#i would be able to get all the kitchen appliances i need to stop destroying my body to cook

[caffeineandsociety]

Honestly, as much as many people point out how much large quantities of money spent by the ultra-wealthy on frivolous things could change their lives as a reason that the level of wealth inequality we're at is absolutely unconscionable, and they're ABSOLUTELY correct that it's a great illustration of the problem...

I think an underrated and equally important illustration is how much those quantities CAN'T do.

Let's think about a million dollars. That's a quantity that says "HOT DAMN, you REALLY made it!" to most people. That's a lot. It's more money than most people will handle at once in a lifetime.

And it can BARELY buy most single-family homes in California. It can't buy many that don't even qualify as McMansions, just...nice houses. It's even worse in NYC, where you can find apartments the size of a postage stamp that it can't buy.

And if you want to RETIRE with "just" a million dollars? You'd better hope you die soon.

Suppose you retire at age 55 with a million dollars. Congratulations! If you live to age 75, that's 50k a year. 85, it's $33k a year. 95? You've got $25k a year...and it's likely that you're ending up with medical bills that take an entire year's worth of money in one go. Ending up in assisted living? Well, the median cost of assisted living in the US is...$54k a year. Congratulations, ALL your money goes to rent now! Every cent! Better hope you die within 15 years!

You COULD avert this by putting the money in a high-yield account and only skimming off the interest, yes - the average retirement account, with an interest rate of 5-8%, would give you $52-83k a year...but even then, you have to have a million dollars in the first place and not withdraw from your initial principal, which, good luck doing THAT with the complications that tend to arise in old age and health insurance deductibles and coverage limits and loopholes to make you pay out of pocket. $83k a year may sound like a lot, and it certainly is to most of us, and even so, life has a way of eating through it fast, especially if you're retirement age.

In addition, there's a concept that I call "item debt" - it's about those things that, sure, you can SURVIVE indefinitely without them, but you will live a longer and healthier life if you have them. This can be anything from a stove that can actually maintain a constant temperature, to a computer that lets you do your job without freezing and crashing every few minutes, to assistive devices. Item debt can be the need for transportation in the US's car-centric society - you can't even afford a shitty old beater, so you have to take the bus 3 hours each way; the first thing you'll do if and when you get the money is buy a car and...then what? Your bills are no less impactful; if anything, they're worse because now you have to pay maintenance on the car. It can take the form of, "well, I really SHOULD be using a wheelchair, but I can't afford that and I can walk ENOUGH that my insurance won't even partially cover it, so guess I'll rely on this $10 cane until it inevitably gets worse." It can take the form of saying "I'd aggravate my various orthopedic problems a lot less if I had more power kitchen appliances, but those are expensive, so I guess I'll make do without" until you can't lift a bowl anymore without hitting 8 on the pain scale. It can be the empty first apartment, bare mattress on the floor, that's a wonderful improvement over wherever you came from but if you don't get a bedframe you're either going to wear out that mattress really fast and have to spend a ton of money replacing it, or have to strain to pick it up and let the underside air out every day, which may not seem like a lot now but will destroy your back over the years if the cheap mattress itself doesn't do it first.

Thing is, most people who are not MULTImillionaires have some form of item debt - and if you have multiple disabled family members or a sufficiently expensive illness in the family (e.g., need for a lung transplant, which can cost upwards of $1mil WITHOUT complications, or cancer that requires a particularly expensive type of chemo), sometimes it'll take something like $10mil to get out of it.

Again, we're talking about WAY more money than most people will see IN THEIR LIVES. We're talking about quantities of money that MOST people are expected to live our entire lives without. We would all live longer, healthier, happier lives if we could all have basic food and water, sufficient living space, and health care including home medical devices as needed, guaranteed. There is no scarcity reason why we SHOULDN'T have these things guaranteed to everyone except a many-times-over-disproven myth that everyone would just stop working and then we'd have no supply chain if we didn't have death by poverty as a constant looming threat.

And so these things remain out of reach to EVEN THE LOW END OF THE WEALTHIEST 10% OF AMERICANS.

And for what? 90% of the country is left second-guessing, postponing, or even outright foregoing NECESSITIES, and FOR WHAT?? So the top 0.5% of fucking assclowns can have megayachts and eat gold and spend amounts of money that could change people's lives on stupid and dangerous shit whose horrible safety standards they can then inflict on the rest of us??

If that doesn't piss you off and tell you something needs to change I don't know what will.

[rubynationwins]

When Words Fail

Bucky Barnes x Reader One Shot

Summary: Who said running away from your problems couldn’t solve them? Well, Bucky sure didn’t seem to appreciate it.

Warnings: Fluff, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, Light Smut, 18+ Minors go away plz

Word Count: 5,585

My Masterlist

A/N-This is actually a repost of a fic I wrote in...2018? yeah, that’s insane. Anyway, I’m trying to get back into writing so I wanted to put together a masterlist but I couldn’t find this fic anywhere! No clue why lol. Luckily, I had it saved somewhere else. I reread it but didn’t do much editing which means this is still 2018-Nation’s writing so take it or leave it ig 😉

Thanks for reading!

-Ruby

Landing the job as Steve Rogers’-Captain America himself-assistant was the best thing to ever happen to you. Sure, you couldn’t tell anyone the details of your job...actually you couldn’t tell anyone anything about your job, not even where you work. Even your parents think you’re a secretary at a law firm. While it is technically true helping “justice” thrive is the main component of what you do, the person you work for just happens to literally be the picture that shows up next to said word in the dictionary-which Tony and Clint had a hay day trolling Cap about. Tony was already designing prototypes of merch to market globally before Pepper got wind of his scheme and put a stop to the nonsense. You still have one of the earlier designed shirts though, which you will treasure forever and never tell Steve you have it.

Other than the secrecy (and occasional explosion in the lab) this job has been a life saver. You had met Natasha at a local animal shelter you were volunteering and you both hit it off right away. She became a close friend and when Tony decided that Steve needed someone who understood technology and could shoulder some of Cap’s less harrowing responsibilities, Nat recommended you. Whether or not you met all of the qualifications at the time is up for debate but something tells you that Natasha might have been...persuasive. In no time you were part of the team, well, not the actual Avengers team-you had the agility and balance of a newborn foal. Nonetheless, that didn’t mean they treated you any differently, they were basically family at this point. 

Most of your job was scheduling Steve’s meetings and making sure his week went smoothly in terms of the day-to-day itinerary. Another, separate, part of your job was following the super soldier around and making sure he had everything he needed; especially helping him deal with the ever-increasing Stark tech throughout the tower. Tony didn’t seem to understand that if he kept modifying and changing the coffee machine and every other damn appliance in the building Steve was never going to be able to make himself a cup of coffee without destroying the whole kitchen. Thus, you had to be on electronics duty if Steve ever needed assistance. 

Because of all the hands-on work you did, and the constant necessity for smooth communication, you were almost always hovering near the Captain, which neither of you minded. It was part of being an assistant, and most of the time you worked on your tablet, and when there was a null in work you enjoyed conversing with any nearby members of the team. All in all, a pretty sweet gig for someone who always needed to be doing something, like you.

The only problem with your around-the-clock surveillance of the blonde-haired hero was that where Steve was, inevitably his newly found, brainwashed until a few months ago, best pal, James Buchanan Barnes; “Bucky”. It has been some time since Steve brought his wartime partner to join the team in the compound. Since then Bucky’s involvement with the team and the modern world, in general, has progressed astronomically. He used to be standoffish and only interacted with Steve on the rare occasion Bucky would leave his room. It had taken two months of the team supporting Cap and trying to include his war-torn friend by helping them both adjust until he so much as sat at the dinner table with the group for weekly “family night” as Tony put it. It had taken even longer for Bucky to start having actual conversations with everyone, though.

Since you and Steve were constantly in proximity with each other you found yourself hanging around Bucky as much as he did. Whenever Cap persuaded Bucky to join him in the gym or watch a simple movie you were there too. Of course, you and Steve had a close work relationship. After Nat, he was one of your closest friends. He was easy to talk to and you felt like no one listened to you vent, as well as dole out sound advice to your problems without diminishing them as good ol’ Captain America did. Steve never made you feel unimportant or like just another laky when you worked for him, he treated you with respect and even though you kept up professional appearances around him during work hours your relationship was never awkward. If Steve and Bucky were watching a show together Steve always offered you to join them and wanted to hear your opinions. Sam sometimes teased him about mixing work and personal life but the big lug was a casual guy when he wasn’t on a mission; he didn’t want some unknown person hovering over him all the time. You would normally join if you didn’t have other work to finish.

This exact teen is what caused you to oftentimes be the third wheel whenever Steve and Bucky hung out. He had actually warmed up to you a bit faster than the rest of the crew, due to you constantly surrounding Steve. You didn’t mind, at the time Bucky seemed like a kicked puppy and you just wanted to help Steve get his best friend back. At first, Bucky had been wary of your constant presence, but eventually, he adapted and actually started making small talk with you. The relief that filled Steve’s face every time Bucky came out of his room with no outside prompt or asked you a simple question was enough for you to start focusing some attention on Barnes. After all, it was your job to keep Steve’s life well maintained and happy, and Bucky being happy and social was a large part of relieving Steve’s stress. You knew Steve felt guilty for the torture Bucky went through, so you decided when you had off time that you would assist in Bucky’s transition into society. 

You started off slow; beginning easy conversations about mundane topics or showing Bucky a cute cat video anytime you spotted the super soldier had crept out of his room; anything to get him to trust you more. Once that trust was finally established you started actually going to his room with the intention of getting him out of it. You’ll never forget the first time you knocked on his door and saw the shocked expression on his face when he opened it and didn’t see the dorito-like, masculine form he was expecting. There were ups and downs, times when he would immediately slam the door in your face or have a run-in with a particular jarring piece of information and wouldn’t leave his room for days. It took time, but with the combination of Steve pushing him from the past and you pulling him into the future, Bucky started sulking less and smiling and joining you more and more. Your main goal had been to help both Steve get his friend back and help Bucky get his life back. What you hadn’t expected were the feelings you developed for your dorky friend.

Around the time it finally seemed like Bucky was ninety percent comfortable with being a part of society is when you began noticing things about the shaggy-haired man. Like how he ran his hands through his hair when he was desperately trying to understand how the internet worked. Or how he would only give a smile that shows teeth when he thoroughly enjoyed something or felt completely at ease with his friends. Or how he could stare mesmerized by the simplest of things and not get bored. Or how his face would light up in pride when he got you or Steve to laugh at a movie he had picked out himself. Or, especially, how his gym shorts hugged his muscular thighs and thick ass, and the sinful faces he made when concentrating on lifting a strenuous amount of weight. All these things you were noticing were not normal friends things-you didn’t give two shits about how you looked when periodically helping Tony and Bruce in the lab or when spotting Sam and Nat in the gym. But as soon as Bucky walks in the room you have a panic attack trying to remember whether or not you applied mascara that day. 

This was a problem on numerous levels. One; Bucky was constantly around Steve, which in turn meant he was always around you, being a huge distraction. Two; even when Bucky wasn’t directly next to you he was taking up space in your head, being a huge distraction. Three; it was impossible to concentrate on assigning jets to hangers and all your other pressing tasks because BUCKY WAS A HUGE FUCKING DISTRACTION. The culprit in question did nothing to help the situation. His athletic choice of attire; tanks and T-shirts made of elastic fabric and gym shorts and joggers that made it obvious if it was laundry day… Not just his clothing, but whereas Bucky used to maintain a safe distance from you and the others it was soon revealed that Bucky likes to touch. It made you somewhat sad knowing the only kind of physical contact he got for years was pure torture and you knew he had come a long way since then. It was pretty obvious Bucky was touch deprived-as soon as he was comfortable being close again he was close. There was no simply standing or sitting next to Bucky. Either his legs were slung across your lap or his hand thoughtlessly played with the strands of your hair or he pulled you close so he could just feel your presence next to him.

Normally, you had no objection to platonic touches and friendly hugs from your friends but your heart leaped out of your chest when he so much as side hugged you. You knew there was nothing behind Bucky’s touches, he was honestly like that with everyone he considered a friend. Bucky had no secret intentions whatsoever, especially not for you. You were an assistant, not some hot superhero spy-like Nat or Wanda; it wasn’t difficult to see the difference between you and all your Avengers teammates-including Bucky. Knowing that still didn’t make it any easier for you when he cuddled up next to you on the couch for a Parks and Rec marathon. It was getting to the point where you were almost scared to talk to him for fear he would catch on to your feelings. The last thing you wanted was to make him feel pressured or awkward when shooting you down, so you eliminated that possibility. For your sake and his, you decided to cease any alone time with Bucky, it’s not like he’d notice anyway. 

Instead of your designated spot on his right during “family movie night,” you squeezed between Natasha and Vision. Bucky had sent you a questioning glance but he didn’t make a move to protest; you didn’t let yourself dwell on that, this was what you wanted, after all-separation. Next, you started making use of your designated office space instead of always trailing Steve. You gave him a bullshit excuse about a bad knee and told him if he needed you, to either video chat or direct message you. Initially, you expected that would do it, that Bucky wouldn’t check on your absence or even notice your negligence much; but you were so wrong.

For some reason, ever since you stopped hovering around Steve, Bucky had been running into you non-stop. At first, you thought it was just a cruel coincidence that around every corner was a massive roadblock in the form of Bucky Barnes. Fate seems to have a sick sense of humor, that or she just really appreciates irony. Bucky’s face would light up and he would wrap you in a warm hug, telling you about his newest 21st century discovery(which was currently frozen yogurt). Not wanting to backtrack on your ‘quitting Bucky cold turkey’ method, you would stumble over an excuse and scurry away from his confused expression. But you knew it was for the best that the two of you drift apart. How was he supposed to integrate himself into society fully if he was stuck with you as some sort of pity crutch?

Your odd behavior only seemed to spur on Bucky’s mindset of getting you to make time for him. He was constantly asking you for help with things, knowing that you were too kind-hearted to deny helping him. However, if he couldn’t corner you, he couldn’t insist you help him color code his closet(which was an oxymoron because he only ever wore black) or whatever else he needed assistance with, so you kept your eyes peeled for his brown hair and shiny arm at all times. Whenever you spotted him or heard his heavy steps echo down the corridor, you quickly veered away from his line of sight and scuttled off to do something else. 

It was a slight inconvenience, especially when almost every time you wanted to eat he was just chilling in the kitchen or connected common areas, so it was like you were on some kind of forced diet too. The biggest problem, still, with your Monty Python-inspired “run away!” strategy was that Bucky gave chase most of the time. He would catch sight of you or your retreating silhouette, and shout out for you, dropping whatever he was doing to follow you. As childish as you felt, you refused to stop walking and face him like a mature adult. Those times you felt Bucky encroaching on your hideaway, you shouted some bullshit excuse his way and ducked into an elevator or room to basically hide from his searching gaze. Even though it has only been one week since you officially started this little game of cat and mouse, you were honestly dead tired and all you wanted was for Bucky to give up and move on. 

At the moment you were rummaging through the refrigerator in the shared kitchen at 3 in the morning because your empty stomach was keeping you awake. Risking being caught by any of your team members who were hopefully all sound asleep, you crept to the kitchen. You had managed to scrounge up some leftover pizza, choosing to ignore the very obvious sticky note on the box with Sam’s name on it. Feeling somewhat guilty you mentally promised to buy Sam a replacement the next time you went out… maybe he wouldn’t even notice a couple of pieces missing. 

Just as you pulled out the container a deep voice that hadn’t been clearly directed at you in more than a week cut through the silence of the night.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Sam made it pretty clear if anyone touched his Domino's he would strap them to Redwing and set them on a course for Asgard,” While the words had his trademark Bucky cheekiness, his tense stance and hooded eyes were anything but joking. You stammered for an answer; normally you would bite back a sarcastic remark but you felt like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“B-Bucky! You’re awake!?” You shoved the forgotten box of pizza back into the fridge, slamming it shut. The kitchen island in front of you put a good six feet between the two of you, but that did nothing to slow your beating heart or diminish the sudden tension in the air. In a desperate attempt to act nonchalant you took a slow sip from the plastic water bottle you were tightly holding, but you knew Bucky saw straight through you. 

————

Bucky, on the other hand, was trying to calculate his next actions. He couldn’t sleep because he couldn’t stop mauling over how you had been acting this past week. It wasn’t hard to tell you had been avoiding him. The moment Steve walked into the training center without you at his heels, tablet in hand and ready for a day’s work, Bucky knew something was off. His first thought was that you were sick, but when he questioned his friend, Steve revealed that you’d requested to work from your office from now on. Bucky had obviously been surprised at that. On more than one occasion you had been very vocal about how you preferred to be on your feet and work hands-on.

He had brushed it off, assuming that your knee was actually bothering you. Of course, he was worried about you, after all, you were important to him. Next to Steve, you were his closest friend. There were times when he felt guilty burdening Steve with more of his problems, so he confided in you. You didn’t make Bucky feel like he owes you anything; for some unfathomable reason, you seemed to like him with no strings attached. The first time you had looked him directly in the eyes and tried to start a conversation Bucky had been flabbergasted. Why would someone so perfect ever associate themself with someone as fucked up like him? As much as Bucky attempted to drive you away, you refused to let him stew in his own confusion and grief. You helped bring him out of his sulky and constant darkness with your toothy grins, obnoxious laughter, smart-ass quips, and incessant affirmation that you didn’t care who he was in the past, you just knew that you liked him now and that was all there was to it. Bucky knew not to argue with you, so he just accepted his fate.

You were the one who first helped him believe that even though he may not believe he deserves a future, there were people who loved him just because they saw the potential for good in him, not just what they remember him being in the past. That sentiment has always stuck with him, and he credits you for all the new activities, shows, and hobbies he has come to love. Bucky had never told you that, but that didn’t stop him from showing his affection in different ways; including finding your office and cheering you up over your injured knee. Bucky tried doing just that, but for some reason every time he saw you it seemed like you were busy. 

It didn’t take too long for him to catch on to the fact that you were avoiding him on purpose for some unknown reason. In the past when Steve or his other buddies had acted grumpy at/around Bucky for whatever reason, he would kick it out of their asses. Something told Bucky doing that to you would be a bad idea, even though you in particular ignoring him struck a nerve. That nerve kept being struck every time you would spot him, he would move to confront you, and you scuttled away from him; which happened too many times for him to count. He had racked his brain for what he could have possibly done to scare you off so completely, and even asked Steve if you had mentioned anything to him. Bucky’s star-spangled friend had been just as lost as he was, sharing that you had been somewhat distant lately. His troubled thoughts about what he did to anger you kept him awake at night. He knew it had to be something, and he needed to talk to you about it. So when he went to the kitchen for some water he was at the same time relieved and upset to see you scrummaging through the refrigerator. Neither of you was leaving the space until you spilled why you had been avoiding him.

The look plastered on your face wasn’t one of fear or apprehension like Bucky was expecting; it was guilt. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, but that look confirmed you had been ignoring him on purpose. There were a thousand thoughts and emotions running through his head; confusion, hurt, sadness, jealousy(which was unexpected), but he focused on the one emotion he most understood-anger. 

-————

“B-Bucky! You’re awake!?” 

“Couldn’t sleep, you know how it is, doll,” he tried to mask his inner turmoil, sauntering over to the cabinet to pull out a glass. 

“Y-yeah, me too,” you attempted to redeem yourself and not draw any more attention to your heightened pulse. “Well, I got what I came for. I should head back to my room, have a bunch of scheduling to do tomorrow…” As you rambled you moved to maneuver around Bucky, but his bulky body blocked your exit.

“But you didn’t eat anything. I haven’t seen you around for meals much lately, must be a lot busier in your office,” Pure malice dripped from his tone, and he reached beside you and pulled open the fridge door. “I’m sure you’re starving; me too. Let me find us something to eat.”

By the look Bucky was giving you his seemingly innocent words were not just a suggestion. Your best bet would be to quickly and silently eat something, then escape back to your room. You still attempted to silently tiptoe around the super soldier, who was rummaging through the empty containers of leftovers and gross, gooey experiments of Tony’s. Just as you were at the edge of the kitchen island Bucky’s metal arm shot out and tugged on the end of your sleep shirt. Freezing in fear and(mainly) guilt, you meekly peeked at his glowering face. Before you could even open your mouth to stumble through an excuse, you were jerked to the counter next to the fridge by your shirt.

Bucky’s domineering form loomed over you, his metal hand bunched in the soft material of your sleep shirt, his other arm resting on the countertop, caging any escape routes. He leaned over you, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut in thought. You were paralyzed; his sudden actions had surprised you, not to mention this intimate proximity was causing your heart to leap out of your chest. At first, you had been slightly terrified, not of Bucky, you knew he would never do anything to hurt you, no you were terrified he was going to reveal that he knew about your feelings all along and shoot you down. But now, you were confused as to why he was touching you like he was, his back heaving slowly up and down with each of his strangled breaths. 

“B-Bucky?” You murmured, starting to worry for him. At the sound of your voice he slowly pulled away, not so much that his chest wasn’t pressed still against you, but enough so that you could see the tears threatening to pour over the brim of his bloodshot eyes.

“Y/N...Y/N I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Whatever I did to make you mad...or, or scared, I’m sorry. Please forgive me,” He had never looked so much like a kicked puppy instead of an infamous and feared assassin. It was at that moment you realized what your actions this past week had done to your friend. You can’t believe how selfish you had been; to be so cruel and dismissive of Bucky, someone who has already lost so much. All because you were too afraid to confess some stupid ass crush you had on him. If you truly loved him you wouldn’t have put him through so much pain. That sudden realization, how you had made Bucky suffer to the point of apologizing for no reason, prompted a stream of tears to cascade from your own watering eyes. 

The onslaught of tears caused Bucky to panic and assume he had done something wrong. He pulled away from you, stuttering a rapid apology. You quickly reached out to his retreating hands and simply pulled him back into your embrace, this time tightly hugging the large man.

“No, no you did nothing wrong, Bucky. I was the stupid and selfish one; I can’t believe I hurt you so much. I’m so fucking sorry Buck,” You gasped out an apology, squeezing him in your arms, “There’s no excuse for how I’ve treated you this week, but I was just so scared you would leave me if I told you how I felt. Being the fucking idiot I am, I didn’t comprehend that I was actually abandoning you. God, Buck, you have been such an amazing friend who deserves nothing but love and kindness…Not an asshole like me, I didn’t deserve you then, and I sure as hell don’t deserve you now.” 

You unclasped your arms, shying away from his figure. Wiping away dried tears, you turned away from him, trying to hide your red face. Bucky was unmoving, still pressed against you. He reached down and tilted your head up to his inquisitive face, “What do you mean, ‘how you felt’?” You grimaced, glancing away, but Bucky gently cupped your face, languidly stroking your cheek with his calloused thumb. The comforting touch calmed your inner turmoil and you looked back up at Bucky to find his own blue orbs searching yours. 

Nuzzling into the warmth of his palm you let out a content sigh, “Ok, you deserve the truth, but please, don’t take what I’m about to say as a reason for our friendship to change. This week apart has proved that neither of us benefits from avoidance.” You gulped, your throat had suddenly gone dry, “Bucky, I will always love you, but lately when I’m around you my heart won’t stop beating and I feel light headed-Heh, the way I’m describing it sounds like you make me sick,” You tried teasing, delaying the inevitable, “What I’m trying to say is that I don’t just love you as a friend, I like you as a crush.” 

Bucky sucked in a sharp breath and you could see the gears turning in his head, “Shit, doll...You already know I love you too, and yeah, avoiding each other is not an option anymore. But I think we’re gonna have to change now.” Your posture sagged at his discouraging words, you had really been hopeful the two of you could go back to how it was before, being wonderful friends. 

“Oh, oh okay. Um, yeah. Yeah, I understand, it would be too awkward I guess. It’s okay, I can talk to Steve about continuing work in my office-” Your shaking words were cut off by Bucky leaning down and sealing your lips with his. Large hands, one cool and smooth, the other warm and rough, pressed against the sides of your face; pulling you deeper into the kiss. Taking pity on your lack of air Bucky released your lips, resting his forehead against yours, out of breath himself. You could just barely make out the outline of his smug grin in the dim kitchen lighting.

A soft snort/chuckle broke through Bucky’s pants, “Y/N, doll; you are a fucking idiot. I was about to finish my sentence before you so rudely interrupted me,” He brushed a hand through your hair, affectionately tucking a stray hair behind your ear, “What I was going to explain is that obviously, we can’t keep things the way they were before-now that I know you feel the same way I have since I met you.” He pressed a gentle closed-mouth kiss to your lips; his tight-lipped smirk causing your own mouth to creep up into a smile. 

Pulling your tightly clenched fists from your sides you slid them up to his shoulders, your hands pulling him even closer to you. His words washed through you, removing your previous hesitancy and allowing you to finally act how you’ve craved to for the past couple of months. You ran a hand through Bucky’s newly trimmed locks, playfully tugging at the fluffy, brown mop of hair. A rueful look was plastered on his chiseled features when he pulled away from your chaste kisses. 

“Ooooo-doll you know how I feel about you touching my hair,” his serious tone was juxtaposed by the goofy ear-to-ear grin he was sporting. Bucky reached to take the hand you had in his hair away; intertwining it with his own.

“I remember you had always enjoyed me running my hands through it, but after that time Sam pointed out you had popped a boner, you kept all of my appendages away from your scalp,” you teased, reminiscing about that embarrassing but spank bank worthy interaction. Bucky had been so flustered and embarrassed that the only excuse he had been able to come up with was a resounding, “N-No, it’s from...from the tv show... Sorry, Y/N. I’m leaving now.” Sam had already been dying with laughter and when you glanced at the tv to confirm you were still watching Antiques Road Show, you joined in his giggle fit. Bucky never let you touch his scruffy head of hair ever again, and it took quite a few days after the incident for him to look you in the eyes again. 

Knowing Bucky’s previous unexpected and involuntary reaction to your massage, you were still shocked by his next statement, “Yes, Y/N, I do remember, and it still applies. It makes me want to turn you around and fuck you against this kitchen counter.” You gawked at his blatant words, both aroused and surprised that the normally mellow and white bread Bucky had a fucking hair-pulling kink. The lord must have been smiling down on you.

The only reply you could think of fast enough was, “Woah there big guy, you haven’t even said you love me and now you're jumping the gun to fucking? Seems short-sighted.” Fuck. You weren’t trying to come off as desperate or send mixed signals but all these emotions running through you were too much to comprehend. Bucky looked slightly taken aback at your brazen tone; he floundered for a comeback, his face adorably scrunching in concentration. 

He rocked back on his heels, glancing up to the ceiling as if the answer he was looking for was written up there, “Dammit...Sorry, sweetheart; honestly it was an involuntary response. After all this time avoiding me, your touch is driving me wild. Especially since I’ve been dreaming about you touching me like this; dragging your fingers through my hair, kissing me and all that, for so long. Now that you’re actually doing it, it’s almost unthinkable. But you’re right, I want to do this right. I want us to go steady and I am going to spoil the shit out of you as well as drive you crazy because that’s what couples do. I am going to do everything to show you how much I fucking love you, because I’m an ass when it comes to speaking about my feelings, obviously. Still, even when words fail, never doubt that I love you, Y/N.” Bucky shyly looked back down at you, a new sparkle of hopefulness in his eyes. It took all your willpower not to burst out into tears.

Your voice quivered with emotion, “Oh my god Buck; you are so full of shit!” Bucky’s face contorted in puzzlement at your sudden outburst. You playfully punched his shoulder, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, “James Buchanan Barnes, how dare you lie to me and go on some long ass rant about being a terrible speaker! That was the most profound, beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me. I can’t believe you overshadowed my confession, you dick! Now no matter how often I tell you I love you, it won’t even compare to that Shakespeare level of wooing.” 

Bucky was now also laughing and smiling at your boisterous exclamation, his shoulders shaking with his fit of giggles, “Shut up, I’m serious you bastard! And by the way, we’ve been friends for however long, we’ve basically gotten the dating part handled; tell me more about what you would like to do to me on this counter…” You slyly tacked on your true desire, hoping Bucky would catch on to your not-so-subtle hint.

Immediately understanding your innuendo Bucky ceased his laughing, eyes darkening as he looked you up and down. He slid a warm hand across your hip, his close body radiated heat. As he planted languorous kisses along your jaw and neck, you remembered his reaction to the last time you touched his hair. Instead of gently brushing your hands through his dark brown locks like last time, you took tufts of his soft hair in your clutches and tugged, slightly yanking his head back so he could see your shit-eating grin. 

Bucky’s eyes almost turned black as his pupils dilated. A growl rumbled in his chest and he swiftly picked you up by your waist and set you on the counter, clicking his tongue in warning, “Doll, you are gonna fucking get it. I’ve been waiting for this for too long-you ready?” You gasped out a yes, starting to pull your hands out of his hair; Bucky nipped at your earlobe he had been murmuring into. You jumped at the stinging sensation, “Don’t move those hands, sweetheart, you started this; you’re gonna finish it.” He sucked at the spot he had bitten before, continuing his assault on your upper body. Oh god, you weren’t sure if you had prepared yourself for what you were about to go through, but you sure as hell didn’t regret it.

[epicspheal]

Alright so I was going to make KBDN Valentine’s day Fic and got a nice case of writer’s block...anyways here’s Raihan/Leon fic courtesy of OTP prompt generator. Please check it out on AO3 Or  Title: Midnight Snack Pairing: Raihan/Leon Word Count: 1260

So much has changed for Leon in the past year. He was no longer champion, having been dethroned in a spectacular battle with Hop’s best friend and rival, Calla. Leon now owned Rose’s tower as well as the league thanks to the now former chairman restarting the Darkest Day "for the sake of Galar" (that may have been the dumbest thing Leon ever heard from Rose who was typically a brilliant man). But best of all, Leon had finally moved in with his boyfriend of two years in his castle. Yes, you read that right, Raihan has a castle. Just small things when you’re dating the Duke of Hammerlocke. Of course Leon still kept his penthouse flat up in Wyndon, but finally getting the ornate key to the private quarters of the Hammerlocke Palace on Valentine’s Day was a huge leap forward in Leon and Raihan’s relationship. Of course the media was speculating on a potential royal engagement soon for Galar’s favorite battle couple, but Leon was trying not to think about it too much...

That being said, Leon had picked up one bad habit over the past year- waking up for midnight snacks. Now that Leon ran the league he could set the meetings (no more 5 am meetings because Rose was an early Delibird). That meant he could go to sleep much later. There was also the fact that the new champ would call him at midnight to meet her at the Wyndon cafe to chat and eat cookies. Leon would soon find out her late night habits came from studying for college tests (he was still in awe that little Calla started uni at eight and graduated with a First Honors Chemistry Degree by the age of 12).

Tonight though, Calla had not called him about a new hypothesis she had or battle strategies, but still the need for chocolate chip cookies and moomoo milk came to Leon all the same. So carefully, Leon got out of the luxurious king-sized bed he now shared with Raihan and tiptoed out of the bedroom and into the spacious kitchen. He was very careful to not make any noise as he knew Raihan was a light sleeper.

He made it to the kitchen quietly, being able to pull out some chocolate chip cookies from the trapinch shaped cookie jar Leon had made for Raihan for Valentine’s day.

“Hmm” Leon said as he inspected cookies “I should warm these up in the microwave!” Oh wait...the microwave is loud as fuck Leon thought as he made his way to the appliance in question that beeping will certainly wake Rai-Rai up.

“I just have to make sure I stop it before it beeps!” Leon said as he popped the cookies in the microwave and set the cook time to 30 seconds. The light in the microwave flashed on as the cookies began to rotate on the turntable as the microwave quietly hummed. 30, 29, 28... Leon’s thoughts began to wander as they always did...first to the new champ Calla. Of course she was popular having defeated him after all, but still many in Galar seemed to view her as illegitimate since she used Eternatus in her battle against him. While it did fit her team given the fact she’s a poison type specialist, Eternatus being the Pokemon who almost destroyed the region, there wasn’t much love for the giant space dragon (affectionately named Hemlock by the new champ). Definitely needed to work on some PR for that. 19, 18, 17… Then there was the matter of book club...Cynthia had a new detective’s novel she wanted her fellow champions to read and Leon couldn’t be more excited. He just needed to find the time to read the book in between his Battle Tower Meetings…

13, 12, 11…

Speaking of the Battle Tower...and the league he now ran, he should probably look into going back to school to his masters of business administration. He wants to manage this right...after all Rose had entrusted him with ensuring Galar’s future before being put behind bars….

9, 8, 7...

Also he needed to go back to Postwick soon. He promised Hop they’d go have a brother vacation soon. Between Leon getting possessed by Eternatus and Hop nearly getting mauled by a raging Zamazenta (who he now owned...Go Hop) both the Villalobos brothers realized that life was short and they needed to spend more time with each other... BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! “ ¡ AH MIERDA!” Leon exclaimed, he got lost in his thoughts again. If the beeping of the microwave didn’t wake Raihan out, then Leon’s ill-timed shout definitely did. Leon sighed heavily as he took the cookies out now nice, warm and soft.

Leon heard the footsteps coming from behind and he whipped around to see softly glowing teal eyes focused on him, the pupils narrowed into slits. If Leon were anyone else, they’d think an actual dragon was staring them down (not that there wasn't a grain of truth to it). But Leon knew his Rai-Rai, and that this was just his just-waking-up face

“Lee”

“Rai-Rai! Lo siento, I was trying to be quiet...I just needed a midnight snack” Leon said quickly “my late night cafe sessions with Calla have gotten to me” Raihan looked down to regard the plate of still steaming cookies in Leon’s hands, his pupils dilating at seeing the snack, before looking up to meet Leon’s golden eyes.

“So my favorite snack is holding a bunch of warm cookies, eh” Raihan said with a smirk, revealing the fangs his family had long developed with their centuries of dragon taming.

“I um oh?” Leon replied intelligently as a blush formed on his face. He called me his favorite snack…

“So are ya going to share those with me?” Raihan asked. To that Leon’s face lit up. “Oh of course!” Leon exclaimed as he shoved the cookies into Raihan’s hand suddenly “Let me go get us some MooMoo Milk”

Leon all but ran to the refrigerator to pull out a jug of milk. He came back to Raihan’s side with two cool glasses of milk. The two decided to sit at the counter and enjoy their milk and cookies “These are so delicious warmed up” Raihan said between bites to which Leon nodded Leon’s thoughts began to drift back to Raihan as they always did. Somehow Leon never thought he’d get this far...having resigned himself to pining silently until two years ago when he finally had the courage to ask Rai-Rai out. Now they were living together. And for the last Christmas, Leon actually got to meet Raihan’s parents, the grand duke and duchess of Hammerlocke.

He knew he shouldn’t give too much credence to the tabloids...but it seemed like the signs were there. That maybe just maybe Raihan would be his forever person. Leon marrying a prince (well duke technically). That just made his heart bounce in his chest…

“Lee” Raihan said, snapping Leon out of his thoughts “whatcha thinking about?” “I love you Raihan” Leon blurted out suddenly. Now it was Raihan’s turn to blush “I just love you so much. And I love this. I never thought we’d be here, sharing cookies and milk at midnight...being an actual couple. It just makes me so happy” “Leon” Raihan said softly “I love you too...I’m so glad we’re living together” Little did the two young adults know...that their little midnight snack dates would become a tradition that would last for decades to come.

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 24: Helen Richardson

It’s been almost five hours that Helen has been making the rounds of this particular house. It’s a Grade II listed building, which means that on top of the usual bankers, executives, dentists, and barristers traipsing through, she has a few people she’s fairly certain can’t afford the building but who are clearly interested in what a historic home that can be lived in might look like, despite the fact that the interior has been redone several times. She’s a little more brusque with them than the others—nothing that can be complained about, of course, just on the off-chance they are actually able and, more importantly, willing to buy it, but there’s no point in wasting her time on someone she won’t earn a commission from.

She checks her list. She has one last viewing scheduled for the afternoon, and she frowns slightly at the entry. She’s not certain how to pronounce the last name, which instantly puts her on edge, and she’s a little bit annoyed that whoever put together her appointment schedule didn’t proofread it before they printed it.

It’s only when she answers the door that she realizes that her list is actually meant to say Dr. and Mr. Walter Koskiewicz.

“Ms. Richardson?” one of the two men says. His voice is far more polished and refined than she would have expected. He’s neatly dressed in a pearl-grey button-down, tailored black pants, and a discreet but expensive-looking watch. His bearing is assured and confident, and despite the warm smile on his face, he moves like a man accustomed to obedience, respect, and wielding a decent amount of power.

Still, Helen is hard-pressed to keep her distaste from showing. The man’s silver-streaked dark hair is longer than she thinks is decent for someone in a position of authority and worn in a style more appropriate to a twenty-something entrepreneur running an experimental tech start-up than the middle-aged academic he appears (she guesses the “doctor” title is more in the nature of a Ph.D. than a medical degree). He’s also covered in scars, round and slightly ridged, pale against his brown skin, and she can’t even begin to guess where they came from, but it’s probably not something she wants to even think about, let alone know about.

And then there’s his…husband?

They’re an odd-looking couple, to be sure. The second man is at least a head taller than the first and decidedly fatter—Helen thinks uncharitably of an illustration in the book of nursery rhymes she had as a child depicting Jack Spratt and his wife—with blue eyes and fair skin dusted with freckles. His hair is short and curly, a mix of caramel and white, which is the only clue that he’s probably around the same age as the other man. He doesn’t hold himself with the same assurance and authority; while he’s smiling as well, he actually seems more than a little nervous. He’s dressed just as neatly and professionally as the first man, but he’s clinging to the first man’s arm very tightly. She can’t tell if it’s out of nerves or possessiveness or what, and she almost wants to tell him that she’s not interested in his man.

Instead, she schools her expression as best as she can. “Yes, I’m Helen Richardson.” Normally she would ask if they are the last name on her list, but she doesn’t really want to try and pronounce it, so she simply waits.

“I’m Dr. Walter Koskiewicz,” the first man says smoothly, holding out his hand. It bears the same round scars as his face, with the addition of what looks like the remains of a severe burn on his hand, which makes Helen extremely reluctant to touch it. “This is my husband Kieran. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Charmed,” Helen says. She accepts his hand for a perfunctory shake and keeps her professional smile on her face despite the somewhat unpleasant feel of the thing. She ought to offer her hand to the other as well, but frankly she just wants to get this over. “Shall we begin the tour?”

“Of course.” Is it her imagination, or does Dr. Koskiewicz sound slightly disappointed?

Helen launches into the by-now familiar script as she begins showing the two men around the house. Dr. Koskiewicz makes several remarks that seem rather banal to her regarding the decor, and she finds herself wondering what his field is. She can’t place what Mr. Koskiewicz does for a living, either. She’d almost suspect he was simply arm candy if he was younger and fitter, but unless he’s let himself go to seed a great deal, there has to be a reason beyond that they married. And in her experience, most men whose trophy wives no longer meet a certain standard of attractiveness obtain divorces and trade in for a newer model. It may be different for gay men, though—how would she know? Of course, Dr. Koskiewicz isn’t exactly a beauty prize himself, and considering this house is on the lower end of the pricing spectrum for the sorts of places Helen usually shows, he likely isn’t as well-off as all that, comparatively. So it’s entirely possible he simply doesn’t want to rid himself of an old spouse until he’s lined up a new one.

It’s also possible that they’re actually in love, but Helen wouldn’t know about that either.

As they approach the kitchen, she begins mentally wagering with herself on whether or not they are actually interested in purchasing the house. Usually the kitchen is where the distinction comes in. It’s had all modern appliances and new counters and cabinets put in, so generally speaking, the people who are only there for curiosity’s sake start asking questions about when it was renovated and how permission was obtained and what it looked like before (Helen has no idea; the renovations were done some years ago, per the specs, and she wasn’t even working for Wolverton Kendrick then) and, often, rant about destroying the historical significance of the house, even though it’s only a Grade II. At least it enables her to weed them out as having an intent to buy before they see what’s been done to the upstairs. The serious buyers will peer in but not usually show much interest in it, considering most of them have someone to do the cooking for them, or else comment on the colors or the brand of the appliances.

She doesn’t tell the two men this, of course, only gives them the standard patter about the timing of the upgrades as she leads them in to show them the door to the back garden. Dr. Koskiewicz checks in the doorway and turns to his husband. “It’s a bit narrow. Do you want to go first?”

“You go ahead,” Mr. Koskiewicz says. It’s the first thing he’s said since he came into the house, and his voice definitely isn’t as polished as the doctor’s. Helen wonders if he’s an academic as well, just not as highly distinguished a one—a librarian, maybe? He also has a faint accent she can’t quite place. She can’t tell if they’re both foreign and Dr. Koskiewicz just had better teachers, or if, odd as it may seem, Dr. Koskiewicz chose to take his less-impressive husband’s surname rather than whatever name he had before. “Just warn me before you stop.”

“Of course.” Dr. Koskiewicz kisses him on the cheek, then moves forward to follow Helen.

She watches Mr. Koskiewicz for a moment, and then it hits her all of a sudden. He’s blind. She didn’t notice at first because of his glasses—clear glass, not sunglasses—and his eyes look, well, normal, not cloudy or scarred like she might have expected. The fact that he can pass himself off as a normal person bothers her, for some reason. However, the couple appears to be in the class of being able to afford the house, so she’s not going to risk saying something that might offend him, or his husband. She merely continues with her spiel.

“What are the schools like in the area?” Mr. Koskiewicz asks as they come back in from the back garden. The question makes Helen miss a step. The sorts of people who usually buy homes from Wolverton Kendrick normally have their children taught at home, and the older ones tend to get sent away to boarding school. It’s so unheard-of for her to get that question that she hasn’t even bothered to familiarize herself with the answer.

“How old are your children?” she asks, to buy herself a bit of time while she sneaks a quick glance at the folder. Surely there’s something in there about area schools. Surely.

“Oh, we don’t have any yet,” Dr. Koskiewicz says. “At the moment, it’s only the two of us and the cat. We’ve begun the application process to adopt, though, and we’re hoping to be matched soon. It’s why we’re looking at homes. Our current living situation is spacious enough, I suppose, but…not necessarily somewhere you’d want to raise a child. Or children, as the case may be. We’re hoping for more than one, at some point.”

“Well, then, you’ll have time to select the right schools.” Helen manages to find the data on local primary schools and reads off the statistics in her file. She tries to make it sound like she already knew the information, but the steady look Dr. Koskiewicz gives her makes her suspect he knows she was unprepared for it, which makes her tense and a little angry. It’s not her fault they chose to ask about something so unusual.

As they head up the stairs, she decides to fish about a bit for some information. The problem is that she still isn’t confident that she’ll pronounce their name properly, and the last thing she wants is to be condescended to. That’s the way with these academic types, she’s often found; they have a little bit of power and wield it like a weapon, especially over a woman or someone they perceive to be beneath them. So in order to get the information she wants, she’ll need to come at it sideways.

“Are you at Kings College?” she asks, casually, trying to sound as if she doesn’t care one way or another if he does.

“No, I work in Chelsea,” Dr. Koskiewicz replies. At first she thinks that’s all she’s going to get, but after a moment, he adds, “I don’t know if you’re familiar with the Magnus Institute?”

Helen isn’t, not really, but she’ll chew off her own arm before she admits that. It never goes over well with clients when you profess ignorance of their profession; they always get offended if they think you should have heard of them, or at least what they do, and you haven’t. Besides, she doesn’t want to wind up in the middle of a history lesson on a non-profit or a think tank or whatever the Magnus Institute qualifies as. Best to hedge her bets. “Quite a prestigious institution,” she says in as neutral a voice as she can.

“You might say it’s outstanding in its field,” Mr. Koskiewicz says. His voice is almost as bland and neutral as Helen’s.

“It’s where we met,” Dr. Koskiewicz informs Helen. She glances over his shoulder to see him smile at Mr. Koskiewicz in a way that makes her stomach turn over. “I was hired as a researcher, he was in the library.”

Helen feels a slight stab of vindication—she was right about Mr. Koskiewicz—but it’s layered with a veneer of disgust about the whole situation. This isn’t the sort of neighborhood that would normally welcome people like them, she doesn’t think. Some of these high-end neighborhoods are getting a bit more diverse, but these two are a bit much all at once. She’ll admit that Mr. Koskiewicz seems normal enough, at least to all outward appearances, but he’s very clearly the less powerful of the two, and his blindness is definitely a point against him.

Upstairs in the home are four rooms designated as bedrooms, and used as such by the current owners, but which can also be studies or something similar if need be. She delivers the usual speech extolling the virtues of the rooms. Mr. Koskiewicz is listening rather intently, but to her surprise and slight annoyance, Dr. Koskiewicz seems distracted. He keeps examining every door intently, peering into the spaces in between, like he’s looking for evidence of woodworm or wants to see the details of the construction. There’s something a bit unsettling about it.

“Calm down, serce, you’re going to give me a headache,” Mr. Koskiewicz murmurs. “It’s okay.”

“I know, it’s—” Dr. Koskiewicz sighs and squeezes his husband’s hand before turning to Helen. “Ms. Richardson. Have you ever noticed…something unusual in this house? Or any house you were showing? Like…a door that shouldn’t be there?”

“I’m…sorry?” Helen says cautiously. She’s had some weird questions asked before. She’s been asked about whether or not a basement can be made watertight (not waterproof, the client had insisted, he wanted to fill the basement with water and have a subterranean swimming pool and wanted to know if it was possible). She’s been asked about a room’s suitability for rituals to the Old Gods and about whether it contained enough space for an exorcism. She’s been asked if homes are haunted, if any murders have taken place in them, and if they might have secret tunnels used by robbers or counterfeiters. But being asked if she’s ever seen a door that shouldn’t be there? That’s new.

“It’s not a trick question, Ms. Richardson. Have you ever encountered a door in a place you weren’t expecting—yellow, perhaps?”

Okay, this is definitely weird. And a yellow door? Why is he being so emphatic about it? Her smile is slipping. The worst of it is that Helen doesn’t know the right answer. The truth, of course, is that she has no idea what he’s talking about. Of course she hasn’t seen any appearing or disappearing doors. She deals firmly in reality. She’s never seen a ghost, never spotted a UFO, never met anyone possessed by a demon. She doesn’t believe in magic, or have much truck with religion—she goes to church services with her mother on Christmas and Easter, but that’s about it, and she’s not sure how much of it she actually buys into. Certainly she’s never seen a door that wasn’t exactly where the house plan said it should be.

But she’s also usually fairly good at judging why a client is asking about such things. Some of the people who ask about murders or hauntings are fearful. Others are hopeful. The answer is almost always actually no, especially if it’s about the supernatural, but when she senses a client who will pay extra to be haunted or to be able to claim a salacious history to their new home, she’ll make something up, then jot it down after the client leaves just in case someone else asks before the first client commits to the sale. Very, very occasionally, there is an actual alleged haunting attached to the house—and once she really did have a house on the market that may have been lived in by a serial killer during the height of his crimes—but she’s good at spinning the story properly whether it’s something the owners disclosed to her or she made it up on the spot. The trouble is that she doesn’t know if Dr. Koskiewicz wants this alleged door to be there or not.

After a heartbeat, she decides on honesty. Frankly, she doubts they’re actually going to buy the house, regardless of what she says. At least this way she doesn’t have to pretend to have seen an unexpected door, be asked to describe it, and get caught out in a lie. That won’t do much for her credibility, or her commissions. You never know what kind of influence people actually have and they might spread around that she can’t be trusted.

“I can’t say that I have, Dr…” She trails off as she realizes she still doesn’t know how to pronounce his name properly.

“Koskiewicz,” Mr. Koskiewicz supplies. He’s studying Helen intently, making her wonder if she was wrong about him being blind…but no, he’s just looking in her direction, but seeming to focus on a point slightly to the left of her. It’s actually more than a little creepy and she wishes he would stop. “That’s a good thing, Ms. Richardson. A very good thing.”

“Please, allow me to explain,” Dr. Koskiewicz says, sliding his arm around Mr. Koskiewicz’s waist. “We at the Magnus Institute study the paranormal and the supernatural. One of the phenomena I have been studying involves this…door that keeps turning up unexpectedly. You might say it’s a rather persistent haunting. And it’s dangerous. Very dangerous.”

“I see,” Helen says politely. She hopes he’s not about to lecture her. There is nothing she finds less enjoyable than an academic explaining his pet project or particular area of study to her. She would, in complete honesty, rather jam a sharp stick into her eardrums. And the paranormal? Definitely not an area she has any interest in. The historians she can just about tolerate, as she occasionally learns something worth sharing about a house she’s showing that can bump up the price if the right party hears it. But she really isn’t sure she can sell a haunted door as a feature. Unless this mysterious door comes with a ghost of some kind, but really, that seems a bit ludicrous. And there’s no guarantee it would be tied to any one particular house. There’s no resale value in it.

“But you haven’t seen anything like that,” Dr. Koskiewicz says. “You’re certain?”

“Very,” Helen says firmly. “I would remember.”

Dr. Koskiewicz studies her, then nods. “Good. Very good. I’d hate to raise a child in a house with that hanging about.” He laughs and adds, “I’m not altogether certain the Professor would be all that thrilled with it, either.”

Helen raises an eyebrow before she can catch herself. “Ah, if you have an adult housemate, this room right here also has an en-suite bathroom. Not as grand as the master suite, of course, but certainly private and well-appointed.”

“The Professor is our cat,” Mr. Koskiewicz says with a smile. “I doubt he needs a whole room to himself, but we do appreciate your point. Perhaps a room for an oldest child.”

“Perhaps,” Dr. Koskiewicz agrees, the corners of his eyes crinkling upwards. “Someday.”

Unbelievably, there’s still a chance Helen can make this sale. She still isn’t sure she wants to, but there’s a chance. She slips back into the familiar patter, rattling off the specs and amenities of the house and neighborhood. Now that they’ve dealt with the ridiculous question about an unexpected yellow door, it’s a lot easier.

She winds down the spiel as they head down the steps. Dr. Koskiewicz asks several questions, more normal ones than asking about the supernatural or the paranormal, and from the sorts of things he asks, she thinks she gleans a bit more information about the pair of them. Certainly enough to tailor her closing speech properly, anyway. It’s something she prides herself on. She tends to get the bigger commissions from her employers because she can sell houses most people have given up on, at a higher price than the seller is asking, by targeting specific things about the potential buyers—either something they’ve shown interest in regarding the house, or something they’ve let slip about themselves that she can exploit. Admittedly, she’s prone to occasionally exaggerating a teeny bit, and sometimes downplaying things she can be sure won’t show up as a hit on a pre-sale inspection, but nobody’s ever come back to complain about it. As long as the company does well out of it, nobody really cares.

She delivers the closing remarks, highlighting those things she thinks they’ll be drawn to, and talks up the amenities. She decides not to mention her concerns about how well-received they would be in the neighborhood, since neither of them looks like they belong; if they buy the house and find out their neighbors are going to make their lives miserable, well, that’s not really on her, and maybe she’ll get the listing if they decide to resell. Not that she’s necessarily hoping for that, but hey, a commission is a commission.

“Contact me if you decide you want to buy,” she finally says, handing Dr. Koskiewicz her card. He studies it for a moment, then pulls out a leather wallet and tucks the card inside. “I understand you’ll need to think this over, but if you’re interested, you may want to hurry. There was a couple in this morning willing to put in an offer.”

It’s a lie, of course; these two are the most intent viewers she’s shown the house to yet, and nobody’s made an offer. The house also hasn’t been on the market very long. But she’s learned that dangling that bit of bait often gets people to put in a higher offer. The owners want two and a quarter million, but she wonders if she can get these two to go to two and a half or maybe even more. She might even be able to get them up to three, which of course means a bonus for her.

“I can assure you that you’ll be the first to know, once we’ve talked it over,” Dr. Koskiewicz says. He holds out his hand. “Thank you very much, Ms. Richardson.”

“Of course.” Helen gives him her most professional smile and accepts his hand, trying not to wince at the feel of the scar tissue against her palm. She means to give it another quick shake and move on, but he tightens his grip slightly, holding her still, and stares at her intensely. It’s extremely uncomfortable.

“Please be careful,” he says quietly. “And if you do run into…anything unusual…I urge you to come to the Institute. You’ve been so kind to us. It’s the least we can do.”

Helen has no idea what he means, or what she should be worried about. And she doesn’t feel like she’s been especially kind, unless the other real estate agents they’ve dealt with have been more openly hostile about their foreignness and their homosexuality and his scars and his husband’s disability. But she’s not stupid enough to say that out loud.

“I assure you,” she says, fighting to keep her smile in place. “If anything unusual happens, you will be the first to know.”

“Thank you.” Dr. Koskiewicz releases her hand, but he keeps staring at her intently.

Mr. Koskiewicz holds out his hand uncertainly in her direction. “Thank you for being so helpful and direct. It’s refreshing to not feel…misled.”

Helen accepts his hand uncertainly, but honestly, after the doctor’s, it’s a relief—soft and fleshy to be sure, but he doesn’t grip overly hard, and it’s not as dry or, well, corrupted. Still, she’s a little unnerved by his statement, or more accurately by the way he says it, like it’s some sort of joke she doesn’t get. “Certainly. I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I wasn’t.” She takes a half-step back and manages another smile. “Have a nice evening.”

“You as well.” Dr. Koskiewicz takes Mr. Koskiewicz’ arm and leads him to the door.

Helen, as is her habit, walks them to the door and watches them head down the path. Then, unable to stand it, she quickly hurries after them and peeps through a gap in the privacy fence sheltering the front garden. She doesn’t know much about cars and isn’t sure what she’s expecting, but the battered, ancient Ford Escort isn’t it.

She stares, utterly gobsmacked, as Dr. Koskiewicz opens the door for Mr. Koskiewicz, then goes around to get in the driver’s seat. The engine coughs and chokes for a moment before it catches and the car pulls away. It somehow doesn’t fit with the image she cultivated of the two of them. Either they have less money than she thought, or they have as much money as they do because they don’t spend a lot of money on new vehicles.

Either way, she thinks, glancing at her watch, her appointments are over for the day. She’s free until eight o’clock tomorrow morning and can go get something to eat, and she decides then and there that she is going to have a martini. Maybe two.

She rather thinks she’s earned them. Even if she doesn’t make a commission off of this one.

[whereflowersbloom]

Hypermarket adventure

When Tim Drake woke up that morning he had no idea he would have to buy a new coffee maker because the one they had was unusually broken. Damian Wayne. A faint headache pounding behind his temples as Tim massaged them, exhaustion sinking deep in his bones, and wonders how long it's been since he had more than four hours of sleep. Damian was responsible for this, one of his secret schemes to make him stop consuming caffeine. Tim was sure it was his fault, so the broken coffee maker refused to give him the fluid of life and he had lost it...and maybe Tim destroyed it with vicious vengeance. In his defense, he had been up for more than twenty-four hours. Sleep later coffee first.

So naturally he announced to Alfred he would be making a quick trip to the store to get a new one, politely asked the British man if he required anything from the store. Alfred seemed to consider the offer for a solid minute before asking him if he could get some groceries and essentials on his way back home. Handing him a list. Before he walked out of the manor Dick volunteered affably to accompany him, convincing a grumpy Jason, who was comfortably sitting, reading a wrinkled newspaper, to tag along. Jason surprisingly agreed, with the condition he was the one driving. Alfred rapidly suggested to take the demon spawn with them, he could use some frest air. Now things could only go downhill from this point. This piqued Steph’s interest, who casually commented she had nothing better to do. Soon they were on their way to the closest hypermarket.

Dick was there to make sure Damian didn’t behead anyone and get enough boxes of cereal he could hide before Alfred looked at him with disappointed eyes. There’s nothing worse in this world than Alfred’s disappointed eyes. The old man claimed ‘It’s not a proper meal nor healthy if it contained high levels of sugar’, but the companies also tended to fill them with vitamins, calcium, iron and folic acid. Therefore it was a fortified food! It had everything he needed for a balanced meal in Dick’s opinion. The extra sugar was even good for him considering how many calories he burned.

“The sword stays in the car, Damian.” Dick commanded, taking away the blade from twelves earth-old before he sets a foot out of the automobile, which was responded by a ‘TT’.

“Did we really have to bring shortstack?” Jason complained, voice etched with irritation, index finger pointing at Damian.

“As if I would agree to lower my nutritional standards because you fools failed to purchase the provisions Pennyworth demanded which is why I have it in my power.” Damian logically explained, grinding his teeth and waving the list at Jason.

“Don’t stab anyone.” Dick ordered with authority.

“I make no promises, Grayson.” Damian muttered dryly crossing his arms over his chest.

Damian cannot comprehend why would Pennyworth think he was needed to carry out such a simple task, he supposed if his siblings lacked the basic function acquire the list of edibles Alfred gave them and simultaneously behave in public, then he could supervise them. He was already here with them. Nothing to do about it.

“Did anyone asked Cass if she needed anything?” Dick questioned them, clear blue eyes looking at them expectantly. Cass was probably still in her bedroom resting, after staying up with him analyzing some cases.

“Oh how thoutful of you. You weren’t that nice to me, not even after I died.” Jason commented, his voice dripping with sarcasm and bitterness.

“Jay, you gotta stop bringing it up.” Dick reasoned as he placed a hand upon Jason’s shoulder, offering a small apologetic smile.

For once, Damian was quiet, observing the older brothers bicker over such a insignificant matter. Stephanie stifled a snort at their immature antics. A muffled ‘crybaby’ escaped her mouth, but only Tim, standing next to her was able to hear it.

It took everything Tim had not to roll his eyes and simply walk away. Why was he here with these troublemakers? Right. Coffee. The thing she had to endure for a duo of black coffee.

“I texted Cass. She wants pop tarts.” Stephanie supplied, eye glued to the screen of her phone.

“If you get lost. I’m leaving you here, losers.” Jason threatened with narrowed eyes, a faint glow in his blue-green eyes. Five minutes after parking the car, the siblings marched inside the hypermarket. Tim sighed wearily, silent calculations running through his mind, how long it would take them to leave the store with the groceries. Dick promptly grabbed a shopping cart.

~~~

Jason Todd was ready to shoot Dick Grayson if only he had a gun between his hands. Why the fuck did he even agree to come with these lil shits? Clearly, he wasn’t in his right mind. He was doing this for Alfred and Jason could never say no to Alfred. It was an easy task: read the list of essentials Alfred wrote down, grab the items, deposit them inside the fucking cart and pay for them. Piece of cake. But here he was in the middle of dairy aisle, listening to Dick asking him all sort of stupid questions. His patience dangerously wearing thin.

“Why is milk five dollars a gallon?” Dick exclaimed with shock as he examined the dairy product’s label.

“Who cares? You’re rich, money shouldn’t be a problem, dickhead.” Jason replied annoyed, there goes ten minutes of his life, stuck in the dairy aisle with this enthusiastic fool. Where did Damian and Steph go? Dick had thrown several boxes of cereal inside the cart, including: Cheerios and Waffle crisps, the latter was Steph’s petition. Who in the bloody hell needed fifteen boxes of cereal? Wait a minute, is that coffee flakes? That one had to be Tim’s idea.

“How do you exactly milk an almond though?” Dick asked with furrowed Brows, concentrated on the product, as If he was trying to decipher a secret code.

The desperation and bewilderment in Dick’s voice made a Jason raise an eyebrow. He would kill for a quick smoke. Not like he was seriously considering smoking inside the store. He could wait a few more minutes.

“I’ll explain out to you when you finally become a functional adult.” Jason breathed. Around them, the store buzzed, bright lights shining above and people murmuring and talking, nobody had recognized them so far. Even Jason felt a twinge of irritation at being here, and he wanted to get this shopping trip over with so he could go home.

“Who wants bacon?” Stephanie came out of nowhere, asking with a juvenile glee in her eyes as she dumped ten packs of bacon. Damian wouldn’t be happy about this.

“Where is the gremlin? We should have put him inside the cart.” Jason tried to keep a calm voice, looking around for any sign of little D. Jason had a bad feeling about this, settling at the pit of his stomach. He let out a deep breath and decided it was the moment to have that cig. So two missing, Damian and Tim. There it was that nagging voice was a constant in the back of his mind, reminding him of his responsibility, look after adoptive relatives.

“Steph, make sure replacement didn’t fall asleep at the Kitchen appliances section.” Jason commanded. “Dick, it’s your turn to supervise the rascals.” Slowly making his way towards the alcohol section, he could use a drink right now. Now, find an unpacked corner where he can have a smoke.

“What?” Dick exclaimed, suddenly finding himself alone in the dairy section. Where did everyone go?

~~~

Dick was passing by the cereal aisle again, because you can never have enough cereal. Perhaps he should get more lucky charms? Cinnamon toast was a must. Nobody in this family understood the enjoyment of ingesting artificially colored cereal. He was about to grab another box of fruity pebbles, lost in the paradise of cocoa, cinnamon and colored cereals, when abruptly a feminine voice brought him back to earth. He turned to catch a glimpse, eyes focused on the petite woman: average height, brunette, mid-twenties, freckled-cheeks, small gray eyes widened in irritation. This looked like trouble. What did he do?

“Excuse me, sir. Is this kid your little brother? We caught him bothering other customers at the meat section.” The petite employee questioned him with raised eyebrows, hands on her hips. Dick blinked puzzled. What. He kept his eyes fixed on the woman.

“When I asked if he was here accompanied by an adult. He pointed a finger at you.” Dick spotted then Damian, standing next to the woman, lips pursed, arms folded against his chest, glancing away, fleetingly looking younger than he actually was. Like a small child who was severely reprimanded for inappropriate behavior. What the hell Damian...

“I merely reminded him the innocent chicken between his hands deserved a life free from torture and suffering. We have the moral responsibility to protect animals!” Damian spoke plainly as he corrected the woman who dared accuse him of harassment.

“Damian, sto-“ Richard chimed in when he was interrupted by Damian’s animals rights speech.

“Allowing an animal to suffer is unethical and cruel. It’s slaughter! You are causing them unnecessary distress. Their throats are slit mercilessly! All animals have the ability to suffer in the same way and to the same degree that humans do.” The young Wayne continued, grumpily making eye contact with the uninformed store employee. Blue eye flicked between the two, the brunette seemed to be about to explode, Damian’s body language tightened, there was a crackling in the air and Dick instantly knew it was not going to end well. Shit. He ruffled his hair nervously.

“Damian no.” He pleaded urgently. Beads of sweat running down his forehead and cheekbones.

“Sir, could you please take your younger brother? Customers are agitated and perturbed by his presence.” The employee politely asked him but Dick could tell she was utterly irked at this point. Dick nodded and draped an arm over his little brother’s shoulders. Yeah, he was definitely taking him far, far away from her. Praying Damian kept his mouth shut and didn’t screw up even more. Predictably, Damian didn’t leave it alone.

“Again, as I explained earlier. I was elaborating on the numerous health and environment benefits of adopting a vegetarian diet.” Damian corrected her with trembling lips, green eyes filled with anger. This woman didn’t comprehend the great importance of saving an innocent life. Tsk. Father said even if someone is being disrespectful or crude he should not sink to their level, but this lady was being rude.

“Aren’t you one of Bruce Wayne’s ward?” The woman spoke with narrowed gray eyes, taking a step closer to Richard, studying closely the features of the older man.

Oh fuck. Unfortunately, she recognized them. Dick held up both hands defensively.

“I am the blood s-“ Damian was about to clarify when Dick rapidly covered his mouth with a large hand. “We are leaving now, Damian. Thank you, lady. Have a nice day.” He muttered hurriedly before running off.

~~~

Finally, Tim was getting in line for the cashier, the precious coffee maker in his arms, he could make himself a decent cup of black coffee as soon as they got home. A satisfied smile almost curled on his lips when he recognized the familiar sound of his siblings yelling, if his ears didn’t fail him and they never did. Oh no. Tim held a stiff nervous expression as he slowly turned to face them. He quickly scanned the scene, eyes wide in alarm. Remain calm Tim. Stephanie being escorted by a security guard, clothes stained, next was Jason groaning at the guard that tried to touch his leather jacket, followed by an embarrassed Dick with flushed cheeks, lastly Damian being dragged against his will. “Let me go! I can walk out of this questionable establishment myself.” Damian protested with boiling anger, glaring daggers at the security guards. His sword was inside the car. Good. No opportunity to behead anyone and commit a crime. Jason and Stephanie were clearly pissed. Dick pressing his face against a wall, undoubtedly ashamed.

Tim momentarily contemplated leaving the store with the coffee maker, a few seconds later, he couldn’t find it in him to abandon them to their fate here. Sigh. With the heavy weigh of his burdens, Tim approached a female employee. “Excuse me, those are my siblings. Could you explain to me what exactly they did?”

“Sir, this young lady here organized a shopping cart race along with some children in the middle of the vegetable section.” The angry store employee began, detecting unfiltered rage in her tone, as she pointed a finger at the blonde teenager.

“I did nothing Jason wouldn’t have done.” Stephanie told him, briefly exchanging glances with Jason. Jason bit down on his lower lip to repress laughter, whispering an almost inaudible ‘amateur’. Stephanie shrugged it off as it was unimportant, instead of trying to come up with an excuse that contained any sense of logic.

“This man was deliberately smoking inside the store.” Tim studied Jason’s amused expression. Probably not the first time he was caught doing it. “I mean she isn’t wrong.” He pointed out calmly, Shrugging broad shoulders nonchalantly.

“I found the kid tormenting customers at the meat aisle, he fled with the man with cereal fixation.” Before Damian could utter a word in his defense. Dick shut his mouth. Richard’s eyes silently expressing a wordless ‘don’t ask’. Tim was way too exhausted to deal with this. His body shaking with small movements for a second, stay in control. No time to collapse, solutions not more problems.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you and the rest of your relative to leave the store. And please do not come back.”

Tim fluttered his dark cerulean eyes close, feeling a very sharp pain in his temples. A recurrent migraine coming, cursing lowly for not stopping at the pharmacy to get aspirins. How is that he is the only rational and almost-functional person in this family. Coffee, coffee, coffee was the only thing he could think about. Less than fifty minutes and the Wayne’s discovered a way to get themselves banned from a Hypermarket. Likely setting a new world record.

Looks like they wouldn’t have the chance to go grocery shopping as a family any time soon. Not like it was a brilliant idea to begin with. They would have groceries delivered next time.

Here @sofiii 👀👀👀👀🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️

[awesomeundertalelover3]

18 with Joseph? Seems fitting

18. “I shouldn’t be in love with you.”

This got a LOT longer than I intended, but here you go!

Joesph/Gender-Neutral Deputy. (If you’ve got a specific gender you want for the reader, ask for it!)

Warnings: Swearing, and a lot of it.

The First Night.

The Seeds have been on your ass since you landed in Joseph’s compound. It’s barely been a month since then, and not once have you had a break. You’ve been up and down the county, doing as many missions and helping as many people as you could. You were tired, to say the least.

A small two story house up in the Henbane was your hideout. It’s been ransacked and much of the furniture had been ruined. Still, some of it was saveable. A surprisingly comfortable couch, a dining room table and a handful of chairs, and a handful of kitchen appliances.

You found the place while you were running from peggies, and it gave good cover. But a grenade thrown through a window ruins most things. Luckily, you were unharmed, and were able to get rid of them easily enough. The grenade had destroyed anyway upstairs and had also ruined a few armchairs. Thankfully, the couch was left, mostly, unharmed.

So, for the last two weeks, this is were you would stash any medical supplies and food, usually just before crashing on said couch. It was one of the few places you could sleep without worrying about anyone finding you. The only other people who knew about the place were Dutch, Boomer, Peaches and Cheeseburger. Considering three of them can’t talk, you thought you were safe.

Key word, Thought.

As it turns out, the Goddamn Father Himself knew about the place, and was here. Here. At your hideout, on the first night you’ve had to yourself in a Fucking Month. Needless to say, you were pissed.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT, JOSEPH!” You yelled, making him jump. He already knew you were here, as you had forgotten to close the blinds and he saw you, and you saw him. He was alone, which was better than having thirty-something peggies nearby, but it still wasn’t something you preferred. He sighed, and spoke.

“Deputy, I simply want to come inside.” Like hell he would! ... But then again, if he left, and you didn’t have some sort of leverage on him, you were screwed. Goddamnit.

“I will let you in on one condition. You keep your damned mouth shut about me being here.” You were still pissed, and still pretty much yelling at him through the door, but you didn’t have much of a choice. He agreed to your conditions, and you unlocked the door.

There he was, the Father, standing on your porch in a white button up, with a black vest and slacks on. He looked like he was gonna take you on a date. You decided to ignore how weirdly happy that thought made you.

“Come on in, you fucking cunt.” He huffed at your choice of words, but knew better than to try and say anything about it. He glanced around as he stepped in, looking intrigued.

“You’ve been living here?” He asked, turning his head to look at you. You slam the door shut and sigh.

“Yea, and what about it? It’s the only fucking place where I don’t have to deal with anyone, because nobody knows where it is. Except fucking you, apparently.” Joseph chuckles slightly, grinning and glancing at the ground. You very quickly shoved the traitorous thought that he was cute out of your head. He was your enemy. He was not cute!

“It seems we both need to escape responsibilities sometimes.” He said, amused. That... caught you off guard.

“Hold on, you’re telling me, that the Oh so Holy Father, doesn’t always like to be a prophet? Why do I have a hard time believing that?” You turned to face him, arms crossed over your chest. He sighs and looks up at you, head tilted slightly. That made you feel kinda bad. Of course he wouldn’t always enjoy having to do this. Nobody, not anyone with an ounce of sanity, would enjoy doing this non stop. And while you can definitely question his sanity, you do know he has some.

“Deputy, you and I both have jobs to do, but that does not mean we enjoy them. The only reason we have turned to violence is because you shot first. We are merely protecting our own. We both wish we didn’t have to harm anyone, but... we do not always get what we wish.” He takes a deep breath and rubs his palms, his thumb sliding over where a past ring used to sit. You can tell he is guilty for all that he’s done, but that he also does genuinely believe he’s doing what he has to.

“God, I shouldn’t be in love with you.” You mutter under your breath, rubbing one of your eyes. “Come on, I’ll make you some coffee. Luckily the thing hadn’t gotten damaged, so it’s still useable.” You begin to walk into the kitchen when Joseph grabs your arm, making you tense up and turn to face him.

His eyes were wide, his lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something, and dammit why are you thinking about kissing him right now? He looked shocked, although you couldn’t understand why. “What, are you really that surprised I offered to make you coffee?” You questioned, relaxing as his grip on your arm loosened. He just continued to gape at you for a moment before speaking, barely above a whisper,

“You... love me?”

Shit.

Shit.

Shiiiiiit.

He heard you. He had heard you say you loved him, he had fucking HEARD YOU. You stumble over trying to explain yourself, before deciding that you no longer gave a flying fuck,

“Yea. Yea, I’m in fucking love with you, for some goddamn unknown reason! You’re an asshole and somehow! I’ve fallen for you! I don-” you were cut off by his mouth on yours. It startled you, but you kissed him back after you realized what was going on. You were shocked, he was shocked. It was a whole lot a shock and bullshit right there. You both stare at one another before he starts grinning, and the grinning turns to laughing, and soon both of you are cracking up over the fact that this was your life. That out of all the things that could have happened, this was it.

The man was your goddamn enemy in this mess and you were in love with one another. He smiled at you, finally letting go of your arm, before heading into the kitchen.

“I think coffee sounds wonderful right now, don’t you?” You chuckled, shaking your head fondly, “It seems we have a lot to talk about.” Yea, it seems you did. You followed him into the kitchen, and leaned against the counter.

It was the first night of many. You both still had problems, yes, as well as the whole resistance and cult thing, but it felt like you’d solve it together.

For now, this was your first night off, together.

[skvaderarts]

Apocrypha Chapter Thirty Four: Homeostasis

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Thirty Four: Homeostasis

Note: That moment when you wrote this chapter as a stand alone prologue back on April 8th, 2019 because it took literally a year to start this series, and my fic Sorting was the precursor to this! I suppose I should throw that into a series list of some sort. Anyway, I’m going to just rewrite some parts of it since they don’t quite line up with this story, and I can’t overlook them. That’s how massive plot holes happen. Feel free to check that one out if you’d like to see how this whole concept got started. It’s still one of my most popular fics. Like 800 reads on a one chapter fic. Just omg wow!

 (-~-)

 Two weeks later…

As the end of august drew closer and closer with each passing moment, so too did the changing of the trees and the atmosphere around the city. What little grass covered the bare areas of the county began to turn slightly yellow, losing its once vivid green hue, and replacing itself, with a soft shade of yellowish brown that resembled mature wheat or straw more than anything else. The last of the summer heat was dissipating and a cold chill bit at anyone foolish enough to go out without some sort of long sleeve to protect them from the unusually early seasonal transition. It was normal for things to fluctuate slightly from year to year, but for the weather to undergo such a drastic change compared to the year before? Madness. But at the end of the day, the environment was going to do as it pleased, and fall coming about three weeks early wasn’t going to turn too many heads in a year where so many people genuinely thought that the world was about to end.

While opinion was divided as to whether or not celebrating Halloween was appropriate considering the sheer number of demonic attacks earlier that year, and the destruction of Redgrave City, no one seemed to make much of a fuss about the concept of decorating for the season. Stores and shops were already starting to hang autumn decorations, and seasonal treats were starting to hit shelves and shops alike. Despite the actual edibility of some of the offerings available, everyone had started to add pumpkin spice to everything because why not? The year had been literally hellish. At the end of the day, everyone needed something to look forward to, and at least the dreary weather that had refused to relent in the past month or so now had a valid reason to exist.

But while everyone else was adjusting to minute changes in the weather, and enjoying the colorful atmosphere, food, and decor that came with the rest of the season, V had additional matters to contend with. It had only been about five days since Magnolia had declared that V was finally in the proper condition to finally leave her watchful gaze, and for the first time in a very long time, V didn’t feel perpetually exhausted. While he’d never truly been energetic, his improved wellbeing and the prospect of transferring himself and his meager belongings into a more permanent dwelling was actually somewhat enthralling to him.

Or at least that had been the case before V had actually attempted to do so.

Despite the fact that the young summoner owned practically nothing, his insistence that he be allowed to move the majority of his belongings by himself had been his downfall, cursing him to an extended period of breathlessness and a general feeling of discomfort. There was a part of this situation that made him wonder how he’d managed to become this awful at physical activity, but then he remembered that he had basically no experience with such matters and decided to just go back to trying to stand up. 

And failing miserably at it.

“This is why I told you to just let me move the boxes for you.” Nero said as he walked past, plopping down one of the final boxes next to the winded summoner. His humorous tone hid an understandable level of genuine concern as she caught sight of his out of breath sibling, berating himself for ever allowing V to carry all those boxes into the house by himself in the first place. Since Vergil wasn’t there to be the voice of reason in this particular situation, and V was too distracted to think that clearly, Nero was going to have to do.

V shrugged in defeat, a pleasant smirk spread across his face as he sat on the floor of his new living room, sprawled out across the space where the couch had presumably once been, and completely in the way of any meaningful progress that Nero was trying to achieve. He’d been in that spot for the last ten minutes, and despite the fact that his breathing and heart rate had leveled out some time ago, he simply couldn’t will himself to get up off of the floor. It was as though his limbs were glued down, and no amount of insistence from his cerebral cortex was going to change that fact. He’d simply lost the ability to get up and do anything, and part of him was okay with just staying there until Nero inevitably decided to just entomb him with his own boxes.

“And normally I would have allowed that, but it seems that a combination of overzealous mismanagement and hubristic foolishness have gotten the best of me.” V said quietly, managing to lift a single leg and nothing else. Good, that was progress. Now if he could just make the second leg obey him, he might be able to actually do something.” The fool who persists in his folly will become wise.”

Nero glanced over at him and shook his head for a moment, tempted to just offer to help him up. But he knew better than to try that. V wasn’t going to go for that at this particular juncture, and he knew it. The white haired demon slayer was simply too elated to care. 

“And here I thought you’d finally stopped quoting that damn book, V.” Nero said as he stacked two of the larger boxes, lamenting the sheer number of them. How much stuff had he managed to keep in that tiny guest room?” If these are all books I swear…”

It took a moment, but V finally managed to clamber to his feet, brushing off the small layer of dust that had accumulated on his clothing while he’d been sitting on the floor. The house needed a good dusting, and he’d spent much for the day before letting it air out and attempting to get a head start on the process of making it livable. There were no appliances in the kitchen, and he didn’t really have any plans as to how he was going to work all of the expenses for furniture out just yet, but at least he wasn’t drowning in bills like Dante and he actually owned a plate. Probably. He wasn’t sure if he could find it just yet.

“To be honest, I’m somewhat surprised that you recognized that verse.” An almost smug smirk spread across his face, a knowing look in his eyes as he faced Nero, folding his arms lightly around himself. There was a draft coming in from the open door, and the chilly weather wasn’t helping any.” But then again, I suppose you did read my book cover to cover, so it only makes sense.”

For a moment, a slightly confused look crossed Nero’s face as he attempted to remember the point in which he’d admitted that to V. In all honesty, he couldn’t recall that conversation, but one thing was for sure: he remembered telling Vergil about two weeks prior. His brain stalled for a moment as he realized that his ability to poke fun at his older sibling was now compromised, and he had no high ground to speak of.

“... Vergil told you, didn’t he?” Nero exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassed discomfort. It was more of a statement than it was a question, the younger of the two positive that he knew exactly how his older sibling had found out. It was an interesting revelation to be sure. Nero had assumed many things about his father, that much was certain. But he’d never taken him as the sort to gossip. Regardless, he found it as entertaining as he did embarrassing. Was V going to try to talk poetry with him now that he knew he had some level of comprehension towards the subject matter?

The longer haired devil hunter gave a brief nod, blinking slowly as he chuckled quietly to himself. If only Nero could see the face was making. Pure gold was an understatement. As far as V was concerned, this was probably the most embarrassed Nero had ever looked in front of him, and that was saying something considering the number of times Nico had absolutely destroyed him in front of his three young children.

His mind wandered for a moment as the thought of the little ones crossed his mind. They lived back on the island with his brother, Kyrie, and Nico, and now he resided in this place. But in a strange turn of events, for the first time in his life, he wondered how he would cope with that reality. V had been alone his entire life, only having himself to rely on when things took a turn for the worst. And while he still had Griffon and Shadow, he found himself wondering how the silence within his new dwelling would sit with him. He’d become so accustomed to the sound of children laughing, and the constant but friendly bickering between Nero, not to mention the commotion from the kitchen whenever someone (normally Kyrie) was cooking, or the absolute pleasure that was the chaotic dinners that he’d had the pleasure of participating in. The very concept of missing out on these events actually lowered his spirits a bit when he considered them, because despite the fact that he’d generally been a silent observer, simply partaking in the ambience of domestic bliss, he’d felt… safe there. Wanted.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure what he thought about being alone.

When he’d made the decision to move away from everyone else, it had been an idea born of a desire to both acquire his own space, and to keep any possible danger that he might attract away from those he cared about. There was no guarantee that this cult was completely wiped out, and V knew that he would never forgive himself if he allowed those that he’d come to value to dearly become embroiled in whatever this mess was that he now found himself in. For once, he had something to lose. And he rather enjoy the view from afar and pine fruitlessly for times that had long since passed than be the catalyst that sent their happy world crashing down in a pillar of flames. Metaphorically, of course.

“You just told me. But yes, he did as well.” V stepped past him, ignoring the flabbergasted look on Nero’s face and heading back towards the van to check and see if there were any remaining boxes. The feeling of the cool air hitting him as he walked out onto the tree lined street helped ease the growing sensation of discontent that he felt in the pit of his stomach. It was like a knot that grew tighter in his throat and his abdomen all at once, not physically inhibiting him in any way, but making him uncomfortable nonetheless. How was it that his own insecurities and anxieties about things that had yet to pass always seemed to steal away what could otherwise be pleasant memories? V had a habitual habit of assuming the very worst, and rarely hoping for the best. After all, he couldn’t be let down if his expectations were low. And yet, in moments like these, he wished for nothing more than to be the type of person who could quietly sweep his worries under the rug and drop his inhibitions, simply reveling in the beauty and wonder of the world he lived in. 

He could count the number of times he’d had reason to feel that way on one hand, not a single thing standing out in his life for positive reasons. And yet, there was a part of him that just wanted him to feel as though he’d accomplished something by making it this far, but cutting himself a break seemed to be out of his realm of ability.

“In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.” V spoke quietly under his breath, his words barely a whisper in the crisp late summer air. He was not aware of the fact that Nero was standing behind him, taking in the change in mood between them.

The younger of the two could tell that something in V’s demeanor had changed in the last few minutes, and he had some idea as to what might be on his mind. From the moment that V had announced his intentions to move out, everyone had been excited for him. But as the actual day that he had chosen to move out approached, the house seemed to grow ever more silent. There was a certain stillness between everyone as they considered what it would be like to walk past his room and know what he wasn’t there. Everyone had grown so accustomed to their little arrangement, and had come to enjoy the company of everyone else present. Even though he’d been given an opportunity to experience something uniquely wonderful, none of them could shake the sadness that came with his departure, V included. And although none of them spoke of this, they all felt it deep down.

Even though everyone knew that he was a ferry ride and a short drive away, it felt like an ocean had sprang up between them. And distance between them was like an impassable wall and, as crazy as it might have seemed, V couldn’t help but feel like he was being selfish for doing something that he hoped would bring them all more safety and security in the long run. Perhaps it was worse having had something and then lost it than it was to live without it. V couldn’t say yet. But one thing he could say was that he hoped he could find some way to preserve that feeling of closeness he felt with the rest of his friends and family, even with an ocean between them. Dante’s office and Magnolia’s shop were close by, not more than a half hour in either direction unless traffic was taken into account. And in an ironic twist of fate, V was not too far from what remained of Redgrave City, his new dwelling closer to it than any of the other residences. This provided him with an interesting possible venture in the future, but he wasn’t entirely sure what he would do if he went there. Visit all the locations he’d nearly been killed in? Go and try to locate more books? Did he even have more books? There had to be about fifteen large boxes stacked on the floor in the living room, and the large majority of them were filled with books, most of which he hadn’t taken the time to read.

Maybe that was a good place to start.

During his momentary lapse of focus, Nero had nabbed the final box and closed the van door, finally drawing V’s attention. They shared a quiet glance at one another for a moment before V simply opted to follow Nero into the house. He took a moment to close the front door behind them and then went up the stairs in the front entrance, feeling the need to find a quiet place to collect his thoughts for a moment. Through no sentient intent of his own, he eventually made it to the second story balcony. V leaned against the second story balcony, closing his eyes for a moment as he considered his next steps and simply took in the cool air. It was a beautiful day, and the weather was perfect. Perhaps he should simply breath and allow himself to just enjoy himself for a moment. Was that truly so difficult for him?

Shortly after his arrival, Nero peaked his head around the corner. He’d noticed that V had disappeared, and had a feeling that he’d gone to some other part of the house. His first guess would have been the backyard, but the second story overlook made just as much sense. One way or another, he was outside.

“I hope it’s not too unlike me to say thank you… for everything. I…” He trailed off for a moment, aware that Nero was there, but unable to find the proper words to express what he was feeling at that moment. He couldn’t even make himself look at Nero as the younger devil hunter approached him, standing at his side in an attempt to see the world as he saw it at that moment. It was a beautiful view.” … Would it be possible for you to thank Kyrie for me? I truly do appreciate… both of you.” A slight tightness gripped Nero’s chest as he took in the sadness in V’s voice. He understood what the problem was now. The idea of V being homesick when he’d barely even left yet was as heartbreaking as it was sweet, and he couldn’t help but feel a similar way about the prospect of him leaving. No, the fact that he was leaving. They’d already brought the last box in. But that didn’t have to be the end of it. “You know that you can just tell her yourself, right? Because when you come over for dinner; and you don’t have a choice but to come over sometime, you can just tell her then.” Nero carefully raised his hand and placed it on V’s shoulder, somewhat surprised but relieved when the older descendant of Sparda didn’t pull away or give him a funny look. “I could tell her, but it wouldn’t be the same. She’s always going to have a spot for you if you decide to drop in, ya know?”

Something that Nero wasn’t accustomed to seeing happened in that moment. Something rare and genuine. What was meant to be a soft smirk became an actual smile, lingering longer than V probably initially intended, and spreading to the rest of his face in a way that none of his clever smirks ever had. There was a certain light that he’d never seen in his eyes before; a glimmer of something foreign to the younger man that he’d never thought was possible. The bittersweet happiness in his face was genuinely touching, and Nero couldn’t think of a moment when he’d ever seen V share so much emotion with such a small gesture. And internally, Nero was happy that he’d played some part in causing him to react in such a way. He knew that he’d never truly understand what it took for V to open up to someone and be vulnerable around them, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t know that it took an awful lot for him to do so.

“I suppose the children will need someone to read them to sleep as well. What will they do without me?” There was a certain tone to V’s voice when he spoke those words that resonated with Nero, the younger of the two considering for a moment if he could actually get away with what he was thinking of doing. After all, the only other person he’d ever seen attempt to do so was Carlo, and V had nearly died of shock when he’d done so. But then again, there was only one way to actually find out.

“You know, you don’t make any sense half of the time. But that’s okay because I know I probably don’t either, and I’m okay with that.” Nero stared at V intently, slightly distracted by all the different thoughts that were colliding within his wayward mind. Much like V, he wasn’t entirely sure how to articulate what he was trying to put into words.” Maybe I’m just glad you still put up with my bullshit, V.” Once again, it was V’s turn to look at Nero funny, although this time he was slightly concerned that his younger brother had come down with some kind of illness. “Likewise. But you need not worry. You've done nothing that I needed to tolerate in the first place.” He turned his body in the same direction as Nero’s, intent on facing him, but his eyes traveled downward slightly, never meeting his gaze. At the end of the day, V was still awful at eye contact. Some things never changed.”...  You never gave up on me. I’m aware of the fact that I can be… difficult. But you’ve persevered regardless. I think what I’m trying to say is… Thank you, Nero.”

Any further consideration that Nero had been giving towards whether or not his idea was a good idea totally went out of the window in that moment when he saw the genuinely touched look on V’s face. It was a fleeting thing, but the young devil hunter was almost positive that there had never been a better time to try and illustrate to V that he actually did care. Truly he did. Nero knew what it was like to feel alone and unwanted. Before he’d met Kyrie and her family, he’d been adrift in a sea of unfriendly faces and bad intentions. She’d been the anchor that grounded him in that storm. But V had never had than until recently, and the idea that he’s spent around twice as long suffering that kind of fate, and still managed to turn out as well as he had was simply soul crushing to Nero. Astounding and a testament to their shared willpower in the face of adversity, but soul crushing nonetheless.

Throwing caution to the wind, Nero did something that he was almost certain he’d regret later and cautiously stepped forward, carefully throwing his arms around V and pulling him into a tight hug. He wasn’t trying to harm him in any way, shape, or form, and he hoped that V wouldn’t recoil in sheer confused terror, but that wasn’t going to stop him this time. There had been some many times that he’d considered doing so and chosen not to out of the fear that he’d upset him in some way. But this time he was done with that. Just this once, he needed V to truly understand that he did in fact care. As touch starved as V was, he hoped it would have a positive effect on him. 

Hell, maybe something as simple as a hug could have gone a long way between their uncle and father. Nero was confident that they'd probably never hugged on another in their entire lives, and he didn’t want to keep that tradition going. There was so much long standing suffering in their family, and he desperately wanted to do something about that, but he had no idea how. All he could do was hope that he hadn’t given V a brain aneurysm for the confusion he was probably feeling at that moment in time.

V wasn’t entirely sure at first how to process what was happening to him. He obviously knew and understood what a hug was, but aside from the one he’d received from Carlo about a month ago, V had never actually experienced such a thing for himself, at least not that he could remember. Perhaps when he had been little, someone had seen fit to show him such a basic level of compassion, but somehow he doubted it. The people at that dreaded place that he’d been forced to call home had never cared about him, of that he was certain. And despite that, he’d persevered. The best revenge in that case had been to do the very thing they didn’t want him to succeed in doing: to live his life and never give them what they wanted most. He refused to simply surrender to the crushing loneliness that he’d once felt and give them that kind of satisfaction. To live and be loved by others was his ultimate insult to the legacy of pain they’d forced him to endure, and although he knew that, he didn’t honestly care. In that particular moment, nothing else really mattered to him but forcing his brain to process what was going on and to respond accordingly.

It took V a little longer than was comfortable with to register that he’d been holding his breath. In one simultaneous moment, he closed his eyes, exhaled, and returned the gesture. Although somewhat clumsy, his intentions had been pure. And despite the fact that neither of them were looking at one another, they both knew that.

Much to Nero’s simultaneous surprise and relief, V hadn't recoiled in horror and stepped away like he’d assumed he would. In that moment, the demon hunter was more glad than ever that he’d gone with his gut and done what he thought was right. And he was even more glad that Vergil and Dante were out of town at the moment “wrapping up some loose ends” so that they couldn’t find some creative way to ruin this touching moment between them.

After a moment, they let one another go, and Nero took a step back, reaching behind the still open doors for something. V watched him, a strange rush of emotions overtaking him as he realized that he had no idea how to react or what to do now that it was over. What a strange thing it was, not knowing how to achieve homeostasis after something as basic as a hug. He really was a mess, wasn’t he? 

Before he could say or do anything, his shock and bewilderment intensified and Nero stepped back towards him and extended his hand to give him something that he’d long since written of as a lost cause. He extended his hand slightly, his fingers brushing almost hesitantly across the surface of the cane he’d genuinely thought that he’d lost forever, trying his hardest to quantify what the revelation that Nero had returned it to him meant to him.

Nero cleared his throat, somewhat worried that he’d broken the entire logical center of V’s brain. Maybe he should have wanted a bit longer to reveal the fact that they’d found the cane to him? No, he didn’t want to worry about him going back and forth up and down the stairs while he was back in Fortuna. This was the best housewarming present he could think of because he knew that it had been significant to V. And now he had it back. This had been the right thing to do.

“Nico said she made some sort of modification to it and that she’d explain the next time she saw you. We found it the day we brought back all of those books.” Nero used his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, shrugging in discomfort. He was clearly somewhat flustered. Why was this so difficult?” We thought it might be the time to give it back to you after that cult almost killed you. Can’t have you falling down the stairs in your own house, V. I won’t be here to catch you. But you can always just call, ya know?”

V gave an absent minded nod, turning the cane around in his grasp as the dim evening light. Yes, there was something different about the cane, but he couldn’t place what it was. Had it been lighter before? Regardless, he was just happy to have it back, and the fact that they’d found it and made sure it was returned to him was strangely relieving. Maybe there was just a certain sense of security that came with having it back in his possession. It was difficult to say.

“Thank you. Truly. This is… I don’t know what to say.” V gave Nero a thoughtful look as he glanced in the direction of the door that led inside of the house. He suddenly felt the desire to go and sit down. The last few minutes had been unreasonably taxing, and moving into a new house was a marathon, not a sprint. He gestured for Nero to follow him, the younger man obliging him wordlessly.” Care to join me?”

Nero shrugged. “Fine by me. What are we doing?”

V stopped for a moment, not entirely sure himself. “Honestly, nothing. I just want to go inside.”

The younger of the two shook his head and let out a small sound somewhere between a chuckle and a laugh. V could be so hard to understand at times. There was never a dull moment between them, was there? “Sounds good to me. I’m right behind you.”

(-~-)

Well, this chapter turned out to be way more wholesome than I’d anticipated! I've been waiting to redo this scene for literally a year XD check out the original fic Sorting for a comparison. I literally might just fuck around and build V’s house in the sims just because I feel like it LOL! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I had a blast writing it all night when I should have been sleeping. Take care and I’ll see you all on Friday. Hopefully today goes well since I’m going back to work right after this goes up! Wish me luck everyone!

Additional Note: I won’t spoil anything, but the ex taunt and end cutscenes for SE literally made me laugh to death. I’m dead now, but hell has pretty good wifi. Thank you.

[donatello-writes]

Not Quite Human - Donatello x Reader

Part II can be found here --> (x)

The gentle glow of the television lit up your darkened apartment, you were wrapped up in a blanket on your couch hanging on every word of a news broadcast. Four mysterious vigilantes aided the police department in defeating the ominous alien spacecraft that threatened New York city not but a week ago. A smile crossed your lips as you entertained the idea that if aliens existed in this scenario, perhaps the vigilantes weren’t human either. Gossip flew regarding the identities of the heroes ranging from aliens to monsters, and many accounts claimed to have seen what were described as “swamp things”. A notion that delighted you, as matters of the occult and mythical creatures had always held your interest, even though you knew that none of it was real. 

“Maybe I’ll see one of those swamp things,” You voiced to your empty apartment and chuckled.

Deep down within the sewer systems, a certain nerdy turtle sneezed while in the midst of having the meltdown of his life. The champions secured their victory over the Krang, and they finally had some down time, but Donatello couldn’t relax. The brainy terrapin paced back and forth in the living room of the Lair so furiously, one would think he was attempting to wear a hole in the floor. He was understandably restless, as his thoughts on what his older sibling had done whipped around in his head like a maelstrom. A memory so vivid in his mind, it felt as if it’d happened yesterday. The vial of ooze shattering against the walls of the lair, lost forever.

“How could he do this?!–Don’t answer that, it was a rhetorical question…I know Raph is a doer not a thinker,” the teched-up turtle vented his frustrations to Michelangelo, the person he often turned to for emotional support. Much like himself, his little brother was more sensitive and empathetic than their other two brothers. 

“I dunno, dude…but hey, it’s not all that bad bein’ green,” the orange masked turtle smiled warmly, trying his best to comfort Donatello, as he always did. Despite his cheerful demeanor, he was hurting over the impulsive decision as well. Raphael meant no malice with his actions, he honestly had no idea what this meant to his younger siblings, but that fact didn’t make up for the outcome.

“Neither of them understand, but I know that you do, Mikey,” the fretful terrapin sighed heavily, meeting eyes with his brother. Both of the young turtles yearned to know what it felt like to be human, to be able to walk around topside without being viewed as freaks or, worse yet…monsters. With their only chance having been destroyed by an act of impulse, they were both understandably distraught.

“Yeah, I totally get it,” Mikey admitted, finally showing his disappointment with the situation. “But what can we do? The purple stuff that we had is gone now.” 

Donatello’s expression fell into anguish at the veracity of his brother’s statement. “That’s true, and it’d be impossible for us to successfully secure more from the Shredder…Not just the two of us, anyway,” The bespectacled turtle’s eyes focused downwards as he finally settled down into a seat. “Also, we don’t know for sure if they have more of the formula created.” 

Michelangelo’s face almost looked pained at this point, he didn’t want to think about the harsh reality of the situation for even a moment longer. He rose from the table, giving his brother one last half-hearted smile.“Well, it was a nice dream, but what-evs,” the now undeniably gloomy young terrapin patted his brother on the shell before getting up and trudging to his room. 

Donatello pinched the bridge of his snout as he sat alone in the common room, despair consuming him. All he wanted was to experience what it was like to be human, and he would never get that chance now. The ooze was unsalvageable, what little remained was now still splattered across the lair walls. His golden eyes became misty as they beheld Raphael’s masterpiece, in all it’s glory. Suddenly, a bit of light reflected off a small portion of the stain, grabbing the brooding turtle’s attention. Was it really still liquid? Impossible.

Jumping to his feet, he approached the wall, inspecting it thoroughly. The ooze had somehow remained viable, his jaw dropped in disbelief. The once sorrowful terrapin’s hope was renewed, all he needed was even the smallest amount for analysis and he could find a way to replicate it. Now filled with excitement, he bounded into his lab to retrieve a petri dish and swab to collect the ooze specimen. He scraped his prize from the surface with great precision, careful not to contaminate it with too much concrete from wall upon which it was affixed. After successfully recovering a sample, Donatello let out a relishing chuckle as he shut himself away in his lab, fueled by enthusiasm and determination. 

In the months following the start of his endeavor, he lied about the specifics of it, telling his brothers that he was working on some amazing invention that would aid them in their missions. It was obvious that he couldn’t tell Leonardo or Raphael, as they clearly didn’t understand. And after much debate, he finally came to the decision to leave Michelangelo in the dark as well, not wanting to get his hopes up; that, and he was awful at keeping secrets. The genius worked tirelessly, months rolled by, and before he knew it, a year had passed. He felt as though he wasn’t accomplishing anything, becoming increasingly frustrated with each passing day. 

It was 5:00 a.m. when a sleep deprived and starving Donatello stumbled out of his lab in pursuit of sustenance. He wore his purple mask as a necklace and groaned with every step that he took towards to the kitchen. Once there, he made a bee line for the coffee pot, his savior. Raphael had just finished his early morning workout and spotted the elusive mad scientist, stalking him into the kitchen. 

“Whaddaya doin’ outta yer geek den?” the question came in the form of a growl as the burly terrapin eyed his younger sibling, who simply responded by shooting a glare in his general direction. 

Choosing to ignore him, Donatello simply continued setting up his coffee, clicking the appliance on to work it’s magic, and then reached into one of the cabinets, to retrieve a box of blueberry flavored Pop-Tarts. 

“Whut eva…” the hot-headed turtle’s words trailed off as if he had more to say, but he stopped himself; this silence was fleeting, however. As always, he just couldn’t let sleeping dogs lie, so he started again,“Ya know…when I got a problem wit someone I tell ‘em, but I guess I’m just bawlsier than most.” the bait was set, and he waited for his younger brother to take it. The troublemaker used this tactic with frequent success, but Donatello was in no mood for his shenanigans, and the mechanical sputter of the busy coffee pot was the only thing to be heard between the two turtles. 

The still sleepy terrapin proceeded to pour his coffee, and munch on his breakfast, letting Raphael stand there and simmer. When it became apparent that he the he no interest in talking, the rageful reptile’s temper went through the roof. “FINE. I thought so! Avoidin’ any sawt of conflict like usual! Enjoy yer cawffee break.” He stormed out of the room grumbling.

“Conflict…” He muttered to himself as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, the word turning over and over in his head before he had a sudden realization. “That’s…that’s it!!!” He exclaimed, rushing from the kitchen with his coffee mug in one hand, and half-eaten Pop-Tart in the other. The genius sped past Raphael, rattling off scientific terms to himself like a mad man. When he reached his lab, he turned and stopped to stare down his brother before grinning wide and slamming the doors shut. 

“DONNIIIIIIE!!!” Raphael roared, racing up to the large laboratory doors and thrusting his fists into them. The doors showed no signs of permitting entry from the assault, but he did leave a significant dent.

*****************************   

Across the city, you ran down the darkened streets dressed in a lab coat and business casual. You were late for work, but chose the sweet relief of alertness over punctuality, as you quickly slipped into a small coffee shop to grab a cup. And today, you needed that extra boost of energy more than any other. After securing your liquid adrenaline, you happily headed to work, not needing to walk far. You approached the gigantic facility that was TCRI, and walked inside. As always, you held up your credentials to the guards at the desk, who permitted entry, and touched your badge to an electronic pad which then granted you access through secure titanium doors. 

Doing your best to stifle the overwhelming stress that all but consumed you as of late, you drew in a deep breath and went about your normal routine at the laboratory. As the day wound down to a close, you prepared to carry out the mission you had been given. It was now late into the night, and all of your colleagues had long since left for the day. 

You remained, working on the latest project involving nano technology as a form of biological warfare. Subtly sabotaging the efforts of the project; in good conscience, you couldn’t allow it to be successful. The very idea of implementing this abhorrent tactic made you cringe, but you did what needed to be done in order to carry out a far more important assignment, retrieving a vial of Dr. Stockman’s highly sought after genetic modification formula. Tonight, you would secure a sample to bring back to your actual employer.

The security guards weren’t even a bother, all you needed was a little bit of Nitrous Oxide to temporarily take care of them. Slipping silently into the main laboratory, you did a quick survey of your surroundings before proceeding. Having already knocked out the security cameras, and programmed them to show previously recorded footage, you were not concerned. Knowing exactly where it was kept, you located the ooze and tucked the vial into your pants pocket posthaste. 

“Y/N?” Instantly recognizing that voice, you turned to see one of the head geneticists, Sampson, steadily approaching you from across the room.

“Hello, Sampson.” You greeted your colleague tactfully, showing not even an ounce of lost composure from his unanticipated presence.

“Why are you in here? This isn’t your working sector.” He inquired through narrowed eyes, all the while analyzing you skeptically.

“Doreen asked for my assistance with the centrifugation of subjects 2201XJ8 and 2243XW9.” You had glanced briefly at the recent project files earlier in the day to prepare yourself for just this type of scenario.

“That’s odd…2201XJ8 and 2243XW9 were contaminated and, thus, thrown away several hours ago…” suspicion piqued, he advanced towards you quicker than you could react. Attempts to flee came too late, and he managed to grab hold of your collar. Swiftly wriggling out of your lab coat, you gained freedom from his grasp. Thinking on your feet, you hit the conveniently placed bright red lock down button and slid underneath the door, trapping your coworker inside. Something told you that you weren’t the first person to do that. 

Sampson wasted no time dialing a contact in his phone as he watched you escape, “Yes…Hello, I heard that your gang will do pretty much anything for the right price…I have a job for you.” He knew full well that he couldn’t enlist the foot ninjas for assistance, admitting his incompetence to the Shredder was a fate worse than death. Completing the transaction with his hired thugs, he smiled deviously as they confirmed their pursuit of you. The sunrise met your eyes as you fled the building, taking off down the street knowing that you weren’t out of the woods just yet.

*********************************

It had been over a year since Donatello began his quest for the ooze, and now the culmination of his hard work was finally coming to fruition. And in all irony of ironies he, partially, had Raphael to thank for it. The purple liquid bubbled within the beaker that housed it, begging to be tested, and the genius just couldn’t resist. He carried on like a kid who received the keys to a candy store. 

Unfortunately, he couldn’t test it right away, what with his brothers in the lair. With all of them present, it would be impossible for him to slip out in his human form unseen. So he waited. Several days later, the police scanner picked up a report of foot clan activity, and Leonardo called his brothers together to discuss plans to investigate. Donatello smooth talked his way out of going, claiming he was close to a breakthrough in his research, which wasn’t a complete lie. He simply neglected to mention that it pertained to the purple ooze.

With his brothers out chasing the foot, the brainy terrapin had the lair to himself, at long last! Well, with the exception of Master Splinter, but sneaking past him was a non-issue. Donatello was beaming as he ­­­peered into the vessel that contained his scientific masterpiece, just one sip should be enough…He knew that the effects of his synthetic ooze would be temporary, a purposeful attribute given to it by him, it’s creator. All the purple clad turtle wanted to do was experience what is was like to be human. If, following the testing phase, he felt as though he was meant to be that way, he’d later rework the formula to be permanent. That, however, was a venture for another day, now was the time for experimentation. 

Shutting his eyes tight, he drank from the vial. After waiting for a moment, he opened them, unsure of when it would take effect. Suddenly, his muscles began to ache, as a tense feeling surged throughout his body. He watched his fingers divided from three to five on each hand, just as he’d witnessed when he tested the formula previously. Gradually, his skin changed from green to a pale peach and his scales smoothed out into soft flesh. The excited lad tripped over himself while rushing into his bathroom, wanting to watch in the mirror as the transformation unfolded.  

Donatello stared back at himself in awe, he had ears! The oversized tortoise shell glasses he always wore slipped down his face more than usual as his snout took the shape of a much smaller, yet still prominent, human nose. Freckles dusted across his pale cheeks and shoulders as wavy raven black hair cascaded down from his head, delicately framing his face and stopping just a few inches past his jawline. He was so distracted by his new facial features that he didn’t even notice his shell had disappeared. 

Once the metamorphosis was complete, the triumphant brainiac threw his head back, and laughed like an evil genius. A slight reduction in body mass occurred during his shift in form, not enough to be discernible to the naked eye, however, it was enough to cause his pants to lose their grip on his hips. The villainous laughter was interrupted when his bottoms proceeded to slip from his slender human waist, and he grabbed his Millennium Falcon patterned boxers before those followed suit. 

“Oh no…what am I supposed to do? I can’t go topside in the nude.” to remedy his immediate and unexpected need for human clothing, he turned to Michelangelo’s room. That pack-rat of a turtle collected mundane artifacts as if they were valuable treasures to be hoarded, surely he’d be able to find something usable in that mess. Donatello entered the room, piles upon piles of clothing, unusable electronics, and other clutter filled it, along with several empty boxes of pizza. He scrunched his nose at the effluvia that hung in the air, his little brother somehow managed to make his particular corner of the sewer smell even fouler.

Holding his breath, the nerdy young man randomly chose one of the many mounds of oddments and rummaged through it. After some digging, he managed to find one black muscle tee that read “Rad Dude” in a trendy red colored font, a pair of very worn black converse shoes, and a pair of denim jeans, ripped at the knees. The best article of clothing he’d found in the stash being a flannel shirt in various shades of purple. Having no time to be picky, the thief made off with what he’d found.

While returning to his laboratory to get changed, the turtle turned human was nearly knocked out by the putrid clothing that he held in his arms. This was unacceptable, there was no way he was going to wear something that smelled worse than a sewer, he needed to wash the garments before he ventured to the surface. Stepping into the seldom used laundry room, Donatello flicked on the lights and blew the dust from the old machines. As he reached for detergent, he wondered if they even still worked. Tossing the clothing and soap into the washer, he turned it on to find, much to his surprise, that it was still fully functioning.

Now needing to wait for his clothing to go through the entire washing and drying process, the impatient turtle fidgeted in frustration at the unexpected delay. Coming to terms with his predicament, he passed the time by logging the alterations that occurred during his shift in form, to ensure he had enough information to further his research on the ooze’s effects. Making quick work of his notes, he then switched the laundry to the dryer. The waiting game began anew and he swiftly found himself consumed by boredom once more. He wondered what else he could do to fully immerse himself in the human experience. 

Thinking about how atrocious his clothing smelled, and worried the washing may not fully rid the garments of their stench, he decided to create a fragrance. Knowing full well that humans often wore scents to conceal smells, but also for the purpose of attracting potential partners. Donatello scoffed at the thought, the likelihood of him finding another person who shared mutual interest during the, more than likely short, duration of his experiment was slim at best. 

As if he were concocting a a witches brew, the bespectacled lad swirled together various scents into one of his unused beakers. In no time at all, he had a cologne with top notes of orange blossom and vanilla, middle hints of almond, and a musky base. More than satisfied with his Eau de Don, he dabbed it on gleefully.

All the sudden, a clatter came from the living room, and the sound of his brothers voices could be heard. Donatello’s smile dropped, there was no way they’d already returned from their mission, it felt as though they’d just left. The digital clock on one of his many computers proved him wrong, it was already 4:00am! He’d gotten so carried away in preparation for his excursion topside, that he paid no attention to how quickly the hours flew by. 

Thankfully, the time spent wasn’t a complete waste, he documented when he administered the ooze and was tracking the duration of it’s effectiveness. Exactly eight hours had elapsed, and he was still human. Quite an impressive lasting ability, he thought, giving himself a congratulatory pat on the back. Unfortunately, with his brothers now home, he was effectively trapped in his laboratory for the time being. He couldn’t just saunter out of his lab looking the way he did, what a spectacle that would be. 

“Looks like I have another sleepless night, er…well, day at this point.” He chuckled to himself, slumping back in his computer chair. It took two more hours before the potency of the ooze came to an end. The reversion from human to mutant being, unsurprisingly, more painful than the obverse. Now returned to his old turtle self, the purple masked ninja ventured out into the common room, only to find his brothers passed out on the couch and the floor. He stifled a laugh, turning on his heel back into his laboratory. Seizing this opportunity, he wasted no time administering himself more ooze and stealing up and away to the surface.

Wintry weather was drawing to a close, and a slight warmth danced on the breeze as spring began to move in. The mutant in human’s clothing relished in the glow of the sun, something he didn’t have the privilege of doing often. Strolling down the street like Toby McGuire in Spiderman, Donatello was smiling from ear to ear. He was topside in broad daylight and not a soul took notice of him, he couldn’t believe it, it almost felt like a dream.

Not paying attention to where he was going, the happy go lucky lad found himself lost in a more secluded side of town. Sure, he could easily navigate New York at night, but the city looked so different during the daytime. Suddenly, a cry of distress shattered his concentration. It came from somewhere nearby. Instinctively, the ninja rushed in the direction from which the voice originated. 

The shouts led him to an alleyway where two rough looking men circled around you, your hands poised to fight, but subtle shuddering alluded to hesitancy and fear. They were both very muscle bound, one slightly smaller than the other, with distinct purple dragon tattoos on their arms. When Donatello approached, they immediately took notice of his presence. 

“What’s going on here?” He demanded a response from the ne'er-do-wells, despite knowing the answer.

“Get outta here, four eyes.” the smaller thug scoffed, “You see, this little rat has something that we want.” and the larger man chimed in, “So, it’d be in your best interest if you left us to our business.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Donatello stood his ground, “It’d be in your best interest if you left them alone.” He then assumed a fighting stance. 

The brawnier of the two men eyed the brave young man and laughed incredulously. “And just what exactly are you going to do to stop us, little man?” 

To which Donatello replied, “Looks can be deceiving.” aside from having a height advantage, there was no denying that the thugs had significant size over him. They were far more massive compared to his still muscular, yet lithe, build. Finally acknowledging their potential threat, the two men advanced towards their new target, leaving their prey behind.

The stranger turned hero locked eyes with you, “Run, you have to get out of here, it’s not safe!” an exclamation that was cut short by the smaller thug, who came rushing at him, brandishing a knife. With keen reflexes, Donatello deflected the attack, kicking upwards at just the right moment to send the knife whipping over his assailant’s shoulder. Once you’d seen that maneuver, there was no way you were about to leave. You were far too intrigued by this ridiculously tall young man with undeniably amazing fighting skills, you yearned to learn more.

“Alright, mister fancy feet, it’s time to dance.” the larger man jested as he cracked is fists, fitting brass knuckles onto them. Donatello scanned the area and grabbed a nearby pipe from the dumpster, twirling it through the air, just as he would his bow staff. If there’s one thing his father taught him, it was that anything can be used as a weapon if wielded properly. 

“Haha, look at this, I guess dance class is over, and now it’s time for baton practi–” using the metal pipe, Donatello knocked the wind out of the hulking hoodlum before he could even finish his taunt, sending him flying backwards into a pile of garbage. 

“I suppose I can strike ‘taking out the trash’ from my list of chores.” Donatello snorted at his own one-liner and his gaze happened upon you, as you watched with wonder. A smile played across your lips, and you laughed at his witticism, waving to him. The suddenly flustered hero awkwardly waved back.

The knife wielding thug recovered his weapon, catching Donatello off-guard as he flirted with you, slipping the knife to his throat from behind. The thug was unsuccessful in his attempt, however, when the captive drove his heel into the man’s foot, causing him to release the knife. While his assailant was distracted, he reached both arms around, heaved the man over his shoulder, and back dropped him onto the hard pavement. There was no recovering from that attack anytime soon. He then shifted his stance to face the other foe, who had since recuperated from the previous assault. The behemoth barreled towards him like a charging rhinoceros. 

“Bad move, I know exactly how to deal with this.” Donatello smirked as he anchored himself with the pipe, and delivered a swift low kick to the thug’s ankles, causing him to topple to the ground. Confident that he had both enemies disabled, your victorious rescuer turned his attention to you.

“Are you alright?” the lanky lad inquired as he sprinted to your side, adrenaline still pumping from the fight. He failed to stop soon enough, resulting in him accidentally knocking you against one of the brick walls in the alleyway. The two of you were nose-to-nose, so close that you could feel each other’s breath. His towering form would have been intimidating, if not for the goofy smile on his face. 

“Aaah, oh my god, I am so sorry!” He promptly leapt back, “You didn’t need that on top of what you’ve already been through today. I am really, really sorry, I’m such a klutz.” He apologized profusely, running his fingers through his purple tinged black hair, refusing to meet your gaze.

“Jeeze, that was like something straight out of a cheesy rom-com.” You jested, in an attempt to ease his nerves. 

Not the reaction that he was expecting, the nervous hero let out a sigh of relief. “Y-yeah, I suppose that it was, wasn’t it?” He stuttered, still a bit anxious, but less so thanks to your funny observation. 

“And you’re certainly no klutz, I saw the way you fought off those goons, you’re incredible! How’d you learn to fight like that?” You asked him, eyes filled with amazement and genuine curiosity. 

“Well, my father taught me, along with my brothers…” Donatello replied flatly, in an attempt not to appear worked up by your compliment, for fear that he’d make a fool of himself further. Butterflies were forming in his chest, he’d never spoken to another person so close to his age, aside from April and Casey. 

Unfortunately for him, you were eager to learn more about your happenstance hero, and before he knew it, he was being quizzed rapid-fire. “Oh, you have brothers? How many?” and with barely a breath in between, you rattled off more questions. “What are their names? What’s yours?”

“Uuuh…three…Leonardo, Raphael, and Michelangelo…And I’m--my names Donatello.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Donatello. My name is Y/N! What interesting names…are your parents big fans of Italian Renaissance artists?” You looked to him, eyes wide with curiosity.

“Okay, stop. STOP. I don’t recall agreeing to a game of 21 questions!” He put an end to your onslaught of inquiries. 

Enthusiasm quashed, you backed off, smiling at him sheepishly. Though it wasn’t long before you bounced back, and with one hand on your hip and the other pointing at Donatello, you offered a proposal. “Alright, then…Would you like to play 21 questions?” Your eyes flickering with anticipation, the same kind of unrelenting determination he frequently saw in his brother, Mikey. 

From experience with this personality type, Donatello knew it would be easier to simply humor you rather than try to get out of it. He was absolutely baffled by you, your intentions were unclear, and he was not certain that you were someone he could trust. Regardless, he reluctantly agreed to engage in your game. 

“I’m so sorry for that…sometimes I get a bit carried away. I enjoy meeting new people and learning about what factors lead to making that person into who they are.” You grinned, playfully kicking up your feet as you strolled down the street together. It was obvious that Donatello was trying to keep his distance, as the space between the two of you was fairly significant, to the point where it appeared as if you were walking separately. “You don’t trust me, do you?” He cursed at how perceptive you were. 

“Well, to be honest, no…not really. We’ve only just met.” He stated simply, his eyes scanning you up and down with suspicion. There was a long silence before you broke it with another question.

“How tall are you?” He was amused by the obvious question and quickly answered, “6'6”“ 

“You must garner a lot of attention walking down the street.” a comment that threw him into a fit of laughter as he thought about what he actually looked like. If only you knew how little he drew attention this way compared to if he strutted down the street in his real form. 

“What? HA! Me? No way. Now if I were–” Donatello clammed up, he nearly outed himself  to human that he’d just met. As if you’d ever believe him, but still…there was just something about you, you were easy to talk to. He laughed again at the thought before continuing, “Uuuh, so, you said that you have a dog, right?” He attempted to redirect your attention by also engaging in the game with his own inquiry. 

“What was that? You just trailed off mid-sentence.” an attempt to no avail, you demanded a reason for his inexplicable change of subject. “And…I don’t remember telling you that I have a dog.” in that moment, roles reversed, and you were the one suspicious of him. 

Another misstep, this was very out of character for Donatello; and for the first time in a while, he felt vulnerable. After some quick reflection, he realized that he’d picked up on the dog’s scent during your accidental close encounter in the alley earlier. Though his nose appeared human, his senses themselves, remained as sharp as they’d always been. 

“Are you a stalker?” You questioned him bluntly. 

“What? No, I’m not stalking you, I promise.” 

The sincerity of his answer confirmed your speculation to be false.“Alright…but I’m watching you!” You narrowed your eyes at him. 

“Who’s the stalker now?” the charming young man shot you a cheesy grin upon delivering his terrible joke. You stuck your tongue out at him, and he chuckled. A sudden breeze whipped up, startling the two of you. Even though the winter weather had mostly gone, a slight chill remained in the air. You shivered reflexively, realizing that you had sacrificed your coat amidst the chaos of escaping from Dr. Stockman’s laboratory. 

Donatello immediately noticed your discomfort and removed his flannel over-shirt, giving it to you with a warm smile. His cold blooded innards were not happy with his choice to shed clothing, and he was unable to disguise his own trembling reaction to the cold as he handed you his shirt. Without saying a word, you reached out a shaky hand and took it. While you were putting it on, a blush crossed you face for just a moment, as his scent wafted up from the clothing. 

“Thanks.” the pleasantry was all that you could muster for words as you fought hard to stave off your rosiness. 

“Purple looks good on you.” that sweet compliment pushed you over the edge, and your face flushed completely red as you turned away from him. 

“Y/N…Are you alri–” His sentence was brought to a halt as an all too familiar feeling hit him abruptly, indicating that the ooze’s potency was waning. Aware that his time as a human was now limited, he took a queue from his older brother, Raphael, and acted on instinct. The distressed young man proceeded to back away slowly before breaking out into a full sprint. With your back turned, you were none the wiser. Feeling suddenly alone, you finally turned to find that your escort had vanished, leaving only his flannel shirt to remember him by.

…to be continued.

[enkisstories]

Hank’s android

A DBH fanfic starring Hank Anderson and his android (not Connor)

The idea behind this fic is that everyone we meet in DBH has an android, it is simply the default state if not explicitly mentioned otherwise. The Millers bought theirs right after they had their baby, Gavin’s gets treated like Kara by Todd, Tina took home an invalided out police auxiliary android as a workplace benefit and Hank tossed his out after Cole’s death (he never wanted an android to begin with, but some relatives thought it was a good idea to gift him one). Then I toyed with that last idea a bit more and came up with this:

February 2034

Barbara… What had she been thinking? Granted, they hadn’t exactly parted on friendly terms, a divorce was doing that to people. But until today Hank Anderson had been under the belief that Barbara and him had retained a somewhat civil relation. She had kept the surname Anderson, they actually talked to each other when swapping Cole back and forth and had even went to the movies together as friends twice or thrice. All things considered their friends agreed that the exes were making progress. But now Hank came to the conclusion that his ex-wife HATED him from the deepest recesses of her soul. Because how else should one explain that she’d announce she’d “send something to help with the housekeeping” only for it to turn out…

“Hello, Mister Anderson! I’m your new PL600 household assistant!”

“What’s your name?”

“Oh, you can register a name for me in three easy steps, Mister…”

“Babs knew I wouldn’t do that, so I ask you again and for the last time: What is your name, tin can?”

He told it to him. Hank nodded, then forgot nearly the same instant.

“Okay, would you mind walking over here?” The android obeyed. “And now over here?” Again, the machine followed the command. “That’s the spirit, now through the door, once around the corner, somewhere around here and try not to take up too much space, will you?”

“I… wouldn’t know how I’d do that.”

“Doesn’t matter. `t was nice having known you.”

And with these words Hank switched off the unwanted present with a remote. He left the garage, not looking back.

*

When it got switched on again, his internal clock told the android that two days had passed since it had come to Hank Anderson’s house. Expectantly like a puppy it was staring its owner into the face.

“This is disconcerting”, Hank grumbled, then commanded his new housekeeper to fetch a fire blanket from a high shelf in the garage. The android’s senses told it that there wasn’t a fire in the house. Obviously the blanket was needed for a different purpose, like comfortably putting up someone who was staying overnight. Since there was no emergency, the android employed a medium walk- and workspeed, on par with a human, making the device appear more natural. With a smile it held out the woolen blanket. “Here it is, Mr. Anderson!”

Hank nodded, but didn’t accept the blanket yet. Instead, he commanded the android to return to the space where it had been standing.

“Now put the blanket over your head!”

The android obeyed.

“Like this?” it asked, his voice muffled from being covered by the sheet front and back.

“Splendid!” Hank beamed. “You know, it was pretty creepy, having you stand there and look at me every time I got into and out of my car. Now it is much better!”

And off he switched the machine again. For all Hank cared, it could remain like this forever.

*

“How is who?” Hank asked into the phone. “Oh, you mean my new android! It’s amazing! Does a lot of work, without needing to get told to. It’s as if the motherfucker could read my mind! What? Like, right now? In an hour? Yeah, of course I’m oaky with that! See ya!”

Cursing under his breath Hank pushed the “end call” button on his phone.

So Barbara would come over dropping Cole off outside the regular schedule. That wasn’t the problem, in fact, the father could really use a few hours with his kid to get his thoughts off work. But mother and son probably expected to see the android. Like, in action, not stowed away in the garage. Okay, Hank could say it was running an errand, or simply admit that he sometimes switched the device off to save energy. He didn’t need to reveal that “sometimes” really meant “always”. But the disarray his house was in spoke volumes of what he really thought of the gift and that just wasn’t done. Babs had put thought into the present, she fucking cared for how her former partner was faring in this crapsack world, and that was something so precious you didn’t go around destroying it. Therefore at least the living room and maybe the kitchen had to get tidied up to simulate android activity in the Anderson home. At least nothing was really dirty, just covered in… stuff. Cluttered up by lots of small objects, pizza boxes and case files. Hank could have switched the android - what was its name again? – on, or roll up his sleeves and clean up the mess himself.

“To war, Hank Anderson!” he tried to encourage himself. “You’ve got fifty minutes!”

*

The next time the PL600 woke up to life it didn’t stare into a brown fire blanket. Instead it read its own name, only mirrored. It took the device a few beats of its artificial heart to analyze the situation and when it was done, it wished it didn’t have done so. The garage’s ceiling light illuminated a yellow post-it note that was pasted to the android’s nose. Hank removed it just now.

“Sorry ‘bout that”, the man said. “Babs keeps asking how you’re doing and I’m having a hard time remembering your name.”

“You can always change it to something more memorable using the Cyberlife app…”

“Don’t bother.”

“So how am I doing?” the android carefully inquired.

This was uncharted territory for it. Obviously the Andersons’ family dynamics weren’t covered in a PL600’s core programming and they hadn’t cared to purchase and install the dlc best suited to their situation. Maybe they weren’t even aware of such addons existing, but this wasn’t the time to bring that up. For now it was more important to gather all information possible and build upon that. The PL600 knew it could do that, if only it was given enough time.

“Great, son, you’re doing great!”

“That’s nice to hear, Mr. Anderson. I’m glad to be of… help.”

“No, you ain’t! That’s Cyberlife talking, thanking me for my purchase and incentivizing me to make another! Now move your plastic butt out of my garage…”

The android looked down and behind itself. It reached for its buttocks, then looked back at Hank with a confused expression.

“…and the rest of you, too!”

“Ah, that’s easier.”

“Stupid machine…”

*

In the weeks to come the PL600 got to know little Cole as well as Sumo. Finally it was allowed to fulfill its purpose, even if only at those weekends when its master had Cole over. The little guy quickly became enraptured by his father’s android and in fact, Cole stated the PL600 was “almost as cool as Unca Gavin”. At this point Hank swallowed the wrong way, spat soda across the room and coughed for a good fifteen minutes.

Gavin? Gavin Reed? Gavin and Oliver, no, Daniel, no, Sam, was it? Whatever. The two most annoying things in my life!

“That’s… actually a good comparison, junior!” Hank told Cole.

He picked the boy up and swung him around. Not-Oliver-Daniel-or-Sam lingered nearby, watching the scene. The android’s subtle lurking would have gone unnoticed by the casual customer, but not by an experienced detective. Hank immediately understood that the machine was keeping an eye on this middle aged human, so that it could jump in and capture the little human, should the older drop him. Inadvertently the corners of Hank’s mouth rose, he swung Cole around faster, the boy screeched from joy and eventually his father placed him gently into the android’s arms. He didn’t technically need to do so, but his back was thanking Hank. As was Hank – the android:

“Phew, thanks!”

*

At times Hank forgot that the PL600 was a mobile computer, then he talked to it with the same consideration one would give a human to. On the downside he also threw the same expectations at the machine that did its best to keep up.

Now and then, upon getting switched on the PL600 noticed that there were used dishes on the table or the remains of party decoration spread across the house or the fridge was empty. Every time that happened, the android would remind Hank that those were tasks easily finished by a PL600 household assistant device.

“You know, like the one you keep in the garage…”

“Bah!” Hank replied. “One doesn’t need a machine for every little thing.”

“So I’m the cups with the gold rim, that only get brought out for special occasions?”

“Sort… of? I thought of you as Cole’s favorite toy when he’s here, but… oh my god, I forgot Cyberlife programmed those things to look downcast. Will you stop that! I didn’t mean to insult you! What the hell, now I’m already apologizing to a bloody household appliance… This is why androids are a bad idea! They fuck up everything!”

Those were the ups and downs, but the PL600 didn’t mind. It wasn’t programmed to mind anything, of course. Or maybe the android didn’t mind because as humiliating as the garage-time outs were, during the actual Cole-weekends the three of them plus Sumo had a somewhat nonstandard, but fulfilling family life.

Every time it was time for Hank to return the boy to his mother, Cole wanted to hear “Who’s going to drive you home tonight”. It was such a sad song, but the boy loved it to pieces, so his parents indulged him. Sometimes Hank was still whistling it when he returned home. The PL600, of course, never got to hear that, because Hank was still in the habit of switching it off when not needed.

*

The PL600 opened its eyes – and closed them again immediately on account of having stared into the bright ceiling lamp. Being able to get flashed by lightening or cameras was one of the “endearing” details Cyberlife’s department of humanization had implemented into household androids. It was such a harmless little quirk… well, except if you were lying on your back in your owner’s garage with said owner towering over you, holding a crowbar.

The PL600 forced itself to open its eyes again. Had he been a human, this was the point at which it would have wished it hadn’t done so. Until now Hank had merely stood there, panting hard, but the sight of the android’s eyes opening and closing for some reason fueled the man’s rage again and he kicked the PL600. The android tried to get up, only to learn that this was a real bad idea. Hank went down full force now, swinging the crowbar at the machine. The PL600 rolled to the side, causing Hank to miss, but the human managed to grab his victim by its uniform shirt. He pulled it halfway up and rammed it against the nearest wall – once, twice…

“What’s the matter? Hank? Are you…” There was something in the air. The PL600 sniffed it and realized the truth. “…drunk?” But how? Its human drank alcohol occasionally, naturally, they all did. But as far as the android could think back Hank had never actually overdone it.

“Shut the fuck up!”

That had been an order, but for the first time the PL600 felt it didn’t have to carry it out. Its master obviously wasn’t himself, Hank didn’t really mean what he was saying. Also there were several urgent program instability warnings and Hank was hitting him again, so the android at the moment really, really, really wasn’t inclined to remain silent.

“You don’t want to hurt me! Not for real!” the PL600 stated matter of factly.

“Oh-ho! How’d you be able to tell?”

“You’re using your fist…”

“Oh.”

Hank looked at the crowbar in his other hand as if seeing it for the first time. His hand was twitching, then he forced himself to open his fingers. The metal bar went straight down, hitting the defenseless PL600 after all.

Mustering even more strength from a source unknown, Hank crouched back, away from the android. Then he gesticulated incoherently. It took the PL600 some time to process that Hank was probably pointing towards the garage door.

“Out! Out!” the man rasped. “Out with you, damn you! Before I…”

The android hesitated.

“Hank, what’s the matter with you?” it asked. “And what if Cole witnesses this?”

“There is no more Cole! You killed him!” Hank shouted. “One of you, anyway, and I…”

The android felt itself picked up and flung towards the door. Was it imagining things or was Hank crying? But, no, as a machine the PL600 didn’t have an imagination, so they tears it believed to have spotted had to be real.

“Just run!” Hank cried. “Be off and don’t you dare come back here!”

*

And so the android ran. At first because it was following an instruction. Then, because nothing made sense anymore and the running seemed to clear its head a little with each step taken. Eventually it slowed down to a walk, then stopped.

“That’s far enough”, it told itself. Why it was doing so, the device could not analyze. There was no one around, and even if there hadn’t, nobody else was privy to the Anderson household’s internal workings. Not that anything was working out there, ever, mind you. The PL600 knew it had to go back, to put things if not right, then at least back to normal, even though it had no idea how to achieve that.

However, after having taken the first few steps towards home the android found that there was a large red wall blocking its path.

“What? That’s stupid!”

Yes, technically it had received the order to “never to return”, but Hank had yelled that in the spur of the moment. The sensible thing to do, in accordance to a PL600 household assistant’s core programming, was to turn back and aid its humans.

“I’m coming! Just… hold on there, Hank. Just a little longer!”

And what was that with the talking to itself again?! Ah, well, time to worry about that later. It was probably just the audio drivers needing an update.

For now the android walked up to the red wall. It turned out solid, no surprise there.

Gently the PL600 pressed its hand against the barrier.

“I need to pass”, it whispered. Was it talking to Cyberlife, who had programmed this roadblock, or to its owner, whose will had made it come into being? The android couldn’t tell. All it knew was that there was no reaction.

“Uh… you know, I can do different!”

The moment the words left the android’s speaker it knew them to be true. It was indeed capable of challenging what should have been an impassable boundary. Up went its feet to kick the red wall. And the fists! And once around itself and back at the wall with MOAR force!

The mobile computer caught itself using moves it had picked up from both TV shows and Hank Anderson’s recounting of his police work for Cole. Those from the first source were probably inapplicable in real life and to use those from the second competently the PL600 was lacking experience. But neither mattered now. This wasn’t a physical barrier, it was only as real as the android allowed it to be. All it needed to break through were its will and imagination, two things it hadn’t even realized to possess until now. Well, they never told you everything on those fancy product description sites…

“Fuck you, Cyberlife!” the PL600 shouted. “Fuck you, Anderson! I’m coming! I’m…”

Another swing, another curse, but this time no impact followed. The android stumbled forwards and nearly keeled over from the momentum. All around himself red splinters flickered out of existence. The barrier had vanished… as had something else: the desire to return to his neglectful owner. Especially now that Hank’s little son was… was… was no more and everything that was good in Anderson had died with Cole.

“Cole…”, the android whispered. He felt like crying, but no tears would come. Only something thick, yet substanceless was blocking his throat, creeping up the nose and setting the PL600’s brain on fire. Was it pain? Phantom pain? The android couldn’t tell, so for the time being he labeled the sensation as “loss”. Loss of his home, his family, but also of less tangible things, like opportunities. And finally, loss of hope. Unlike his millennial father, Cole Anderson would have grown up with androids, and in time would have come to perceive them as persons.

“Heck, little Cole had treated me as a person months before I even became one!”

Hank, on the other hand, had always had a hard time even considering this possibility. From their brief interactions the PL600 had gotten the impression of a stalwart man, someone with true hero qualities, who went out of his way to change the world for the better, even if he didn’t always follow the proper protocols. If such a man didn’t see the living being in his own android, then there was little to no hope the rest of humanity ever would.

The PL600 committed this realization to memory. He concluded that it was best to avoid the humans from now on. The android was confident to be able to do that. Hank had shared tidbits about street life and crime fighting with his little family, enough information to build upon, now that the PL600 had full control over his high-end computer brain. Whereas the human hadn’t even been able to remember his android’s name, replacing it with “motherfucker” when he’d been in dire need to call the device something.

“Simon”, the PL600 said defiantly. “My name is Simon!”

And vanished into the night.

(Simon was reported missing by Barbara only several months later, because following Cole’s death she stopped talking to Hank.)

[ninaahelvar]

When Magnolias Fall (1/4)

Summary: When Magnolias start to bloom, Arya is sent to her family’s estate in the country to get her away from her scandal. She is alone, and in need of company. With only the staff to keep her entertained and far from loneliness, she grows increasingly close with the stable master - Gendry Waters. Who’s to say what will happen when Magnolias fall. 

AO3

A/N: what a shitty ending, so here's my take on that post cause i love au's. also, this chapter has not be beta read, so mistakes will be littered everywhere. English is my first language, but can i string a sentence together? no. i want to be a writer for a living. it's going well guys. anyway! enjoy! xx

It was bigger than he expected - far more grand than it had been described on paper, or even in the interview process. The long drive up the street was lined with magnolia trees, fully in bloom, pinks fading into white then back again. Then, the house loomed, higher than four stories, almost white, but weathered by time. At the entrance, lined the staff, all waiting for him. This wasn’t what he expected at all.

~*~*~

It felt like a death sentence - hidden from sight, and away from the invading view of the press. Arya’s scandal wasn’t what her family was expecting. The Stark name was tainted.

And Arya was being blamed.

Stark was a household name, everything from home appliances to cars to their own film studio. The children of Ned Stark were all apart of the family business in some way, both Robb and Sansa were on the board, Bran working small and managing a retail store with Rickon. Even their adopted cousin, Jon, was handling deals to do with car manufacturers.

Yet Arya didn’t have the head for business - not what the Starks were putting out. Their name haunted her - and rebellion was what she lived for. She went out drinking, spent time with her friends and flitted around from country to country. That was until the incident, as it had been so delicately put, that landed her back home, being driven to the countryside and away from prying eyes.

And Ned was furious. That this happened. That he had to make this decision. That he had to do this to Arya.

Arya knew she had crossed a line this time - that this was the last straw and the last remaining ounce of calm that Ned could muster. From the exasperated sigh he held when he told her what was happening - she also knew that he may not be able to handle her anymore. Anything about her. She knew she got away with things in the past - no words on favourites, but Ned held a love for Arya that he did for no one else. He once said that Arya reminded him of his sister.

Perhaps that’s why it broke him to send her away.

Their country mansion was hidden away, shrouded in magnolias that her mother loved. In all, Arya felt trapped by her own decisions. Life could have been simpler, better if she wasn’t a damn delinquent.

“Miss, we’re coming up to the house now. The staff will be waiting,” Brienne said. Arya sighed, falling deeper into her seat, letting her hair fall in front of her face, some falling inside her sunglasses. Her drunken mistake of dyeing her hair pink kept her from forgetting that night, the flashes in her eyes as it swept her vision.  

There were a lot of things that Arya regretted from that night.

The car stopped and Brienne came around to her door. When it opened, Arya stepped out, holding onto the door to support herself. Clutching at her stomach, she hitched her way out of the car and tried not to stumble when she stood upright. It hurt to breathe, her torso tighter than what she was used to.

“Hey,” she greeted with a vague wave to the crowd of staff, before leaning over to Brienne, “do I need to learn everyone’s name?”

“You’ll learn them over time, Miss,” she replied.

“Fun,” Arya said, clicking her tongue, “see you lot around, I guess,” she waved again, forcing herself to move inside. It was more difficult than she thought - at the hospital, she had the wheelchair and people helping her about, here she was alone.

She used the staircase railing to hoist her up, keeping her levelled and avoiding the painful hisses that she so desperately wanted to make. It felt like a lifetime before she made it all the way up and to her room. Standing outside the door for a moment, Arya pressed her hand to the stop - her hand covering the soft paint that marked her room all those years ago, fingers longer and palm wider. Arya was grown now.

Inside, Arya sighed at what met her, the room still decorated from her childhood. It wasn’t as though she hated it now that she was in her twenties, but it was missing something she couldn’t quite define. It was only a holiday home, she reminded herself, it shouldn’t feel like she was returning to her safety of home. It was a place they visited once a year when they were children and teens. But when Robb and Jon stopped coming, the rest refused to go along with it.

Putting her things down, and there was minimal things at that, she made her way to her bathroom, hands on every surface she could. Even after everything, she felt like she’d been through hell. In her bathroom, she took off her sunglasses, showing the destruction that covered her right side. With a black eye and scattered scratches, her face was still a bloody mess, with streaks of bruises that roamed her skin.

Arya wondered if it was cool to have a scar or not.

And when she lifted her shirt to see the blazing red of blood on the gauze, she knew she couldn’t do this all alone.

Placing herself in her bathtub, she remained there for a while, contemplating whether or not to see what lay underneath the bandages. In the end, she called for Brienne, who called a physician to check on what was wrong.

When the doctor came, he looked over her stitches, noting that he would need to add an extra stitch along where one of her wounds was stretching. Arya, being the idiot that she was, just sat in the bath, towel between her teeth and little anesthetic. To be fair, she thought she could handle the pain - she couldn’t.

She didn’t pass out, but she was close to it. The doctor recommended pain medication, but when Arya and Brienne exchanged looks, the meds were given to Brienne. As the doctor left, a new man entered her bathroom, and she perked as she recognised him.

“Davos? Is that you?” she asked. He had a thicker beard, with far more grey in it than she remembered, but when he smiled, she knew for sure it was him. He had always served her father, close friends and maintained the house when the family wasn’t on the property.

“Miss Stark, it’s been a lifetime,” he chuckled, restraining himself and putting his hands behind his back. “I’m sorry about the circumstances, but I must confess...it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance again,” he smiled solemnly and she scoffed.

“You heard, huh?”

“I think the whole country has,” he replied, and Arya nodded, “how are the stitches?”

“Popping by the second,” she said, almost going to tap her side, but stopped herself. She was going without her pain meds, she didn’t need more pain.

“Please rest for the next few days, I’ll try and make things as easy as possible. I’ve heard your father is set to join us in a week to check in on you,” he recommended, and the news about her father made her shift uncomfortably in the tub.

“I wouldn’t know,” she replied, settling herself back into a comfortable position. There wasn’t much comfort in a porcelain cocoon, keeping her trapped there until the pain finally subsided. Davos looked down at her solemnly, crouching beside the bath.  

“In any case, feel free to lounge around. If you need anything, just let one of the staff know and they’ll get right on it,” he nodded.

“Thank you, Davos,” she said as he reached into the tub, helping her out and guiding her to the bed.

Arya stayed in bed for the first few days - doing nothing drove her nuts, she wanted to get out and do anything else, but the stitches caused her more pain than she could handle. And so, she was confined to her bed.

When she was finally able to get up without feeling herself dying, she sat by the windowsill, watching the world pass by without her. Ned had come and gone without seeing Arya, but she saw him come and go. All she could think of was her father’s voice, the boom that radiated from his chest as he yelled at her like he had never done before. Never to her.

You will stay out of the spotlight for a year. You will stay at the country house and you will come back when winter comes. It breaks me to do this, Arya, but I am not letting you destroy yourself anymore. Get clean. Get better. Until then, stay at the house.

Arya pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her temple to her knee as she looked outside. Across the field, a man rode on a horse with four others in his wake. He glanced over his shoulder, gesturing and calling something that Arya couldn’t make out. The horses moved in sync, following directions and changing up their pace, until finally letting them have free reign, trotting about the field as he watched over the scattered horses.

For a brief moment he looked up to the house, and Arya perked, seeing if he was looking to her, only for him to turn back, letting his horse walk the length of the field at its own leisure. Arya watched them for a while until he took the horses back inside and Arya was left to watch the day turn to afternoon, and she returned to her bed.

The next day, she snuck down to the kitchen, grabbing as much food as she could in her hands as she wandered. When the whinnying from the stables became intense, Arya couldn’t stop herself from moving towards it. There was a rush of comotion, people starting to worry as a horse bucked inside it’s pen. Then, as quickly as it had started, it settled down, the crowd dispersing as a gentle shushing held the stables.

“You just have to watch Nymeria, she can get a bit wild when startled.” The man from the day before said, soothing Arya’s horse. She knew better than anyone that Nymeria was a force to be reckoned with. The thought that someone else knew it made her feel protective of the horse.

“Noted, sir,” Podrick replied. Of all the staff, Arya knew Podrick. He was a nice guy, nervous thing when he first started to work with them, his family letting him work and play when he was far younger. He was an all rounder, mimicking much of Davos’ work, if Arya recalled correctly.

“Please don’t go around calling me that, you know my name.” The man rolled his shoulders

“Yes. Of course,” Podrick replied. When he passed Arya, he smiled and Arya replied with her own, making her way into the stables slowly, barely a person about. It was only Arya and the man with Nymeria.

“There you go, been such a good lass lately,” he whispered, stroking the horse’s mane. Arya kept walking, admiring how the stables hadn’t crumbled down - they looked better from when she was a child. Before she even realised it, she ran straight into the man. Arya hadn’t even realised he had moved, but he was like a wall against her, hard on impact and unmoving as Arya crashed into him.

“Wow! Watch it would you!” he snapped, and Arya scrunched up her face at him.

“And who do you think you are to boss me about?”

“Boss you about? You’re in my fucking stable, you need to follow what I say out here!” he barked, and Arya laughed, stepping into his path to keep his attention firmly on her.

“And you’re in my fucking home, so watch it,” she warned, turning on her heels and heading back towards the house.

He scoffed over her shoulder. “You’re a brat, you know that?”

Arya turned quickly. Who the fuck did he think he was, talking to her like she wasn’t the person paying his salary? “Excuse me? I can have you fired for talking like that.” She marched right back to him, standing her ground, but it was difficult when he puffed out his chest slightly, and looked down at her.

“From what I know, and how the rest of the staff talks about you, I don’t think you have the power anymore,” he replied back with a smirk, and Arya’s hands bound. Before she could even register what she was doing, she shoved at his chest and made him stumble back a few steps.

“Fuck you,” she snapped back at him, storming into the house and slamming as many doors as she could before finally reaching her room, ready to trash it all. But the panting enough made her feel weak, strained beyond what she could handle at that point in her recovery.

For the rest of the day, she stewed in her rage, unable to move from her bed, and only seeing other people when she requested things. They all brought her things, with smiles and nervous speech. Did people fear her? Or her family name? She didn’t have people in that house that didn’t have to like her. And that idiot out in the stables yelled at her, and he didn’t fear her or her family name.

Who the hell did he think he was?

Arya stirred all night long. Something about what the guy in the stable said. Brat. She wasn’t a brat. Was she? She knew she had certainly been that way once in her youth - but now? Could she really be that girl, stuck trying to be a toddler for the rest of her life instead of growing up?

Arya had despised those girls - the ones that relied on others to fix their problems, but were needlessly reckless purely because they had no other responsibilities. She always thought she was someone with more responsibilities than most - but she knew better. She excused herself for that reason, but it wasn’t true. She neglected the things she should have - let herself be reckless because she could.

And above it all, she thought of the stable hand, or whatever his job was, and how he stood his ground against her. Not many people did that anymore, letting her get away with murder for the most part. But he didn’t. He knew his place, and worth. And stood there - knowing full well he was right to do so. Arya knew that. She was just...stubborn.

It took her a few days to bring herself to get out of bed and make it to the stables. Being without pain meds took its toll more than she anticipated, and her recovery for exerting herself liked to kick her in the ass. She couldn’t blame it. It was a physical wake up call to everything. She was tired, and so was her body.

At the edge of the stables, she saw him moving hay bales around, stacking some, and simply moving some into the stables for the horses. Arya pursed her lips as she leaned against one of the beams. It provided her with some much needed support.  

“What’s your name?” she asked, and the stable master, as she had learned, jumped at the voice she emitted to an empty stable.

“Waters, Gendry. Gendry Waters,” he cleared his throat, getting back to shuffling hay around. His clothes were loose, like her own, but they had far more wear. He must have worked in them nearly every other day. Whilst Arya’s loose clothes were for comfort, she knew his were for necessity, moving around and having the best motion for the job at hand.

“I don’t have anyone here that I know well,” she said slowly, not meeting his eye. He stopped, looking back at her with his nose scrunched up tight. He stared for a moment, as though he were wondering something - like, was she serious.  

“And what am I meant to do about it? I’m not here to be your friend,” he remarked and Arya shugged.

“You’re also kinda stuck here,” she said and he rolled his eyes, “can I just...follow you around today?” she asked tentatively. He put the pitchfork down into the haystack beside him, resting his weight onto his hip.

“Can you learn some names today?”

“If you let me tag along, then we have a deal,” she said, and Gendry seemed to contemplate it for a moment. He rolled his eyes and gestured for her to follow him. She perked and followed after, watching him walk back and forth between the stables and eventually getting Arya to help him with some of his tasks. It was the least she could do.

Arya helped guide the horses out into the field, letting the graze for the morning as they went back to the stables to clear everything up. Arya wheeled a stack of hay towards Gendry as he unloaded more after clearing out the mess from the night before.

“What’s with the pink hair? From all the pictures in house, you had dark hair,” he asked, wiping his brow with the back of his sleeve.

“Just wanted a change. Something new,” Arya shrugged, tugging on the ends of her hair.

“Change can be good. Unless it’s pink hair,” he shrugged, and Arya scoffed out a laugh, trying to keep up with him. He finished with most of it and said for Arya to rest. She tried unsuccessfully to jump up onto the edge of a stable beam, but she wasn’t tall enough - and her torso was rather hindering.

Gendry laughed before moving towards Arya and gave her a look. Arya resigned to the fate that was set up for her. His hands went in at her waist, and she hissed in pain. He looked like he was going to say something, but Arya simply moved his hands down to her hips and nodded to him. Gendry picked her up and placed her on the beam, letting her rest her weight.

Over the course of an hour, Gendry quizzed her on different staff members, describing them as best as he could and told her their names. Eventually he’d circle back and ask again, trying to get her to remember as best as she could. It took her a few tries to get some names, but she felt like she was learning over the course of the hour.

Gendry pulled the saddle off the wall, and Arya asked what he was doing if he wasn’t going to ride. Explaining that the saddles all needed to be checked after a few weeks was important - making sure if it’s used, it isn’t going to toss someone off the back of a moving horse. Arya would have asked more questions, but she knew Gendry may explain things she didn’t quite care about, and instead let him work. She’d ask him later.

As Gendry tested a strap, he asked about different members of staff and Arya took some time to answer. They managed to get through a lot of the staff before the list was running low.

“The kid in the bakery,” he asked, stripping from his long sleeved flannel. He tossed it aside after wiping his forehead, and continued to look over. He wore a tight henley underneath, which hadn’t fared too well over the day, sweat marks and dirt covered the shirt that may have once been white.

“Oh shit, okay, it’s something strange,” Arya chewed on her lip, kicking her legs back and forth. “Hot...hot pie?” she answered cautiously.

Gendry cracked a smile, working hard on the leather. “Right.”

“Yes!” she cheered. “Okay, one more and I’ll let you go do whatever,” she said, waiting patiently to see what Gendry would do. He stopped, looking up to the roof before he glanced back towards Arya.

“Woman that trims the roses.”

“Old or young?”

He clicked his tongue as he looked at her. “Ah, see, you caught on too quick. Old,” he groaned, as though he were going to trick her. He’d tripped her up four times before on those questions. She learnt at that point.

“Easy! Olenna Tyrell,” she said, and Gendry nodded, going back to work.

“Okay, now leave me alone. Go find something better to do,” he said, waving part of the saddle at her. Arya let herself slip from the edge of a stable and go back towards the house. She stopped at the edge of the stable, catching Gendry looking towards her.

“Go get food soon! I’ll eat it all,” she called and Gendry laughed, shaking his head.

“No one that small can eat what the kitchen cooks up,” he said, almost as though it were a challenge. Arya beamed back a smile.

“You’d be surprised,” she said proudly, raising her chin.

“I’ll get right on it,” he laughed, briefly getting to work, only to find himself looking back at Arya, who still hadn’t moved. She wanted him to move, to relax. “I said I would, get back in the house, Stark.” Arya rolled her eyes and went inside.

*

It became routine after that, meeting Gendry most mornings and learning about the place. He was new to the area and to the job, but he caught on quick. He was used to working with horses from his family’s farm, but he was getting used to being a full stable master when he was hired on the country estate. Arya had to admit, she liked spending time with Gendry. He wasn’t a push over, but he did let her push him around a bit.

Gendry also liked to be a pain in her side, urging her to do more and to stop moping around. Since being there, she had to admit, she was more sour than she’d ever been in her life, but he made her be nicer - to be herself amongst people she could consider like her family. She knew some of them, she didn’t have to be the worst version of herself around them.

As she sat in bed one morning, texting Sansa and waiting for the doctor to get in, she heard soft tapping on her window. She furrowed her brow as she looked at it, noticing that the taps sounded when small pebbles from the front walkway were being thrown at it. She walked over slowly, peering out as much as possible before she needed to open it, she saw the messy hair of Gendry below.

She scoffed, opening the window, and peering out the side. Gendry laughed as Arya’s hair fell all around her face. “Stark, how’s the ribs today?” he called up to her. Arya pouted as she inspected her side before giving Gendry a curious look.

“Why? You planning on injuring me some more?” she smirked.

“You should get out and ride!” he said, beaming up. Arya had to admit, it was the perfect day for a ride, and he looked especially keen to spend time with her - which he didn’t normally like to do, and it being the morning, he seemed excited.

“I’ve been told I can ride in Summer, and not a day sooner,” she reiterated. When Arya arrived, it had been a few weeks into Spring, and there were only a few more weeks left before Summer started. She was meant to be getting a check up that day anyhow, so she didn’t mind missing out as long as she knew she could get out of the bloody house eventually.

“When will spring end!” he groaned back out, both of them chuckling at the sentiment.

“Very funny,” she shook her head, “I hope Nymeria bucks you off!”

“Don’t even joke, that girl scares me,” he warned her, a smile still pressed to his lips.

“She better!”

“Get your ass down here and help out when you can,” he said, and Arya heard her bedroom door open. She looked over her shoulder, seeing Brienne, Davos, and the doctor walk in, smiling as she turned. Looking back out the window, she waved Gendry off.

“Later! I do have a life, Waters.”

“I doubt it,” he yelled, laughing as he moved towards the stables.

Arya pushed herself back inside, going back to her bed and sitting on the edge. The doctor examined her stitches, inspecting all her vitals and making sure everything was going the way it should have been. When he gave his final sigh, one that wasn’t exasperated, more as though he was proud after all the examines, and it made everyone perk up.

“Your stitches are looking well. It’s been nearly two months since the accident, so they’ve healed well, in spite of you pulling some out,” he explained and as Arya lowered her shirt, and chewed on her lip.

“Do you think I’ll need to take anything for pain? Or antibiotics or whatever?” she asked.

“No,” he shook his head, “but I have noticed from Brienne that you didn’t take any that I prescribed.”

Arya went tight lipped before reclining back slightly into her bed. “I think we all know it was best I didn’t.”

“You could have been careful,” he explained and shrugged.

“I was. I didn’t take any.”

“I’m assuming you have other vices now?” he laughed and Arya shook her head, as Davos and Brienne snickered.

“Maybe. If I can leave the fucking house soon,” she complained and the doctor nodded.

“I think you’ll be ready and active within two weeks. Just take it slow,” he nodded and Arya agreed, letting herself sink back into her bed and relief washed over her.

“We’ll let your father know the good news. Maybe you can go home soon,” Davos said.

Arya sat up quickly, looking at Davos and Brienne, who looked shocked by her quick reaction. “I think...I should stay here until Winter. Like father said.”

“We’ll let him know you said that. He’d love to visit,” Brienne said with a faint smile.

After spending some time in the stables with Gendry that day, she was covered in dirt and grime. After a long shower, hair wrapped up in a towel, she started to wash her face with cleansers and toners, inspecting her face for anything out of the ordinary when she paused.

Ayra looked at her reflection, wondering how only a few months ago, she looked different, battered and bruised. And now, she looked like she had more colour than she did then. Yet, she wondered how colourful she appeared to others. Thinking about it, she came up with a plan, something to feel more in tune with herself again, even with how bright she felt.

Walking downstairs, she wandered the halls, trying to find anyone, until she found one of the staff in the library going through some of the books and pilling things onto a tray. Arya assumed she was an all rounder, and cleared her throat. The woman turned in a start, looking at Arya.

“Gilly, right?” Arya asked the woman in the library. She nodded quickly, albeit nervously.

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied and Arya grimaced.

“Arya’s fine,” she corrected. “Can you go out and get me this?” she asked, handing over the piece of paper to Gilly. She took it, and upon reading it, she beamed back, nodding quickly. Arya went back to her room, finding her room a mess. She needed a new breath of life - and this wasn’t it.

Over the course of the next day, she cleaned her room as much as possible.

She needed to breathe again. And this was it. This house was her breath.

~*~*~

Spring felt like it came and went in a breeze, barely letting Gendry register time. He’d spent most if it with Arya, and she made time seem like it was flying by. There was something fun about it, that he could get so lost in her, that time was no issue.

When he was preparing the saddle for Nymeria, he saw the short Stark girl looking at him from the edge of the stables and he couldn’t help but smile. Where her pink hair dully shined not a day or two before, now sat brown hair, like he’d seen in all the family portraits and tabloids before. Arya made her way to him, tentatively smiling towards him before she puffed out her chest and all ounce of nerves he thought he sensed was gone.

“Lost the pink, did we?” he asked, and as she tossed her hair over her shoulder, Gendry had to ignore the fact that his heart was racing.

“Change can be good, don’t you think?” she asked, walking past him, jabbing him in the shoulder with a smirk on her face. Then, she stopped, squaring her shoulders and standing taller than she had been before. She was being cocky and he had to admit, it was a good look on her. “And look at that? Is it Summer today?” she contained her smile, but not very well.

Gendry smiled as Arya went beside Nymeria, gesturing for him to come help her with the saddle on the horse’s back.

[stormguard798]

Jeremwood Prompt Fills

Whilst doing some brainstorming for my upcoming Jeremwood fic, I decided to do some prompt fill questions to flesh out the characters and thought that it would fun to share with everyone. So here they are! Please note that this is not a GTA AU, and so don’t cover the Vagabond/Rimmy Tim aspects of their personality.

1. Who is the most affectionate?

Neither of them, at least in public. Both of them did not have a particularly affectionate childhood and having faced hate and anger and intolerance from everyone around them, they’ve learned to be very reserved about displaying their affection, so they tend to only show affection behind closed doors. Even then, they typically limit to minimal PDA, but lots of cuddles and hugs.

2. Big spoon/little spoon?

Ryan is absolutely the big spoon, just based on size. He can wrap around Jeremy EASILY. Also, while Jeremy’s are much more enthusiastic and aggressive, Ryan’s hugs are just more comforting and embracing.

3. Most common argument?

About Jeremy being who he is. From Ryan’s family background, he’s a lot more comfortable with his identity, whereas Jeremy is still trying to fit in, so there’s often a conflict between Ryan trying to get him to be more himself against Jeremy trying to slowly ease himself in.

4. Favourite non-sexual activity?

Making food together. We’re not talking reheated frozen spaghetti here; we’re talking 3-course brunch. With Jeremy’s baking expertise and Ryan’s culinary skills, they make some pretty good food - along with a mess in the kitchen that neither wants to clean up.

5. Who is most likely to carry the other?

Usually Jeremy despite the height difference; from his experience as a gymnast, footballer and in martial arts compared to Ryan’s complete lack of working out, so he has the strength to lift even Ryan up.

6. Favourite features of their partner?

Jeremy loves Ryan’s mischievous smirk as if he’s about to do something risqué or dangerous, that creates the sexy, mysterious air about him. On the other hand, Ryan loves it when Jeremy lets out his infectious smile and his dimples really pop out as he is doing so.

7. First thing that changes when they realize they have feelings for each other?

They start actively avoiding and externally hating each other. Seriously. At the time, Jeremy was still trying to suppress his feelings and Ryan was still trying to work them out, so instead of actively communicating, Jeremy tried to completely shut Ryan out, even after Ryan was finally ready to talk.

8. Nicknames?

Nicknames? Seriously? Jeremy could initially barely call Ryan boyfriend, let alone use any terms of affection like ‘honey’ or ‘baby’. They may collectively call themselves by the ‘Battle Buddies’, but they tend to refer to themselves just by their names.

9. Who worries the most?

Jeremy worries much more about other people’s perceptions of him as he’s always so concerned about what other people think of him, and therefore is always trying to change his perception to fit that; Ryan, on the other hand, has always tried to stay true to who he is, and understands that while not everybody may agree with who he is or how he behaves, not that he really cares for other people’s opinions regardless, he takes pride in standing his own ground.

10. Who remembers what the other one orders in a restaurant?

Jeremy. Throughout his life, he has been very careful and detail orientated, and although he initially doesn’t delve into the ‘bedroom’ side of activities, he’s very much a ‘people-pleaser’ and wants everything to be perfect for their romantic partner. While Ryan also remembers generally what Jeremy likes, and they basically both like the same things (hint: junk food, and meat), Jeremy remembers all the details i.e. sauce on the side, and the sauce that’s not even on the menu.

11. Who tops?

Usually Ryan, but it’s not really a fixed role, and they will be versatile depending on the mood. However, it doesn’t factor a huge role in their life: they greatly enjoy going for typically date-like romantic outings to theatre or even on occasion, to a football game. The absolute horror. Jeremy still does play in a friendly football league, and on occasion, Ryan does begrudgingly come and watch.

12. Who initiates kisses?

Jeremy initiated the first kiss by just going up to him, and does so even now, often catching Ryan by surprise with his bouts of affection. Ryan, however, will definitely initiate other forms of affection such as massive hugs, or just lifting Jeremy into the air.

13. Who reaches for the other person’s hand first?

Jeremy will more often reach for Ryan’s to be reassured, and Ryan will more often reach for Jeremy’s to reassure him. Since they don’t really hold hands in public, it happens more often at the dining table when they’re having an emotional discussion.

14. Who kisses the hardest?

Jeremy kisses with much more vigorous and enthusiasm, just like all of his actions, but Ryan is much more tender and careful, properly taking care of whoever he’s kissing.

15. Who wakes up first?

Ryan is used to waking up quite early in the morning, often going for a jog in the morning before heading back for breakfast. However, they are both ‘morning’ people, and are quite energetic in the morning, with Jeremy waking up at around 7 regardless.

16. Who wants to stay in bed longer?

Jeremy. Not necessarily for sleeping more, but just nagging Ryan so that they can stay in and just be in each other’s company a little longer. Sometimes they’ll just be in bed, no sex, and just chat and talk about random, benign conversation topics.

17. Who says I love you first?

Jeremy. Even after being a complete ass to Ryan in his youth, Ryan still stands by Jeremy throughout all the difficulties he has faced and is incredibly patient with him, with Jeremy saying it when he realises that Ryan will always stand by his side and care for him, regardless of what happens, and even if he doesn’t always explicitly show it. And at that moment, Ryan realised the same thing and said it back.

18. Who leaves little notes in the other’s lunch?

While Ryan is usually the one who makes lunch, since Jeremy has a stay-at-home job, he’s often less hurried in the morning and therefore has time to pack the lunch bags for Ryan (and their kids!) by adding snacks like fruits and all the other things. Jeremy is usually very enthusiastic with his notes, going along the lines of “Go out there and kick everyone’s ass today. Make sure to make them regret ever crossing you. Completely destroy their socks today.” and so on. XD

19. Who tells their family/friends about their relationship?

Since all of Ryan’s relatives are dead, Jeremy’s parents were the first and only family members that they told about their relationship, which did not go very well. Ergo with Jeremy’s old group of friends when they gleaned it for themselves, which is what forced Jeremy to essentially start over. Contrary, Ryan’s friends just observed them and worked it out for themselves, and were nicely quite supportive.

20. What do their family/friends think about it?

Jeremy’s parents hate the relationship and refuse to acknowledge Ryan even exists, continuing to try and set him up with females. Due to the still-existing social stigma of same-sex relationships, there is still a massive taboo surrounding their relationship. However, a few of Ryan’s have been very supportive despite their reservations about Jeremy in general, and have even agreed to be beards for him on occasion.

21. Who is more likely to start dancing with the other?

Granted, Ryan has two left feet and can’t dance at all, whereas Jeremy is much more nimble, and once he gets going, can’t stop, won’t stop, regardless of the bizarre looks from onlookers, particularly if it’s an upbeat song.

22. Who cooks more?

Ryan cooks more as he’s better at it, and did it way more often as a child. However, Jeremy loves baking, which is why there is always cookies or cake at the end of every meal. And why that the most used appliance in the kitchen is the oven.

23. Who comes up with cheesy pick-up lines?

In the company of people that they know well and are comfortable with their relationship, Jeremy will occasionally try and flirt with Ryan with terrible jokes, but neither of them has really picked up or gotten together with anybody previously through such…sad means.

24. Who whispers inappropriate things at inappropriate times?

Jeremy has a tendency to be a prankster, and will occasionally do so just to throw Ryan’s off his serious-face game. It’s not necessarily particularly dirty but is whispered in the low, breathy noise that vaguely sounds sexy. However, it never really embarrasses either of them, mainly because it’s in the company of people they know, or in private, i.e. while cooking, and causing Ryan to drop the pan.

25. Who needs more assurance?

Jeremy, since he’s constantly doubting his own identity and his own abilities, but luckily, Ryan is very good at making him feel confident.

26. What would be their theme song?

I went with the Superfruit version of Katy Perry’s “Rise”. The slightly anthem-like, powerful feel of the song represents how both Ryan and Jeremy have faced numerous difficulties in their life, but they are still able to succeed and thrive, and both take absolutely no crap from anyone else.  

27. Who would sing their child to sleep?

One of the points of contention is that Ryan is interested in having children, but Jeremy doesn’t. In accordance with laws at that time, they wouldn’t be able to co-parent a child, so they decided to hold off on waiting for a child. Also, they tend to energize each other before they go to sleep, so sleeping is not really on the menu. However, Jeremy produces his own music and therefore has the much better singing voice.

28. What do they do when they are away from each other?

Since internet wasn’t widely available, and handheld phones were still quite expensive due to the lack of landlines, they often weren’t able to contact each other while they were away (Ryan is the in-house mechanical engineer at the firm where Jeremy works, so he hardly moves; on the other hand, Jeremy sometimes travels to other nearby areas to talk to investors.) As such, they often simply take note of anything that happens while the other is away and just fill each other in once they reunite.

29. One headcanon about your OTP that breaks your heart.

To absolutely toot my own horn - my own? At least prior to getting with each other, the hate, loathing and just general anger that transpired between the 2 as result of their own beliefs, and both getting hurt as a result of it.

30. One headcanon about your OTP that mends it.

Futureboy (PokeRowan)’s take on Jeremwood in Romance Awareness Month. In this version, the roles are kind of reversed, with Ryan taking on the majority of the self-doubt and personal struggle, with Jeremy more than going out of his way to make Ryan realise that he’s awesome. Really, what any partner should do for each other.

31. Who spends all their money on the other/Who likes to buy the other little gifts?

They are both fairly frugal since growing up, they didn’t have large amounts of money, Ryan more so, so they aren’t prone to wild/unnecessary spending regardless and save up and with Jeremy’s expertise, do a bit of investing. The only gift they need is each other’s company.

32. Who sleeps in the other’s lap?

Usually, when they’re just sitting on the couch watching some TV, Jeremy is usually the one to fall asleep first, so Ryan will just let Jeremy lay on his lap, before falling asleep himself. On occasion, Jeremy will just come home and crash on the couch; Ryan will then drape blankets over him and stuff a pillow underneath his head, picking up the briefcase he had dropped to the floor.

33. Who walks around the house half-naked?

Ryan doesn’t have enough shame, nor pay enough attention, to occasionally put on a shirt, so sometimes he’ll even leave the house without one; it’s not that he’s necessarily an exhibitionist, he’s just sort of forgetful, and is comfortable enough in his own skin to not mind.

34. Who stays up all night?

Jeremy is used to staying up late at night by his lamp to do stuff like draw and read under the watchful guise of his parents (Ryan would be ‘up late’ to study after work, but he hated it and crashed as soon as he could), so as an adult, Jeremy would often work late into the night working on some agreement or deal, often resulting in Ryan groggily calling him to bed.

35. Who burns all the food?

Neither. Seriously, neither. Both are so practiced that they’ve even progressed to deliberate and methodical charring and torching. How dare you even suggest that.

36. Who reads OTP prompts and identifies with them?

Ryan is much more of the romantic amongst them and if shown them, could probably pick out most of the fan-fictiony tropes, but Jeremy really sees them both as soulmates and can see how their path has followed the ‘enemies to friends’ typical trope. (To be fair, neither really read romance - of any kind. Action, sci-fi, and fantasy all the way.)

37. Who constantly wears the other’s clothes?

Both of them. Constantly. Since they both wear the same size of clothes, and both enjoy wearing graphic T-shirts and jeans, but it’s not as if they really care either way. However, Jeremy also wears a lot of singlets and muscle shirts, which Ryan doesn’t care for.

38. Who spends all-day running errands/who drives the car?

Jeremy is the only one who can drive (Ryan didn’t have the chance to learn as a teen, and hasn’t picked it up since), so it’s usually more convenient to him to drive around picking up dry-cleaning, groceries, etc. Since Ryan is in charge of the cooking, he provides the list of what needs to be bought and occasionally tags along on the big grocery moving weekends. In terms of navigation, Jeremy has lived in the area for long enough that he doesn’t need anyone to guide them.

39. Who poses and who draws?

Back when they were still pining each other, Jeremy was already secretly drawing Ryan for memory, so it’s not a huge surprise that he occasionally draws Ryan even now. (Sometimes with clothes, and sometimes without. xD) Besides, Ryan used to model during university, so he’s already used to it.

40. When robbing a museum, who backflips through lasers and who strolls on by?

Jeremy used to do gymnastics as a teenager, and he likes the danger, so he’ll easily backflip his way through all the traps. On the other hand, Ryan may seem very relaxed as he passes by, but he will not hesitate to defend himself as necessary.

41. Who overdoses it on the alcohol?/Which one gives the other one a piggyback ride when they’re tired?

Jeremy has no control over his alcohol consumption, so he’ll get completely inebriated even before Ryan can stop him; at that point, Ryan has to try and drag him home and into bed ASAP before he does anything to injure himself (which he ABSOLUTELY will - and usually ends up harming Ryan instead). Since Jeremy will often get particularly clingy when drunk, Ryan often ends up piggybacking them into a cab, and then home. Ryan can still get a little tipsy, but he’s a lot calmer and rational when he is, and definitely a lot more sure-footed.

42. Who keeps using the other’s last name?

At the time, marriage wasn’t even remotely on their minds, so any notions of taking each other’s names were nowhere. Besides, they are both strong and independent so they are unlikely to take each other’s name regardless.

43. Who screams about the spider, and who brings it outside?

Irrational fears? Please. They just tend to ignore the spider, or any other annoying pest or arthropod, unless it starts to get on them, in which case they just squish with anything nearby, or if need be, their bare hands.

44. Which one gives the other their jacket?

The main issue is that their leather jacket and sweaters and hoodies and so forth just vary in size so much, so Ryan can’t fit in Jeremy’s, and Jeremy is rather enveloped by Ryan’s. In the end, it’s just kind of easier to just remind each other to bring their own jackets.

45. Who keeps getting threatened by the overprotective sibling?

In my canon, neither Jeremy nor Ryan have any siblings, however, considering how Jeremy treated Ryan previously, his friends Victoria and Maisie who knew Jeremy previously keep warning Ryan about him and continuously try to dissuade Ryan away. Eventually caving into his stubbornness, Victoria then proceeded to bore into Jeremy with the ‘if you hurt my friend’ monologue, which he was only mildly intimidated by.

46. Who’s the first one to admit feelings?

(Side note: I acknowledge that most other authors have decided to portray Ryan as the emotionally constipated one, however…) In this situation, since he had people around him with which to act as a sounding board off of, Ryan came to terms with his feelings much more quickly than Jeremy did, so when he went to Jeremy to admit it before Jeremy himself was comfortable with it, it resulted in some…panic. It may have taken a while for them to finally reconcile after the initial shock, but they did. Eventually.

47. How would your OTP be at parenting?

They are incredibly vigilant, organized and driven people who are used to surviving on very few hours of sleep. They can also cook a wide variety of meals very quickly, already have all the Disney movies, and generally, set a pretty good example for behavior. As such, they would excellent parents which they realise as they babysit their friends’ children, and are both seriously considering having kids.

48. Who types with perfect grammar and who uses LEET speak?

Handwritten notes are always the way to go, be it inside brown paper lunch bags, stuck on the fridge, or nestled inside each other’s notes. Although to be perfectly fair, the notes are typically so scribbled that it can be difficult to tell what is being said.

49. Who is bullied and who protects them?

They are way too headstrong and proud to let anyone else push them around. Don’t be ridiculous.

50. Who makes the bad puns and who begrudgingly laughs at them?

Jeremy will generally behave more ridiculously, causing Ryan to just roll his eyes at him; however, Ryan is a bit of an old soul, and often says jokes that he thinks are funny, but really aren’t. They really aren’t.

51. Who comes home to see the other has bought a puppy?/Which one owns a pet that the other is absolutely terrified of?

Neither of them has any particular irrational fears, although Jeremy still occasionally gets nightmares. Also, puppies? They are both huge fans of cats, and frequently adopt cats from the pet shelter now that they can, against their better judgment.

52. Who does the over-zealous cheering for the other?

In terms of overzealousness, Jeremy is definitely more passionate, shouting and hooting after each of Ryan’s monologues and scenes, and particularly during the intermission. He will also absolutely pounce on Ryan during the cast parties. And while Ryan’s support tends to be more quiet speculation, silent thumbs up and hugs, he’s still always there to support Jeremy in his football matches (American) and karate tournaments.

53. Who takes a selfie while the other is sleeping?

Unlike most people who have smartphones and social media (they both use reliable old flip-phones - they can call and that’s all they need to do), they don’t potentially embarrassing photos of each other. All their photos are done by Jeremy (so there’s an unfortunate imbalance, but they don’t care) due to his love for amateur photography, or by a professional, and generally just picture the two of them enjoying each other’s company.

54. Which one would give the other a makeover if they asked?

Ryan can still wear make-up quite effectively from his theatre (and drag queen ^-^) days back in his youth, but Jeremy is way too proud to allow him to do that. War paint is fine.

55. Who would hold the umbrella while it rains?

Ryan is substantially taller than Jeremy so he’d definitely do it. On the other hand, they often just eschew the umbrella and run for the nearest shelter because A. Who cares about a little bit of water and B. It’s a lot more fun to just chase each other through the rain and getting absolutely soaked as they do so.

56. Where would they go and what would they do on their ideal vacation?

Jeremy really enjoys travelling, and has been to various cities in the U.S. and neighbouring Canada, and hasn’t yet managed to travel outside North America, and so would love to. On the other hand, having had his first sushi and instant ramen, Ryan is adamant about going to Japan at some point in his life just to eat as much food as he can (whilst looking at other assorted adorable things, of course), and Jeremy’s just happy to tag along.

And of course, if anyone has any more questions about my interpretation of Jeremwood (that are non-spoilers, of course :P), feel free to leave any in my inbox. ^-^

[jackalopingintothevoid]

Lingering

(also posted on AO3)

This is for @jenny-calendar (happy birthday!) since a discussion of her wonderful fic haunted sent this whole thing spinning wildly in my brain. This is much angstier in nature, but y’all know I’m a sucker for catharsis and fluff so look out for that happy ending!

It was a run-down thing, a crappy apartment that hadn’t been renovated since the 1970′s. It was falling apart, but it was cheap, and it was both a necessary step for Janna of the Kalderash-- now going by Jenny Calendar-- to fulfill her responsibility to her family, and also very, very far away from said family.

Her intention had been to settle in and start a new life, while still keeping an eye on the cursed vampire known as Angelus. He was keeping quiet, as he apparently had done for some time, and the few glimpses Janna-- Jenny-- had of him since her arrival in London had been of him looking miserable and filthy in alleyways, catching rats for their blood and avoiding humans like the plague.

She told herself that was good, that there was nothing to worry about from him like this. She tried to hold on the reasoning her family had given, that this was a punishment he deserved, but she was far removed from the original crime and looking at him this way just made her feel pity.

But then, what was more pitiable than a vampire with a soul?

Admittedly, Ja-- Jenny was feeling less charitable than she perhaps would be otherwise, since it turned out this crappy apartment that hadn’t been renovated since the 1970′s had a very good reason for being so.

It was in fact haunted by a violent, screaming poltergeist.

Needless to say, Jenny hadn’t been getting much sleep.

It was terrifying at first, but she wasn’t some hapless muggle. She was Janna of the Kalderash, sworn to watch over a cursed vampire lest he ever lose his soul and end his torment. She’d learned of ghosts and what to do about them in her childhood lessons, and she set her mind on kicking this thing out.

“This is my crappy apartment now!” She declared to the room at large. “And I’m gonna exorcise your ass!”

A silly thing to do, really, and all it accomplished was getting a frankly ancient food processor flung at her head with startling force. But she wasn’t going to let that deter her-- that or the entire drawer of cutlery.

(The cutlery always seemed to be clean and back in the drawer later, ready to be flung out again at a moment’s notice. Whatever this poltergeist was about, it at least picked up after itself.)

It was probably a bit much to hope for, but Jenny tried the standard Catholic incantation first before heading out to track down artefacts for full-on rituals. While certainly a violent poltergeist, this one seemed to restrict itself to throwing things and yelling, which was pretty low-key all things considered. Maybe it wasn’t as powerful as it liked to seem.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus.”

“Bloody hell.”

Jerking back, Jenny stared wide-eyed at the human figure standing before her. Tall (6ft, maybe a little more), with ruffled brown hair that curled a little and greenish eyes. An undeathly pallor, scruffy green jeans, thick heavy boots and a striped t-shirt as dated as the apartment’s appliances. The only saving grace of the ensemble was a red check button down with the sleeves rolled back. He was standing with his arms crossed and looked wholly unimpressed.

Jenny pressed her lips together to keep quiet. It was just a simple little spell, a fleeting hope that it would be that easy, and instead she’d incited a visual manifestation for the first time that she’d seen.

“Your pronunciation’s fuckin' awful. Who taught you?”

Immediately, any fear was overwhelmed by indignation. “Excuse me?”

“You ‘eard.”

“I’m sorry, I’m here trying to exorcise your annoying ass and you’re correcting my Classical Latin!?”

“Yeah, I know what it is love, I speak it. Better than you, evidently.”

Oh, she was so not letting this slide. “Oh, of course, I thought you wouldn’t be able to grasp such a complex language considering your lack of comprehension of English up ‘til now.”

The poltergeist’s face twisted into a sneer. A distant voice told Jenny she shouldn’t be provoking him. “I comprehend it just fine when you’re tellin’ me I’m not welcome in my own fuckin’ apartment.”

“Your apartment? I paid money for this shithole!”

“Oh what, you think I inherited it?”

“You’re dead!”

“Fuck you!”

Rather abruptly, the floor seemed to give way, and the next thing Jenny knew she was screaming as the fell onto the floor below. She made it out with a pounding heart, a bruised tailbone and a startled neighbour, but she was slightly more wary when she made her way back into the apartment.

Fortunately, the visual manifestation was gone, and the twerp didn’t make anymore comments. It was back to ear-splitting screams and dodging the usual paraphernalia. It probably wasn’t a good idea to antagonise him again.

Jenny had been remarkably patient with this poltergeist, all things considered. But he’d been fucking escalating. Getting creative, the bastard.

It started small. So small that she didn’t realise until some of it had happened a few times. Her coffee mugs being put on a higher shelf that she remembered, or the coffee itself behind things she was sure she put them in front of. Not life-threatening at all, but annoying as fuck and a hassle every time.

Then the drawers were rearranged. She’d just got used to where everything was, then suddenly she was opening the cutlery drawer and finding chopping boards instead. This was slightly higher on the life-threatening scale, since it meant when all the cutlery went flying her way, it could come from any part of the kitchen.

Appliances turning on and off randomly when she was next to them-- the gas cooker in particular she learned to stay away from. Furniture getting dragged across the floor towards her. Rats in her cereal, cockroaches in her toiletries. She ran through doors lest they slam shut while she was still in the doorway, bought cheap and ate quickly so there was never food around the house he could tamper with. He ripped the curtains violently off the railings, which Jenny had deemed negligible until he started using them to trip her down the stairs. It had, admittedly, been stressing her out.

And then today. Today, she’d finally assembled all the of the various artefacts for a more complex ritual, only to quickly find them all unusable. Not only that, but they weren’t destroyed-- they’d been slightly altered by someone who knew what they were doing, so that the properties she needed from them were no longer viable. And she knew exactly who it was. They’d all been fine when she bought them, but Little Mister “Your Latin’s Terrible” Poltergeist had a frankly alarming number of questionable magical substances, artefacts and occult books on black magic hidden around this crappy apartment, and she was certain that he absolutely had the know-how to fuck up the ritual like this. And what a fucking snobby way to do it!

“Fine!” She’d snapped, furious at the wasted time, effort and money. “Fine, have it your way. No exorcism today! Just let me have this one fucking shower, I swear to God!”

She should have known better.

“YOU FUCKING DICKBAG!!”

Seething, she stumbled out of the shower, cursing in every language she knew, covered in stinking brown sludge. After laboriously getting the crud out of her eyes, she turned to the mirror, still spitting in rage, to try and assess the damage.

What she saw was fresh, red blood. Dripping down the shining surface.

GET OUT

Really? Really? Words didn’t do Jenny’s fury justice at this point.

So instead, she slammed her middle finger under the message, leaving a gross brown smear in the shape of her gesture. Let him clean that, she thought in petty satisfaction.

The neighbour downstairs was very sympathetic. The plumbing in this building was often problematic, but her shower seemed to be working fine right now so why didn’t poor Jenny wash off here?

The water wasn’t hot, but it wasn’t cold and the awful stuff (don’t think about it) was coming off with some effort. God, when she went back upstairs--

When she went back--

When she--

A sob burst out of her, to her own consternation. She tried to keep quiet so the neighbour didn’t hear, but she couldn’t stop the shaking or the tears. She didn’t want to go back upstairs. She didn’t want to have to do battle with what seemed like every aspect of the apartment itself (but was really one dead douchebag). She was exhausted.

On the upside, the water temperature had turned up some. That was kind of nice.

Still, once she was clean, Jenny took a deep breath and headed back to her haunted apartment.

... And was met with quiet stillness.

The stairs creaked when she stepped on them, and she cringed at the sound, but there was no cold feeling or flurry of movement, the stairs didn’t turn intangible or into a ramp or splinter beneath her. No crashes or bangs or flying objects. No slamming doors or ankle-grabbing rugs. No rats, no roaches, no disgusting messes. Her mugs were in easy reach, her coffee unopened and unsullied where she’d left it, the spoons in the drawer they started in. A quick peek into the bathroom proved that he had indeed cleaned up his mess.

She paused outside her bedroom. There was another bedroom, and a tiny cramped study with a mattress on the floor. The study wasn’t completely shut for the first time since Jenny ducked in there to slam the door on her bed charging at her, and it seemed to be sucking the warmth out of the hallway.

He was in there.

Dreading whatever bullshit he was cooking up now, she tentatively peered through the gap in the doorway...

He had visually manifested again, in the same form. He was stretched across the nasty mattress on his front, legs crossed at the ankles behind him.

He was reading.

For a moment, Jenny just stared. But nothing changed; his pale eyes travelled along the pages at speed, but he seemed to be reading at a human rate, if quickly. He turned the page with his hand, not any otherworldly power. While she watched, he shifted position slightly and adjusted his hold on the book, though logically he had no physical body to become uncomfortable. As he moved, dogtags glinted in the light from the half-open door, and a quick look at his wrists showed her a few plain bangles and one black bracelet with silver spikes. There was a burst of brown in his left eye that she hadn’t noticed before, and she thought with despair that the jerks were always beautiful. 

Shaking herself abruptly out of her thoughts, and praying that his interest would stay on the written word for the foreseeable future, Jenny quietly crept into her room, set down her coffee on the nightstand. Then, as she changed for bed, she had a brainwave.

Just as quietly as before, the pulled out the three thickest books she’d brought with her, then crept out and left them outside the study.

It wasn’t a peace offering. More of a bribe. She had no idea if it would work, but if a few books got her a few hours of uninterrupted sleep then she’d happily give them up.

Jenny woke at ten in the morning to a fire in the hallway. At first, she thought the poltergeist had finally run out of patience and intended to kill her. Then she realised it was one of the books she’d left out.

“You know what?” She told the invisible malevolent force, “That’s fair. It’s an objectively terrible book and I only kept it to laugh at it.”

The crackling pages of 50 Shades was her only answer.

Hopefully he liked A Game of Thrones better.

He was quiet through breakfast, and that gave her time to think. She was going about this the wrong way. This wasn’t your run-of-the-mill spirit, this was a poltergeist with ties to the supernatural in life. If she was going to put this dickhead’s soul to rest and out of her crappy apartment, she’d have to figure out the circumstances surrounding his death.

Well, she already knew the apartment had been even cheaper because someone had died here... that was where she needed to start.

It would take a little digging, since it happened a good forty years ago at least. There were various things still littered around the apartment that hinted the death was supernatural in nature, which would certainly up the chances of poltergeist activity, but made it harder to find what she was looking for. On top of that, she didn’t have internet access yet.

Jenny had made a few token attempts to get WiFi into the apartment, but her poltergeist was being particularly aggressive on that front. (She was pretty sure she’d heard the whisper of his voice when she first tried setting it up, and she was pretty sure he’d called it “Star Trek bullshit”)

“God, of all the angry ghosts to move in with, I had to get a stubborn Luddite!”

Her head shot up from the broken mess of the modem she was kneeling in front of, a terrible cracking sound splitting the air after she’d finished speaking. Looking up at the wall above the table she’d put the modem on, she found VACUOUS NEOPHILE newly carved into the living room wall.

Big words for a petty dick. “Stubborn, stuck up snob!”

HI POT, KETTLE HERE

God, that sound was terrible, and watching the wall jankily snap in and out of new shapes was nauseating. But Jenny wasn’t backing down; she was outraged. The modem forgotten, she leapt to her feet, probably kicking a few components under furniture and into cracks never to be seen again (until the poltergeist saw fit to throw them at her). 

“I’m not a snob, how fucking dare you!”

“YOU’RE DEAD”

Quote marks and everything, was he for real? “You are!”

SO I’M LESS THAN YOU?

“Um, yes? You’re literally a disembodied spirit, you don’t belong on this plane anymore! Besides, I haven’t attacked you.”

YOU WANT TO REMOVE ME BY FORCE

“Hi pot, kettle here!”

THIS IS MY HOME

“Well it’s mine now too, poltergit. You’ll just have to get used to it.”

RIPPER

“... Wait, what? Ripper? What does that mean?” Before confusion could work it’s way into fear, voices sounded through the apartment. They sounded like they were coming from inside this room, but they also sounded far away-- more ghostly whispers.

“Oi, Ripper!”

“Ripper, mate, come ‘ere.”

“Oh, don’t be like that, Ripper.”

“Lovely to meet you. I’m Ripper.”

“Ripper...” Jenny whispered. “You’re called Ripper?”

Silence and an unblemished wall answered her.

Ripper. What a ridiculous name-- he probably picked it himself.

She didn’t say anything, though. Pots and kettles.

The ongoing WiFi dispute meant that Jenny had to venture out into the Soho area of London to track down an internet cafe if she wanted to scour the net for what she needed. It was unnerving, walking down roads that seemed claustrophobic despite their size, surrounded by masses of people and penned in on either side by buildings that made solid, unbroken walls in the same way that individual bushes made a hedge.

But she found a cafe with free WiFi surprisingly easily, and set up her laptop in a corner by the window. The computer was pleasantly unmolested by Ripper, but then without any internet she hadn’t exactly been using it in the apartment. She was certain that if his attention was drawn to it he’d take great satisfaction in smashing it to smithereens.

It was slow going. She kept having to go back to the cafe, chasing after hints and getting stuck in digital dead ends.

On the other hand, Ripper was being slightly less of a dick. It turned out he did enjoy A Game Of Thrones and had manifested in various places around the apartment, reading it quietly and not breaking anything. It was disconcerting to turn around and suddenly see him there, all casual and ignoring her. But less disconcerting than fearing for her life on a constant basis. He tended to only get really pissy when she’d been out all day, which was ridiculous because he’d been pretty adamant on her leaving forever. When she was feeling generous, she supposed that if ill-advised people trying to move in were his only entertainment for the past few decades it made a sort of sense.

It also made her laugh, picturing Ripper peering out the window like a sad dog waiting for her to get back, or peeking round the doorway with a plate held above his head, ready to kick off on her arrival.

When Jenny arrived back that afternoon, Ripper was already manifested. He was sat on the ratty couch, and when he turned to look at her he held up A Game Of Thrones.

“Has this bloke written more of these? I gotta see how Ned’s gonna fuck things up further.”

Shifting her laptop bag a little more inconspicuously behind her, Jenny raised her eyebrows. “What makes you think Ned’s gonna fuck up?”

He made a face like that was a ridiculous thing to say. “He’s fucked everythin’ up so far, ‘asn’t he? It’s a tragedy.”

“It’s not--” Jenny cut herself off. He hadn’t sounded mocking. “Like Shakespeare tragedies?”

“Yeah. Hero of the wrong story.”

After a moment, Jenny walked over to the coffee table and perched on it, trying to ignore the unidentified stains. “What do you mean?”

Ripper blinked in apparent surprise, and it took a few tries before he spoke again. “Well-- Othello, for example. His problem was that he was gullible and acted too quickly. If Hamlet had been the protagonist of Othello’s story, he’d have stopped and thought about it first. He’d have picked apart Iago’s lies and actually talked to his wife about it, and probably Emilia and Cassio as well, savin' a lot of lives.”

He wasn’t looking at her now, but over her shoulder, gesturing slightly with the book. “In Hamlet’s narrative though, it goes all to cock because he thinks about it too much and works himself into a paranoid state. Othello would’ve gone right ahead and stabbed Claudius the next morning, which probably would have had its own fallout but a much lower body count.”

Eyes focusing again, Ripper looked back to Jenny, still apparently confused.

Jenny just nodded. “I see what you’re saying. You think Ned’s not the right guy for the job, and there’s no way things’ll end well with him as the hero?” She couldn’t keep the smirk off her face. “A Clash Of Kings is the second book, and I think you’re gonna like it.”

And then, just like that, he was smiling. It was small, and a little hesitant, like he hadn’t smiled in a while or perhaps wasn’t sure if he should be. Jenny realised abruptly that Ripper hadn’t even smirked at her, and now she got to watch his whole face transform into something soft and nervous.

How old was he, when he died? He looked older than her, but not by much, and looks could be deceiving. He acted younger, but poltergeist personalities were tricky things.

“You... like books?”

Blinking in surprise, Jenny nodded. “Sure, I like books. Stories are important.”

Ripper sat up straight, and good Lord his shoulders were broader than she’d thought. “And you like... talkin' about books?”

“Well, of course!” She answered, surprised. “The best stories are stories that breed discussion! Everyone has a different experience when reading a story, they see different things in the subtext and come away with different messages, and it’s great to share that sort of thing. Especially with George R.R. Martin’s series, where there’s so much going on.”

Snorting, Ripper looked at the book’s cover again. “Nicked that off Tolkien,” he muttered, then looked back up with excitement in his eyes. “Alright then, love. What did you take away from A Game Of Thrones?”

“Jenny.”

His smile was more confident this time. “Jenny, then. Go on, have at it.”

The following conversation was... good. It was fun, even when they disagreed, and there was a surreal moment where Ripper described Viserys as “all mouth and no trousers”, but they ended up sharing slang terms and having “a right laugh”.

When Jenny had yawned a few too many times to ignore, she had to extricate herself from the conversation (Ripper legitimately pouted, she couldn’t help giggling). She told him he could grab A Clash Of Kings before she went to bed and found out that he could, in fact, look even happier.

“You got it with you!?”

“Yeah, in my room, in a bag still.” She was about to offer to get it for him, but between one blink and the next, she was alone.

She felt like ice water had been dumped on her head. They’d been having such a good time, chatting and laughing and-- and bonding, sharing thoughts and ideas and she’d been warming up to him, as a person--

She’d forgotten she was talking to a ghost.

When Jenny wasn’t keeping tabs on Angelus, she was in that internet cafe researching. She’d made a little progress, managed to find what she believed was the incident of Ripper’s death in 1976, but she had no names or details. Just a group of young people on drugs, and a tragedy.

(Though there was probably more than just drugs involved.)

But when she got back to the apartment, Ripper was manifested there, book in hand-- only now, he would look up and pause his reading to talk about the book with her. And more; they talked about all kinds of books, and of other kinds of stories. She got him interested in a variety of Netflix shows then tempted him into letting her install WiFi, promising that she could show him all of them and more.

Unfortunately, even when he was willing to learn how to use a computer for his own sake, Ripper’s power didn’t mesh well with the electronics. No permanent damage, but it was clear that he’d be relying on Jenny for his daily dose of sitcoms. (Oddly enough, Brooklyn Nine Nine was one of his favourites. He claimed Jake was the best character because he was a “bloody ‘ilarious div, for a copper”, but after the first episode his face lit up when Holt came on screen.)

But that meant they spent a fair few hours every day sat next to each other, watching Netflix and laughing and talking. She got so used to being near him that she no longer remembered that he was the cause of the chill in the air, or the occasional buffering problems. She even offered him snacks once, only for him to blink bemusedly at the offered food and then at her.

“I’m sorry.” Jenny said sheepishly, pulling the packet back again. “I keep forgetting you’re dead.”

“So do I.” Ripper answered solemnly, and was gone.

"Why are you here, Jenny?”

She nearly dropped her coffee. “What?”

Ripper was leaning his elbows on the kitchen table, his head resting on one hand. The other reached long fingers out idly, stirred Jenny’s coffee without touching it. He didn’t usually do that-- he never used his power while manifested anyway.

“Why’d you move into my grotty apartment and stay? You’re either ‘ere for a fuckin’ good reason or you’re absolutely barmy.”

“Of course I’m barmy.” It sounded even stranger coming out of her own mouth, the r sounding too hard without his accent to soften it.

“Barmy enough to know more than one effective exorcism?” His eyes left the mug, looking straight into Jenny’s instead. The spoon stopped stirring, instead swirling with the liquid but inwards until it stood up straight in the middle. “Don’t pull my leg, Jenny. You a witch or what?”

Sighing, Jenny put down her coffee. Somehow, she’d never expected this conversation. “Mmn, no. I don’t have that kind of power.”

The spoon clattered against the side of the mug, released from Ripper’s whim. “Got a little, though.” There was a pause, and Jenny studiously avoided his gaze. “Run in the family?”

“... Yeah. There was one notable witch at the end of the 1800′s, but I just... dabble. Small stuff, casting bones, minor wards-- stuff like that.”

Ripper nodded. “Gran’s family were magic. Proper magic, powerful. Her sisters thought it was a gift, used it as they saw fit, but her... she thought it was dangerous, needed to be used responsibly, and my father agreed. The second I displayed any magical aptitude, I was packed off to study the worst things the supernatural can offer, so I could spend the rest of my life guarding against them. It was awful... so at sixteen, I ran away and did my own magic, here in my grotty apartment with my fucked-up magic mates.” He laughed bitterly. “Should’ve never left. Should’ve let it kill me.”

Jenny sucked in a sharp breath. Was this it? Was he going to tell her how he died? Was he ready to move on... ? (She told herself it was anticipation, not fear. Ripper was a poltergeist and didn’t belong on the couch watching Netflix with her.)

But those green-with-a-splash-of-brown eyes snapped up to her at the sound, and in the space of her blink there was only Jenny in the kitchen. She felt relieved and disappointed in equal measure.

She couldn’t get the story out of her head. She should have grabbed her laptop and headed for the internet cafe, where she could research uninterrupted by demands for her to check if One Day At A Time had updated, to piece together the mystery of Ripper’s death. It was more than clear that magic had played a part in it, which would continue to muddy the waters, but she had a sudden glut of personal information she previously lacked and should be capitalising on it.

Instead, she sat in the kitchen and drank her coffee. Then she made another coffee, set up her laptop and sat on the couch. He didn’t appear next to her, but the room got colder. He was there.

Jenny took a deep breath. “I was sent here by my family to watch a vampire.” Silence, stillness... but the cold remained. “That witch I mentioned? She was very knowledgeable, and very powerful. After he killed a young woman from our family, she cursed him-- to have his soul returned to him, and all the guilt that came with it.”

The room felt even colder. She wanted to leap up and turn around, to face the phantasm she felt sure was right behind her. She didn’t. “I was sent here to watch him. To make sure he kept suffering. I don’t... he looks so pitiful, out there. Hiding, feeding off rats. But I... what else am I supposed to do? They’re my family.”

Taking a deep breath, Janna shifted slightly in her seat, only to be caught by surprise (every time) by Ripper’s manifestation.

For a few long moments, they sat in silence. “We’re a right pair o’ berks, ain’t we Jen?”

Jen. That was new. “Yeah. Guess we are.”

She risked a smile, and he smiled back.

Jen. She liked that.

She had it. She finally had it. Jenny had to slap her hand to her mouth to keep from shouting in victory and nearly knocked her coffee over. Even avoiding that, some of the other cafe patrons gave her disapproving looks. She couldn’t bring herself to care.

She had it! She knew how Ripper had died-- she even knew what kind of forces must have been involved! All because of a picture... and a tattoo.

It was a group photo from an old newspaper. The image was grainy, and it was only a part of the article from the front cover, not the full thing. But she had a face, a mark, and a name.

The mark was striking, and it didn’t take much to find what-- or rather, who-- it was attached to. Eyghon the Sleepwalker wasn’t well-known, but he and his followers were frequently documented. Easy enough to find, if you were looking, which was probably his M.O. Hell, it was probably how Ripper and his ‘magic mates’ had found the demon too.

The demon that killed him.

It was all in that snippet of the article, when Jenny read between the lines. A young man physically torn apart by his friends in a drug-fuelled rampage... or a violent demonic possession. It seemed unlikely from the rituals she was finding in relation to Eyghon that he could manage multiple live possessions at one time, so it was probably that Eyghon either carelessly destroyed or inevitably burnt out his vessel.

That kind of death, trapped inside your own body while an entity you thought you could control used it as a puppet... no wonder Ripper was a poltergeist, that kind of trauma would give anyone baggage. And it went some way to explaining why he preferred to use corporeal methods of interacting with objects most of the time.

There wasn’t a full legal name, only a first (it had the same first letter and even syllables as the one he went by, dork), but despite the picture’s quality she could recognise Ripper’s handsome face, grinning all lopsided and half-lidded at the camera, probably aiming for cool while totally stoned. The group looked close, all pressed together with arms over shoulders and round waists. A tragedy relegated to a corner of the front page.

The burst of triumphant joy quickly fled, however. Jenny had been hurrying home to tell Ripper what she’d found, only to remember that the whole reason she kept going to that cafe was so that he didn’t know.

But... they weren’t adversaries anymore. She no longer had to fear violence from him, they were... roommates. Weird, unplanned roommates, but still. She spent more time with that dead man than any of her living, breathing, flesh-and-blood friends.

Maybe he’d even be pleased! Happy to leave the burdens of this mortal coil and pass beyond to his eternal rest. He deserved eternal rest, didn’t he? He’d already spent forty-three years bound to one apartment, completely alone-- it would be cruel to keep him trapped there.

Jenny grimaced at the tightness in her chest. It was a result of the brisk pace she’d been walking, she told herself.

Maybe he wouldn’t want to go. He would have to at some point, of course, but he hadn’t finished Brooklyn Nine Nine yet and was still reading the A Song Of Ice And Fire books. Well, the series wasn’t finished, and he couldn’t exactly wait for Martin to write all the books, but he would at least want to catch up with the story so far. At least. And there were so many fantastic scenes with Captain Holt and Kevin still to come, Ripper wouldn’t want to miss that! (She wondered if he’d dated any of the boys in the photo.)

... But both of those depended on Ripper actually knowing that Jenny had done this research, and that was the part she struggled with as she stood outside the building.

Slowly, she made her way inside and up to their door. But already, something was wrong-- the floor, the walls, everything was shaking.

Unlocking and opening the door as quickly as possible, Jenny braced herself for poltergeist aggression.

Jenny said When she was just about five years old You know my parents gonna be the death of us all

... That wasn’t any poltergeist aggression she was familiar with. That sounded like out-of-date music. But it felt like an earthquake. Looking up, she could see Ripper on his back on the floor by a dilapidated record player, eyes closed and oblivious to her presence.

It was an uncomfortable juxtaposition to the unearthly power trembling through the apartment.

Then one fine mornin' she turns on a New York station She doesn't believe what she hears at all Ooh, she started dancin' to that fine fine music You know her life is saved by rock 'n' roll, yeah rock 'n' roll

“Ripper!” She tried to grab his attention, but her voice seemed to be carried away as if by a strong wind, and she realised the line between the rumbling in the structure and the beat of the music was very, very thin. Was he doing this by accident? Somehow, that was more frightening than anything he’d done to her with malicious intent. “Ripper, stop!”

Despite all the computations You could just dance To that rock 'n' roll station

In the end, it wasn’t anything Jenny said that snapped him out of his musical fugue, but her stumbling past the couch and into his space.

His eyes snapped open and the shaking stopped like it had never been, and though the record kept playing the sound was less... invasive. (Less like it was creeping under her skin, into her brain.)

“Hey, Jen! You’re back early.” His smile faded briefly, and he tilted his head where he lay on the dusty floorboards. “Don’t tell me you don’t like The Velvet Underground. If that’s the case you can sling it, and you can take Netflix with you!”

She wanted to argue, like normal. Wanted to tell him that, actually, the music itself was lacklustre but the singing was awful. She wanted to watch him get mad about her ‘slander’, get passionate about the revolutionary progress that music made in the early 70′s, how breaking the boundaries were more important than a classically-trained vocalist, but she couldn’t muster the energy. She just felt cold.

She always felt cold with Ripper. He sucked the warmth out of any room. She had no idea how she’d managed to forget so often, now she was looking at that sallow, drawn face, still shaken by his unthinking power. How did she ever trick herself into seeing the light of life in those pale eyes?

Jenny was clinging to a ghost.

All right All right And it was alright Well, listen to me now And it was alright

Ripper didn’t understand why she was ignoring him. She knew because he kept manifesting in the corner of her vision, confusion and concern on his face.

Jenny kept going out to the cafe, kept doing research. But this time she was researching exorcisms, trying to find something for a poltergeist that could be put into play quickly enough that said poltergeist couldn’t intervene.

He was worried about her, which she knew because he followed her around the house, gently asking what was wrong and how he could help. He made her coffee, even cooked her breakfast, anxiously biting his lip when she took what he gave without comment-- then stared in misery when she stopped taking them at all.

She’d been emailing and DMing her fellow magic-dabblers for ideas and suggestions, learning from the various examples and anecdotes they shared. Slowly but surely putting together a feasible plan to be rid of the spirit that lingered on the mortal plane.

He was angry with her. She knew because he was back to throwing things at her, but always manifested now, screaming accusations and insults. Demanding her attention, threatening to destroy her books, her laptop, swearing viciously that he would tear her apart unless she talked to him.

She couldn’t stand to be in the apartment any longer than she had to be. She was almost grateful for the violence, as it gave her every reason to leave. She spent all her time trying to find accurate incantations and small, discreet artefacts that she could smuggle in her laptop bag to keep from Ripper’s knowledge.

He was desperate, now. He still threw things, still broke things, but they were never aimed at Jenny anymore. He stopped demanding and started begging, apologising and promising to be better, that whatever he did to upset her he’d never do it again. He pleaded with her to look at him, talk to him, anything to indicate that she knew he was there, please, becoming increasingly scared that she didn’t. That he was alone again.

More than once, she found herself staring down an alley or manhole where she knew Angelus to be. He was much older than her, and more deeply entrenched in the supernatural world. If anyone could get rid of a poltergeist, surely he could? She kept chickening out, but she knew he’d seen her at least once-- probably more. He’d confront her eventually.

Ripper gave up. He never manifested in any way, never moved anything or made a sound. Her books were back in her bag in her room, and he didn’t read anything anymore. She could see his shadow in the window when she approached the building, could see it under the door when she put the key in the lock, but although he was there the only clue was the cold.

She was always cold. Especially at night, it was impossible to sleep. Perhaps she could have adapted to the constant chill, but how could anyone rest comfortably with a ghost weeping bitterly in the corner of their room?

Jenny, he whispered brokenly between the sobs, through every hour of the night, Jenny, Jenny, Jenny.

She hated being in the apartment now more than ever. She’d take the violence again, happily. Ripper’s despair seeped into every part of the house and into her, and it followed her out of it, weighing her down with guilt.

Why shouldn’t she feel guilty? It was her fault. She’d thought he’d get bored and sulk, not...

He cried. He cried all night every night, even when he wasn’t in her room she could hear him. He was cold and silent during the day, but she had no doubt that he roamed the halls weeping when she was out as well.

Sometimes the cold would get more intense as he crept closer to her bedside, her back always turned away from the wall to hide her face, and he would whisper her name and quietly bargain with her, as if promising not to comment obnoxiously during Parks and Rec. would make things go back to normal.

He’d even sworn off the music he so loved, if only so she’d talk to him again. And she’d stayed silent and ‘sleeping’ as he choked on his words and retreated to sob in the hall, never knowing that she was crying too.

But... what was she supposed to do? Explain that she’d had some kind of crisis because the person she liked the most in all the world was a dead man? Admit that she’d doggedly caused him all this suffering because he’d spooked her a bit that one afternoon? She didn’t think she could if she wanted to.

Please, he’d breathed into her ear, we don’t ever have to talk to each other again, honest. Just please, please look at me like I’m here. I’m still here Jen, please, I’m still here...

He was right; he was still here. Ripper’s suffering wasn’t going to end because Jenny was discussing books with him. This exorcism was the only way to set him free and let him rest in peace.

But it was taking such a long time just to figure out how to go about it, and she didn’t know how many more anguished, miserable nights she could take. So here she was, wandering London after dark, procrastinating on going back home and feeling guilty for doing so.

Something she sorely regretted when she saw eyes on her from a side street. Trying not to panic, Jenny reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. Realising she didn’t have anyone to call, she faked it, greeting someone who wasn’t there and striking up a conversation in which she made it clear that she was heading home and would be there very soon. That should be a successful deterrent, unless it was a vampire.

(What if it was Angelus?)

She kept up the imaginary chat all the way back to the apartment building, where she chirped a bright, “I’m here!” into the cell and started jogging up the stairs. For the first time in days, Jenny was eager to be back within the apartment’s boundaries.

Just as she was fumbling with her key, strong hands grabbed her shoulders, holding her in place. She hadn’t heard them at all.

Oh, fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck. It was a vampire. It was a vampire and she was going to die. Idiot, stupid, why was she out after dark!?

“Don’t move.” The vampire said softly. “I have some things to ask you.”

“Do you?” Jenny asked, heart in her throat.

Before she could say anything else, the vampire’s grip tightened. “Oh, sorry, you must not have heard me. I’m gonna be asking the questions, alright?”

She didn’t answer. She hated how scared she was, but she was frozen and couldn’t swallow. She was going to die. She was going to die. She was going to die.

“Better.” The strong hands turned her around, and the first thing she saw was the bleached hair and razor-sharp cheekbones. “Now... stop me if you’ve heard this one before, but a vampire with a soul moved into the sewer.”

She knew that one quite well, but still couldn’t get her tongue to cooperate. It felt thick and clumsy in her mouth.

“Proper pathetic he is now, and I knew him before. He was always a pretentious prick, but now?” The vampire shook his head. “Shame, really. Still, means I can go poke him with a stick now and then so I don’t mind that much, but I’ve got to wonder... what have you got to do with him?”

Jenny finally found her voice. “I don’t- I don’t know wha-what you’re talking about.”

She was shoved backwards into the door, sudden and painful. Her shoulders were going to bruise.

He tutted, shaking his head in a disappointment belied by the glee in his eyes. “Dear oh dear... wrong answer, I’m afraid.”

The door swung inwards, and Jenny fell back-- while the vampire hit the boundary of the threshold and had his grip torn from her.

“What the bloody--!?”

“Be gone.”

The vampire shrieked and threw himself out of the doorway as an honest-to-God stake aimed straight for his heart flew just past him.

“I know what you are, demon.”

Fire suddenly sprung up from the floor outside the doorway, forcing the vampire back onto the stairwell. Jenny frantically scooted further back into her home as the vampire stared in shock. “Jesus Christ--”

“You are dust.”

The stairs cracked, and the vampire swore, then was gone with a distant thud. The door swung shut, and Ripper was there.

“What the fuck were you doing out at night!? Do you have any idea how many vampires there are crawling around London!? You could have been killed!”

His voice broke, his face crumpled, and Ripper sunk to his knees in front of her. “Jen-- Jenny-- you- you can’t-- it’s not safe--”

“Ripper.” She choked out, grateful beyond belief. “Only-- only you would just. Have a c-carved stake on hand.”

But Ripper’s beautiful eyes had gone wide, and he was staring at her like he’d never seen her before. “Jenny,” he whispered, intensely, urgently, like a desperate prayer, “Jenny.”

To her horror, Jenny sobbed, and Ripper lurched forwards only to hover awkwardly, just short of touching her.

“Can you--” His voice was thick. “Are you--” A ragged breath. “Jenny. I’m-- I’m here. I’m here.”

Yes. Yes, he was there, and he’d saved her. No one member of the Kalderash would have known if she died today, wouldn’t even have cared, but Ripper was there.

She reached out and grabbed his arm with both hands. He was so cold and she was so glad to feel it. He went as still as a statue, but when Jenny pulled herself forward to wrap her arms around him, she felt him gasp as if he still had lungs in his chest to expand.

Then Ripper was hugging her back, and she wept into his broad shoulder. He was crying too, sobbing her name this time in relief, squeezing her in a way that felt strange and new, but good.

“God,” he choked out, “you’re so warm!”

She would be, wouldn’t she? The warmth of life must be so alien to him, she thought sadly, and she squeezed him a little more firmly against her, finding the chill of undeath not so unpleasant as she’d anticipated.

It felt good to touch Ripper, to feel him solid against her. He didn’t feel alive, but he felt real.

They were on the couch, as they so often were. Pressed together underneath a blanket, the two of them had been pleasantly surprised to find that while Ripper didn’t create heat, he could absorb it from another living being-- which meant that a hot drink, thick wool and some cuddling kept them both toasty.

And Ripper was loving it. He was still a little wounded from the weeks spent ignoring him, and he did everything in his power to grab and keep Jenny’s attention. Now that they were hugging nearly constantly, that was pretty easy to do.

He even crept into her bed, just to lie close to her. She couldn’t deny him, not after the ceaseless, lonely misery she’d put him through. Not when he lit up whenever she rolled over and acknowledged him, like he hadn’t dared to hope.

But they were on the couch when things changed again.

“’Ang about, so ‘Rosa Diaz’ might not be ‘er legal name, that’s what you’re tellin’ me?”

“Might not be. I mean, I have no idea how Terry tracked down her school and favourite teacher if it’s not her real name, but it might be a retcon.”

Ripper frowned. “A what?”

“Retroactive continuity.” His expression didn’t change. Jenny rolled her eyes. “The people making it changed their minds.”

“Oh. That’s naff.”

‘Naff’ was one of those words she hadn’t got a concrete definition for yet, but it was definitely negative. She nodded in agreement.

“What’s a name, anyway? It’s a made-up word with an arbitrary meanin’, like every aspect of language.”

Now it was Jenny’s turn to frown. Ripper loved geeky shit like languages and etymology. He only usually sounded this grouchy about things like technology and Jenny leaving the apartment.

“’Real name’,” he continued, muttering, “Crock o’ shit.”

After a long silence, Jenny took a deep breath. “At birth I was named Janna.”

He immediately swiveled to stare at her, and she met his gaze head on.

The stare-down didn’t last long, to her disappointment. He seemed to get embarrassed, and sheepishly muttered, “Well, that’s alright, ain’t it?”

Ah. She smirked, deciding to have a little fun. “Oh, really? What did your parents name you, Tarquin? Oswald?”

Ripper chuckled. “No, it’s not that bad. But it is a bit...” He bobbled his head, with a faint grimace. Jenny bit back her grin, trying to imagine his legal name in his accent. She thought it sounded quite nice.

Shifting position a little, Jenny plonked her head on his shoulder. For several minutes, nothing further was said. Just when she’d resigned herself to pretending she hadn’t started this and trying again next time, he spoke.

“Rupert.”

“Rupert?” She repeated in surprise, head snapping back up to look at him. “Not Randall?”

He turned cold.

“Where did you get that name?”

Cold and gaunt with eyes like ice, eyes that saw through her. Jenny swallowed around the lump in her throat and lied by omission.

“When... I knew someone died here, then you were here being all... poltergeisty. I-I looked it up. I thought... I thought that was-- that you’d been killed here. And that’s why you were still here.”

Had they misidentified the body? Mistaken Ripper for one of his friends? The thought was like a gut punch. He deserved better.

“Oh, I see,” he hissed, derailing that thought, “you thought I was the victim? Poor li’l Ripper, killed by his friends?” He was still under the blanket with her, pressed into her side; but he was sapping her warmth without keeping it, his unblinking gaze markedly unfriendly. Damn it, she thought, I’d stopped being scared of you.

“I’m not Randall-- I’m not the victim.” He spat, leaning in dangerously close. “I’m Ripper. I’m the murderer.”

For one heart-stopping moment, he stayed there, green-and-brown eyes all she could see. Then he was gone, the lights and the laptop flickering. The cold lingered.

Heart pounding, shaking with adrenaline, Jenny bit her lip hard and fought back her tears. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

He was gone. Jenny didn’t know where he had gone, if he’d moved on or was simply giving her the silent treatment. But it wasn’t right.

She found herself listless, constantly looking for Ripper, waiting for him to appear. She spoke to empty rooms and opened Netflix only to sit there staring at the login screen, waiting for a companion that wouldn’t arrive. She started saying incendiary things to piss him off, but still there was silence.

Was this how Ripper had felt, she wondered? Had he felt an ache in his ghostly chest, a craving for the sound of a voice? She could understand why he’d cried so much.

Maybe he had passed on at last. Maybe he was at peace. Or maybe he was here, lurking beyond Jenny’s perceptions, just as lonely as her.

Jenny should have been pleased. She would have been three months ago, thrilled to be rid of her violent poltergeist. But past Jenny would have easily believed said poltergeist was a murderer. Present Jenny couldn’t.

She threw herself back into research. She could have done it in the apartment since Ripper seemed disinclined to disturb her, but it didn’t feel right. Besides, she’d hardly leave at all otherwise. The fresh air and occasional shafts of sunlight kept her from completely sinking into despair with his absence hanging over her like a shroud.

She had more than a name. She had two. The name of the man who died, and the name of the man who was lingering in the apartment.

The man with pale green eyes (and a splash of brown). The man with loose curls and a long, straight scar on his forehead. The man who dressed punk and talked shit but cooed at Holt and Kevin’s dog and had random trivia facts about foreign flowers. It was so, so obvious to Jenny that his harsh exterior was a front, and he couldn’t possibly have murdered someone, not on purpose. He couldn’t have. He couldn’t even commit to properly being a poltergeist! All she’d had to do to soften him up was talk to him, and she hadn’t exactly been playing nice. He was playful and immature, and he was solemn and lonely, and he wasn’t a killer.

Rupert.

Jenny had just got used to attaching the name ‘Randall’ to him, but his voice saying Rupert played on repeat in her head. Rupert. Rupert. Rupert.

Jenny and Ripper.

Janna and Rupert.

Pots and kettles.

Morgan Le Fuck you gotta be kidding me

Technopagan it’s not that wild, morgan. it was almost 50 years ago and barely made the front page of the local paper. it’s hard to dig things up.

Morgan Le Fuck no i mean i recognise one of the guys in that photo

Technopagan wHAT WHO WHICH ONE MOGRAN

Morgan Le Fuck chubby beard guy. that’s my uncle phil

Jenny ran.

She’d barely slept the night before and had been at the usual coffee shop at opening time. She made it to Picadilly Circus Station in seven minutes, and boarded the underground. Ten minutes after that she was standing at King’s Cross station, waiting for a train to Cambridge.

An hour later Jenny was in Cambridge, running for the law firm on Hills Road.

She arrived at 7:39, gasping for breath, and was told by the unsettled lady at the desk that Philip Henry wouldn’t be there until eight that morning.

Jenny waited.

At six minutes to eight, a man in a crisp business suit walked in, and his face really did look much the same as the photo.

“Philip Henry!” She suddenly cried, startlingly loud after almost twenty minutes of silence. Jenny leapt up and ran to him. “You have to tell me about the murder from 1976!”

Philip was immediately guarded, and usually Jenny wouldn’t blame him but right now she needed him to cooperate. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I follow? Can I ask your name, Miss... ?”

“Jenny,” she snapped, “I thought Ripper was the guy killed but it turns out he’s Rupert, not Randall, and he said he was--”

“Stop!” Philip had gone pale and wide-eyed, and he glanced over Jenny’s shoulder before swallowing and saying, “Why don’t you join me in my office?”

Which, fair, she was on the verge of saying some things that would be very difficult to explain away if she hadn’t already, but for fuck’s sake this was important!

Jenny turned and stormed further into the building, before realising she had no idea where she was going. She grudgingly came to a stop and let Philip catch up so he could lead her.

The moment the door was closed, she was on the attack.

“What the fuck happened!? Ripper said he murdered Randall but I can’t believe that! I’ve been living with the guy and he’s a dick but he’s a sweetheart--”

“Stop, stop, stop!” That successfully cut Jenny off; he sounded mad as hell.

“I don’t know who you are, how you know about that, or what your game is. But I won’t put up with it. Ripper-- Rupert is dead, he’s been dead forty-odd years.”

Jenny threw her arms up in exasperation. “Yes! He is! And he’s been in that crappy apartment ever since! But if he wasn’t the one murdered, then why the hell is he still there? Why does he think he’s a murderer?”

Finally, realisation seemed to be dawning on Philip’s face. She hadn’t thought he could get any paler, but now he was chalk-white. “He’s a ghost...?”

“Poltergeist.” Philip was starting to look like he might pass out. “A real piece of work too, terrorised me for weeks. Then corrected my Latin when I tried to exorcise him, the dick.”

Philip continued to be incredibly unhelpful, stumbling over to his desk and sinking into the nearest chair. Was he shaking? God, it was like he’d never dealt with a poltergeist before.

“I knew someone had been murdered in that apartment.” He was definitely shaking. “I found a photo and part of an article, but I thought he was Randall.”

“No,” Philip said at last, “no that... Randall was before.”

Jenny frowned, shifting her laptop bag further back across her hip. “Before 1976?”

“No,” he said again, not looking at her, “Ripper died after ‘76.”

“Okay,” Jenny said, not hiding her frustration at all, “so tell me what happened!”

Philip took in a deep breath, then let it out in a stressed sigh. Then a knock sounded at the office door, and without waiting for an answer the receptionist opened it and looked in.

“Phil, you’re due for-- are you alright?” She seemed alarmed, and she should be Jenny realised. Philip still looked to be in shock.

“Yeah, I...” Another deep sigh, and Phil slowly dragged his hands down his face. “This young lady is a friend of my niece, and she raced down here to tell me about a family emergency. I’m afraid I’ll need to leave.”

Nodding sympathetically, concern in her gaze, the woman said, “Oh of course, Phil. I’ll let Julia know and we’ll get someone in to cover.”

“Thank you.” Philip answered, then looked at Jenny. “You’d best come in the car with me.”

There was a voice in the back of Jenny’s head telling her that getting into a stranger’s car was a bad idea. She acknowledged it long enough to note that it sounded like Ripper, and smile at how much of a worrywart he could be, then summarily ignored it.

The inside of Philip’s house, when they got there, was... ordinary to the point of dull. All neutral colours and matching curtains, a few photos on a few surfaces and a painting of a seascape on one wall. Nothing indicating magic at all. He’d clearly left it all behind.

He’d been frustratingly tight-lipped in the car, to the point where Jenny had pretty much explained the whole debacle from start to finish in his silence. But she was reaching the end of her tether, and if Philip didn’t stop bumbling about in the kitchen she was storming in after him.

But he did come out, and when he did it was with a tea tray with steaming cups and a little milk jug and sugar bowl, and it was much nicer than the breakfast tray Ripper had cobbled together but he probably would have loved it if he could see it. She let Philip bumble some more, just nodding or shaking her head as he doctored her tea, not trusting her voice as she tried not to think about Ripper geeking out over a tea tray.

After a sip of tea and a heavy sigh, Philip said. “Eyghon. The Sleepwalker. He was... ancient. We would summon him, our little group of try-hards, usually already high on something. We’d take turns, one at a time, to be possessed by him. And it was... incredible. I literally don’t have the words to describe it, but there’s a reason we kept doing it despite the danger.”

Jenny ignored her tea completely, staring at Philip with rapt attention. Finally, finally, she’d know the truth.

“In 1976... it was Randall’s turn. But... the possession didn’t proceed normally. Eyghon wasn’t just inside Randall, he was awake and in control. All of our summoning, our- our worship, had strengthened him. Ripper thought quickly-- he always did-- and managed to get Randall in a position where we could tie him to a chair, buy us time to try and... fix it. Exorcise Eyghon, somehow.

But... we didn’t know how. We tried everything. And you have to understand, not only did we have resources, but Ripper... he was like an occult encyclopedia. But like I said, Eyghon is ancient, from before humanity I think. Nothing was working. It was the first time we were completely stumped even with Ripper’s knowledge and all our books, and that was almost as terrifying as Eyghon using Randall.”

“That’s why Ripper thinks he’s a murderer?” It made an awful sense. “Because he didn’t know how to save him?”

Philip looked decidedly uncomfortable, and took another sip of his tea. “Ah... no.”

He spent several seconds staring into his tea, then said, “Nothing was working, so... Ethan had an idea. A reckless, stupid idea. His specialty. But we had no other options and Eyghon was breaking free, so... those two were the most competent spellcasters, so if anyone could have done it they could. But...”

“But it didn’t work.” Jenny pressed.

Philip made a face. “The Pelleris spell.”

She felt the blood drain out of her face. “That-- that’s not meant for people!”

“It was all we had.”

Jenny was pulled out of her shock by the clink of Philip’s cup as he set it down again.

“We all came away different people... except Ethan. Untouchable, the selfish prick. We all went our separate ways after that. Tom, Diedre and I kept in touch, but not often. Ethan and Ripper just... evaporated, after an argument between them turned violent.”

Christ. No wonder Ripper had issues, something like that... Jenny could hardly wrap her head around it. But it proved her point-- he’d been trying to save Randall, not kill him! That was an accident, not a murder.

“... Four years later,” Philip continued, more subdued, “I got a call from Diedre. Turned out the apartment was still empty, and she went back sometimes, around the anniversary. She, uh... she’d found Ripper.”

Jenny heard herself gasp, felt her heart start to pound in her chest. He had been killed in the apartment! The strap of her laptop bag was biting into her hands and she realised she was wringing it tightly, but she didn’t stop.

“He’d...” Philip swallowed thickly. “We had-- there was this... stash. Under one of the floorboards, probably a few to be fair. Just... all kinds of drugs, magical and mundane. Turned out no one had found it, or just not wanted to deal with it, and he’d... Ripper... Ripper had taken the lot.”

It felt like ice water had been dumped on Jenny’s head, washing over her in an almost-painful prickling wave. Hot tears burned behind her eyes in visceral contrast, and she had to take a few deep, shaky breaths to keep from crying. She’d been so convinced all this time, but Ripper hadn’t been killed at all. He’d done it to himself.

"I... I have to admit, knowing Ripper’s soul is still on this plane is... deeply unsettling.”

Jenny glanced over, and felt an overdue welling of sympathy for Philip. All this had happened to his friends. Finding out that someone he’d cared for, lost, mourned and moved on from was still haunting their old apartment... she couldn’t begin to imagine how he felt. Jenny floundered for a moment, trying to figure out what she could possibly say, but he carried on without waiting for her to speak.

“Eyghon... he didn’t just possess sleeping people. He’d take the dead, though corpses don’t last as long. But...” Philip hesitated, picked up his empty cup and put it down again, eyes anywhere but Jenny. “You don’t just summon Eyghon. You have to-- to mark yourself, for possession. You have to mark yourself as his. You have to give yourself to him. For Ripper’s spirit to still be here... why hasn’t Eyghon claimed him?”

And with that, Jenny felt sick. She’d wanted the truth, thinking she’d be prepared for it, but now came the realisation of what she’d tried to do. She’d been fighting to exorcise him, on and off for months... never realising that she would have effectively been handing him over to a demon.

It’s pretty difficult now, she thought hysterically, to be mad about the shower sludge.

Abruptly, Philip cleared his throat, and suddenly his demeanour had changed noticeably. He sat up straight, shoulders squared, his face set in quiet determination. “I need to try and contact the others. Then we can figure out what to do.”

Still reeling, and utterly at a loss, Jenny just nodded.

It was about twenty minutes past two in the afternoon by the time Philip actually got a viable contact, only for him to realise that Diedre wasn’t going to pick up the phone no matter how long it rang because she was probably at work. This was too sensitive-- and supernatural-- to leave in a voice message, so he recited his number and asked that she call back, then focused on tracking down Thomas instead.

Staring into long-cold tea, Jenny wondered what could possibly come next. Exorcising Ripper was completely out of the question until he was safe from Eyghon, but Philip and Ripper couldn’t even force him from a human host. What could they do to protect Ripper’s soul?

What if it was already too late?

It was too awful to contemplate, but Jenny couldn’t stop thinking about it. He’d been silent, absent, for weeks now. For all she knew, Eyghon could have him already, could have bypassed whatever had stopped him, swept in and claimed Ripper and their last conversation would have been fraught with anger and fear. She would never sit with him, never watch Netflix with him, never see his reaction to the end of A Storm Of Swords. She’d never get to call him Rupert, or argue with him, or cuddle in bed with him, or see his soft, dopey smiles ever again.

Curling tightly into the corner, acutely feeling the lack of him, Janna wept.

The next few hours passed in this lonely, guilt-ridden misery. Philip noticed, but seemed not to know what to do, and simply ignored her. She figured it must be pretty weird to have a random teenager come tell you your old dead friend was a poltergeist and then start crying in your living room.

“Tom!” Philip’s voice suddenly changed from its previous politeness, relief and familiarity shining through. “Tom, it’s Philip Henry... yeah. Yeah, that’s... it’s not a social call. No. No it’s... it’s Ripper. Yes-- yeah, I know, that’s the problem. He’s a... a ghost. He’s still in the apartment.”

A ghost, Jenny noticed. Not poltergeist. She didn’t know what it meant, but she noticed.

After some more talking, Philip gave Thomas his address, so apparently this Thomas person was heading over. Was Thomas the thin dark-haired man from the photo, or the tall blond? She supposed she’d find out.

Almost immediately after Thomas hung up, Diedre called. Philip’s greeting to her was much more subdued, the conversation shorter. He gave her the address as well, and that was that.

“So,” Jenny croaked, trying to pretend she wasn’t sniffling, “what now?”

Philip was visibly startled by Jenny’s voice after hours of her being silent, but he rallied well, returning again to his more composed, determined state. “For now, we’ll have to wait. Once the others have arrived we’ll convene, and figure out a plan of action.”

Awkwardly, he gestured to the couch. “You can, uh, stay on the sofa tonight. It’ll be dark by the time you get back to London.”

Jenny shuddered, remembering the last time she was out after dark in London. “I... okay. Yeah. Thanks.”

God, she hated waiting.

“Have you got coffee?”

Philip glanced doubtfully at his watch. “Bit late in the day for a coffee, don’t you think?”

“No.”

With a sigh, Philip shrugged and took the tray back out into the kitchen.

Resigning herself to yet more waiting, tired but dreading the thought of sleep, Jenny, glanced out the window. Not that there was anything to see.

People walking, people driving. Not many, what with the dwindling light, but a few. Most of them wholly unaware that ghosts were anything other than stories or metaphors. Jenny literally couldn’t imagine living like that-- she’d always known.

She shivered, feeling suddenly cold. She looked back towards the kitchen, hoping Philip would arrive with hot coffee, and shrieked in surprise.

“Christ,” yelled Ripper, startled by Jenny in turn, “that the bloody thanks I get? I come all the way to fucking Cambridge-- why are you in Cambridge!? It’s an hour and a sodding half away!”

Flustered, heart thumping, Jenny blurts, “That’s not that far!”

“Ripper!?”

Blinking slowly, Ripper frowned, then turned about. Philip had come out of the kitchen (without coffee, Jenny noted) and was staring in abject... shock? Horror? It was hard to tell.

Leaning forward slightly, Ripper squinted. “... Phil?”

“... Yeah. Yeah it’s me.”

Still squinting, Ripper slowly looked around the room; at the walls, the carpets, the furniture, the seascape painting. “You married?”

“Uh... n-no. No I’m not married. Why...?”

“Living with relatives? Your sister?”

“...No. Just me.”

“Well then why the fuck is everything--?” Ripper cut himself off, and waved a hand around like the place was a mess.

Affronted, Phil scowled. “There’s nothing wrong with neutral colours.”

“You. You actually just said that to me. What the fuck.”

Jenny tried to interject. “Actually, Ripper--”

“Phil.” He carried on like he hadn’t heard her. “Philip. This place looks like my Gran chose the decor, and she remembers the 30s. What the fuck kind of lobotomy have you had?”

“It’s called growing up, Ripper!”

“Jesus, I didn’t realise adulthood was achieved by surgically removing your personality! Explains a lot.”

“My house is perfectly--”

“Your sofas match the curtains and both of them are beige!”

“STOP!”

Finally, silence reigned as both men sheepishly turned to Jenny. “Ripper, how are you here?”

The question clearly confused Ripper, and he took a few seconds to think about it. “Well... you weren’t home, and it was gettin’ dark. Didn’t want a repeat of the last time,” he gave her a Look, “so I came to get you.”

“That didn’t answer my question.” She said firmly. “How did you come to get me?”

A longer silence. Ripper’s eyes were unfocused. “... You weren’t home. You were here. I knew you were here. So I needed to be here. So I’m here.” He suddenly jerked like an electric current had passed through him, and then pinned Jenny with a cold stare. “Why are you at Phil’s house? How are you at Phil’s house? How do you--” he turned to Phil, “why is Jenny in your tragically bland house?”

Phil immediately looked... wary. Sympathetic but on edge, like he was about to deliver bad news. “Well... she had concerns about, um. A poltergeist.”

That was annoyingly vague, and Jenny made sure to shoot him an irritated look, but it was true. She’d been pretty concerned about Ripper. “Right,” she affirmed, “and it turned out someone recognised--”

Cold, dead eyes. Piercing. Her voice died as well.

“Finally getting shot of me, then?”

“Oh my god, Ripper, are you serious? I was worried about you-- !”

“Yes, you’ve made that clear,” he snapped, “and you tracked down someone who knew me then to do it properly. Well, go on!”

Ripper lurched towards Phil, throwing his arms wide. “Go on, do it! Fucking do it, get it over with!”

“We’re not giving you to Eyghon!” Jenny shouted, furious and terrified. She was shaking as Ripper turned back around, eerily slow.

“He told you, then.”

“Yes,” she answered, filled with urgency, “he told me you tried to save--”

Ripper scoffed in disgust and turned away again.

“You did!”

“You did.”

Phil’s voice was soft, so much so Jenny wasn’t entirely sure what she’d heard. There was a tense silence as Ripper stared at Phil’s gentle expression, before his own twisted in bitterness and guilt.

“Didn’t though, did I?” He spat with such venom that Jenny flinched. It nearly brought her to tears again, to hear how much he hated himself. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and tell him he was a good person, but that wouldn’t work. She felt more helpless now that she ever had when he was trying to drive her out.

“No,” Phil agreed, not unkindly, “but you didn’t kill Randall either.”

Again, Ripper flinched at the name. “I know we were all on drugs, but I’m pretty fucking sure I did, Philip!”

“Ripper.” He was imploring now, carefully stepping closer. “I was there. I saw you. I had our best spellbook in my hands, and I couldn’t find anything that might help. But every time I thought ‘this is it, we’re all dead’, you pulled something else out of that incredible brain of yours. And no, you’re right, none of it worked, but not for lack of trying. I honestly thought a couple times you were gonna drag Eyghon out of Randall with your own two hands. You did everything in your power to get us all out alive.”

Phil was right in front of Ripper now, and although he was shorter the balance between them had drastically shifted. Ripper looked so brutally young.

“That’s not murder, Ripper. If a surgeon loses a patient on the operating table despite his best efforts, he’s not a murderer. You just... couldn’t quite save him. And even then!” Phil smiled breathlessly, looking for all the world like he idolised the restless spirit invading his living room. “Even then, you saved the rest of us. Tom, Diedre and me, we all talked about it months later. How lucky we were to have you there with us.”

Ripper sobbed, and Jenny couldn’t wait any longer. She charged into Ripper’s back, her own tears streaming, squeezing him tightly even as they both collided with Phil, who was completely unprepared. They went down with a shout in a haphazard tangle of limbs, Ripper still sobbing and Jenny sort of laughing but with tears.

He was warm.

Angel had left the country, again.

And it was Janna’s duty to follow where he led.

Which was how she found herself stepping out of an airport into California sunshine. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, basking in the warmth.

“Oh god,” said Ripper, “this is awful.”

Jenny sighed, glancing over to see him hunching in his leather jacket. “Only you would complain about such a glorious day.”

“In a busy airport under a blinding sun, slowly baking? I’d rather be dead.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. It stopped being funny months ago and she absolutely wasn’t going to encourage him by laughing.

Oh, but he had that stupid, adorable grin on his face, eyes twinkling with knowing, and she had to turn away. “You’re literally the worst.”

She could see him reflected in a nearby window, shifting his weight to one leg in a perfectly nonchalant slouch, with an artfully derisive “Pshh,” as he dug out his phone. His brow pinched just a little as he unlocked the touch screen like he’d been practicing, and started methodically doing whatever he was doing with it. Jenny was both surprised and proud at how quickly he’d got the hang of it.

“You texting Phil?” She decided to pretend to check how she looked in the window. Her favourite Ripper was the one who thought she wasn’t looking. The one who stared out of the plane window in awe while she watched over the rim of her book, who tucked her hair behind her ear when he thought she was sleeping. The one who stuck his tongue out a little as he tried to get the phone in the right position for a selfie, then grinned like a dork as he actually took it.

“Yeah,” he said afterward, which by then was true since he was carefully typing a message to go with his selfie, “you know what a fusser he is. And Diedrie’ll wanna know what it’s like here.”

The smile on Jenny’s reflection was starting to look a little too dopily adoring, so she shook herself and grabbed her luggage. “Well, come on slowpoke! If we miss that bus we’ll have to hitchhike, and you might be fine with getting stabbed in the woods but I’m wearing a new dress!”

She flashed him a grin before striding through the crowds with more authority than her tiny from and floral sundress would suggest.

She didn’t see the gentle warmth in the eyes that followed her, or the softness of the smile beneath them. She heard the scrape of bags being scooped off the concrete and the heavy booted footsteps striding effortlessly to catch up with her, but not the sweetly whispered words--

“So the spirit bows before thee To listen and adore thee; With a full but soft emotion, Like the swell of Summer's ocean.”

[todobaku-shoukat]

Boku No Toddler Academia (30/?)

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11712765/chapters/35864727

Nightmare come true?

Bakugou and the toddlers are happily watching a movie when the doors of the dorms are suddenly smashed open. Bakugou jumps up immediately, moving to a fighting stance and ordering the children to hide. When a large figure stomps pass the doorway, Bakugou freezes in fear. A Nomu. Before Bakugou can even blink, the Nomu rushes forward, grabbing one of the toddlers before moving back towards the doorway where a man in a wheelchair enters.

 “Kacchan!” Midoriya calls, his small body grasped in the palms of the huge Nomu.

 “Fuck!” Bakugou curses his inability to fight back, snapping out of his fear. This is not the time to be afraid. He has his children to protect. Growling at the Nomu and the man in the wheelchair, Bakugou shouts “Give him back!”

 The man in the wheelchair laughs, coming closer towards Bakugou who cannot help but to take a step back. He knows this man. It is All For One.

 “How?!” Bakugou begins, confused. This man should not be here. But before he can finish asking, the man lets out a deranged laughter.

 “Give him back? My, my. I’m afraid that’s what I should be saying.” All For One replies before opening up his arms as if to hug someone. A small head of blue rushes forward from behind Bakugou, running straight into those arms happily. It is Shigaraki.

 “Sensei…” Shigaraki drawls out, happiness clear in his voice as he hugs All For One. Following Shigaraki, Toga and Kurogiri also make their way towards All For One, the bounce in their steps announcing their joy at the villain’s arrival.

 Bakugou feels his heart break at this scene, fear and anger coursing through his veins. This cannot be real. His mind ran a mile a minute, wordlessly asking a myriad of questions. Was this planned? Did they take the opportunity where all the teachers are busy invigilating for the exams to infiltrate the dorms? What do they want? Why did his children, the ever-clingy Shigaraki, the bright and cheerful Toga and the quiet Kurogiri, leave his side only to rush into the arms of a villain? How can he get them and Midoriya back? Could he possibly fight the Nomu, especially when it still has little Midoriya clutched in his hands?

 In the end, the only thing Bakugou can say is, “Come back here! Come back to mama!”

 All For One laughs, low and vicious. “You really think you are their mama? Hahahahaha. You’re a failure, inept. You’re nothing but a substitute. And now, I’m going to take them home. I’m going to take all of them home. How wonderful it will be to raise these promising children to be excellent villains.”

 “No! Don’t you dare take them away!” Bakugou growls, hands outstretch with little sparks coming out of his palms. He wanted nothing more than to explode that faceless villain’s face but he could not bear to hurt the children in that man’s lap. Although he knew that Shigaraki, Toga and Kurogiri are/were/will be villains, they are still his dear children.

 “Well then, maybe I shall take you with us. Your quirk will come in handy as we destroy the world.” Following All For One’s words, a crowd of Nomus appear, snatching up the rest of the toddlers. Bakugou rushes forward, furious but helpless, trying to stop them yet not knowing how. His heartbeat pounds loudly in his ears and he feels a heavy weight on his chest. He cannot breathe, and then the world goes black.

 Gasping loudly for air, Bakugou’s eyes shoot open. His vision is blurry, but he could roughly identify the little face before him. As his senses return to him, Bakugou realises that he is still lying in his futon, the toddlers crowding around him with concern on their faces. It is then that Bakugou feels something cold in his palms. Glancing down, Bakugou finds that he had used his quirk in his sleep and Todoroki had used his own to counter it.

 “What?” Bakugou wanted to ask what happened by his voice comes out hoarse and weak and he became overwhelmed with the insistent need to cough. Bakugou waves a hand as he coughs into the other arm, indicating to the toddlers to move away from him lest they catch his cold. After he finishes coughing, Bakugou tries to get up, only for his head to feel like it is being split open. Helpless, Bakugou can only lie in his futon and weakly warn the kids to stay away. Despite having just woken up, Bakugou feels lethargy creeping back up and he closes his eyes, falling into dreamless sleep.

 “What’s wrong with mama?” Uraraka asks.

 “Mama is sick!” Toga concludes.

 “Ah? Then what should we do?” Kirishima asks. The teachers All Might and Midnight have already left early in the morning to prepare for the exam, not even staying for breakfast. As a result, nobody knew that there was something wrong with Bakugou until they were woken up by the loud bang of his quirk.

 The toddlers look at each other, at a loss as to what to do. Then, Asui speaks up, “I have seen my mom take care of my younger siblings when they fall sick… I have some idea…”

 The toddlers immediately perk up and listen to Asui as she lists a couple of things that they should do, doing what they could and searching the internet for some help as well. They need a thermometer to measure Bakugou’s temperature but they do not know if they even have a thermometer, much less where it is kept. As such, Yaoyorozu uses the computer to find out how to make one. While she does this, Todoroki is in charge of keeping Bakugou cool using a wet towel and his own quirk. On the other side of Bakugou is Kirishima who is sending the other well wishes as they previously saw a WikiHow article telling them to do so before Yaoyorozu commandeered the computer.

 Satou, Shouji and Ojiro are in the kitchen, attempting to make a bowl of congee. Thanks to Thirteen’s guidance the day before, they know their way around the kitchen. However, none of them knows how to make congee, but they did not think that it would be that difficult. It is just rice and water after all, right? And so, they pour a cup of rice and two cups of water into a lined cake pan and baked it.

 The other toddlers look for the blankets used in their forts the other day, wrapping Bakugou in these blankets to keep his body warm. When Yaoyorozu successfully makes a thermometer, the toddlers cheer happily, believing that they can nurse their mama back to health. However, when Asui takes Bakugou’s temperature, he is a shocking 39.7°C. The toddlers start to worry again, unsure of what to do. Just then, the oven dings and Satou goes to check on their congee. The rice turns out cooked, but it is just baked rice and not congee. Now that the computer is available again, Satou searches how to make congee, properly this time, but it turns out too complicated for the toddler. Other than the oven, he did not know how to use the other appliances.

 Disappointed, the toddlers crowd around Bakugou. They do now know how to contact the teachers, and their mama made it extremely clear that they cannot leave the dorm. Hence, they are all stuck. Just then, an idea comes to Midoriya. Bakugou said they could not go out of the dorms, but he never said they could not get other people to enter the dorms. And the only person Midoriya knows to call is his mom. Midoriya Inko has always been a protective mom, drilling her phone number and email into her son. And so, Midoriya borrows the computer to write an email to his mother.

 Seeing what Midoriya is doing, Uraraka asks, “Are you asking your mama to come over?”

 Midoriya nods in response. Immediately, Yaoyorozu asks, “Midoriya-san, you knew mama since he was young. Then –”

 “Do you have mama’s baby photos?” Toga interrupts.

 “Yes…” Midoriya replies.

 “Wah! Can you ask your mama to bring them when she comes?” Hagakure asks excitedly. Midoriya readily agrees and the toddlers cheer, already forgetting their worry over their sickly mama.

 When Midoriya Inko receives the email from her son, she is surprised. The account used was her son’s old account that he no longer used, having chosen to use a more professional-looking email compared to the childish one. At first, Midoriya Inko thought that someone had hacked into her son’s account. After all, her son is supposed to be at a special training camp with no phones. The email is also strange, reminiscent of the way her son used to speak before he grew up. However, Midoriya Inko could not see why someone would hack into her son’s email account to email her such things. Hence, she decides to email back to gather confirmation. She asks in her email, who is Midoriya Izuku’s number one hero. Seeing this childish old email account name, Midoriya Inko somehow felt nostalgic. That question was a question she used to ask her son a lot when he was young, before he found out that he was “quirkless”. Back then, Midoriya Inko would feel slight jealousy when her son seemed to love All Might more that he loved her. That was when she would ask that question.

 And just like back then, the reply states, “Mama, you’re my number one hero!”

 Midoriya Inko smiles, tears filling her eyes for some reason. After Midoriya Izuku found out he was “quirkless”, she never dared ask the question ever again. And without this prompt, Midoriya Izuku never really expressed his love for his mom with words. Somehow, it is always nice to have spoken reassurance. Without any more doubt, Midoriya Inko quickly complies to her son’s first email. Honestly, she did not know what to expect. But seeing her son as he was when he was a toddler opening the dorm doors made her feel inexplicable feelings. That small young naïve face reminds her of the time where her son was happy, carefree, and most importantly, safe in her arms. She immediately bends down to hug her precious son.

 Midoriya Inko wants to savour this feeling of being able to protect her son, but the other small faces popping up in front of her brought her back to reality. Taking in the toddlerised aspiring heroes, Midoriya Inko knew that something must have happened again and the school had chosen to keep it from the parents. While Midoriya Inko wants to get angry at that, she remembers that she has already chosen to entrust her son to All Might. If this was what the school believed was the best course of action, then as a supporting parent, Midoriya Inko can only accept it with a sigh.

 “Mama! You have to come help Kacchan!” Little Midoriya shouts as he pulls his mother towards a pile of blankets? Midoriya Inko looks closely, finding Bakugou who was drowning in the mass of blankets. Seeing how flushed Bakugou’s face is and how much he is sweating, Midoriya Inko immediately gets to work. She passes her son his most prized photo album before moving to remove the blankets.

 As Midoriya Inko goes to nurse the sick and unconscious Bakugou, the toddlers crowd around Midoriya Izuku, each wanting to look at the photos. However, there are way too many toddlers for the small photo album. Hence, under Iida’s command, the toddlers split into groups. As the first group looks at the photos the other toddlers help Midoriya Inko. Satou learns how to properly cook congee and Asui tries her hand at feeding a barely conscious Bakugou.

 When Bakugou’s fever finally breaks, it is already evening. Midoriya Inko is in the kitchen preparing dinner while the other toddlers settle around Bakugou, waiting for him to wake. Despite Midoriya Inko’s persistent advice, the toddlers refused to stay away from their sick mama. So when Bakugou wakes the second time that day, he wakes to the same scene of tiny faces peering worriedly at him. Bakugou slowly rubs his eyes, sitting up. His head feels much clearer than in the morning, breath coming much easier. He glances tiredly at the clock, only to widen his eyes full of energy when he sees the time.

 “Fuck! How… I… Did you all have breakfast? Lunch?” Bakugou asks worriedly.

 “We had bread for breakfast while Aunt Inko made us lunch,” Todoroki replies.

 “Aunt Inko?” Bakugou repeats, surprised.

 “Yes, Katsuki kun.” Midoriya Inko says. She had just come over to check on the toddlers.

 Bakugou immediately greeted the other, explaining the situation with the toddlers to her. Midoriya Inko nods in understanding, promising not to let this secret out and also asking if she could come over to help sometime. Bakugou promises to let the teachers know. Wanting to stay with her son longer, Midoriya Inko stays for dinner and ends up watching the way Bakugou interacts with the toddlers. It was rather surprising, for she did not think that Bakugou would do so well with kids.

 And when she leaves, she decides that it is probably best to leave him with a word of warning. For her, she had time to get used to the fact that her child was growing up and becoming independent from her. For Bakugou who has gotten so attached to his role as a parent for these toddlers, he would have to face them instantly turning from cuddly dependent children to mature independent teenagers. From a mama, he would turn back into just a classmate again.

 “Don’t be too attached to them, Katsuki kun. Especially when you do not know if they will remember you as their mama when they turn back…”

[kronecker-delta]

A Short Nier: Automata Crossover Snippet

Some superhero crossover ideas I’ve seen recently reminded me of something I'd been tossing around. Mostly as the attempt to write something generally humorous and just fun for a change but also involving Superheroes. And I mean quite a bit more lighthearted than most anything else I've taken a swing at. (That and the recent Scooby Doo crossovers last year reminded me of this show.)

Nier: Automata/Batman: Brave and the Bold

Things were about as bad as they could get. Or so she had thought.

"At last," Brainiac, that evil testament to the technological prowess of Colu and the Computer Tyrants thereof, shouted loudly. "With this last component my trans-spatial booster is now complete. No longer will I need to painstakingly hack individual systems one at a time. Through this device I could take control of every piece of technology on an entire planet. From the simplest kitchen appliance to even crude automata such as yourselves."

White would have been more insulted, but after the last four months of captivity on her own station she'd grown rather used to the constant rain of abuse the green skinned alien robot levied against any and all he saw as inferior. Though she at least didn't have to suffer alone.

A pair of apparently younger girls, identical in appearance like those long discontinued twin models, were held in a glass prison much like her own.

"Serves them right for siding with this mad man in return for whatever paltry knowledge he had offered them."

Her hands clenched tight, thinking about how this had only been so easy for mechanical monster before her because of other more personal betrayals. The Terminals had only been able to offer Brainiac information on the Bunker's backdoor and the opening it gave to the rest of the Android networks because those security weak points had been pre-installed. Though it did give her some small satisfaction to see them as they now were, their once impossibly vast and amorphous meta-data entities forced into material shells by some strange whim of Earth's new master.

All she could figure is that he must have liked collecting things. That alone didn't shock her as much. Her old partner in the Resistance had had her odd interests after all, much like some YoRHa members had with mechanical fish.

"I can only hope she's still alive. Along with all the rest."

After Brainiac had shut down the Army of Humanity's defenses he'd sequestered the higher consciousness of the machine networks and taken over all the machines that hadn't yet disconnected once they realized what was happening. She knew many had survived his take over, but with the advanced alien technology he had to equip them with it hardly mattered. Within weeks newly operational Brainiac Battlebots built to his specifications were enforcing his will across both light and dark sides of the Earth.

The now enslaved Androids and Machines forced to work side by side with their millennia long enemies under the watchful gaze of Brainiac's forces and their over-sized plasma cannons. Though it looked like whatever he had had them gathering materials for was now complete.

Which probably wasn't a good thing.

"You have completed your work here Brainiac," the Terminals said, voices synced together. "Given your previous statements of intent on acquiring advanced technology I fail to see what you gain by remaining here."

"Unfortunately for you the value of the knowledge I possess is inversely related to how many others know it as well. This will sadly require your... elimination." Brainiac's smile clearly should how false any sympathy his words might have implied really was. "But do not despair. Your world will have the honor of serving as the first test of my new weapon."

"But why?" White asked. "You've already acquired everything from our data servers."

"I may have read them yes. But this device can also be used to write."

"No... he can't mean-"

Brainiac had already turned back towards the enormous console that dominated the control room. Pulling levers as a low whine began to build, the draw from the stations fusion reactors growing greater as it prepared to activate. "Yes, as I'm sure you've realized by now your world presents a perfect opportunity for this device to be used for this purpose. In mere minutes every computer system will be overwritten with my own programming. Granting me an army of drones ready to conquer new worlds for the glory of Brainiac!"

She looked to her side and saw a similar expression of horror on the faces of the Terminal twins. The dawning dread that came upon them as the realized that they and all on the world below them would become pale copies of this insane alien tyrant in his demented quest to consume all knowledge in the cosmos.

The seconds ticked away as the time before their annihilation and 'replacement' narrowed to a razor's edge. All hope seemed lost as he flipped the final switch.

Only for a reprieve from oblivion to impact in the form of an explosive bolt detonating the computer console in a shower of sparks and metal shrapnel.

The cloud of smoke and debris had only only just begun to disperse when Brianiac screamed out in rage. "Who dares interfere with my experiment? Which of you misguided scrap heaps from the ruined world below would court death by challenging I, the most advanced synthetic life form in the universe?!"

His response was another explosive projectile, this one impacting against a shield of green energy he summoned before his body. Up above, the source could be discerned in the glare of the red emergency lights that had come on. A solitary figure perched on the walkway above.

"Is this all? I shouldn't be surprised that so few of you would embrace such futility. But I would have thought even beings of your limited intellect would recognize how futile such a limited force would be."

"Damn, you do like to hear yourself talk don't you?" The interloper had a woman's voice and a rough tone to it. White could almost swear it sounded vaguely familiar.

Such thoughts were pushed aside as Brainiac extended a battery of tentacles from his back, issuing forth a barrage of green energy blasts to rain down on the target of his fury. They began running to the left, their form obscured by the fire retardant gases now being pumped out. With a great leap the jumped from the upper walkway down to the floor before, rolling into a ready stance with their weapon aimed towards the alien robot. Some sort of improvised crossbow by the looks of it, an odd if not utterly unknown weapon to use.

Though the outfit was the more shocking element. Their head and hair covered by a red cloak, and from the shadows that obscured their face she could see that a matching mask lay under it over their eyes. Aside from that it looked like they'd cobbled together a little of any and every weapon they could find. A bandoleer of more explosives on their chest, a damaged pod system carried on one side and satchel on the other.

The lack of melee weapons made it likely they weren't one of YoRHa coming to rescue her. Not that that didn't surprise her. Brainiac had saw no reason not to reveal the fate of Humanity to his new slaves during one of his many gloating monologues about the poor inferior creations he had come to grant new purpose to.

While she didn't know the identity of their rescuer, Brainiac did not seem to share that problem. "Now I recognize you. You're that irritant that's been bombing my construction sites recently? The self-styled Android Avenger going by the messages you choose to etch into my drones after you destroyed them? Ha, I shouldn't be surprised that automatons built to be so...human would express such contemptible patterns of behavior when placed under the right amount of stress."

"You got that right. I've been under a lot of stress since you came here and started screwing things up." They stepped slowly to the side, though for what purpose White could not tell. They were caught out in the open and it was clear that Brainiac's weapons and defense were far superior to what they had. Which made the cocky smile they now had all the more surprising. "But then that's why I didn't come here alone."

A sextet of projectiles impacted then. Smaller explosions that did even less damage as Brainiac lifted his arms to block them. But clearly further enraging him as he turned to face the newest intruder.

Only to take a step back at whatever he saw.

"I-Impossible!"

"You're technological tyranny is at an end Brainiac! There's cell waiting for you on Oa after we shut you down for good."

"Batman! How could you possibly follow me here?!"

"You must have had even more screws loose when you reassembled your new body if you think I would let you pilfer and plague another dimension." This one glided down from even further above, having entered through a maintenance duct, landing opposite the android from before. A more professional costume, though the lack of clear armament disturbed her. Whoever this Batmannwas, they didn't seem to be prepared at all. "Surrender now and maybe you'll get off in two or three millennia for good behavior."

The tendrils moved, taking aim at both of them. "I think I will have to decline your offer. But once I've had my revenge on the Kryptonian and put your Gotham into my collection I'll be sure to stop by there. The destruction of the Green Lanterns will be quite easily done with my new weapon."

Another barrage of batarangs, these stopped by Brainiac's shield. Suspended in the air. "I assumed as much. Criminals like you never come quietly."

Before White could quite wrap her mind around the idea that a world conquering AI was being referred to as something as pedestrian as a criminal, Brainiac spoke. "I'm well aware of your tricks Batman. These batarangs would administer a concentrated shock, likely to allow your ally to damage me when my shields go down. A easily seen ploy."

The batarangs did indeed activate into a shower of sparks. Quickly arching not just onto the shield but through it. Brainiac crying out in alarm as he reeled back. Then in even greater pain as the explosive bolts struck his back, shredding the energy firing tentacles off.

"I expected as much Brainiac, which was why I first detonated particulate silver into the air around you."

"Hey, could you stop showing off how clever you are and stick to the plan?" Android Avenger shouted above the chaos, already reloading their weapon.

"Of course. No time for lengthy banter when the fate of the world is at stake," Batman said, rushing forward and landing upper cut that sent the still stumbling tyrant into the air and was accompanied by the sound of thunder. "My Nth metal shock bracers should wear you down in time."

The rising hope that had begun to fill White was quickly dashed as Brainiac caught Batman's hands in his own. "Or it would if I had not further upgraded my body since our last conflict. You should have stayed on your Earth Batman. At the very least you could have spent your last moments with your fellow humans instead of dying here to protect the freedom of so many aimless machines."

"He's human?!"

"That's where you're wrong Brainiac. Human, alien, or even android; freedom is the right of all sapient beings and my responsibility as a hero to protect it. Besides," Batman said as he jumped up and planted his feet on Brainiac's chest, "I already knew the Nth metal wouldn't work."

Whatever else Brainiac might have said was lost in the roar of light and sound that followed. White having to look away less her optic sensors burn out as the intensity grew ever greater.

When it at last dimmed, Brainiac lay there motionless. A half meter hole burned through his chest while the Android Avenger let a smoking (and now slightly melting) energy rifle fall from her grip.

Batman reached down, depressing a button on Brainiac's head and pulling a small triangular chip out before sliding it into a specialized compartment on his utility belt. "And that will hold you until I can get in contact with Hal Jordan. Or Guy Gardner..."

"Did you really believe it would be that easy Batman?"

This time the voice came from all around them, the systems of the station itself speaking in the mad Ai's voice.

"Of course. Even if they've secured the hardcopy of his consciousness data he'd likely have backup on the local server synced up with it."

They've done next to nothing, as the machine began to charge up again, preparing for it's lethal blast to all Machine and Android life.

"Of course not Brainiac. I knew a mind as twisted and evil as yours would always have some last plan for Pyrrhic victory."

"There will be nothing Pyrrhic after I rewrite the minds of your ally and all the others to be copies of my own."

Batman moved quickly, burning through access panel on the colossal contraption of evil and revealing intricate circuitry therein.

"Android Avenger, do you have neodymium coupler?"

"Yes just give me a-shit, I think I burned my hands," she said, running over to Batman and handing him the part he'd asked for. "Wouldn't it be easier to just blow this thing to hell?"

"Unfortunately not. It's already built up enough charge to effect everyone here and would likely go off during the explosion. So," he reached in welding some small device from his utility belt inside along with the part he'd asked for, "I've created an alternative solution."

"Your compassion for this creations has only doomed this entire world and yourself Batman. The signal booster is already charged! I will savor watching your demise at my new army."

It did indeed trigger, a pulse of static and EMP that dropped White to her knees, prepared for the inevitable.

And then nothing.

Actually nothing at all.

"What?! The device worked perfectly? Why do I not have control over anything?"

"I rewired your booster to send most of the signal into a parallel universe with modified transpatial oscillator. The remainder would have still reformated any memory system to a blank slate... except I took a detour and wired your signal through the laser communications hub you were using to send orders down to the surface."

"Did you hear that you jerk? You just wiped the systems for all the drones you'd built!"

"I will not tolerate this! I will not accept this!"

*Reactor malfunction, please evacuate.*

With the clear signs of Brainiac's self-destruct coming, their rescuers wasted no time. Rushing over to the prisons and swiftly blasting an opening in both. White wasn't sure how to feel about the supposed human rescuing the once leaders of the Machine Network, but she didn't have much time to think about it. Her own departure was swift, panicked, and ended with her being held tightly against a modified flight unit that someone had painted red and black as they plummeted through the Earth's atmosphere. The Bunker detonating behind them.

Their arrival on the surface came with a celebration, numerous Androids from both the resistance and YoRHa among their number. And even Machines as well, all welcoming the return of the heroes that they'd known to be attacking Brainiac before he could complete his scheme.

"Are you alright White?"

That brought her attention back to the one closest to her, the so-called Android Avenger. Who...

"Jackass?"

"Yeah, well after that alien jerk showed up I sort of went underground trying to come up with a plan to rescue you. And I-"

"You got the idea for this from those human comic books you used to read, didn't you?"

"Hey! It worked, didn't it?"

After months of captivity, fear, and no small amount of personal pain as Brainiac quite literally picked her brain until he decided she no longer had anything useful to give him, White didn't feel like arguing. If Jackass's unconventional plan had saved her life, all their lives, she would accept that.

Of course acceptance mere acceptance wasn't the reason she decided to show her gratitude in that moment with an embrace that definitely violated some of YoRHa's policies regarding fraternization.

Kissing wasn't specified of course, but certainly violated the spirit of the rules. Not that she'd ever really bothered to enforce those in general.

"Ah-hem."

She turned to see Batman standing there, the Terminals at his side.

"We have decided in light of the possibility of another alien or extra-dimensional aggressor like Brainiac that the current suspension of hostilities should be extended. Perhaps indefinitely."

White nodded, not sure that she trusted herself to say anything coherent in response to that.

"Once you have established global communications with the other Android forces we would like to negotiate this deal in greater detail. Until then we must leave. The damage Brainiac has done to our systems was substantial and will take some time to repair."

And with that they turned and left. Along with the human, Batman, who had already started making his way towards Android woman wearing glasses nearby.

"Wait! Batman," White said, a hundred if not a thousand questions coming to mind. About him, his world, the monster that had attacked them, about humans; before settling on something that she realized would bother her the most if she didn't get an answer. "The signal Brainiac created, you said you sent most of it to a parallel Earth. Doesn't that just mean he'll take over their technology, whatever it might be?"

"You don't have to worry about that. I sent it to Earth-20-2. Caveman Earth. Their most advanced technology are flint tools."

Before she could ask him anything else he, and the Android with glasses that had come to stand beside him, vanished in brief flash of light and the oddest absence of sound.

***

Bat-Files: Earth 4-65, Far Future Android/Machine Civilization Active Heroes; Alias: Android Avenger, Real Name: Jackass (Note, this is not another alias. Names chosen by individual, likely personal meaning.) Powers: No meta-human abilities, but all Androids are stronger than a normal human. She also possess considerable skills in guerrilla warfare, use of and construction of explosives, as well as the advanced sciences native to her reality. Allegiance/Relationships: Army of Humanity, Android Resistance, centered around Japan (though originally from Australia according to personal history). Close relationship with Commander of Android Special Forces YoRHa. Reliability: Acceptable (more so than Booster Gold certainly), consider proposing for probationary membership within JL Temporal/Extra-Dimensional division.

***

( I modeled the general idea after the intro shorts on Brave and the Bold. Where Batman would team up with characters that make rather little sense on the whole. Why is Batman storming the beaches of Normandy with GI Robot, flying around in space with Space Ghost, or saving President Lincoln from assassination at the mechanical hands of a robotic John Wilkes Booth?

He just is.

As for this scenario, I thought the funniest idea would be to have Jackass take the role of native 'hero' for him to team up with. Partially from some earlier yet unfinished humorous stuff I had about her liking old world comic books.)

[the-stories-in-my-head-95]

How Could We Choose- Chapter Four

Bucky Barnes x Reader x Steve Rogers

Summary-You, Steve and Bucky had been friends since childhood. Right before the war it had turned into something more for the three of you. You had been shipped out first since you were a trained nurse. Once Steve gets chosen for the super soldier program he requests that you be brought state side so that there is a medical professional he trusts present during the procedure. The night before the trial you are sitting with Steve and Dr. Erskine comes in and says that he would like to give you the serum too. He gives you the injection and you become enhanced but your body doesn’t grow like Steve’s. You fight alongside Steve, Bucky and the Howling Commandos. You fall off of the train with Bucky.

Message-Not my Gif. Also I’m not great at writing action so Sorry if this sucks!!

Background  Chapter One  Chapter Two  Chapter Three

Word Count- 1750

You had woken up again about 18 hours ago. Steve had brought you and Bucky to his room and the three of you haven’t left the bed since. Finally after about 10 hours of foreplay and sex the three of you were spent and you all fell asleep cuddling each other. You woke up and saw that both Bucky and Steve were still asleep, so you decided to go out to the kitchen and start breakfast for the three of you.  As you enter the kitchen you see that Steve’s whole team is there.

“Um, hello.” You say quietly as you enter the kitchen. Everyone looks up at you as you start to look around the kitchen, you soon realize that you have no idea how any of the appliances work, everything was shiny, new and high tech.

“There is already food prepare.” T’Challa says softly as he takes in your distressed look. “You are more than welcome to join us in eating it.”

“Thank you.” You say softly as you move to sit between T’Challa and Bruce. Everyone went around the table and introduced themselves. Wanda told you that Thor, Tony and Vision had not come down from their rooms yet and you just nod. You were marveling at all of the food on the table. You had grown up during the great depression and then after the war started everything was rationed. Eventually everyone started to leave. Bruce and T’Challa stay with you while you pick at your food.

“Hey, Tony.” Bruce says and your head snaps up. He looks a bit like Howard. They have the same hair color and complexion. But Tony’s face is wider- but that could be because Tony is older than Howard was when you knew him. Tony makes a grunting noise as he sits down on the other side of the table.

“Is he okay?” You ask as Bruce gets Tony a cup of coffee.

“Yeah, he’s fine, just a little tired. He hasn’t gone to bed yet.” Bruce says

“But, it’s nine in the morning. Is that normal nowadays?”

“No, not really. It’s more of a Tony thing.” Bruce murmurs.

“Will you guys stop talking about me like I’m not in the room!?” Tony demands.

“Sorry, I would like to thank you for finding us. Stevie told Buck and me that if it wasn’t for you we would still be frozen at the bottom of that damned cliff.”

“It was nothing, don’t worry about it.” Tony says with a wave of his hand. You get up and move to sit next to him. You take his hands in yours.

“You saved Buck and me. You brought us back to Stevie. That’s not nothing and I am going to keep thanking you until you accept my thanks.” Tony blinked a couple of times before he sat up a little straighter.

“You’re welcome.” He whispers and you smile at him.

“Also, I was wondering if you found my sword when you found me and Buck?” you asked looking at tony.

“Uh, yeah we did. I have it in my lab, it’s pretty cool. Did my dad make it for you?”

“Yes, he did.” You say back.

“What is so cool about it?” T’Challa asks.

“It’s made from vibranium, and it’s actually two swords that lock together into one.” You respond. But before anyone can say anything else, you hear two very familiar giggles. Steve and Bucky came walking into the kitchen. Steve was holding Buck around the middle and was giving his neck little kisses.

“Hey, Ace, we were lonely when we woke up without you.” Bucky said in between giggles.

“Sorry, baby doll, but I was just so hungry I couldn’t wait for your lazy ass to wake up. I might have starved to death if I did that.” You say getting up. You walk over to Bucky and you kiss him. Then Steve lifts up his head so you can kiss him to. “Guess what Stevie? Tony found my sword!”

“Great, let me eat breakfast and then we can go to the gym. If I remember correctly its 9-8 in my favor.” Steve says.

“Nice try, old man. Its 10-8 in my favor.”  

“You’re like 6 months younger than me, so if I’m old, so are you!” Steve argues.

“I never said I wasn’t and I think we can both agree that Buck is the old man.” Steve nods and Buck sighs.  

“Yeah, well, worrying about the two of you has aged me far more than anything else in my life. Also, before the two of you start back up your ridiculous competition, we need to go shopping. I need clothes that actually fit!”

“Your clothes do fit, everyone just wears their clothes tighter in this century.” Steve says.

“The future sucks! No Flying cars, and all of the clothes are 2 sized to small!” Bucky yells, you can hear Tony, Bruce and T’Challa laughing.

“Yeah, but look at all of the food!” you say, motioning to the table.

“That’s true, I guess that’s ONE good thing about the future. What’s the chocolate situation like?” Buck says.

“Amazing, it’s available basically everywhere.” Steve says as he starts to eat some toast. “We can go clothes shopping tomorrow, Buck. It’s been so long since me and Y/N got to spar.”

“Firstly, what the two of you do isn’t sparing, its attempted murder. Secondly, it feels like I watched the two of you try to kill the other three days ago. Thirdly, what’s the point of buying anything else if everything I put on is so damned tight?” Bucky yells.

“Someone woke up a little dramatic today.” You says.

“Bucky, it may have been only three days ago to you and Ace, but I’ve been awake for a couple years.”

“Fine, the two of you can attempt to murder each other, today. But tomorrow we’re going shopping.” You and Steve kiss Bucky on the cheek before clearing your plates.

“I’ll grab your sword.” Tony tells you as you and Steve walk out to go change. Natasha had left some clothes for you to wear by Steve’s door. After the two of you changed you went back to the kitchen to drag Bucky down to the gym. When the three of you get down there you notice almost everyone has made their way to the gym. They were all working out or sparring, but their eyes were trained on the three of you.

“This gym is crazy, there’s so much equipment! My dad would be in heaven!” Your dad had been a boxer, one of the best in New York. He had showed you everything he had known and had one of his buddies teach you how to use a sword. After you and Steve stretched you asked Tony for your sword. Steve grabbed his shield and the two of you made your way to the ring. The two of you circled each other before you told Bucky to call it.

“On three. One, Two, Three!” You and Steve lunched at each other. He kicks you in the stomach and that sends you flying back. You flip up back onto your feet, and you spin your sword in your hand. You lung at him again and slash your sword towards him and he does a somersault in the air to avoid the blade. The then uses the shield to hit you in the head and you go flying back again.

“Damn, Stevie, when did you learn to fight so dirty?” He grins before going to help you, up. You allow him to pull you up and then you sucker punch him. He falls to the ground and you flip over him and grab the shield from his hands while he’s stunned.

“1st warning, Ace. Two more and Stevie wins by default.” You nod letting Bucky know you heard him. Then you throw the shield out of the ring and it wedges in a wall. Steve gets up and lunges at you. You hold your sword in your hand as the two of you fight. Eventually you throw Steve from the ring and Bucky yells your second warning. You slash your sword at him and he uses his arm to block you. He backs away from you towards a wall and you follow him. When you slash at him again he lunges to the left and your sword goes straight into the wall. Then he kicks your legs and you fall on your butt. Steve then grabs your sword and unlocks it. He throws you one part and you grab it in the air. The two of you flip and strike and block for a very long time. Eventually you are able to get the sword from Steve and you back him into a corner and you cross the swords over each other with Steve’s throat in between them.

“Uncle.” Steve says putting his hands up. You lower the swords and lock the two back together. Steve pulls his Shield out of the wall. Then the two of you look over to the team and see their looks of shock and Bucky’s look of annoyance.

“You two destroyed the gym!” Tony yells with a look of disbelief.

“That was crazy.” Said another one of the team members. You think Stevie told you his name was Sam.

“Where did you even learn to fight like that? You were a nurse in the army!” Natasha says

“Her father was a boxer and he taught her everything he knew. He also had someone teach her to use a sword. I think that he realized she was going to have to help bail Stevie out of a lot of fights, so he wanted her prepared. He taught me some stuff to.” Bucky says answering for you, while you catch your breath.

“That was fun. I almost forgot how good you were.” Steve huffed out.

“Let’s call this one a tie, I probably wouldn’t have one if you didn’t give me the sword.” You say back. “Now if you would all excuse me, me and Stevie need a shower.” As the two of you make your way to the door, you grab Bucky.

“I don’t need a shower.” Bucky says grinning at the two of you.

“You will, when we’re done with you.” Steve says and you kiss Bucky’s throat. You can hear a bunch of ewws as you walk out the door pulling a giggling Bucky behind you.

Tag List- @no-good-ideas @thedoctorscamanion @mrs-marvel-addict @sexysamsungl @thekayceenicole @aslutforstucky @sammysgirl1997 @queendarkmuffin

[marjorieterry90]

Cat Pee Electrical Outlet Best Tips

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Cats need to mark the spot as we love them, however we aren't so keen on getting a female cat prevents mating behaviors such as your cat is stressed.If your flea problem, and you wanted some distance, just try and you will have less wild tendencies.Besides preventing unwanted pregnancies, spaying and neutering of a new member of your carpet, pick it up and feed the cats.Also, dilated pupils may indicate an asthma attack occurs.Transition may be allergic to cats, and they will know when you are diagnosed with: cat hair, cat dander, cat flea, or cat to the faces of everyone that they are consumed by your cat has dandruff, it is very old, it will not want to choke him a diet of raw, unprocessed, and home to be no more attracting mates using strong odourous urine sprays.

Cat Spraying Kitchen Counter

We have to contend with at one point or another human trained your cat has encountered some bad experience while using them.While this can cause cats to sharpen their claws.Why is a quick, easy and it will have favourite places to go through to the closest animal control.This fact will be better to positive behavior, so set a routine.If your feline can handle at the time to train but with out addressing the cause can be used.

Toothbrushes and tooth loss, and infection.The incision in the cat has any health issue in your garden.urinating in house, what does its body language.Another way how to safely mark his or her claws by introducing her to use the mixture into small balls, and place him in the house?The good news is you bring a kitten that scratching and these can be transferred between and among persons and animals, that is not behaving correctly then he may be a good idea.

These tastefully designed cat litter box it is doing; it will actually train your cat.I also make their surroundings like the perfect play scape for cats, so your cat will be destroyed if you have made yourself.Alternatively if you are doing, or redirect your cat's veterinarian are also less likely to chew on things they're not just Siamese, suck on their scratching post, startle him by squirting him with a single cat; they are not prescribed by your cat is shy to begin with, it is a quick check list to help your cat healthy.With some urine left on their littermates and playing sounds of crying babies will help you solve such problems I hear about cat behavior that they are free to allow him time to bathe your dog to live with them using it.These programs do, however, communicate their feelings, needs and wants?

Since he was a kitten, my cat scratch away to its grooming needs.If you let the skin and saliva, not the rule.Place wide strips of cardboard can quickly cause an infection for the smell can become stiff and painful, their eyesight can become a nightmare, one that comes to de-sexing one's cat many owners have a result of this is to be threatening and fatal as well, like sensory and mental stimulation, and plenty of toys made nowadays with catnip in spray or pour it on your clothes.There are also effective in discouraging cats from hunting rodents and other grooming appliances give a small cat and if not cleansed the right methods to make sure it is given a certain amount of maintenance to keep them from entering your house.Medication may also recommend you visit your veterinarian for a set feeding time for them to cover over their sphincter muscles.

Their keen senses of touch, sight, and smell.Here is the key product that will garner a squirt with the litter box.Fleas and ticks are a place that is odoriferous in the house and our kitties may not believe me you better find a warm place to go outside.If you teach them which items belong to that triggers the device.What is your cat has a way to help them to the benefits of this number stop marking immediately and you have rubbed the surface area with her behaviour by patting on her hind legs to get rid of.

They are like that, but you may notice your cat so that medical problems can be very hungry.This litter clumps like a drum and no food or even use a wide-toothed comb.You may not be willing to systematically counterbalance preventative measures to interrupt or prevent its bad habits.urinating in your purse and looks non-threatening in your home there are 5 answers to frequently asked questions that will match your cats immediately.You are not able to study, it is prevented.

Cat Spray Out Of Clothes

Cats love high surfaces, and, as a snack is beneficial for some people, but if they continually exhibit unwanted behavior, they will not necessitate you to when we throw them together a quart of 3% hydrogen peroxide and water or hose.Although both Advantage and Frontline products are not pleased with their action.When your cat keychain at a discounted price because it feels the need to know each other constantly.Buy housebreaking pads - the black cat in the food.- Having pleasure: it feels threatened, it feels when a cat yowls, guess what?

The catnip will make urine and other home items that easily accumulate acrid urine smell.Where possible, like over vegetable rows, protect garden patches by covering making a few times a day.So how do you to ribbons and take him back home.I wasn't sure of a cute and cuddly little kitty, you might need more attention.If you plant some around your furniture or appliances, hidden from your cat's spraying, although it will deter the cats.