUNO: Don’t—! Touch it.

SOUND: PAPER FLIPPING.

“Davis, Major, Anya, Jean, Cobweb, Hephaestus, nine of their friends, and Sponge were walking down a road side-by-side, holding hands���” (GIGGLING)

MICK: I mean, Jay, that is a pretty wide road, but I don’t see what’s so funny—

JUNO: This is the best you’ve got, Proctor? Seriously? Twenty years to think something up and you start writing crossword puzzles?

PROCTOR: They are not crossword puzzles! They are works of logical genius, designed to test your…

JUNO: Ha!

PROCTOR: Stop laughing!

JUNO: HA!

MICK: Heyyy, uh, Jayjay, maybe don’t piss off the killer lady so much—

JUNO: No, come on, Mercury, this puzzle is hilarious. Listen to this: “Thompson had a deadly nut allergy, but none of them knew Anya very well. Major often confused Sponge with one of their friends in a yellow shirt; Cobweb was known to fingerpaint with peanut butter”—? (COUGHING)

PROCTOR: The test you’re laughing at is going to kill you, do you understand? And then who will be laughing? Time’s up! I will! D Minus!

MICK: If you’re laughing, you must have a plan, right? You know the solution to the puzzle?

JUNO: (COUGHING) ‘Course I do. Same as the solution to every test I ever passed in school.

MICK: Study hard? Apply yourself?

JUNO: No. Cheat.

SOUND: ELECTRONIC POWERING-UP BEEPS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I should’ve thought of it hours before. Getting rid of headaches is the point of technology, isn’t it? Or maybe that’s aspirin. Aspirin’s a kind of technology. Shut up, Steel. The point is, the Theia Spectrum had a filter for detecting electromagnetic frequencies.

THEIA: Now detecting electromagnetic frequencies.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Like that. The cables coming out of the mannequins’ feet had to be hooked up to all the other junk in here, didn’t they? All I had to do was track whichever mannequin had the cable that went back to the door and not… whatever the hell they were gonna do to us. It was hard to see through that rat’s nest, though… and even harder with all the shouting in my ear.

MICK: (COUGHING) Oh, Juno! The mannequins, they’re—

JUNO: Not now, Mercury.

MICK: But it’s just like downstairs, I’m trying to tell you that—

JUNO: You said you wanted to help, right? Well, y’know how you can help me now? By shutting up, staying still, and letting the goddamn professional do his job!

MICK: (WORRIED GROAN)

JUNO (NARRATOR): I found it in seconds: the mannequin three in from the left had a thick coil of wire extending from its feet, through the floor, and toward the door on the room’s far side. The other mannequins weren’t hooked up to any traps I could see – just a little glowing box on each of their chests.

When I thought about it later, I realized those were wireless transmitters. And when I thought about it later, I realized I probably shouldn’t have interrupted Mick, too.

MICK: Jay—

JUNO: It’s that one. Come on, let’s press the button and get the hell out of here.

MICK: I don’t know if you should get so close, Jay; I swear I saw ‘em move and—

SOUND: BUTTON CLICKS. CONGRATULATORY JINGLE PLAYS.

JUNO: There, see? Button’s hooked up straight to the door, now it’s open. Let’s– gahhh!

SOUND: WOODEN RATTLING & CLANKING.

MICK: Jay! The mannequins are moving!

JUNO: I can see that! This one’s got my arm!

MICK: And that one got your other arm!

JUNO: Gee, I had no idea!

PROCTOR: I educate you… I craft these tests for you with my own blood, sweat, and mannequins… and this is how you show your appreciation? You cheat?!

JUNO: Watch it, buddy, you’re gonna pull my damn arm off— ahhhh!

MICK: Oh, no, no, no! Don’t come any closer…

SOUND: RATTLING GETS LOUDER.

PROCTOR: Well, I suppose the last test will have to be cancelled. And too bad: I had an excellent plan for your ‘rithmetic exam.

JUNO: That doesn’t even start with an R, you has-been! AH!

PROCTOR: Perhaps not. But here’s another R for you: Recess!

MICK: Recess? Hey, that sounds kinda nice…

Wow, those things are movin’ quick!

PROCTOR: At Recess, all rules are suspended. Good luck, Mr. Steel and Mr. Mercury. Your classmates play rough.

SOUND: CACOPHONY OF WOODEN CLUNKS & BANGS.

MICK: Jay, what do we do?

JUNO: Personally, I think I say bye-bye to my arm, because it feels like Pinocchio over here’s gonna pull it out of its socket.

MICK: Seriously! Oww!

That one almost got me! I’d fend ‘em off for you, but you took my gun and—

JUNO: Yeah, yeah, don’t remind me! Just get the hell out of here, Mercury! I opened the door, you go without me. Maybe you can find the antidote on your own.

MICK: I’m not just gonna leave you!

JUNO: You’d better! Augh! The only thing I want less than for this wood shop project to rip me in two is to watch it rip you in two first!

MICK: But I can’t— oww!

JUNO: Just go before one of those things gets you!

MICK: I said I wasn’t gonna leave you!

JUNO (NARRATOR): And so in came Mick Mercury to the rescue, fists flying.

MICK: (YELLING)

JUNO (NARRATOR): And sure, it wasn’t exactly elegant—

MICK: Ow, ow, ow, ow, that smarts—!

JUNO (NARRATOR): —but it got the job done.

MICK: Hey, I got ‘em!

JUNO (NARRATOR): And there goes number two.

MICK: The other ones are getting closer!

JUNO: Make for the door, quickly!

SOUND: CLANKING NOISES FADE. PANTING, GASPING. DOOR CLOSES.

MICK: (COUGHING) That was a great idea, Jay… good on ya, closin’ that door behind us.

JUNO: Close it? I didn’t close it. I thought you did.

PROCTOR: Aaaaaaand locked!

SOUND: LOUD SNAP.

Did you really think I’d have remote controls on my mannequins and not on the doors, Mr. Steel? You underestimate my genius.

JUNO: To be honest, Proctor, I haven’t seen any evidence of it yet.

PROCTOR: Of course you have! I have accounted for every possibility! You have been outsmarted at every turn!

JUNO: (COUGHS) Funny. I remember us outsmarting you, twice so far.

PROCTOR: That’s—!

But you still haven’t passed the biggest test of all, have you? It is wise to save the most difficult questions for last, but… your hourglass is running low. Only ten minutes remain before the venom claims you, and only fifteen before I claim Ramses O’Flaherty. But you still have one test to pass: Arithmetic.

JUNO: Still doesn’t start with an R.

PROCTOR: The equation is simple, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to give you any hints on this one. You will find it written over the doorway you must pass through. And you will find the window you seek on its other side.

JUNO: What about the damn antidote?

PROCTOR: Oh, if you solve this test, Mr. Steel, you will certainly have found the antidote. Though I must say that’s a big “if.” Good luck.

SOUND: COMMS BEEP.

JUNO: Alright… alright, let’s do this stupid puzzle. I think I can feel my lungs curdling.

MICK: Uh… Jay? Did you look at this equation yet? ‘Cause… I’m a liiiittle worried.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I looked.

JUNO: Oh, god damn it.

JUNO (NARRATOR): And this was what the Proctor wanted us to solve:

A stick figure, minus a skull and crossbones, equals a picture of an open door.

MICK: Is that algebra? I was never any good at algebra.

JUNO: The door will only open when we’re not poisoned anymore.

MICK: Hey, that’s alright! How do we do that?

JUNO: I have no idea.

MICK: That’s… less good.

JUNO: Either that, or, the door will only open for someone who isn’t poisoned…

And we know one way to get the antidote.

MICK: Jay, come on, don’t…

JUNO: Here. Take this gun. I never should’ve taken it from you. Just shoot me and get it over with.

MICK: I mean, come on. This isn’t funny.

JUNO: Usually I’m very funny, Mick. Just not trying right now.

MICK: I’m not gonna shoot you.

JUNO: You should.

MICK: Well, whether or not I should, I’m not, alright? You shoot me.

JUNO: No.

MICK: Why not?

JUNO: That’s a stupid question and you know it. I know you’ve got your dumb danger thing or whatever, but it’s a fantasy, and this is real. Just take the damn gun already.

MICK: My whole point was that I didn’t like my life the way it was, alright? I’m not gonna like it any better if I gotta think about shooting you all the time, okay?

JUNO: Hmph.

MICK: Look. We’ve still got ten minutes for this to turn out okay. Okay?

(COUGHS) Anything can happen in ten minutes, Jay. Anything.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Or, nothing can happen in ten minutes. We spent our time kicking the door, coughing, searching the walls for a secret passage, coughing, scanning the room with the Theia Spectrum, and coughing. But that was it. No way through, no secret passage, no hidden antidote: the room was bare. Mick and I were the only things in it.

Oh wait – I think at one point, Mick might’ve puked in the corner. But besides that, there was nothing in the room but us.

SOUND: COUGHING, PANTING.

MICK: How much more time we got?

JUNO: Two minutes.

MICK: That long? (PANTS) Agh, this hurts.

JUNO: (GASPING) So whaddya think, Mercury? Is this how you expected to die? Yukking it up and wishing you’d killed Juno Steel?

MICK: Kinda, yeah.

JUNO & MICK: (LAUGH-COUGHING) Ow, ow, ow!

JUNO: So it turns out this job wasn’t just the biggest mistake of your life, Mick: it was the last one, too.

MICK: Hey, don’t count me out yet. I still got a minute and a hal– agh! Ah-ahhh—!

JUNO: Mick? Mick!

MICK: No, no, I’m alright, I’m alright. (COUGHS) Hey, Jay… why d’you think she goes through all this, just to kill people? I mean… if she wanted to just poison us and lock us in a room, she coulda done it at two minutes in. Hell, she didn’t even need to wait for you – she coulda poisoned me while I was napping in the closet. So… why? Why would you do all that?

JUNO: That’s… that’s a good question, actually.

Well, I mean, based on what was riling her up earlier, she probably just wants to prove she's smarter than us?

MICK: What? But she’s a genius! Why’s she gotta prove it?

JUNO: Being smart and feeling smart are different things, Mick.

MICK: I guess so. I just can’t believe… she cheated us, after all that.

JUNO: Cheated us?

MICK: Yeah. I mean, I thought her whole thing was that her victims can technically make it through her tests alive, right? How’s it prove she’s so smart if she just poisons us and locks us in a room? It doesn’t seem fair.

JUNO: No… it doesn’t.

Actually, now that you mention it, it’s not fair at all.

MICK: I mean, yeah, I’m upset about it too, Jay, but I don’t know how much complaining’s gonna do right now—

JUNO: And it doesn’t prove a damn thing, does it? If one of us has to die, she hasn’t proven she’s smarter than us. It doesn’t make sense.

Mick, I’m about to do something really stupid.

MICK: Yeah? Mind if I join you?

JUNO: Kinda. Just promise me something, alright? If this goes bad – and, trust me, it’s probably gonna go bad – promise you’ll try the door? One last time?

MICK: How come I get the feeling this isn’t gonna be the fun kind of stupid, Juno?

JUNO (NARRATOR): Mick got that feeling for a good reason. Because the man was a disaster, and a mess, and a klutz, and a… well, you get the idea. But here’s one thing he wasn’t, not really: an idiot.

So I took the pistol the Proctor had given me, and I pointed it right in between my eyes.

SOUND: GUN COCKING.

MICK: Jay! What’re you doing?!

JUNO: Later, Mick. See you on the other side.

MICK: Put down that gun!

SOUND: GUNSHOT.

Juno!

SOUND: THUMP.

Augh, Jay! Jayjay! Don’t leave me here, buddy, come back! You can’t just shoot yourself and leave me—!

JUNO: The other side of that doorway!

SOUND: GUNSHOT.

MICK: Owww! That smarts!

JUNO: Damn right it does. That’s what happens when you load your antidote into the barrel of a revolver, Mercury: you get all the fun of a shot with none of the cartoon band-aids.

MICK: But– hey, I-I feel better! The poison’s all gone! You did it, Jay! We made it! But how—?

SOUND: COMMS BEEP.

PROCTOR (FROM COMMS): Well done, Mr. Steel. Now, as promised: the door.

SOUND: DOOR OPENS.

Come along, I’m waiting for you.

JUNO: I’ll tell you while we run. Got a mayor to save.

SOUND: RUNNING FOOTSTEPS.

Honestly, Mick, you figured it out before I did. The answer’s all in the motive. Why does the Proctor kill the way she does?

MICK: To prove she’s smart, you said.

JUNO: Exactly. And it doesn’t count as proving she’s smart unless there’s a way we could have figured it out. She said that if we made it through her tests, we’d be cured – which we assumed meant she’d give us the antidote, but she never told us we didn’t have it already.

MICK: But… she told us to shoot each other!

JUNO: And because I’m your friend and you’re a moron, she knew we’d never do it.

(PANTING) So if we had to have access to the antidote somewhere, and there were no hidden compartments or anything in that room—

MICK: That means she had to have given us the antidote ahead of time! Wow, Jay. You’re really good at this, huh?

JUNO: I get by. Barely. And usually with a broken leg or three.

SOUND: DOOR OPENS.

This must be the room.

SOUND: WIND.

MICK: And that must be the window you were looking for, right?

JUNO: Looks like it, but… where the hell is the Proctor?

JUNO (NARRATOR): Through the window I could see the Fortezza courtyard below: the crowd of people shuffling into their seats and Ramses O’Flaherty shuffling his papers at the podium. I checked my watch. 11:55. Only five minutes until the Proctor took out Ramses… and I had no idea where the hell she was.

PROCTOR: (LAUGHING) You’ve done very well to make it this far, Mr. Steel, Mr. Mercury. Better than expected, I will admit. But this is the end of the line. Welcome to your Final Exam.

JUNO: Where the hell are you?! Damn it, you really did lie to us!

PROCTOR: I didn’t lie to you. I said I was waiting for you, and I was… just not in the Fortezza. When taking an exam, always remember to mark up the questions – that’s how they get you.

JUNO: Where are you?

PROCTOR: I’m afraid that is the sole question on your exam, Mr. Steel. Question one: where is the genius murderer? (LAUGHS) On the windowsill in front of you lies a long-range laser rifle. Enough to kill me, certainly… if you can find me. (CACKLING)

MICK: A rifle? So do you think… she’s somewhere down there, Jay?

JUNO: Maybe, yeah, she’s got to be.

SOUND: MECHANICAL CLICKS.

But… the rifle doesn’t have a stun setting! I can’t kill random people in the crowd!

MICK: You’ll get it, Jay. I know you’ll get it! You’re a sharpshooter! The sharpest there is!

JUNO: Mick…!

MICK: So you better watch yourself, Proctor! He’s the best sniper in this city! They call him One Eyeball Steel!

JUNO: Mick, nobody calls me that—

MICK: One-Ball Steel, then!

JUNO: Nope, nope, went the wrong way on that one.

PROCTOR: Only three minutes left, Mr. Steel. Your answer, please. (LAUGHS) All the best tests instruct just as much as they measure, you know. I wonder what you’ve learned from this one?

JUNO (NARRATOR): That was a good question. In fact, it might’ve been the first good question the Proctor had asked all day.

So what had I learned from this test? The Proctor was working with someone, that was for sure. Even a genius couldn’t manage to smuggle in all of those weapons and mannequins without some serious help. I’d learned that she had confidence issues, too – that whoever had hired her had probably pulled on that, told her that she’d never be able to pull off what she did twenty years ago. Which meant whatever the answer was to this exam, it had to be perfect. It had to be flawless.

JUNO: …Flawless.

PROCTOR: And don’t I know it.

JUNO: It’s got to be flawless. That means the diorama down there has to be completely accurate!

MICK: But you told me the diorama said the laser must have come through this window.

JUNO: Straight from here to the podium, Mercury – but it never said which direction.

MICK: She’s hiding inside the podium?!

PROCTOR: Time’s up, Mr. Steel. You have five seconds to answer.

JUNO (NARRATOR): There was no time, and another problem to deal with: in order to shoot a laser from here to the Proctor, I’d have to send it through Ramses O’Flaherty’s head. So I fired a shot to break the window—

SOUND: GUNSHOT. SHATTERING GLASS.

—and I gave the best warning I could.

SOUND: RAIN.

JUNO: (CALLING) Ramses! Duck!

JUNO (NARRATOR): And either it was my first stroke of luck for the day or the old man had a hell of a reaction time, because he was down on the ground before I was finished shouting his name.

THEIA: Target locked.

SOUND: GUNSHOT.

PROCTOR: (GASPS)

MICK: Did it work? Did it work??

SOUND: DISTANT SCREAMS. STATIC CRACKLING.

JUNO: I… guess so.

PROCTOR: (COUGHING) Very well done, Mr. Steel. Perhaps I… finally did meet my intellectual match.

JUNO: Alright, at the start of this whole mess you said you’d tell me who you’re working for if I passed all your tests. Well, I passed ‘em; start talking.

PROCTOR: I suppose I must… I haven’t much time left…

You want to know who hired me to kill Ramses O’Flaherty? It was his worst enemy, of course.

JUNO: Oh, come on! No more tests, no more riddles. I won.

PROCTOR: Education… is its own reward. Now, here's your final question.

(COUGHS) In order to find Ramses’s enemy, you must go home again.

JUNO: Home?! How the hell do you know where I live?

PROCTOR: A frozen place, this home… a land the past, of heroes, of justice… a place further than the inky blackness of space, yet as close as the heart of every child… Home, Mr. Steel. You’ll find Ramses’s enemy, if you just go home.

JUNO: Damn it, stop babbling and give me a straight answer!

PROCTOR: You’ll never solve this. I can hear it in your voice! You’ve lost! I’ve won!

JUNO: Don’t die on me! I’m talking to you!

PROCTOR: I’m the smartest! I’ve beaten you! I could beat… anybody… (PANTING)

SOUND: STATIC FADES.

***

JUNO (NARRATOR): Ramses barked a few orders and the cops were off with their tails between their legs looking for a way to get us down through the Fortezza window. In the meantime, Mick and I celebrated. As well as you can celebrate in the dusty old attic of the person you just killed, anyway.

SOUND: HEAVY RAIN.

MICK: So… we made it! That’s somethin’, right?

JUNO: Sure, Mick. It’s really somethin’.

MICK: Got a little hairy there for a few minutes, but I always knew we’d make it through! Or, at least, I often thought we would. Sometimes, suspected. (CHUCKLES)

Hey… what do you think that riddle she said at the end meant? It sounded pretty tricky to me.

JUNO: I don’t know, Mick. But, if it’s all the same to you, I don’t really want to think about the Proctor right now.

MICK: I get it, I get it.

I-I just don’t understand, Jay. She was so smart. She made all those crazy traps and stuff while she was locked in a prison cell. And even if she did have help, she had to build all that so quickly, and so secretly… she must’ve been one of the smartest people on Mars.

So, why’d she have to prove that she was smart all the time? Why’d she have to kill people to do it?

JUNO: I don’t know, Mick. Why’s anybody hurt anybody?

MICK: I guess so. …I’m sorry.

JUNO: For what?

MICK: I don’t know. I just felt like one of us had to apologize, and you weren’t gonna do it.

JUNO: Yeah, that makes sense.

But look… Mick, maybe I should apologize. I gave you a lot of crap about your stupid danger theory, but… you were right. We made it out. Again.

(SIGHS) I wish you’d do something else, but who the hell knows? Maybe you’re onto something.

MICK: Wait, seriously? What are you, stupid?

JUNO: What?

MICK: Taking this job was one of the dumbest things I’ve ever done, Jay! I didn’t make it out ‘cause I’m lucky, or I’m good at dealing with danger. I made it out ‘cause you bailed me out. I’d be chalk dust without you!

JUNO: That’s… probably true.

And surprisingly responsible.

MICK: I don’t know why nothing ever works out for me, but you were right. I don’t think getting in danger all the time’s the answer either.

Maybe it doesn’t really matter anymore. I mean… I’m just gonna make myself miserable if I’m always trying to be the guy I used to be. So I guess the hard part… the hard part is, figuring out who the hell I am now? …Does that sound right?

JUNO: You could always just stay so busy that you don’t have time to think about it. That’s usually what I do.

But, for what it’s worth, Mercury, I think when you finally figure out who you are… you’re gonna make an impact.

MICK: Aw, Jay, that’s the nicest—

JUNO: Only question is whether the impact is the galactic-peace kind or the gigantic-smoking-crater kind. Could really go either way.

MICK: …Oh. That still might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.

JUNO: You’re welcome.

JUNO (NARRATOR): The cops got us down a few minutes later. I told Mick to go home and then waited on the edge of the crowd while Ramses talked down the reporters.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about the Proctor. About the sound she’d made on her last breath. It wasn’t that I thought I shouldn’tve killed her; I-I was… just a little shaken, I guess.

Because, if real evil exists, then the Proctor – a woman who killed twenty people without remorse – was it. But that means sometimes evil is just someone trying to prove to the world that they’re worth something. Or just prove it to themselves, maybe.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING.

RAMSES: Juno. You cut it a little close at the end there, but over all… nice work. Come on. I’ll give you a ride home.

JUNO: Home…

This isn’t over yet, Ramses.

RAMSES: Hmm?

JUNO: The Proctor said she’d been hired by someone to kill you. Your worst enemy, she said, and whoever they are, I don’t think they’re gonna let up.

RAMSES: Did she, now. Well. I suppose that’s what I have you for.

JUNO: Ramses, I don’t know—

RAMSES: What else did the Proctor say to you?

JUNO: It was some kind of riddle, I guess, I– couldn’t make any sense of it. Something about going home, a place of heroes, as distant as the stars and close as kids’ hearts…?

RAMSES: (CHUCKLING, THEN FULL-ON HOWLING WITH LAUGHTER)

MUSIC: STARTS.

JUNO: What? …What’s so funny?

RAMSES: An interesting place to strike. I’m surprised I hadn’t thought of it sooner.

JUNO: You know the answer to the riddle?

RAMSES: I do, in fact.

SOUND: CAR PULLS UP.

My limo will bring you home. On second thought, I don’t think I’ll be coming with you. I have some calls to make.

JUNO: But Ramses—

RAMSES: Tomorrow morning, I think… no, no, I’ll send a car for you again tomorrow night. Rest up until then.

JUNO: Ramses, listen to me, damn it! Where the hell is she trying to send us? All this stupid stuff about my home?

RAMSES: (CHUCKLES) Oh, Juno. When she said ‘home,’ she didn’t mean yours. She meant mine.

SOUND: KNOCKING.

Bring him home, please.

JUNO: Ramses, you can’t start talking nonsense, too.

RAMSES: All in good time, my friend. Rest up. Tomorrow night… adventure awaits.

SOUND: CAR DOOR SLAMS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I watched him as the car pulled away – Ramses O’Flaherty, who hadn’t even existed thirty years ago, who had a good shot at being the next mayor of Hyperion City. Ramses O’Flaherty: the man who was all future and no past.

There was something appealing about that, I’ll admit. The thought that you could just shed your old self like an old skin and become someone new. Someone important. Someone like Ramses O’Flaherty.

So turn your back on the past, Steel. Tie yourself to the man of the future… and hope that what’s ahead is better than what you left behind.

MUSIC: ENDS.

***

SOUND: TRAIN MOVING, MUSIC.

CONDUCTOR: If you've enjoyed this tale, please consider donating to The Penumbra on Patreon. Our artists work tirelessly to bring you these stories, and if you have the means, we hope you will support our efforts. Every dollar helps. You can find that page at patreon.com/thepenumbrapodcast. If you support us on Patreon at the $10 level or higher, you will receive access to commentary tracks like this one, from Noah Simes, co-creator Kevin Vibert, and actors ALlison Choat and Stefano Perti:

SOUND: TRAIN STOPS, DOOR SLIDES OPEN, RAIN.

NOAH: …I mean I think this is a testament both Kevin, to your writing of Mick and Stefano, your portrayal of him, but, y’know, I– I certainly can sort of identify with that feeling of like, I haven’t done… enough, or I haven’t done what I’m supposed to do—

STEFANO: Yes. Please don't have let that have been my greatest moment—

NOAH: Right, right, yeah!

STEFANO: —no matter what that moment is.

NOAH: Right, beca– right. You never know what the high peak is gonna be, and you just pray that it…

SOUND: DOOR SLIDES SHUT.

CONDUCTOR: You can also support The Penumbra by liking us on Facebook, following us on Twitter @thepenumbrapod, following us on Tumblr @thepenumbrapodcast, telling your friends about us, telling your friends to tell their friends about us, and especially by rating and reviewing our podcast on iTunes. Every rating, comment, and kind word spreads our stories further and inspires us to keep creating more and better tales to come.

We would like to give special thanks to all who support us on Patreon, but especially to Jaimie Gunter, The Princess and the Scrivener, Hannah Tsim, and Elizabeth Miller for their incredibly generous contributions per episode. Thank you.

This tale, Juno Steel and the Lesson Learned, was told by the following people: Joshua Ilon as Juno Steel, Matthew Zahnzinger as Ramses O’Flaherty, AlLison Choat as the Proctor, and Stefano Perti as Mick Mercury.

On staff at The Penumbra: Kevin Vibert is our lead writer and recording engineer. Sophie Kaner is our director and sound designer. Grahame Turner is our script editor. Noah Simes is our production manager. Alice Chung is our designer and financial manager. Original music by Ryan Vibert. Promotional art by Mikaela Buckley.

The Penumbra is created and produced by Sophie Kaner and Kevin Vibert.

I'm afraid this is the end of the line for today, dear Traveler. We hope you will ride with The Penumbra again soon.

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

[sam-lives-story]

#SamLives - Chapter 3

“Belief”

[Previous|Next]

Also find the latest chapters of this story on [Archive Of Our Own]

“Jack, you need sleep.”

Day Nine of the #SamLives debacle.

Jack would be lying if he said he’d been sleeping fine, that he hadn’t been worried. The stress of the situation was beginning to take its toll, and it hadn’t been made any better by the GameTheory video that had come out the day before. Matt had good intentions, Jack knew, but...it hadn’t exactly worked the way he assumed the other YouTuber had been hoping.

“Game Theory: Does #SamLive? THE SCIENTIFIC PROOF!”

MatPat was one of the few YouTubers who had, accidentally, learned of Sam’s existence. It was at that Rachel Ray event, the one where he and Matt had been on the same Taco-Making Team™. Sam hadn’t been feeling well so Jack had brought him along for the day, keeping the little eyeball in his hoodie and out of sight, close to him in case Sam needed him. But in the midst of the chaos of the competition, Jack had been jostled by Matt, had tripped and landed on his arse. Matt had immediately apologized and laughed it off...but when he’d reached down to help Jack stand up, Sam had peaked out from where he’d been hiding in Jack’s hood. Matt had frozen, a stunned look on his face, and in an instant Jack knew that he had seen. That he knew. For a moment the pair had been frozen in a stare-off, neither sure what to do. Then Jack had shaken his head quickly and put a finger to his lips. No. Please. Quiet. Don’t say anything...

...and Matt had nodded. He’d helped Jack to his feet and not commented on it at all. Tom (their third teammate) had missed the entire exchange, cracking some joke about “Laying down on the job”. Later, in a bathroom down a back hallway, Jack had explained everything to Matt...and Matt had sworn he wouldn’t tell a soul.

So when #SamLived had taken the YouTube scene by storm faster than Scott Cawthon turned out FNaF games, and when Jack saw that GameTheory had made a video about it....he knew what Matt was trying to do. The video wasn’t proving that Sam was real. The video was to try and counter-prove the theories saying he was and to point out all the reasons why Sam couldn’t possibly exist. Which would have been fine, except that it meant all of the fans over on the GameTheory channel who hadn’t heard about the #SamLives chaos would now be in the know.

“...ack? Jack!”

“Hm...?” Jack dragged himself from his thoughts and blinked, shaking himself mentally. “Sorry Peej, I missed that.”

PJ was watching him from the office chair next to his with a frown on his face. He nudged the Irishman’s leg with his foot.

“Man, you were totally out of it for a bit there. I was just saying you should get some sleep.”

“I’m tryin’, PJ, I swear I am,” Jack smiled weakly. “I’ve just been stressed. I’ll be fine in a few days.”

"Are you still up for recording a game today? We can wait until next week if you’re not feeling up to it.”

“Nah, I’ll be fine,” Jack pulled on a brighter smile. Good ol’ PJ. He was a decent guy and an even better friend. But Jack shook his head, running a hand through his hair to fix it. “Don’t worry about me. A video or two isn’t gonna be the death of me! I’ll take a nap when we’re done with this one, alright?”

PJ held up both hands in surrender, returning the Irishman’s infectious grin.

“Whatever you say! But you had better be serious about that nap. You look like you need it.”

Jack scoffed and laughed, his next words dripping with sarcasm.

“Oh, thaaaanks, thanks for the compliment. I reeaaally needed that self-esteem boost. You’re too kind.”

“No problem!” PJ grinned cheekily back at him.

The two fell into laughter, and once they had started into the Nintendo Switch game they’d planned on recording, most of Jack’s worries fell away for the time being.

That’s not to say they didn’t come back. Jack kept his promise to PJ. He took a nap halfway through the day, crashing onto his couch with all the grace of a baby giraffe.PJ - knowing he needed the rest - only asked Jack if he could raid the pantry (“Sure, just don’t touch the cookies or you’re dead to me.”) before leaving him to his devices. But Jack’s sleep was a restless one, leaving him feeling only a fraction better when he woke up later to his phone ringing on the coffee table beside him.

With his face still buried in the stiff couch pillows, Jack reached out out blindly, his hand skittering across the table’s surface like a drunk spider, landing on the remote, a game controller, and yesterday’s mail before finally coming into contact with his phone. He answered it without looking, face still half-mushed in the pillow.

“Mph?”

“...Jack?”

“Wassup?”

“Did I wake you up?”

The humorous tone on the other end of the phone was vaguely familiar, and it took him a moment to make the connection in his barely-woken-up state.

“...you’ve reached Jacksepticeye’s mouth. His brain isn’t here right now, but if ye call back again in a few minutes it might’ve come back around by then. Either that, or his mouth will have left too.”

“The infamous screaming Irishman of YouTube, missing his mouth? The horror!”

“Oh, shuddup Mark,” Jack chuckled. He dragged himself into a semi-upright position, slouching on the couch. “What’s up?”

“What are you doing asleep at six in the evening?”

“I took a nap.” Jack yawned and scratched at the scruff along his jaw. “Is there a reason fer this call or didja just miss hearin’ my voice?”

“Can ‘both’ be an answer?” Jack could hear Mark’s grin from the other end of the line.

“Heh, I s’ppose,” he chuckled a little. “But really, what’s up?”

“I...eh. Saw the video that GameTheory posted. He really jumped on the bandwagon quickly, didn’t he?”

“Is this about Sam again?” Jack didn’t mean for it to come out as annoyed as it did, honestly. He really didn’t. But it sounded that way anyway and he winced at his own words. PJ stuck his head out from the doorway to the kitchen, an eyebrow raised in question, a bag of crisps in hand. Jack waved him off with a smile.

“I...” Mark faltered. Seemed like he’d hit the nail right on the head. “...well, yeah, but I’ve got a reason for bringing it up, I swear.” The American was quick to defend himself, and Jack couldn’t help but wonder if Mark thought he’d hang up because of the subject matter. He sighed and sat up a little straighter.

“Oh yeah?” Jack asked, trying to sound more friendly. “And what reason might that be?”

“Well see...the thing is...” Mark trailed off. Jack could hear sounds in the background, movement. Like Mark was moving around the house. Was he pacing? “...I mean...w-well, it’s kinda...weird. I mean not bad weird, or freaky weird - okay it might be a little freaky to some people but–”

“If this is about your third nipple I already know,” Jack snickered, trying to lessen the tension with a joke. (PJ clearly thought it was funny if his stifled laughter from the other room was anything to go by.) But it didn’t seem to help because Mark let out a frustrated groan on the other end of the line.

“No! No, it’s...” More silence. “Okay, it’s kind of about Sam, but kinda not.”

“Okay...?” Jack stood up from the couch, shuffling to the kitchen as Mark struggled to find the words he wanted to say. Coffee. He needed coffee for this.

“OH!” Mark shouted suddenly, as if he’d had an epiphany. “OH! Oh oh oh! Okay! So! In Bendy and the Ink Machine, Joey Drew has that...that one tape recording, where he’s talking about belief. About how it can do amazing, impossible things, and how you could even cheat death or something–”

“Mark, what in th’ blue blazes does this have ta do with my imaginary friend?”

“I’m getting there, I promise.”

Jack rolled his eyes and started the coffee machine, leaning back against the counter with one hand tucked in his pocket. PJ was reclining in a kitchen chair, playing a game on his phone with his feet kicked up on the table, and he was still giving Jack puzzled looks that made his curiosity about the phone call clear. Jack covered the mouthpiece and lowered his voice.

"It's Mark," he murmured. "Markiplier. Keeps asking about the #SamLives thing."

"Oh, yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask...how did you guys do that?" PJ asked. “New animation program? Robin did a fantastic job.”

PJ’s grip on his phone had gone slack while he was talking, but a beeping sound effect from the game immediately drew his attention and he quickly focused on playing it while he waited for a response. Jack didn't respond right away...what would his lie be this time?...but before he could even figure out an answer, his phone buzzed against his ear, a notification pinging in the background. So he pulled the mobile away from his face and put the call on speaker, minimizing the app so he could check whatever had just gone off. All he offered PJ was a half-shrug as a response to his question.

“Belief. I’m talking about belief,” Mark continued. Jack opened Twitter, still listening. “I never really thought about it before I played Bendy, but afterwards...it just made sense! And then you posted that video with Sam and I remembered that quote from the game...”

Jack swiped over to his messages, and saw one from somebody he was fairly certain he wasn’t friends with. Weird...he tapped it. It took a long time for the message to load, and once it did, the app closed itself out. Jack scrunched up his nose. Well then. It was gonna be one of those days then, huh? The rustle of static came over the speaker for a moment and Jack frowned, struggling to understand Mark’s words.

“If y...ave...nough of it you ca...”

“Mark? Mark, you’re cuttin’ out, man–”

Jack tugged his other hand free from his pocket and tapped the screen - and he gasped sharply when a static shock jolted through his finger. He shook his hand roughly through the air and winced, cursing under his breath. What the hell...? Then whatever weak connection he’d had with Mark’s call was gone, the call dropping and ending abruptly. Jack...blinked. And stared at his phone.

"You alright?" PJ looked up from his game again to frown at the irishman, who tugged on a quick smile. He shrugged and tucked his phone in his pocket. Ah, well...Mark must’ve had bad reception.

"I'm fine, Peej," he crossed the kitchen to tap PJ’s phone screen, making him lose whatever game he was playing and earning a cry of protest in return. "Just a little static shock. Surprised me more 'n anything. But hey, I’m good! I’m golden! I'm a big, strong boy! I can handle anything!"

Jack's tone turned humorous and his antics drew a snort and rolled eyes from PJ.

"Sure you can," he drawled, swatting at Jack’s arm to stop him interfering with his game again, and making the gamer scamper away with a victorious grin. "A big, strong boy who's scared of heights."

"Hey! That is a completely valid fear to have, you hypocrite!" Jack protested as he continued making his coffee. He pretended to look highly affronted by the accusation. "I mean it’s not really the height that scares me, it’s the fuckin’ death waiting at the bottom of the fall. Can ye blame me?"

“Maybe you’re just scared of being tall because you’ve been so short your whole life–”

PJ barely managed to dart out of the kitchen in time to miss the roll of paper towel Jack chucked at his head.

Jack finished his coffee and moved on with his day, his focus turning to recording the second video with PJ…though somehow Mark’s little ramblings about “belief” lingered with him, hovering in the back of his mind. What had he meant by that…?

[A/N] This part/chapter ended up being longer than the previous two...oops lol. Got a little carried away. I don’t have a real plan for this, but I have a feeew ideas about where it might go. This could get interesting... :3c

Also find the latest chapters of this story on [Archive Of Our Own]

[Previous|Next]

[Chapter List]

[specialmindz]

“huh?”

“Hey Snas, how you spell yo’ name? Is with an S or a Z?”

“what are you talking about?”

“Is S-N-A-S or S-N-A-Z? It sound like da’ latter, but I’s a baby, so I don’t spell good.”

“what exactly are you putting my name on?” asked Sans, eyeing the piece of paper in his brother’s hand.

“Is a flyer.”

“what’s on the flyer?”

“Letters.”

“bro-”

“Letters and a picture of you that I taked. Lookin’ fine in dat lab coat big Buther...”

“seriously pap, what are you putting my name on?”

“Is a job wanted flyer! I knows you doesn’t like working for Daddy for no monies, so I’m gonna get you a new one!”

Sans took the paper from his brother and began to read it out loud. “big-ass baby looking for work. cute butt, cute head, cute everything. has experience in being daddy’s slave-bro you’re not posting this.”

“Why not?!”

“many reasons.”

“You like being Daddy’s slave?”

“no, but if we’re starting with the obvious, this picture is inappropriate.”

“It’s yo’ butt!”

“i can see that-”

“I took the picture so they knows I’s not lying. There be a picture of your head and your feets underneath like a flippybook-”

“what is it with you and butts lately papyrus? you keep bringing them up and it’s weird!”

“Pooburty.”

“babies don’t go through puberty.”

“Oh.”

“...”

“...”

“...I needs a doctor big Buther...”

Sans ignored him and continued to read the book he was holding, crumbling the paper Papyrus had made into a ball and shoving it into his coat pocket. He had hoped the act would make his brother get the message and go away, but the baby didn’t seem to care that his hard work had been destroyed. Instead, Papyrus merely pulled out another sheet and began to scribble on it with a pen.

“Okay, how’s dis? Big-ass baby looking for work, lossa experience being Daddy’s slave. No butt stuff.”

“papyrus, no. i appreciate what you’re trying to do, but no. it sucks that i don’t get paid, but i enjoy my job, so it’s fine.”

“*Tch* Lazybones! Work not supposed to be fun!” Grumbling, the infant angrily scribbled out what he wrote and started again. “Kay’...big-ass baby looking for fun. Lossa experience being Daddy’s slave, but still needs to be punished. He’s been real bad-”

“what?”

“He’s use to abuse and likes to abuse others-”

“i’m abusive? i’m abusive because i don’t want another job?”

“He be very obee-di-ant and likes to act like animals when he play. He go ‘WOOF WOOF! ARRROOOOO!”

“gimme that freaking paper.”

“Dis be Snas’s number, call if you gots any kestions or weequests.”

“don’t put down my number.”

“No number...? Kay’, I go change it to yo’ email.”

Sans paused. “’go?’ what do you mean ‘go?’ where are you go-ING?”

“Undernet.”

“the undernet?”

“Yep!”

“you put my cell number on the undernet?”

“I putted the job thingy and yo’ cell number. Now I gots to copy dis stuff and then post da’ flyers so ERYBODY knows about you. ”

“...”

“Also I didn’t know how to spell Snas, so I put Sans kay’?”

Sans’ sockets went dark.

RING RING!

“LOOK SNAS! An employer...”

RING RING RING!”

“Isn’t you gonna answer your phone big Buther? They might has a fun job for you...”

RING RING RING!

Looking at his pocket warily, the comedian reached inside and took out his phone, looking at the number.

“*sigh*”

It’s just Dad.

“hello? hey dad, sup?”

“You know what’s ‘sup’ child...”

“nooo, can’t say that i do actually. you realize i’m in the next room right? you can just come talk to me.”

“Well yes, I suppose I COULD do that, but there’s a slight problem.”

“you’re busy?”

“I’M DETAINED!”

Sans pulled the receiver away from his head. “what?”

“SOMEONE FOUND YOUR POST ON THE UNDERNET AND NOW I’M BEING QUESTIONED BY THE ROYAL GUARD!”

“wh-heh heh ha ha ha ha ha ha!”

“IT’S NOT FUNNY SANS, THEY THINK I’M SELLING MY CHILDREN! WHY WOULD YOU PUT SOMETHING LIKE THAT ON THE WEB?”

“did you actually read the post or...?”

“OF COURSE NO-it was your brother wasn’t it?”

“NYEH HEE HEE HEE HEE!”

“Put that little shit on the phone.”

“alrighty,” turning around, Sans held out his cell phone to his little brother who grabbed it with both hands.

“Hellwoe? What you want?”

“TAKE THAT POST DOWN RIGHT NOW PAPYRUS!”

“Nyeh? Papyrus? I’s not Papyrus, dis be da’ pizza shop...”

“PAPYRUS!”

“We gots da’ cheesy pizza, da’ peppy-roni pizza, and we gots pizza with widdle fishies on them. They look like dis,” Papyrus widened his eyes and opened his mouth, imitating a dead anchovy.

“heh heh heh...”

“You want dat pizza? Is good...”

“I WANT YOU TO TAKE DOWN THAT POST!”

“What post?”

“YOU KNOW WHAT POST!”

“No I doesn’t. Look sir, if you doesn’t want a pizza, don’t call here kay’? Cause’ dis be the pizza pace.”

BEEP!

Papyrus hung up.

“I think he bought it big Buther...”

“...why?”

BE-CUN!

“PAPYRUS GET THAT GODDAMN POST OFF THE UNDERNET!!!” screamed Gaster from the intercom.

“uh. oh! heh heh heh!”

“Uh oh Snas!”

“what are you gonna do bro?”

“There’s only one thing to do,” said the baby bones reaching into his toy chest. “I gots to run away.” He pulled out a little plastic Mickey Mouse purse he had found at the Dump and began stuffing it with crayons.

“you’re gonna run away...?”

“Yep, but don’t worry Snas, though fate tears us apart dis day, I’s certain we shall meet again!”

“heh heh ha ha ha! where you gonna go bro? you gonna go live with flowey?”

He’s been gone an awful long time...maybe he’s really NOT coming back...

“No, baby already tried that,” said Papyrus thinking back to last week.

“NO. No no no no, you get the HELL out of here-”

“Hellwoe Dirt-butt! I’s come to visit you! Nyeh heh heh!”

“Did you not hear me? GT...FO.”

“Why you staring at da’ ground Dirt-butt? Didja lose something?”

“YEAH I LOST PEACE AND QUIET! WHAT PART OF ‘LEAVE’ DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND?”

Continuing to ignore the plant, Papyrus crawled around and patted the ground with a smile.

“What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like I’s doing?”

“Not leaving.”

“I’s looking for the quiet...”

“...”

“I know it be around here somewhere, don’t chu worry. The Gweat Papyrus gonna find it real good-”

“I know you’re not stupid Papyrus,” said Flowey frowning. “You may have everyone ELSE fooled, but I KNOW better-”

“SHHH! You’ll scare away da’ quiet Dirt-butt!”

“Knock it off.”

“What the quiet look like? Is it small? Like, really REALLY small?”

“Yeah it’s small, SMALL LIKE YOUR BR-” the plant stopped short. ”You know what? Forget it,” he said, smiling slyly. “Forget looking for the quiet. We’ll make our OWN quiet, how’s that sound?”

The infant’s eyes immediately lit up. “Ooooh! We doing da’ arts and crafts?”

He loved arts and crafts, but Flowey NEVER joined in with him and Sans. He instead preferred to watch from the air vent whilst occasionally shouting down insults centered around their creations.

Not that it bothered Papyrus per say.

Flowey was obviously just upset that he couldn’t use the glue without getting his petals and/or roots stuck together, which would’ve been sad if he didn’t handle it in such a pathetic manner like all his other problems.

“No, we’re gonna play a game. The QUIET game...”

“Ki-et game...?” Papyrus looked disappointed.

“Yep, the quiet game; it’s where we sit still and make no noise whatsoever. Whoever talks first loses, okay?”

“Kay’.”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“...We’s playing right now?”

“Yeah, isn’t this fun?”

“Yep! I really like sitting around in a field doing nothing like an asshole!”

“YOU CAN LEAVE!”

“No really; doing nothing is a baby’s favorite thing to do, cause’ we doesn’t know how to be pro-duc-tive members of so-ci-et-y...” said Papyrus before lazily rolling onto his back and sticking his foot in his mouth.

“...”

“Also I can’t leave until I beats you in round two, then I’ll be da’ game master!”

Flowey snorted. “You didn’t beat me in round one, so how do you suppose you’re going to do that?” he asked, placing his leaves where his hips would be.

“Easily,” replied the infant. “And I did too beat you. You’s just a sore loser, like always.”

“I AM NOT!”

“Perhaps you should get on baby’s level Dirt-butt?”

“I DIDN’T LOSE! All i did was tell you that the game started and that doesn’t count!”

“Git good scrub flower, nyeh heh heh!”

“Whatever. Even if I DID lose, YOU’RE being a sore winner!” said Flowey turning away.

This made Papyrus sit up and scratch his skull in confusion. “...Dat don’t make sense dough. How can baby be sore if baby won? You’s making stuff up-”

“NO I’M NOT!”

“You wants an apo-lo-gy?”

“YES!!”

“Kay’.”

“...”

“...”

“...Well?”

“I’m sorry you suck.”

“GET OUT OF MY FIELD!!”

“...And dat’s what happened.”

“what?”

“What?”

RING RING!

“...You want some pizza Snas?”

“go take down that post,” said Sans turning off his phone.

“If I takes it down will you pay wit me?”

“uhh...” he looked at his book and then back at Papyrus. He was in the middle of it, nowhere near the end, but he doubted he’d get much studying done if Gaster managed to convince the guards to step aside.

Dad and Pap will be at each other’s throats all day if the guards leave, and dogs don’t have the greatest attention span to begin with...

“uhhh, yeah sure, i suppose i could spend some time with ya’ if you want...depends on what we’re playing though.”

I’m not playing Hide and Seek with this cheater again, THAT’S for sure. Last time he used the security cameras to find me, the little brat.

“We pay House!”

“heh heh heh, house huh? and lemme guess, you wanna be the baby right?”

Papyrus ignored him and crawled back to his toy box shifting loudly through the multitude of broken toys.

“whatcha’ looking for baby bro?”

“Nyeh heh heh!” the infant laughed happily as he raised a fairly large stick in the air triumphantly, his brother watching him in confusion.

Why does he have a stick in his toy box?

CLACK CLACK CLACK!

Hobbling around on the stick, Papyrus grabbed a clipboard with one tiny hand and looked at it disapprovingly. “Wrong, wrong, wrong. Dis be all wrong. Don’t chu know anything besides food? You went to doctor school didn’t you? Sometimes I thinks you’s just here to clean out da’ vending machines...”

“wh-what?”

“Where da’ patient at? You didn’t eat them did you? You know we need those things for monies-”

“what the hell is your problem?”

“Well I gots a whale in my staff room, so PETA’s bound to give me a call sooner or later, other than that though it’s just my leg...oh, and the fact that you suck at yo’ job.”

“your...leg hurts...?”

What?

“The patient OB-VI-OUS-LY gots da’ heatstroke, so we needs to put them in the feezer or they no get better. I doesn’t know why you thought it be a good idea to put em’ in a hospital bed.”

“put em’ in the freezer huh? heh, iii don’t think that’s a good idea lil’ bro.”

“I stopped paying you to think when I re-ah-lized you’s bad at it. Now you follow orders. INTO DA’ FEEZER!” exclaimed the baby pointing to the ceiling dramatically. He then dropped the clipboard and plopped down on the floor, waiting for his older brother to respond.

“okayyy...?”

Papyrus stared right through him and waited silently; a smile plastered on his face. Apparently he had no intention of giving Sans any more instruction, despite never mentioning where, or more importantly, who the patient was supposed to be.

Am I supposed to go find one of his dolls or something?

Knowing his brother, that probably wasn’t the case, but Sans went to the toy box anyway in hopes that the baby Horror would be as happy with a non-living patient as he would a live one.

He was immediately stopped in his tracks.

“Where you going Dr. Snas? We gots to save the patient or they’s gonna die! Leave the toys alone, those be for sick babies...”

“where do i go then pap? where’s the sick guy?”

“Nyeh?” Papyrus looked around. “*GASP!* SNAS!”

“what?”

“THE PATIENT’S ASCAPED!”

“they escaped huh? and why would anyone wanna escape a hospital? that’s where people get healthy bro!”

“They must be hippies Snas!”

“really pap?”

“Quick! We gots to catch em’ before they go online and convince peoples to use natural home re-me-dies and herbs instead of medicines!”

“herbs ARE medicine.”

“...”

“...what?”

“You’s fired.”

“i’m fired...?”

“You’s fired. I can’t and won’t have druggies working under my stupervision. No wonder you’s bad at yo’ job!”

“i’m not a hippie, and that’s very offensive.”

“I doesn’t wanna hear your excuses. Have your desk cweened out by dis afternoon,” said Papyrus. He crawled away, exiting the lab door that led to Waterfall, and leaving his older sibling alone. He was sad that he couldn’t have Sans be his employee anymore, but at least Undyne had gotten home from daycare by now; he could play House with her. She wasn’t very smart, but at least she wasn’t a drug user...

His brother could be REALLY disappointing sometimes.

“psh, whatever,” muttered Sans picking up his book. “i didn’t wanna play with you any-”

Wait a minute.

“PAPYRUS TAKE DOWN THAT POST!!”

“NYEH!”

PUMP!

Papyrus kicked the glass door to the lab with his foot and continued on angrily.

Go munch a tree, hippie baby.

The artist contacted me before making the image, so I know who they are this time. The artist’s name is Rammorn, also known as Passing_Note on AO3.

[kittykat-creations]

Worried Sick

“Make sure y’all keep a good eye on yer lil’ cousins!”

“Yeah, yeah, we got it.” Brandon waved off his grandma’s concerns as he followed the others out into the woods. Dipper had seen something strange or other and wanted to check it out- Brandon didn’t remember. He wasn’t really listening.

Taylor and Tyler- the “lil cousins” they were supposed to be watching- had clung themselves together next to Mabel. They weren’t going anywhere, really. How often could these two possibly wander off?

Often enough was apparently the answer, because when Brandon looked up from checking his phone five minutes later, Taylor and Tyler were gone.

“Hey, where are the little twins?”

“They’re right-!” Mabel looked around, suddenly confused. “Hey, where’d they go?”

“Son of a bitch,” Brandon hissed. Dipper and Mabel blinked in surprise. “Yeah yeah, people swear, welcome to the real world. We need to find them.”

“It would be easier if we split up!” Jenny suggested.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” Brandon nodded. “Ok, me and Dipper and Mabel and Jenny- let’s get looking. They couldn’t have gone that far.”

“Taylor!”

“Tyler!”

Well, Brandon had to give it to them. Nine-year-olds know how to move when they want to. Seriously, why would they have split from the group so quickly? Turning the corner around a tree, Brandon got his answer-

In the form of Taylor reaching forward to grab a fairy.

“TAYLOR!”

She squeaked and fell forward through the bush. Tyler jumped and rushed backwards, landing on the ground. The fairies Taylor had been reaching for panicked, and one threw a handful of colorful dust at her. Once the dust cleared, the fairies were gone, and Taylor was laying on the forest floor.

“Shit shit shit.” Brandon hurried forward with Dipper behind him, and he kneeled down next to Taylor. “Hey hey, are you good?”

Taylor moaned, curling up and holding her stomach. As Dipper helped Tyler up to his feet, Taylor promptly rolled over and puked all over the ground. Brandon sucked in a breath and helped Taylor up. She was shaking a bit and still holding her stomach.

“We need to get her back to the shack,” Dipper said.

Brandon nodded in agreement. “Yeah. You go find the girls, ok?”

Dipper nodded and hurried off, and Brandon started walking Taylor back to the shack with Tyler following after them.

“Grandma!”

Bella jumped and quickly put out the joint she was holding. She coughed and waved at the smoke above her as the kids ran up to the porch.

“Hey, kids. Is somethin’ wrong?”

“Taylor’s been throwing up.” Brandon lowered his cousin onto the porch, where she leaned against the support beam, still looking sick.

“Oh, poor thing.” Bella frowned and lowered her hand to Taylor’s forehead. “Well we’ll ‘er inside an’-” Bella blinked in surprise, looking at Taylor’s face and feeling around her forehead, flipping her hand between the palm and the back.

“Is something wrong?” Tyler asked.

“...let’s, uh. Let’s get her inside, m’kay?” Taylor pulled away when Bella tried to lift her up, and she threw up again over the side of the porch. “An’ someone get her a bucket.”

Taylor sat on the living room couch, with Tyler hanging over the edge next to her, as Bella fumbled with the thermometer. A bucket sat in front of the couch where Taylor could easily reach it.

“Hey, what’s goin’ on?” Stan entered the room, taking in the scene.

“Taylor threw up. Ah’m tryin’a take her temp.” She finally managed to get all the wrapping off of the thermometer.

“You don’t need that thing. Just feel her forehead.” Stan pushed back his sleeve and set the back of his hand to Taylor’s forehead, only to frown in confusion. “What the heck…?”

“Ah know, that’s why Ah’m usin’ this,” Bella said. “Open yer mouth, sweetie. Tongue up.”

Taylor did so, and Bella set the thermometer in her mouth.

“She feels normal.”

“Ah know. But she ain’t… well, she definitely threw up. Multiple times.”

“Didja eat something weird, kid?” Stan asked. Taylor shook her head. The thermometer beeped and Bella took it, frowning.

“Her temp is normal.”

From the other room, Brandon, Jenny, and the twins were watching everything play out. Dipper pulled the third journal out from his vest and started flipping through it.

“It had to be something with those fairies,” he muttered. “That’s when it started, right?”

“Fairies?” Mabel tilted her head.

“We found them when Taylor was trying to touch one of these fairy things,” Brandon explained. “It threw this… weird dust stuff at her.”

“Oooooh.” Jenny peered over Dipper’s shoulder to read the journal.

“Ah, here it is.” Dipper skimmed the entry, frowning. “They’re called barf fairies. But there’s nothing in here about them making other people barf like this.”

“Maybe the author dude never saw them do it,” Brandon said.

“Maybe…”

“Well I guess that means we gotta go find them!” Mabel said. “Maybe they know how to make it stop!”

“It’s the best we’ve got.” Dipper closed the journal and tucked it back into his vest. “Let’s go.”

“Sorry, we can’t make it stop.”

“What?” Dipper frowned, kneeling in front of the fairy. “What do you mean, you can’t make it stop?”

“It’s a defense! It wouldn’t be very good if it just stopped.” The fairy folded her arms.

“Come on man, she didn’t mean to scare you,” Brandon said. “She’s just a kid.”

“I’m sorry, but we really can’t do anything,” the fairy repeated.

A cloud of the same dust from before appeared from the other side of the group, and the fairies quickly disappeared. The group of cousins backed away from the cloud, and when it parted, a fox was left, throwing up onto the ground.

The fox looked around before running off past the kids. Dejected, they began to head home, but then they found the fox again. After throwing up again, it was digging at a bush. It pulled up a branch of berries, ate a few of them, and bounded back up and away from the bush, seemingly back to normal.

Dipper’s eyes widened and he kneeled down to look at the berries. “Hey, maybe this is the cure!”

“It made the fox feel all better!” Mabel grinned. Dipper smiled and grabbed a few of the berries, cupping them in his hands.

“Let's hurry back.”

“C'mon honey, ya gotta keep yer fluids up.”

Taylor whined, sniffing and pushing the cup away.

“It’s Ginger Ale,” Bella said. “It'll help yer tummy feel better.”

“Grandma?” Bella looked up at Brandon in the doorway. He grimaced a bit, holding his stomach. “I'm not really feeling good now.”

Bella groaned and stood up, going over to feel his forehead. “Ya still feel normal. But let's get ya a bucket. Don’ wanna risk it.”

The two of them left the bedroom, and Dipper, Mabel, and Jenny entered behind them.

“We found a cure,” Dipper said, holding out the berries. “Eat these, Taylor. Ok? They'll make you stop barfing.”

Taylor looked sick at the thought, but she reached out to take a berry and pop it in her mouth. She perked up a bit, ate the rest, and grinned. She flapped a bit, bouncing up and down on the bed.

“Your tummy is better?” Tyler asked. Taylor nodded and Tyler grinned, hugging her tightly. Dipper smiled and pulled out the journal and a pen, adding to the barf fairy entry.