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jackrrabbit · 3 years

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Adversary /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You make a deal with the devil to save your life, but it turns out Overhaul’s not interested in your soul.

A/N: Remember when I said I was going to do a fantasy collab and then dipped for like 9 months? Hahaha…anyway…

@pleasantanathema @ present-mel @shadowworks—if it’s not too late, here’s my part for the Pleasant & Strider Fantasy AU Writing Collab from a million years ago. Go check out the masterlist and gorge yourself on these amazing pieces!!

Tags/Warnings: dubcon, demon fuckery & occult things, big heresy/sacrilege/perversion of religion, sex in a church ft. Catholic sex guilt, other than that it’s not that bad lol, inexperienced reader, mild degradation, shameless camp and demon-fucking clichés, Overhaul calls you “little girl” 👉👈

He doesn’t look like a demon.

Not that you really know what demons are supposed to look like. But…red skin, right? Fangs and claws and swirling masses of bad energy. Maybe cloven hooves for feet. Yes, that’s the Disney version—but even if you didn’t expect a cartoon personification of evil, you didn’t expect this.

He looks like a doctor, you think. Lab coat hanging open, surgery mask pushed down under his jaw, stethoscope draped over his shoulders. No, he’s a little young to really look like a doctor…an intern, you amend, shifting back in your hospital bed. He looks like he fits right in here, not a hair out of place. Except for, you know, the polished black horns curling out of the sides of his skull.

Overhaul. It was written in the book. That’s the only thing you have to call him in your head.

He’s standing in the center of the sigil you drew at the foot of your bed before midnight, surveying the room critically without meeting your gaze. He looks annoyed—that’s not a good sign, is it?—but then again, of course he’s annoyed. You’d be annoyed too if you got summoned out of your cozy hell dimension in the middle of the night. According to the book, you’re lucky he even showed up…although ‘lucky’ isn’t really how you’d describe yourself most days.

“So,” Overhaul says after a long moment of silence in which you question every choice you’ve made in your relatively short life. “You’re dying.”

You nod.

“And you don’t want to be.”

You nod again, wondering if you’re supposed to be contributing more to this conversation. It’s a bit difficult when your mouth is so dry it feels like you’ve been eating dirt, but you suppose being in the presence of an unholy servant of Satan will do that to a person.

“Fine.” He sighs, frowns, and then finally lowers his gaze onto yours—and you shiver.

Those eyes. No human has eyes like that.

“Make me an offer,” Overhaul tells you, and through his open mouth you catch a flash of sharp white teeth.

Okay. Okay. The chirping of the heart monitor speeds up (as if it weren’t obvious enough that you’re terrified) and you fold your knees up to your chest and fidget with your ring and think. He’s giving you a chance to establish parameters. You’re supposed to start with his end of the deal, the thing you want from him. That’s what it said to do in the grimoire, aka the 19th century demonology volume your creepy cousin brought back from her pagan anthropology research trip in rural France. The one you keep hidden under your bed because your mother would burn it if she knew you were reading about summoning demons.

Offer nothing to a hell creature without first telling him your price. You know the words by heart, both the winding calligraphy of the original French from the grimoire and the rushed scrawl of the English translation your cousin left for you in sheets of lined paper layered between the pages of the book for you to read. Really, this is her fault. She was the one who slipped you the book, who told you that it worked, who snuck you the ingredients for the summoning. She was the one who left a bookmark at the chapter on this particular demon, one that specializes in ‘Contrat pour Remédier au Déséquilibre des Quatre Humeurs’, which she said meant a contract to cure any illness. Even his ‘name’ is translated in her hand, practically an afterthought in the margins of the page.

‘Le Malin qui Ravage et Rebâtit’— Overhaul?

You looked up the literal meaning of this phrase on your own. It did not reassure you.

“Girl.” His voice is cold, irate. Your eyes snap back up to his and it feels like that burning gaze is laser-beaming into your skull. “Do not test me. My time is limited…as is yours.”

You swallow. “How long do I have left?”

“Less than a single human year,” he tells you without a trace of sympathy. “Seven months, twelve days, three hours. Or so. You’ll be too exhausted to leave this bed in four months, and the pain will become intolerable in six… By the end, you’ll wish—“

“Stop,” you breathe out. The heart monitor is beeping wildly and you squeeze your knees into your chest, trying to calm down your breathing. “Stop, I—I want to live.”

“Of course you do.” Overhaul’s lip curls. “How very predictable.”

Be specific, you remind yourself, doing your best to ignore the stifling disapproval from the man—the demon—in front of you. Something about him (maybe how clean-cut he looks, maybe the indisputable authority in his demeanor) makes you want to impress him. But you didn’t turn your back on your religion—you didn’t draw pagan symbols on the floor in chalk, fill silver cups with various questionable substances (including your own virgin blood), and turn the crucifix your mother hung over your bed upside-down so you could let a demon make you feel guilty for wanting to survive. “I want to be cured. I’m okay with whatever natural death I have instead when I’m older, I just don’t want to die of this illness. I want you to make me healthy.”

“Simple enough. What else?”

‘Simple’? Your heart surges with something you’ve felt very little of since your initial diagnosis—hope. “T-That’s it. Just the cure.”

Overhaul glares at you. “Humans… Every vice in the world available to you, and you limit yourselves to the basest priority of survival.”

“But you can do it? You can cure me?” you persist.

Overhaul steps forward (quiet, so quiet you wonder if he really moved) and holds a hand out to you past the foot of your bed—you hesitate, and a second later you can see the muscles in his hand flex, stretching the latex of his plastic gloves tight over his knuckles.

Just do it. You give him your hand. Carefully. Like you’re scared the contact will burn you. It doesn’t (although his skin feels warmer than yours), but after a moment his grip tightens, sliding down past your hand to circle the fragile bones of your wrist and squeeze.

“Ow?” You wince.

The demon’s eyes flicker closed for a second, lips moving silently like he’s talking to himself—and then he drops your hand unceremoniously back onto your lap. “You could be cured before the sun rises this morning. I doubt your stay in the hospital will extend past the end of the week.”

He sounds bored, voice as flat and passionless as it was earlier, but your heart is soaring. Cured. You’ve lived with this illness for so many years, you can’t remember the last time someone told you you could be cured. And getting out of the hospital that soon? You can just imagine taking down all the decorations from the walls of your room here and setting them up in your old bedroom at home. You could see friends on the weekend and not take an oxygen bag, you could get a job or—or apply to college, you could have a life—

“That is…assuming you have something to offer me in exchange for the cure.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten about the other half of the deal.

“Don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing.” Overhaul steps back, and the orange light of the candles you set sends strange shadows over his arrogant face. The fires look brighter now, and you find yourself tracing the lines of those shining black horns. In an odd way, they look natural—so organically framing his temples that you can’t imagine him without them.

“N-No, of course not. I have some money—I mean, my mom has some, and I can get it for you…” Which is half the truth. If you know anything, it’s that your mother’s spent most of her savings on your treatment and care. You probably have more debt than you have money in the bank right now—you’d try to get rid of that, too, if you hadn’t read in the book how important it is to keep your request as simple and straightforward as possible.

…Although it’s apparently not enough. Overhaul’s eyes narrow, molten gold irises carved into slits. “Even if I had a use for human money, do you really believe your life is worth so little?”

“No—no,” you say quickly. “I just thought—in case you were interested—”

The air crackles with energy, the candle flames spark bright blood-red, and the hair on your arms stands straight up. “I am not.”

“Okay! I get it.” You wave your hands back and forth, pulling your IV line from side to side with the motion. The book was very clear about staying calm and rational while you work out the terms of the deal, but that’s easier said than done when you have a real live (live?) hell creature in front of you. You always knew this was going to be the hard part—all the stories say there’s only one thing that a demon would be interested in, and no matter how inviting the prospect of living past this illness is, you know you’d rather die than sell your immortal soul to the devil. “I’ll give you anything except my soul! And—and don’t hurt anyone I care about, or— just don’t hurt anyone, okay? Other than that, if there’s anything I can give you, I will.”

Overhaul’s lip curls, baring a thin strip of those unnaturally sharp canines. “And is your soul really so valuable?”

This throws you for a loop. Isn’t that the standard deal? A soul for a wish? That’s how it’s supposed to work—at least in this twisted version of reality where you can summon a demon to perform unholy miracles for you. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense, does it? Why would your soul be valuable to him? You can’t form an argument, especially since you’re not willing to barter it away in the first place.

Your mouth is pursed open as you search for a response, but Overhaul doesn’t seem willing to wait. A gloved hand wraps its way around the railing at the side of your bed, and he leans in closer. “Little girl…what makes you think you possess anything I desire?”

Little girl. You’re not a little girl, you’re a grown woman—and yet there’s no untruth in the statement. In front of him you feel insignificant, immature, weak. You have nothing real to offer, and something tells you that you’re not going to get rid of the demon you summoned without a sacrifice you’re not willing to make.

You twist your ring around your finger—the nervous habit you haven’t bothered to break because you’ve always had more important things to worry about—and the glint of silver in the candlelight must catch Overhaul’s eye because before you even notice him moving, your delicate hand is trapped in his larger one to give him a better view of the tiny piece of jewelry. “What is this?”

“It’s—um, a ring. A purity ring.” Has he never seen one before? Well…actually, that makes sense.

Overhaul turns your hand over in his without touching the band of silver. He’s looking at it closely, inspecting the lovingly engraved cross in the design and the inscription on the other side. “Matthew 5:8,” he reads out.

“…Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” you recite cautiously. It feels wrong to speak the words in front of him, but somehow you can’t help yourself.

Overhaul’s hand doesn’t leave yours. “This ring is important to you.”

“It’s a symbol of a—a promise I made to God. To save myself for my future husband.”

“To ‘save yourself’? To save what?”

You can’t believe you’re explaining this to a literal demon. You close your eyes and inhale slowly and taste smoke. “My…virginity. It’s a promise that I won’t have sex until I enter into a biblical marriage.”

At this, Overhaul is quiet. You give him a moment to answer, half expecting him to question why you think God cares about your sexual status (honestly, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered this yourself), but he stays quiet until you peek up at him to try and gauge the look on his coldly handsome face.

He’s still staring at the ring. He hasn’t touched it—maybe he can’t, because of the cross?—and through the latex, his skin feels hotter than a human’s is supposed to be.

“Is there…” you start, but you trail off when you realize you have nothing to ask. You give a little tug to try and take your hand away and you’re surprised when your wrist actually slides out of his grip to fall back on the nest of sheets in your lap. You didn’t think he’d let you go so easily.

Overhaul turns his head to the side, eyes drilling into you so you feel like you should lower your gaze. The candlelight flickers in strange shadows over his horns. “This will do,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“In exchange for your cure.” The demon taps his own left ring finger, the place where the purity ring sits on your hand, and your heart soars. He actually wants that? It’s just a simple silver band, not worth much, but you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it has some special significance because of the religious connotation. Your mother will be angry you’ve lost it, but you’re happy to cope with that if it means living to actually get married!

“Yes!” you blurt out before he has a chance to rethink his offer. Sure, you’ll miss the purity ring—you’ve had it since you were a kid, after all—but there’s no question you’re getting the better end of this deal. At least in your opinion.

Something flashes through his yellow eyes, something you don’t even want to try and identify. “The contract, then.”

You barely have time to notice that his voice has gentled, that it’s practically silken in comparison to before, when the candlelight flickers again and suddenly the contract is everywhere. Everywhere. Writing appears on every surface in the room, covering the walls, stretching over the ceiling, coiling around the sides of the hospital equipment and decorating your bedsheets until you and Overhaul are the only untouched surfaces in sight. The characters are inscribed in red, dark red like—don’t think about that, you tell yourself squeamishly. You can make out some of the letters, even a word here or there—French, you recognize, mixed with what looks like Latin and interspersed with what you can only guess are runes.

“I can’t read this,” you tell him, fidgeting with your ring for what you now realize will be the last time.

“I only need your name,” he purrs, and then you feel a fragile weight in your hand: a feather, pearl-black and glossy and too large to belong to any bird you can think of, its angled tip glistening with wet ink. There’s an empty space in the writing before you, and Overhaul’s gloved hand comes to yours again to guide you into place.

This feels wrong…then again, of course it does. Even if you’re getting off relatively easy and just losing your ring rather than your soul, you’re still making a deal with a demon. You sign your name, forcing yourself to think about the future you have ahead of you rather than a disapproving white-bearded caricature of The Man Upstairs wagging his finger at you for haggling with a literal servant of Satan. People have done worse things to survive, haven’t they? It’s just a ring.

You set the feather down and Overhaul sighs, thick black eyelashes obscuring his intense gaze for a moment—and then the contract is gone, leaving your hospital room as blank and sterile as it’s supposed to be (well, aside from the candles and all the other ritual stuff you threw together to summon a demon in the first place).

“Are you going to cure—heal me now?” you ask.

“…Patience, little girl.” He’s pulling his glove off, peeling it down his fingers to bare the pale skin of his hand. You catch your breath and wonder what this is going to feel like, and then the tips of his fingers meet your cheek and—

you stop breathing.

It doesn’t hurt.

Or if it does, you don’t remember the pain a second later when breath floods back into your lungs. What you do feel is energy. Strength in your muscles, blood pumping through your veins, every inhale and exhale as light as a bird and freer. You feel healthy. You’re surprised you even remember what health feels like but you do: it’s like you’ve only been half alive, and now life is surging into you and through you and around you, bubbling up in your core like a spring overflowing. You blink rapidly, thinking you might cry from the sheer pleasure of it, but when you open your mouth it’s laughter that comes out. You’re healthy. You’re alive. You barely notice the IV line literally falling off of your skin because the hole where it entered your vein is sealed shut and healed perfectly.

No more needles. No more hospitals. Even without all the monitors beeping out your heart rate and measuring your vitals, there’s not a shred of doubt in your mind that you’re cured.

“Thank you!” you laugh, looking up at Overhaul and for the first time, not caring that he’s evil incarnate. “I feel—I’m okay! It worked!”

“Of course it did.” His expression is inscrutable, but he lets you have a few moments to enjoy your newfound health.

You roll your shoulders back, flex each muscle you can isolate one by one to test, make fists with your fingers and then run them over your hair, which is already thicker and shinier than it was a moment ago. Your body thrums with energy—you want to run, to feel the ground against your bare feet and the cold night air on your face, and you think you could do it! Your legs are already swinging over the side of your cot, ready to run barefoot out of the hospital if that’s what it takes, but before you can stand up Overhaul’s pushing you back down onto the bed.

“Have you forgotten your end of the bargain already?”

Honestly you did forget, but only for a second, only because you were so excited to just be outside again. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” Your hand goes to your left ring finger, ready to slip the ring off and hand it over, but Overhaul shakes his head.

“Not here.”

“What—?”

You’re falling. Your hospital room is disappearing, the image of your walls and your window and your bed disintegrating into yawning black, and you’re falling through it into nothing, into emptiness, and Overhaul’s still-bare hand in yours is the only anchor you have so you clutch onto it and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to scream—that’s the sane thing to do when you’re falling through miles and miles of empty space, right?—but when you open your throat the sound is swallowed up just like the light was…

Overhaul’s hand burns into yours, an improbable lifeline that you pull closer more out of terror than conscious thought. The slick, empty air rushes around you and you think I am going to die like this and then, incredibly, as soon as you’ve accepted your imminent demise, you feel your back mold onto a chilled, flat surface, vertebra by vertebra up to the back of your head, as if you’ve been lain down onto it.

Your heart thuds in your ears and you brace for an impact because your body hasn’t quite accepted yet that it’s not falling anymore—but at the same time, you know you’re lying down on something. You pry your fingers away from their vice-grip on Overhaul’s arm and feel around blindly for what’s underneath you, and when it seems reasonably tangible you let yourself open your eyes.

Way above, vaulted dozens of feet over your head, is a ceiling studded with gilt-edged frescoes and stained glass. It’s raining (even though it wasn’t in the hospital, you think) but through the massive panes of colored glass there’s enough oily blue light to make out that you’re in a church.

You’re in a church, with a demon. Isn’t that against the rules?

You sit up stiffly and look over at Overhaul, who’s standing at your side and looking down at you…which is how you realize the soft, cold surface you’ve been deposited onto is the blanket on top of the altar in the sanctuary. “Where...did you take me?”

“You should know this place.”

And you do, when you look around. It’s empty now and you’ve never been here at night, but this is a church your mother would bring you to when you were little, back before the disease got so bad you couldn’t risk traveling to it anymore. This is where you took your purity vow…the ring feels heavy on your hand. “Why—why—“

“I can’t stand human hospitals. Filthy places… How that reek of illness and death doesn’t bother your kind, I’ll never understand.” Overhaul pulls his latex glove back on. He’s dressed differently now, no longer impersonating a doctor—black shirt, black pants, and a…bird mask in red leather and gold. So are you, as a matter of fact. Instead of your hospital gown, you’re in a gauzy white dress that’s already been pushed up to pool around the tops of your thighs.

The slip is too thin for the cold, and you can feel your nipples standing up under the cloth so you fold your arms over your chest and hug yourself. “Why did you take me here?” The sound of your voice echoes off the walls eerily and you wish you hadn’t spoken so loudly. The reflection of your words sounds girlish, nervous.

“I told you. Your side of our contract.” Even in this dark, the angular features of his face are clearly concentrating—on you. “Are you already having second thoughts? Such a fickle little thing…”

“You mean the ring?” You reach for it again, ready to tear it off and throw it at him if that’s what it takes to see your deal through, but Overhaul snatches your hand away, pinning it above you.

“Not the ring,” he says. “The promise.”

The…promise?

A chill makes its way down your spine despite the heat radiating off the demon’s body and onto yours. “I don’t understand.”

“The promise,” Overhaul repeats—and you hear a sound almost like wings flapping and then he’s on the altar with you, knees straddling your hips as a single hand holds both your wrists above your head. “To remain a virgin until marriage. Your promise to God.”

A streak of lightning cracks down on the other side of the stained glass window behind the altar, illuminating the room briefly in spectacular pits of red and orange and yellow…and then it’s dark again, and the only color you can make out is the gold in Overhaul’s eyes.

“I’m going to break it,” he murmurs, lowering his head toward your ear right as the answering thunder rolls through the sanctuary, up through the altar, up into you.

///

Méfiez-vous de son piège, the grimoire said. Beware of the catch.

Of course it wasn’t just a ring.

Overhaul’s fingers are in—inside you, his middle and ring finger pumping through the length of your cunt like they belong there, like you were made to be touched this way. A mixture of your juices and your own spit cling to the latex because he made you suck his fingers before he put them in you and he hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off—not that you asked. You’ve been too busy biting your lip to try and muffle the moans that he keeps forcing out of you. He’s bracing himself on top of you with one hand and fingering you with the other, so your own hands are free to push into your eyes and hide your face…until he yanks your arm back and stops.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes are screwed shut and you shake your head back and forth, the movement shuddering your whole body right down to your pussy wrapped around Overhaul’s fingers. He slows the movement and kneels back, pushing one of your thighs up into your chest as he does it.

“Look at me.”

And you’re not sure whether it’s some unearthly power he has over you or the plain old deterioration of your willpower, but you can’t refuse him. You crack your eyes open and he’s glaring down at you, skin pale as ice in the blue light. Once he’s satisfied that you’re watching, the demon leans back in to fuck your cunt with his fingers, slowly at first and then quicker when he hits something inside of you—a spot, a place on the inner wall of your pussy that makes you feel like you’ve been shocked— heat blooms through you like blood in water and you gasp and he curls his fingers up to pet over that spot again.

“Wait—wait, that’s—it feels—weird!” You’ve never felt like this before. You’re not supposed to feel like this, it’s wrong.

“I understand you’ve never touched yourself, but don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Overhaul says, voice as indifferent and calm as ever even though your cunt is dripping clear sticky liquid over the plastic of his glove.

He pushes back in and grinds his palm over the little button on the top of your pussy—your clit?—and you want to scream. “No, I—I don’t—nnhh...”

Do you like it? The demon’s body is so hot next to yours, like he’s running a fever except you’re the one going out of your mind… You’ve heard metaphors for sexual pleasure before (that it’s like having something to drink when you’re dying of thirst; or that it’s the ultimate act of intimacy, love in physical form) but all of that’s a fucking lie. There’s nothing to compare it to, no reference that makes sense, because it doesn’t make sense—you don’t even want him to keep going, do you? You’re only doing this because you signed your name on a devil’s contract, because you don’t want to die and there’s no alternative…but that doesn’t explain why you feel so warm from the inside out, why you’re squirming and your hips are rocking involuntarily no matter how much you try to keep still. This isn’t right. You feel like you’ve been lied to.

A good girl wouldn’t like this.

Overhaul isn’t going to let you close your eyes, so you don’t—but the sounds coming out of your mouth are so…indecent (and how can you think these things about yourself? the word feels like someone else is saying it when you hear it in your head) that your hand is drifting up to your mouth before you can stop yourself, trying to stifle all of it…

“Let your voice out. I want you to hear yourself moan.”

Long fingers slide their way out of your pussy and then move up to rub quick little circles around your clit and you moan, like a whore, like a girl getting her cunt rubbed by a demon— “Oh, uhhhn—something, it’s—coming—“ There’s something building up in your core—a peak, a climax, something that makes you fist your hands in the nightgown he put you in (so tight you’re surprised the thin fabric hasn’t torn) and tilt your hips up into him, begging without words because you don’t have any to express what your body is asking for…

But he doesn’t give it to you. Overhaul takes his hand away from your pussy and the shock of the cool air after his too-hot touch is almost enough to send you over that edge—almost. Not quite. And without it, you’re left shivering and quaking, thighs twitching as your baser instincts beg you to just put your hand between your legs for once and hump your fingers to completion if the demon won’t do it.

You’re not going to risk that, though. Not when Overhaul’s dragging your body closer, bunching up the blanket on the altar under your spine, so your pelvis is angled to his… He’s already shirtless and you hear him unzipping his pants but you can’t bring yourself to actually look at him, even when you feel something hard and hot nudging up against your inner thigh and then aligning to your sticky wet slit.

“This will hurt a bit, but I want you to look,” he says, and you don’t even understand at first until you make yourself feel it—his cock, pushing up against your tight cunt to finish this, this perversion of what your first time was supposed to be…

And what was it supposed to be? Roses and candles and soft kisses? A nameless, faceless husband unzipping your wedding dress and making love to you with the lights off? The way the demon touches you should be cruel in comparison but it isn’t, it’s lighting fires under your skin and turning your brains to mush, so how is your body supposed to tell the difference?

It’ll hurt, you know that, you’ve heard enough about sex to know that it always hurts the first time for girls…women. It was already a stretch to fit his fingers in your virgin pussy, so of course his cock is going to hurt. You turn your head toward the window at your side and try on look out at the rain drawing rivulets like veins over the glass, something to focus on instead of him.

“I said look,” the demon hisses, and his hips push forward a bit and you bite off a whimper of pain. “Watch me take your virginity…look at your tight little cunt swallowing me up just like it was made to.”

“N-No—“ you whine, even though it’s not like you can ignore it. “Don’t make me, don’t make me look, I can’t—“

“Then look at me.”

It’s what he wants, some kind of wicked satisfaction he gets off on, but you’re lucky enough to even get an option so you choose that one, shifting your gaze up into his face instead of the place where his cock is pressing deeper and deeper inside you. Overhaul’s eyes are half-lidded and it’s hard to tell from behind the mask but the look on his face is…pleasure? No, that would be too human. Restraint, at least. He could just thrust up into your body in one stroke, but he wants you to feel it for some reason.

Maybe because it’s a worse betrayal of your chastity if you want to get fucked.

Lucky for you, though, you can barely feel anything aside from the pain. The heat you felt building earlier is draining out of you even as Overhaul tilts deeper, layering his chest over yours. You’re almost grateful for the modest barrier the dress provides between your torso and the solid muscle of his abdomen. His cock in your pussy feels like it’s too big too deep too much and it’s the first time you’ve felt like your body wasn’t created specifically for this purpose so you hold it tight.

“Does it hurt?”

A second of clarity makes you want to snarl (of course it fucking hurts, I’m losing my virginity to a demon I summoned from hell) and you dig your fingernails into your palms to stop yourself from saying it out loud. Overhaul pulls out a fraction of an inch and then pushes back in and you feel like the breath’s being pushed out of your lungs. “Yes! Yes, it—it hurts—“

“I can make you enjoy it…for a price,” he sighs, settling into a slow rocking motion of his hips pushing into yours.

And you want to, every sore muscle in your cunt is telling you to give in and give up, give him what he wants so you can enjoy it like he says—but you’d rather hate every second of this than make another deal. You shake your head quickly and because you’re still too afraid to look away from him, you don’t miss the look of surprise that flits across his face before he tamps it down. “I don’t—I don’t want to—like it,” you gasp out between thrusts. “It’s better if—if it h-hurts…”

This time it’s obvious—his eyes really do widen, and you feel some petty triumph at having caught him off guard like this. Who’s predictable now? you think—and then he’s lifting one hand off the altar at the side of your head and tugging his glove off with his teeth, and you don’t even have time to be afraid of what he’s going to do to you because it’s too late, his bare fingers are already stroking over your mound and onto your core, massaging into the flesh of your stomach so he can feel his own cock sliding in and out of you—

and it doesn’t hurt anymore?

You only have a second to try and understand—he cured you, he healed the pain from your first time just like he healed your illness?—before he hooks his grip under your thigh and folds your legs into your chest so he can fuck into you harder than before. His cock slaps into your pussy and you can hear it, hear how wet your filthy little cunt is, smeared through with your juices. It’s sick—the sound of skin against skin, and the moaning you can’t hold back, you sound like a woman in a porno and you wish the pain would come back just so you could keep hating what he’s doing to you. “What—what did you do—“

The demon ignores you. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”

“Nn—“ It’s deeper like this…deeper and rougher and you can feel it. Now that the pain’s been reduced to the dull ache of a stretched muscle, you can feel everything—his cock sliding against that same spot in your cunt that makes you want to squeal, the friction of his body moving against your clit, all of it, everything you wanted to block out— he pumps into you and you hear your breath sobbing out a moan a second out of rhythm, the sounds of you bouncing on demon cock echoing over the walls. “Please—ah, ahhh…”

“‘Please?’ Are you begging—me, little girl?” Overhaul pushes your thigh up and drags his cock through you, excruciatingly slow, forcing you to feel the thick head slide over every gummy wall in your slick pussy.

You shake your head, mewl, try to force your hips to stop rocking back into his and grinding your clit against him. But you can’t. You’re a—you were a virgin, for fuck’s sake! Overhaul’s immortal. Probably thousands of years of experience on how to make you feel like you want this, like you’re only alive in the places he touches you… You’re at his mercy, if he has any. You never stood a chance.

“Then are you begging your god?” His body lowers directly onto yours and like you’re being controlled by puppet strings your arms fold around him and rake your fingernails uselessly into the smooth skin of his back. You can feel the vibration of his mirthless laughter through his chest. “It must hurt terribly…to know he isn’t listening.”

“Don’t—stop, please,” you sob. “Don’t say—don’t stop—please!”

“Listen to yourself, girl—“ Overhaul’s breath is faster now, but you don’t have time to question it because you feel your peak coming again, the tension rising up through your cunt and your abdomen, harsher and crueler than when his fingers were in you but you want it just as much. More. “Has he ever answered your prayers? Has he...ahh, fuck—who’s the one giving you what you need?”

“No— please, please just let me let me, please—“ You’re talking nonsense now, begging for the release—at least then it’ll be over, and you need it, you need it so badly you feel your muscles locking up, cramping, your ankles crossing each other behind Overhaul’s back.

“Good girl,” the demon breathes, and then he lifts off you so he’s kneeling upright with the two of you still connected, his thick, heavy cock still speared in your pussy, and his fingers come down again to rub at your clit. Everything’s so wet you can hear the motion of his fingers slicking themselves through your juices, sliding up and down the little button over and over and it feels so good that a tiny part of you almost wants to drag it out, to savor it, but the rest of your body is going to die, is going to go crazy if the demon doesn’t let you cum right now, right now, right now!

And he does. Praise the Lord. The pads of Overhaul’s fingers pass over your clit one last time and your head rolls back, your throat moves but you can’t even make a sound, your legs shake and you cum.

You didn’t know it was like this.

Your cunt squeezes down on his cock, throbbing and pulsing and your toes literally curl (you didn’t think that was a real thing!) and your vision goes black for a moment and—oh fuck oh fuck i want this i want more how is it possible that i’ve never felt like this—you understand, more intimately than ever, why sex is wrong:

because nothing that makes you feel this good could possibly come without a cost, could it?

///

It must take longer than you thought for you to come back to your senses, because when you regain awareness of your body you’re in your hospital bed. You’re clean, too, and you wonder for a second if Overhaul bothered to clean you up? Or no…he probably just snapped his fingers and transported you back to your room. You’re not really sure how it works.

What you are sure of, however, is that you just got fucked by a demon. You’re sore in places that you didn’t know it was possible to be sore, and there are already bruises forming on the flesh of your thighs from how tight he was holding you. You don’t really have time to inspect these, though, because apparently your…ordeal (if you can call it that) isn’t over.

Overhaul’s still here.

He’s facing the hints of sunrise through the east window, dressed again in the immaculate lab coat and surgeon’s mask. “You’re awake,” he says without looking at you.

You nod hesitantly. You’re not really sure what the protocol is in this situation, but at least you’ve finally held up your side of the contract, right? And so has he. Despite having been up all night doing sinful things, you’re still itching to get out of this bed and test the limits of your healthy body. “You’re…going to leave, right?”

“Yes—”

At that, you sigh in relief and settle back into your starched bedsheets.

“But there’s one more thing you owe me.”

“Goddamnit,” you swear for the very first time in your life. After what you just did, taking the Lord’s name in vain seems like a relatively minor sin.

Overhaul’s mildly irritated expression doesn’t change, but he holds his hand out to you, palm up, the way you imagine someone would if they were helping you out of a car or requesting a dance at an old-fashioned ball. And really, you want all of this to be over—you want to get out of this hospital, you want to taste what the air outside is like, you want to distract yourself from what you just gave up in exchange for a future. At this point you’re just going to have to hope God isn’t as picky about the whole premarital sex thing as you grew up believing.

So you put your hand in Overhaul’s.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid it’ll burn him, he slides your purity ring down your finger and balances it in the palm of his bare hand. It sizzles when he touches it, glowing orange until it eventually burns down into a ash-black circle in the center of his palm. Once he’s satisfied that your pretty little ring has been reduced to nothing more than a scorch mark, he closes his hand around yours and you feel something sharp, painfully hot, etching onto your finger.

It’s over in a second, but you still yelp and yank your hand away from him as soon as he lets you. “Ah—ow, what was that?”

He burned you, he literally burned you! He’s already healed it, but there’s still a thin, pale scar, an intentional one left wrapping around the skin at the base of your left ring finger. Like a wedding ring.

When you look close, you can make out a symbol on the back of your finger where the cross used to sit—and even though your conscious mind doesn’t recognize it, the sight of it rings out something inside your ribcage, deeper and truer than flesh and blood. It’s the devil’s mark, you think. It’s his.

“…A promise,” Overhaul says softly, and even though it’s a chilly morning, you can feel the heat of his hands on yours a long time after he vanishes back into the dark.

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #mha imagines #tw dubcon #tw sacrilege #tw christianity #overhaul #chisaki kai #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero imagines #my hero academia x reader #my hero imagines #boku no hero fanfic #smut

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arctimon · 3 years

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The Beta Team That Never Was - Fanfiction Corner (BH6 Edition)

So all of this Peni Parker comic talk actually got me thinking about the process of her being included in my fanfiction.

I wish I could tell you it was a long and arduous process, but...

OK, maybe some of it was hard. But when you have a virtually endless supply of Marvel characters that you can use for possible teammates for Big Hero 6, you have to go with your gut.

We all know that the team will be Robbie, Aspen, Peni, Doreen (eventually), and Kate. But there were six other candidates that could have been in the mix as well.

And five of them have their emblems here:

These were made before I actually knew how to make hero emblems properly.

Some of them you might recognize. Some you may not. But we’re going to go through them all, from left to right.

And to start...it’s really hard to draw tiny hearts.

1.) Riri Williams/Ironheart - Ironically enough, it was around the time that Hiro started chasing Sirque around the town in “Portal Enemy” that I started brainstorming her. A teenage genius, stuck as to what to make, sees “Captain Cutie” and the chase on the news and gets brainstorming.

Thus, the Power Armor is born.

And she gets so excited that she bolts off to San Fransokyo to show her idol what she’s created.

And then, as per the Big Hero 6 Fanfiction Clause states...shenanigans ensue.

It was an interesting possibility, but the thought of Ironheart was really late into me doing the backstories of the people that I had chosen, so she was pushed aside. I don’t personally see me revisiting her in the future, but who knows?

2.) Nadia Van Dyne/The Wasp - Back when Karmi had first been pulled out of SFIT, there was a young woman who wanted to recruit her into a special organization. It was one that brought together the greatest female minds in their fields, and Karmi was on said recruitment list.

The organization?

Genius In action Research Labs, or G.I.R.L. for short. And it was led by the Wasp’s daughter, Nadia Pym (later changed to Nadia Van Dyne).

Plot-wise, this was probably the person that I got the farthest with, since the story would’ve been more of a focus on Karmi than anyone else. Also, the idea of writing someone with Bipolar Disorder (which Nadia was confirmed to have in her latest solo run) was intriguing if nothing else.

Unfortunately, it sort of dried up from there. A lack of a central conflict, uncertainty as to how many of the other girls (Taina, Priya, Shay, and Ying) to have, and how to handle her actual powers stopped it cold.

But seriously, how do you write in the ability to shrink to microscopic size? That’s not really a thing, even in a world as futuristic as San Fransokyo.

3.) America Chavez/Ms. America - The mere idea of a Superman-esque Latina teenager was enticing, especially because America, in her relatively short comic history, was with the Ultimates and the West Coast Avengers (meaning there was a possible Kate/Hawkeye angle). Making start-shaped portals was the Silent Sparrow angle, and the all-around badass, headstrong attitude would be the counter to Honey Lemon’s more nurturing personality.

But being from an alternate universe (which has very recently been retconned in the comics in part because she will be appearing in the MCU and Doctor Strange 2), no real villain to play off of, and becoming possibly way too overpowered for the BH6 universe, she was scrapped.

It’s quite a shame. I really like her in the comics that she’s in. Perhaps there will be an opportunity for her somewhere down the line...

4.) Alison Blaire/Dazzler - A pop star with light-based powers?

Or better yet, a struggling artist with acoustikinesis?

Her power to convert sound into light was what originally drew me to her. Something that could be made into a technological ability, unique enough to put a (pardon the pun) spotlight on it.

An actual blonde instead of whatever HL’s hair color is.

Heck, she even has a half-sister named Lois that could have been the antagonist (death tough, destruction waves, and the like).

But she quickly got lost in the fold. Better ideas (like Kate and Doreen) got more of my brainstorming, and she was eventually given up on.

But funnily enough...

It’s almost like she’s already in the show.

(See, for the people who may be new, one of the many Marvel theories that I’ve touched upon is that High Voltage is actually this universe’s version of Dazzler. Juniper is Alison and Barb is...well...Barbara London, Alison’s mom).

Hey, @baymaksu totally agrees with me kinda sort of.

5.) Cindy Moon/Silk - I knew right from the get-go that I wanted a Spider-person on the beta team. I also knew that I didn’t want Peter.

No offense to Peter Parker. He’s fine. But there’s a billion other Spiders out there, and I wanted someone out of the normal vein of Peter, as well as even Miles and Gwen.

And in came Cindy.

Locked away in The Bunker because of her spider powers manifesting, she was eventually released by Peter and thus began her entrance into the main Marvel world.

Her “unique ability” is her improved Spider-Sense, which Peter has said is even better than his own. That, plus her other powers, brought her the closest out of anyone to being a member of the Big Hero 6 Beta Team.

As we all know, however, Peni ended up getting the spot over Cindy (for the family angle with Hiro and the giant robot that she pilots). On the other hand, Cindy would later make her debut in the stinger of the last chapter of Along Came The S.P.I.D.E.R., along with Miles, Anya, and Joey.

Unlike Riri, Nadia, America, and Alison, Cindy and the rest of Peni’s little Spider Society are going to be showing up in future stories. And if I can get everything in order, they will be starring in their own story set in the Big Hero 6 universe.

Finally, I have no emblem for them, but the honorable mention goes to...

6.) Lunella Lafayette/Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur - Yes, there was a point in time where I was seriously considering putting a nine-year-old super genius and a giant red T-rex into my stories.

Ignoring the giant...”red flag” here, the reason why Luna never made it is the same reason why I haven’t put Rishi in anything yet. It’s because I don’t really know what to do with supergeniuses that young. Hiro is at least a teenager and thus has teenager-y problems to fall back on (like puberty and Karmi and all that jazz), but a nine-year-old? That’s a little too extreme for me.

When I was nine, I was busy playing with sticks in my backyard with my brother, not solving unsolvable puzzles from Bruce Banner.

...All that, and the giant dinosaur.

But hey, at least Disney is jumping on the MG/DD train. That’s good to see.

Crossover potential, perhaps?

P.S. - As I was finishing putting this post together, it occurred to me that I may get this possible question in the comments, so I’m going to head it off at the pass.

“You know that all of your possible superheroes are girls, right?”

First of all...sexist.

Second of all...true.

That was about 90% on accident. The actual team (Robbie, Aspen, Peni, Doreen, and Kate) has only one guy on it (two if you count Eli, three if you count Tippy-Toe).

I don’t really have a good explanation for that. I like all superheroes, but I think that the girl and woman superheroes need some spotlight, you know? I could have pulled people like Namor or Miles or the male Hawkeye into the mix, but to be honest, I find the characters I chose more interesting than a lot of the guy characters I was contemplating.

Of course, nothing is stopping any of you from using those characters in your stories. Be my guest, not that you really need my permission or anything.

But you can’t take Aspen. Aspen is mine. (Spoiler: Aspen is not mine.)

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cellydawn · 3 years

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sans IS gaster (OR the sans theory masterpost pt. 2)

Part 1 || ❤️ || Part 3

(drawn by me, color by @magenteel)

Previously, we discussed: Sans and his hand in the destruction of a world, his connection to Ice-E and Deltarune, and how he relates to Gaster. We’re going to continue the thread we left off on.

Section III - Gaster (Cont.)

Snails are mentioned too many times throughout Undertale for them to not be of any significance. As it turns out, they are pretty important in unraveling the mystery behind Gaster and Sans.

When you enter the area with Napstablook’s snail farm, you’ll notice that Sans’s theme is playing despite him not making an appearance.

In one of Papyrus’s phone calls, he mentions that Sans recently bought snail-shaped pasta and says “He’ll probably fill them with hotdogs and slime.” Toriel also owns a book called “72 User for Snails”. Track 72 in the Undertale OST is “Song That Might Play When You Fight Sans”. That’s multiple times that Sans is likened to snails.

Snails belong under the taxonomic class Gastropoda. Gasterpods.

These long pauses between words and phrases are not unlike how Gaster speaks.

Here is Gaster speaking with us in the opening sequence of Deltarune. And...

Now. Let’s move on.

(More under the cut.)

Mus_smile is the track that plays in room_gaster. This is my personal opinion, but the character that is the most strongly associated with smiles is Sans.

And Sans is certainly intelligent enough to be the prime suspect for being Gaster. The proper name for his namesake is Comic Sans Microsoft, or Comic Sans MS. MS can also be used as a suffix for the name of a person who has a degree in a Master of Science.

Sans also owns quantum physics books. The subject of Gaster’s scientific research is revealed in Entry #17: “photon readings negative”. Photons are described as a "quantum" of electromagnetic energy, and are of course within the realm of study under quantum physics.

Gaster, like Sans, is brilliant yet slow-working. Slower than Alphys, who is repeatedly noted to have nothing to show yet as the royal scientist in the eyes of the people and is shown to slack off constantly.

Gaster is implied to have perished, and I suppose he did, in a way, if these speculations do end up being correct. However, there’s something more to this statement. Ghosts are sort of in the realm of being not-alive, and Sans and Napstablook have a surprising level of comparability.

They both:

Get likened to “garbage”

Have connections to snails (Napstablook runs the snail farm)

Speak completely in lower case

Pretend to sleep and say “Z’s” out loud

Have black “sclera”

And the black sclera is also a topic of its own; it’s equated with the status of being brought back to life. Being “determined”. (See: Asriel and Undyne)

Undyne is especially suspect due to the strange right-eye-phenomenon she has in common with Sans, with spears shooting out of hers. Spears that are actually colored light blue, not unlike Sans’s eye.

To recap:

Sans and Gaster are heavily involved in Deltarune

They have been displaced from time and space

They have connections to snails

They are both doctors with knowledge in quantum physics

They both “fell” into the abyss

They both talk similarly

They are both slow

They are both characterized by their smile

They are both some degree of dead

Sans is Gaster or a significant piece of him. Sans has Gaster Blasters because they belong to him. If all prior conjecture proves true, he is and will be responsible for the destruction of a world or THE world within Deltarune. After all, the Latin definitions of “gaster” and “sans” are to destroy and to be without, respectively.

That brings us to the next subject: why is Sans Sans? More specifically, why is that his name? Why even change his name?

Below is the Japanese version of the fun event with Sans’s phone call. It features completely different dialogue from its English counterpart.

Am I Licca-chan? (Select No) Then from now on call me Sans. I need to check every once in a while. I won’t know when my name has changed.

“Licca-chan” is a well-known Barbie-esque dress-up doll in Japan, so popular to the point where it is even used as a synonym for other dolls from different companies. Perhaps it implies that Sans is adaptable due to Licca-chan’s nature as a doll and how she is in a constant state of change to reflect the times. It also seems to be a pun on “liquor” because Sans was talking about beer in the English version. I tried to scour the Japanese fandom for clues, but they also seemed stumped. If anyone has any ideas on what this could mean, please let me know!

Regardless, “Sans” doesn’t seem to be his actual name. Perhaps his true name was Gaster...?

Additionally, If the player changes the name of the fallen child via going into the code, this message appears in the stats menu. The vernacular is very Sans-like, with his frequent use of question tags at the end of his sentences (I counted 14 huh’s from Sans).

Finally, let’s talk about the number six. We know that it’s Gaster’s number--All of the explicitly Gaster-related fun events trigger for fun values in the sixties, Gaster’s stats are all comprised of 6′s, Gaster’s “typer-value” is 666--you get the idea.

The concept art Toby drew for the Alarm Clock’s character screen features what is presumably Sans and the number six.

“The Choice”--the track that plays during Sans’s judgements--is “Undertale” slowed down by 666%.

Section IV - Angels and Demons (The “Why”)

In modern day culture, 666 is closely associated with the devil. The Book of Revelation (13:17-18) asserts that 666 is “the number of a man” (this is important, and we’ll come back to it later) and is “the number of the Beast”. The Beast is mentioned as “coming out of the abyss”.

Sounds a lot like someone else we know, doesn’t it? And how fitting for Sans, the one who judges our sins and demands us “to burn in hell”.

But if we go further, the Beast of Revelation is described to have seven heads representing seven kings. The beast itself is an eighth king who is of the seven and "was and is not and shall ascend out of the bottomless pit, and go into perdition."

Chara is an eighth of the seven fallen children.

There’s something Chara, Sans, and Gaster all share, and it’s their association with demons.

Here is an excerpt from the Cutting Room Floor:

Among the four strings in version 1.0, the last one, designated by variable “demond”, stands out for two reasons.

The letter “d” is separate from the other letters denoting the demon variables--the rest, “x”, “y”, and “z” are in sequential alphabet order.

The speech pattern of the last string is different from the others. It has that signature question tag at the end of the sentence that a certain character is known for.

In version 1.001, the strings clearly reflect Chara’s speech pattern. This time, all the variables are in sequential order from “a” to “d”.

Pieces of dialogue at the near-end of a genocide route from Chara and Sans. Recall that Chara is using the same “Now” from earlier with Gaster and Sans.

Chara makes a reference to Banana Yoshimoto's book “Kitchen”. Take note of the page number.

Chara is also linked to the number nine. It’s the highest achievable stat in-game. It’s the stat of the locket and real knife. It’s how much damage Chara deals. It’s also the number six flipped upside down.

The connections are undeniable.

And yet, it goes further. Let’s take a look at how Christmas comes in to play.

In Deltarune, there are a few references to it, the most foremost probably being the importance of Noelle Holiday as a character. We also get Lancer’s laugh and the joke with “Krismas”.

Back to Undertale, there is significant Christmas iconography represented by “Gyfmas” and Gyftrot (bearing a strong resemblance to Photoshop Flowey, the DT Extractor, and Gaster Blasters).

What I’d like to focus on is Santa. Papyrus describes him as “a chubby, smiling man who loves to surprise people.” From the thank you note addressed to Santa we find in Sans’s room, we can assume that Sans is a Santa, at least to Papyrus. It’s pretty fitting, since Sans can be described as someone who “knows if [we’ve] been bad or good”. Maybe he can even tell if we’re sleeping or awake with how the Dark World appears to be linked with sleep and dreams (please read my theory on Sans being a Darkner for more on this).

So we can reasonably conclude that Sans presents himself as a friendly, child-oriented figure, in-line with the nature of Comic Sans, a font for children, and Ice-E, a mascot of a company marketed towards children.

…

Santa is an anagram of Satan.

…

To recap: Gaster’s association with the number 666 marks him as a “demon”. Chara and Sans are also called demons and similarly have connections to the number 6. This is more evidence that Gaster and Sans is or used to be the same people, and Chara has some form of correspondence with them.

I failed to mention before that there is actually a second Beast of Revelation “from the Earth” with "two horns like a lamb”. From the “earth” like Flowey, with horns like Asriel.

Asriel is most likely the “Angel” depicted in the prophecy within the scope of Undertale; he’s named similarly to Azrael, an angel of death, and one of his attacks is literally called “Angel of Death”. He also bears a striking resemblance to the Deltarune in his God of Hyperdeath form.

Surprise, surprise, he and Sans also share parallels.

Let’s start with their introductions. “Flowey the flower”. “Sans the skeleton”. It’s a similarly alliterative greeting and they’re both using fake names.

Mirrored dialogue yet again...

…and similar meta-commentary.

These three characters--Sans/Gaster, Chara, and Flowey/Asriel--they have all fallen. Gaster fell into his creation. Chara fell into the Underground. Asriel had “fallen down”. (Sans and Papyrus are also the only sibling pair other than Chara and Asriel. I won’t talk about Papyrus in this part though because this thing is shaping up to be too long already.)

What does this mean for Sans? I have a personal theory.

Above the entryway of the Judgement Hall, there is a reversed Deltarune. The triangles are inverted and the wings are more bat-like. In the room where only Sans appears, the same room that plays a version of “Undertale” slowed down 666%.

I think Sans is a candidate for the Angel prophesized to destroy the world in Deltarune. I think he is Sans Serif, a seraph. He fell into his experiment and became a “fallen” angel, a demon.

The Angel’s Heaven mentioned alongside, on the other hand... Heaven can also be used to refer to God. Dog is an anagram of God.

Sans has many, many connections with dogs, especially one Annoying Dog. More on this next time.

Part 1 || ❤️ || Part 3

#undertale #deltarune #undertale theory #deltarune theory #sans #gaster #cellytheory

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soulmate-game · 4 years

Text

Part 2: The same prompt, but Siblings this time

Tim paused the video on his computer, the red figure on it in mid-leap off of a building. Be rewound the video, played it, paused again at the same time stamp.

No, his eyes were not deceiving him. The video was not doctored.

So what the hell was going on?

“Hey Timmie, find anything on that Paris situation Bruce asked you to look into?” Dick’s voice made Tim startle, nearly spilling his coffee all over the keyboard and possibly deleting his hard-earned research. Rescuing his lifeblood from certain doom, he hugged his mug to his chest and glared at his older brother for a second. Dick was not in the least bothered, used to this sort of reaction from the younger detective. Dick just grinned, leaning on the back of Tim’s chair and looking up at the images on the large computer screen above them. He whistled lowly, impressed. “You’ve made a lot of progress, nice! Anything you wanna share with me before the debrief tonight?”

Tim clenched and unclenched his jaw, weighing his options. Dick waited patiently, knowing that sometimes Tim needed a minute to sort through his rapid-forming thoughts. Finally Tim sighed, setting down his mug grimly.

“Actually, yes,” he admitted. Tim’s tense tone immediately made Dick stiffen, straightening up. His eyebrows pulled down, and he returned his gaze to the computer.

“Okay, that’s your serious voice. What is it?”

“I… need your confirmation with something,” Tim turned around and looked straight at Dick. And he hesitated again, because certain… past interactions with his eldest brother once again flashed through his head. The entire Bruce-is-alive and being threatened with Arkham interaction, to be specific. But Tim needed to know the truth, it was his fatal flaw he supposed. He couldn’t back away in fear of how Dick might react.

“Ohhhhkay?” Dick just grew more and more concerned the longer that Tim took to actually speak.

“So, just to recap. There are only four people in history who have been able to do a quadruple somersault, right?” Tim asked, knowing full well the answer. Dick, predictably, shifted and grew even more on alert at the inquiry. He knew that couldn’t mean anything good. His jaw clenched, and his hands formed tight fists. But Dick also remembered the Bruce incident with Tim all that time ago, and he didn’t want to repeat his mistakes. So he forced himself to take a deep breath, and shake himself away from jumping to conclusions.

“Yeah,” Dick nodded. “Me, my parents, and my sister,” he confirmed rigidly. Tim nodded, and then rewound the video on the screen again, nodding to show that Dick should focus on it.

“Okay. But watch this,” Tim suggested, starting the video again. Dick watched as the red and black-spotted heroine of Paris, Ladybug, zipped through the air and around buildings with her yo-yo. He watched as she let go, at a height that even a normal person could manage, and executed four perfect somersaults in mid-air before landing nimbly on the ground. Tim paused the video again, his eyes never leaving Dick’s tense face.

“It isn’t doctored,” Tim said, filling the silence and preemptively answering the questions he knew he would get. “I checked. Magic is involved, but Constantine and Zatanna both confirmed it would have no hold over basic physical abilities like flexibility or… gymnastics. Only specifically combat styles used by past Ladybugs can be transferred magically to the next Ladybug, not this.”

“Tim,” Dick’s voice was terrifyingly blank. “What are you suggesting?”

“Nothing yet,” Tim was quick to hold up his hands in surrender. “I’m still doing research. It’s possible, though extremely unlikely, that she managed to teach herself how to do that. You tell me, Dick, how likely is it?”

Dick swallowed, not wanting to say it but knowing he had to look at the facts. “... At her age? Next to impossible,” he admitted. “She could learn it, theoretically, as young as seven or eight, but only if someone who knew what they were doing taught her since she was about three.”

Tim nodded again. He knew those numbers, he knew where they came from.

“Then— and this is only a theory right now— we have what I think is the more plausible scenario,” Tim swallowed. This was the hard part. “Your sister was kidnapped after your parent’s death, but the body that was found wasn’t actually her’s. It wasn’t in a state to be physically identified, so—“

“I know what state it was in, Tim!” Dick snapped, forcing himself to take a few steps back and just breath. Even now, the image of a tiny body burned beyond recognition was burned into the inside of his eyelids, there to taunt him whenever he blinked or slept and let his mind wander in just the wrong direction. She would be… what, Jason’s age, now? She was seven… only seven, when their parents died and she ran off into the Gotham streets in despair. When she was kidnapped, as is what happens in Gotham.

When Dick was presented with a body he could not say WASN’T her’s a week later.

“The DNA…” Dick tried. “They said…”

“I know,” Tim’s voice was carefully soft. “But the records on your family’s DNA were all kept by the circus back then. The Talons had access to those files. It’s very possible they were tampered with. Switched. It wouldn’t be hard for them to burn your sister’s actual medical files and replace them with forged copies that had someone else’s DNA on them. The data of the girl who actually died.”

Dick closed his eyes, shaking his head. He didn’t want to hope, it would hurt too much if Tim was wrong.

Tim had been right about more unlikely things than this, a voice in the back of his head whispered. And yeah, that was true. But Dick was still too scared to hope.

“Finish your research, Tim,” Dick’s voice was strained with suppressed emotion. He couldn’t even look at the younger vigilante as he left the Cave. “Find out who Ladybug’s civilian persona is, and then we’ll talk.”

Tim could only sigh in relief when Dick was gone. That could have gone much worse.

—*—*—*—*—*

A week later, the entire family was gathered. This was the full debrief on the Paris case, rather than the progress update that they had had to do before. Research took longer than Tim had expected, he had years of data to go through after all. But he had come away with exactly what he had been looking for.

After running through the overall situation and where the fight against HawkMoth was at in the present day, Tim licked his lips and took a deep breath. This was it, the Who-Is-Ladybug part.

“I was able to get security footage of her detransformation, just one lucky shot from ten years ago, when this whole thing began,” he prefaced. “She was thirteen years old, and untrained as far as heroism goes, so it stands to reason she didn’t know yet how to be properly careful about transforming. This is that security picture,” he carefully put the enlarged picture up on the Batcomputer, as well as sliding a physical copy onto the table for everyone to pass around.

Dick didn’t even try to grab it, his eyes glued to the computer, expression unreadable. The picture was a little grainy, but most of the girl’s face could be made out. Pigtails, dark black hair that shimmered blue in direct light, blue eyes.

But it was the next picture that Tim pulled up that pushed everything over the edge.

“These are the official pictures of her that I was able to get from Paris records. This first picture is of her at the same age at the security footage, thirteen. The second picture is her now, age twenty-three,” Tim said, before the side-by-side came up on the screen. Tim’s eyes slid over to Dick, who was frozen in his seat, just staring at the images silently. He wasn’t even breathing.

“Dick?” Bruce asked, immediately noticing the behavior. His eyebrows furrowed. “Are you alright?”

Dick’s next breath came in with a shudder, and he clenched his eyes shut in a futile attempt to stop the tears that came out. He choked out a broken chuckle, shaking his head and giving out a lopsided, watery grin.

“Heh. Another point for Timmy being right,” Dick jokes weakly, rubbing at his eyes.

“What do you mean? Tim?” Bruce turned to the younger of the two insistently. “What’s going on? Who is she?”

“Currently, according to Parisian records, she is Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” Tim told them. “More specifically, her full name is Marinette Gray Dupain-Cheng. Which I believe is what she chose to change her name to after she was kidnapped sixteen years ago from right outside Haley’s Circus, and illegally transported to France,” Tim clicked another button to bring up a third picture in the side-by-side. It was of someone who was clearly a younger Marinette, but in the very familiar costume of the Flying Graysons, standing right next to a twelve-year old version of Dick. “Because her birth name is Marie Natalia Grayson. Dick’s younger sister, who until now was presumed dead. But I was able to confirm that the medical records back then for Marie were forged, and the information on them could not actually belong to her. The body that was presented as Marie’s… was a red herring to hide that Marie was no longer in America at all.”

Dick’s sob-laugh drew everyone’s attention back to the first Robin, who was now silently, openly, crying. Nobody really knew how to deal with that, and the room descended into awkward silence as Dick tried to regain his composure a little.

“Marinette… Gray,” he whispered, chuckling again and shaking his head as he wiped at his cheeks. “That idiot… her ability with subtlety hasn’t gotten any better, that’s for sure,” he was smiling now, still staring at the pictures of Marinette on the screen. Of his beautiful little sister, all grown up and not buried six feet under like he had thought for far too long.

Because this was different from Hope. This was certainty. The face, the far too on-the-nose name, the somersaults, Dick had even noticed it in the way she swung on her yo-yo. The body memory from years of Trapeze, those little quirks he recognized as belonging to his sister that he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge. But now, all together, he could admit to himself that it was her. It was really her.

Could it be a clone? Maybe. Maybe. But that was why Dick snuck out to France the very next day, informing absolutely nobody.

Because he had a test that only the real Marie would be able to pass.

—*—*—*—*—*

"How did you- No, nevermind, I don't want to know, plausible deniability and all that,” the deep, unfamiliar male voice made Marinette squeak in shock, nearly dropping the phone in her hands. She leaned so far to her right that she almost fell over, but her nearly perfect balance (that only failed her when she was nervous or self conscious) kept her upright.

Her eyes darted down to her phone screen, where an app that Max had helped her create was opened. It utilized at least five hundred little fly-shaped drones that Markov managed and kept track of to scan the city for corrupted butterflies and recognize the level of stress or other negative emotions that civilians were experiencing. It cut down severely on patrol time that the crew had to do, making it easier for them to balance their hero and civilian lives and also allowed for them to arrive at the scene of Akuma attacks twice as fast as before— along with helping with the original purpose of catching evidence to use against Hawkmoth, of course.

Marinette straightened her back, smiling sheepishly and closing out the app. She had just been making a routine check, it had only been open for a minute. How had he managed to sneak up on her in that time? Only chat could do that anymore.

That is, until Marinette turned around the rest of the way and got a good look at the man. Her eyes widened— what was Nightwing, a vigilante from Gotham, doing there?

“I don’t see what plausible deniability has to do with anything,” she replied in easy, unaccented English. She might not speak it often, but she did stay in practice. Even now a lot of her fashion notes and thoughts were in either English or Romani. “It’s just a game app that my friend created,” the practiced lie flew easily past her lips, and she was able to even smile confidently and begin to happily ramble about Max’s (public) achievements like she would in any normal situation. “It is still in the test phase of course, but it uses virtual reality and mapping technology to create a treasure hunt sort of adventure game that people can do as they walk around. Like Pokémon go, but with real-time footage of the city— with people not included besides the game characters of course— and it rewards caution as well as keeping active,” she explained their cover story for the app happily. But Nightwing only smiled easily at her with his arms crossed, clearly not believing a single word.

“Ah— but that probably isn’t interesting,” Marinette purposely stuttered, turning her face into one of (surprisingly genuine) confusion as she looked at the vigilante. “What are you here for anyway, Monsieur? This doesn’t seem like—“

“I have a riddle that a friend of mine told me to ask you,” he interrupted, instantly putting Marinette on guard. She took a step back, eyebrows pulling down at the odd request. But still, she chuckled nervously and shrugged. She had to maintain appearances after all.

“Uh, sure..? Riddles are fun, in the right circumstances I guess.”

Nightwing beamed happily, nearly blinding the poor girl. “Awesome!” His next words came out in fluent Romani though: “If a Hummingbird ever gets lost, what kind of animal will track it down?”

Marinette’s mouth went dry, her shoulders dropping. Her mouth opened and closed, the shock of the question leaving her unable to even pretend she didn’t understand exactly what was said. Nightwing’s gaze grew more intense, yet his smile got impossibly soft.

Marinette swallowed thickly, and she took a deep breath before responding in Romani: “You shouldn’t— only one person—“

“That doesn’t answer the riddle, ma’am.”

Marinette’s confusion turned into a harsh glare. “He would never tell someone else to ask me that. What are you trying to play at, Nightwing?” She hissed harshly, still in her native language.

“Listen, Marinette,” Nightwing held up both hands to try to calm her down. It did the opposite, making her take another step back. “Batman and the rest of our team has been looking into the Hawkmoth security—“ Marinette cursed, clearly seeing where this was going. “— We believe he found out who Ladybug is. But, we also found signs that your real name is—“

“Shut up!” She yelled in English, fists clenched tightly. Luckily she had gone into an alleyway to check her phone, or else they would be attracting attention by then. Her eyes sparked with anger. “You don’t get to use that name. And if you’re so smart,” Marinette tucked her phone into her purse and scaled the wall next to her nimbly, perching on the roof as Nightwing cursed and began to follow her. “Then try to predict my moves, birdy.”

It only took a few minutes and crossed rooftops for Marinette to call on her transformation and pick up speed. She knew by then that Nightwing, and probably the other Bats too, already found her out. Not ideal, but manageable. Now she wanted to show him why he shouldn’t come into her territory and dig into her past and think he could get away with it.

Somewhere during the chase, more Bats appeared one by one. Judging by what Ladybug was able to overhear, they had come as soon as they realized where Nightwing had snuck off to.

That made Marinette pause from where she hid behind a sloped roof, in the middle of a call to her own teammates. Nightwing hadn’t come on his team’s orders?

Why the hell had he come, then?

She shook thought thoughts away, focusing on her plan. Paris was her city, and she would make sure the Bats learned their lesson when it came to sticking their nose in Parisian business.

“Bug?” The soft, concerned call came from her yo-yo and pulled her from her contemplating. Max, in full Pegasus attire, was frowning at her in worry on the small screen. She just shook her head at him.

“I’m fine, Peg. Just don’t like how this feels like Gotham ruining my life again,” she remarked sourly. “But I’m fine. Start plan We’re Not Kids.”

Max nodded, but rolled his eyes and muttered something that sounded like; “even though we made this plan when we actually were kids…”

A portal opened in the air a few seconds later, releasing Honeybee in all her gold and black glory. The winged hero zipped through the air, immediately putting team Miraculous at an advantage since team Bat didn’t want to actually harm them.

It took a glorious five seconds for Honeybee to paralyze them all before Tortoise dropped out from another portal and surrounded the temporarily paralyzed vigilantes in a dome shield that kept them in just as easily as it kept everything else out.

One by one, Marinette’s teammates dropped out of more portals until Pegasus himself joined them. Ladybug took that as her que to come out, leaping over her hiding place to land in front of her friends, who had formed a half-circle in front of the trapped dome.

“Vixen,” she called to the fox-themed hero, whose ears twitched before she straightened to attention. “Create an illusion to hide us. The last thing we need are any pictures or anyone asking questions.”

“Got it!” Vixen agreed easily, raising her flute to her lips. A short melody later, and their surroundings warped. To those inside the illusion, it seemed as if the world merely ended off of the rooftop they were on, into only blankness. Outside, that very rooftop appeared empty.

It was then that Chat Noir stepped up to take Ladybug’s side, his acidic green eyes scanning over the Gotham vigilantes trapped inside Tortoise’s protective barrier.

“You can release the paralysis, Honeybee,” his order was noticeably softer than Ladybug’s clear commands. It was obvious that he was the deputy in this situation, the flexibility to Ladybug’s iron leadership. That was when the red clad hero crossed her arm, resuming control of the situation wordlessly. The Gotham heroes briefly glowed gold as Honeybee let their paralysis begin to gradually wear off.

“Paris is my city,” Ladybug’s voice was at a normal volume, but came out with such auditory steel that it was clear she expected to be listened to, or she’d know why. “If I needed or wanted your help, I would have asked for it. Now, if you had come here normally to offer aid, then we might be having a different discussion right now,” her eyes narrowed further. “But you dug into my past. You violated my privacy. And Nightwing, you crossed a line,” she would have continued if the blue and black clad hero didn’t use his sudden ability to move to rip off his mask.

Marinette’s voice died in her throat, and for a while she thought she might be hallucinating. Those eyes, that face— she knew them. She knew them, because she saw them whenever she dared close her eyes. Because the dreams she had, the dreams that made her never want to drag herself out of bed because she wanted to believe those dreams were real so badly, always contained those eyes. And that face, though it had been much younger in her memories.

She stumbled, and only Chat’s presence at her side kept her from toppling right over.

“Bugaboo?” He asked frantically, distraught. She just shook her head dazedly, pushing herself back to her feet and away from her partner.

“I’m fine, Chat. Just…,” she assured her partner, but her eyes never left Nightwing. She licked her lips nervously, before continuing; “... Bluebird,” she whispered, making Nightwing’s eyes widen. Her brother’s eyes. “That’s the answer to the riddle, right?”

Slowly, a wide smile split his face before he began to laugh happily, despite Robin slapping Nightwing’s mask back on his face with a furious grumble.

“Ladybug?” Tortoise asked, stepping up to her other side cautiously. Seeing as they were all adults now, none of them had to worry about time or power limits anymore. “Are you..?”

“Release the shield,” she ordered instead of answering, her eyes clearly damp behind her mask. “I need to strangle my idiotic older brother for scaring the hell out of me.”

That made the rest of her team make their various exclamations of shock, but Chat and Tortoise stayed silent. Chat just put a hand on Ladybug’s shoulder in support, while Tortoise zipped his wide gaze back to Nightwing before sighing and releasing his ability.

“Only you, Bug,” the green clad hero groused playfully. “Only you.”

If Marinette Dupain-Cheng suddenly introduced her long-lost brother to her closest friends and family that same night, nobody voiced the coincidence out loud.

—*—*—*—*—*

Part 1: Romance

Part 3: Bio!Parent

#maribat #ml x dc #mlb x dc #dickinette #platonic dickinette #3-from-1 challenge

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nyx-aira · 4 years

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When two worlds collide

Summary: When Wanda finally snaps and attacks the S.W.O.R.D base, she doesn't expect they would have inhuman support. While the battle rages on Jimmy, Monica and Darcy discover a secret about their colleague that might save the day.

A/N: I've wrote this after episode five came out but in this version S.W.O.R.D threatens Wanda again and she snaps. This isn't canon compliant, at least not 100%. Also I'm not an expert on magic in the MCU, I just took some of the pieces I remembered and put them in there, so it's probably not canon as well.

TW: mind controlled, brief mention of violence, panic attack

You had been in the lab when it happened. Something had breached the barrier. Looking around you saw that nobody was in the lab with you. You knew Monica was in a meeting with Hayward but you didn't know where Jimmy and Darcy went.

Running out of the building you almost fell to the floor, as if you had ran into a barrier. The air was full with magic, it was everywhere, wearing you down, seeping into your bones, lapping at your strength. You tried to regain your breath but it was as if your lungs were full of honey, making it almost impossible to breathe. It was unbearable.

Looking around, trying to find a familiar face, you grabbed the first agent you saw by the arm and asked what was going on.

"Maximoff has breached the barrier, she's turning our own men against us. Stay inside ma'am, we'll handle it."

Wanda. This wasn't Wanda. You knew her magic, it felt different, like a thunderstorm. Crackling with energy, unpredictable and ever-changing. This, whatever this was, wasn't her, not entirely.

You had known Wanda since you were little, you grew up on the same streets and had benn unseparable, Wanda, you and Pietro. Then Ultron had happened, you had lost the twins as the battle continued to rage on but you had felt their powers all over the city. It had been agony to feel the wave of magic when Wanda cried out. You had felt all of it, her pain, the shock and the rage, so much rage.

Wanda probably thought you were dead as well, thinking you had died in Sokovia all these years ago, but you didn't. She wasn't the only one with abilities, with magic. The only difference, you were born with it, she had been nudged in the right direction by Hydra.

That's why you started running again, following the awful feeling of dread and agony. Hurting you every step you took, sapping at your strength, wearing you down but you continued running. For Wanda.

You rounded another corner when you fell to your knees, that sensation growing stronger the closer you got. Trying to regain your breath you realised someone was taking to you.

"...you okay? Can you get up?"

Blinking up you could make out two people, shaking your head to clear your vision the blurred figures became people. Monica and Darcy, allies, friends, your brain supplied.

"Captain, Doctor." you greeted them, groaning while getting up from the floor.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Monica asked while offering you a hand. "Yeah you look like shit." came the remark from Darcy.

You rubbed your head and dusted off your clothes. "I'm good, don't worry." Looking in the disbelieving faces of your colleagues you couldn't blame them, whatever that was, was sapping up all the magic it could get. So it made sense that normal people wouldn't be affected, they probably didn't even feel a difference. You couldn't imagine how Wanda must be feeling.

"I need to get to her." you heard yourself say before you started to run again, ignoring the calls of your name and the torturous sensation that was making your life a living hell right now. You didn't come far though as you felt a hand grab your shoulder and not so gently halt your attempt at saving your best friend. Turning around you looked in the, now, three concerned faces of your friends.

"Listen I know you believe that this was all a mistake somehow..." Jimmy tried to say but you interrupted him. "It's not her, whatever this is, it's not her." Starting to walk again you heard three sets of footsteps follow you. "What do you mean it's not her?" Darcy prodded. "I can feel it, that's something else." came your curt reply, focusing on the task ahead, trying to shield yourself from the other source of magic you pulled your glamour closer to you. Not ready to show them what was really going on.

"What do you mean you can feel it?" came the cautious question from Monica. "And what something else, is that why you're so affected by what's going on?"

"You have powers too, don't you?"

Turning around you looked at them, you knew you could trust them but there was this nagging feeling in your head that you were losing time, but looking at them again you realised, you couldn't do this alone so you took a deep breath and dropped your glamour, preparing yourself for their reaction.

Taking a deep breath you realised that you were feeling different, the suffocating sensation wasn't as strong and painful anymore, your mind cleared up as well, the feeling of haziness still there but not as present as before.

"Your hands are ...broken...gleaming..?" was Jimmy's confused reaction. Looking down you traced the glowing cracks on your arms, closing your eyes as the familiar feeling of your magic surged through your body. It felt good, after all these weeks, not having to suppress your powers. Taking another breath you willed the glow to go away, only the small white cracks staying visible, you continued marching towards the chaos, your friends not far behind.

"It's a long story but the short version: Wanda isn't the only one with powers here and I probably won't stay as the only magical surprise today."

Continuing your way to the barrier you realised that there were no other agents around, it was completely silent, no sound besides your own footsteps. Something was wrong. The others must have realised that as well, as you could see Monica and Jimmy draw their weapons, Darcy readying her taser. You tapped your foot on the ground, a small wave of energy moving through your surroundings, allowing you to see what your eyes couldn't.

"There's nothing. Not a single person." Scanning your surroundings you started to wonder where all the people went when you hear a deafening bang. Looking at your friends you nod as you all started running towards the noise. It's the sound of gunfire you soon realise and Monica pulled you behind some of the buildings where you could have a good look of what was going on.

You were about 200 meters from the barrier, the open area in front of you a deadly battle. It looked like S.W.O.R.D was fighting their own agents, some being mind controlled, some still with a free will but the numbers were dwindling. Charging into the fight would be a suicide mission, looking at the others they seemed to agree with you. Concern was plastered all over their faces, these people were their colleagues, comrades and friends. Letting your gaze glide through the battle you frantically tried to come up with a plan. You needed to get to Wanda, not having spotted her yet, and try to snap her out of whatever that was. Admittedly the plan wasn't the best but it was the only one you had.

"Can you take her?"

The question snapped you out of your thoughts. "Wanda." Jimmy repeated "Could you beat her in a fight if you had to?"

Now you had the attention of everyone, looking at you with a questioning look. You sighed, rubbing your face, absently tracing the marks on your arms, a nervous habit you had picked up over the years.

"I'd like to believe so. Wanda's raw powers a strong, stronger than mine but its mostly just that, raw strength, raw energy. She isn't properly trained, hasn't worked with other magic users, to my knowledge at least. I was born with these powers, having trained with other sorcerers and mages since I was little. I can tap in energy sources she's probably not even aware of. I'm more in control but she has greater potential." You weren't sure on how big their understanding of magic was, going with Darcy as the one with the most knowledge as she had met some Asgardians.

Magic was alive, it wasn't just something that was simply there. It was in nature, in plants, in trees, in animals, even in humans. Magic was everywhere, you just needed to know how to tap into it. Some drew their power from other dimensions, some used the the power of the Yggdrasil, others used powerful objects as their source of energy and other magic users, including yourself, drew their power from the aether. The aether was an ancient energy source, as old as the planet itself, maybe even older. It was a feral energy, not as defined as the power of the Yggdrasil, it was more difficult to handle as it was closest to nature and the planet. For you it was perfect, the rough, brute, untamed nature of it. Like the stormy see, it's unpredictable, brachial, brute nature was alluring, tempting. You couldn't just use it, you had to work with it, convince it that you were worthy of it's powers. Once you had passed that test your understanding of what was possible would change forever.

The noise of the battle brought you back to reality. Watching the clash you realised that there weren't many S.W.O.R.D agents left standing. Catching a glimpse of red you looked to the far left end of the barrier to see Wanda blast some agents back into the woods.

The woods. You took note of your surroundings and a plan formed in your head. This could actually work, you just needed to get a little bit closer. Getting up from where you were sitting you realised that this was gonna be more difficult then you thought when you felt Monica tackle you to the ground and a spray of bullets hit where seconds ago would have been your head.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed!" she yelled at you but you just pointed to the trees 30 meters in front of you.

"I have a plan but I need to get there."

"In one piece? That's impossible." Darcy exclaimed, fixing you with an incredulous look, Jimmy just shook his head, agreeing with her statement. "If we don't do anything soon there will be no S.W.O.R.D agents left!" You tried to spot Wanda again but could only see the red flares of her magic, at least she hadn't vanished. Seeing the look in Monica's eyes you knew that she agreed with you, they all did. Realising that you needed to do something fast, you told them your plan. They didn't seem thrilled but it was your only option.

Focusing on the task at hand you closed your eyes, preparing yourself for whatever might happen, trying to shield yourself from the sickening feeling of whatever that thing was.

Taking a final breath you opened your eyes to see Monica, Darcy and Jimmy take cover, the scientist giving you an encouraging thumbs up. Looking to the battlefield you tried to blend out all the noise and screams of agony, focusing on your target, the trees and woods surrounding you.

Kneeling to the ground you felt a surge of power flow through your body, welcoming the feeling of the aether, you poured all of your energy into the ground, the presence of the other thing making it harder than it usually was. You felt the ground react to your magic, adapting to your will. The ancient power cursing through your veins and surroundings, making the world slow down, letting you see the battle through different eyes. The soldiers desperately trying not to hurt their friends but realising there's no other way, the mindcontrolled trying to break free of the spell and crying out in agony when they have to hurt their comrades. It was brutal, brutal and beautiful in it's own horrible way. The ground ached when you jumped over the makeshift barricades, groaning and giving in a little bit when you landed in between the trees.

Your magic creating a shock wave, knocking everything down in a 20 meter radius. Looking up from the ground you could feel all eyes on you, the battle had stopped for a moment, everyone staring at the new arrival. As soon as they got out of their trance they started fighting again, charging towards you and the remaining S.W.O.R.D agents. You didn't hear the gunfire when you got up, you didn't feel the bullets trying to hit you when you started walking. Twisting your hand in the air, a shimmering barrier appeared, blocking them off. As you continued to walk into the battle the ground started shaking, cracks started to appear and the trees you had left behind started moving. Groaning and aching as they turned from lifeless vines to enormous giants. Some as high as a three story building, some smaller, they started walking into your direction, steadily going forwards, pushing enemies out of the way with their branch-like arms and shielding your allies.

There were at least six of them, aiding you in your pursuit as you conjured more creatures, small rock giants, trolls and even a small serpent. Making sure they knew what they were doing you started charging in direction of Wanda's red magic, creating cracks in the ground to stop your enemies, you didn't want kill them, just slow them down.

Conjuring a gust of wind to jump the remaining distance you landed in front of Wanda. Looking her in the eyes for the first time in eight years.

If she was surprised to see you she didn't show it, blasting you with a ball of energy. You caught it fairly easy but she just started blasting energy ball after energy ball towards you. Not being able to withstand her assault you threw up a barrier. You didn't want to hurt her, you really didn't but you could feel your shield cracking so you summon a waterspout to knock her back. You both got slammed away from the brute force of the wave, the ground now being covered in a layer of water you froze Wanda to the ground, knowing it wouldn't stop her for too long.

You saw her struggle to blast off the ice, watching her grow more frustrated when it came back stronger than it was before, your spell working against her magic. Cautious you started walking in her direction, wary of her magic and her current state of mind as she grew more agitated every second she was enclosed in the ice. Something was wrong, she could have gotten out of there if she really wanted to in no time. Why was she struggling so much? Getting closer you realised that she was crying, tearing streaming down her face, getting more desperate every second.

"Wanda..." you asked tentatively.

Whipping her head around at the sound of her name she stared at you, mouth hanging agape, not struggling against her bonds anymore. You two were staring at each other, saying nothing.

Suddenly she started shaking her head, letting out a terrified scream. "You're not real, you're not real, you're not real..."

She started repeating the same phrase over and over again, shaking her head, crying, throwing all of her energy into trying to break the ice. Sensing the danger of her actions you made it dissappear, letting her fall into the shallow water. When you looked at her again she was rocking back and forth, still repeating the same phrase over and over again, silent tears streaming down her face.

You crouched down next to her, still keeping a short distance.

"Wanda, I'm here, this isn't fake, please look at me."

She shook her head and an almost not audible "that's what it always says" was heard. "Says who Wanda?" you tried, wanting to dig deeper.

"It's all in my head, it's all in my head. They said I could live my perfect life but it's not true. They lied!" Tears were streaming down your face as well as you pulled her close to you.

Putting your glowing hand on the ground the water started to float, little droplets dancing around in the sky. The tree giants started to walk back to their original positions, shrinking down, becoming normal trees again. The small rock giants burying themselves in the ground, vanishing into the earth. Cracks in the ground the only indicator they were even there. Starting to shimmer and fade away, the trolls gave one last bow in your direction until they too, disappeared. Now the only thing left were you and Wanda, sitting amidst the battle field. S.W.O.R.D agents regaining their free will, getting escorted away by their comrades, happy that their friends were back.

While you were ridding the scene from the marks of the battle Wanda was staring at you in awe.

"It's really you."

"Of course Wands, I promised you I would always come back."

Sniffling she took your hand in hers, examining the glowing marks on your arms, tracing them like you did before the battle.

"I always had a feeling you were special." she whispered, not really believing that you were alive.

"Well what about being special together?" Offering your hand to her you both got up, walking back to the S.W.O.R.D base hand in hand. The small serpent you summoned before slithering towards you, shrinking down until he was wrapped around your finger, molding back into the ring he was before.

Yes there was gonna be a lot to undo but together you were unstoppable, friends by blood but sisters in heart.

#wandavision #wanda maximoff #darcy lewis #jimmy woo #monica rambeau #wanda maximoff & reader #yes yes im really proud of that one

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writingithink · 3 years

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Improbable Multiversal Transcending Temporal Spacetime Event Pairing: Metacrisis Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler Rated: T Word Count: 7,101 Summary: The best way to show someone you care is to blow up their job ... right? Notes: I'm back! And it's not a Tangled Timelines update (sorry!) But it is something? I've had this in my WIPs for awHILE now, and when I was cleaning my studio the other night I found a planning page for it in a random tote bag and was like ... oh yeah. And the ending just came to me and I love it when that happens. Hopefully there will be another chapter up for Tangled Timelines soon, though!

As always, infinite thanks to my wonderful beta, @hey-there-juliet who is fine with me randomly sending her fics at all hours and with no warning XP

All mistakes are mine, as always.

<<READ IT ON AO3>>

If the other him in the other universe had taken the time to imagine their human life together in a parallel universe, the Doctor doubted he would have pictured this. His imagination, when it came to Rose Tyler, was always quite whimsical. Happiness had made him impractical, really. Because despite all of the drawbacks, all of the reasons he currently loathed himself, the Doctor knew every single reason why the other truly felt like this was the best possible option.

But maybe it wasn’t.

Sometimes, despite it not occurring too often, he was wrong.

They had spent five and a half hours on the beach at Bad Wolf Bay.

(I create myself.)

She had been so upset; said that after everything they’d went through, everything she did to get back, the other him owed her a proper goodbye. She had stopped speaking to him when he told her that, actually, he would never give her a proper goodbye.

And she didn’t let him explain why. Now that he finally could.

Now it had been 57 days since she’d last spoken to him. Since he’d gotten more than a brief glimpse of her with his own eyes. That he’d spent piecing together a picture of what her life had been like here, without him. Such a short time, really, now that it was over (almost over), but yet also some of the worst moments of his entire existence.

It seemed fair that the multiverse would demand just that extra sequence of pain, considering everything he could potentially get in return. What another version of himself could only hope for, bitterly gambling eternities, following their timeline through all of it’s complicated swirls and turns, names weaving around each other, stamping themselves on the structure of creation.

Forever isn’t something that ends.

(How long are you going to stay with me?)

Quite the opposite, actually. And he knew, eventually, she would remember that. Knew it, but didn’t feel it.

The Doctor finally understood what all of the human writers meant about falling in love. Not just the terrifying sensation of the unstoppable freefall, but also the immense pain of crashing into the immovable object at the end of the journey.

They had sat on opposite ends of a Zeppelin. He had gone back to the Tyler Manor with Jackie, and Rose had gone back to her flat. Hoping to see her, talk to her, he had immediately joined Torchwood (once they agreed to his very detailed, highly specific, entirely ironclad contract). Their paths rarely crossed, and when they did it was just tiny, insubstantial moments.

A flash of her at the far end of a hall. Her name in a report (a lot of reports). Snatches of her voice, there one moment and gone the next.

It all made everything hurt so much more, somehow, having her so close but yet further than he could have possibly imagined.

But yet …

His imagination, when it came to Rose Tyler, was still quite whimsical. So when he tried to think of the bigger picture, waxing poetic, alone on his office couch, the Doctor tried to look at the last few years as the impact, and this as the aftershock. Still, philosophical jaunts weren’t exactly a solution to his problem. A temporary solution was moving his office even further away, so that’s what he did.

Plus, he found it kind of fitting, commandeering the inside of Big Ben. UNIT may have it in the prime universe, but in this universe he had the fancy landmark office. Well, office-slash-home (without Rose Tyler, a proper house with doors and things was absolutely unthinkable). Not that it was just about having a private laugh. The gears soothed him, the sound of ticking helped the gnawing emptiness that had filled his mind ever since the TARDIS dematerialized without him in it. The Doctor had thought it was kind of fitting - the closest he could possibly be right now to time.

Not that he wasn’t spending every possible spare moment working on the baby TARDIS, just a tiny piece of coral still, currently sitting in the extended electro-percussive environment chamber. He wondered if, in three years (his best-possible projected timetable), when the new TARDIS would be ready for flight, she would still not be speaking to him.

Incidentally, the emergence of that thought and the start of his supposed ‘self-isolation’ coincided to an alarming degree for how coincidental the two really were. The fact of the matter was, he was busy. Tons of experiments to run, alien equipment to identify, classify (and more often than not remove from Torchwood entirely), a baby TARDIS to tend to, and a backlog of Rose’s mission reports to hack into made spending slightly over three weeks in his tower easy.

The problem was the fact that during that time the Doctor avoided sleeping, barely remembered to eat, and existed on overly sugared tea alone. Not sleeping didn’t put the demons at bay, but at least when he was awake he wasn’t forced to confront the man he never wanted to remember being.

It had been 57 days since Rose Tyler had last spoken to him, and the Doctor detonated a bomb in the abandoned annex Torchwood had scheduled to be demolished and rebuilt.

Then the counter reset to zero.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” she yelled, barging into the top floor lab where he had been checking the readings on the EEPEC.

Everything that he wanted to say to her, and the Doctor was struck mute.

“Whatever plans you think you have, however good of an idea it is, for the good of the planet or, or the galaxy or what, you don’t just go blowing up buildings without a word to anyone! Do you know that everyone else was too scared to come up here and have a word with you, because that highly confidential ridiculous contract you drew up made its way through the gossips and isn’t so classified anymore. Now no one wants to go toe to toe with the man who ‘speaks for the planet’,” Rose growled through the air quotes. “So tell me, Doctor, what genius reason you’ve got for blowing up the Records Annex?”

A slow smile spread across his face.

“It worked.”

“What?”

“Remember ‘run’?” he asked, bouncing away from the baby TARDIS and circling her, picking up his new sonic screwdriver as he did and deadlock sealing the only door off the floor.

“Run?” she frowned as he circled back.

“Run,” he whispered in her ear as he passed, running up a small set of stairs to flip a giant switch that activated the clock-lights outside of their automated timer. Likely no one noticed outside with the sun still out, but it lit up the lab. “Henrik’s basement, Nestene Consciousness, shop window dummies, you and me. How did that night end?” he asked, with a manic grin as he skidded to a stop in front of her.

“Oh, that ‘run’,” Rose breathed, trying to fight back a smile. “You blew up my job.”

“I blew up your job.”

She huffed, blowing her bangs out of her eyes, and crossed her arms. His shoulders fell, exhaustion pressing down onto each and every bone of his new, much more fragile body.

“I just want to talk,” he told her, only a moment away from begging.

“Alright then. Talk.”

Everything he wanted to say to her, and all of it felt disjointed in his overtired mind. Yet she was here now, and if she left he didn’t have a new idea for getting her back again. So he talked.

“I’m sorry. That I made this choice for you, even if it was technically a different me who did it. I’m sorry that this is the best option, the safest option. I’m sorry I never got the chance to explain everything to you before. But I am never going to say goodbye to you, Rose. Never. And I know that the power of words doesn’t translate as well for you, the science of psycho-kinetic-telepathic influence on the elements of creation. But there are some things I can never risk saying aloud. There are some beings that exist, at least in our original universe, that could easily- … still, no matter what universe we’re in, I’m never going to say it. Forever, Rose Tyler. It’s longer than you can comprehend. An eternal silence stretching infinitely ahead, timelines swirling in every direction. This one is ours, if you’ll- if you could just- if you could see in twenty-odd dimensions and focused on individual temporal waveforms, the quantum reality of specific-”

“Doctor!” she shouted when his legs gave out, immediately grabbing hold of him, joining him on the floor.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, but when he moved to get back up she easily held him down. Rose gently manipulated his face, giving him a basic medical check. He couldn’t help but smile a little at how much she had learned while they were away, only to then frown at how hard he imagined it all must have been for her. Floundering, he tried to make a joke. “So, I’m still the Doctor?”

Which went ignored.

“You look like a wreck,” she told him, and it wasn’t new information. The Doctor now made much more frequent trips to the restroom and was well aware of how pale he was, of the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. He had at least been making a disjointed effort to shave, which was another activity that had increased with his meta crisis, and admittedly it had slipped his mind for a couple days.

“It’s not easy, doing this without you,” he admitted. “But if you need more time, I want you to take it. I really am alright. There’s just so much I need to tell you, now that I can.”

“What do you mean, ‘now that you can’?”

“Different universe, firm walls in between. I don’t have to worry about using the wrong words at the wrong time and having cosmic consequences … for a lot of things, not all things. With our timeline in a different dimension and reality back as it should be, at least for the moment, I can tell you all sorts of things. Though the most important one, the one I’m never going to miss an opportunity to say, is that I love you, Rose Tyler. Forever.”

“I love you, too,” she sighed, caressing his cheek for a moment before helping him up. “But I’m still mad at you. Now you need sleep.”

“But I’m not done talking,” the Doctor complained, dragging his feet as she led him over to the sofa in the corner.

“We’ll talk more after you’ve gotten some rest, okay? I promise.”

“Thank you,” he sighed, more horizontal than he remembered being just a moment ago. Something soft and warm ensconced his body. He hadn’t realized how cold he had been until just then.

Another breath and black oblivion overtook him. Peaceful until it suddenly very much wasn’t.

A shockwave. A rift in time and space. A breached void. A crack in reality. A big red button. No more. Howling, howling, howling.

“Wake up!”

His eyes snapped open.

He didn’t know where he was. Nothing felt right; not the air, not time, not even his own body. The Doctor tried to do a quick systems check, and the results were all wrong. His hand flew to his chest, where only one heart was beating.

A choking scream echoed through the space, which seemed to be tick tick ticking, and he didn’t realize that it was him who shouted until soothing hands were brushing through his hair. Vision focusing, he saw Rose Tyler kneeling next to him, or at least it was something that looked like Rose Tyler. She felt too cool. Or maybe he was too warm.

“Are you real?” he asked, hoping that she wouldn’t lie to him.

Just one heart working, and it was beating too fast, refusing to slow down. The air was too thick, he couldn’t breathe.

“Yeah.” A sad smile. “I’m real.”

The Doctor didn’t know if he believed her, closing his eyes so that he wouldn’t have to see the moment she inevitably vanished. “I’m dying,” he told the being-who-might-be-Rose as he shuddered and collapsed back onto some sort of sofa.

“You’re fine,” she lied, but it was a lie she seemed to believe.

“Only got one heart beating,” he admitted, trying to get his breathing under control as his malfunctioning body began to sweat. The room ticked away, and he wondered if all of this was about to explode, if he should be running, if he even could run. His legs felt like lead. So did his arms. The air was too thick, dragging him down.

“That’s-”

The Doctor shut his eyes tighter, tears escaping that he hadn’t even realized were there. She must have vanished, just like he knew she would. And if she was never real to begin with, why did it have to hurt so much for her to go?

A weight rested on top of him, and he would never forget the feel of her. He vaguely wondered what it meant for him, to be having tactile hallucinations. Olfactory hallucinations. Even the buzz of time that had never left her skin after she took in the vortex was present.

“You’ve still got two beating,” Rose whispered as his arms wrapped around her in a tight hold that didn’t feel nearly strong enough to keep her. He wasn’t strong enough to keep her.

Her heart beat steadily over where his right heart had failed.

“I’m scared,” the Doctor admitted, eyes still closed though it was oddly easier to breathe.

“I’ve got you.”

“Please be real,” he whimpered, even as his mind grew foggier.

She said something, but he didn’t know what. Everything was fading away, darkness becoming darker, becoming void.

Nothing.

The Doctor awoke alone on the couch in his office. According to his time sense, he had slept for eighteen hours and twenty-one minutes. He felt better than he had in weeks, but also so much worse. He grabbed his pillow and screamed into it.

“What’s wrong now?”

The pillow dropped from his hands and his eyes locked with Rose’s as she raced up the slight stair onto the platform that separated his primary workspace from the rest of the top floor.

“What?” His voice cracked.

Rose Tyler sat next to him on the couch, hand immediately resting on his forehead, primitively gauging his temperature. The Doctor cleared his throat before trying again.

“Rose, what are you doing here? Not that I’m not glad, I’m so very, very glad you’ve come.” Her hand dropped away and he was able to get a good look at her, dressed in a pair of his boxers and one of his shirts (Jackie had bought him a ridiculous amount of clothes before he left the manor, all of which he sent out to be cleaned). He swallowed audibly. “W-why are you wearing my clothes?”

“‘M locked in here. Door’s deadlock sealed.”

Flashes of memories began to speed through him. Attaching a re-calibrated Tziklian implosion grenade to a newly-repaired retroreflective Clishtahrr drone. Obsessively trying to circumvent his vision in order to peer at his own timeline, making himself sick. A contained rift event in the lower levels of the tower that made him feel like he had looked into the untempered schism again.

(Run, run, run!)

“I’m sorry. I don’t … I’ll just …”

He pushed himself up onto unsteady legs, found his sonic screwdriver and unsealed the door. And he wished he hadn’t trapped her with him, even if he was starting to remember why (inky black terror crawling up his spine, wrong universe, wrong universe, wrong universe).

“Do you remember what happened yesterday?” she asked, following him as he went to check the TARDIS on autopilot, looking as if she was worried he would collapse (again).

“It’s coming back to me,” the Doctor admitted. Still had a good four hours to go before the shatterfry process would be complete. He straightened his shoulders, trying to stand tall as he turned to face her. “Things got a little, uhm, unpleasant. I’ll do better.”

“Unpleasant,” Rose scoffed. “I’m pretty sure you had a bleedin’ breakdown!”

“It’s been a difficult regeneration,” he deflected, turning away, leaving the platform and making a beeline to the tiny kitchenette tucked off to the side. Tea. He just needed more tea.

“So, this how it’s gonna be, then? All that stuff about wanting to talk, but now you’re just done?”

He nearly spilled the kettle with the speed of his turn, brows furrowed and mouth falling open. “What? Of course I want to talk!” the Doctor exclaimed. “Just, er, what did I say? Before?”

Memory was still a bit of a blur. Successful energy funnel for the TARDIS’ growth tank. Vodka tasting different in a universe without potatoes. Reports saying: Correct universe. Wrong time - past. No contact.

“You don’t remember?”

“I said it was coming back to me, it’s just not coming in the right order.” he sighed, refocusing on the tea.

“Well, what’s the last thing that you vividly remember?” Rose asked, moving around him, easily finding mugs and sugar and milk.

“Thirteen days ago, creating a temporal disruption chrono-field manipulator. Needed to siphon rift energy for our TARDIS. She needs a very specific growth environment.”

“Thirteen days?! Wait, siphoning the-” She leaned against the tiny countertop and covered her face with her hands. The only sound for a few moments was of the electric kettle quickly boiling the water. “Our TARDIS?”

“If you want,” the Doctor muttered, lifting a hand, wanting to touch her, but then thinking better of it. He clenched his fist as it dropped to his side.

Rose groaned as she turned back to him. “Of course I want that, you daft alien git! But you don’t exactly make things easy, do ya? I spent years getting back to you, and then suddenly there’s two of you and one of you abandons me just like I was always afraid of, but one of you stays and I’m expected to be able to process any of it? And then for weeks it’s an effort just to give myself space, knowing that wherever I go you’re so close, part of me wondering why I’m even trying to stay away when all I wanted for ages was to be back with you. Then suddenly you’re gone! I still know where you are, but there isn’t a chance that I’d actually run into you. And I still don’t know what to feel, but coming here yesterday, seeing you … I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so broken.” There were tears in her eyes. His nails dug into his palms with the effort it took not to wrap his arms around her, to wipe them away. “I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault.”

“It’s not. It’s my own fault. You haven’t done a single thing wrong,” he assured her.

“That’s not true and you know it,” she tried to laugh, but it came out watery. “I’ve been an absolute cow. And I still haven’t answered your question. You’d said some things about words being a type of science, and that you could say things here that you couldn’t in the other universe. Like you were paranoid, under surveillance or something? I think you tried to describe how your time sense stuff works, but you almost fainted.”

“Fifty-seven days without you and that’s what I was talking about?” The Doctor grimaced.

The kettle clicked off.

“If it makes you feel better, it was kinda romantic. The stuff about not saying goodbye and forever and blowing up my job.”

“Blowing up your what?!”

“That’s why I had to come here. You blew up the old Records Annex.”

“Riiiiight. That explains the drone bomb. It’s not like they weren’t going to blow it up anyway. Didn’t I help?”

Rose rolled her eyes before moving to fix both their teas. “We’ll get into that later. Right now I don’t even want to talk about us. I wanna know about you, what you’ve been doing these past two months. Because I didn’t even stop to think what this all must be like for you.”

Cuppa in hand, the Doctor led her back to the couch as he tried to think of how best to explain something that he barely understood himself.

“I was created in a two-way human-Time Lord instant biological meta crisis. Hundreds of years as one being, then suddenly two. Exact same mind, almost the exact same body, but different enough that I can barely comprehend existing in it. If you remember, the first forty-eight hours of the regeneration cycle are complicated and dangerous. Barely a few hours into mine I was dropped outside of the prime universe that all Gallifreyans are meant to exist in, cut off from all telepathic contact as the walls of reality continued to sway, slowly falling back into place. It’s been … an adjustment. Sometimes things don’t feel real, even when they are. Sometimes things feel incredibly real, even when they aren’t.”

“You had a nightmare,” Rose told him, placing a hand on his shoulder, thumb rubbing soothing circles through his layers. “I woke you up, tried to help. You didn’t think I was real. You thought you were dying, because you only had one heart.”

He tried to smile, and the action felt painful. “Sounds about right.”

“I’m sorry. If I hadn’t been so selfish-”

“There’s nothing for you to apologize for. I want you to put yourself first.”

“But I can’t stand seeing you in pain like this. What can I do to help?” she asked, a desperation in her eyes that he couldn’t bear.

“You’re already helping,” the Doctor sighed, finally giving in and leaning into her touch, lying his head on her shoulder. It was the closest he’d felt to time since they’d been left on that bloody beach.

Memories were still racing through his head. Energy coils radiating artron energy into a centrifuge. The smell of burnt flesh against the remains of a Bverni navigational system. Reports saying: Correct universe. Wrong time - future. No contact.

“The other Doctor said that you needed me.”

He laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“Yes, because he needs you. He also said that I was dangerous. I am. He is. We are. But you already knew that. It’s easy, you know, to yell at yourself. Not often that there’s actually a separate you there to yell at. I destroyed the Daleks, but we’d already done that before we met. In fact, so did you. The other me was lashing out, knowing what he would have to do but not wanting to do it.”

“That’s another thing,” Rose said, moving to face him, dislodging his head, “you said that us being here, in this universe, was the best, safest option. What was that about?”

“Something’s coming. Has come. Ended and began. There’s a massive paradox surrounding me in the other universe. Incredibly dangerous, potentially catastrophic. All I know is that it has something to do with a woman named River Song who claims to be my wife.”

“Your wife?!”

“I said claims. And she did seem to be telling the truth, besides the fact that what she was saying was entirely preposterous. My soul is entirely bound to yours.” The Doctor took her hand and squeezed it. “So I think I have an idea of the kind of man I’ll have to become in order to keep the universe intact.”

“What’s that?”

“A liar. If she is going to believe that I could possibly join myself to someone else, someone who isn’t you, I’m going to have to lie. I’m going to have to forget. I’m going to have to lie so well and for so long that even I believe the fiction I’ve created for myself.”

He wondered what the other him in the other universe would think, then, whenever he caught a rare glimpse at their timeline surrounded in gold, bound with Rose’s for all eternity. What kind of explanation he would craft. The Doctor shuddered.

“But that sounds horrible!” she cried.

“It’s the sacrifice he’s making for the sake of the universe. My timeline is dangerous and someone, something is tampering with it. You and I made one tiny little paradox and it almost destroyed everything. This one is circular, might be able to be maintained, but the scale of it, Rose. And who knows if it will even work. River seems great and all, at least I hope so, but I don’t think she has much of a handle on time travel. That, or she’s a manipulative psychopath. Suppose that’s a surprise for the other me to find out.”

Rose sniffled and he pulled her into a hug.

“He’s going to be all alone.” The words were muffled into his shoulder, his shirt growing damp with her tears. He cringed and tried to think rationally, that of course she would feel this way, that it had nothing to do with how she felt about him him. But then again, maybe it did.

“He won’t be alone. He’ll find someone. I always do, eventually.”

“B-but I-”

“We’ll figure it out. How to get you back there, once it’s safe,” he whispered into the top of her head. Maybe that would be it- what she needed this him for. And if so, it would be enough. It would have to be enough.

“Really?”

The Doctor nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“So it’s not- you really weren’t abandoning me here?” Rose lifted her head, eyes brimming with a hope that had been missing before.

“Never.” The word felt as if it was torn out of his very being.

She cupped his cheek, stubble beginning to smooth out into the beginnings of a beard. He really needed to shave.

“I thought you said to never say never ever?”

“That was before.”

It occurred to him that he had tea, so he took a sip - it had gone cold.

“Oh, right, all the, uhm, psychic-kinetic-telepathy science stuff.”

He opened his mouth to correct her - she was very close, though - but was interrupted by the ringing of the giant clock. It was heavily muffled by the sound proofing adjustments he had made while setting up the office, but still audible enough.

��It’s eight now, yeah?” Rose asked, even as she moved away.

“Yes.”

She walked over to his desk, where the Doctor now noticed a pile of her folded clothes sat. He frowned when she brought them over to him.

“Do you think you could sonic these clean for me? I’m gonna quick hop into your decontamination shower.”

“Th- there’s a proper shower, it’s two floors down. First left, third right, door marked ‘Security Level Alpha’.”

“What, really?”

“Didn’t want random lab techs using it. Has a retina scan. It’ll let you in.”

Rose laughed, ruffled his hair, and gave him a kiss on the cheek before disappearing to get ready for work. The whole thing left him confused. He went through his list again, checking and double checking to make sure that this all was real . It was, just as it had been all morning.

More memories. Recalibrating the tower’s new sub-basement weapon’s vault. Burnt toast and no more jam left. Reports saying: Correct universe. Wrong time - future. Contact made.

It wasn’t fair that she had spent almost an entire day with him yet he had missed most of it. Still, he sonicked her clothes, as well as his tea. Finished his cuppa, and then had a second before Rose came back from her shower.

“Why’s there no one around?”

“Dangerous radiation leak,” the Doctor shrugged. “I fixed it almost as soon as it happened, but apparently there’s ‘procedures’. How’d you get in?”

She bit her lip, fighting a smile. “Mighta shot a few of your doors,” Rose admitted, picking up an electro-pulse blaster off of a nearby cart. Non-lethal on organic matter. Very effective on fancy doors. “Nobody told me anything about a radiation leak, though.”

“Classified radiation leak.”

“And why’s that?” she scowled, hands on her hips.

“Everything to do with time travel is classified to this office. Bethany is not being very cooperative about putting you down as a liaison-whatever. Please believe me, I wasn’t trying to keep anything a secret.”

“Oh.” Rose glanced over at the EEPEC, absently biting her thumbnail.

The Doctor didn’t know what she was thinking, didn’t know if he should ask. After a moment she disappeared into the loo to change, promising to be back in a tick.

It was a funny multiverse, really, that his reunion with Rose Tyler would be such a stilted thing. That it would be about him and her, but not this him. Acknowledged with a few questions after his health, sure, but that was just polite. She’d always been compassionate, caring for others. Rose didn’t see him as the Doctor. Not the proper one. Sure, she used his name, but it would be easier for her to do that this time around.

He looked just like him.

He was him.

But he wasn’t.

Memories were still coming. Adjustments to Torchwood’s alien tech retrieval protocols. Nutrition shots. Reports reading: Correct universe. Wrong time - past. Contact made.

He went through the list again. Still real.

Unless it wasn’t.

Unless he wasn’t.

What would have stopped the other Doctor from knocking him out and uploading him into a matrix? Giving him a half-life with a programmed Rose Tyler?

The air here felt wrong.

(Wrong universe. Wrong universe. Wrong universe.)

“Doctor!”

(Daleks exploding. “What have you done?!”)

Pressure against his hands. Why was it so dark?

The Doctor opened his eyes to see Rose in front of him, pulling his fingers away from his palms. Oh. He was bleeding. Hadn’t even noticed.

“Sorry, sorry.” He spun away from her in order to grab the first aid kit from his desk.

“What happened?” she asked, vibrating with barely contained panic.

“Nothing, nothing. Things just got jumbled for a second,” he assured her, efficiently cleaning his palms and wrapping them in gauze in a practiced motion.

“How often do you-”

“Hard to say. I’ve been graphing them. Seems to be stress contingent, but generally decreasing. My senses are gradually acclimating to this universe, so I have to hope that once they do, I’ll be fine. Perfect. Molto bene. No inconvenient lapses.”

“Stress? What h- oh.”

He didn’t like the sound of that ‘oh’. The Doctor clenched his jaw before facing her.

“We still haven’t talked about us,” Rose pointed out, approaching him slowly. Like he was a wild animal. Like he would hurt her. “And you … you don’t really remember yesterday still, do you?”

“Not really.”

His hands hurt. His body ached. One heart, and it was beating so quickly that he was sure it would give out.

Rose wrapped her arms around him and he automatically returned the embrace.

“Maybe I should just call in,” she suggested as she pulled away. “We can just take the day?”

“Or don’t and stay anyway,” the Doctor couldn’t help pointing out. “Some bits have come back, and didn’t they send you here?”

She burst into laughter. “Oh my god, they did!”

And it was beyond words, how great it was to hear her laughing again. To see her smiling.

But …

That was wrong.

Rose was upset with him.

Time didn’t feel right.

The air tasted off.

Wrong Universe. Wrong Universe. Wrong Universe.

The Doctor staggered backwards.

His respiratory bypass was malfunctioning. It was like it wasn’t even there. He couldn’t get air into his lungs.

Everything went black.

There was a shot of gold, and then a different kind of black.

“Doctor,” said a whisper in the dark. “The timer went off for the TARDIS. ‘M I supposed to take her out of that thing?”

A TARDIS timer?

TARDIS … timer …

The timer for the extended electro-percussive environment chamber!!!

The Doctor shot up from where he had apparently been lying on the couch and ran over to the EEPEC, swiftly shut it off, removed the tank housing their baby TARDIS, and then poured in the pre-prepared aqueous nutrient solution before inserting the tank into the quasi-dimensional artron chamber (currently set to it’s highest opacity setting).

“Hah!” he exclaimed, punching his fist in the air and itching to switch the chamber’s outside view settings to transparent. He turned to Rose, opened his mouth to ask her, and then paused.

It all came back to him, all of it, not just the jumbled recollections he had been getting earlier. Apparently he had fallen into a healing coma, and it seems to have been just what he needed … but it all truly hadn’t been fair to Rose. Though, to be fair, she was currently smiling like it was Christmas, so-

Christmas. Healing comas.

Huh.

“Shall we switch it to transparent?” the Doctor asked, unable to reign himself in any longer. “It was clear when Benny - quite the coincidence, right? - helped me set it up. This is a quasi-dimensional artron chamber. It’s funnelling in rift energy and centrifuging artron particles, and the end result in that chamber is the specific environment needed to properly grow a TARDIS. Well, along with the chrono-nutritio aqueous habitat. Benny describes looking into it as being similar to taking DMT, which, by the way, is completely inaccurate. It’s exactly like looking into an Eye of Harmony. If it’s malfunctioning, it’s like looking into the untempered schism, which I don’t recommend. But everything’s stable now, we could-”

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to look into the vortex?” Rose interrupted, and …

“Right … erm, well ,” he hedged, scratching the back of his neck, “I mean, it isn’t actually the vortex, but you’re probably not completely wrong. Best not risk it.”

Excitement abating, the Doctor slumped against the chamber and at that moment realized that he had been changed into jim jams.

Jim jams. Healing comas.

Huh.

At least these were his own pajamas, and not some ‘friend’ of Jackie’s, though how strange was it that he owned his own pajamas in the first place?

“C’mere,” Rose said, beckoning him back toward the couch, which she was sitting next to, but not on. Not your typical decision, but he had likely taken up all of the space earlier. “I made you some tea.”

It really wasn’t worth it, cataloguing the similarities between this and when he had first regenerated into this body … even though the list did seem to be growing.

“Perfect! Just what I need!” the Doctor smiled as he walked over, taking a seat next to Rose on the floor.

Silence fell as he sipped his tea, and he found himself unsure of what to do or say next. There was too much to say, and he’d certainly done a piss poor job of organizing his thoughts earlier.

“Feeling better?” she asked, after another moment.

Small talk. He could definitely do small talk.

“Mmm yes, very much so.”

“Better enough to talk?”

The Doctor coughed, having swallowed his tea incorrectly (bloody hybrid body, still acting up), before nodding. Rose moved onto the couch and he scrambled to join her.

“So,” she began and paused, face scrunching up in concentration (it was nice to know that he wasn’t the only one who found this whole business incredibly awkward), “I guess … what is it that you actually want? Aside from a working TARDIS, that is.”

His brows furrowed.

Sure, there were plenty of ways he could answer that question and have all of them be true, but he had a feeling that she was looking for a specific type of ‘want’.

Problem was, the Doctor wasn’t quite sure what that was .

“What?” he asked, in lieu of any better things to say (as the runner up response was to ask for some jam, or maybe a banana, or some of the takeaway from the shop down the corner and blimey, he was hungry).

“This whole time, all of it, since you c- since you were- since you stopped just bein’ a hand- ” the Doctor had a list of complaints and corrections that he barely held in “- nobody’s asked what you wanted. The D- the other Doctor chose for both of us, really, and I hadn’t really looked at it that way before. An’ I wanna know. What do you want?”

Removed from the actual experience itself (and therefore not feeling incredibly, deathly ill), visions of the slight peek he’d gotten four days ago of his own timeline played in his head.

The Doctor grabbed Rose’s hand, weaving their fingers together.

“I want this.”

She smiled and gave his hand a squeeze.

“Care to elaborate?” she asked with a slight laugh.

“Nope,” he replied, popping the ‘p’. “Because as long as you’re happy, everything else is just- just semantics. I mean, obviously it’s going to be a bit dull until the TARDIS has grown enough for proper travel, but I think we can make do?” At least, he really hoped so. It hadn’t been going swimmingly so far, but the Doctor sincerely hoped that he could chalk all that up to the initial side effects of the meta crisis, compounded by all of the, er … technical difficulties he had run into while constructing the TARDIS’ growth tank. Also, his new hybrid body needed much more maintenance than he was used to, including sleep. Really was rubbish without regular sleep. Such a waste of time.

“So, if I were to suggest you moving into the flat?”

He opened his mouth, intending to immediately agree, but then frowned. The TARDIS was here, after all. And he absolutely could not move her. Not at this stage. Not until she could connect to other dimensions on her own. The Doctor looked over at the quasi-dimensional artron chamber, once again wishing that he could switch it to transparent and watch the process unfold.

“How moved in is moved in?” he asked once he forced himself to turn back toward Rose.

“You’d sleep there, shower there, eat some of your meals. Most of your clothes an’ stuff would be there. Y’know. It’d be where you live. With me. If you want.”

“And that’s what you want?” he double checked, trying not to telegraph his surprise - he must have missed a lot while in a coma, as last he knew they were teetering on the edge of a row.

Rose rolled her eyes, and that was much more in line with where he thought they were at, er, relationship-wise.

“Well, I don’t fancy living in a clocktower office. When I’m done working, I’d like to not still be at work, ta.”

She did make some excellent points … but still, it all implied that they would be staying together. And that was what he wanted, of course it was, but the Doctor still couldn’t help but feel he had missed something crucial despite the fact that he could now remember everything clearly.

“You blew up my job. ”

“I love you, too. But I’m still mad at you.”

“You’ve still got two beating.”

Maybe there wasn’t something to have missed. Human emotions were relatively complex, after all, and there was no rule requiring them to happen in isolation.

“Are you still mad at me?” he asked, realizing as he did that to Rose it was coming from seemingly out of nowhere.

This was confirmed as she blinked, brows furrowing.

“I don’t know. Maybe a little, but …”

“But?” the Doctor repeated, unable to stand the suspense.

“It’s hardly the first time we’ve had a fight, yeah?”

He nodded, unsure of where she was planning on going with this and hoping that he wouldn’t need to begin apologizing for every insensitive thing he’d said or done since they first met. It would take ages.

“Well, we always end up workin’ it out. And we did live together, travelin’ on the TARDIS, whether we had a row or not, so …” Rose shrugged, now examining her fingernails.

Speaking of the TARDIS, though …

“First things first,” the Doctor began, rubbing the back of his neck as he stood up and began pacing, “I want it on record that I would absolutely love to live in a flat with you, with carpets and doors and things. Assuming we’d spend much of our time traveling about, that is.” He turned back toward her, having paced his way back over to the TARDIS’ QDA chamber. “The thing is, it’s … I don’t want you to think that- the TARDIS. She needs me here. This is a critical development period. For the next three to six months, the TARDIS will be growing in the chamber, learning how to connect to and create dimensions. Until she can manage it, I can’t move her and she requires near-constant monitoring. Every hour or two.”

“She’s like a newborn baby,” Rose commented, getting up and joining him at the chamber, where she stroked the side.

“Exactly.”

“Well, I suppose this’ll have to do then,” she reluctantly … agreed? “As long as we’re living in the flat as soon as she’s moveable, mind. The bathroom here is two floors away.”

“It’s a clocktower, Rose! There’s only so much space.” The Doctor scrunched up his face as he said the word.

“Then why’d you pick this place? I know because of the Rift, but doesn’t it stretch further than just the tower?”

“Nope,” he shrugged.

It’s not as though he hadn’t checked.

“Really?”

“Small rift.”

“Yeah,” Rose laughed, “a small rift right under Big Ben.”

The Doctor laughed with her, amazed that he finally could.

Then he frowned.

It was all a little too good to be true.

Was this real?

“Hey.”

He refocused. Rose was right in front of him, their eyes locked.

“You were getting that look in your eyes,” she informed him.

“Look? What look?” the Doctor asked, though he was pretty sure he already knew. Some sort of dazed tell, some sort of glaringly obvious indicator that his grasp on reality was failing him.

“This look you get when you start thinkin’ you’re in the wrong universe.”

Wrong universe, wrong universe, wrong universe.

“Well, I am in the wrong universe,” he couldn’t help but point out.

“Yeah, I know. Me too. But y’know what?”

Rose wrapped her arms around him, and it was almost as if she were his tether, grounding him to this new reality they’d found themselves in.

“It’s better with two.”

#TenToo x Rose #doctor x rose #pairing: rose x doctor #timepetals #fic: improbable multiversal transcending spacetime event #fandom: doctor who #my fic

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vargaslovinghours · 4 years

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Aight well, since I’m pretty sure I’m most of the way out of Vargas brainspace this time around, have some unpublished/unfinished sketches and doodles! Prepare for lots of extremely rough concepts and possibly some walls of text lol

Veryyyy early sketch, the first unfinished one actually! You can tell how early since I hadn’t chilled out on the yarn yet lol. Was looking around for music and while I didn’t add it to the playlist, the male cover of Aishite, Aishite, Aishite is always going to have a special place in the inspiration part of my brain

They be doing homework. I’m so weak to domestic stuff, and every scene with Todd delivers so much, bless him

I threw around a couple card ideas, I’m still undecided as to which one I like better, but I decided pretty early on Jack of Spades and King of Hearts - the King of Hearts is known as the Suicide King which - well. And I’ve always seen the Spade as being like a stabbed version of the Heart lol, and since it’s black it’s the opposite in aesthetic. They both have a pretty dark aesthetic, so if one was going to get red, it seemed right to be Scriabin

A tiny tiny One Way Mirror doodle I didn’t have room for anywhere else. Just turn around!

I have a few iPod scribbles for late-night or early-morning ideas where I couldn’t quickly get to my notebook. This one was right after I woke up from a Vargas dream, pretty much the whole cast was there! This frame in particular stuck out to me because of the composition, it was a fully animated music video and they all had that two-frame back and forth poppy kind of motion, thus all the action lines lol

Don’t trust him with pointy things. I really like how the last one turned out other than his hand

A particularly stupid late-night idea lol

I may or may not have written a kiss scene into the TGWDLM crossover, I swear I didn’t do it on purpose

More of the TGWDLM crossover, you can see I got about 1/4th of the way through this one and then gave up lol. I actually had almost a half page of concept sketches for if Scriabin got Apotheosized - since I use eye colour to signify who’s been hiveminded, how was that supposed to work with Scriabin? Blue scars were pretty prevalent, so how about that? The idea of the two of them being on the same page and actively working together was rather intimidating as well, but it all didn’t go very far since that wasn’t the concept I wanted to explore

The idea of them going to a Cat Cafe popped into my head and I had to quickly scribble it down and then I remembered I don’t know how to draw cats lol. I drew Scriabin freaking out first, a cat among cats lol, and a cat trying to play with the yarn in his hair because cliche

The prospect of them going to the doctor’s just delights me so much. I actually made a little minicomic about it but I never finished it. I’d want to redo it to do it justice because I’m just so excited about them having to deal with this situation lol

An extremely absent-minded doodle lol, I was thinking about Edgar’s watch of all things. I think I did draw this on a Wednesday

Was trying a few pose references to finish digitally and somehow this spaghetti sketch was the best of the three lol. They look like theatre masks

Oh very cursed! Very cursed! Thanks me, how very cursed. I had to tho, this colour is called “Liar’s fave” and it somehow perfectly matches how I’ve been drawing his glasses. I think I prefer the censored version tho haha. Also surprisingly not a TGWDLM reference, I just wanted to draw him with weird coloured eyes

I was thinking about the weird, twisted ways Edgar gets “compliments”, especially from Nny, and the line “Anything in the right context can sound sweet. Isn’t that right, my dear?” accompanied by this pose made it’s way through my head. I didn’t expect the perspective lol

Oh my gosh, a main character, how’d that happen

I wanted to try grawlix swearing and had the idea of Scriabin buying stuff that neither of them would use just to piss off Edgar, so 👏 Also “taking a coat partway off” is one of my favourite kinds of poses and I so rarely draw it! Thanks, Edgar

A combination of thinking about how often they kiss (ironically about how Edgar was Scriabin’s first real kiss After, but this is almost certainly Before?? I dunno) and bruising. I only wanted the second one but my hand was not behaving >:| It did at least give me the image of Edgar’s tears falling through Scriabin’s fingers

He’s never had real eyes before, would he remember to blink if he started focusing really hard? I’ve had eyes my whole life and I forget to blink sometimes

Slowly but surely improving on his wings. I finally realized what they remind me of - hands! I guess that seems obvious lol, demon wings are usually based off bats, aren’t they? Just goes to show how many wings I’ve been basing off arms rather than hands. Probably doesn’t help that I usually draw fingers with two joints instead of three haha. Starting to understand how to keep the silhouette clean while still adding lots and lots of yarn as well, yay

Is he being sarcastic or saying it in earnest? That’s the fun part, you never know! Scriabin being vague on whether he’s being nice or rubbing salt in the wound has appealed to me for quite a good while. I think he less skirts the line and more falls on both sides simultaneously haha

Yet more wings! I liked the idea of each of them having a distinct silhouette but Scriabin still posing behind Edgar, so you can tell his wings are his own but they’re still muddling Edgar’s outline

So that’s most of my unfinished sketches and doodles that I couldn’t figure out where else to put! From early June up through September, what a ride ♪

#💟#Doodles #Art #Sketchdump #Scriabin #Edgar #Todd #Nny #Devi #No blood this time around but some light abuse and light tenderness throughout #Since I talked about each one in the body text the tags are gonna be so spoiler-free this time around lol #I talked about a few of them phrased in a way like I want to finish them - I do it just might take a while #I'm mostly just done /actively/ drawing Vargas - I'm sure I'll still do the occasional doodle and I have a couple projects yet to finish #But even with just my backlog I'd have enough Vargas doodles to keep my queue running for months lol - so no new ones if I can help it #Speaking of the backlog some highlights include: multiple instances of Moth Edgar - at least one Spongebob meme lol -#Honestly just a lot of memes lol I have like ten or so lol - a BG/domestic object(s) idea - a couple more Minecraft shitposts -#And a whole goshdang voice-acted shitpost I just really love shitposts lol #I have no idea if/when/how many I'll get to but I still love them all lol #Anyhow - hope these are enjoyable uwu Even if I didn't finish them all I do still like them #Also I can't even imagine how this is gonna look on mobile lol soz

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lioxmp · 3 years

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[self para #01]

Trigger warning: violence, gore

Featuring: Willis Oh (an old muse of this very mun)

In the dead of night

… better hold on tight.

The snow was dancing.

On the land of dirt and sins, the snow was dancing, twirling in a winter melody sung by the breezes. Cold. Freezing. Deadly.

Under the yellowish lights of the lonely lampposts, the snow was still white. So white it became blinding, even had the audacity to flash offensive diamond-like gleams at the eyes that refused to see nothing but red.

A piercing scream tore the freshly healed silence of the abandoned warehouse. The motherfucker was once again wide awake. It was quite impressive to see, how much a human could take on the journey to his demise.

Lio, standing still at his humble position in the middle of a man-made circle, looked down on the battered heap that used to be a legend in his prime time, and gave an almost merciful smile.

“You forgot to count.”

He told the man, matter-of-factly; the stained blade of a gorgeous dagger glinted its agreement on his hand.

One. Two. Three. Four five six. Seven, eight. Nine. Drops of hot blood slid down the steel tip to hit the cement floor, the improvised rhythm they created was fun to his ears. It wasn’t that challenging to keep counting, you see. Yet, this ugly pig still owed him a ten.

Then he saw it, the newest piece of flesh lying right next to that man’s knees. Oops.

“Sorry, I forgot.” The apology sounded genuine, and that sheepish chuckle he gave could be the most sincere gesture he had shown the world in a while. But all of them - Lio, his men, the kneeling ugly pig, and the kneeling ugly pig’s unalive squad - knew better than believing the flash of mercy in the eyes that refused to see anything but red.

Watching the now-muted man struggling to keep his eyes open on the cold hard floor, Lio suddenly wondered. Have I made him suffer enough yet? Is it ever enough? Would he approve that I kept my promise, making this motherfucker and his whole team of suckers pay the price, tenfold?

Would you be happy to see this, Willis? Would you be proud of me?

For a moment, he allowed his revenge-dense brain to take a break, to let a certain face named Willis Oh take the front seat of his mindscape. To smile at the memories flushing back like an avalanche.

Memories about the first time they met, the demigod doctor in his white blouse kept looking down on his newest patient, who was lying like a tattered rag doll on the stretcher on the way to the emergency room. Those who caused it knew exactly what they were doing; the bones were broken and the joints dislocated in such a way that even if the wounds healed, partial paralysis could guarantee a spot in the list of the sequelae.

But Willis told him that it would be alright. Lio said if the doctor could really put his body back to its best condition, he would be Willis’ slave for life. As someone was also someone who knew exactly what he was doing, Willis kept his promise. And now Lio was standing here, fresh as new, with a gorgeous dagger in his hand, finally doing his part of the one-sided soul contract he signed with the doctor.

“Lio,” the gatekeeper stepped in to stop his train of thoughts, “cops are coming.”

The son of Sekhmet glanced down at his watch, then rolled his eyes in vexation. The police arrived five minutes earlier than they told him they would. Even when well-trained, cops would still be cops, always fucking up things when you least expected it.

But after all, this counting game was getting boring. No matter how many pieces of flesh he cut off from this fat man, Lio still couldn’t get to hear the original version of the motherfucker’s counting, when he put horrendous holes on Willis’ impeccable face and body. It seemed like today was this ugly pig’s lucky day.

With a swift movement, Lio drew a last neat red line across the man’s thick neck, then threw the dagger right next to the corpse and its parts scattering the floor. He wished he could make it a bit messier. Bloodier. But for now…

“Let’s go get some grilled pork.”

There were grins and nods and even some excited ‘yes’ among the men following him out of the warehouse’s backdoor. Once they were outside, each of them walked in a different direction and disappeared into the night, while Lio got into a car waiting right across the deserted street, and let the driver take him right to the restaurant where his men would gather in about thirty minutes.

It was a pretty lovely evening. Lio thought, his eyes lazily looking at the beautifully decorated stores passing through the car’s window until he slipped into a short, sweet dream.

Merry Christmas, Willis.

#{ self para };

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davidcampiti · 3 years

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THE CLASSIC ARTIST TEST

One way to test an incoming new artist's storytelling skills is to offer a test plot or script -- a few pages that a top professional artist has already done, so there's a baseline of storytelling standards with which to compare results. This is not about style but, rather, storytelling strength -- clarity, powerful action and movement, and body language/gesture/overall character performance. Often I'll use a plot or script I've written and one of my artists has drawn, for the baseline.

This time, I decided to go back to classic John Buscema storytelling for the comparison. Why flash back to the '60s? Strong storytelling never goes out of style, and such classic superstars as Jack Kirby, John Romita, Gil Kane, Neal Adams, Jose Luis Garcia Lopez, and Will Eisner are among those whose every book can teach something useful. Yet, as the years wear on, fewer and fewer incoming artists are even familiar with their work.

Here's a panel-by-panel plot I provided for a five-page test --

PAGE 1 Panel one -- Full-page splash. Reed Richards is in pajama bottoms and slippers, in a bathroom, shaving. A futuristic alarm (a Kirby Machine in foreground) goes off, catching his attention. The Thing (Ben Grimm) peeks out of the shower, all sudsed up, also reacting to the alarm. Title, credits, indicia go on this page.

PAGE 2 Panel one -- Reed and Ben run through the living room. Ben wraps a towel around his waist; he still has suds on him. Reed, now wearing a robe, wipes the shaving cream from his face with his towel. Johnny Storm also hurries in.

Panel two -- Reed throws open a door to a control room, as a cyclone of wind whips papers,indicating someone or something just exited a window.

Panel three -- Reed reaches for a control panel, seeing a piece of machinery has been stolen, ripped away. A tense Johnny looks around, realizing someone went out the window with it.

Panel four -- Outside the window now: Johnny flames on, beginning the search, as Reed shouts orders after him.

PAGE 3 Panel one -- Full-page splash, in foreground, a concerned Silver Surfer enters a hospital room from the window, seeking to heal a patient. Misunderstanding his intentions, a frantic doctor opens the door, as two cops enter with big special energy rifles. A nurse hunches over, protecting the young woman in the hospital bed.

PAGE 4 Panel one -- Surfer gestures, reaching out toward the patient; nurse and cop warn him away.

Panel two -- Surfer pleads with them to reason.

Panel three -- Surfer casts a cosmic bolt toward the patient as the nurse reacts, fearing the worst.

Panel four -- One of the cops blasts Surfer with his rifle.

PAGE 5 Panel one -- Surfer drops to his knees, smoke rising from him as the cops stand over him.

Panel two -- Now pissed, Surfer gestures, energy flowing from his eyes.

Panel three -- Surfer casts cosmic power from his hands -- which pulls the rifles from the cops' grasp, melting them.

Panel four -- Surfer returns to the window, angered, ready to leave. He points accusations at a cop and the nurse for assuming the worst. He was only trying to help.

Here's an example of what an artist turned in for PAGE 1 --

Compare with Buscema's original --

Side-by-side without the title space --

Compare: John Buscema gives us a slight down shot. A more tense, ready-for-action pose from Reed Richards; he's whipping his head around, his face is covered in shaving cream, hot water is running in the sink, the alarm thingie is going off, Ben Grimm is crumpling the shower curtain, all the soap suds are coming up off him. Even Reed's towel feels like it's moving, as if he's just thrown it over his shoulder.

For PAGE 2 --

The original --

Side-by-side --

I commented to the artist: In panel 1, you left out any indication this was the living room. Ben's towel is already around him, Reed Richards is looking scrawny and old, no sense of power here. Johnny is almost lost in the back of the hallway. In John Buscema's version, Ben is in the middle of pulling the towel around himself. The soap suds are still coming off him, indicating how fast he jumped out of the shower. Reed has put on a robe; the material is moving, the robe's belt is flying up behind him, the towel is whipping in the air as he wipes the shaving cream off his face, Johnny is leaping over furniture to race toward us. In that quickly-drawn first panel, there's still AT LEAST seven levels of depth to the shot! Reed (level 1); the coffee table (level 2); Ben and Johnny (level 3); the sofa (level 4); base of the fireplace (level 5) the fireplace itself (level 6) opening to the bathroom they just came from (level 7). So lots of depth to a simple shot.

Panel 2, you drew the action BETWEEN the panels. Try never to do that unless the script calls for it. Draw the MIDDLE of the action. You've draw Reed already having opened the door, just standing there doing nothing.Buscema drew a dramatic down shot, Reed shoving open the door, hands up and open tensely, and the papers are whipping in one specific direction, indicating where the thief just exited.

Panel three, you have two skinny, emaciated heroes just standing there. Johnny's looking at the floor or something. Reed is just looking. Buscema drew a concerned-faced Reed reaching toward the wires. Johnny, hand balled into a fist as he's ready to bust into action, is looking around, but he's leaning forward -- he's moving into action.

Panel four, although you drew a nice shot of Johnny flying out toward us, this is the FIRST time in the story we see Johnny flying. Buscema understands that, so he makes sure we see Johnny in full figure, flaming on, speed trail indicating his movement. He also TILTS the building to make the angle more dramatic, clearly showing the city backdrop.

For PAGE 3 --

The original --

Flipping the artist's image for easier comparison side-by-side --

My comments to the artist: You drew just the Surfer's head peeking in. You have the cops already in the room, pointing their weapons. How did they know Surfer was going to be there at that very moment? In your version, we cannot clearly see the doctor opening the door to let the cops race in. Her body blocks the door and movement of opening the door. You turned the nurse AWAY from the action, rather than seeing and reacting to the action. And you drew another straight-on angle, with no sense of movement/urgency.

Analyze what Buscema drew: He didn't just draw the Surfer's head. There's enough of the Surfer in foreground, an expressive hand raised. He's facing the woman and the cops, which yours was NOT. Clearly the doctor is yanking open the door, the cops are racing in with their weapons. The nurse sees what's happening and shields the patient with her own body. The angle of the room is tilted TOWARD the Surfer, adding to the sense of drama/movement.

Now PAGE FOUR --

Compared to --

Side-by-side --

My notes: Panel one, You decided to focus on the Surfer, even though his gesturing is the only important element about him in this panel. Most of the panel is about the cop and the nurse, warning the Surfer away. But the way you staged it, much of the cop and nurse and patient are CUT OUT of the scene. In Buscema's layout, the gesture is the focus, BUT we see the cop with his weapon and stern expression. We see the nurse, leaning in forward to warn him away. We see one arm holding her patient, protectively, and her other hand out, expressive.

Panel two, you chose a closeup, nothing else. Buscema chose a 3/4 full body shot, using expressive hands to emphasize that he is pleading with them to be reasonable.

Panel three, I'm not 100% clear what's going on in yours. In Buscema's, it's totally clear that Surfer unleashes his cosmic power to help the patient, as the nurse reacts, her expressive hand visible.

Panel four, I don't understand why you drew the figures posed so incredibly bored. We can't even see how the Surfer's reacting to being shot by the blast. In Buscema's, we see the reaction of the nurse, and the second cop, while the first cop dramatically whips around his weapon, firing at the Surfer, who is hit with the blast. Look at his wide stance and flailing arms. This kind of panel is great for assembling multiple actions is one shot. The wider the panel, the more time has passed. The narrower the panel, the shorter the amount of time. This schematic type of panel allows us to see Nurse reaction/cop reaction/other cop wide-stances, whipping weapon int position/firing/impact blast from the firing/surfer's reaction at being hit -- ALL in one panel. Strong, clear, powerful storytelling.

Then PAGE 5 --

With --

Side-by-side --

My analysis: I notice that you love centering things in the middle of your panel. Buscema does only occasionally; he'd rather try for a more dramatic composition. Panel 1, you draw a down shot on a skinny Surfer who is looking down, away from them, not engaged. Buscema drew a more powerful Surfer, head turned up to look at and speak to them, an expressive fist balled up even as he pushes himself up with his other arm.

Panel two, your Surfer seems to be firing beams from his eyes, which is not exactly what was described. In Buscema’s version, Surfer is summoning up power. We can see his expression of anger. His hands are majorly expressive, as well, as if summoning a spell.

Panel three, you give us a back shot on Surfer and a really NOT dramatic panel. Buscema gave us the clear power blasts from Surfer's hands, the melting-in-mid-air weapons, the two cops' shocked reactions even as they jerk back in fear.

Panel four, you draw the Surfer just looking back over his shoulder to say something. Compare with: Buscema draws a cop and nurse reacting to the Surfer's threat, the Surfer has leapt to the window sill, pointing angrily, the window open and the drapes whipping in the wind.

Understand that Buscema is drawing each page here in about 2 and a half hours. So he's not spending a lot of time analyzing the script, he's just laying it down as clearly and dramatically as he can.

Remember, this analysis for you is NOT about your finished style. It's only about the thinking behind your layouts. I figure you've never taken the time to study classic storytelling, so you're re-inventing the wheel in your own mind. As such, you're not learning what can/should be done.

I hope this helps.

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falseroar · 4 years

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Dog Days Part 26: Just a Few Questions

((In exchange for helping cover up what happened at the studio, Dr. Iplier has a request of Dr. Schneeplestein and you. Abe has some regrets about offering to go with Chase to the Institute, but with Jackie’s “help” decides not to back out now.

This is a long one! (Edit: Never mind. I just checked, and the next two parts are both 7k+ words each. I’m beginning to suspect this is just going to be a theme from here on out.) I also sort of introduced another OC for this one, so hopefully that’s not too distracting. I’ll explain more about that in the end notes.

Here’s links to Part 25 and to the series masterlist.))

The doctor allowed Abe to stay the night in the clinic, on the condition that he didn’t leave the room as much as possible. Abe wasn’t sure if that was so Marvin could keep an eye on him while Schneeplestein was busy, or if he didn’t want the hunter scaring off his other patients. Either way, he had no intention of leaving, and neither did Jameson. With two beds in one room, it was already crowded enough without all of them there, so it only took a little bit of urging from the doctor to convince Chase to go home for the night, with Jackie riding along to keep an eye on him and to get some fresh air.

Jameson was more than willing to answer Abe’s questions and ask a few of his own, the two of them passing his phone back and forth with his notes app open, at least when he wasn’t arguing with Marvin about what the doctor’s definition of “rest” meant. Between the magician and the way Jackie fidgeted restlessly until Chase offered him an excuse to leave, Abe suspected these guys weren’t used to sitting still for long. Not that he could judge them there.

The doctor looked in occasionally, but otherwise the only sounds they heard from the rest of the clinic was the slow but steady stream of patients going in and out throughout the night, about the same number as Abe usually counted when he had been watching from the outside. All those nights watching the doctor, and he didn’t expected to end up here in one of these rooms, keeping an eye on the partner he thought he lost for good.

Or trying to keep an eye on you. It was a long, quiet night, and when you woke up the room was dark. Marvin was lying on the other bed, still wearing his mask, Jameson sitting back in the chair next to him with his head propped up against the wall behind him, while Abe had fallen asleep with his head resting on your bed. A soft snore escaped from the hunter as you looked at the three of them and wondered what time it was, a question that was answered a few minutes later when the door cracked open and Henrik peeped in.

Spotting your open eyes, he whispered knowing that you would be able to hear him even from across the room, “How are you feeling? Need anyzhing?”

“Just thirsty,” you admitted, and he nodded before disappearing from the doorway. A moment later he returned with a cup of water, and you sat up carefully so as not to wake up Abe. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Henrik answered softly, watching you as you drank with a thoughtful expression. “Dawn is less than two hours away now.”

“Are you going to stay here or go home?” you asked, after nearly draining half the cup in one sip.

“Zhat depends on what you wish to do, I think. I believe you and Marvin would both do well at home, but there are other considerations.” The doctor glanced at Abe, but he said, “I have told Dr. Iplier I will go to zhe hospital today and spend zhe daylight hours there, if you are up to joining me.”

“The hospital? Are you working there today or something?” you asked, and Henrik shook his head.

“No, it is time for my regular check-in, but there is also zhe problem of zhe Institute. Dr. Iplier has agreed to cover for us, should zhey ask about yesterday’s…incident at zhe studio, but only if he has a chance to meet you, again.”

You started to ask, but Abe stirred and asked, his voice slurring a little with sleep, “Wait, what’s happening?”

Clearly you and Henrik hadn’t been as quiet as you had hoped, because Marvin and Jameson were waking up now too.

Henrik sighed and explained, “Dr. Iplier is, rightfully, not big on covering for people he does not know. He is villing to do much based on my word as to Y/N’s character and safety, but he would still like to meet zhem in person and ask a few questions. Since I have to go in anyways today, and Abe and Chase have already made plans…”

“Wait, you have?” you asked, and this time it was Abe’s turn to explain about the call and Chase’s agreement to go in and give a report on what happened at the studio yesterday—or at least his version that covered up the whole werewolf thing. Which brought them around to Abe’s client, or at least the Google that worked for him.

“This little field trip might give us a chance to look into who created those Google units, and who has them now,” Abe said. “The one I met answers to someone who knows way too much about us.”

“Even more now, thanks to you,” Marvin muttered, but while Abe didn’t hear it you could give the magician a look that made him repentant enough to say, “You said one of them’s at the hospital, right? I can go with Y/N and Henrik and…”

He winced as he sat up, a hand going to his head, and the doctor clucked his tongue. “Your body is telling you no on zhat. You vill go home with Jackie when zhey get here and rest, no excuses. We need you back up to stuff, magician, and zhat vill not happen if you are running around willy und nilly.”

“I can go,” Jameson signed. “That is, if you want to go, Y/N.”

You hesitated. Going to a hospital felt risky, even without everything else going on, but Henrik would be there and he had trusted the other doctor enough to bring him in while you were still recovering and stuck as a wolf. And Marvin did have a point about talking to the Google there—maybe he knew something about the others, or you could get a better feel for how these magiteks worked. Using Google’s own rules against him had worked yesterday, after all.

“Yeah, I’ll go,” you said, only to look down at your shirt. While you had healed from the shot without an issue, the same couldn’t be said for your torn and bloody shirt. “I, uh, might need to change first, though.”

“I vill tell Chase to add that to zhe list things to bring,” Henrik said, sounding much more cheerful. “Zhe bathroom is open, if any of you wish to freshen up in zhe meantime.”

Abe frowned, and not just because the doctor seemed to give him a side eye when he said it. He had been okay with going to the Institute with Chase when it seemed like you would be staying here or going home, or at least aware that he would have to keep his distance anyways once that happened, but now that he knew you were going somewhere else he wasn’t so thrilled on his promise to go. Sure, split up and cover more ground, that was great and all, but he hadn’t realized going with you could have been an option. It wasn’t like Chase needed him to be there.

Even knowing there was a chance to find out more about the red-shirted Google, Abe still played with the idea of giving an excuse to go with your group to the hospital. For safety, of course—after all, look how that little field trip to the studio turned out for you.

But it was Marvin who spoke up, while Jameson was out of the room and no doubt waxing his mustache or whatever his morning routine involved and the doctor had taken you to another room for some privacy for another checkup, and muttered, “Wish I was going with you.”

“You mean with them,” Abe said, head tilting in the general direction of the others, but the magician shook his head.

“No, I mean, yes, them too. Just doing something.” Marvin rubbed his face, his fingers disappearing up under his mask before it resettled into place. “What am I supposed to do, sit at home and twiddle my thumbs?”

“…Your magic really is gone?” Abe asked.

“Not gone, just—” Marvin paused, searching for the right words. “Like there’s a—wall, in between me and it, or like…Like breaking your arm, it’s still there, but you can’t use it for anything, you know? No, that’s not really right, but you get the general idea. God, I might as well be totally human.”

“Yeah, I can see how that would be a real shame,” Abe said sarcastically, but the magician just shrugged. Abe found his eyes drawn to that ridiculous cat mask again, and he had to ask, “Your friends know you’re half-fae, right? Not exactly something you can hide for that long, so why are you still wearing the mask?”

“Heh.” The side of Marvin’s mouth twitched upwards and he brushed his hair out of his face before fixing Abe in his gaze. “The eyes of the fae can be…distracting, even if you know what to expect.”

“That, and he’s vain as hell,” Jackie said at the door, looking in with Chase just visible behind him. “Where’s Y/N?”

“Next room over with the doc,” Abe answered, and Chase gave a thumbs-up before disappearing out of sight. “You know, I bet the doctor would be okay with you and Jackie going with Chase instead of me. Not like I have much of a reputation to help whatever tale he’s going to spin them.”

“Yeah, that’s…a bad idea, for many reasons,” Marvin answered, while Jackie shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned up against the doorframe. “I’d rather not attract the Institute’s attention, and Jackie…”

“I’m not going back there unless it’s to burn the place to the ground,” Jackie finished. He drew up his sleeve, revealing a network of scars tracing their way up and out of sight under the rest of his hoodie. “Last time I went into one of their buildings with a couple of hunters, they threw me in with the other guinea pigs to be played with.”

“But you’re human,” Abe said, and then, “Aren’t you?”

Jackie tilted his head and stepped back, out of the room and out of sight, until the prickle of hairs on the back of Abe’s neck made him look over his shoulder just in time to see Jackie step out of his shadow and rest his elbow on the hunter’s shoulder.

“For a certain value of ‘human,’ yes.” It was the movement of Jackie’s eyes returning to their normal grey that alerted Abe to the fact they had just been solid black, like two holes looking into something or somewhere else. “A little less, after they were done with me. Chase is the only reason I ever saw daylight again.”

Jackie’s weight shifted, the elbow on Abe’s shoulder becoming an arm across his chest, pressing him up against the wall as Jackie whispered, “Which is why you’re going to go with him. And you’re going to make sure nothing happens to him. Do you understand?”

Abe grunted, and Jackie relieved the pressure enough for him to mutter, “Didn’t really need the threat. What do you think I am?”

Jackie looked the hunter up and down before meeting his steady gaze with one of his own, his mouth twitching as though fighting back the urge to answer that.

“…I’ll keep an eye on the kid,” Abe said.

Said “kid” had gone to the next exam room and entered to find you lying on the bed while the doctor gently felt around the area where you had been shot yesterday.

“Oh, sorry,” Chase said, immediately starting to back up, but the doctor shook his head.

“Ve are done here, I think. You are sure zhere is no pain, Y/N?”

“Yeah, I…” you sat up slowly, your eyes drifting toward Chase as an all too familiar copper scent hit you. “I’m fine. Chase, are you bleeding?”

“Uh—” Chase sighed and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. “Yeah, just a scratch from—from yesterday. I was hoping Schneep could take a look?”

“From yesterday?” You immediately thought back to that moment in the elevator, but you didn’t remember any point where Chase could have gotten hurt. That is, until you saw Henrik’s guilty expression and something clicked in the back of your mind. “You drank his blood?”

“I didn’t give him a choice,” Chase answered for him. “It was still the middle of the day, and we couldn’t take you and Marvin home with that hunter and who knows what else hanging around, and I didn’t know how serious your injuries were, so I…”

Henrik heaved a sigh and continued, “So he gives me no time to prepare a better idea. Your cut has started to bleed again?”

Chase nodded and, at the doctor’s gesture, hopped up on the bed to sit next to you and draw up his sleeve. There was a bandage there, already falling off even before the doctor carefully peeled it back to reveal the small cut on his upper arm.

The doctor clicked his tongue and said, “Vampire saliva encourages the bleeding, you see. It is why we try to avoid drinking directly from…donors, or one of zhe many, many reasons. At least you had enough sense not to create zhe cut near an artery or vein, but still.”

“Like I said, I didn’t know how much time we had to work with,” Chase said defensively.

“There is always time to do these things correctly!” Henrik paused and admitted, “Most of zhe time. Zhe effect should wear off on its own, but I have something that may help. Wait just a moment, both of you.”

The doctor walked out of the room, careful to shut the door behind him, and you waited until he was out of earshot before remarking, “You…you really trust him, don’t you?”

“Yeah, of course,” Chase said with a shrug that made you wonder if he really understood what he had done, not just asking but encouraging a vampire to feed on him, with no one else around to step in if the doctor’s worst impulses kicked in and he couldn’t stop himself. “Oh yeah, I picked up some fresh clothes for you while I was at the house. They’re not much to look at, but at least they match a little better than what you have on. Plus, you know, no hole in the middle.”

“…My clothes don’t match?”

“Eh?” Chase shrugged and said, “Maybe we can take you clothes shopping one day, help you pick out some things that are a little more ‘you’ than Jackie’s old hoodies.”

There was a hoodie on top of the pile of clothes, and you could smell Jackie’s scent in the fabric, same as you could tell who the other shirt and pants belonged to. As nice as it would be to have some clothes of your own, you didn’t want to admit to Chase that you kind of liked having that reminder of them with you. Talking about people’s scents felt very much like one of those werewolf things that might make other people feel awkward or uncomfortable.

“What do you normally like to wear?” Chase asked. “Any favorite colors?”

You shrugged, turning over the hoodie in your hands as you said, “I usually had to dress to look the part of an attorney, even on days when I was just in the office.”

And most of your days were spent in the office, when you weren’t in court or doing your own investigations. The few casual outfits you did have back then, you never really had much of a chance to actually wear. As for colors, you weren’t sure how much it mattered when you couldn’t actually see any of them.

Well, most of them. Wilford’s absurd pink mustache being the only exception so far.

“I like these pants though. They’re sturdy,” you said, and Chase immediately glanced at the hole in one of your knees that might have suggested otherwise.

“You mean blue jeans?” Chase asked. “Yeah, I think we can find you some more of those.”

“Wait, these are blue?”

Before Chase could answer that, the doctor walked back into the room, a small bottle and some fresh bandages in hand.

“Found it,” he said, shaking the bottle before applying a small amount of the liquid to a spongy white square. You winced and pulled the collar of your shirt up to your nose to try and block out the sharp, acid-like smell, causing the doctor to pause. “I had hoped you could help me vith this, Y/N, but if zhat would be an issue—”

You shook your head, trying to breathe through your mouth even as you answered, “No, it’s fine, the smell’s just a little strong. What do you want me to do?”

Under the doctor’s directions, you took a wipe and cleared off a large square around the cut on Chase’s arm, causing him to wince even before you applied the foul-smelling medicine to the cut. Henrik caught Chase’s opposite hand as it started to move out of reflex until he relaxed, and then applied a couple strips of tape over the fresh bandages you put on to hold them in place. Once that was done, the doctor immediately took a step back and tucked his hands into the pockets of his white coat, but not before you saw the way they trembled. He probably wasn’t just asking you to handle it because you were already sitting next to Chase.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he said, after clearing his throat. “Zhat should help until zhe cut heals over on its own. Just keep it dry, and no more silly stunts.”

“Now when you say ‘silly,’” Chase started, causing the doctor to snort and walk out of the room. Chase jumped down from the bed and said to you, “You should probably go ahead and change, if you’re really wanting to go to the hospital today.”

You nodded, wondering if you should say something, but instead you asked, “Are you and Abe really going to the Institute today? The one you told me about?”

“Just one of the downtown offices, and maybe that lab if we can swing it,” Chase said, but he avoided looking at you until he added, “I’ll keep an eye on your hunter while we’re out, promise.”

He winked and walked out before you could correct him, leaving you to change and try to turn over what about that wording bothered you the most until it was time to go. The hospital was apparently close enough that Henrik felt confident you, him, and Jameson could walk there before dawn, but Marvin and Jackie insisted on at least driving the three of you there before they returned home, leaving Chase and Abe to take the hunter’s car.

Outside, in the predawn darkness, you wondered what to say to Abe. Any reminder to be careful or that you would see him again felt off, when you had so many other things you wanted to talk to him about. Too much to say or ask about in the little time you had, much less in front of the others.

Instead, it was Abe who pulled you to the side and said, “We’re going to talk about…everything later, yeah? So try to stay out of trouble until then.”

You felt a prickle at the back of your neck at his rough tone and answered, “I’m not the one who’s likely to end up in trouble. You think you can avoid shooting anyone today, hunter?”

“Only if they don’t shoot at me first,” Abe said, relaxing a little when he saw you almost smile at that. That is, until your eyes looked past the hunter and caught what Jameson was signing at you, and embarrassment knocked out every other expression as the others tried not to laugh. “What?”

“Nothing,” you answered a little too quickly. “See you soon, hunter.”

Abe turned and watched you squeeze into the backseat with the others before the car drove off, leaving him behind with Chase. “Are you going to tell me what that was about?”

“Not a chance, hunter,” Chase answered, suppressing a grin as he leaned against Abe’s car. “You ready to go or not?”

“Is anyone even going to be there this early?” Abe asked, causing Chase to raise an eyebrow. Of course, most hunters didn’t exactly work a regular 9 to 5 schedule, and the Institute was hardly any different. But then again, “I know a place we can stop on the way. How do you feel about coffee?”

“I’m listening.”

---

“You still got your collar on you?”

“What?” You had been looking out the back window at the streets passing by, and it took you a second to realize Marvin had turned around in the front seat to look at you. Reluctantly, you pulled the dog collar out of the front pocket of your hoodie and asked, “You mean this?”

Marvin relaxed and said, “Good. Make sure you keep it on you, okay? Schneep, Jameson, you still got your wards?”

Jameson nodded, tapping the brim of his hat and the doctor gave an affirming sound before directing Jackie to the right driveway to the hospital.

“I don’t have to actually wear this thing when I’m human, do I?” you asked.

“Nah, that’s only to get the wolf to pass as a dog,” Marvin answered. “As long as you keep it on or near you, no one should be able to trace you. There’s also some protections against other types of magic in it, but…”

“But they don’t do much against bullets,” you finished for him and Marvin shrugged.

“Can’t plan for everything. Sorry, I had planned on having something else for when you were human again, but that idea’s going to have to wait.” As the car pulled to a stop at the front entrance to the hospital, Marvin added, “Call us, if you don’t want to hang around here all day until nightfall. Just because Schneep has to stay here until then doesn’t mean you and JJ have to.”

“We’ll keep it in mind,” Jameson signed before reaching over and showing you how to unlock the back door. Together, you and Jameson climbed out while the doctor walked around from the other side of the car, and he leaned down so that Jackie could see him add, “Be careful going home!”

“Yes, please do,” Henrik said. “Last zhing we need now is Jackie getting caught driving vithout a license.”

“I’m always careful,” Jackie answered, and Marvin couldn’t hold back a laugh at that. “Look, you all can start criticizing as soon as you learn how to drive yourselves around. Until then, keep it to yourselves.”

The car idled there in the driveway after you all said goodbye, Jackie waiting until your group was through the glass doors before he put the car into drive.

“I thought you said you finished the new ward for Y/N,” Jackie said, breaking the silence of the drive back to the house, and Marvin made a noise but didn’t answer. “Just a few cosmetic tweaks—you don’t need your magic to do that, right?”

“Just considering our options,” Marvin answered, his tone doing more to tell Jackie that he wasn’t in the mood to talk right now.

Not that it kept him from saying, “Well, after this we can keep them home for a while, where it’s safer. At least until you’re back to yourself, and the attention’s off of them.”

Marvin didn’t answer, and when Jackie glanced at him out of the corner of his eye it was difficult to tell, between the darkness in the car and the magician’s mask, if he had even heard him. Jackie’s grip tightened on the steering wheel before he forced himself to relax and let it go. Marvin would share whatever was clearly on his mind when he was ready.

Not that waiting until that happened did anything to ease Jackie’s own suspicions about what was on his mind.

Back at the hospital, you stopped short at the sight of the familiar face behind the front desk and Jameson’s hand quickly found your own.

“Do not worry,” Henrik said under his breath. “Zhis is not zhe same Google you met. I know zhis one, and he is…Vell, he is not friendly, but he hasn’t—hm.”

The doctor paused, considering what he was about to say, before deciding to just go with, “Zhe hospital keeps a very close eye on him.”

“Kind of worrying that they need to keep that close an eye on him,” Jameson suggested, but it wasn’t like there was another option except to go up to the desk where Google looked up from the computer and straightened to face you all in a very mechanical set of movements.

“Welcome to Mercy Green,” Google said, his tone so similar to the other Google that you would have had a hard time telling them apart. Even their scents were very close, although this one had a lingering odor of cleaning fluid hanging around him that you hoped was from keeping the magitek unit clean and not related to any incident in particular. “If this is an emergency, I can direct you to our Emergency Room where trained staff are standing by. Otherwise, do you have an appointment?”

“Dr. Iplier is expecting us,” Henrik answered, but before Google could turn to the computer a voice called from down the hall as the doctor himself approached.

“Henrik, right on time,” Dr. Iplier said, glancing at you and Jameson only to pause, his eyes meeting yours for several seconds before he snapped himself out of it and said to Google, “Just following up on yesterday’s appointment. You know, the one I forgot to tell you about?”

“Yes.” Google’s expression darkened and he said, “You would not have to remember appointments if you told me about them before they happened, doctor.”

“Well, it was a bit of an emergency—”

“Emergencies can be handled by trained staff in our—”

“Yeah, yeah, but I owed a favor and the issue was something I could handle on my own. Right, Henrik?”

“Yes,” Henrik said, slowly as he worked out what the other doctor was doing. “Just a simple bad reaction to a potion. Of zhe transforming kind.”

“…Right.” Dr. Iplier shrugged and said, “I’ve got a room set aside for us already. I think I remembered to put that in the calendar, at least.”

“So you are not completely hopeless,” Google muttered under his breath, and Dr. Iplier started to respond before thinking better of it and motioning for you all to follow him back down the hall.

Once the front desk was out of sight, Jameson asked, “What was that all about?”

“If someone is asking for Dr. Iplier, zhey will most likely check with Google,” Henrik answered. “Such as someone from zhe Institute.”

“And he can tell them I took care of a patient who—an adverse reaction to a potion? Really?” Dr. Iplier asked as he took one turn after another. This place was quickly starting to feel like a maze, with one addition after another having been added on over the years, according to the frequent number of plaques on the walls.

“It vas not my idea,” Henrik answered. “But if they do ask, zhe patient came from zhe TV studio, Dark Entertainment.”

“Easy enough to remember,” Dr. Iplier muttered, and you suddenly remembered what Schneeplestein had said about the studio and the number of injuries there before you went. Now, the only surprising thing about that was the fact the doctor had managed to suppress the urge to say “I told you so.”

The doctor stopped and opened one of the doors to reveal a room a lot like the ones at Henrik’s clinic except more spacious and with more equipment that you weren’t familiar with.

He waited until the door was closed behind you before he said, “You must be Jameson Jackson. Henrik’s told me a lot about you.”

Jameson waved and nodded, although his expression suggested he wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that before Dr. Iplier looked back at you.

“And you must be…doing a lot better than the last time I saw you,” he said.

“Thank you, for the medicine,” you said. “It really helped.”

“Not even a trace of silver burns,” Dr. Iplier said, looking you up and down with a fascination that was almost concerning. “Absolutely incredible.”

Schneeplestein cleared his throat and Dr. Iplier added, “I mean, I’m glad. And curious. Which is why I would like to ask you a few questions, if that’s okay.”

You weren’t sure if he was asking you or Henrik, but you supposed you knew this was coming. Still, you said, “Depends on the question, I guess. And why you want to know.”

“Professional interest?” Dr. Iplier suggested before leaning against the desk along one wall, his fingers tapping on its surface. “We don’t get many werewolves here in the city, or at least not any that I know about, but even outside of our walls there aren’t a whole lot of doctors or healers of any kind who have any experience with them. Which means a lot of our medical literature has just enough to identify the signs of a werewolf bite and infection, and the methods to…ease the patient.”

“A nice drink of medicine and wolfsbane to ease the pain before the mob finds them,” you said sarcastically, but neither doctor tried to correct you. “One problem already: I wasn’t bitten by another werewolf.”

“What?”

“A curse, from the same entity that stole my voice,” Jameson explained, with Henrik translating for the other doctor’s benefit.

“Really?” Dr. Iplier gestured for you all to take seats, but he remained standing even as you reluctantly sat on the edge of yet another exam table. As if to make you feel less alone about that, Jameson decided to hop up next to you and place a comforting hand over yours with a smile. Dr. Iplier glanced at Henrik as he said, “Oh, is that why you were so sure they were safe during the full moon? It’s just a cosmetic transformation?”

Cosmetic. Because yes, transforming into another creature against your will every month was just the same as applying some eyeliner, said a bitter thought inside you that you tried to ignore even as you answered, “No. I’m only safe to be around thanks to a spell that helps me stay in control every full moon. Otherwise, I don’t know what I would do.”

Even with the spell, you could feel how thin the line was sometimes. Like yesterday, when you saw Dark and dropping every attempt at control or calm felt so very worth it.

“Could this spell be used for your traditional werewolf?” Dr. Iplier asked, his hopeful ideas quickly crushed by the shake of Jameson’s head.

“Marvin said the spell takes a very long time to prepare, and it was tailored toward the victim of that particular entity,” Jameson explained, with Henrik again translating. He decided against mentioning that Marvin only had that particular spell ready because he hoped to save someone else that night, or how Marvin had admitted, years later, that he hadn’t even been sure it would work that night, or what he would have done if it had failed. “He’s looked for a way to turn back both of our curses, with no luck.”

“Well, even if they are curses, they have physical effects,” Dr. Iplier said, again drumming his fingers against the desk while he thought out loud. “There’s always the chance that a physical solution can be found to counteract them. Henrik, what kind of tests have you done?”

“I have performed physicals, measuring zheir progress as zhey recover,” Henrik said slowly, as though he already knew where the other doctor was going with this.

“Some blood samples might give us an idea of what we’re dealing with—” Dr. Iplier started, but Henrik quickly cut him off.

“Nein, absolutely not, if zheir blood shows up in zhe system it vill—vhat is it—”

“I know how to keep things under the table,” Dr. Iplier said, looking at you as he added, “It would be perfectly safe, and no one else would have access to the samples—”

“Red flags!” Henrik said, snapping his fingers as he found the phrase. “You would need a lab, and someone to do tests, too many people would ask questions of a doctor doing it himself. Und zhat means more eyes, more hands, more chances of someone else finding out. Out of zhe question.”

“But nobody would look twice at Google doing it, and if I give him the right orders even he won’t know what the results are,” Dr. Iplier answered. “Even if we don’t find anything, wouldn’t it be better to have at least tried? Just trying to keep your head above water is admirable enough, I suppose, but if you just keep paddling in place, you’re never going to reach the shore.”

“Or you might just end up swimming out into the ocean if you go about it wrong,” Jameson signed. He sighed and added, “But we haven’t been able to do much to help you, have we? Maybe letting the docs have a shot at it wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”

The way Dr. Iplier talked, you weren’t sure if he was trying to get an idea for how the whole werewolf thing worked, or if he was actually hoping to find a cure. You hoped for his sake that it was the first, because you had laid aside all hope for a cure a long time ago.

“Just knowing how to cope with…some of this, would be nice,” you said slowly, thinking of yesterday, of all the times you had become overwhelmed by the wolf’s senses of smell and hearing, of how ever since the mirror it just felt easier, being the wolf. But you doubted any kind of tests the doctor could do would help with all of that, which is why you looked at Dr. Schneeplestein and started to ask, “Do you—”

You were interrupted by a knock at the door, which was abruptly opened despite Google’s protest on the other side of, “You are not allowed to access this room without permission.”

“A little late for that,” muttered a man beside him, who pushed up his glasses with a sniff, but both of them were overshadowed by the woman who had opened the door and looked around at all of you before her gaze settled on the two men in white coats.

“Dr. Iplier?” she asked.

“Who the hell are you?” Dr. Iplier answered, stepping forward only to be brought up short by the badges the woman and man showed him. From your vantage point, you couldn’t make out any details, but the general shape of the emblem on them did not match what you remembered of any official police or other government badge. As if to answer your curiosity, Dr. Iplier said, “Great. Bronson Institute investigators. Are they in the schedule, Google?”

“No, they are not,” Google answered, moving his hand towards his glasses in a gesture that just so happened to elbow the man next to him in the ribs. “I would have informed you of a scheduling conflict when you set up this follow-up examination if that were the case. These…people, asked where you were, and proceeded to barge their way here.”

“I’ve never barged anywhere in my life!” protested the man, after rubbing his ribs with a wince and not quite as casually elbowing Google back only to realize why that was a bad idea when the other person had a metal interior.

At his words, a device on his wrist pinged with an irritating noise timed to a flashing light that lasted for three seconds but felt like an eternity to your ears. The woman barely suppressed a smile as she said, “Perhaps some barging was involved, but I assure you that this is an important matter. You received our call about the patient from yesterday, correct?”

“Yes, I did,” Dr. Iplier answered, dragging his eyes away from the device to look back at her. “And I thought I answered all of your questions then. What is this about?”

“We like to be thorough in our investigations, especially when such…delicate matters have become so very public. There’s quite the stir going around, after what supposedly happened outside Dark Entertainment Studios yesterday, and the Institute simply must be sure that we have the heart of the matter before we issue a statement.” She smiled and added, “And your Google was so kind as to inform us that the patient from yesterday is still here.”

“Which one of you is it?” asked the other investigator as he walked into the room and sneered at you and Jameson on the exam table. “And don’t even think about lying! We brought this just so we could be sure we got the truth.”

You glanced down at the device on his wrist, which honestly looked like a wristwatch except one with a blank square screen instead of a clock face. This thing made that irritating noise when it heard lies?

Before you could ask, to stall for time while you thought of a way around it, Jameson immediately waved and pointed at himself.

“You?” the investigator asked, and when Jameson nodded, he scowled and said, “I need you to say it!”

“Jameson can’t speak,” you said. “It’s the effect of a curse, we think. But he does know sign language, if either of you…”

The investigator scowled and looked at his partner, who was sizing up the two of you now with the same intensity that she entered the room with, and she said, “That could work, assuming you know how to ask the right questions.”

“Fine, you translate,” he said, pointing at you before asking, “Were you involved in the incident at Dark Entertainment Studios yesterday, involving a suspected werewolf?”

“I was at the studio yesterday,” Jameson answered, and you translated word for word. “There was an unfortunate incident, yes, but luckily Chase Brody was there to assist, and I and my companions were taken to a doctor he is familiar with.”

“You mean Charles Bronson,” the investigator said as he took meticulous notes in a notepad. “What exactly was he doing there?”

“An interview,” Jameson answered. “About ‘nontraditional’ forms of entertainment, although as I told Jim yesterday, you could make the argument that Chase’s series of stunts for views, as well as his performing feats of gaming and even ‘hanging out’ with his fans could all be—”

Dr. Schneeplestein cleared his throat and Jameson flushed before finishing, “But perhaps this isn’t the place for that conversation.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that you’re an actor?” the investigator asked, and beside you Jameson froze before responding.

“And what, my good sir, is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, Charles said it was some actor who got changed thanks to a stupid stunt, but if you can’t even talk, then how are you supposed to be an actor? Subtitles?”

It was only your fast reflexes that kept Jameson from making his own very nonverbal answer to that, mostly with his fists, and behind the investigator his partner sighed and brushed her forehead with her fingers.

“Harold, what could I possibly have done to have to endure having you here for this?”

“Did you see that?! He tried to attack me!”

“Well, if he had, at least you’re already in a hospital,” she answered. “Dr. Iplier, can you confirm this man’s story?”

“I haven’t seen his work for myself, but I do believe he is an actor.”

Good thing you all were in a hospital, because the investigator looked ready to kill a man before she took a breath and asked, “Was the incident at the studio caused by a failed transformation potion?”

“That is what I was told, yes,” Dr. Iplier said. Of course, he didn’t add who told him that version of events, or whether he believed it. “In such a case, the best course of action is to wait for the effects to run their course, but the patient was under good supervision during that time.”

“Zhe best,” Dr. Schneeplestein muttered under his breath.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Dr. Iplier muttered back, before clearing his throat and saying, “As far as I know, Mr. Jackson’s testimony is entirely honest. And you could put me on the record as saying so.”

Jameson’s testimony, which was so carefully worded to avoid actually saying he was the one who transformed on the street yesterday. You were starting to suspect that device on his wrist wasn’t quite the infallible lie detector Harold seemed to believe it was, although even he looked disappointed when it failed to react at the doctor’s words.

“Tch.” Harold reached into his pocket and pulled out something before tossing it to Jameson with a, “Here, catch.”

Jameson easily caught the coin that flashed in the air between his hands, and opened them to reveal the large, silver coin resting in his palm. He looked from it to the investigator and back again before signing, “Do I get to keep this? Is it my pay for dealing with this nonsense?”

You tried hard not to think about what would have happened if Harold had tossed the coin to you, the burns on your hands worth far more than whatever that lie detector could supposedly tell them.

“I suppose that should settle that, at least,” the other investigator said, while Harold tried to convince Jameson to give him his coin back. Her eyes flickered toward the doctors again as she said, “Very convenient, that Mr. Jackson was still here for this little questioning. Why exactly are you still here, if the potion ran its course?”

The doctors hesitated, but you thought it was your turn to deflect the question by answering, “Dr. Iplier asked if we could come back in, because he wanted to follow up on a few things. Mainly, we’ve just been talking about curses.”

“Right, the curse that took Mr. Jackson’s voice,” she answered, and moved closer to the table. Her hand rested on the padded surface next to you as she leaned in, staring into your eyes with an intensity that was difficult to look away from. “You’re suffering from a curse as well, aren’t you?”

“I—” You swallowed, hard, and caught a brief glimpse of Dr. Schneeplestein on the other side of the room reaching up to tap on the side of his glasses. “Y-yes, I am. My eyes, they were affected by it—I couldn’t even see for a while there, and it’s mostly back but I…I, uh, can’t see most colors still and…”

You trailed off, relieved that the device hadn’t sounded off at that. Your eyes had been affected by the curse, or at least that bit of it that left you so weak to silver.

“Hm. That is interesting. His voice and your eyes…It wasn’t the same curse that caused both, was it?” She said it with a certainty that almost made you think she knew more than she was saying. By this point she was filling most of your vision, to the point that you couldn’t even look away to be sure what Jameson was signing next to you.

“No, I don’t think so. But it was the same…thing that cursed me that took Jameson’s voice.”

You had said it in the hopes it would explain why you were both here, but almost as soon as the words left your mouth you worried that she would ask more questions that you couldn’t answer, because even talking about the entity from the woods felt like it would be straying too close to the real truth. You felt like she had to know more, that she had to know none of you were telling the whole truth.

Part of the reason you were so sure was because there was something eerily familiar about this woman, from the way she commanded attention from the second she entered the room to the look in her eyes whenever she asked a question, like she was looking for more than just what you said next. If you didn’t already know Celine was still there somewhere inside Dark you might have thought…

“You’re not a seer, are you?” you asked, trying to sound like you were joking, and she smiled in a way that somehow made you feel even less certain about what you thought you knew.

“I prefer the title ‘assets manager,’ if I had to choose one,” she said, completely failing to answer your question or give you any other clue what, exactly, that was supposed to mean. The corner of her eyes tightened with a thought and she reached into a pouch on her belt.

You couldn’t help but flinch as she pulled something out and held it toward you, before you realized it was a small business card, very much like the one Bim gave you yesterday.

“Bronson Institute has a department dedicated to researching and treating those dealing with the effects of curses,” she said as you took the card, and presented Jameson with one of his own. “Something to consider, if the good doctors here aren’t able to provide the support you need.”

“Oh, uh, thank you,” you said, Jameson echoing your answer with a sign of his own. “We’ll think about it.”

The device on Harold’s wrist began to beep shrilly at that, causing him to mutter under his breath while he tried to reset it, but the so-called assets manager seemed to suppress a laugh before she responded, “Hang on to the cards, at least. You never know what might make you change your mind.”

You decided to play it safe and not answer this time, and she nodded to you and Jameson before turning to include the doctors as she added, “Thank you for your time, all of you. I think we can safely note for the record that Mr. Jackson here is hardly a werewolf.”

“As of today,” Harold corrected. “We retain any and all right to change our verdict, should future events change that.”

“Of course,” she answered in a flat monotone, showing great restraint not to roll her eyes. “Harold, you can handle the paperwork while I call this in.”

It wasn’t a question, and she walked out of the room without waiting for an answer, leaving Harold to dig around in his bag before presenting the doctor and Jameson with some papers to sign and keep for their records—papers that you insisted on reviewing before either one put down their name, although at least these turned out to be harmless confirmations that they had answered the investigators’ questions in the presence of a “deception detecting device.” That name was about the only thing you would have changed, if only because the thing seemed to have difficulty with anything that wasn’t an outright lie.

All the same, it was a relief when Google finally escorted Harold out of the room, the four of you all exhaling when Dr. Iplier made sure the door was closed and locked behind them this time.

“Vell, at least zhat seems to be behind us now,” Dr. Schneeplestein said, but even from across the room you could see his hands were shaking before he clasped them together. Neither of the investigators seemed to have given him a second thought, but even knowing he has fully registered, being this close to them had shaken him badly.

Badly enough that Dr. Iplier noticed and asked if he had taken his “quota” for the week yet, but Henrik just suggested under his breath that they could talk about it privately, later. At least from that, it sounded like he would tell the other doctor about what happened with Chase, so that was one weight off of your mind.

Only for another to press down again when Dr. Iplier reminded you of the conversation you had been having before the investigators interrupted.

“It’s entirely up to you, of course,” Dr. Iplier added, and you tried hard not to look down at the card in your hand.

Tried not to get your hopes up for anything even as you sighed and said, “I’m willing to try a few tests, if you think it will help. Henrik?”

“…As long as I can keep an eye on zhe process,” Schneeplestein answered, and despite his tone you thought he looked pleased with your answer. “Zhere is nothing to be lost by learning more about your condition, as long as ve keep zhe tests between us.”

Beside you, Jameson tucked his card into a chest pocket and gave you an encouraging thumb’s up, although his smile faded slightly when Dr. Iplier started talking about a few ways to examine his throat as well. It was starting to sound like you both had a long day ahead of you, but if either of the doctors could find something that might help…

After she left the room, the “assets manager” quickly found a quiet alcove in the hospital where she could see anyone coming from either direction at a distance and pulled out her phone. The number she put in wasn’t in her contacts, but one she had long since memorized.

When the other side picked up, she said without any kind of introduction, “The doctor stuck with his story, and they were able to pass the lie detector. Darrensworth is signing off that they’re in the clear now.”

“Really? That must have been an interesting conversation to listen in on. And the silver coin?”

“Doesn’t exactly tell you much if you hand it to the wrong person,” she answered, frowning at the chuckle on the other end of the line. “Say the word, and I’ll bring them in right now. I can think of three ways to walk them out the door without any backup, seven if you don’t mind a couple of casualties.”

“As tempting as that is, I don’t think it’s necessary.”

“What?” She paused long enough to bring her voice back under control before she said, “With all due respect, sir, we are dealing with a highly dangerous creature here.”

“The next full moon is still some time away,” he answered, and before she could point out that an unstable werewolf hardly needed a full moon to cause more than enough damage, he added, “I’m already making arrangements for someone else to collar them and bring them in, when the time’s right. Don’t you worry about a thing. I know this wolf and exactly what it’s capable of.”

She might have had something to say about his patronizing tone, if his words hadn’t summoned a vivid image in her mind that drowned out the voice on the other end telling her to come back, followed by the abrupt silence of the call ending. The phone slipped in the palm of her hand, but it and the hospital around her faded away into the vision.

An alley, and a shadow low and near the ground, nearly invisible in the darkness except for the silver eyes catching and reflecting the distant streetlights and the moonlight overhead, followed by a flash of white as jaws full of gleaming teeth revealed themselves.

A figure, silhouetted against the light of the street.

The beast, springing forward before she hissed, phone clattering against the ground as her fingers pressed against her temples, the vision fading into nothingness.

But not before she heard the gunshot, and the long, desperate cry.

By the time Harold, firmly escorted by Google, found her, she had recovered from her vision and come to the determination that, by the next full moon, you would be safely tucked away in the Institute. If his plan didn’t play out, then she would happily see to it herself. Whether it was by convincing you to come in search of treatment or by more forceful measure remained to be seen, but she would make sure that vision would be one of the many that never came to be.

For your own good, if nothing else.

((End of Part 26. Thank you for reading! No bonus points for guessing who that was on the phone...

And yeah, the “assets manager” is kind of a play on Celine’s character. Mostly because I got to this scene and realized I wanted that kind of character there, and partially because I’m running low on canon characters to shove into this AU. XD I haven’t decided on a name yet, but maybe Emma? Definitely open for suggestions there, and feel free to let me know what you think.

Link to Part 27: A Visit to the Institute.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate @missksketch @autumnrambles @authorracheljoy @liafoxyfox @hidinginmybochard ))

#markiplier #jacksepticeye #fanfiction #monster hunter au #werewolf au #wkm district attorney #wkm abe #henrik schneeplestein #jameson jackson #dr. iplier #chase brody #marvin the magnificent #jackieboy man #traces of silver #so that vision huh

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thegrapeandthefig · 4 years

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The Werewolves of Arcadia

This is my contribution to @adri-le-chat 's Halloween "Haunting Pagan Lore" event. As you can see from the title, I've chosen a classic of horror and folklore tales for which many have forgotten the ancient origins. This will be long, so let's get into it.

The myth of King Lycaon While the earliest known example of man-to-wolf shifting dates back to the Epic of Gilgamesh (c. 2100 BC), the Greek case is considered the second oldest, and the one scholars consider as the root of werewolf belief in Europe, as the myth got carried over to the Romans. However, one should note that lycanthropy and human-to-animal transformation beliefs also arose independently in other cultures around the world.

In Greece, the first werewolf is King Lycaon of Arcadia. The story is said to go this way, though with several variants: King Lycaon ruled over the region of Arcadia, Pan's homeland. A wild, lush and mountainous region of Greece. Lycaon had several children, mainly Kallisto, Keteus and Nyktimos. After seducing Kallisto, Zeus is invited to a feast by Lycaon. The issue is, Lycaon serves him human flesh:

"After Zeus had seduced Kallisto, Lykaon, pretending not to know of the matter, entertained Zeus, as Hesiod says, and set before him on the table the babe which he had cut up.”

- Hesiod, Astronomica Fragment 3 (from Comm. Supplem. on Aratus)

"Two lesser known Athenian playwrights, Xenokles the Elder and Astydamas the Younger, produced plays entitled Lykaon. Presumably these told the story of the sacrifice of the child."

- Xenocles the Elder & Astydamas the Younger, Lycaon (lost plays) (c. 5th to 4th BC.)

The general idea is that Zeus is deeply offended by the act and turns King Lycaon into a wolf. However, there are many versions to the myth. Pausanias, in the 2nd century AD, explains it this way:

" Lykaon brought a human baby to the altar of Zeus Lykaios, and sacrificed it, pouring out its blood upon the altar, and according to the legend immediately after the sacrifice he was changed from a man to a wolf (lykos) . . . All through the ages, many events that have occurred in the past, and even some that occur to-day, have been generally discredited because of the lies built up on a foundation of fact. It is said, for instance, that ever since the time of Lykaon a man has changed into a wolf at the sacrifice to Zeus Lykaios, but that the change is not for life; if, when he is a wolf, he abstains from human flesh, after nine years he becomes a man again, but if he tastes human flesh he remains a beast for ever."

- Pausanias, Description of Greece 8. 2. 1 - 6

Ovid, when rewritting the myth in the 1st century AD, decided to turn the narrative to Lycaon doubting the divinity of Zeus when the god visited Arcadia. In order to test Zeus’s divinity, Lycaon attempts to feed him cooked human flesh and have him assassinated in the night. When Zeus realizes what Lycaon is doing, Lycaon tries to flee in fear. But as he runs into the fields of Arcadia, Lycaon is transformed into a wolf.

The cult of Zeus Lykaios

The transformation of King Lycaon is a punishment for human sacrifice and cannibalism, sometimes permanent or, as we saw above, for a certain amount of time under the condition of not eating human flesh.

The myth is said to have inspired the cult of Zeus Lykaios in Arcadia (or perhaps the opposite), for which, human sacrifices have been rumored to occur. The sanctuary of Zeus Lykaios was on one of the three crests of Mt. Lykaion, where the festival of the Lykaia was celebrated approximately once every four years. We owe the earliest reference to human sacrifices on this mountain to Plato:

"What then is the beginning of the transformation from protector to tyrant? Is it not clearly when the protector begins to do the same as the man in the story which is told concerning the sanctuary of Zeus Lykaios in Arcadia?’ ‘What story?’ he said. ‘How the man who has tasted of the piece of human entrails—one of these having been cut up along with the entrails of the other victims—it is necessary for this man to be turned into a wolf. Or haven’t you heard the story?’ ‘I have." -Plato, Republic 8, 565D–E

Pausanias, who visited the location in the 2nd century AD, also mentions the story:

“For they say that after Lycaon someone would always be turned from a man into a wolf at the sacrifice of Zeus Lykaios, but that he would not become a wolf for all his life. Rather, if while he was a wolf he refrained from human flesh, they say that afterwards in the tenth year he turned back from a wolf into a man. But if he had tasted human flesh he remained a beast forever.”

-Pausanias, Description of Greece, 8.2.6

Later, he goes on to mention the sacrifices are still performed on the moutain, subtly implying that he thinks those are human sacrifices:

"they sacrifice in secret; I did not wish to inquire further into the details of the sacrifice: let it be as it has been from the beginning”

-Pausanias, Description of Greece, 8.38.7

Both Plato and Pausanias are skeptics on the existence of the transformation from man to wolf. Pausanias, especially, makes it very clear when giving account of the story of Damarchus:

"But concerning the boxer named Damarchus, who was by birth an Arcadian of Parrhasia, except for his victory at Olympia I do not believe the other things said by pretentious men, namely that he was changed from a man to a wolf at the sacrifice of Zeus Lykaios and that ten years later he again became a man. Nor did it seem to me that this was said about him by the Arcadians, for in this case it would also be said in the inscription at Olympia, which runs as follows: Damarchus son of Dinyttas set up this statue, a Parrhasian by birth from Arcadia.”

-Pausanias, Description of Greece, 6.8.2

Archeaological search has not confirmed human sacrifices to be taking place, despite the legends. The numerous bones found were mostly ones from small animals, with the occasional bigger cattle or pig. Thus there are strong doubts on the reality of infant sacrifices. If they did exist, the absence of remains would indicate either that the victims were so young their remains didn't survive time, or that the remains were removed for a separate burial.

Other instances of werewolf tales

It is very clear now that the region of Arcadia is linked for the Ancients to the trope of man to wolf transformation, and probably taking root in both tale and cult. However, this while this is the most documented story, there are other mentions of wolf-shifting in ancient literature.

Herodotus, for instance, tells us this when describing the Neuri:

"It may be that these people are wizards; for the Scythians, and the Greeks settled in Scythia, say that once a year every one of the Neuri becomes a wolf for a few days and changes back again to his former shape. Those who tell this tale do not convince me; but they tell it nonetheless, and swear to its truth." - Herodotus, Histories, IV.105

Much later, in the late first century AD, Petronius includes a werewolf story in his Satyricon, which goes as follows:

"I seized my opportunity, and persuaded a guest in our house to come with me as far as the fifth milestone. He was a soldier, and as brave as Hell. So we trotted off about cockcrow; the moon shone like high noon. We got among the tombstones: my man went aside to look at the epitaphs, I sat down with my heart full of song and began to count the graves. Then when I looked round at my friend, he stripped himself and put all his clothes by the roadside. My heart was in my mouth, but I stood like a dead man. He made a ring of water round his clothes and suddenly turned into a wolf. Please do not think I am joking; I would not lie about this for any fortune in the world. But as I was saying, after he had turned into a wolf, he began to howl, and ran off into the woods. At first I hardly knew where I was, then I went up to take his clothes; but they had all turned into stone. No one could be nearer dead with terror than I was. But I drew my sword and went slaying shadows all the way till I came to my love's house. I went in like a corpse, and nearly gave up the ghost, the sweat ran down my legs, my eyes were dull, I could hardly be revived. My dear Melissa was surprised at my being out so late, and said, 'If you had come earlier you might at least have helped us; a wolf got into the house and worried all our sheep, and let their blood like a butcher. But he did not make fools of us, even though he got off; for our slave made a hole in his neck with a spear.' When I heard this, I could not keep my eyes shut any longer, but at break of day I rushed back to my master Gaius's house like a defrauded publican, and when I came to the place where the clothes were turned into stone, I found nothing but a pool of blood. But when I reached home, my soldier was lying in bed like an ox, with a doctor looking after his neck. I realized that he was a werewolf, and I never could sit down to a meal with him afterwards, not if you had killed me first. Other people may think what they like about this; but may all your guardian angels [genius] punish me if I am lying.”

-Petronius, Satyricon, 62 (tr. Michael Heseltine)

Final words

Despite being present in literature, there seems to be a common disbelief amongst the Ancients when it comes to the veracity of werewolves, but it is also possible that the explicit disbelief shown by the authors cited there is meant to differiate them with the popular folk beliefs of their time. With this, I wish you all a Spooky Halloween.

#hauntingpaganlore #halloween special #werewolves #ancient history #ancient greece

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nightashes · 4 years

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The Alliance Sucks, the Rebellion’s Not Much Better, but at Least We Have Each Other

A/N: Yes. I know it’s a crazy long title. Fight me. Shortened title: At Least We Have Each Other. Longer title: the alliance sucks, the rebellion’s not much better, but at least we have each other (and some guns). This is a discord gift for @sometimes-love-is-enough. I hope you enjoy! This is the longest one-shot I have written so far! woot woot!

Summary: Being a criminal in space is difficult. Being a criminal in space that just pulled a job on a government facility is worse. Being a criminal in space that just pulled a job on a government facility and somehow picked up a stowaway is a recipe for disaster. Luckily this crew specializes in disasters.

Meet the Crew:

Janus: the Captain. He can demand respect and obedience with nothing more than a glare.

Virgil: the pilot and emergency medic.. He’s no doctor but he’s gotten the crew through a fair amount of scrapes.

Roman: the second-in-command. He helps Virgil out in navigation and generally makes sure the ship runs smoothly and is always fully stocked with everything they could possibly need.

Remus: he’s the muscle and he makes sure the ship never remains stocked.

And of course Patton: the engineer. Without him this ship would be nothing more than a crappy piece of modern art.

Warnings: an assortment of weapons, a kid with a gun, blood, violence, explosions, almost major character death

writing masterlist - ao3 version

***

The thrum of the engine was a constant backdrop. It was the hiss of a living breathing machine. More than a sound, the vibrations were a blanket laid over them, an understanding of protection. The engine was awake and they were finally on the move. As long as they were moving, they were safe. Janus walked along the corridor, his gloved hand passing over the metal walls, feeling the buzz of the engine beneath his fingertips. He quirked a smile.

In the distance he could hear the shouts of his crew, arguing passionately. It seemed there was always something to argue about with them and Janus hardly did much to prevent it. If it went too far, he would step in and knock some sense into them. But in the end, this is just how they were. They resolved everything with a passionate debate. Everything .

The door to his room slid open at the touch of his hand. He swept off his overcoat and settled heavily onto his bed. It had not been an easy job. They would have to lie low for a while. Stealing from the Alliance was like that. Nothing but trouble. But at least they would get paid. And any chance to stick it to those government lackeys was a welcome one as far as he was concerned. For now all he wanted to do was sleep. Kicking off his boots and sliding out of his suspenders, Janus collapsed back onto his pillow.

“Dim the lights, Serenity.” He mumbled to the ship’s AI, already drifting off to sleep.

Bang!

“Janus! They won’t let me-”

“Janus! You can’t let Remus hurt-”

“Janus! We need your help. There’s-”

“EVERYONE SHUT UP!” Janus yanked open the door.

Glaring down at his crew, even with his ruffled hair and wrinkled shirt he cut an intimidating figure. His eyes bored into their souls, shutting down any ideas of speaking out of turn.

“One at a time you will explain to me what is wrong in as few words as possible. Virgil, you first.”

“Roman found a stowaway. He’s with him now.”

“A stowaway. Fantastic. Just what we needed.” The captain spat. “Remus?”

“Obviously, we should just toss the little squirt out into space. But no one here will let me.”

Janus turned to the last one there. “And I suppose that’s why you’re upset, Patton?”

“He’s just a kid.” The empathetic engineer practically pleaded.

“Where is he?”

“Storage. Roman found him while securing the prototype.” Virgil explained.

“So the kid’s seen what we have. More wonderful news .” He drew his hand down his face with a sigh. “Alright, you three stay here. I’ll go figure this out.”

***

Roman was sitting on the floor, his katana had been drawn and set aside behind him. He was talking in a low voice to the kid. Across from him, the stowaway sat with his back ramrod straight as his fingers played with the laces of his shoe. The kid was nervous but trying his best to hide it. Whatever Roman was saying the kid wasn’t responding.

Janus rapped the wall with his knuckles. The kid whipped his head around to face him. There was an intelligence in those eyes. He stared with a calculating gaze that was unusual for one so young. He was dressed smartly, wearing pressed slacks and a vest, obviously a child of wealth. Now what would lead a kid of status to stowaway on a ship of thieves?

“Ah, Captain. Good thing you're here. He won’t speak to anyone but you.” Roman spoke, trying his best to keep his voice calm and even, an usual occurrence for the boisterous first mate.

“You’re the captain?” The child asked, unimpressed.

“No, I’m the cook. Everyone calls me Captain because if they don’t I’ll spit in their food.” Janus whispered conspiratorially.

The kid squinted his eyes in suspicion and confusion. “You are being dishonest.”

A stowaway that didn’t understand sarcasm, this would certainly be interesting. “You’re right. I am being dishonest. You’ve figured it out, I am the captain. And now I need you to answer my questions. Can you tell me why you’ve decided to stowaway on my ship?”

The kid looked between the two of them, he tried to speak with confidence but there was a spark of fear hidden within his eyes. Janus wondered if Roman could see it too.

“I want to join you.” The kid spoke simply.

Roman raised his brow and Janus could not hold back a chuckle. The kid tightened his fists, preparing himself for a debate. “I’m smart. I can solve problems and help map out battle plans better than anyone in my class.”

“I’m sure you can, kid,” Janus shook his head incredulously. “But you see we don’t really have any need for a battle tactician. And as for plans and problems, no one can beat my second-in-command here.” Janus clapped his hand around Roman’s shoulder.

“It’s true. If he brought you on, I might grow jealous.” Roman smirked.

“Well, then I could join another ship. One that needs me.” The kid refused to be persuaded.

The captain sighed. Alright, the straight-forward approach. “Look, you aren’t joining a ship of smugglers and thieves. We won’t take you and there is no way I’m letting you join any other ship. You’d be killed in a month. Why don’t you tell me where your home is and we can drop you off?”

“Smugglers? I thought-” The kid’s fear was unmistakable now. “I may have made a miscalculation.”

“Did you now?”

“You’re not with the rebellion?”

“Most definitely not.”

“You attacked the Northern Outpost on Galiero. Why would you do that if you are not with the rebellion?”

“Ah, see… we can’t really tell you about that. But-”

The kid was not listening, scanning the room he pointed to the prototype, cutting Janus off, “It’s because of that. Isn’t it?’

The prototype sat beside a smuggling hold. It was a large piece of machinery, all sharp edges and mysterious buttons, waiting patiently to be hidden snuggly away, the same hold that the kid must have found and stowed away in. They would need to reevaluate their hidden compartments if a kid could find them.

The kid continued, “If you’re smugglers, then you can take me to the rebels. I can pay you.”

“We’re not taking you to any rebels,” Roman asserted. “We’re taking you home. To your family.”

“My family is gone.” The kid spat out venomously. “It was just my dad and I. And then the Alliance took him away. They said his books were spreading ‘treasonist ideologies.’ They took him away and forced me into a new family. I’m not going back there. I’m joining the rebellion and I’m going to destroy the Alliance.”

There was a pause of silence. Janus and Roman gave each other a meaningful look. “Alright, we won’t take you home,” Janus finally proclaimed. “Roman, why don’t you take the kid here and find him something to eat?”

“Sure thing, Cap.”

“Will you take me to the rebellion?” The kid questioned, refusing to leave without a confirmation.

“Of course, kid.” At that moment, Janus was thankful that the kid couldn’t understand sarcasm.

“It’s Logan. Logan Sanders.” Their stowaway clarified as he allowed himself to be led away.

The captain sighed heavily. He needed to speak with his pilot.

***

“You want to what?” Virgil nearly yelled.

“I want to rescue the boy’s father from the Alliance prisons.”

“You’re insane! You’ve lost it! The Captain’s lost it and we are all going to die!”

“Virgil, calm down. We can do it, as long as we play it smart.”

“No!” Virgil shook his head. “No, there is no ‘playing this smart.’ We are running hot right now. We have a stolen prototype in our storage that the Alliance would happily kill us to regain and now we have a kid on board to worry about! Going anywhere near Alliance space right now is suicide. We need to be heading to the outer planets as fast as our jets can carry us.”

“I know. But we aren’t. Logan needs his father. Or would you rather we hand him over to the rebellion so they can use him as cannon fodder?”

Virgil hissed out a curse. “You can’t do that. You can’t just do that. Guilting me into this madness...” He muttered as he began angrily punching in codes into the panel.

“Thank you, Virgil.”

“If we die, I’ll never forgive you.”

“I know.” Janus answers.

The pilot sighed as the computer beeped back at him. “Remy thinks he can figure out where the kid’s father would have been taken. Last name Sanders, right? We can start heading to the center planets now while he does his thing. It’ll take a couple days, we’ll need to go through the Mirdian belt if we want to avoid detection. By the time we arrive, Remy should have all the info we need to get ourselves killed on a rescue mission.”

“ Perfect. I’ll let the others know.”

***

The kid was pacing. The kid was pacing a lot and it was driving Remus up the wall. Back and forth. Back and forth, the kid walked. Glancing this way and that and generally being a distracting nuisance. Remus was sitting at the table, attempting to clean one of his guns in peace. He loved to tinker with his weapons in the kitchen. Best way to work and devour snacks all at once. Patton hated it of course. But Patton was busy helping Virgil. Something about making sure their approach to the planet didn’t trip off any sensors. All Remus knew was that he was supposed to have the kitchen to himself to prepare for the mission. But now there was a kid here. A kid he was not allowed to eject into space. Which Remus considered a travesty. At least the kid being here meant they were going to break into a prison! Remus has always wanted to break into a prison, ever since he and Roman had run away from home looking for adventure. And now he had his chance. He was ready to go. His skin was buzzing in excitement and he was making sure all of his precious babies were loaded and ready for a fight. But his perfect happy bubble was being ruined by pacing.

“Would you just sit down already!” Remus hollowered at the kid. Logan glanced his way unimpressed and continued to pace.

Remus grumbled in distaste. The kid was suspicious of them, Remus knew it. He may not be able to read body language like Janus, but the kid was definitely suspicious. Remus wasn’t sure how or when but sometime during their trip Logan had figured out they were heading the wrong way to meet up with the rebellion. And now he was pacing. Janus didn’t want them to tell Logan their plans. Something about getting his hopes up. Whatever the reason, it was complete bull. And Remus would know. He specialized in bullcrap.

The kid was pacing. Pacing and planning. An unpredictable plan from an unknown variable meant chaos. Remus liked chaos. But he also liked his friends. And a plan like that, on a mission like this, could get his friends killed.

“Hey kid, you want to know a secret?”

Logan stared back at Remus, silently… waiting.

“We aren’t heading towards the rebellion.” Remus grinned deviously.

There was a pause. Logan searched Remus’s face, looking for who knows what. “You’re taking me to the Alliance. You’re turning me in for clemency. Aren’t you?”

“Hah!” Remus barked out a laugh. “Turning you in for clemency? Hell no! We may not be with the rebellion but our hate for the Alliance runs just as deep.”

“Then why aren’t you with them? Why not help them fight?” Logan’s curiosity was struck.

“Because the rebellion is totally insane! And not in the fun way if you know what I mean?” Logan gave him a look that told Remus he, in fact, did not know what he meant. Remus continued, “They’re one of those defeat-the-evil-empire-by-any-means-necessary types. They believe in their own bullcrap. Trust me, kid, you don’t want to work for them.”

“What are you going to do with me then?” Logan pressed.

“We’re going to do something insane. And I do mean insane in the fun way.” Remus winked conspiratorially.

“That does nothing to reassure me.” Logan deadpanned, which caused Remus to let loose a big belly laugh. The sound bouncing around the kitchen.

“You’re alright, kid,” wiping away a tear of mirth, Remus chuckled. “Hey, come over here.” he gestured towards the table, where an assortment of his weapons had been laid out. “We’re going to be leaving in a minute to have our fun. It’ll just be you and Patton on the ship while we’re out. Nothing should happen, but just in case why don’t you take Linda here.” He shoved a small laser gun into the kid’s hands. “She’ll take care of you if any of the insanity comes this way, Alright?”

Logan stared down at the gun in his hands. His brow knitted together in confusion, but when he looked up there was gratitude in his eyes. He nodded his understanding.

A cough came from the doorway. Remus looked up to find the Captain standing in the entrance, looking with fondness at the scene in front of him. “Well, I hope I’m not interrupting. Just thought I’d let you know we’ll be touching down now.” Janus explained, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. “Remus, meet me in the hold once you’ve finished. Patton will be here in a minute to take care of the kid. Said something about making you guys a hot sugary drink. That should be fun, right kid?”

Logan stared back at the Captain. His fingers feeling the weight of the weapon in his hands. He positioned himself and raised the gun, aiming it directly at the Captain’s face. His eyes were cold and his hands barely shook. “If you betray me I’ll shoot you.”

Remus smiled mischievously as Janus shot him a look of disbelief, “What did you teach him?”

“Nothing, Cap. This is all him! The kid’s a natural.”

Janus wisely decided to drop it at that. “Just pack up your things and meet me down there.”

“Righty-o, Boss Man!” Remus waved to Janus’s departing back before turning back to his new friend. “Alright, we won’t be seeing each other until nightfall. But don’t you worry, nothing’s gonna harm you. You're under my protection now, like a little chaos apprentice.” He gave a big toothy grin. “And when I have your back nothing bad will ever happen to you. Got it?”

The kid grips the weapon in his hands. “You won’t tell me what you are doing?”

“Nah, Cap wants to keep it a surprise. But trust me, you’ll love it!”

“Alright, I trust you.”

***

It was dusty, so very dusty. The wind blew it everywhere. Beneath the scarves wrapped around their faces. Crusting over the glass of their goggles. And filling their boots, as they dragged their feet further and further through the dunes. Virgil shouldered his pack higher, trying his best to adjust whatever was poking harshly into his back. The pack was heavy, filled to the brim with ammo for whatever Remus had brought along. The pack pulled his weight deeper into the sand with each and every step. They had landed several klicks away from the prison, better to go undetected until they were ready for a fight. But this meant a hike. A hike carrying bulging packs full of everything they will need for the mission ahead.

The sun was clouded. Obscured by the grit blowing around them. But the heat was real. Virgil could feel the sweat beading down his back. Drops pooled around his hairline, dripping into his scarf. Virgil desperately ached to wipe them away. But he knew it would only make the situation worse, covered as his hands were with dust.

As evening neared, they finally arrived within striking distance of the prison. They settled down to wait. Munching on protein packs and chugging water from their skins. Janus passed around an old communicator. A flashing mugshot hovered there from all to see.

Their Captain crouched down beside them, speaking as clearly and precisely as he could. “Thomas Sanders. Civilian. Divorced. Father of one and author of the banned book: The Lost Art of Community . He was arrested half a lunar cycle ago for perpetuating treasonist ideologies. Remy has provided us with a map of the building and yard. The asset will be held within solitary confinement.”

Virgil swiped through the communicator. Seeing the images zoom pass, sure enough a map popped up. An area colored yellow, stood out from the rest: solitary confinement. Virgil mumbled to himself, repeating what he saw, forcing the images into his memory.

“We’ll be doing a Surprise Secret,” Janus continued. “Remus and Roman, you’ll cover the Surprise. Virgil and I will take care of the Secret. Understood?”

Words of confirmation echoed out.

“Alright, begin your preparations. At dusk, we strike.”

***

The sky was beginning to darken. The signal would come any minute now. Virgil thought to himself as he lay on his stomach, he shifted to ensure the katana did not dig into his stomach. Roman had been kind enough to lend it for their mission. Virgil scanned the prison through his binoculars. He couldn’t see the twins, there happened to be a building in the way, but he knew they were there. On the other side, readying their surprise. It had to be soon. Any minute now. Virgil shifted nervously.

Janus laid a hand on his shoulder, “Virgil, it’ll be okay. We’ve done this before. Only difference is: now the asset is a person. We’ve got this.”

Virgil sighed heavily, “There’s a lot more different than that. It’s-”

BOOOOOOOOOOOM!

Time to go. They shot to their feet, sprinting towards the prison. The firefight had begun.

***

Remus was having the time of his life. Guards were pouring out of the front of the building, firing frantically at their position. But Roman and Remus were smuggly secured in a foxhole they had prepared for this very reason. They let loose a torrent of fire upon the building. Doing their best to be as loud as possible. Truly, this was the best job of their life. And all they had to do now was draw as much attention as possible, while not getting killed. Easy peasy.

Roman yelled, “Reload!” Beside him. Ducking down to grab ammunition from one of the packs that lay open in their hole.

Remus screamed as he laid down cover fire. “Eat lasers, ya little piggies!!”

A shot whizzed past his ear. Remus ducked his head a little lower. Whoa! That was close. His eyes were wide and his smile couldn’t possibly grow wider. This was living the dream. Roman patted his shoulder signaling he was ready. And together they rose again. Firing an array of blazing lasers down at the swarming guards streaming from the compound beneath them.

***

Virgil and Janus had made it onto the roof. No one had noticed them yet. Roman and Remus were truly doing a fantastic job of drawing everyone’s attention. Still, Virgil couldn’t help but worry. His gut twisted at the thought that his two crewmates were fighting against an entire prison worth of guards with nothing but their position, their weapons, and their skill to protect them.

He had long since abandoned the religion of his home planet. But as he skittered the edges of the cell block, seeing the lights of the lasers paint the horizon like a violent sunset. For the first time in years he felt the urge to wish. To wish that the great being of fate that pulled on the strings of the universe, fighting for the balance of destruction and creation, really was real. Somewhere outside of their dimension, pulling on the strings and maybe just maybe, ensuring that they would make it out okay. That the balance fell on their side today.

Virgil ran low across the roof, Janus followed closely behind in his footsteps. They glided across the blacktop, weaving between obstacles and doing their best to hide whenever possible. Against the darkened sky, they were but a pair of dancing shadows. While the front of the building was lit up in an array of lights and screams, a display of dazzling laser fire. On the roof, all was silent and dark.

He whispered to himself, repeating the layout of the map. East, a little further. They were close. So very close. Roman and Remus just had to hold on a little bit longer. Janus whipped out a thermal reader, readying himself. They had arrived at the section for solitary confinement.

The thermal reader lit up softly, Janus shifted his coat to hide the light as best as he could. Moving right and left, he worked his way across the roof. Virgil had brought out his own, starting at the other end of the section, he crouched low over the screen, he appeared as a hovering figure, coasting his way over the building, moving eerily similar to a predator. A beast-like crouch reminiscent of the predators of Loskor searching the ground for hidden Storles’s burrows.

A call broke his concentration. Janus gestured him over. Sure, enough his screen was filled with the image of red. A humanoid figure pacing in the cell below. Virgil pulled out Roman’s katana. At the push of a button, the blade pulsed red. He steadied his stance, holding the blade firmly in his fist, Virgil pushed it down into the blacktop of the roof. The blade hissed, sparks flew, spitting gravel into the air. Virgil pushed further, fighting against the force. On Janus’s screen, the figure was stock-still and squirreled away into a corner, the body stared up at the ceiling, watching their progress. Virgil pulled the blade across. Slowly, he moved around, forming the rough shape of a rounded box. He removed the katana and extinguished the fire. Now, came the tricky part. Thankfully, the figure appeared content to stay in the corner.

Virgil kicked down forcibly onto the weakened rooftop. The cut-out shape moved an inch inward, creating a large person-sized depression in the otherwise smooth surface. Sturdy sucker. Virgil kicked again.

The chunk of rooftop collapsed into the cell below, spraying chunks of rock across the frightened prison. He stared up at them through the hole. Through the dust and dirt, Virgil could make out the face of their target, Thomas Sanders.

“Your son, Logan, is waiting for you,” Janus caught the attention of the prisoner. “Ready to go?”

“My son?” Thomas asked, dumbstruck.

Virgil lay down on the roof at the edge of the hole. Reaching down into the cell, his fingers stretching towards the prisoner. “We have to go now! Grab on.”

Thomas glanced between them, searching their faces in a similar fashion to the way Logan often would. Satisfied with what he saw, he jumped to catch Virgil’s outstretched palm. Virgil groaned under the force of a grown man hanging from his arm, but he managed to hang on. He pulled his arm up. Janus came round and offered his own hand out to the man. Once they had a hold on each of his arms, they worked together. Pulling the man up and out of the darkened prison cell. They collapsed against the rooftop, huffing.

“Time to break radio silence.” Janus spoke. Yanking a communicator from his belt, he brought it up to his lips. “The secret is done. Time for the final surprise.”

The communicator crackled noisily. The sounds of static and explosion pouring through. A voice broke through the noise. “Final surprise incoming. Brace for impact.”

Virgil jumped to his feet, pulling the prison to standing position. “There’s going to be a big blast. When it happens we’ve got to run to the edge of the roof as fast as we can. You understand?”

The prisoner nodded his head, frantically. Clearly, this man was out of his depths. But he seemed focused and ready to listen. And right now, that’s all they needed.

The building shook violently. The front of the prison crumbled inward slightly as a bright ball of light stung their eyes.

“To the front! Now!” Janus yelled.

The trio ran.

***

The firefight was really starting to get exciting, Remus thought. Their foxhole was taking heavy damage and their ammunition was beginning to run low. They had to wrap this up soon if they wanted to get off this hellhole-of-a-planet unscathed. Although getting a little scathed was alright in Remus’s opinion. One can never have too many battle scars, afterall. In truth, Remus never really feared injury, not for himself at least. If the personification of death came strolling up to Remus one day, he’d probably greet him to a challenge of arm wrestling, just to see who was stronger, of course. Now, if death came for someone else, someone Remus cared about, that was another story. And so when the call from Janus came in, Remus was happy to say that thing’s seemed to be working out.

Remus set up the support stand as Roman answered, “Final Surprise incoming, brace for impact.”

From the last pack, the one that had laid unopened during the battle, Remus pulled out, what he affectionately called, The Final Surprise. A missile laser launcher that could fire a laser bolt big enough to put a hole through a military class transporter. This was going to be fun! He set it in place on the support stand and lined up his shot. Aiming for the front of the prison, his smile grew wider. The line of guard’s that had formed to fight off the “invasion” had no idea what was about to come their way.

Remus fired the Final Surprise. So named because in life there is only one final surprise.

The front of the building exploded in fire. The frame shook. The doors had been blasted off. Prisoners had been freed. And now the guards were fighting a battle on two fronts.

Remus began hurriedly packing up whatever supplies they would have the time to take. Roman took to laying down cover fire. As he packed, he took to watching the building attentively. Looking for the three figures that were currently sprinting across the rooftop. He spotted their silhouettes as they neared the building’s front. All three were there. They were safe.

Over the cacophony of battles cries and weapons firing, a new sound was heard. The thrum of an engine. Most importantly the thrum of the engine of their ship. It roared violently, the buzz of a thousand hornets that was felt deep in the bones. The ship tore through the air and came to hover directly behind them. The door had been lowered, open and ready for them to enter.

“Ready to board?” Roman shouted to his brother.

Remus was clutching the Final Surprise to his chest. The packs had been piled onto his shoulders, two to an arm. He felt positively giddy. They left their foxhole behind and jumped aboard. The guards that weren’t fighting prisoners had shifted to fire upon the ship. It was time to leave.

“We’re on! Move to the rooftop.” Roman radioed Patton.

The ship rose higher, coming level to the rooftop. It soared over the heads of the guard. The ship rattled as it took laser fire to its hull. The trio watched them as they flew in closer. Virgil jumped aboard first. Running in to hug the twins.

“God, we’re alive!” He cheered.

Janus and the prisoner jumped together. The captain steadying the civilian. He helped him through the door and safely inside the ship’s storage.

Everyone was here. They were safe. They had successfully completed a prison break!

The ship began to rise from the building. The door was beginning to close when Remus saw it.

The prison had launched their own ship. A prison transport. It had limited weapon capabilities. But their ship was already taking fire. They couldn’t risk it.

Remus was still holding onto the Final Surprise. There wasn’t anytime to set up the support stand. He dropped the packs and slammed his fist against the button to hold open the door. The others looked his way in shock as he squared up on the half-closed ramp. He hefted the Final Surprise against his shoulder. The transport ship came into his crosshairs. Remus fired.

There is a reason that the Final Surprise requires a support stand to fire. The recoil. The laser bolt left the launcher. It blasted through the crack in the open door. And Remus, he was thrown back. The last thing he saw before everything went black was the prisoner transport explode into a mess of shrapnel.

What a way to end a prison break.

***

The dreadful thing about having a surprise stowaway on board, is that other things fall to the wayside. Janus knew he had meant to give the order to hide away the prototype. But with planning a prisoner break, dealing with a child that was too smart for his own good, and trying their best to fly to a prison planet without being detected: They had just never gotten around to it.

Janus watched in horror as Remus was thrown across the ship’s storage and directly into the path of the prototype. His body smacked against its side. And blood pooled across his shirt. The crew rushed to his side. Janus barking orders to give him space.

Janus didn’t even know what the prototype did. He had just been hired to steal it. The customer was paying well and it was a chance to stick it to the Alliance. He had jumped at the chance. Now, he stood beside his bleeding crewmate. Someone had passed him a wad of gauze, probably Virgil. He was pressing them the best he could to the wound, working around the projectile. For Remus had been impaled upon a metal protrusion on the device.

Virgil was frantic. He had brought out the first aid kit and was doing what he could. But none of them knew what to do with a wound like this. How could they? They were smugglers, not doctors.

“Virgil, Patton needs you.” Janus stared at their frantic pilot.

Virgil wordlessly shook his head no.

“You need to fly us out of here.”

“He needs help.” Virgil argued.

“And what are you going to do here? We’ve got him. But right now, we need you to get us out of here. Patton doesn’t know how to leave a planet’s atmosphere. If you don’t pilot this ship we all die. And it will be your fault.” Janus's voice was as cold as stone. It was times like these that he knew why he had become their Captain. To be a Captain, meant at times you had to be cruel.

And the look Virgil shot him as he left. He knew he would pay for what he had said. But at least, they would survive. Janus could feel the blood pool around his hands. Well, most of them.

Roman was at his side now. He gripped his brother’s hand in his own. “Remus. Remus, wake up. You’ve got to wake up.”

“I’m sorry, Roman.” The captain spoke. “Are there any death rites on your planet?”

“No.” A shout came from behind them. Janus turned his head to see the stowaway. His arms were raised, just as had they had been this morning. The gun Remus had given him was held firmly in his hands. “You have to save him.”

“I’m sorry, kid. There’s nothing we can do.”

“YOU HAVE TO!” He shouted. His father crouched beside him. Whispering and trying to coax the weapon from his hands.

Logan shoved his father’s arms away. “The rebellion! Take him to the rebellion! They’ll save him!”

Roman lifted his head to look at the kid, “I would never take him back there. You don’t know what they’re like. When we left… when we found this ship, we promised we’d never return to them.”

“But… but… he can’t just die! He said he’d protect me!”

“There’s another way,” Thomas spoke. “The Alliance, the Rebellion. They aren’t the only people out there. There are others that can help.”

“What do you mean?” Roman asked, hope tinting his words.

“I was jailed for a book about community. Because in community is where our strength lies. And I’m not the only one who thinks so. There are others like me. Spread out throughout the universe, on every planet. If you showed me a map, I could take us to someone nearby. People that can help. People that help not because they want to use you for their own ends, but because they want to help. Because they believe in community.”

Janus looks to Roman. The twin nodded his head. Janus spoke, “Logan, could you show your father to the cockpit.”

Janus hated the Alliance. They were cruel. The rebellion wasn’t much better. But perhaps, with each other, with this community and the family that they had found on this ship, they could make it. They could survive. And maybe. Just maybe if this plan was just crazy enough to work. They could save Remus too.

Janus pressed a kiss to Remus’s forehead. “Don’t worry. We’re here for you.”

***

Remus awoke wrapped in warmth. The sounds of laughter and chattering voices drifted to his ears. He could hear his brother, his voice loud and boisterous. He was telling a story of their childhood. The time they had stolen a whole pie from the baker and eaten the entire thing in one afternoon. There was the giggle of a child. Logan? His captain spoke next, Janus making some sarcastic comment. Patton admonished the captain. He could hear the smirk in Virgil’s voice, as the pilot joined in.

Was everyone here? Had they all made it?

Remus opened his eyes. He was in bed. Not his bunk but an actual bed, in an actual bedroom. His crew sat in chairs around him. There was a beam of sunlight streaming in through a window. They weren’t on the ship. Where were they?

“Hey sleepy guy, welcome back!” Patton cooed.

His brother reached out his hand and squeezed his shoulder. “Looks like you got your wish, bro. A real-life prison break. But I’m telling you now, we are never doing that again.”

The chaotic twin grinned at his family. He looked down at his bandaged chest and then back to his loved ones, “it was totally worth it.”

Virgil looked about ready to punch him for that comment. But Logan beat him to it, slapping his arm only somewhat playfully, “You are never allowed to do something like that again. Ever again! Okay?” He commanded.

“Aw, alright... But only because there is still so much I want to teach you.”

Logan nodded his head in acknowledgement, “As long as you allow me to teach you about basic safety!”

“Oh, I like this kid.” Virgil chuckled.

And soon everyone had joined in. Sharing stories all about his lack of basic self-preservation instincts.

***

Janus watched as his crew delighted in Remus’s return to the land of the conscious. Turns out Thomas had been right, together they could survive.

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