#mostly because I don’t want people to think I’m copying THA when I had the idea way back during third life | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

popculturebuffet · 4 years

Text

New X-Men Xtrospective Part 1: E is For Extinction “They Will Need Us”

I am SO fucking excited for this one. As might not be obvious to ALL of my readers but should be obvious to some, I fucking love the X-Men. They are one of my favorite superhero teams period as are several of their spinoffs such as X-Factor (All versions), New Mutants, and Marauders. I love the wide cast, the hugely vast universe within the already vast and wonderful marvel universe, and the sheer amount of GREAT stories. I own all 11 movies, have several action figures, and two posters from Jonathan Hickman’s current and utterly dynamite run right above me right now as I work, as well as a marvel 80′s themed poster behind me that’s at least half x-men for good reason. I love this gang of mutants and I have not talked about them enough.

I”ve done some X-Men stuff sure: I’ve talked about hickman’s time as head writer of the books a year in earlier this year, I did a few scattered reviews back when I did single issues of comics, and then we get to the one I beefed big time: covering ALL of X-Men evolution. While it’s a noble endeavor I freely admit to overexerting myself: I recapped the episodes way too closely, gave myself no real schedule and did so while I was already covering two shows a week at the time. My point is it was a good idea, but the timing was REALLY fucking bad and if I do it again, I intend to do it right and iwth a proper place in my now properly paced schedule. I also planned to do the movies which, unlike evolution, I have solid plans to do once I clear out some of my projects. Point is I burned bright and then exploded and took a whole projecet with me phoenix style.

I had until this moment yet to do a really big x-men project, something digging into the comics, something that could help fans both of the comics and not get familiar with something really good, and help me dig into both the good and bad of something. I jsut needed the right start.

Then Christmas gave me that spark, that project that gave me the idea for a butload more x-men content on here and was the perfect starting point for some. See my friend Marco lives in Honduras, and so since i couldn’t afford to send him anything for christmas in the mail, as i’m not exactly rich, I instead offered him three reviews of anything.l He still hasn’t taken up two of them, nor one I gave him for graduating college, but the first one was a doozy, something he hadn’t read due to not liking the art, which is fine as I have some art in comics I don’t like everyone has diffrent tastes, at least for the first arc, and something VITALLY important to x-men as a whole and that’s the backbone of hickman’s current run: the first arc of new x-men, e is for extinction. And given New X-Men is one of my faviorite comics of all time I not only lept on it.. but decided fuck it I’m covering the whole thing. So every so often on here from now until I finish, i’m going to be covering Grant Morrisons ground breaking, mind shattering, status quo destroying run on the children of the atom. This.. is going to be fucking awesome. Buckle up.

New X-Men came about in 2001. Stop me if you heard this one: The X-Men, once marvel’s best selling title and one of i’ts most beloved, had been set adrift in a seal of editorial bullshit, bad writing, bad storylines and a stale continuity where not much could change or grow and things always reset to about the same place it was last week. If this sounds familiar it’s because it somehow happened AGAIN thanks to Ike Perlmutter’s bullshit, hence the current hickman run, but we’ll get into all of tha tsome other time. Point is as it was in 2018, so it was in 2001: The x-men were in bad straits and marvel reached out to a host of various creators to swing for the fences and find a new direction, something to bring sales and life back to the book. To my shock they actually took a LOT of diffrent pitches in before Morrisons won and from huge names: Geoff Johns, who had not yet returned to DC never to leave, Alex Ross, Keith Giffen.. all huge creative types. but in the end the best man won.

For those unfamiliar with him, Grant Morrison is a gloriously batshit scotsman with a long, storied and delightfully insane history in comics, mostly at DC before and after this comic. This is for good reason: DC scouted Morrison specifically because of his early work at 2000ad. See at the time Alan Moore had hit it really big with Swamp Thing, taking a d list, so so book and making it into an utter masterpiece and giving it thoroughly interesting mythology. Given it was a blockbuster hit that’s still widely loved and discussed, as it should be today, DC decided to repeat the strategy of asking British indie comics creators to come do the same to another property. This same experiment is why Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman exists, so.. yeah it was actually a great strategy and naturally Grant had their first big hit with Animal Man, a metafictional take on a b-list hero that made him a loveable family man, while also putting him through hell and playing with the medium and dc’s vast history, the last two being Morrison’s trademark from then on out.

They’d next go on to reinvent one of my other faviorite teams: THE DOOM PATROL! The patrol are a bunch of victims of strange accidents who got powers out of them that are basically curses... and Morrison solidified that concept, taking over after a weak run that ironically enough was trying to imitate the x-men’s success at the time. Instead Morrison just went all out with his weird shit for the first time and made them a team of broken but likeable people with weird powers fighting just the weirdest most incomprehensible shit, a run i’ll likely be digging into eventually along with the team as a whole. It’s also, along with Gerard Way’s recent run, the bedroock for the current and utterly masterful doom patrol series I need to catch up on. They also apparently once wrote a satrical comic starring and lik mocking hitler... a fact I somehow JUST learned but naturally doesn’t surprise me at all.

Morrison’s career at dc, after doing some creator owned stuff there when Vertigo opened up, hit it’s peak in the late 90′s as they were given the go ahead to reinvent the Justice League, with the wildly successful and awesome JLA, another book I probably need to take a look at that put the big 7 back into the team. And by now your probably getting the point of me covering his career pattern.. besides giving morrison the praise they deserve, and they’d have some really great runs after this.. and some terrible ones but no one’s perfect. My point is that at this point in their career Morrison’s greatest skill was taking something that had grown stagnant or been forgotten, blowing it up and reworking it into something glorious and new. Taking what worked, scraping away what didn’t and on the whole making something fucking glorious out of it. So here we are. The X-Men needed a new coat of paint and uncle grant had their lcd laced psycadelic paint bucket and brush shaped like a pidgeon at the ready. And for better, way better and admitely sometimes here and there worse,they changed the x-men for good. Some changes were rolled back out of spite, others finally got their chance after said rollback recently, and some were just outright thrown on the grown and smashed with a hammer. But for the most part Grant left a huge impact on the x-men and i’m here to show you why, warts and all. To me my x-men, this is new x-men. Now naturally there’s even more exposition but i’ts more in what COULD’VE been. Originally while Wolverine, Cyclops, Jean Grey and Professor X were all part of the team the other two members of the slim roster for this run, Beast and Emma Frost.. weren’t. Originally Morrison was going to have Colossus and Moira Mactaggert, long time team ally, token human until very recently, and now thanks to hickman one of the most important x characters peirod and long before that a fan favorite of mine, on the team, with Moira taking over for beast.

This.. didn’t pan out since Marvel apparently either didn’t give a shit about their plans or already had things in motion as the climax of the longtime legacy virus storyline killed both off. Colossus until Joss Whedon, bastard he may be, brought him back for his terrific Astonishing X-Men, and Moira SOMEHOW stayed dead until House/Powers of X. See this speaks to one of the big roadblocks morrison faced: Jonathan HIckman currently has absolute power and all his writers working in concert, a new way of doing things comic companies shold honestly copy en masse as it’s really working wonders. Grant.. was just one of many writers and one of three main x books the others being Chris Claremont’s XTREME X-MEN, basically “let the legend do what he wants since he can’t get freedom on the main book” and another writer on uncanny... before eventually chuck austen took over and I will tackle that horrible mess some other time. Point is while Morrison was setting the tone, costume style and making the big waves, they still didn’t have full power and thus had to play nice with eveyrone else. So their next idea was Rogue, making mer more like her x-men evolution version.. except Chris wanted her, so that was out, though being a decent enough guy he willingly gave up Beast since the moira thing meant Morrison needed a science person. As for Colossus replacement, as it turned out a fan had suggested Grant do something with Emma Frost since Gen X was canceled and while Morrison had zero intention for it clearly Emma clicked with hthem and she was soon both a main part of the cast and one of their biggest contributions to X-Men as a whole.

As for what I think of the needed changes.. they ended up being for the best. I do like Moira... but Hank ended up being a much better fit for the team dynamic wise and power set wise, while Emma was the same. While Colossus, Rogue and Moira are all fantastic characters, I think what we ended up with was just a better mix overall. I DO think the team is incredibly white, but that’s a general x-men problem, even with having an assload of diverse and intresting characters, so it’s not entirely his fault. All in all it’s a fantastic roster: four of the x-men’s best, their leader in the field for the first time in forever, and a new and intresting wild card. IT’s a nice ballance of characters and we’ll get more into it as we go. Now all the expositions done, we can finally dive head first into new x-men. I hope you survivie the experince under the cut.

After an utterly gorgeous and striking cover, the one used up top, we get one solid page to introduce us to Morrison’s mission statment, how they feel and how good Frank Quitely’s art looks

I cropped it best i could for tumblr but this one image immidetly says a lot. Our heroes are just.. easily taking down this sentinel, an old model... the same one we’ve seen a dozen times. What were once the grim, possible destroyers of an entire race of beings in days of future past and devistating killing machines in the present.. had become stale easily defeated murder bots There had been noble attempts to really make the sentiinels work again like the horrifying omega sentinels, humans forcibly converted into sleeper agent killing machines, during operation: zero tolerance, but otherwise they were mostly just a prop for the x-men to knock down. And that.. really is morrison’s whole point. Lampshading and mocking the fact the x-men had grown stale, things hadn’t really progressed.. and that it was time to move on. But to Uncle Grant’s credit, they not only uses this as a mission statment but it’s plot relevant: this mission will both be explained soon and explains why Logan and Scott are out and about enough to end up where the plot will soon need them. It also helps, via the sight of the syndey opera house establish something Morrison made a staple of their run: the X-Men going global. While the x-men were never really NOT global post claremont, Morrisons run has them handling rescue missions and what not worldwide far more often than most runs before it sans Claremont, and really made it feel like they weren’t just another super team but a global force of good with a specific goal and mission. More on the global aspect next time, as that’s where it really comes in but I felt it was important to show it was there for minute one.

So yeah before we move onto the first full scene of the run, let’s talk about the costumes.

We’ll talk about Emma’s later since she’s not introduced to the story for a while but yeah. There’s a sharp, obvious and immediate change just in the outfits, which take after the movie’s more military look, having the x-men not only look more like a unit but more like a professional orginization. Someone to come and help when needed. While this would take on more siginifigance in a bit, we’ll get to it, it also fits Morrisions own views that the x-men were less of a traditional superhero team and more something different on the edges that fought things out there, sorta what like he did with doom patrol. And it’s honestly a valid interpretation as the x-men are often seen as outlaws and misfits by society for beingn well.. mutants. Not as trusted as the avengers. So having them adopt this look played into that: Having them look more professional and focused as The X-Men have a less blanket mission statement than the avenger.. but also mildly threatning. Something to alarm the humans. It’s an utterly brilliant look thrown best together by the big yellow x’s, still giving it a nice flash of color to show off and show this is still a comic and this is still damn colorful.. this just isn’t your AVERAGE supherhero comic or the x-men your used to. IT’s a real shame the only fox x-men movie to use it was fucking dark phoenix.. a film where it didn’t even fit as xavier was getting flashier and more reckless so why wouldn’t he have more garish and colorful and more traditional superhero outfits. They did look good in their variants in first class though. Props there. Point is this is a classic, utterly stunning look, and tha’ts coming from someone whose fine with goofy superhero outfits and perpetually bitter hawkeye is almost never allowed to wear his actual comic outift and is instead stuck with shades instead of you know.. a mask. Or anything resembling an actual good looking costume. This though this is how you do a less superheroy costume: practical and realistic, but still cool looking and comic book friendly.

We cut to a mysterious lady, we’ll come to know her as Cassandra Nova and while I know her origin... i’m saving it for later as the comics themselves explain it eventually, and a simpering dolt she brought with her, Donald Trask, a distant relative of the creators of the sentinels who, via holograms she’s showing cro magnons slaughtring the neanderthal. Her point is that Mutants are going to do this and she’s clearly fearmongering him and trying to talk him into genocide: to wipe them out before they wipe out humanity. And it’s here we get one of hte most important plot points of Morrisons run and one of the most intresting: according to cassandra’s research Humanity will be no more in 4 generations. Mutankind is on it’s way to overtaking them at last.. i’ts still a few decades off.. but it’s coming. It’s sometihing that the whole decimation nonsense sadly snuffed.. and John Hickman has thankfully brought back. I’ll get to his run once i’ts complete in a few years, but point is it’s an utterly marvelous plot hook: Humanity, whose already attempted genocide a few times, is now in real danger of what their petty, racist, fearful attacks have been about: being replaced. It’s one of the central themes of the work the other two being “Just what IS mutantkind and what will it be”. WHat are they as a people? We’ll dig into these as we go but the threat of exctincion is the backbone of this arc... and will lead to something truly ghastly.

It’s then we get our title page.. which nothing really to add it just looks really good and helps show off who are cast is and what they can do with striking simple art.

And since we’re already talking the art of the book, let’s take a moment to discuss an intresting detail of this run: despite it’s short length there’s quite a few diffrent artist, who we’ll talk about of course as we get to each one. The most common and notable though is Frank Quitely. Frank Quitely is one of Morrison’s closest and best creative partners, having a unique, squishy art style.. i.e. the one my friend didn’t like which is why i’m covering this. And while I like the art style quite a bit, I do get why it’s not everyone’s cup of tea: His art is squashed, weird, and admitely some faces can be good god no incaranate. But it’s also why I like it: his characters feel unique, each body and figure feels like it was custom made and thus feels.. real. Like this is a person before you. And given comics can often surrender to having everybody look the damn same, this is nice. His faces may sometimes look similar but his bodies are where the action is. But while having a realistic feel his work also has a weird alien quality that perfectly fits Morrison, and thus his run on x-men. I will say while I love All-Star Superman, his art fits less there in the more hopeful silver agey story, so he’s not an artist for EVERY STORY OF EVERY TYPE.. but when it comes to sci fi weridness, he fits it like a glove so i’ts unsuprising he and morrison are practicaley soul mates, nor that his art sets the tone perfectly for the run: this is something new, diffrent and strange.. and what says x-men at it’s best more than that?

So after our opening titles we cut to the mansion where Hank is showing off his latest and greatest invention: Cerebra. Cerbebra is a massively upgraded version of Cerebro, aka Professor Xavier’s iconic helmet that allows him to track mutants to help them out.. and covertly backup their conconousness for his long game plan, but shhhh, don’t tell anyone yet that’s not going to be retconned in for a few decades. Though i’m damn certain if Morrison has heard about the current era of x-men and how it both builds on what he built, shatters the status quo and is incredibly weird, he’d be damn proud. As for how it’s diffrent Cerebra not only has a large dome around it but said dome allows the machine to amply Charles powers to a global reach. He can now see mutants all over the world anywhere in the world, something I didn’t realize wasn’t ALWAYS a thing because it seems so simple. It’s also likely to bring it more in line with the movies. And while marvel has done TERRIBLE with bringing things in from the movies or in line with them in recent years, i.e. making star lord more like his movie self while forgetting that’s how he already used to be in canon before later writers thankfully did hte better step of merging the two, Hawkeye’s outfit, Cap’s outfit or Nick Fury Jr. But for every mistep there’s also been tons of times it’s worked out really well such as here, as well as bringing hulk into the avengers for the first time since the founding, making tony stark more like the mcu version and less like a nightmarish self righetous dicktator who rightfully gets beat up and called out a lot, making Scott Lang prominent since he became prominent in the MCU, Wakanda being a major force in the marvel universe as it always should have been and various titles that have popped up to tie into movies, often bringing back a team or property that hadn’t had a book in some time like Ant-Man, Black Panther, and Shang Chi just to name a few. It’s not always hawkeye looking all jeremy renner is what i’m saying.. though thankfully comics clint isn’t that uninteresting. Hopefully the series will change that.

So yeah along with a bigger shinier cerebro we’re also introduced to a big change in Hank whose taken on his lion form rather than his classic gorilla with a weird haircut or his return to that except bald. Here he’s more like aslan in a human body and I.. love it. It looks great, helps sell hanks delima of being brilliant while looking like a beast and makes sense: he kickstarted what was likely his own secondary evolution by drinking the potion that made him bestial, so it only makes sense his body wouldn’t be all that stable even if it took years to change again. And even that makes sense as hank was breifly turned back to his original hairless ape mutation during x-factor, easily one of the books.. worse decisions honestly and one that louise simonson thankfully later undid. That probably bought him some time hence why it’s only mutating further now. It also adds an intresting wrinkle which the run will explore further: how far does this go? Will he regress? and how much hank will be left? And how will society treat his new form?

For now he’s actually extatic. While he’s going through hormonal changes, and giving out some excellent banter with Jean

Which also includes one of the greatest lines in comic book history, one that’s been in my head for decades and made me absolutely love henry mccoy.

He’s just great is what i’m saying. As you can tell it’s stuff like this why i’m glad Moira fell through. While I love her.. Morrison’s hank is just a delight and one really questionable subplot aside, we’ll get to that, he’s one of the highlights of this run with an intresting internal struggle, and great chemistry with EVERYONE. And that is the main reason i’m glad Moira fell through as his history with everyone but Emma, who he still has a great raport with, means each interaction has weight. He’s close friends with both scott and jean and thus serves as their needed confidant, while still being able to buddy and banter iwth good old weapon x, and speak with his mentor charles as an equal. While I love moira... Beast just fits into the cast too perfectly and I 100% suspect Morrison was only using her because, while she’s awesome, Claremont wanted her and thus gladly snapped her up when he no longer had a science person. I’ll get into his Jean soon enough but she’s likewise fantastic and easily my faviorite version of the character.. not that until very recently there was much honest competition.

So Cerebra fires up showing a massive cloud of mutants, showing just how much of a huge spike theirs been with Xavier wondering what it all means.. and Hank seeing a weird flare on the mointor for just a second with his special eyes. But since Xavier isn’t stupid and isn’t the kind of idiot who just dismisses it as a fulke, and since Scott and Logan are in the field, he decides to confrence call them in to see if they can go take a look.

And naturally we get to see what their up to and get context for what the hell happened in the first page. Our heroes were on a rescue mission to save Ugly John, tha’ts what people called him, a three faced mutant who ends up passing out as they head out of the atmosphere for a second. Wolverine is regenerating and smoking out of his neck becaue he could still smoke back then before marvel decided “he’s setting a bad example”.. in a comic meant for teens and adults.

I mean I get it on some level as the x-men cartoon was a huge thing in the 90′s and Ben Grimm is basically a giant children’s toy with the mind of a surly 40 year old jewish man from yancy street, but stilll it’s just.. why. I may not like smoking but it’s not like it was SPIDER-MAN saying

It’s a grown man.. whose not a sterling roll model and who Claremont went out of his way to have Logan point out his healing factor means it really dosen’t hurt him in the long run and when Kitty, an actual teenager, tried one of his cigars she choked. I know it’s a weird thing to get hung up on but while i’m all for keeping kids from smoking, this was a really clumsy way to try and hehlp that that made no sense and will never make any sense.

One tangent later we find out that Cassandra was showing Trask a simulation on a flight to, unsuprisingly, south america, to a sentinel blacksite. Between covertly funding civil wars as they do, the US Goverment naturally founded an experimental sentinal project, and a second master mold during the production of the first line... when larry trask asks where it could possibly be well...

Subtly was not the trasks strong point.. or common sense... or.. not realizing their creations would dominate humanity too or not dying.

Anyways we then cut back to the x-men, as their having a psychic zoom meeting with Charlie giving one of his patnted big speeches.. and like a lot of this comic it’s too damn good not to use

The reason I couldn’t should be obvious: This one speech sums up the x-men, why their great and why their necessary in a nutshell: in a world full of prejucided morons.. there’s plenty of scared kids who NEED the x-men to protect and guide them, and with a surge in the mutant population, their needed now more than ever. We also get a good explanation in universe for the uniform change: Charles had them in the superhero outfits hoping humanity would accept them if they were packaged as something they know. Since that clearly hasn’t worked he’s trying new ways to reach out and thus going with a diffrent more rescue team approach to the uniforms. He assigns Wolvie and Cyke to go check out the flair as you’d expect and the meetings over. On the blackbird we get our first hint at a subplot as Logan noticed Cyclops couldn’t wait to get out of there, and is being a tad distant to his wife. He actually has reasons for being kind of cold for once instead of just bad writing as he just came back from being possed by apocalypse. Yeah that happened. So the experience has rattled our boy some what. More on that as we go. But Jean ducks the subject with hank but does breach the fact that Charles has been going kind of crazy with the spending, new uniforms and ambition lately. Hank explains it perfectly: After all the death, suffering and misery the x-men have endured lately, the aforementioned deaths I talked about that took Colossus and Moira off the roster, have lionzed Charles to make sure it was all worth something and look towards the future.

But enough hope time for horror as Cassandra makes her first direct move, trying to take over Charles brain , make his body her own and use cerebra to kill lots and lots of mutants. We then get one of the best moments of Morrisons run with Charles response to a horrifying monster trying to take his brain

While it is shocking to find out Charles has a gun..it’s a grim but kind of understandable precaution. The guy once got fully taken over by a brood, assembling the New Mutants in part because the brood wanted to create more of i’ts kind with more super powers. You’d be paranoid too if some of your beloved students were brought together partly due to your good intentions and partly because a space monster wanted to make more space montsters out of helpless teens, and even horribly gaslighted one of them. We’ll get to that some day. Point is Charles brain is one of the greatest weapons on earth and if the wrong person got a hold of it, it’d be the end of said earth. Thankfully Charles does not need plan gun, as Jean yanks Cerebra off him but the sheer HATE Charles felt from Cassandra, the sheer power has rattled him.. and also told him she’s in Ecuador and his X-Men need to be warned NOW. It’s a great way to set up just HOW powerful Cassandra is. Speaking of which as our first issue of the arc ends, we find out two things: Cass faked being int he government but really just used dead soldiers as prop.. and just what kind of sentinels are out there.. wild sentinels. Easily my faviorite variant of the old killing machines and one that’s barely used despite being really damn awesome. Their adaptive killing machines, designed to mutated just like their pray and take tech from around them, as a result they look like a jumble of guns and parts.. but not only does it give them a unique, cool look.. but it makes them ten times deadlier as instead of being big bricks of robots that while intimidating, the x-men know how to kill... their unpredictable variable killing machines. You can figure out how to kill one sure.. btu the next might be entirely diffrent. They are one of morrisons best creations and I hope someone uses the idea again.. aka hickman. Please use it jonathan I know your focused on nimrod but come on.

And we end on one of the best lines of the entiire run as we close out the issue

Yeah it goes without saying but i’ll say it anyway; Morrison is really damn good with dialouge and being damn quotable.

So we open with another great quote “When I got up today I didn’t expect to kill 20 million people”... and Cassandra being aware Wolverine and Cyclops are on their way and sending the Wild Sentinels to dispatch them. Also our heroes brought Ugly John along while while a dumb move, Wolvie does point out how dumb it was to divert to Ecuador with a civlian in tow.. after the plane crash of course. As for “wait what plane crash’, the sentinels attack and start picking it apart... and since letting them have such good tech is a terrible idea, Scotty blows up the damn plane. So to recap our heroes are stuck in ecuador, surrounded by murder machines, and oh look their there and knock off cyclops viser. Fantastic. So yeah our heroes are fucked. And naturally captured by the enemy.

The rest of the x-men are doing SLIGHTLY better. While beast makes a note for his girlfriend, more on that later on, Charles is in bed, half alive, explaning the rationale I gave for why he has the gun with Jean refusing to let him get back out of bed and you know.. put on the device that just nearly killed him. But when beast announces they lost contact with our boys.. yeah that ceased being an option.

Back in the Ecuadorian Genocide Factory, Cassandra does the obvious and kills donald trask as his real purpose..was to stick around and be stupid for a bit while she copied his dna so she could have full control of her new murder toys.She soon uses them, having a horrifying death chamber slaughter john.. or at least flash fry him. Wolverine takes it how you’d expect and since the sentinels need to “perserve trask dna”.. they can’t fire on him without killing her. Scott escapes.. and in a heart wrenching scene mercy kills john.. before getting badass.

To anyone who says Scott Summers is boring, unintersting, or a stupid asshole idiot head I present exhbit shut the fuck up. Morrison gets scott just right, deconstructing his emotional suppression, while showing him off as a dedicated, companionate man who gets the job done and who seconds after tearfully having to mercy kill an innocent mutant whose death was partially his fault, wastes no time making it painfully clear to the person responsible she WILL die if she tries that again. Logan however realizes she’s already won in some fashion as she’s grinning.. and yeah never a good sign when a genocidal madwoman is grinning like a loon.. and when we find out why.. it’s even less good> We cut to Genosha. A lot of you probably know what happned to Genosha but in case you don’t know what it is it was once a horribly racist country that genetically enslaved mutants and used them for slave labor. It was freed, but still struggled to truly move on.. till Magneto showed up, took the country for himself and made it a home for all mutants. When we last saw him he once again tried to take over the world leading to Logan seemingly killing him. Right now though Emma Frost finally enters the scene teaching some mutants.. when a young one named Negasonic Teenage Warhead.. yes that one and yes she was entirely chosen for deadpool for her name, reveals, via precognition, that their all going to die.. right as the sentinels attack.

Genosha.. is gone. In an eyeblink 16 million mutants are dead, a possible future gone, and one of their greatest leaders is no more. Yeah Magneto WAS alive.. but paralyzed so he could do nothing when his island was utterly slaughtered. Only a handful of mutants will be revealed to survive. Humanity had done a lot to mutants before .. but for once.. they’d succeeded in wiping a massive chunk out. What was an x-men location for DECADES at this point.. was now a smoldering crater. A what could of been that would hant the x-men ever after, even now into utopia it remains the darkest day in mutant history outside of hte decimation. It is a truly horrific moment.. and if the changes already hadn’t made it clear this is morrison saying “NO character is safe, nothing is safe, and nothing will be the same and I damn well mean that”. In one act of hate the world has changed. And it hasn’t finished changing yet.

Issue Three opens hammering in things, as Jean and Beast are in the ruins of genosha, with Xavier having found ONE surivor among the rubble, and our heroes sturggling to find even them, though Jean eventually picks them up and uses her TK to sift through the rubble.

They find Emma who emerges from a bunker in shock, clutching NTW... and not realizing she’s dead until later and revealing she now has diamond skin, her own secondary mutation. Secondary Mutation was a birlliant idea, new powers sprouting up within established mutants.. it’s just morrison barely used this great idea as did hardly anyone else. Only X-Men Blue ever really dug into it and those were artifical at that. IT’s a great idea..it’s just barely used and at most heavily implied to explain changes in powers like Jamie Madrox Multiple Personalities later on or Doug Ramsey’s vast increase in power. Disapointing.

While Charles takes in the tragedy and the fact his old frienmie is dead, the x-men wonder what the fuck Cassandra is and what to do with her.. why did she kill 16 million people, and what the fuck is she. I mean I know, but as I said i’ll explain that when the story does. IN the other room Beast tends to Emma who wants none of not fucking killing Cassandra.. and is utterly right. Bitchy, because i’ts Emma, but right: she killed 16 million people. Say what you want but while it may not be up to the x-men to kill her.. she shoudln’t be living much longer. She commited genocide. Emma decides fuck that and prepares to leave summoning a cab and making peace with being a glorious living fabrige egg. Emma did apparelty change in generation x.. but Morrison is responsible for returning her not only to being a bitch, but a gloriously delightful one And really I don’t think they reset her character entirely: she’s not the heartless monster she started out as: she has empathy, grace, and caring.. she just buries it under a lair of absolute bitch and after you know, surviving a fucking genocide who can blame her? And honestly.. I love their verison of her. She provides a nice contrast to the more idealistic, even logan, x-men and a nice contrarian voice in the room without being obnoxious and her style and sacrastic swagger makes her endlessly entertaning. Thanks to morrison she’s stuck around to this day and went from a pretty good character.. to a great one. And what makes her this way, or as jean puts it “such a bitch?”

With that settled, Hank explains what Cassandra is: a competing species. As he puts it sometimes evolution takes a quantum leap forward.. and Cassandra is the result. Thus she wants to wipe out the compettition and is so far above humanity, she dosen’t need them... especially since she knows what Hank now knows: humanity is at an end. As hank puts it we have an E Gene, one that basically shuts off a race.. and thus the x-men now know what we learned earlier and that cassandra wasn’t lying: in 4 generations there are no more humans and something has to repalce htem. And Cassandra wants it to be her.

Before Logan can do what he does best, and asks why she looks like charles, Cassandra escapes, and Scott briliantly urges them to fight only on instict as she’s a telepath. A damn awesome fight insues including Cassandra donning Charles Psoonic battle armor, Scott being put in his black bug room and the general good looking chaos you’d expect from a superhero fight. While this goes on Emma has an ephinany and realizes she likes to teach, the x-men have a school.. and she shoudln’t give up on helping kids just because of what happened and turns around.

Cassandra is near victory, slipping her way to Cerebra.. and planning to kill only one mind before getting to the millions she wnats, a horrifying slug manifesting around her.. only...

So the x-men accept this and cassandra rises.. seemingly saying “I am charles” Huh... and then charles uncaracteristiacally shoots her saying things must change

We’ll get to what all of that means next time as we close on Jean and Scott in bed. Scott explains why he’s been so distant as what I said earlier: fighting off apocalypse stripped away a lot of illusions about himself and he’s having a hard time walking back from that but Jean is willing to help.. but before they can resolve their issues.. charles has an annoucnment to make and grant has one last whopper of a suprise to end his opening arc on, and just like genosha...it’s a game changer of titanic proportions

No longer is Xavier’s School hidden. Their walking into the light now and so is charles. Hope they surivive the experince. Obviously this move is brilliant: while it removes the veil of saftey the x-men had it also brings on tons of new possiblities and unlike secondary mutation, this one not only stuck but would impact the x-men for good: no longer would they hide and cower.. their mutant and proud.. and their here to stay. E For Extinction is one of the best x-men stories period. Blisteringly paced, full of great character, great concepts and utterly terrifying and terrific moments that would impact the x-men all the way to present day. It’s beautifully drawn, well paced, and a masterwork. I highly recommend it and it’s a great kickoff to a great run. Shame the run couldn’t of ended on this kind of high but.. we’ll get to that. For now this is a masterclass in how to start a run and if you haven’t read it do so NEXT TIME ON NEW X-MEN: A bunch of weirdos try to harvest mutant organs, the x-men get a brain in a jar and a new teamate, and Scott maybe cheats on his wife. Until then, goodbye goodbye goodbye.

27 notes · View notes

kryptored · 5 years

Text

She’s Shady and Sketchy...(2)

I’m back. I really want to thank everyone for the feedback I received for part 1 of SSaS. The amount of notes I got was phenomenal, I almost couldn't believe it. Really, thank you everyone.

Now, about part 2 - the typos during the group chat portion are as intended, because it’s not a group chat if no one’s screwing up what they're saying. I know they're supposed to speak French so, the formatting of their words are different, but I'm referencing the use of English in - you all get the point, right? Je ne parle pas français; I’ve only finished the elementary course. I tried to make it look authentic, but we’ll see. Also, a shout-out to @writingishfanonsideblog for pointing out the pun (you have no idea how long I was waiting for someone to see that).

PART 2:...when she goes on and raves

In a room above the Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie

Marinette is severely stressed. At the moment, she is reminding herself that she needs a break from everything – being Ladybug and the new Guardian, keeping up with her commissions, helping out at the bakery, being the class representative, etc. Clearly, it was somewhat working as Adrien could see from his position. He watches the girl lying down on his lap as he treads his fingers through her soft, dark hair. Her eyes are closed in content (kind of), the lines on her forehead slowly melting away. He smiles lopsidedly as he notices her cute nose crinkle and wiggle every few seconds, her lips in a pout as her mind continues to spew thoughts and ideas inside her mind. He reaches out a finger to boop her nose and says, “Hey, I can hear you thinking. You’re supposed to relax.”

Marinette opens her eyes, her brows even more furrowed. “And I told you that I can’t help it.” She tries to swat his hand that hovers over her face. Adrien laughs as he avoids her hand, returning to combing through her hair. She closes her eyes again and tries to go back to her halfway-decent relaxed state that Adrien so often made fun of her for. Oh, did she mention they’ve gotten closer?

To her amazement, Adrien had finally understood the extent of what Lila was doing. It was quite awkward at first, what with how Marinette was struggling to keep her composure in front of the same person she had fallen in love with beyond his looks. Adrien, on the other hand, was starting to realize that Marinette is someone so precious to him that he would do anything to help her, even if it meant he had to grow a backbone or two. It was working, thankfully, and had not backlashed on him. He had started to be less lenient with Lila’s inappropriate approach and invasion of his personal space, to which he made sure to mention to his father. For once, he felt that he was his father’s son because the day after his confession, he had found himself free of Lila’s grasp (literally and metaphorically). She was still modeling for the brand, though (to the disappointment of him and the many staff who found her performance lacking).

That did not mean the same for Marinette, though. He may have finally stood up to Lila, but Marinette was taking the brunt of her anger. Just recently, his friend told him how Lila was being more aggressive in her approaches, to the point where most of the class were starting to treat Marinette at arm’s length. They could clearly see that the class was taking sides, and it wasn’t theirs. Alya and Nino had been at the forefront of convincing him to talk sense into Marinette and giving Lila a chance. For some reason, they forgot how uncomfortable and mortified he felt whenever the latter came close to him without his permission. They weren’t that close, let alone friends. They were working the same job, at most. Physical contact was definitely not acceptable when he says so.

THE GOOD KIDS (11)

It’syagirlALYA: Hey, Lila. good to hear you’re doing fine, girl!

DeLila: I just don’t want to worry everyone.

It’syagirlALYA: It’s okay, don’t worry about it.

rose-pink: that’s right, Lila!

DeLila: anyway, about what I said…

I just really think that marinette needs to be…

Controlled.

jabberwocky: controlled? She’s not an animal.

sea-monkey: yeah, it kinda sounds…

haarhs

hars

harsh

DeLila: Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. Im just saying she needs to be stopped.

She needs to know what it feels like to be bullied.

brainf.Art: Hey, I think destroying her sketchbook is too much. I wouldn’t do the

same if another person, especially an artist, was being mean to me.

Jules: Nath’s right. If Marinette’s gone that bad, we shouldn’t stoop so low.

rose-pink: We’d be the bullies!

jabberwocky: besides, she already knows what it feels like to be bullied.

Remember chloé?

DeLila: Oh, Im not saying we bully her. Just, I dunno, give her a warning?

It’syagirlALYA: How bout this, lila: we try to keep you 2 apart as much as

possible.

DeLila: But…what if it doesn’t work? Or I just approach her again to really try be

friends with her?

It’syagirlALYA: Look, girl – we’ve known Mari for a long time. Well, more so the

others, but yo get the point.

kneeknow: what Alya means is that you let us handle it for oyu.

sunflower: that way, no one fights anyone.

DeLila: Oh, that’s a nice idea.

sun: Yeah, it is.

DeLila: Anyway, I was wondering if one of you could help me with our math

homework? I was just os distracted thinking about the charity Ive been

doing with Prince Ali on Tuesday that I wanst able to concentrate.

Maximus: I believe I can be of assistance.

DeLila: Thanks, Max! do you think you could send me a copy? It’s just, my mom

wants me to attend some very important meetings so, I won’t really have

much time.

Maximus: Oh. I suppose so, yes.

DeLila: Great!

It’syagirlALYA: Maybe you should take a break now.

sea-monkey: Sleeep.

Jules: Rest.

DeLila: Um, why?

Am I bothering all of you now?

rose-pink: No!

sunflower: it’s just, you said your head was hurting a while ago and we don’t

want to make it come back

rose-pink: or wrse!

worse.

sun: yeah

DeLila: Oh! Right.

I’ll see everyone tomorrow, then?

It’syagirlALYA: Sure.

kneeknow: Yeah.

DeLila: Bye, everyone!

jabberwocky: Yup, bye.

sea-monkey: See ya.

brainf.Art: bey.

bye.

sunflower: bye!

sun: bye.

Jules: yeah, bye.

rose-pink: bye-bye!

Maximus: Good-bye.

HOLD THE EFF UP (10)

It’syagirlALYA: I just had a realization.

Lila kept claiming she’s Ladybug’s bff, but that kinda sounds iffy

kneeknow: what makes you sya that, Als?

It’syagirlALYA: I never relly got a chance to ask LB herself but…

why would someone like lila deliberately tell me, the

LABYBLOGGER

That she’s Paris’s superheroine’s bff, knowing that Hawkmoth

could easily use her against LB?!

jabberwocky: holy sh*t, youre right!

sea-monkey: I may not be the smartest, but even I know that’s dumb.

rose-pink: which means Lila is inn danger!

Maximus: as seen during Animan hunting you down.

Sea-monkey: MAX!

It wasn’t my best moment, okay?

sunflower: and her family!

Jules: she’s not in danger…

brainf.Art: Juleka!

Jules: let me finish: she’s not in danger, she put herself in danger.

sun: does that mean lila’s not really friends with ladybug?

It’syagirlALYA: guess I’ll have to hunt down LB if we want to find out ourselves.

brainf.Art: what if ladybug deflecting about it is just a tactic to protect her?

Jules: I’ll do you one better: why didn’t lila know better than telling other people

something tha could be passed on to HM

No offence, Alya.

It’syagirlALYA: none taken.

kneeknow: Juleka’s right. It’s one thing when LB pretends she doesn’t know

someone for safety reasons. It’s another when you don’t know who

could possibly be listening or watching the interview and they plan

to do with it.

sun: wasn’t there something on the news about someone claiming to be Chat’s

girlfriend who ended up being kidnapped by an akuma as bait?

sea-monkey: ooh! I remememember that!

Maximus: She was heavily reprimanded by Ladybug and Chat Noir, not to

mention her parents for endangering herself.

jabberwocky: hey Alya, weren’t there somepoeple who tried to call her out on

the interview?

It’syagirlALYA: who? The girl ivan was talking about?

jabberwocky: No.

I mean Lila.

Maximus: Alix is correct. I seem to recall about 27% of your comment section

filled with doubts and proclamations of disbelief.

It’syagirlALYA: I think this calls for another meeting. But this time, for different

reasons.

Come tomorrow morning, 10 people in class had a wary look in their eyes. Lila had yet to arrive, but asides from them, Chloé and Sabrina were already seated and talking about whatever it was that had them busy yesterday. Along the front rows, Marinette is seen to be chatting excitedly with Adrien. Now that they think about it, they hadn’t realized when exactly those two got comfortable and closer together (particularly Marinette). After all, it wasn’t much of a secret except for Adrien that the girl had a huge crush on the model. Alya and Nino, mostly, were very confused on how they missed the development on the interaction between their best friends. But before any of them could comment on the newly discovered development, the real person who had been running on their minds had finally arrived.

“Hi, everyone! It’s so good to see you all this wonderful morning.” They never really thought much about it, but Lila always did have this overly sweet tone. It was different compared to Rose’s own way of talking. “I’m glad to announce that nothing too bad came off from my head injury, but I want to also let you know that I got…”

Huh. Not that they didn’t care about the well-being of others, but Lila always did have a way of putting a lot of attention on her. But really, for how long and how much she’d told them, it was too hard to ignore that she always did talk about herself.

“…I could also introduce you guys to…”

Introductions. Hm… well, that was one word they were well acquainted with. There wasn’t one a time they hadn’t heard Lila mention someone new and promise introducing them. it wasn’t that they were using her for her ‘connections,’ but she could at least try to avoid making promises she would suddenly forget about.

Their eyes narrow down on her, following her every move while she is none the wiser of the sudden change of how they see her. Things hadn’t been easy after the short meeting among those in attendance. Doubt had been planted among their minds and initially, none of them knew whether to weed it out or to water it with curiosity. Lila, thinking she has their trust still, goes on and raves of the many things she’s supposedly done.

Lila approaches the one person she knows is her greatest ‘fan,’ Alya, and proceeds to shower her with the many tales she had spun that involved name droppings and not-so-subtle self-praise. She goes on, thinking that all is well, but the others are actually more inclined to observe the same person they once believed at the drop of her hat. They are listening to her words carefully, only this time with more awareness.

TAGS:

@animergirlweeb @sturchling @plsltmesleep @theyellowfeverexperience @rudy-ruby @j-a-n-e--d-o-e @queenmj10 @krispydefendorpolice @the-delta-42

Is that everyone?

#ml fanfic #lila salt #anti lila #miracuclass #miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #miraculous ladybug #the class finally using their brain cells #and a hint of adrienette #SSAS fanfic

450 notes · View notes

randomguywithwords · 4 years

Text

As The Dust Settles: Chapter 22 (Geten X Dabi Slowburn)

Chapter 22: Lost Memories

AO3 Link

Previous Chapters: 21, 20, 19, 18, 17, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

–––––––––––

On Friday, Dabi found himself surrounded by four figures, recognising only one by his still-long silver hair like strands of moonlight, his hardened, battle-scarred face and calm expression.

��This is a nice reunion. I can’t say I remember all of you – mostly because I don’t care to do so, but if Nine let you guys into his special club, you guys are likely decent.” Dabi smirked, eyeing each of them in turn.

The rightmost one, an imposing wolf-man gave a growl. “Decent? I’ll show you decent.”

“Chimera,” Nine, to his left, spoke softly. To Dabi’s surprise, the subordinate huffed and stayed silent. Turning back to face Dabi, Nine said, “It has indeed been a while. You understand the logistics of this experiment?”

“Shigaraki put me to it, of course I do.”

“Then let us proceed.” Nine stepped towards him, while his minions tensed up.

“Nine, are you sure about this?” The skinny man directed a glare towards Dabi. Dabi didn’t need that to tell him they were suspicious of him.

“I’ll be in safe hands. We will meet at the location I’ve given you all. Take care, friends.” Nine gave a wave of dismissal, and with some reluctance, the remaining three departed in silence.

“Alright, let’s go.” Dabi pocketed his hands and began leaving the forest clearing, heading back towards Deika City. He heard Nine’s footsteps behind him.

“Your demeanour has certainly shifted. What happened to the old Vengeance?”

“Who?”

“You, obviously.”

Dabi racked his brain, but the name didn’t ring a bell. “Well, I don’t call myself that horrible name now.”

“I’ve heard. Numerous cases of burnt corpses or piles of ashes, blue flames. They call you Dabi now. I thought it was peculiar, but it made sense when I could no longer contact your old mentor.”

“Your squadmate.” Dabi corrected, the fact returning to his memories. As Nine’s voice entered his head, it hummed in resonance with old recollections where he had met the man in his teenagehood. He now recalled the one encounter, out of the few, where Dabi had first seen that calm, controlled countenance contort with rage, born from the ideology he stole.

“It confused me initially. I wondered why a man you respected and perhaps even cared for would be subject to your flames. The possibilities ranged from hallucinogens to collateral damage. But no.” Nine murmured. “You killed Dabi intentionally, didn’t you?”

Dabi was silent for three seconds, the air cold as winter storms. “You were right,” Touya said. “He left me for dead, but I escaped, and then...yeah.”

Nine sighed. “How poetic. To die by his partner’s hands, as he let his squad die all those years ago. But that brings me to my other question.”

They were drawing near to civilization, weaving through pine trees and stepping over brooks.

“Why take his name?”

“Figure it out yourself,” Dabi said with a forceful tone of finality. “We’re almost reaching the place.”

To his credit, Nine dropped the subject. Perhaps he did so because he needed what Shigaraki had to offer. Antagonising Dabi wouldn’t be smart.

They were reaching one of the tunnels that led to the Liberation Front’s assembly square, now empty. It was empty, likely only watched by Skeptic’s surveillance. But a few raised eyebrows is all it would draw; Skeptic was too cowardly to question Dabi’s tasks or Shigaraki’s plans.

“Here?” Dabi heard disgust in Nine’s tone as the musty air rushed out of the opening doors.

“Can’t let anyone see us. This is good.” Dabi shut the doors behind them. Tapping his earpiece, he said, “We’re good, Doc.”

“I’ve been waiting for a while now,” Ujiko huffed on the other end of the line. “Give me a second.”

“Have a safe trip, Nine, I’ll see you on Monday.” Dabi waved, concealing a grin.

Nine gave a nod, before Ujiko’s teleportation took hold of his form, and Nine’s body disappeared within the swampy goo.

Dabi leaned against the wall, feeling more memories return of the other Dabi. The first Dabi. Did I ever know his name? I don’t think he, nor Nine, ever told me. Special forces… all that secrecy.

He felt his fire ignite on his arm out of instinct. He willed it to die, and instead, let the past engulf him.

––––––––––

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Touya.” I rubbed my hands out of instinct. What time is it? How long did I sleep?

“Quirk?”

“I can shoot fire.”

“Was it you back there? The fire at that mall in the afternoon?”

“No,” I lied.

The stranger cocked his head. “I ain’t gonna report you to the police, kid. I’m not exactly on best terms with them myself.”

“Are you…” The word on the tip of my tongue was like a matchstick to a fuse.

“A villain?” He scoffed. “I just fixed you up and gave you a place to sleep for the night. Do I look like one?”

I looked him up and down. Grey coat, green goggles on his forehead, a cigarette in his hand. “No,” I said.

“Well, your perception needs some work.” He leaned back on the creaky folding chair. “Officially, I’m considered one, but unlike the thugs in alleys like this, I have standards. And I don’t take kids hostage, even if you’re Endeavour’s kid.”

I backed away, my back slamming against the mouldy bricks. “How did you —“

“Please, a fire quirk, and recent sightings of Endeavour at the same mall that was set on fire? Don’t play dumb with me.”

“That was his doing,” I argued.

He took a puff and clucked his tongue. “Now you’re blaming it on your dad? Not very filial.”

“I hate my dad.” The venom coursed through every word I spat out, which seemed to startle even the stranger.

“Hm, some spirit in you. Well, take that bravado and run off now, why don’t you?”

“What?”

He quirked his eyebrow. “You heard me, shoo.”

“But…” My head drooped. “I’ve nowhere to go. I’m running away.”

“Well, you should have thought of a plan before setting fire to a mall, using that as an escape, and nearly choking to death in the flames you made.” Every word in that sentence made my skin shudder.

I was desperate, I wanted to say, but desperation would only paint me as prey in the underbelly of society, my next stage of hell that the gods were benevolent enough to throw me into.

“I can help you,” I decided to say, raising my head, mustering the drops of defiance in myself.

The man snorted. “How exactly does a 13 year old kid benefit me? I don’t do teams, boy.”

“What if I beat you in a fight?” I clenched my fists, which still stung from the wounds.

He scanned my form and the guise of confidence on my face. “Oh, so you were trained by Endeavour. I thought you were one of those prissy boys enjoying a rich life.”

My face drained of heat and colour. How did he know?

“Look, I’m not a smart guy, but I’m smarter than you. I can make my own assumptions, one of which is that I’d win you in a fight. No contest.”

“I…” My voice trailed off.

“How about this?” The man said, throwing his cigarette behind him. “You know hide and seek?”

I frowned. “Yes. It’s a childish game.”

“I don’t think so. I think it’s one of the best strategies for its simplicity. Let’s play that game. Give me a minute, then go to the nearby park. It’s midnight, no one will see you. And if you get caught by a stray policeman, I’m not saving you again. Anyway, if you can find me, I’ll let you in. Got it?”

I gulped, hoping this wasn’t dangerous for myself, but considering how I’d be unconscious for a couple of hours and he hadn’t done anything, I felt a sense of trust in this stranger.

“Ok, tha – thank you. How long do I have?”

“60 seconds. Start counting.” With that, he left the alley.

1...2...3

Ten seconds in, I wondered if he was simply leaving me as a twisted joke. How far could he run in a minute? What was his quirk anyway?

Twenty seconds in, I contemplated scrounging this hideout for whatever I could find and running from him, but the guilt of betraying his hospitality stopped me.

Thirty seconds in, in a moment of panic, I thought he was going to turn me in. What if people died in the fire? I would be held responsible, wouldn’t I? What if everything he said about himself being a villain was a lie?

The minute felt stretched into eternity with the unceasing torrent of worries flooding my mind. But after being frozen in one spot throughout, I heard myself say 60. Taking a deep breath, I got up and left the hideout, entering the cold night.

––––––––––

Dabi heard the door groan open. He opened his eyes to see a familiar form, shrouded by a recognizable parka hood.

“You?” Dabi frowned. “What are you doing here?”

Geten’s form went rigid, like a burglar who had been caught by a flashlight.

“I thought...there was a meeting,” She said.

“And you chose to enter by this tunnel?” His tone was acidly amused.

Geten didn’t reply for a couple of seconds. “Yes.”

Dabi sighed. “For a lieutenant, you’re shit at lying. You were following me, weren’t you? Why would you enter an empty place where you know your entrance would be heard so goddamn clearly?”

“You were in there for a while. I thought,” She caught herself, but relented. “I thought something happened to you. That man. He looked dangerous.”

Dabi’s breath was stuck in his throat. It was his turn to be stunned. “I was fine, alright. I’m just thinking. So, how much did you hear?” He folded his arms in annoyance, but he found it suddenly difficult to muster anger against her.

“Next to nothing, apart from your farewell. What are you doing when the Festival starts?”

“I’ll be there during the Festival. Don’t worry.” Dabi figured Twice could simply generate a copy of him. Technically, it was the truth.

“You’re a liar.” The emotion in her words took him aback, as if that really struck a painful chord in her. “You wouldn’t sound so reassuring. What’s going on?”

Ugh. Shigaraki won’t be happy if I told her.

“I’m not going to divulge this to anyone. I’ve no intention to, anyway,” She added.

“It’s just a side task, okay? You can handle the regiment just fine.”

Geten was quiet, then she spoke, “Can we continue this somewhere else?”

“Why?”

“Wouldn’t want to make the amateur mistake you did when speaking to that man.” She gestured around them.

Ah. Dabi had an idea what she intended to say. “If you say so. Where’s a good place?”

But Geten responded only by opening the door and motioned for him to follow.

#ATDS #bnha #mha #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #geten #bnha geten #dabi #bnha dabi #dabi x geten #geten x dabi #dabiten

11 notes · View notes

utopia-game · 4 years

Text

Strategy Corner with FFW: Kingdom Setup

Strategy Corner by FFW: Picking Your Kingdom's Setup

Every start of the age, we go into discussions about what is the "best" setup. How do we truly define what the best is? We're joined by Dowla of Hipmunks, Smiles of Warbirds and myself FFW of Merciless in a forum of how to pick your kingdom's setup and be a more successful warring kingdom. We've also got a special guest Peetah who has co-led many kingdoms to numerous crowns over the ages. Let's talk about setups and is it truly important to have a setup? Peetah: Yes, this will help leadership to coordinate efforts to win the war. Running a lot of different races and pers will give leadership a hard time to make builds. Set certain times to “nuke” a prov with ops. Dowla: It is absolutely important to have a setup to achieve anything it is you want to achieve if it requires your kingdom to do well in the game. You can achieve screwing around without a setup. Smiles:Setups are make or break and a lot of things simply won't work well. That being said, all the things that do work, are pretty similar FFW: I think we can all agree that setups are important. All successful kingdoms will have a proper setup but not all kingdoms with a proper setup is successful. So let's go into the finer details of picking a setup. Before we even start talking setup, let's talk strategy. How important is it to think about the win conditions before even deciding what to pick? Peetah:There are different ways to win a war and a setup will make it a lot easier to achieve victory if it’s in line with your idea on win conditions. Par example with a smash setup you want to win at mintime. After that your chances of winning go down. While a setup based on econ can easily go war for a week. Do realize this will be a burden for leadership as well. You need to plan according to what you got available. Smiles: I don't think you have to be super specific about the strategy. A general idea is enough since there are lots of things to think about and some assumptions to make but the early age is pretty consistent FFW: Let's talk about the some assumptions in strategy for the age since you've brought it up Smiles. I normally like to assume that early advantages are the most awful for a successful warring kingdom since you want to be consistent through the age and not just win for the first 3 weeks and suck the next 6. Do you agree with this? For the record, I'm not saying you throw away the early age either. Smiles: For the most part the early strengths can let you steamroll certain things but generally you can assume some early easy wars, leverage your later age bonuses since most early advantages don't scale well but some do. FFW: What about you Dowla? I hear that you have got a unique perspective on this topic. Dowla: We do not pick a setup with a focused effort on selecting a win condition usually. We usually just go for a good setup that works for us.The base line is creating something that the enemy simply cannot control anymore. There are ages where win conditions are very important and there are ages where we want to do well all around. FFW: That's interesting Dowla, so you would rather pick a comfortable setup and then decide strategy on a war to war basis? Dowla: That's how we operate. We agree on a setup start of the age, and a general way of how we'd play it. The dynamic of warring changes every war. We pick what works for us and it's usually something we're comfortable with. Something that wars well. FFW:So would it be fair to say your strategic approach to setup picking is oriented around balance so you won't be too badly matched against anything the server throws at you? Dowla:Yes. That is exactly how we pick our setup. Something that works well and can work against anything. FFW: Let's talk about what worked for us in the past as to give examples What's your most successful strategy that you've run with thus far? Peetah:I think I played with most combos and won crowns with all. I’ve also seen all kind of setups win crowns and even multiple crowns in one age. Most kingdoms develop a style they seem fit and chose a setup accordingly. Smiles, Dowla and FFW can probably give more insight on what makes a certain setup a HM/Merciless/Warbirdies setup. Smiles: comfort strat, 2-4 pure mystic, 4 rogue 4 hybrid mystic synced core with the view of hybrid casters provide ET support and duration coverage of spells your TMs don't want to have to cast. They also work as a buffer where people might hit them instead of pure TM. The outcome is that you end up with more mana, more attackers. Dowla: Tried a few different ones, but what works best for us is hybrid turtles that become UB and then steamroll from there. FFW: I like having a big offensive fist so that core can create space for our TM to work a later war economic advantage and always assume you have to win on a 50% double networth win. Picking the racial and personality choices. What works and what order do you pick in? TMs first or Core first? FFW:I prefer picking core choices first since they are normally the majority in the kingdom, so it helps us to decide what our battering ram will be then decide what type of supporting actors we want to support the core. Peetah: First, you need to find your balance! How much TMs how much hitters and do you need support? Smashing setups want at least 16-18 hitters. Plus do you wanna run hybrids or just pure hitters and pure TMs. Smashing kingdoms want pure TMs as they need to cover all thievery and magic operations. Your hitters you want to build to make sure you can hit enemy TMs bring down the winning condition of your opponent. Going for the econ play you want provs that are able to hold out and sustain their off. While you work on creating land on UBs and slowly convert to hitters. UBs mostly are your TMs. Basically circle back to the strategy you've chosen to play for the age. Dowla:We usually agree on T/M choices rather quick and then keep on deciding on core picks until the last minute. First of all I want to say it's not me personally picking the setup. It's a group of us doing it. Usually the whole LS team decides on it. A few of us make a setup we'd play, then we all comment on each others setup and we work from there. So we incorporate a bit of everything or we create a totally different setup than anybody proposed. For T/Ms there are always a very limited amount of choices that are playable, and by this I mean combos that work the best. While for attackers it's much more complicated. A super heavy attacker can mean more T/Ms, an econ based attacker can mean less, do we want long wars or do we want to zerg rush, it all depends with them. So, we set the T/Ms and they set the dynamic. What kind of attackers we need and then we pick what works for that type of strategy. Or simply we're comfortable with this many T/Ms and this many attackers. That's our go to if we have troubles agreeing on what we want. Smiles: As stated before, in my head the most generic setup is: 4 mystics 4 rogues 2-4 paladin/cleric/PF caster depending on what the age needs. 15 synced core I usually start there ask, is it a heretic age? If heretics, what am I cutting to stay in that 8 Pure TM range FFW: There seems to be a lot of focus on picking the right TMs so let's talk about that next Picking Your Kingdom's TMs. What works? FFW: I see you didn't put much emphasis on heretics Smiles? What's up with that? Smiles: It's fine to have 1 heretic just for access to blizz/fg depending on the age but I don't think they're bad. I just rarely have that 1 tick sync for NM and I in general am not a fan of NM like I used to be. With the exception of high GS+WT+dpa tanks, I don't ever think you NEED NM because it just makes chains go deeper, rarely adds additional chains and rarely allows you to hit TM+Chain as is the classic desire for NM. So really you're trading significant TM mana just to take chains a little deeper. Deep chains don't matter as much anymore anyways. I chain to secure UB, if it doesn't go deep enough, but trims their offense, good enough for me FFW: What about you Dowla, what do you value in picking TMs? Dowla: Most usually it's bonuses in TPA/WPA. We value it over anything else as in the event of a dragged out war it allows us to try raining fire over enemy T/Ms with out own. Or in any war. T/M supremacy is what it's all about. FFW: I can relate to that. I love population bonus on my TMs since it leads to better raw numbers which leads to much better modified numbers to have TM supremacy late age. Smiles:Generally for TMs, all TMs my order of priorities >UB, Defense mostly >T defense >wpa>tpa>eco/offense. Recently, I prefer the safest easiest possible rogues. Since if a rogue every gets chained/massed out, they're basically unrecoverable although wpa and honor recovery isn't possible for the most part. Mystics, I like TOG paired with +1 mana but I am more willing to pick the mystic I expect to be strongest at its peak FFW: Before we close, what's the single most important advice we can give to aspiring war kingdoms out there? You go first Smiles Smiles: Pick a kingdom you admire or setup you think is strong and just copy. Add a small spin for what you like and don't be original. When Warbirds formed and we were ready to run a top tier setup for the first time, we essentially straight copied Hipmunks from the age before as we had warred them twice, lost twice. FFW: Dowla will be pretty happy to know Hipmunks inspired Warbirds to an extent. Let's hear from him next. Dowla: If you're unsure on how to play it and what exact setup to pick then pick something simple. Start with something simple as two types of T/Ms with 3-4 of each, 3-4 clerics and pick the rest as heavy attackers or ditch the clerics and everything else can go into attackers. Keep it simple until you start feeling comfortable with changing it and doing things a different way, a way that suits you. Do know that every single one of the best warring kingdoms has a usual way they pick setups and each one of those setups works for them because they've gotten good at playing with those setups. FFW: Be bold and brave. Don't hesitate to experiment with choices since all the best strategies and setups have been called retarded or silly once upon a time. Your new idea could be the next top strategy but be sure your entire kingdom is on board with it. Consensus is important. Editorial Section: Wrapping up this session, it is clear that there's no one best approach in picking your Kingdom's setup and strategy. What is truly important is that you choose a strategy that works for you and remember that mastery over a particular strategy would cement your place as a top warring kingdom. When it comes to the finer details of picking your race and personality choices, pick a combination that is most comfortable for what you want it to do. The key important takeaway is the concept of objectives and whatever combination you pick should conform with the objectives of your kingdom. PS: Dowla volunteers to help people struggling with choices if you PM his retired ass on discord since he inspired Warbirds. Link to his interview on his honor crown achievement below

2 notes · View notes

prorevenge · 5 years

Text

You wanna take credit for my work? You wanna tell me you hope my family dies? Want to try to fight me for winning-out against your bullshit? Ok how's losing your ability to work in this city and a few years in jail as well as public humiliation?

We have to get a few details about me out of the way:

Backstory TLDR: Do not fuck with me. I'm blunt and stubborn. Also I'm better at my job than you will ever be so just get over that now. Also I hate my career field. I work in tech but I'm not going to be more specific than that.

A note on the stubborn-ness: I am the most stubborn, and blunt (rude if you push me) person you will ever meet. I expect everyone (Doubly so for management) to do the right thing even when no one is looking. One of the things I have learned is that narcissists and sociopaths cannot fucking stand me. They will actively melt down if they work with people like myself. Those people thrive when people have to 'be nice.' The exception to my stubborn bluntness? If you work under me. I help everyone working under me with everything they need 100% of the time and am super friendly unless they give me a reason not to be. I treat people under me (in terms of technical position and in the companies hierarchy) like royalty and the people beside and above me like "You should be at least as competent as myself, no excuses."

Example: If you lie about me/to me? Well I had better be getting an open, and public apology (to the people who you lied to) with admission of guilt or I'm going to make you fucking regret it. Best not be treating anyone else below you bad either. Lots of managers have a problem with this for some reason. Don't want this to happen? Don't lie.

Now with that said I have a constant wave of job opportunities. Every company I've ever worked for (including the one that fired me) begging to have me back at a higher pay rate than what I made when I worked there. Actually about 25% more than the highest pay in the country I live in. So I'm not in any position to care if someone is going to fire me.

Now thats out of the way, at my current job I've worked here for about 2.5 years. I took this job because it was going to allow me to have the time off I wanted: About 35 days of PTO, and 10 weeks (first 2 unpaid) of vacation time. Its a long story but basically I need the time off. I was hired in at about 50% of the standard rate of pay for this reason. Contractually I can take this time off any time I want. I could, if I so desired, leave work mid day and go on vacation.

When I first started the company laid off every other "IT Guy" after about a year aside from two. Those guys are mostly there to cover me leaving suddenly and if someone needs to pull something while I work on something else.

My previous manager actually recommended me to manage the department but I didn't want to take it so the company gave me an open door to take said position any time I wanted and they would just demote anyone in said position. This is where Sociopath comes in: To manage.

First day he pulls us all (My team + one more) into a meeting and talks about how hes a 'nice guy' but is going to drive us to work extra hard. This is where the first altercation occurs "Yeah how is that the case? [Other team] is purely reactionary and our team has literally no issues inside the company and 100% of our work is completed at nearly 3 times the rate of any other business in the area?" "We will hold questions for private meetings." "Ok fair enough."

He pulls me in and the first thing out of his mouth is to yell at me: "I never want you to question me ever again!" I was honestly stunned. "Excuse me?" "You will do what I say when I say! NOW GET OUT!"

He wraps up the 'meeting' by saying "I'm really glad to have gotten this job because I cannot leave this town due to the fact that I am obligated to watch my kids half of the year. So I can't wait to get to know all of you!"

I immediately went to HR as soon at the meeting was over and explained the situation. Thing is HR is the guy who hired me, and we like each other a lot. He tells me "Ok, well, unfortunately it would be against company policy to fire him this quickly. Also I have to take his side of the story first."

He didn't 'yell' at me after I went and spoke to HR but called me in and said "Listen, they are telling me to apologize to you and thats just not going to happen. I'm your boss its my right to treat you how I see fit. I didn't realize you were a rat, but now that I know that I'm afraid that I am going to be extra hard on you. Better do what I say or its your job!"

I replied "Its not your job to yell at people and maybe you should understand that. If you were half as competent as you want to seem I don't think you would ever have a reason to yell at anyone. Also if reporting behavior that is against company policy makes me a rat, then being a rat must be a good thing." He just yelled "GET THE FUCK OUT!" and pointed at the door. I replied "I'm afraid I'm going to have to go to HR again about your behavior if you don't apologize now." Which I did.

The issue? Well I live in a one party state for recording conversations. So I recorded said conversation.

Three weeks later and HR has decided to keep him on because we are still way ahead of everyone in terms of metrics. Since then my team and the other team has gone from loving their job to hating it. Everyone is reporting to me that he is screaming at them constantly but only in private. He doesn't even speak to me. The way he is treating the guys under me is what was really getting to me. They are HIS EMPLOYEES. He SHOULD NOT be treating them this way. I hate to use a quote from the office here but Micheal Scott is 100% correct: "A manager is not here to hire and fire, but to lead and inspire."

Now we are supposed to have certain metrics passed down to us by management but he has 'decided against that' to 'keep morale up.' However I knew what he was up to. So I went to my friend in HR and didn't tell him that he wasn't sending me the metrics (which he is required to do as per company policy) and had him send me a copy of everyone's metrics early "but keep it on the down low!"So he did.

For several months I told my team and the people under me "Just hold out on quitting he won't be here for long, trust me."

Slowly things between myself and him escalate. I make decisions that he doesn't like because "You didn't run that past me first." In reference to my vacations and days off. Contractually I don't have to do this and to be blunt I cant fucking stand him so hes just SOL when it comes to me not being there. This leads to several times of him trying to scream at me while I sat there and was 100% calm and patient but blunt and moving in my position that I can take leave when ever I want contractually and he is just going to have to get over that.

One of the things I specifically remember him yelling at me the last time: "You will do whatever I tell you when ever I tell you. If I throw a ball and say fetch you will fucking retrieve it. Do you understand?"

At this point I lost my patients and said "Are you done yet? Ok great you are going to listen to me now! You are hands down the worst manager I have ever worked under. You are unproductive, and the least competent. The other two guys metrics have been falling since you have been hired..."

Him: "Because your dumbass never listens to me. You are the problem here not me get out NNNNNNOOOOOOWWWW!"

Me: "Are you done? Because I think you are going to want to hear what I have to tell you! Your absolute childish behavior is unacceptable and I don't think that your supervisors or HR are going to appreciate how you have treated myself or this..."

At this point he gets up, grabs the chair in which I'm sitting, and literally rolls it towards his door screaming "I DON'T HAVE TO FUCKING LISTEN TO A DIP SHIT LIKE YOU! I'M THE BOSS DO WHAT YOU ARE TOLD!"

I replied: "I hope you know this can be considered assault and battery."

Him: "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" and he promptly rolls me out of the office.

Now here is the thing: Before that meeting I said I wanted an HR rep to sit out side of the office and listen in. They said they couldn't do that but would place one in the meeting. He was late. He over heard he last SHUT THE FUCK UP! Just as he rolls me out into the hall. He then proceeded to look up, see HR and start sweating bullets.

Him:"Oh...huhuh, I was... we were just joking around."

Looking up at him: "No we weren't. He was just screaming at me and insulting me for no apparent reason."

He looks down at me hard and says: "This team always jokes around! I mean it was just a joke!"

I then pull out a small recorder and looked at HR and said "Well given that you missed the meeting I think you should just review it here on this tape as this is "just a joke" apparently performance reviews are 'just a joke' around here now."

HR insists we go over the performance review. He pulls his copy out and begins going over the metrics on it talking about how bad of an employee I am. As soon as he finishes I look at the sheet of paper he is going over I pull the metrics that my buddy in HR sent me. "No...No I'm afraid this is all wrong."

He looks at me "I...I'm sorry."

Me: "Oh yeah, [buddy in HR] sent me my metrics independent of what you sent me. In fact, and I can't believe you didn't know this, all of the metrics are review-able by any employee at any time if they make an inquiry. Actually you have failed to send us any metrics at all as is your job to do weekly."

The HR rep then looks at me "Is that all?"

Me: "Yes."

HR Rep: "Ok I think we are done here."

He requests that I stay, I look at him and reply: "No, I'm afraid I'm done listening to anything you have to tell me. Afraid I have an appointment to review your behavior with HR."

So HR and myself review the tape and their jaws are on the floor. HR Buddy apologizes to me. They ask me what I think should happen as I was the one who was originally up for promotion. I explain that he should not only have to write a letter apologizing for his behavior in email form, but also apologize to all the teams under him in person at one time. Just after they send an email to him I drop by his office and say "Hey man, don't worry. I didn't let them review that tape."

He sends an apology letter and tells me that "You are on my good side now!"

A few moments later HR comes down and tells him that its not enough and to have all the teams gather in front of him. In the mean time I rig up the conference room to have a typed letter of all the times he has yelled at every single person which took me all night to do.

He comes in and makes some bullshit apology thats a non apology "I'm sorry I was so hard on you guys. I just know your potential and...."

I cut him off (HR isn't in the room) "Excuse me? Thats not good enough! I'm afraid you are going to need to apologize for your actual behavior and not give an apology that sounds like "I'm sorry I was trying to help you and you didn't like it." No, I'm afraid you are going to need to actually apologize and admit to wrong doing and tell the actual truth!"

At which point he visibly starts to get angry "I...I AM APOLOGIZING!"

Me: "Ok go on"

Him: [More non apology with him being obviously fake upset.]

I press play on the slide show. "Ok since you didn't get the message the first time we are going to go through these individually. On December 11 2001 you screamed at Robert Robbington where in you failed to give him a review and simply called him a dumbass." I continue: "You need to repeat these words exactly if you want to keep your job: "Dear Mr. Rob, I apologize for being overtly hostile and rude. I apologize for failing at my responsibilities as a manager to both you and the team. I understand I have a problem with anger and am willing to seek help with my clear lack of empathy for other people. As such I will be signing a document admitting fault, under the circumstances that I ever hit you again I want everyone to know that I would be 100% at fault and you would not be, and proof of my misbehavior towards you as proof of my honesty in apologizing two witnesses will be signing this document."

As soon as I finish speaking he stands there and starts turning angrily red and says "MrBurington, we need to speak alone. NOW!"

I reply "No, I'm afraid we don't. If you do not wish to apologize to Robert Robbington then you can apologize to me for this!"

At which point I play the audio of him talking to me "I really hope your [family member] dies. I mean really. I'm your boss and this is your job and you care about [family member]? You think I give a fuck about them or you? You could die for all I fucking care. When [family] dies if you mourn I'll be mocking you. I just want you to know that. Now fuck off." (You see after that little incident I couldn't have given a fuck if I did get fired I just wanted to ruin this guys life.)

He immediately starts howling at me that I 'edited' the audio and runs to get HR. Shortly there after HR comes back and the entire room denies that any of this happened. We all instead go through with a plan I had from the beginning: I was going to expose him for the POS he was/is IF he does not honestly apologize and admit to actual wrong doing.

HR then tells him hes fired. He storms off.

Now this is where the hard core revenge part comes in. I used to work for every single IT Company in this town, or have connections to them somehow. Hell I trained at least half of the management at the last company I worked for. My words have weight. So I make calls to all of the places I have ins at which is literally everywhere in town telling them to black list this guy. However at two companies I request that if he applies I would like to show up and help them interview him. He applied to both jobs and I was sitting there in the meeting room "Oh hey! Just wanted you to know that I knew Mr. Meet for years." Middle of the interview I bring up his behavior with the audio from him telling me that he hopes my family member dies.

I then tell my ex-manager: "Also just note, you may want to write this down, all the tech jobs in our area will have a copy of this audio. So you can go ahead and explain to them why you told me this and they can relay that to me."

As soon as we get out into the parking lot he swings on me and starts screaming "I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU. FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU." I run back into the building and security detains him and calls the police (My buddy recorded this on his phone, as well as obtained a copy of the video from security)

After a quick court case and going to jail he shows up at my house with a knife screaming "I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU! RUIN MY CAREER JUST BECAUSE YOU ARE A BITCH." (I think he had the address from working at the company with me)

I called the police, got my gun, and explained the situation while I waited on the cops to show up. He proceeded to be detained and got sentenced to a 2 year stent in prison.

When you get out I hope you read this you see this you stupid fuck.

(source) story by (/u/MrBurington)

#prorevenge #by /u/MrBurington #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

421 notes · View notes

crystalninjaphoenix · 4 years

Text

Weight of Their Worlds

Switch AU

I’ve been neglecting JJ in this AU. Ironic, considering he’s my favorite out of the normal boys fjhaskld So he gets his own story! That’s great! There’s also a little bit about Schneep in here, but it’s mostly JJ. Let’s check in on him, see what’s been going on with him in this AU, how he’s interacting with other people and going about his life. This one is a long one, boys and girls and other, but I really like how it turned out.

More of this AU found here

The alarm went off at eight o’clock am. The beeping had been ramped up in volume, something that Jameson suddenly very much regretted. He also regretted that he’d set his alarm clock on his bookshelf across the room, instead of the nightstand right next to him. He groaned and rolled over, briefly considering throwing a magic bolt at the clock to shut it up, but instead stood up and walked over to turn it off. He sighed. Well, he was awake now.

Normally, JJ was more of a morning person than a late waker. But he hadn’t been sleeping well lately. Last night, the last he’d glanced at the glowing digital numbers of the clock, it was 3:45 am. And he remembered waking up a couple times, too. He was probably nervous about what he had planned today.

Which reminded him. He needed to get ready. He went through the drawers and found a set of clothes for the day, then went downstairs. While heating up a cinnamon roll for breakfast, he jotted a note down for Marvin, explaining where he would be all day:

Sorry, I won’t be around all day. I have that meeting with another magician at nine, that one I told you about a few days ago. Then I’m going to go visit a few people and study at the library. I have rehearsal starting at 4:30, you can come watch if you want. See you later! -JJ

He hoped that would help. Marvin hated being out of the loop.

After that, it was a half hour to get ready, and another half hour to take the car and drive to the park, where he’d be meeting...someone. He wasn’t sure what they would look like. About two weeks ago, he’d reached out to the ABIM—the organization that functioned as a loose government for magicians. He didn’t know much about them, having only interacted with them maybe once or twice. But...well, things were starting to look bad. Jackie had been missing for six months. He hadn’t had any luck scrying for Jackie’s location, and there were no signs of Distorter to go off of, either. He hadn’t seen Anti in person in a few weeks, Schneep was being evasive as well, and Marvin...well, he wasn’t exactly talking about what was going on with him, but Jameson could hear him and his nightmares through the floorboards.

So of course, Jameson had to do something about this. He couldn’t just let everything fall apart. He had to make sure the others were alright, had to find some way to help fix everything. But at this point, he couldn’t do it on his own. Which is why he reached out to the ABIM, hoping other magicians would have some sort of advice. A week ago, they’d gotten back to him, saying they would send a representative out to talk.

Which was why he was in the park right now, walking around the perimeter of the small pond, looking for someone. The park was pretty empty at nine in the morning, on a cloudy weekday, so it was easy to see the only other person around. She spotted him at the same moment, waving him over to a bench sitting by the pond’s shore.

“So. You’re Mr. Jameson Jackson, then?” She asked, eyes scanning him as he approached.

“Yes. And who are you?” He scanned her in turn. She wasn’t too unusual, he supposed. Well, she stood out a bit because of her red hair and green eyes, a rare combination. But her jeans, T-shirt, and zip-up hoodie didn’t seem too magical to him.

“My name’s Aoife Kelley,” she said. “I’m part of the Magi, which is a subdivision of ABIM. How’re you doing?”

“I’m fine, I suppose. You?”

“Good. Here, let’s sit.” Aoife gestured to the wrought-iron bench. Once JJ sat down, she did as well. “Now, then. To business.” She muttered a few words, and reached forward. Her eyes flared golden yellow, and her hand disappeared, like she’d slid it into a pocket in the air. JJ jumped in alarm, then stared in fascination. He’d never seen a spell like this before. Aoife’s hand pulled back, suddenly holding a blue binder. She flipped it open. “I’m going to just ask you a few questions, see if we have your information right.”

JJ nodded. “Alright.”

“Your name’s Jameson Daniel Jackson. Male. British nationality, Caucasian race. Twenty-seven years old, birthday October 31st, 1990.”

“Yes, that’s all correct.”

“Elemental magic with an ice/water focus, as well as a lesser healing ability. You work as a stage magician?” Aoife raised an eyebrow at that last part.

“Yes.” JJ tried not to squirm. Ironically, he didn’t like being the center of attention. At least, not on such an...individual level. “If you’re going to lecture me about the dangers of using magic on stage, I’ve already heard it from one of you. I’m being cautious.”

Aoife grinned. “Well, alright, if you’re sure.” She looked back at the file. “There’s no history of magic in your family, nor is there a history of mental illness in you or your bloodline.”

That last part was a bit odd. “Yes, that’s right.” JJ coughed awkwardly. “Are...can we get to the purpose of this meeting? I’d planned to meet up with someone else after this.”

“Oh. Yes, right.” Aoife flipped the binder close. “Sorry to keep you.”

“No, it’s fine, it’s not too pressing.” JJ shrugged. “I just...this is a...rather pressing situation I’m in, and I would really appreciate any advice you have on the matter.”

Aoife’s brows scrunched together. “Well, y’see. That’s the problem.”

Jameson felt his heart stop. “What do you mean?”

“This...creature, that you say is following you. That took one of your friends...” Aoife bit her lip. “We...don’t have any records of something like it.”

Jameson could only stare at her. “I’m sorry?”

“We don’t have any records of it.” She opened the binder again, pulling out a piece of paper. Jameson recognized it. It was a printed-out copy of the letter he’d sent to the ABIM online. Because surprisingly enough, the magical organization had an official website. Aoife scanned through the typed words. “It’s something that appears to be human, but with that head injury, it can’t be a living human. And its array of powers...being able to confuse people, sometimes directly control them, and otherwise make it so the mind doesn’t register it as existing...” She tucked the letter back in the binder. “...we don’t have anything like that in our files.”

“Tha—that’s impossible,” Jameson said softly. “You must have something in there. Maybe something buried deep—”

“Yeah, I checked all our records,” Aoife said firmly. “My permissions are pretty high-up, I have access to everything. And I couldn’t find anything like this. Oh sure, there are records of undead that fit the physical description, and some creatures with similar powers, but nothing that fits.” Aoife paused. “I have to ask...are you sure this thing is really out there?”

“Am I sure?” Jameson asked, incredulous. “Am I sure?! He kidnapped one of my friends and poisoned another! Convinced one of them to walk out into moving traffic! My housemate has nightmares about him that wake him up screa—” Jameson took a deep breath, clenching his fists in an effort to calm down. “We’ve all seen it. Of course we’re sure.”

“Alright. Alright.” Aoife raised her hands, as if in surrender. “I believe you. But, well...some of the others don’t.”

“Some of the others?” Jameson repeated, eyes narrowing.

“Yes,” Aoife confirmed. “It’s a big group, and your request for aid got passed around a lot, looking for someone to help. Some of them think you’re making it up, some of them think you’re mistaken...a few of them think you��ve lost your marbles.” Suddenly the question about history of mental illness made more sense. “But the fact of the matter is, we just...we’ve never heard of anything like this before.”

“Why would I make it up?” Jameson asked quietly.

Aoife shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think you are. But not everyone does. If you could show some sort of proof, it would be helpful.”

“Oh, do you want me to take a picture of him, next time I see it?” JJ drawled. “In between the moments of me fighting for my friends’ lives and free wills?”

“I don’t know,” Aoife said quietly. She stood up, tucking the binder under her arm. “Look, I’m sorry, but until there’s some sort of evidence...we really can’t help you.”

Jameson shot to his feet as well. “Then why did you even agree to meet with me in the first place?”

“Well, it would be rude to just dismiss you in an email,” Aoife said calmly. “Impersonal, you know?” Her voice softened a bit. “Look, I want to help, but I can’t as long as we don’t know what this is. We just need something to show that this...what you’re saying it is. And if it is, then...well...” She pauses. “Then we’ve never seen anything like this before. And we’ll need time. And information.” She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small, rectangular piece of wood. She held it out to JJ, who took it silently. Looking down at it, he saw a phone number burned into the wood surface. “This is my personal cell, call me when you’ve...got something. Okay?” She waited for him to nod, then smiled. “Be seeing you.” And without another word, she left.

Jameson stared down at the wooden card, then tucked it into his pocket. He watched Aoife walk away, until she was out of the park and out of the sight. Then he turned, let out a cry of frustration, and kicked a rock out onto the surface of the pond. Where it landed, ripples turned the water a bright, glowing blue that slowly faded away.

He shook his head, making an effort to breathe slowly and deeply. If they’ve never heard of anything like Distorter before, it made sense that they needed proof. Just to make sure he wasn’t pranking them or anything. But god, was it frustrating. What was he supposed to do?! When and how was he supposed to get evidence that Distorter existed?! The gray man hadn’t been seen in months! Not to mention, part of him wondered how much help the other magicians could really be, if they’ve never seen anything like Distorter before. All that meant...all that meant was that they were dealing with a threat unlike anything before. Jameson shivered.

No, he’d...he’d figure it out. He had to. Maybe he could modify some of the mind protection spells he found, so they could ward a specific place? Maybe work them into some sort of offensive spell? Or he could put a little more effort into the tracking spells, if he just tried a little more he was sure he could find Jackie.

JJ headed out of the park and back towards his car. He’d planned to do the studying after he got all his visits for the day done, but his mind was already brewing. He could adjust the schedule a bit. Time to head to the library.

———————

The clock read 9:34am, a fact which surprised Schneep when he looked at it.

Didn’t it say 12 just a few minutes ago? No, there had been a 3:40 in that interim somewhere. Or was it 6?

You really should go to sleep.

Schneep shook his head. “No, I’m fine. Shut up.”

There was a figure hovering in the corner of his eyes. You’re going to kill yourself before you get anything done.

You weren’t supposed to acknowledge it. Schneep knew this. But it was a little hard to ignore it when it looked like one of your friends. Still, he didn’t answer this time, instead backing up to get a full view of the map he’d taped up on the wall. He used to have this entirely digital, but he’d tried printing in all out on paper, see if that helped. The map was littered with push pins, strings tying together locations to newspaper articles he’d found and taped to the wall. He was aware this looked like a crazy conspiracy board, but it was sort of helping.

The figure hovered closer. It looked close enough to reach out and touch, peering over his shoulder. Is it going to help? You look terrible. Is it really worth it?

“Yes,” Schneep breathed, leaning on the back of the couch. “Yes, if I can find you. It’s worth it.”

There was a knock at the apartment’s door. Schneep jumped, trying to back up but somehow managing to fall over the back of the sofa instead. Who was at the door? Who came to see him? Was it him, the gray man, coming to finish the job?

Another knock. “Dude, I can and I will pick your lock, let me in.”

He knew that voice, he realized, standing up. But was that proof? What if it was someone pretending to be him?

Oh, too late, the handle was rattling. The door opened to reveal Anti, who entered and closed the door behind him. He looked around the apartment, whistling. “This place is bigger mess than the room of a nine-year-old who refuses to clean. What’s up, Volt?” He paused. “You look terrible.”

I told you.

“Thank you,” Schneep muttered. “What are you doing here?”

“Um, I just...” Anti looked around the area again. “I was in the neighborhood. Why do you have a serial killer board up on your wall?”

“Shut up,” Schneep snapped. He put his hands on his hips and looked over the wall. “I am trying to figure things out. It is a new approach.”

“Uh-huh.” Anti’s eyes darted over the wall. “Figure what kind of things out?”

“You know what I mean! Anything, everything!” Schneep began pacing the length of his living area. On the edges of his vision, there was a shadow of a red hoodie, of big round glasses and brown hair. Is it worth it? Is it going to work? “It will work,” Schneep insisted. “I-I can find you.”

“Um...” Anti glanced around the apartment. “Who’re you talking to?”

Shit, no. Anti couldn’t know. Not now. Schneep really didn’t feel like being analyzed by Mr. Psychology-Is-My-Hobby. He whirled around, pointing at the wall. “I am keeping track of everything, everything odd in the last few years. Is very strange, you see? There are a high number of disappearances, and of accidents in the city. More so than in other cities.” He felt his eye twitching, a tiny pulse in his lid. He ignored it. “It is no wonder the police have been no help in finding him, they are useless at this!”

“Really?” Anti looked over the newspaper articles, taking in all the headlines. “You think maybe it’s...you know, all been him?”

“Possibly, possibly.”

This isn’t going to work. The shadow was whispering in his ear. You’re slowly dying over this, and it’s not worth it. Can you really find me? You haven’t had success so far.

Schneep waved in the direction of the shadow, as if trying to clear it. “Shut up.”

“I wasn’t saying anything,” Anti said, looking at him skeptically. “You...did you go to sleep last night?”

Apparently not. Or maybe the clocks were lying to him. Schneep almost sat down on the sofa, but he knew if he did that, he wouldn’t want to stand up and keep working. And that was the most important thing. Keep working. He had to succeed eventually. “Anti,” he said. “Can you do something?”

“Uh, depends on what it is.”

“Where have you been?” Schneep asked. “I have not seen you in, mmm, a couple of months now. Not outside of text.”

Anti shifted uncomfortably, rubbing his neck. “Well. Y’know. Been busy. Is...is that what you wanted me to do? Answer the question?”

What question? Wait, what? What was happening? Schneep shook his head. “No. I am sorry, I got distracted. I wanted to know if you could...I do not know, do something to keep me thinking.”

Anti took a step back. “Um, what?”

“Like one of those stories you like,” Schneep said. “Those spooky ones you tell. Tell one of those, I want to think about something else for a while.” The shadow stood beside him. “But I do not want to think of nothing.”

“Uh. Sure, I guess.” Anti flung himself down on the nearest armchair. “I can think of one you haven’t heard yet. You gonna sit down?”

“No.”

“Well, uh. Alright, then.” Anti bit his lip, thinking. “I could tell you the story about the house on Aspen Street.”

Schneep blinked. “I think you have mentioned that before. But I do not remember it.”

“Yeah, I think I’ve talked about it.” Anti flashed a grin. “But I always got stopped from talking about it, by Jackson and Jac—” He cut himself off. “Well, I can do it now.”

“Why would they stop you from talking about it?”

“I guess it could be kind of freaky. I mean, it starts with a true story.” Anti sat up straight. “Five years ago, we all turned on the evening news to a shocking story. A family of four had been found dead. Tragic enough in itself, but things start to become even bleaker once you heard the rest.”

Schneep sat down on the sofa. He gestured for Anti to continue.

Anti’s eyes lit up. “The house was 68 Aspen Street. For years, it had been home to a mother, a father, a son, and a daughter. It had been a happy place, a haven. But things started to crack and fall apart. The parents began arguing. About what, we don’t know. Maybe it was money, or bad habits, or the kids, or anything else that could drive two people apart. But drive them apart it did. And eventually the mother couldn’t handle it anymore. She took the kids and left, filing for divorce. It went through, of course, and the father was left alone in the house that had once been full of loved ones.”

“Now, the details of what happened next are hard to fudge out. We know that the kids visited their father on the weekends, and that they were the only people he saw regularly. The father was fired from his job, and had no luck finding anything new. The neighbors stopped seeing him, as he stayed in the house almost every day. He became a recluse who only really lived for his family. A family that was seeing him less and less.”

“One spring day, the kids and their mother disappeared. The police investigated the father, of course, but they found no evidence that he was involved in any way. Until a week later. A neighbor called the authorities, saying she heard gunshots. Four of them, to be precise. Three close together, and one a little bit after. It came from the house on Aspen Street. When the police arrived, they found the whole family. Dead. The father was still holding a handgun.”

Anti paused. “And from there? Well, stories like that tend to linger. Sad spirits refuse to leave. They say the house on Aspen Street is haunted by the family. People who live there tend to get in accidents. And those who get out before the accidents kill them, they always report hearing voices, having things move when they aren’t there...and seeing the figures of the family. Watching. Waiting.”

The apartment was silent. Then Schneep suddenly took a deep breath. “That is a...that is a very sad story,” he whispered.

“Yeah. It is.” Anti said nothing else. The events spoke for themselves.

“You are very good at scaring people, Anti, your voice can be quite...eerie,” Schneep said.

“Thanks.” Anti grinned. “Now. You should go to sleep.”

“Maybe I will. But not if you are here.” Schneep stood up, and pointed at the door. “So, out.”

“Okay, fine.” Anti started to leave, but paused just before reaching the door. He turned around. “Are...are you doing...?” He seemed to have trouble asking the question he really wanted to.

“I am fine,” Schneep insisted.

“You’re going to go to sleep now, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re...you feel...you’re...?”

“Yes, I am fine. Now leave.”

Anti seemed to hesitate, but he opened the door and left, closing it behind him.

Once he was gone, Schneep sighed. He turned to look back at the wall. Something about that story...something was niggling at his mind. He walked up to the map, grabbed a spare push pin, and pushed it into the paper, right at 68 Aspen Street.

You really think this’ll help? It won’t.

“Shut up,” Schneep muttered. “You are not here now, Jackie. You are somewhere else. And I will find you, and bring you back. I...” He leaned his head against the wall. “I promise.”

———————

JJ lost track of time in the library. He meant to only stay there until twelve, but when he next checked the time on his phone, it was 1:30. He immediately cleaned up, reshelving the books. He had to be sure to do it himself. After all, these weren’t normal books. They were spell books, hidden in part of the library’s reference section for any magician to use if they wished. Well, as long as the magician was registered with the ABIM, since they were the people who allowed someone to see through the concealing ward around the books.

He was...tired. He’d spent about of of his time practicing the spells he read about, hidden in a nook on the second floor of the library. And four and a half hours of consistent magic use was...draining. But it didn’t matter. He had more to do.

A short drive later, JJ parked in the driveway of a familiar house. He grabbed the tupperware container he’d had sitting in the car since he left that morning, climbed out, walked up to the threshold, and rang the doorbell. A short while later, the door was opened...by seemingly nobody. JJ looked down. “Oh. Hello, Michelle.”

“Hi Uncle JJ,” Michelle said. “Are you looking for Dad? He’s not here.”

“No, I-I know.” JJ tried to smile. It came out smaller than he intended. Of course Jackie wasn’t here. “I’m looking for your ren.”

“Oh. Okay.” Michelle darted back into the room, leaving the door open. “Ren! Uncle JJ is here! He wants to see you!”

JJ walked inside. The living room looked the same as ever. Except for the coat rack by the door. The white coat hanging from one of its hooks had a bit more dust.

Rama appeared from down the hallway. “Thanks for getting the door, Michelle,” they said, ruffling their daughter’s hair. Then they looked up at JJ. “Good to see you again, Jameson.”

“Good to see you too,” Jameson nodded. He showed off the tupperware container he was holding. “I made cake. Thought you’d want some.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Rama brushed a strand of their hair behind their ear. They hadn’t been wearing the red beanie they used to lately. “C’mon, let’s go in the kitchen.”

Jameson nodded. He shut the door behind him and followed Rama to the house’s kitchen. He set the container on the counter while Rama pulled open the silverware drawer and took out a couple forks. “Here,” they handed one to JJ.

“Oh, no, I mean thank you, but I-I already have some at home,” Jameson stammered. “This is for you.”

Rama nodded, putting one of the forks back. They peeled the lid off the tupperware and took out one of the slices inside, putting it on a plate already sitting on the counter. “So. Is this the part of the visit where you ask me how we’re doing?”

Jameson paused. “It can be.”

“Well...I guess we’re as okay as possible.” Rama plunged the fork into the cake slice. “Nothing much has changed since you last visited. Which I appreciate, by the way, you checking in.”

“It’s no problem.” Jameson smiled sadly.

Rama chuckled. There were dark bags under their dark eyes. “Does Michelle still say the same thing when she opens the door?”

“Yes,” Jameson said softly. ‘Are you looking for Dad? He’s not here.’ “How is she?”

“I don’t know.” Rama shook their head. “I’m worried about her, you know. The effect this could have on her, especially if...” They stop. They’d been toying with a part of the cake slice, and they finally put it in their mouth. They swallowed visibly. “The police aren’t giving us updates anymore. The last time they showed up, the detective lady said that, statistically, the longer someone is missing, the more likely it is that they’re...” They trailed off. Then they shook their head, a determined set to their face. “Jackieboy is a fighter. He’s always been tougher than people give him credit for, including himself.”

“He really is.” Jameson nodded in agreement. “People often mistake kindness for weakness. But he’s not weak at all.”

Rama looked...reassured by that. They looked down at their cake slice. “Did you know...that his birthday was last week?”

Jameson was silent for a moment. “..yes,” he whispered. July 10th.

Rama nodded, as if that’s all they wanted. “Well, thank you for the cake.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m sure you have much else to do today.”

He did, but that didn’t matter. “I can stay longer, if you want.”

“No, no, you go ahead,” Rama waved. “This has been nice, and...and thank you.”

“Alright, if you’re sure.” Jameson headed for the door. “Anything else you need?”

Rama smiled. “No. That’s enough.”

Jameson nodded, and without anything else, he left.

Once outside, he leaned back against the closed door and let out a long, long breath. It felt like there was something pressing down on his spine, making his head want to dip forward. Or maybe it was on his head itself. Or somewhere inside it. But he couldn’t let it happen. He had more to do. It was 1:52, he only had three and a half hours left before rehearsal. Plenty of time for his last visit, but maybe once that was done he could squeeze in another bout of studying. Maybe he could find some sort of spell that would lighten someone’s mood, if only for a little. Or a potion, that would be better. He could learn how potions work, if it could help them. He could do it. He could do it.

Jameson bit back a yawn as he got back in the car. It wouldn’t be too far a drive.

Fifteen minutes later, JJ was knocking on the door to Schneep’s apartment. There was no answer. He waited for another minute, then knocked again. He heard something fall over. “Um...Henrik? Are you doing okay in there?”

The door opened. Schneep was standing in the doorway, his hair wild, his shirt rumpled and with some sort of spill staining the blue material. He was wearing one of his electrical gloves, the ones that would shock someone upon contact, and judging by the wide-eyed look on his face, he was prepared to use it. But he relaxed a bit upon seeing Jameson. “Oh. Is you.”

“Yes, it’s me.” JJ tried to peer around Schneep into the apartment. “Can I come in?”

Schneep muttered something, but stood aside, letting Jameson enter.

JJ paused, taking in the map and pins on the wall. “That’s...new,” he said slowly.

“I am trying a new approach to finding things,” Schneep explained. “What are you doing here?”

Jameson spun to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“What are you doing here? Why are you here? What is your point?” Schneep pressed. “I am having many visitors today, first Anti, then you. What is it? Are you two having a plan?”

“Whoa, hang on, slow down.” JJ raised his hands. “I just wanted to check on you. I haven’t seen you in...in a while, now. I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Well. I am doing fine, so you can go now.” Schneep turned his back to Jameson, walking up to the map. “Shut it.”

“I...I don’t think I said anything?” Jameson said, confused.

Schneep shook his head. “I know. Anyway, you can go now.”

Jameson stayed where he was. “Henrik...” His voice was soft. “Did you sleep...at all, recently?”

“What is with you people asking me that?!” Schneep suddenly yelled, pounding his fist against the wall. “I am fine!”

“That wasn’t my question.” Jameson approached Schneep, stopping within arm’s length. “You...you don’t look good.”

Schneep blinked idly. Dark circles, pale skin, a bit thin...it wasn’t a pretty picture. “Wie spät ist es?” He asked.

“I...I don’t know what you just said,” JJ confessed. “What is spät?”

“What time is it?” Schneep clarified.

Jameson looked at the wall-mounted clock. “It’s ten past two.”

Schneep’s eyes widened briefly, but then he covered it up. “I see.”

“Did you wake up early?” Jameson pressed. “Or...did you not go to sleep at all?”

“You also look like you did not sleep well, what does it matter?” Schneep’s eyes flicked to the side for a moment. “Nein.”

“We’re not talking about me right now, that doesn’t matter,” Jameson said dismissively. “Schneep, are you okay?”

His eyes flicked to the side again. “I am fine, you do not need to keep asking. Perhaps I am tired, but that is all. I have been drinking coffee, it is fine.”

“Of course you have,” Jameson muttered under his breath. “Henrik, you should really go to sleep. Take a nap.”

“I can’t.” Schneep looked at the map. “I am working on things.”

“They’ll still be here when you wake up.”

“You do not know that.”

That was...an odd reaction. “Of course I do.” JJ tried for a laugh. “Things don’t just disappear.”

Schneep didn’t answer, his eyes scanning the map while occasionally flickering to the side, as if he was seeing something move in his peripheral vision.

Jameson stepped forward and placed his hand on Schneep’s shoulder. “Henrik—”

Schneep suddenly screamed. He grabbed Jameson by the wrist, still wearing his electric glove. The shock it sent through Jameson’s body was enough to stun him, so he couldn’t react when Schneep then flipped him over. He landed on the ground with an oof-inducing thump, his head solidly hitting the back of the sofa. He slumped, dazed.

“Mein Gott, Jameson, I-I am sorry!” Schneep was still standing, hand covering his mouth. He pulled off the electric glove and threw it over to the desk, where it landed. “I-I did not mean—! I thought—Jackie—”

“Jackie...?” Jameson sat up, rubbing the back of his head. “What about Jackie?”

“I-I-I—” Schneep was shaking. “I thought he touched me! I thought it was mehr als ein Schatten! I—!”

“Henrik.” Jameson climbed to his feet, using the sofa as support. “Jackie’s not here.”

And Schneep suddenly started crying. “I know that! I know he is not here, but he is! A-and I do not want—! I do not want to stop seeing him!”

Jameson shook his head, bewildered. “Henrik, what are you talking about?”

Schneep buried his face in his hands. “I have been forgetting medication recently, it is making everything confusing!”

“You’re on medication? Hey, it’s okay.” Schneep had fallen to the floor, landing hard on his knees. Jameson knelt beside him. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll help. What’s wrong?”

Schneep grabbed Jameson’s arm. “I did not tell you,” he gasped in between tears. “I d-do not tell anyone. I told Marvin one time, I-I thought he would understand. I do not want anyone to thi-think the worst of me. I would never hurt anyone! Th-these things I see are not dangerous! He knows, the Distorter knows, he pokes fun at me, likes to make his illusions because he knows reality is alrea—sometimes I cannot tell—!”

“Hey, calm down, take deep breaths. I’ll do it with you. In for four...hold for seven...out for eight...in...hold...out...in...hold...out...” It took a few minutes for Schneep to get calm. Once he was fine, Jameson asked, “So...you take some kind of medication?”

Schneep nodded.

“And without it, you see things?”

Another nod.

“And you’ve been forgetting it, so you’re seeing Jackie?”

And another.

“Alright. I understand now.” Jameson nodded. “Henrik...there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I know,” Schneep whispered. “But I am worried others do not know that. That they will think I am...” He trailed off.

“Well, I think you’re a good person. You’re smart, and stubborn, and sarcastic, and...other adjectives that begin with S.” Jameson smiled when that got a laugh out of Schneep. “And this doesn’t change any of that.”

Tears started to gather in Schneep’s eyes again. He buried his face in Jameson’s shirt.

“See? It’s okay. It’s all okay.” For a moment they were silent. Then Jameson said, “I think you should go to bed now. But not before taking that medication you’ve been missing.”

Schneep nodded. “Stay with me, a while?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll stay with you.”

He had time to.

———————

Jameson arrived at the theatre for rehearsal. He had not been expecting to spend an extra two hours at Schneep’s apartment, but he wasn’t about to leave while his friend was upset. Even if that friend had fallen asleep within fifteen minutes and hadn’t shown any signs of waking up in all the two hours he was there.

Jameson paused before entering the theatre, leaning against the wall. A few deep breaths. He was tired. God, he was tired. The weight was pressing down, not on his spine or his head, but directly on his mind. But he had to go to rehearsal. Everyone was expecting him. He couldn’t skip one. He couldn’t let down all the crew members that needed to run through everything. And if they missed one, that could delay the show and disappoint the audience. He couldn’t do that. He had to show up. Run through the show. It was only another three hours. He could do it.

It was not encouraging when his stage manager Darla greeted him with a “Where have you been?! You’re ten minutes late!”

“Things came up,” Jameson said. “Now are we ready to start?”

“Yeah, of course.” Darla nodded. “You left your cape and mask here last time, we brought them out, check with Ryan.”

“Got it.” He...hadn’t actually realized he’d left his mask and cape at the theatre. Well it was a good thing the others had found it, and he hadn’t had to drive back home, look for it, not find it, only to drive back and find his stuff already here. He would hate to waste everyone’s time.

Things went smoothly for the first hour. But it was when they all reconvened after a ten-minute break that things started to turn for the worse. For whatever reason, the lights wouldn’t work, and the techies took twenty minutes to figure out the problem. Just when they thought it was fixed, the main spotlight flickered and died. “It’s fine, we’ll just run it without that one,” Jameson said, sighing. He blinked, lingering in the darkness for a while, before opening them and returning to the busy world.

Then he was having trouble remembering his planned lines. True, being a magician didn’t involve nearly as much memorization as being a stage actor, but it was still more than most people thought. Not to mention, it often involved more timing, as you had to get the line to match up perfectly with the trick or it loses all dramatic effect.

Oh yes, the tricks. Jameson’s tricks were a clever combination of real magic and stage magic, a fine balance between the two. Of course, the crew didn’t know about the real magic. They just thought it was some wonderful light tricks and digital effects. So when they magic came out strained, because Jameson had spent three hours trying out new spells earlier that day and was a little lower on energy, that meant the rehearsal was delayed for an entire half hour while the crew tried to fix technical devices that didn’t actually work. Guilt was curdling in Jameson’s stomach. He was making everyone stay late.

And indeed, the time was 8:23 pm and it didn’t look like the rehearsal was anywhere close to being finished. Jameson squeezed his eyes shut, feeling tears start to well. No, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. Sure, he was tired and his head felt heavy with the events of the day. It didn’t matter. These things weren’t important. What was important was everyone else’s thoughts and feelings. Not his.

“Alright, one more time!” Darla called out. “Start from the levitation trick!”

That trick was...well, tricky. Levitation magic didn’t come naturally to him. Jameson took a deep breath, adjusted his mask, and shouted, “Ready!”

The objects he was levitating—just wooden cubes for now, probably to be replaced with something else in the actual show—were placed on the tables around the stage. Jameson blinked sweat out of his eyes, trying to focus. He chanted the words under his breath, feeling the strain of magic. Like trying to stretch a barely-used muscle after you’d already been working out for half an hour. Focus. Concentrate. Watch the blue magic float around the target, watch them wobble, then lift, slowly, trembling in the air—

“It snapped!”

“Backdrop’s coming down!”

“Watch out!”

The shouts snapped him out of concentration, sending the cubes crashing to the ground. Jameson whirled around to see the painted backdrop crashing down as well, landing just a few feet from him. He stared at it where it landed. The shouts of the crew members faded into buzzing background noise.

He could fix this.

He could fix it, he could help.

It was alright.

It was fine, he could help.

He could—

He felt his heart burning cold.

Tears slipped from his eyes, from under his mask, only to freeze the moment they left his face, shattering on the floor.

The buzzing background noise was growing louder, louder, it was a storm inside his head, thoughts whirling in a whiteout of feelings he couldn’t name, he was tired, he was so so tired, tired of this, tired of everything—

A blizzard exploded on the stage.

Wind howled, blue chips of cold magic swirling around him in a storm, a storm, a storm. Beneath his feet the wood of the stage groaned as the temperature dropped, glowing icicles of freezing magic jabbing from the ground. He’d fallen to his hands and knees. All he could see was blue and white and blue and white and blue and white—

Someone was shouting. He was vaguely aware of the sound through the screaming gales in his mind. The magic storm swirled taller, reaching the lights above and freezing their bulbs until they burst.

Someone was in front of him. He could see their shape in the fog of the magic flakes. They grabbed him by the arms, started shaking. He didn’t respond. Just stared. Tears were still slipping down, freezing his mask to his face.

Slowly, a voice started to pierce the winds. “—Jems! You can’ keep t’is up, you’ll hurt someone! Yourself, too! Jems! Look at me!”

Jameson’s eyes focused on the someone in front of him. A familiar face. Marvin. “Are you alrigh’, Jems?” he asked.

And Jameson shook his head.

“What’s wrong? Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

He shook his head again. How was he supposed to say so much? How was he supposed to explain about how he was being crushed? Crushed first by Jackie going missing, by Distorter being out there and ready to fuck with them at any time, and the other magicians wouldn’t or couldn’t help, so he had to do it on his own, he had to make sure his friends were safe from this creature, he had to learn some way to keep him at bay, and he had to be there for everyone else, had to listen to all their problems, had to make breakfast in the morning after Marvin had another nightmare, had to bring food and anything that could help to Rama and Michelle who’d just lost a husband and a father who might not come back, had to figure out what was wrong with Anti, had to check on Schneep because he was in danger of working himself to death while being attacked by his own mind, he had to do all this and it was crushing him, it was killing him, he couldn’t handle everyone’s problems as well as his own, couldn’t hold their grief and his too, but it didn’t matter didn’t matter shouldn’t matter should it matter? couldn’t matter in the face of all—

Oh. Oh, Marvin was hugging him. He was shivering, in the face of this cold storm coming from Jameson, but he was still hugging him. There was frost forming on his jacket, but he wasn’t leaving.

Jameson leaned his head on Marvin’s shoulder. He wrapped his arms around his friend. His shoulders started to shake. But the storm died down, ice covering the stage melted into nothing. Things were warm again.

“We’re goin' to go home,” Marvin said in a voice that left no room for argument. “We’re goin' to go home. And we’ll relax tonight, and tomorrow, too.”

Jameson started to shake his head. He couldn’t let Marvin worry about him—

“Yes, we are.” Marvin stood up, still holding Jameson close. “You do a lot for others, Jems. Let someone else do somet’ing for you.”

That...that sounded really nice. Jameson grabbed the fabric of Marvin’s jacket, clinging to it. He nodded.

“Alrigh’. Let’s go. C’mon, one step at a time.”

One step at a time.

They took the bus back, since Marvin wouldn’t let JJ drive. Once home, Marvin tried to cook. He did better than expected. They turned on the television in the living room, with Marvin in his usual chair and JJ lying on the sofa, underneath a blanket. The cat took the opportunity to fall asleep on him. And eventually, JJ found he was drifting off as well.

Maybe...maybe it did matter.

Maybe he should let it matter.

JJ fell asleep, feeling warmer now knowing that there would be others still there when he woke up.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #septic egos #septic egos au #jameson jackson #the jaunty jackson #dr schneeplestein #von voltage #antisepticeye #programmer anti #marvin the magnificent #1920s marvin #brigid writes fanfiction #septicswitchau

19 notes · View notes

jeagerism · 5 years

Text

I. the one where they meet

Word Count : 3.1k

A/N : welcome to the v first part of waiting game!!! i hope you like it!! please feel free to give feedback, as it helps me work faster and i then know what you guys want in future chapters! ty to @soulspideys bc ya got me out of a hole with this!!! anyways enjoy bbys!

---

He’s going to be late.

Peter’s been repeating this to himself since he’d woken up this morning, alarm blaring with giant red numbers reading 8:13 A.M. He had made sure to set extra alarms, each one with a different tone, and had managed to sleep through them all.

So, he’d jumped up, shoving himself into the outfit he’d had laid out the night before, hauled his backpack onto his shoulders, and grabbed his keys before leaving his dorm room and making a mad dash for his class. He’d woken up so late he didn't even get to fix himself the tea he had planned on making.

He is so going to be late. And on the first day of class, too. Fuck. Right about now, he's questioning what compelled him to sign up for an 8 a.m. class. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but as Peter just about manages to arrive outside the building his class is held in, he's cursing himself out.

He risks a glance at his watch and winces. 8:23. There's a part of him that cringes at the thought of walking into the lecture hall, knowing all eyes would immediately be on him. Peter had been so hopeful for the first day of college. But now he’d be labelled as the kid that was late to his first class. Fuck fuck fuck.

He doesn't want to go in.

He does anyways, of course. Sucking it up and moving along, he wraps his hand around the door handle and pulls.

Creeeaaaaak.

He wants the ground to swallow him whole. The groaning of the door stops once Peter slips inside the classroom, only to start again as it closes behind him. But when he looks up, he's surprised to see that no one’s even spared him a glance. The professor is still speaking, pencils are still moving.

A breath. Thank God. He makes his way past students, scouring the rows of people for an empty seat. There's someone occupying each and every seat he comes across. He’s just about ready to give up hope when he spots an empty seat a few rows up, right next to someone in a giant grey hoodie.

Peter approaches the person, nudging their forearm gently. “Um, is anyone, uh…” He trails off, awkwardly rubbing his neck. Please please please let me sit here. They glance up at the touch of his hand.

“Yeah, sure.” They move their things over to give him room. He settles into his seat, pulling out the colorful notebook labeled Psychology, and gets to work writing notes immediately.

The class passes much quicker after that, but Peter can feel himself dozing off periodically when the professor pauses his lecture. He really wishes he’d woken up earlier. He’s grateful the class ends when it does, hundreds of students pouring out of the room almost instantly.

A sigh leaves him as he puts his things back into his bag.

“Hey, um-” Another book lands beside him. When he looks up, you give him an encouraging smile. “You, um, you missed a few topics...before you came in.” You shrug a shoulder, holding your backpack strap on the other. “So, uh, you can copy mine? Like, I can give you my notebook and you can give it back next class, o-or you can take a few pictures, or I can take a few and send them to you!”

Peter doesn't say anything, instead choosing to stare at you with wide, curious eyes. He didn't think anyone had noticed him come in, despite the noise he caused. But you had, and you're offering to help him. No one else had done that. You're an angel.

The smile on your face drops as suddenly as it had come, and you begin reaching for the notebook. “And you probably think I'm weird and was watching you and am just trying to get your number! Okay, um, sorry for tha-”

Peter shakes his head, also reaching out to grab the notebook. Your hands brush against each other’s, and you both jump back as if you'd been burned. “Uh, yeah, I can give you my number? And you can just text me the notes I missed, i-if you want! You, like, totally don't have to-”

“No, I will!” Your eyes fall from him to the floor. “Um, it's no, no problem.” Slipping your phone from your back pocket, you hand it out to him. “Just, like, put your number in…”

His hands are shaking so bad Peter is worried he’ll drop your phone. He's not used to this, meeting new people had never been his forte. Sure, he could be as brave as he wanted when he was Spider-Man, but now? This was all new. Peter Parker was Spider-Man, but at the same time, Peter Parker was not Spider-Man.

He types in his number slowly, double, then triple checking to make sure he’d put in the right digits. “Here you go”, he mumbles, handing it back to you with pink cheeks.

“Peter.” You whisper his name to yourself with a smile. “I'm Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” Y/N.

“Great! I'll, you know”, you hold the device up, wiggling it, “text you.” You smile, turning around and head for the door of the classroom.

Peter watches you leave, rooted in his spot, smiling like an idiot. Because he may have just made his first friend in college.

---

Throughout the next week and a half, you talk a lot more than either of you had expected.

You text him the notes he’d missed, just like you'd said you would, and the conversation continues. It's mostly about things either of you didn't quite understand during class, but when Peter slips in a joke about how nasally your professor sounds, you both relax.

The next time you two see each other is in the library. Peter’s busy looking for a book for his art class, fingertips brushing over the spines as he walk. He becomes so focused he doesn't notice the person on the other side of the bookcase until he hears his name being called.

“Peter!”

He looks up, startled, but his shocked expression morphs into a smile when he notices it's you. “Hey, Y/N.” His finger snags on the corner of a book as he tries to come up with something else to say, and it, along with a few other books, comes crashing to the ground by his feet. Well, at least he has an excuse for not speaking.

“Shit.” He bends down, stacking the books one on top of the other, cheeks burning. How was it that he’d managed to make a fool out of himself again, and it was only his second time seeing you in person? He can feel the eyes of everyone in the library on him.

You're knelt beside him before he can blink, adding the last stray book to his stack.

“Sorry, I'm just, really clumsy all the time and”, a pause, “I'm embarrassing myself aren't I?” He’s almost certain his cheeks have never been this red in his life.

You bump shoulders with him, standing as he does. “Nah. At least, not to me.” You survey the people around you, most giving the two of you dirty looks. “Not so sure about them though.”

Peter sets the books on the shelf gently, stuffing both hands in his pockets and rocking back and forth on his feet. “So…what're you in here for?” You look confused for a second. “Not that you're, like, not allowed in the library or anything! You can totally be in here, just wondering-”

There's a loud shushing sound from the corner of the library, leaving Peter silent, and you giggling quietly.

“I'm picking up a few anatomy books. You?”

“I'm, uh, an art major, so. Looking for something for a project”, he says.

You beam up at him. “That's so cool, Peter.” He shrugs. “Seriously. You should show me some of your work sometime.” Internally, he's freaking out. Because you do not need to see the crappily one sketches he has, especially the one he’d started of you.

But he finds himself nodding anyways. “Yeah, sure. That would be fun.” No it wouldn't. It absolutely would not, why did I say that? He supposes there's just something about you that leaves him wanting more. “So, um, do you need any help looking for your books?”

Another smile. “Please.” You lead him to the section of books you'd been picking through, naming off a few titles you needed. It's easy to start talking from there, about how he's liking classes and how you're undecided for a major at the moment. “I don't really know what I want to do yet. I want to branch out, I guess? I just want to make sure that when I do pick my major”, you sigh, “I want to make sure I know that's what I want.”

He likes that answer. It's nice to know someone who's as undecided about their future as he is. After everything that happened last year, he's grateful for that.

After you collect all of your books and his, and Peter offers to carry every single one, you leave the library still chatting up a storm. Something about the way you smile shakes him to his core. And he knows he's not supposed to think this, because he's just met you, but your one of the prettiest people he's seen.

He doesn't tell you this of course. Even if he wanted to, he doesn't get a chance.

“Hey, Peter!” Ned. He tilts his head at his friend, who jogs up to them with a goofy smile upon seeing you by his side. “See you've met Y/N!” Ned holds his fist out for you.

You laugh, and bump your fist against his. “Hi, Ned.”

Peter’s eyes flit from you to Ned. “You know each other?” Does he sound jealous? No, no, there's not a chance he does...right? The smirk Ned gives him makes him scowl the tiniest bit.

“Yeah, we have a few classes together. We ate lunch together the other day, which was really nice because I don't really know anyone other than you and him. I'm...not very good at making friends.” Which Peter almost doesn't want to believe, because how could anyone not want to be your friend?

Ned takes Peter’s silence as a queue to begin speaking again. “Well...if you don't have anything to do right now, Peter and I were meeting a few friends for lunch...if you want to some along.”

I'm gonna kill him.

Peter opens his mouth to intervene, but you're already shaking your head excitedly. I'm screwed. He was going to spend an hour with you, in a sandwich shop, with his best friend right next to him, probably embarrassing him even more than he’d already managed to do.

You glance up at Peter. “That'd be great, actually. That saves me from eating lunch in my dorm, or even worse”, you grimace, “the cafeteria.” Not that the cafeteria was a bad place. It was very clean and had surprisingly great food. But he knew what you meant. He’d been the kid with no friends to sit at lunch with before Ned came along.

So, Peter grins, nodding his head. He's still got your books in his hands, which are getting sweatier and sweatier as he think about lunch. It's with the really pretty person from his Psychology class, but holy shit, it's with the really pretty person from his Psychology class.

“That sounds amazing!”

---

You look beautiful when you laugh.

Peter decides this about fifteen minutes into lunch. You haven't talked much since you've gotten here, most of your attention on Bryce, Ned’s boyfriend, but every few minutes you catch eyes, and it's enough for him.

When you'd first arrived, you'd looked around in awe at the sandwich shop. Apparently you'd never been. Rhodey had taken him and Ned a few weeks before they were scheduled to move into their dorms. They had fun, they talked a lot. About Tony. He misses him. About last year's events. He misses her.

You were nervous about ordering, so you had Peter do it for you. You told him you trusted him to make the right choice, so he got what he did his first time, what he’d gotten every other time since visiting. He felt like a kid in a candy store when you told him you liked it.

“So, Peter.” Ned pats him on the back. “How you doing this week? I know we share a dorm, but you haven't really been there a lot.” His best friend gives him a pointed look. “You promised me, Rhodey, and Pepper you'd try to be home more.”

Peter wets his lips, anxiously looking up to make sure you weren't paying attention to them. “I know, I just…”, he sighs, “I just like to be there, just in case. I know this isn't Queens, just…if I'm not there, what'll happen?”

Ned huffs. “The police will get them?” His eyes soften the tiniest bit. “I know how you are about this, since last year, but it's better here. We made sure of that. So, just try to come home more?” He smirks. “Unless you're spending all your time with Y/N-”

“I'm not!” Peter elbows him, glaring. “I'm not, I just have psychology with her. That's all.” But that's not all. You glance up again, and smile at Peter when you lock eyes. That's so not all. “I'll try to be home more, just quit with the jokes.”

“Who said they were jokes?”

Peter groans, pressing his hands to his cheeks. “Shut up, Ned.” He checks his watch, releasing a puff of air. “I've got to get back, I need to start sketching out ideas.” Grabbing his wallet, he pockets it. “I'm gonna head out.”

You jump to your feet at his words. “Oh, I'll come! I've got some things to do back at my dorm anyways.” You shuffle past Bryce. “Nice to meet you! Bye, Ned, see you on Wednesday!” Your arm brushes against Peter’s as you stop beside him. “Let's go?”

The breeze feels nice on his face, calming him. People bustle around the two of you, talking on phones or holding binders and textbooks. It’s loud, but Peter doesn't mind. He doesn't do too well with quiet now, anyways.

“I'm glad I went to lunch with you.” He takes careful notice in the way you say you. Not you guys, but you. Just him. It fills him with a strange kind of warmth.

He mumbles a soft reply, “Yeah, me too.” The two of you cross the street, and some protective part of him reaches out to grab your hand as you do. Maybe it's reflex from days spent out with May, or maybe it's just because it's you. He doesn't question it too much.

You look surprised, Peter tugging his hand back a little at that. “S-Sorry, I-” But you don't let go. Not even when you've reached the other side of the street. He hides his smile by looking away.

“It’s okay.” He's so, so screwed.

He walks you the rest of the way home filled with glee. You reach the outside common area too soon. “Do you want me to walk you back to your dorm, or…?”

You shake your head, letting his hand fall from yours. He misses the warmth, although he's not sure why. Friends. “No, it's alright. Thank you, though, for lunch. You and I should do it again soon.”

You and I.

“Yeah. Yeah we really should.”

---

Search History :

i think i have a crush

do i have a crush

queens, new york july accident

how do i know if i like someone

good conversation starters

art throughout the ages

---

It’s the next week when Peter is sure he's doomed.

He's tried his best to keep any and all feelings away. The beginnings of a teeny crush had been pushed to the back of his mind. Getting too close so soon isn't good. He doesn't want a repeat of last year.

But it seems the universe hates him.

He shows up to psychology early, notebook and black and blue pens in one hand, a travel mug of tea in the other. Peter’s there early enough that he can pick his seat, wherever he wants. He chooses a seat right in the middle row, close to the exitway. The rest of the class starts pouring in, and pretty soon the room is filled.

You drop into the seat next to him as the professor starts talking. When you smile, Peter tries his hardest not to show how happy he is you sat next to him.

“Today, you're getting assigned your first collaboration assignment.” They explain the work in detail before grabbing the binder in front of them. “Pick your partners and get to work, I've emailed you the other information.”

The room gets loud as the words leave the professors lips. People around the lecture hall move around, getting into pairs. Peter glances worriedly at his peers. He doesn't really know any of them, except for, well, except for you.

“Do you want to be my partner, Peter?” Why do you have to sound so hopeful? Spending more time with you sounded great, like a dream, but Peter was positive that you managed to pull him in too easily. Spending time alone with you would surely lead to disaster.

“Yeah!” He flips his notebook open as you open up the email you’d been sent. You begin rambling about the topics you can choose from, a gleam in your eye.

“Oh, and we can work on it out of class, too, obviously. We can go back to the shop and work, or-or we could go to the library and study while working and kill two birds with one stone.” You grin. “You're really cool, so I'm glad you're who I get to work with on this.”

He's so, utterly, terribly, horribly screwed dammit.

“I'm glad it's me, too.”

---

Search History :

how to stop liking someone

how fast can you get over a crush

queens new york bank robbery

attribution theory

---

taglist :

@still-awake-daydreaming @parkersvibes @starstuffy @spider-writer @princess-unicorn124 @alisoncdariel @parkeroffline @asmolbeen @eternallovers65 @aussie-mantle @hbmoore1986 @cosmetologynerd @mellifluous-tom @trustfundparker @standingunderthisrain @peterstrainingwheels @happywolves81 @onyxbunny22 @dark-destiny-collector @xxtomxo @marvel-slxt @pluckypeterparker @summertime-acoustic

strikeout means tumblr wouldn't let me tag you!!

let me know if you want to be on my tag list for this series

got any feedback on this? tell me what you though!!!

#peter parker imagines #peter parker imagine #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #spiderman x you #spiderman x y/n #spiderman x reader #spiderman #waiting game #dej_writes #college!peter parker x reader #college!peter parker #college!peter #college!au

272 notes · View notes

five-rivers · 5 years

Text

Masquerade/Laboratory

I do a lot of bad things to Danny in this. Major themes are ghost psychology, brainwashing, and clones. Use your discretion.

Masquerade/Laboratory

Against the wall, separate from the rest of the party, stood a boy known to all the world but two as Danny Fenton. He played with his mask and watched the clock, waiting for a time when it would be appropriate and acceptable to leave.

His eyes swept over the masquerade, full of people he didn't know, and didn't care to know, all wearing masks. Mostly, they were Vladco and Axion Labs employees, much older than he was. This whole thing was too loud, flashy, uncomfortable. He would have much preferred to spend the evening alone with his family, in Amity Park, not Wisconsin.

A soft smile spread over his features as he allowed himself to dwell on his most cherished fantasy. All his family and friends together with him, happy, peaceful, safe, loving, accepting him for who and what he was.

He picked out his sister, Jazz, in the crowd. She was hard to recognize in her mask, and the unfamiliar dress, but that didn't matter to a half-ghost like him. He could recognize people with senses other than the ones humans used. He found his dad, Jack a much easier proposition, seeing as he towered over most of the other guests. His mom, Maddie, was easy to find, too.

He sighed. He loved them so much, but, like this, his family was sadly incomplete. It couldn't be helped, of course, not yet, but it still hurt.

Soon, though, soon. Soon his preparations would be ready, and he'd be brave enough, strong enough, to start to reveal his secrets. The fantasy bloomed and swelled in his mind, providing a level of refuge from the overstimulation of the masquerade party.

But that comfort grew thin, and he started looking at the clock again. It was a huge, ornate thing, like something out of a fairy-tale. The whole masquerade, with its glittering masks and costumes, should have been like something out of a fairy-tale. But it lacked something. Elegance, maybe. Authenticity. It felt tacky. Tawdry. Overdone. Fake.

It was time for him to escape.

He pushed off the wall, and reluctantly entered the crowd. As best he could, he threaded between the people, and made his way to his mom and dad. He tried not to hiss or flinch as people bumped inevitably bumped into him. He could smell alcohol on most of them.

He reached his mom, and tugged on her sleeve. "I'm going to go to bed," he said, straining to make his voice heard without yelling.

"Already? You've been looking forward to this so much."

Had it seemed that way? Crud.

"I'm just tired," he said.

"Alright, sweetie," she said. "We probably won't be up for a while."

"That's okay, we have separate rooms anyway."

"Well, that's Vlad for you. Always so generous."

He nodded in agreement, distracted by anticipation.

"Good night, Mom," he said, giving her a quick hug. He said good night to his dad as well, then he left, fleeing for quieter parts of the castle.

At first, he passed people, partiers taking a break from the main room, but after a while, he became the only one. He played with the edge of his mask. It was uncomfortable, but he had been told not to take it off without permission.

He did not go to his room.

He went to the study, and pulled on the secret lever (disguised as a football). The fireplace shifted, revealing the passage to the laboratory below.

It slid closed behind him as he went through, and he spiraled down into the earth, humming, the way forward lit only by his glowing green eyes.

He emerged into the bright lights of the lab, blinking, and smiled as he saw the two people he loved most in the whole wide world.

"Father," he chirped, happy and excited. Soon he would be doing his very most favorite thing.

"Daniel," said Father, standing from his seat in front of one of a plethora of complicated machines. "Excellent. You're just in time."

His core vibrated at the praise, and he bounced forward to embrace Father, careful not to rumple his expensive clothing. Father could get annoyed about that, sometimes.

Father ruffled his hair affectionately. Father was in a good mood tonight.

"Is he ready?" he asked, looking up. Could that be the reason for Father's good mood? That would be wonderful.

Father's expression fell. "Not yet," he said. "But we're getting closer."

Father put his hands on his shoulders, and turned him so that he was facing the other occupant of the lab. The real Daniel Fenton.

Danny was asleep, of course, and had been for almost as long as the clone had existed. He laid in a containment chamber, tubes and wires running in and out of him, padded green-silver cuffs engraved with arcane symbols circling his wrists, ankles, thighs, biceps, waist, neck, and forehead, similar bands stretched across his chest. The outside of the chamber glittered with electronics, but also with symbols copied off of the Sarcophagusof Forever Sleep. Danny was kept unconscious and powerless by a combination of science and what might as well be magic. But also very comfortable. The clone had been in the containment chamber himself many times to make sure of that.

The idea of Danny being uncomfortable was one the clone couldn't stand. It was even worse than Father being uncomfortable, because if Father was uncomfortable, he could just change things. Danny couldn't.

"I think he needs a few more sessions," said Father. "Then, before the end of the week, before you have to leave, we'll have a... trial run."

"Really?" asked the clone, bouncing on his toes and looking up at Father.

"Yes," said Father, chuckling indulgently. "But don't be too disappointed if we have to put him under again. In fact, we will have to put him under again, regardless, to put our full plan into motion."

The clone nodded, but he was so excited. He couldn't think of anything better- Well, he could: that fantasy image of his whole family, Danny, Mom, Dad, Jazz, Father, Sam, Tucker, and all his clone brothers and sisters together, safe, and happy. But having Danny awake would be the first step towards that, and he couldn't wait.

"We will have to restrain him somewhat, of course, restrict him. Perhaps modify him, temporarily, to complete our little illusion. What do you think would be best to remove?"

The clone didn't really want to answer that. He had the feeling removing anything would upset Danny. But Father was right. Father was always right. And the clone had to answer all of Father's questions truthfully when they were alone. It was a rule, and he always followed the rules.

"His voice," he said. "He won't need it, after all. I can tell you what he's thinking."

"Hm," said Father, patting the clone's shoulder in approval. "Very good. That's what I thought as well."

The clone's core purred at the approval, though he still worried about Danny and what his reaction would be to waking up without a voice.

"What should we call him when he wakes up?" asked the clone. "And am I going to be the real one, or another clone?" Sometimes, if the clone came up with a good question, pointed out a flaw in a plan, or better yet, came up with a solution, or an improvement, Father would laugh and call him clever.

"Another clone, for this trial. As for a name... Do you have anything in mind? And would you like to be called something different as well? For the purposes of the trial, of course."

The clone beamed. He was going to get his own name! And he got to give Danny a name, too!

This was shaping up to be the best day ever, except for the day he first met Danny and Father, which was also the day he had been born. It was hard to top that. Being able to play with Danny while he was awake might do it, though.

As it turned out, he had put a lot of thought into the matter of names.

"I was thinking, maybe Damien and Cosmo, like the saints, or Damon, or Dara, that means 'star' in some languages, or Damir, which means peace, or Dante, or Darius, or Darwin, or David, or Dmitri, or Pollux and Castor, or-" he paused for breath, and Father held up his hand.

"You have plenty of time to decide," said Father. Then Father sighed, looking at Danny. "There are a number of ways," he said, almost to himself, "steal a voice. Temporarily. Permanently. Indefinitely."

Father's hand moved sideways to brush against the clone's throat, and he felt a thrill go down his back. The clone didn't like imagining bad things happening to Danny, but he did like imagining that he was Danny. He also, and this was something of a guilty pleasure, liked imagining Danny dependent on him. He could never decide what he liked better. Danny dependent on him, or Danny protecting him.

Father looked down at him. "I think we had better go for one of the indefinite options. It wouldn't do for it to wear off, hm? Now, are you ready for tonight's session?"

"Yes, Father," said the clone, obediently. He was always obedient, loyal, and loving. The perfect son. Father had created him to be that way, so that he could teach Danny.

But he would have said yes, anyway. He loved the sessions. They made him close to Danny. Usually, sessions had to be short, only couple hours at most, because the clone had to travel from Amity Park to here. Using the portals made the journey easier, but it was difficult to find the time to get away.

Not tonight. Not this week. Father would distract Mom and Dad, and Jazz had to go back to college first thing tomorrow. She didn't know that yet, of course, but Father was good at manufacturing emergencies.

"Good," said Father. "Here is your medicine for this session." He pulled over a small cart with a tray on it.

There was a lot more medicine than there usually was, and the clone made a face at it. Pills, potions, powders, even a little cake thing. It made sense, though. This would be a longer session. He started with the powders, washing them down with the liquids, and watched Father pressing buttons on a console near the containment unit. With every other press, liquids started moving in the tubes connected to Danny. That was his medicine, which was administered intravenously, not orally.

The clone was vaguely aware of what went into the medicine. He had helped Father gather some of the reagents. Ghost Zone flowers that grew near the banks of the Lethe, waters from the spring of Mnemosyne, ectoplasm harvested from this or that great beast, crystals from the Isle of Records, etcetera. He was, however, more familiar with the effects.

His medicine made his memories sharper, and made it easier for him to reach out with his core and feelings. It put him more in control of what he broadcast, and better able to read the cores of others.

Danny's medicine did the opposite. It made his memories pliable, his thoughts vulnerable, and muted his ability to reach past the defenses of others. They were helped by the effects of some of the artifacts Father was using on him.

Of course, all that would have been moot and useless if Danny and the clone weren't so similar. Ghosts with sufficiently similar ectosignatures could share memories, thoughts, feelings. Sometimes, those memories could even be mistaken for their own. With practice, time, effort, and pharmaceutical help, one such ghost could edit the memories and feelings of another. The clone had done it before, to practice, with other clones, who were now in storage in Father's Rocky Mountain retreat, before Father had set their plan in motion.

Danny, of course, was a much more difficult subject. He had memories of his own, and more experience being his own person. But he'd been here for months, now, and the clone had been working on him all that time, along with Father.

Father had other things he was trying, tests he was running, and he did not always tell the clone what they were. Sometimes, the clone would see, through Danny's memories, dazed and confused fragments of those attempts.

The clone sighed as he finished the last of the medicine, rinsed his mouth out with the cup of water that had been set behind the tray, and popped the toffee into his mouth. Father was thoughtful, to provide something to take away the bad taste.

The clone then crawled up onto the padded table next to the bed, and laid down, waiting for the medicine to take effect. It made his mind sharp, but his body languid, sluggish, slow.

Father came around, pulled off the clone's mask, and started playing with his hair. The clone sighed in contentment.

"Now," said Father, "as we are going with the scenario where both of you are clones, you should focus on the memories that support that."

"Fake funeral?" asked the clone. Father had staged several memories, and had the clone act them out in real life, for the purpose of giving them to Danny. One of those staged memories was Danny's own funeral.

"Yes, I think that would be a good one to include. Remember, don't give him anything that would contradict him being just another clone. A newly created clone."

"Yes, Father." The words were blurred. His tongue was starting to feel thick and clumsy in his mouth.

"Do you think this would be better conducted with both of you in ghost form?"

"No, Father." He didn't like the pain a forced change caused Danny, and a forced change put his core on the defensive, making it hard to manipulate.

Father nodded, accepting his judgement. "If you feel like your medicine or his is wearing off, call me." Father touched his ear, where an earpiece was cunningly hidden. "Unfortunately, as the host, I must return upstairs."

"Yes, Father. I love you, Father."

Father's slow smile was incredibly rewarding. "I know," he said.

Then the clone was alone with Danny.

He waited, making sure Father hadn't forgotten anything. Then he got up, off the table, and shuffled over to the containment unit. Technically, he wasn't supposed to do this, it weakened some of the bindings placed on Danny, but it was just so much better. He opened the lid, and, careful of all of Danny's attachments, climbed in.

Being close to Danny was an amazing feeling. He never got tired of it. He cuddled closer, and with one hand, traced the line of Danny's face. It was exactly like his. He brought his hand down, so that his skin whispered against Danny's constellation of scars. Again, exactly like his. He had made sure of it. He hugged Danny.

Jazz had told him that positive human contact was important for people. Danny put high value on Jazz's advice, so he did, too.

Finally, at long last, he reached out to Danny's core with his, showering it and Danny with love and affection. In response, Danny's core sent back the same message, the same love; it was weak, sleepy, and confused, but, oh, so incredibly, beautifully genuine.

Danny loved him back. He always had. Since the very beginning.

The clone started the session by giving Danny new memories, of things the clone had experienced since the last session. It took Danny a while to process them, and they distracted him from other things the clone was doing. The clone started with the first memories after their last session, and continued on, lingering over the important memories of family, friends, school, and protecting their beloved Amity Park. The clone made sure to reassure him especially on the last part, soothing his Obsession. The clone knew how important it was. He had the very same Obsession, after all: keeping the people he loved happy and safe, and everyone Danny loved, the clone loved.

It would be nice, in many ways, if Danny and the clone became exactly the same. Same thoughts, same feelings, same memories, like one was the extension of the other, and neither knew where one left off and the other began. The clone purred at the thought. He liked the idea of being Danny, and he liked the idea of Danny being him. It was just another fantasy, of course, and he knew why it couldn't happen, but he was allowed his fantasies.

With Danny's memories caught up to the clone's, with all the plotting edited out, the clone tracked backwards. There, that was a good place to put the funeral, a week or so after the clone was created. In the memory, Father and the clone were the only mourners. The funeral had been kept secret. It would not do, after all, for the ghosts to discover that Phantom was no more, not to mention what news of the death would do to Danny's loved ones. The only reasonable solution was to have the clone take Danny's place, and continue to protect Amity Park. The narrative played to their Obsessions, and cast the clone in the role of a hero.

It also, once Danny was woken, provided a reason for Danny's creation. Father was lonely without the clone, and wanted someone to help him, and keep him company while the clone was away. Such a purpose would be hard for Danny to turn away from, especially if it was framed properly.

Father and the clone had put a lot of thought into these scenarios.

Settling the memory into place sent out ripples of distress, as expected, but the clone quickly distracted Danny by prodding more recent, happier memories into the forefront of his mind. The clone smiled, feeling how his love and happiness with his family and friends in Amity Park was reflected by Danny. But that wasn't all he wanted to be reflected.

The clone gathered together all the happy memories of Father, and stroked them, making them stand out bright in Danny's mind, accentuating the love, loyalty, and obedience in each one, the filial piety, the happiness, the contentment. Danny's response came much faster, and stronger, than it had in the beginning. It was, perhaps, not so clear as his response to memories of his birth family, but that could be forgiven.

It wouldn't have been possible at all, if Danny hadn't cared for Father at the start. It was a small care, and hidden, but present. A tiny ember that the clone had nursed through the sessions, blowing on it, and feeding it, until it was a respectable flame.

That done, the clone began to wind his way through Danny's older memories. He couldn't truly erase these, as Father had first wanted, but he could bury them, obscure them, overwhelm them, and, occasionally, write over them with memories of his own.

It was subtle work. First, he pushed memories of calling Father anything but Father away. True, the clone often had to do just that to keep his cover, but never the insults Danny had once flung around. Fruitloop. Really. He left the surrounding situations intact for the most part, but hid memories of pain, eased the interactions between Danny and Father into more benign territory, glossed over the nastier details of some of Father's plots (Danny must have misunderstood, anyway), and generally made Father look like less of an enemy, and more like the chastising parent he was.

He lingered in the memory of Danielle. He wanted so badly to meet her, his sister, but he didn't dare. Even with all the precautions he took, she might be able to read him, and then she'd know. The clone had no doubt she would try to 'rescue' Danny if that happened, not understanding that he and Father were making Danny better, improving him.

Then he moved on, to his favorite memories. These had to be handled with the utmost care, as they contained the few memories Daniel had of the clone. He paused from his work to savor them.

Danny was in his room, lying on his bed, thinking. (Vlad) (Father) had been oddly quiet, lately. The last time Vlad had been this quiet... He glanced at his closet. It hadn't been good.

He fidgeted, then stood, walking to the closet door. Unless he was actively researching how to fix them, he usually tried to forget what he had hidden in his closet wall, but, sometimes, he just felt the need to check up on them. Make sure they were still there.

Slowly, he reached into the wall, feeling for the box with his fingers. Finding it, he pulled it out, and knelt, setting it on his lab. He opened it, and sighed with relief to see all four ecto-sample preservation jars (aka Fenton Ghost Preserves) still glowing. Within each was a ghost's core. Each core belonged to a clone of Danny that had melted before they could be stabilized.

The first clone, melted before Danny even knew what he was, had melted close enough to FentonWorks that Danny could snatch up the ghost's core and rush home for something safe to put it in. He hadn't meant to melt the ghost, and the idea of accidentally ending someone filled him with existential dread. After that, he always carried some of the jars with him, just in case, and good thing, too, with all the other horribly melting clones.

He picked up one of the jars, and felt the core. It was totally unconscious. Better than being in pain. He put it back in the box.

Someday, he would find a way to revive them, give them back their bodies. After all, if Ellie was his sister, they were his brothers.

Downstairs, the phone rang.

Quickly, in case the call was for him, Danny quickly replaced the lid, and put the box back in the wall.

Just in time. His mom knocked on the door, then opened it.

"Danny," she said, "Vlad wants to talk to you."

Danny took the phone with a (scowl) (smile). His mom, loaded down with laundry, continued on.

"(Vlad) (Father)," he said, (harshly) (pleasantly), "what (do you want) (can I do for you)?"

"I need you help," said (Vlad) (Father).

Danny's (scowl deepened) (smile broadened). "Like you needed my help with Vortex?" he asked.

"More than that," said (Vlad) (Father), his voice wavering. "It's- Do you remember, with- with Danielle? What- What happened to the others?"

A spark of (intense) worry flared in Danny's chest. "Are you melting?"

"No. Not me. I- I tried it again, Daniel. I'm so sorry. I just didn't want to be alone anymore, and now... I can't do this again. I can't watch that again. Please. If not for me, than for him. If you think of Danielle as your sister, then he is your brother."

As (Vlad) (Father) spoke, the seed of worry sprouted into a bramble twining around and through all his limbs. He felt frozen. (How could Vlad) (How wonderful of Father to) do this again?

He felt himself nodding. "What do you need?" he asked.

"You, and whatever you gave to Danielle. It will take time."

"How long?"

"At least six hours."

"Fine. Where are you? Here or Wisconsin?"

"Wisconsin."

Danny groaned. "You're really a terrible mayor."

"Do this for me and I'll resign. I'll do anything. Please, Daniel, I'm begging you."

Danny looked at the phone in (disgust) (concern). Did he really think Danny would let someone die just because he didn't want to go to Wisconsin?

"I'll be there in an hour." He paused. "I'm telling Jazz where I'm going, and to expect me back in the morning, so no funny business."

"I wouldn't dream of it, dear boy."

Danny hung up the phone, and began packing. His conversation with Jazz was brief and to the point. He barely listened to her cautions. Within fifteen minutes, he was on his way to (Vlad's) (Father's).

As soon as he landed in the lab, he started handing things to (Vlad) (Father).

"This is ecto-dejecto," said Danny. "It's what I used to stabilize Ellie. This is another stabilizing agent. It came later, but we use it to help us heal. This is energized ectoplasm, in case the issue is with energy levels. I've got some other things in here, too. You didn't give me a lot of information about what was wrong." He breathed in. "I want to see him."

"Of course. This way."

Danny followed (Vlad) (Father) deeper into the lab, away from the portal. Finally, they came to the clone's containment chamber. He slept behind glass.

No. Not the clone. Danny's newest family member. His brother, who was dying. Danny felt tears prickle at his eyes. He wanted to (punch Vlad) (hug Father) for doing this again. For bringing another innocent person into this messed up situation. But now that it was done, the only thing Danny could do was help his new brother.

"What's his name?"

(Vlad) (Father) shrugged, sheepishly. "I've been calling him Daniel."

"Of course you have."

Danny drew closer to the containment chamber, and put his hand on the glass. He couldn't feel the clone through it, but he supposed he could blame the containment chamber for that. He could tell it was much more resistant than the jars in his room. He sighed. He would have liked to communicate with his new brother, even if all he could transmit were feelings. He would have liked to comfort him, tell him that he and (Vlad) (Father) were working to help him.

(Vlad) (Father) cleared his throat. "I'm going to need to take some samples from you," he said. "It's possible that the issue is that the original samples were corrupted or contaminated."

Danny thrust out his arm without hesitation. (Vlad) (Father) already had enough of his DNA to make a clone, what did it matter if he had a little more?

The blood draw was bad. The ectoplasm draw was worse. But worse yet was the way (Vlad) (Father) hmmed and tsked over his computer readouts and results.

"What?" snapped Danny, finally.

"I'm going to need a sample of your mid-morph DNA."

Danny (remembered fighting the machine Vlad tried to use to harvest it before, he remembered the pain, the agony, the fear, the near-total loss of control) (didn't know why he had fought so hard to keep Father from getting it before). His mouth went dry and he licked his lips, but glanced at his sleeping brother.

"Fine," he said. "What do I need to do?"

(Vlad) (Father) picked up a bracelet from a nearby table. "If you put this on and transform, it will take a sample. I will warn you, it is somewhat painful."

"Whatever," said Danny, regarding the bracelet (warily) (curiously). He (didn't trust) (was always to interested in) stuff that (Vlad) (Father) made. "How does it work?"

"It detects certain changes in your ectoenergy output that precede a transformation. This button here is a release." He demonstrated, and the bracelet sprung open. "You can hit it at any time. While active, however, it should fit snuggly around your wrist, with no gaps."

That sounded (suspicious) (amazing).

An alarm sounded, and (Vlad) (Father) rushed over to a screen.

"Quickly, Daniel, his instability is reaching critical levels!"

Danny hesitated for a split second longer, but grabbed the bracelet and snapped it onto his wrist. It fit (a little too) perfectly. But he was committed, now. He triggered his transformation, rings sweeping up and down his body.

(Vlad) (Father) hadn't been kidding about it hurting. It felt like a dozen needles had been driven through his skin.

"Good, good, that's almost it. Now, the other way."

Danny (glared) (grinned) he (didn't like) (greatly enjoyed) being ordered around like this. He let go of his ghost form, and again experienced the sensation of needles slamming into his flesh. He hissed, and hit the release.

The bracelet did not come off, and an experimental tug rewarded him with more pain. He opened his mouth to complain, but was interrupted by (Vlad's) (Father's) crow of joy.

"That's it!" he exclaimed. "That's it, that's what we needed." He typed furiously into the computer. "It's working!"

"That's fast," said Danny, confused. (Vlad) (Father) had said it would take hours to fix things, and he hadn't even retrieved the samples. Could the bracelet send data? That made sense, if (Vlad) (Father) had originally intended to get it on Danny during a fight.

But speaking of fights and injuries, Danny's fingers were starting to feel funny. Stiff, numb, and tingly. They were falling asleep. The bracelet was too tight.

"(Vlad) (Father)-"

"Would you like to meet your brother, Daniel?"

Danny was instantly distracted. "Yes," he said, eyes on the containment unit. His own discomfort could wait.

The lid slowly opened. The clone swung his legs over the side, and stood up, unsteady, trembling, like a newborn animal. Danny rushed over to support him, embracing him with one arm. The other hurt too much to move.

He sent love, acceptance, and encouragement to the clone, an offer of friendship, kinship, and was gratified when the clone responded in kind.

He turned to look at (Vlad) (Father). "If you ever hurt him I'll-" He stopped.

The words felt wrong in his mouth, blurred and fuzzy in his ears. Almost unintelligible.

Was he supporting the clone, or was the clone supporting him?

One of his legs gave out, and the clone caught him, neatly answering that question. Danny tried to ask what was wrong, but only nonsense came out.

His clone-brother and (Vlad) (Father) started talking, and Danny could tell that they were using normal, English words, but he couldn't make sense of any of it.

What was wrong with his ears?

Had the lights been this bright the whole time?

Was he having a stroke? Was this what a stroke felt like?

His whole body felt heavy and limp. All but immobile. Numb and fuzzy, like he'd been packed in cotton.

The clone murmured something into Danny's ear, and slowly started lowering them both to the ground. The clone was sending feelings at him. Everything was fine, safe, good. Security. Happiness. Love. Peace. Togetherness. Contentment. Everything was going to be better from now on.

Danny knew that was wrong. That something was wrong. But it was hard not to feel those emotions when they were broadcast with such conviction.

The sounds around him had morphed into rhythmic, soothing, white noise, like waves on a beach. The lights in the lab were so bright as to be blinding, washing out all colors. His brother was now emitting a sense of restfulness, an urge to sleep. His head was cushioned nicely on his brother's lap. But he couldn't close his eyes.

(Father's) tall form blocked out some of the overhead lights, and he knelt down, next to Danny and his brother. Danny felt a spike of foreign love. Love for (Father).

Long fingers began to card through his hair, providing a pleasant physical counterpoint to the noise. The lights grew brighter still. He could barely see anything at all anymore, and his eyes hurt. Why was he keeping his eyes open? He was surrounded by people who loved him, he could feel it. He was safe.

He closed his eyes.

He did not open them again.

The clone sighed. The memory was so beautiful, and it highlighted how close to perfect Danny was.

Danny loved his clone-brothers that had been sent to fight him. He loved his clone-sister who had betrayed him. He loved the clone from the very second he saw him.

Danny had his flaws, of course, but most of them were small. A touch of laziness, of procrastination, of denial, sprinkled in with rudeness, and a tendency to not think things through. In the clone's opinion, these small flaws only accentuated Danny's overall perfection.

Danny's only big flaw, his only real flaw, was in rejecting Father. But that's what they were here to fix.

The clone had the impression Danny might not approve of their methods, knew that most people wouldn't, but, ultimately, they were putting more love into Danny's life, and love was always a good thing.

The clone sighed again, more heavily. He hated manipulating this memory. It felt like painting over a masterpiece. But it had to be done.

He began to lay over the last several minutes of the memory with his own perspective of events, from emerging from the containment chamber onward. He skipped over a few details to make it seem like the real Danny had woken after having a bad reaction to the DNA sampler, and that the clone had returned to the containment chamber to finish stabilizing.

Those details included the hours in which the clone absorbed Danny's memories, and the other preparations he had undergone so as to successfully pass as Danny.

After that, almost all the memories were of the clone posing as Danny. He didn't have to do anything extra to those.

The clone would probably return to Danny's memories several times before tonight was over, but it was time for some variety.

Another aspect of the sessions was the clone's work on Danny's Obsessions.

It was, of course, impossible to externally change a ghost's Obsessions. A ghost's Obsessions were their reason for existing. Their foundation. Any change to Obsessions had to come from within the ghost in question.

However, the clone had discovered that the prominence, focus, and activity of an Obsession could be altered by external stimulus. AKA him.

Danny had a nice, easy astronomy and space Obsession that was usually hidden under his protectiveness and need to help. The clone had been encouraging that Obsession, giving Danny extra memories of the night sky, and drawing attention to his astronomy knowledge. Danny could get quite excited about it, even asleep. Sometimes he even dreamed of stars. The clone had learned a lot.

The clone had also been busy adding Father to Danny's list of people his other Obsessions focused on. It hadn't been too hard. Danny had already cared about Father, but getting him moved up the list, to where the rest of their family was, had been tricky at times. The clone's persistence had paid off, though, and Father was at about the same level as Valerie Gray. The clone had confidence that once Danny began interacting with Father again for real, Father's place on the list would go up even more.

Finally, the clone had been emphasizing ways of helping people that didn't involve violence. It wouldn't do to have Danny go off fighting ghosts again, at least not until Father had trained him. The clone could do that, and some of the injuries Danny had received in the past made him blanch.

Together, the clone hoped these measures would make that part of Danny's Obsession fade into the background.

With that, the clone pulled his awareness out of Danny's mind, and wiggled, readjusting himself and enjoying the feeling of Danny's body against his. He flicked himself into ghost form, and let his tail twine around Danny's legs.

This next part was fun, but not one Father knew about. The clone had been careful to keep it from him. He didn't want Father to stop him. Father probably wouldn't, but he didn't want to risk it.

He phased his hand into Danny's chest, and started to stroke his core directly. The first several times he had done this, Danny had reacted badly, violently, lashing out at the clone with electricity, ectoenergy, and ice, giving him little burns and chilblains. But the clone had gained Danny's trust since then, and Danny's core submitted docilely to the petting, even purring a little.

Doing this gave the clone a great and terrible feeling of power. A core was a ghost's brain, their existence, maybe even their very soul. But that was not the reason the clone did it. At least, it wasn't the only reason the clone did it.

Part of it was, of course, being close to Danny. The clone rather thought he had developed an Obsession in that direction, but he never dwelled on that. The other part was a contingency, in case the memory tricks didn't work, and they couldn't make Danny better. More perfect.

He had gotten the idea from one of Danny's memories. One that he hadn't told Father about, because it technically hadn't happened.

Ghosts could merge with one another.

It hadn't worked out well with Danny and Father, but the clone suspected that was either because Father and Danny were so different, or because their cores weren't used to each other.

But the clone, well, he was a clone. He was made to be similar to Danny. If he and Danny merged, then Danny would just be more Danny, with the clone's traits, like his love for Father and greater understanding of the situation, added on.

It was a delicious thought, becoming one with Danny like that.

But.

But existing separately was good, too, and the clone was pretty sure he'd have to tear himself in half to merge properly. A physical, earthly, human body would surely get in the way. He didn't want to do that, and he could always do the merge later, if this didn't work.

There was a limit to the amount of petting Danny would tolerate. As that limit approached, the clone stopped. But he didn't withdraw. He dove in.

Danny's dreams were the best.

Thanks to the medicines and the supernatural restraints placed on Danny, the clone was always in charge when he visited Danny's dreams. He rarely changed Danny's scenarios, instead using his control to insert himself and Father into them.

To the clone's surprise, however, he was already in this dream.

The sky was dark and starry, and the air was cold. The setting was a graveyard. Danny was laying face down on the ground, held there by hands thrusting up through the earth. The clone's dream-self (and the clone did not know how he knew it had to be him, and not a duplicate of Danny) was sitting next to him, sewing huge, feathery wings into Danny's back. Each turn of the needle was another pinprick of blood. Each pinprick of blood ran welled up and ran down Danny's side after a moment, leaving a stripe.

Sometimes, the clone had to wonder how much Danny was really aware of. As far as the clone could tell, Danny had no awareness of the true purpose of the sessions, but then he went and dreamed up things like this. It couldn't be a coincidence, could it?

The clone slipped into his dream-self. Danny sniffed, and turned his head to face him.

"Please," he said. "Stop. I want to go home."

The clone examined the needle. "You are home," he said. The clone put aside the needle, and used his control of the dream to seal the wings to Danny's back and shoo away the hands.

Danny pulled himself into a sitting position. The wings looked marvelous on him. "No, I'm not. Stop this. I'm begging you. You're hurting me."

"We're making you better."

"It won't work."

"It's working so far," said the clone, reaching out to pet the wings. They were so soft. Danny's dreams always had so much detail.

"They'll know you're not me. They'll find out."

The clone looked dream-Danny in the eye, and searched his mind for any knowledge of Father's plans. Nothing.

"They haven't yet," said the clone, cautiously. "They won't, ever. Because we're the same."

"They will. They'll hurt you." Danny's face crumpled. "I don't want you to be hurt."

Oh. How precious. The clone embraced Danny, and guided his head down to the clone's chest. He wept. Precious, and endearing, but depressing. It was time for a happy dream.

With a thought, the scene changed to that of a family dinner, warm and bright. To be safe, the clone destroyed Danny's memory of the other dream completely.

After a while playing with the new dream, the clone exited Danny. It was time to get up and stretch.

Then he would do everything all over again.

Later that week, the clone sat on a stool in the laboratory, pouting. Except for the Fentons, all the masquerade guests had gone home. The Fentons, meanwhile, were hunting rumors of ghosts in the next town over. Except for Jazz, who had not gone to take care of Father's manufactured emergency. Instead, she had been intent on staying with the clone.

It was frustrating. The clone loved Jazz, but he wanted to spend more time with Danny. He had only gotten Jazz off his back this afternoon by 'revealing' he had a 'truce' with Father, that Father was 'turning over a new leaf,' and that he really wanted to go flying.

But now, instead of a nice, rewarding, relaxing session with Danny, he was just watching Father administer the modifications, and prepare the restraints Danny would need upon waking up.

He sighed deeply, and let his eyes roam over the lab table and all the objects on it.

There was the jar with Danny's voice. The spell that removed it had called for a jar, but Father intended to move it to a more secure receptacle and store it somewhere secret as soon as he had a chance.

The next point of interest were the implants Father would insert to mimic the effects of the medicine, and keep Danny from being able to read anything from the clone but emotions while allowing the clone to read Danny normally.

Then there were the ectorestriction bracelets. They would tell Danny that they were stabilization bracelets, and that without them, he, as a clone, would destabilize. It was a bit cruel, but it was for his own good. Every time Danny would try to use a power, the bracelets would siphon off some percentage of the energy Danny put into it. Once the battery's reservoirs were full, a red light would go on. If Danny tried to use a power after that, the bracelets would dump all their power back into Danny's system in the form of ectoelectricity, knocking him out. Father and the clone would tell him, of course, that the red light meant that the bracelets were out of energy, and that he passed out because he overexerted himself. Father hadn't decided what percentage of power the bracelets would siphon off, yet, but he was thinking something along the lines of ninety percent. The bracelets looked much like the one that had drugged Danny when he had first met the clone, but they didn't even have a fake release. The only way to get them off would be to hook them up to a special machine in the lab, and have Father type in a code, although Father could change how much power the siphoned off with coded voice commands.

The clone sighed. He had worn ectorestriction bracelets a few times, while training to bring his strength up to Danny's level, though those hadn't had the shock feature. They still hadn't been pleasant.

Finally, there was a little chip that would key the castle shield into Danny's ectosignature exactly, from moment to moment, preventing him from escaping. The chip was necessary, because otherwise the shield would have to be programmed slightly more generally, and the clone would be trapped as well. That would be phased into one of Danny's bones. It was also a tracking device. Just in case. The clone had made the suggestion, when Father asked. He knew how clever Danny could be.

Closer to Father were the tools for making physical alterations to Danny, and the books on how to use them. They couldn't make too many alterations, or ones that were too distressing, or that were wrong thematically, or else Danny would instinctively reset them. A ghost's appearance depended partially on self image.

Father asked for the clone's opinion a lot in this process. The clone knew Danny best, after all, and he thought Danny would actually like some of the modifications. They were certainly thematically correct.

Still. The clone sighed again.

"Bored, little badger?" asked Father.

"No, Father. I just would like it if he could wake up."

"Well, tomorrow you will have your wish," said Father.

"Really?!"

"Really. Have you decided on names?"

The clone nodded enthusiastically. "Yep!" he said.

As soon as he awoke, he knew what he was, where he was, and the purpose for which he had been created, thanks to the generously-shared memories of his older brother. He inhaled, deeply, his first conscious breath. His chest strained against the bands restricting it, but they didn't bother him. Nor did the cuffs and other restraints that held him in place. They were to keep him from hurting himself in these, the first moments of his existence.

He opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was a well-groomed man with long, silver hair. His mind fluttered for a moment. He knew this man, cared about him deeply, but who-?

Then it clicked. This was Father. His creator. He didn't know why it had taken him so long to recognize him.

He smiled.

"Good morning, son," said Father.

Another figure leaned in. It wore a familiar face, one he had seen in mirrors in memories. This was his brother. "Good morning, little brother. How do you feel?"

He opened his mouth both to answer the question and to return the greeting. But he couldn't. Not only did nothing come out, he couldn't even make his mouth form words. He closed his mouth and frowned, troubled. That wasn't right, was it? But his brother sent him love and affection, and his mouth eased back into a smile.

"Father," said his brother, "I don't think he can talk, but he feels fine."

Father let out a long, thoughtful hmmm. "It must be a side effect of what we did to stabilize him," he said. "It might be permanent, I'm afraid." Then Father smiled down at him. "Don't worry, son. Voice or no voice, we'll love you just the same." Father patted his shoulder.

"Yeah," said his brother, broadcasting heavy reassurance, "don't worry. I can tell father everything you're thinking. It'll be just like being able to talk."

He managed a tiny twitch of his head and a smile in response. If both his father and his brother thought so, it had to be true.

"Now, I'm going to take some readings to check if you're stable, and see if we can let you out of the containment chamber," said Father. "In the mean time, I believe your brother has a birthday present for you."

"That's right," said his brother, sitting on the edge of the containment chamber. "I've come up with names, for both of us!"

He smiled in excitement, hoping his brother could pick up what he was feeling. Names were important.

"Names are important," agreed his brother. "I think you'll like these. They were the names of twins. Like we are, even though we're born a bit apart, technically speaking. And they're the names of people in a constellation. Can you guess?"

Of course he could guess! It had to be Pollux and Castor, from Gemini. His brother, being older, and the perfect clone, would be Pollux, while he would be Castor.

"That's right!" sang his brother. "Do you like it?"

He loved it. Constellations were amazing, and it was like saying he and Pollux were part of the same constellation.

"I was thinking Cosmo might be good, too, but I decided it was a little silly."

A wise choice. It would have been nice, too, though. Castor didn't think Pollux could pick a bad name. Besides, who else was going to use it?

Actually, that was kind of depressing. He knew he was made to be a companion to Father, and only Father, but he would have liked to meet Mom, Dad, Jazz, Sam, Tucker, and everyone else, too.

"You will, eventually," assured Pollux, wiping away Castor's momentary sadness. "We just have to ease them into the idea of you, first. Well. Not Mom and Dad, I guess. But the others, the ones who know. They think I'm the real Danny, remember? You can be me, the clone he helped Father stabilize."

That was a bit confusing, but Castor smiled.

"It isn't even a real lie, is it? But I've only just told them I have a truce with Father, so it'll take a while."

Castor understood. This was complicated. It was too bad the real Danny was dead. He probably could have fixed this, and he seemed like such a good person.

"He was," said Pollux, wiping away a tear making its way down Castor's face. "But between the two of us, it's like he's still here, isn't it?"

Father came back. "I have good news and bad news. The good news is that you will be able to come out, at least for a short time. The bad news is that you will have to wear these." He held up two silvery bracelets. They were pretty. "They're stabilization bracelets." He started to explain how they worked.

Castor was touched. Had Father made them just for him?

"He did," said Pollux, after Father wound down. "He worked very hard on them."

"Yes," said Father, briskly, leaning into the containment chamber to put them on. "Now, be careful, even with these, if you over-strain yourself, you'll start to destabilize, and for these to work they have to stay charged. If the red light comes on, stop using your powers and get me immediately. I will show you how the charging machine works, in case you can't find me, but if you use it without me present, it will initiate an emergency procedure to put you into stasis until I return. Understand?"

That sounded frightening. He swallowed. Not following Father's rules would be a very bad thing. Very bad. Terrible. Scary things would happen. But following them would make everything wonderful. Father's rules were always right.

"He understands," said Pollux.

They unlatched Castor from the unit, and he sat up, but he got dizzy and had to lie down again. He was weak, his limbs much thinner and frailer than Pollux's. His heart raced even after this small exertion. It took Castor a while to get up and out, to a chair.

"Don't worry, dear boy," said Father, affectionately tousling Castor's hair. "You'll be up to strength in no time."

Castor leaned into the touch. He was happy. It felt good. But there was something else. A burst of emotion from Pollux swamped that something else, driving it from his mind.

"That's right. Remember, it took me a while to get used to moving around, too. This is your first time, you know." Pollux held Castor's hand, transmitting patience, and, as always, love, belonging, and reassurance.

Of course. Pollux was right. Castor had known that. He just didn't want to be a burden.

The sensation of belonging redoubled. "You'll never be a burden."

Castor looked down at his hand in Pollux's. Pollux's was smooth and pale all over. His was covered in little spots. Freckles. Castor had known he didn't look right, that he wasn't right, that he was wrong and imperfect and broken, but the comparison-

Pollux was tracing a shape in the freckles. It looked familiar. Was that-?

Pollux giggled. "I'll get you a mirror." He ran to the other side of the room, picked up a small oval, then came back.

For the first time, Castor saw his face. It had the same shape as Danny's, as Pollux's, the same eyes, ears, and mouth, but the freckles changed its character significantly, as did the silver strands in his hair, and the too-sharp canine teeth. He raised a hand to trace along the dots on his face, connecting them with invisible lines. They were constellations. His whole body was covered in constellations. Polaris was in the center of his forehead, Ursa Minor pointing up, to his hairline, Cassiopeia and Cepheus splayed across his cheeks and neck. Perseus and Cygnus were on his collarbones, and Pegasus was on his chest. Aquarius and Cetus were just above his waist. There were others. All Fall constellations. The spring ones must be on his back. The ones below his waist must belong to the Southern Hemisphere, but he wasn't as familiar with those.

"We have lots of astronomy books," said Pollux. "I know it isn't as good as going out and seeing them all for real, but you can't do that until the Fentons leave. Would you like me to get them? We can map you out. We can find where we are. Gemini."

Castor nodded vigorously. Pollux gave Castor a hug, and kissed him right on Polaris. Castor giggled, and waved to Pollux as he darted to a bookshelf on the other side of the room.

Father shifted so that he was standing behind Castor, and put both hands on his shoulders. Castor looked up, eyes wide, and hesitant. Why did he feel threatened? Father loved him. Father had made him. The feeling was washed away by a wave of safety, sent his way by Pollux.

"Do you love me, little badger?"

Castor nodded, confused. Father smiled, satisfied. Castor was happy. He was happy whenever Father was.

Pollux came back with a stack of large, colorful books. They had stars on them, and Castor wanted to look through every one. He wanted to memorize and understand them.

"You'll have plenty of time to do that," said Pollux, "and there are lots more where these came from. You won't be bored for ages. Until I can visit again, at least."

Castor didn't like the thought of Pollux leaving.

"Neither do I, but I have to. Amity Park, you know. Honoring the original's memory."

Part of Castor wanted to go, too.

Pollux pushed the feeling of duty at Castor, and it soaked into his mind. Castor had to stay with Father, of course. What would he even do in Amity Park? How would he live there? He would be much more helpful here.

"Much more entertained, too," said Pollux.

They should find Gemini first.

"I think so, too."

Father coughed, and both boys looked at him immediately, alert, ready for instructions. "There are a few things I need to take care of," said Father. "The two of you entertain each other while I'm gone."

"We will, Father," said Pollux, as Castor nodded.

"Castor," said Father. "Before I go, this is your room." He gestured at the surroundings. "You may use it, and the bathroom through that door," he pointed, "as you see fit. However, you may not leave without my express permission. Do you understand?"

Castor nodded, wide-eyed, and looked around the room for the first time. It was so big, and nice, roomy even with the large containment chamber in the center. There were bookshelves full of books, and a desk with a computer and a game system, and- oh!- the ceiling had stars on it.

"He understands, Father," said Pollux, "he's just overwhelmed. He's very thankful, and he especially likes the stars."

Castor blushed and nodded.

Father ran his hand through Castor's hair again, and put his fingers under his chin, tilting his head up. "I'll be seeing you again soon," he promised. Then he left, giving Pollux a pat on the head.

"So," said Pollux, "Gemini."

The two brothers laid on the bed in Castor's room, looking at a book about kinds of stars and star life cycles. It was the second-to-last night Pollux would be here. After that, he'd leave for Amity Park.

Pollux snuggled closer. "I'll try to visit again, soon," he said.

Castor felt reassured. Or was that just because Pollux was sending him reassurance? He wasn't sure. Unless Pollux was sending him a whole lot of an emotion, he couldn't really tell which emotions were his, and which were Pollux's. Thoughts were similar. He was never sure if Pollux was just thinking the same things he was, or if he was just reading Castor's core. Did it matter, though? They were so similar. When they were in the same situation, surely they would think the same thoughts, feel the same things. Right?

"We're like a binary star," said Pollux. He turned and smiled at Castor. "We're so similar, we might as well be the same person."

Binary stars were still different, though.

"I know it's silly, but it's just a simile. Still. We're similar. We're the same. We're clones. Of course it doesn't matter who thinks what or feels what first. It would be the same anyway, but it's better, because we get to share. There's no one else who can share like us. We'll always understand each other."

Castor nodded. That was a great way to say that, and he was so confident. It had to be true.

"I think I will let him stay awake," announced Father.

Pollux paused, and set aside the tool he was cleaning. "Really?" he asked, surprised. The plan had been to put Danny back to sleep tonight, and start preparations for the 'final' scenario, where Pollux was the original Danny, and Danny was the clone. That scenario hadn't been used this time, because both Pollux and Father had agreed it would be easier for Pollux to act naturally, rather than how Danny should have acted, and that it was easier to keep tabs on Danny in this scenario.

"Yes. This scenario is going well. He's been obedient, following instructions even when it would be easy to do otherwise. He has shown no signs of realizing who and what he is. His powers are under control. He's been as affectionate as you. I find it hard to justify throwing away a bird in the hand."

That made perfect sense. Pollux nodded. At the same time, he felt a stab of, what, jealousy? Ridiculous.

"Do you see any reason we shouldn't proceed as we have been?"

Pollux couldn't exactly say that he had been looking forward to having the real Danny think that he was the real Danny, and look up to him like Pollux looked up to the real Danny. That would be silly, and not a reason.

"No, Father."

The last night before he left, Pollux slipped into Danny's dreams again. Danny slept heavily these days, a side effect of the medicines Father was giving him to 'stabilize' him. He didn't notice.

It was the same dream he had come upon before. Danny with wings, sitting in a graveyard.

"You can still stop this," said dream-Danny. "You don't have to follow Vlad. We can be together as a family. Just let me go home. We can go home."

Pollux frowned. "What do you think is going to happen, exactly?"

"You'll get caught. You'll get hurt."

"By who? No one knows, except you and Father. No one will ever know."

"They already know."

The frown had turned into a scowl. "How are you even doing this? How can you remember? I've checked. You shouldn't."

"You don't understand. I'm not having this dream now."

The dream faded, then, into a much more pleasant one of Amity Park at night.

Castor wasn't bored, exactly. He had lots of things to do. Lots of things to work on, and he did work on them.

He had the freedom of the castle and the grounds, now, a week after Pollux had left. He could explore, right up to the edge of the protective ghost shield, and he did. He had all his books, fascinating ones about space facts, exciting science fiction ones, whatever he wanted. He could read them, and he did. He had his games, which he played. He had space documentaries to watch, and movies, too. He could play with Maddie the cat. Father had given him a list of chores, which he had done right away. He had a dozen little self-assigned projects undertaken to make Father happy.

But Father was gone for long stretches of time, in the middle of the day. Castor understood why, of course. Father was a very important man, with lots of responsibilities, in both worlds. Castor was grateful for even the relatively small amount of time and attention he received from Father. But it wasn't enough.

If Father was gone at night it wouldn't be so bad. Castor's main Obsession, as it turned out, was astronomy. Obsessions were great distractions. But there were a limited number of astronomy things to be done in the daylight.

If there was only someone, anyone, else here, with him, someone who would talk to him, it would be bearable. But there wasn't.

The enforced silence was doing funny things to his head, too. Music, movies, and other things that made sound helped, but it wasn't the same as talking. He kind of felt like he was being over-dramatic. After all, Deaf people had it worse. He was only mute.

But since he didn't have to make his thoughts comprehensible for other people anymore, they had started to lose order entirely. He had started writing, but writing with the bracelets on made his wrists hurt, and Father had seemed sort of disapproving, so he had stopped. He'd asked Father about sign language, too, but Father had given him a hurt look, and asked who, exactly, Castor wanted to talk to other than Father and Pollux. Wasn't family enough for him?

He didn't talk in his dreams anymore. Not even in his dreams of being Danny. Then there were the dreams where Danny was talking to him, telling him things about false memories, voices on shelves, and lies. He didn't have to be Jazz to know what those were about. He knew he was an imperfect clone.

He wished Pollux was here.

Castor sighed and headed for Father's library. He'd had a dream about it the other night. Maybe looking at something more practical would do him good. Maybe, in all of Father's books about ghosts, he could find a way to make himself stable permanently, without the bracelets.

He ignored the voice telling him that, if there was something like that in the library, Father would have found it. It wasn't right, after all. Danny's memories showed him that Father could make mistakes, could be wrong, even with the best intentions. That was why Father needed Castor.

The library made Castor think of Jazz, Clockwork, and Ghostwriter. Thinking of Ghostwriter and Christmas felt a little funny, because he knew that this Christmas he would not be with Mom, Dad, Jazz, or even Pollux. It would just be him and Father, and Father wouldn't be with him the whole time, because Father held a big Christmas party every year. At least there wouldn't be any fighting.

Castor wandered around the room, looking at anything that caught his fancy, and putting them back neatly when he lost interest. A couple of them had to do with ghost powers, and Danny tried out their suggestions, but the best he managed was a bout of intangibility that sent the book tumbling through his hands and left him panting and shaking.

He stopped after that. He didn't want to use up the charge on the bracelets without Father here. The idea of going into stasis scared him. The idea of destabilizing scared him more.

He found a ghost history book that looked interesting, and started looking for a place to settle down and read. The books from the library stayed in the library.

The tables in the center of the room had things Father was working on on them, and Castor didn't want to disturb them. He made his way to a dusty, unused corner and sat down. Doing so, he noticed a book wedged behind a shelf. Curious, he pulled it out, and started leafing through it.

It was about divination. Seeing the future. It looked like Father had been researching it, but had given up on getting any of the methods to work.

Castor paused on a chapter, with lots of notes in the margins, about prophetic dreams, and how to gain knowledge of one's future or past self. He didn't know if anything written here would work, and a lot of it called for chanting and incantations, which he couldn't do, but... He frowned. This little bit, and that. Clockwork had shown him- Well, Danny- how to do them. Then, here, Clockwork had given him a workaround for chants like this, a way to substitute a silent component.

That meant Clockwork knew about this, about Castor, and wanted him to do well. A warm fuzzy feeling settled into his chest. He couldn't wait to show this to Father! But first, he had to test it out himself and make sure it worked.

He'd do the ritual, with all the workaround and tips Clockwork had given him, it would be easy, and then he'd take a nap.

All he had to do was draw some symbols on a piece of paper, drip a little blood on them (his sharp teeth helped with that), and make a few arcane gestures. He finished with a flourish, and waited to see if anything changed or felt different.

The bracelets' red lights came on.

Oh no.

Not wanting to destabilize, he hurried downstairs to the lab and practically threw himself into the charging machine.

The machine reminded Castor of a dentist's chair, only with more padding and arcane attachments. He made sure he was seated properly and put the bracelets into their proper position over the sensors on the armrests. At once, the machine clamped onto the bracelets, surrounding them completely with larger cuffs.

Castor glanced uneasily at the monitoring station. If Father's code wasn't input soon...

Two tiny pinpricks in his wrists interrupted the thought, and numbness spread from them.

He hoped Father or Pollux would be home soon.

Pollux slipped into a disused closet, and pulled his secret phone out of his pocket. "Hello?" he whispered, worried. Father rarely called him, especially not during school, and Danny's odd dreams had had him on edge all week.

"I need you to go check on your brother. He seems to have triggered the warning on his bracelets."

"I understand, I'll leave immediately," said Pollux. It was only one in the afternoon, so leaving would be noticed, but he could always blame it on a ghost attack. To his friends, at least.

"Good, I will join you as soon as I am able." Father hung up.

Pollux flicked himself into ghost form, and immediately made for the Fenton Portal. He was at the castle in record time. To his relief, Danny had obediently put himself into stasis, and had not triggered the shock feature of the bracelets.

He pulled over a stool, and sat next to Danny, tracing his features like he used to, when Danny had been in the containment chamber. He sighed, and started looking through Danny's memories to find out what had happened. Father would surely ask.

As soon as Father arrived, he did.

"He just overused his powers," said Pollux. "He was in your library, and he was trying to use your research to activate them."

"So there's no problem with his programming?"

"No, Father."

"Why was he doing that, though? Was he bored? Doesn't he have enough to entertain himself?"

"It isn't like that, but..."

"Go on."

Pollux considered his phrasing. "I think he's lonely. It's his Obsession, to help people, and if there are no people..." Pollux shrugged. "We strengthened his astronomy Obsession, but there's a limited amount of stuff he can do during the day, and you're also gone during the day, so he gets... fidgety, I guess. He used to satisfy his helping people Obsession all the time, and in a big way."

"I see. Should I give him more chores, then?" asked Father.

"That might help. But I think it might help more if you made him change his sleep schedule so that he sleeps while you're gone and can look at the stars while you're sleeping. It might get worse during the winter when it's overcast all the time, though."

Father put a finger to his lips. "Yes, that's a good thought, but not a fix. What if... What about waking one of your brothers? We would, of course, tell Daniel that they were a newly created clone, one made especially to be his companion. They would keep an eye on each other, and the clone would reinforce Daniel's treatments."

Pollux swallowed, and forced down jealousy. "I think that would work," said Pollux. "We'd have to be careful about how we 'grew' him, and what we told Danny about it. What the clone was impressed with, too, and which one."

"D44, I think," said Father, "and we would give him the same memories as Daniel."

"Less chance of Danny finding a hole or a contradiction if he manages to read him?"

"Just so." Father walked over to play with Danny's hair. "Anything else?"

"I think," started Pollux, not sure if this was something he should bring up, "that not being able to communicate is messing with him, too. At least in his memories, his thoughts feel more... jumbled, I guess? Fewer words, more feelings and pictures? Not, like, a lot, but noticeable."

"Good," said Father.

"Good?" asked Pollux, surprised.

"Yes. One of the medicines I am giving him is to accelerate that process. Pseudomyosotis alexiconia. You helped me gather it from the Ghost Zone."

"But... why?"

Father smiled. "Keeping him silent inspired me. I realized that we don't want him to communicate with anyone but us, after all, so why let him retain the ability? The dose is low enough that he will retain his ability to understand language. If it becomes necessary for him to communicate verbally or in writing with us, we can teach him to do so in something suitably obscure."

"I see," said Pollux, hiding his distaste for the idea.

"If I'd known how nice it was not to have him question me, I would have been administering it all along," said Father, chuckling. He ran a finger down the side of Danny's face. "Like this, I don't need to explain anything, he can only trust me, and obey. An elegant solution, don't you think?"

"Yes, Father."

Father nodded. "You should return to Amity Park."

"Yes, Father."

Pollux walked slowly to the portal. He did not want it to look like he was running away.

When Castor woke, it was like no time had passed, but Father was there. He smiled, relieved.

"Hello, Castor. Do you feel stable?"

Castor nodded.

"Good. You scared me, you know. You shouldn't try to use your powers without supervision."

Castor's eyes stung, both at the reprimand, and at the idea of causing Father any distress. He felt oddly unbalanced.

"I'm going to release you now. Sit up slowly. I've given you a stabilizing agent. It may make you feel strange."

Castor nodded again. The machine snapped off of his bracelets, and he obeyed, sighing. Father came over, and gave him an affectionate embrace, kissing his hair. Castor hugged him back, trying not to cry.

"You can cry if you want," said Father, stroking Castor's shoulder. "I know how frightened you must have been."

The tears started pouring out of Castor's eyes. Father comforted him. Father would always make sure Castor was safe, but Castor had to follow the rules.

"I'm have changed your sleep schedule," said Father.

Castor was still crying, but he was crying silently, so it was no obstacle to hearing and understanding Father.

"In fact, I'm have changed your entire schedule. You have more structure to your time, and this will not happen again." Father led him to a computer screen with a colored list on it. "This will be your schedule for your next day. Every evening, when I return and you wake, I will give you a new schedule. I'm sure it's a relief to you, not to be at loose ends while I'm away."

Castor looked at the schedule. Every minute of his time was parceled out and accounted for. His chores had expanded. Father had assigned him readings from the library and other activities. It was a relief. He wouldn't have to wonder about what would help Father, or what Father expected him to do, nor would he have to worry about accidentally running out the charge on his bracelets while Father was away.

It was too bad the prediction thing didn't work, though.

Father patted Castor's shoulder. "I've also noticed," began Father, rather hesitantly, "that you have been feeling lonely."

Castor looked up at Father in surprise. He didn't think he'd been so obvious about it.

"Don't look so surprised, I have my ways," said Father, playfully tweaking Castor's nose. "How would you like a new brother?"

Castor's eyes widened. A new brother? For him? To be his friend? To stay here, and keep him company? He nodded vigorously.

Father laughed. "It will take a while," he said, "and we will want to make sure that, well, what happened to you doesn't happen to him."

Castor nodded even more vigorously. Of course. Of course. He wouldn't wish this silence and weakness on anyone. He wanted his brother to be strong and free.

"Very good. Now, for your new schedule, you'll be staying up until I leave this morning. Until then, you will help me run some experiments."

The experiments were mostly experiments on Castor. Some were pretty mundane. He ran on a treadmill, lifted weights, breathed into a tube. Others were esoteric. Father wanted to test a lot of odd tools and artifacts on him. Castor longed to ask what each one was, what each one was supposed to do, and what Father wanted them for, but he contented himself with knowing what they did to him. Or what they seemed to do to him. Father wasn't forthcoming with the results he was getting from the wires stuck to Castor.

After a while, there were too many things to keep track of. A gun that made him shrink and then grow. An engraved disk that made him giggle uncontrollably when he touched it. A necklace that made his freckles and eyes shine and sparkle, and get brighter, and brighter, and brighter until they hurt to look at. An eyeless, mouthless mask that stuck to his face for ten minutes, and then fell off and couldn't be put back on. A set of symbols that made his mouth water, his nose run, and his eyes tear up. A second set of symbols that made his mouth, nose, and eyes run with sticky ectoplasm. A cream that made his skin temporarily ghost-green. A light bulb he couldn't look away from while it was on. A mirror that, when he looked at his reflection in it, made his teeth slowly grow longer and sharper.

It took both him and Father a while to notice the effect of the mirror, so now his canines were really more along the lines of fangs. He licked them, feeling put out. He was even more different from his original than he had been before.

Soon after, it was time for dinner. Father had a ghost cook, who haunted the stove. He never came out except for mealtimes, and he rarely spoke. Father had put wards around the kitchen, so he couldn't leave. His food was always delicious. Castor worried about him sometimes, but Father and Pollux had both said he was happy.

The food, fillet mignon and fancy little colorful potatoes with the skin still on, was as good as always, but Castor had a hard time eating with his new dentition. He had to open very wide to get a good bite of anything into his mouth, and he kept biting his cheek, lips, and tongue. Finally, he just pushed the food away, defeated, even though he was still hungry.

Father looked at him with concern, then went to the kitchen and came back with a bowl of soup. Castor brightened. Father had noticed, and had come up with a solution. Father was so nice to him.

After dinner, it was time for Castor to take his medicine. The medicine always made him feel weird, right after. Sluggish and dazed. That was, Pollux had said, how you knew it was working. So Castor just laid on Father's lap while Father watched his sports and TV shows. His core purred.

Then, Father went to bed. It was hard for Castor to stay awake, but Father had said he had to, and so did the schedule. So Castor went ahead and followed it, as well as he could. He knew he didn't do a very good job. He was too tired.

All the time for stargazing was very nice.

But Father was forgiving in the morning, and even tucked Castor into his bed downstairs in the room off the lab before he left.

Castor went to sleep. He dreamed.

Danny woke up.

"I knew this would happen," said Danny to himself, in the dream. "I knew this would happen, so I planned for it. Clockwork helped. A lot." He made a face. "Well, I guess I didn't plan for this exactly. Definitely not for being unconscious for months. That was a surprise. But I knew Vlad would try brainwashing eventually. It was really the only play he had left, and there are so many ways to brainwash ghosts it's scary."

The other Danny, who couldn't speak, nodded, urging him to continue. They were in a graveyard, under the stars of Amity Park, which were just a little different from the stars of Wisconsin.

"Like, there are a lot of things you just can't change about a ghost, but you can add things in. Thing is, I'm not just a ghost. Clockwork and I were able to set up this kind of double-brainwashing thing. A trigger phrase, sort of, that would make us do some kind of metaphorical mental time travel stuff. Not something I can explain completely while we're asleep, I don't understand it that well, yet, but thinking about anything related to seeing the future or time travel without being aware of this," he waved his hands around, "would have triggered it. Would have made you unlock this. Clockwork says that we're a natural seer, you see. Prophetic dreams, and stuff, seeing the future when we're in altered states of mind, etcetera. So it would have come up, eventually, but not in a situation that would immediately tip off the brainwashers. Got everything so far?"

Danny nodded to himself, and sighed.

"I won't lie, I, we, you, whatever, we're pretty much screwed right now. Pollux is way smarter than Vlad, and he's the one that did most of it, poor guy. But at least we know we're screwed, now, and we can use that. We can get out of this, because we remember getting out of it. Prophecy stuff. But not an inevitable one. Future's not set in stone."

Another sigh. "Luckily, we only have to be smarter than Vlad."

Pollux woke up late on Saturday. He'd stayed up most of the night fretting over what he had learned. It was one thing to make sure Danny stayed in a safe place, to widen his ability to love, but taking away a basic human ability like communication was a lot different.

He groaned as he sat up. Danny wasn't able to do even that. It wasn't right. That was supposed to be temporary. Adding expressive aphasia to that was cruel. It didn't make sense. Father was treating Danny more like a pet than anything else. It was like he just wanted to control Danny. True, controlling Danny was an important part of their plan, but Pollux's understanding had been that it would be temporary. That once Danny had seen how much better things with Father were, he would work to make Pollux's fantasy of one, big, happy family come true.

That Danny would choose to do that. What good was it for him to be safe, if he didn't have any freedom to enjoy it?

Oh. Oh, Ancients. He had messed up.

With that one question, he finally understood Danny. He thought he had before, but he had been so, so very wrong.

He swung his legs off the bed. There had to be some way to fix things.

His breath turned cold and white. He groaned. If this was the Box Ghost... But he did have to take care of the problem at hand first, and he owed it to Danny to keep Amity Park safe.

It was the Box Ghost.

He beat the annoying specter up in an alley a few blocks from Fentonworks, somewhat more viciously than was his wont.

"Hey."

He turned to face the familiar voice. "Jazz?" he asked, surprised. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at college?"

Jazz shrugged and walked closer. "It isn't that far to drive, to visit my favorite brother."

"I'm your only brother," retorted Pollux, rolling his eyes, and flipping over in the air so he was upside down. He had to keep the act up. He had to act relaxed, playful, like Danny would be.

"Hm," said Jazz. She whipped out a Fenton Thermos from behind her back and sucked Pollux in. "Nothing is too far for my favorite brother," said Jazz, voice echoing through the walls of the thermos, "and it's really too bad you aren't him."

Pollux knew where he was the moment he was dumped out. He recognized it, even if had never been here, personally. After all, he had been avoiding Clockwork.

"Hello, Pollux," said the time ghost.

"Hi," said Pollux, not getting up. He stared up at the great pendulum of Clockwork's lair.

"That's your name?" asked Jazz.

Pollux floated to his feet. "Yeah."

"Where's Danny?"

"With Father," said Pollux. He played with the edge of his glove. "I'm sorry."

"Are you?" snapped Jazz.

Pollux flinched.

"Be kind," admonished Clockwork. "Vladimir literally built him to be obedient, to always follow orders, to not question what he was doing. He didn't have a choice."

"I only just understood," said Pollux. "I didn't before."

"You were still lying," said Jazz. "Still pretending to be Danny." She sniffed, and wiped a tear away from her eye. "Why? Danny would have accepted you. He thought of you as a brother even before he left. I would have, too."

Which meant she didn't now. Pollux sagged. "What gave me away?" he asked, quietly.

"I suspected from the beginning, from the morning you first came. It was little things that could be dismissed, not calling the mailman by name, eating toast, those spelling test, but they added up. There were big things, too. You didn't tell Ellie about the 'clone you helped Vlad save,' and Danny would have. He wears a lot of masks, and he tells a lot of lies, but he wouldn't have kept that from Ellie. That was a red flag. But I only really knew after the masquerade at Vlad's. All that time without our parents in the castle, and you didn't once suggest that I meet your clone?" Jazz laughed, but it was slightly hysterical. "That was the nail in the coffin."

"Oh," said Pollux. At least, he comforted himself, they were things out of his control. He couldn't tell Ellie. He couldn't introduce 'the clone' to Jazz.

"So I came to Clockwork to ask for advice, and he showed me what was happening. What you did to Danny." She shook her head. "You're family, and I know what Vlad did to you was awful, but I don't think I'll be able to forgive you." She looked at Clockwork. "I'm sorry, I have to go." She spun on her heel and marched out. Pollux caught a glimpse of the Specter Speeder beyond the door.

"Now what?" he asked Clockwork, resigned.

"You know," said Clockwork, "my situation is not entirely unlike yours. I cannot leave my lair except on orders from the Observants."

That wasn't what Pollux had been expecting. He blinked.

"Daniel is one of the few ghosts who visit me regularly, and for nothing more than companionship. He is one of my only friends. I would not hurt someone he loves so much. But I cannot let you return to Vladimir."

"What about Danny?"

"He is more resilient, and more cunning, than you think. Come with me. I would like to offer you a choice."

Pollux followed Clockwork down past hundreds of ticking clocks, into the bowels of the lair. The came to a stop in front of a huge door that Clockwork opened with a wave of his hand. Behind the door was a thermos.

"All of us have a purpose in this world," said Clockwork. "I know what you have fantasized about. But this may not be your purpose. You may choose another."

"What other?" asked Pollux, breathlessly.

"Being my companion, assistant, apprentice, and guest, until you are no longer a danger to yourself and Daniel. After that, you may stay or go. It would be up to you."

Pollux shook his head. "No. I want to try it. Let me try."

"Very well," said Clockwork. He picked up the thermos, and pointed it at Pollux. With a flash of blue, Pollux vanished.

In the thermos, he could feel Dan's core, made of Father's and Danny's and in so much pain, so close to his.

How wonderful.

Danny was screwed.

Oh, he'd known that from the moment he woke up, but this evening with Father (who he couldn't even think of as anything else) had really driven it home. He had all his memories, but he also had Pollux's memories, and they interacted weirdly, his emotions were all over the place, and seeing anything astronomy related distracted him for a good fifteen minutes at a time.

Then there was Father. Danny wanted to hit the man, but even contemplating actually, physically, doing so made him ill and panicked. Pollux had done something to make Danny's protective and helping Obsessions latch onto Father, but the real issue was that for the last week Father had been the only one feeding that side of his Obsession, and, unless Danny got out, Father would continue to be the only one.

(He felt violated.)

But Danny wasn't in any position to pick a fight. He had to play along. It wasn't so bad. Father wasn't being like he had been in the past. He wasn't actively beating Danny up. In fact, he was being quite caring. Nice. Gentle. Attentive. Affectionate. Loving.

No, no, no. He pulled himself out of that train of thought. Father was in the middle of testing miscellaneous ghost artifacts on him. That was not nice, or any of the other things. He was also lying when he said that it was to find something that would stabilize Danny. Danny knew that. So why did the lie feel so good to hear?

He picked up a decorative tortoiseshell comb at Father's direction, and put it in his hair. It didn't do anything until he took it out, at which point his hair promptly grew a foot. Father had him put the comb in and take it out several more times, until pooled on the floor behind Danny's chair, then cut the hair off into a bob like Mom's. Father then put the hair away in a separate container. Danny did not want to think about what he could do with it. Voodoo dolls came to mind.

The next thing was a pair of white magician's gloves. Danny put them on, and when he took them off, he couldn't make his hands tangible. Sadly, he also couldn't push off the bracelets, which he was now sure were inhibitors of some kind.

Then it was time for dinner. His hands still hadn't returned to the touchable world, so Father cut up his food and fed him, smiling. It was creepy. Did Father get off on having Danny helpless, somehow? But it was so kind of him, so thoughtful, so-

Stop that.

He couldn't. He had been conditioned to love Father and he hated it.

As it had been for the past week, after dinner was 'medicine.' Father fed that to him, too. Danny didn't want it. In his dream, he had found out what some of it was, what it was doing to him. But he couldn't avoid it, not with Father literally pouring it down his throat.

So after dinner, Danny was fuzzy and foolish, drugged, and couldn't resist. Couldn't help but purr when Father petted him.

Later, when Father was asleep, he hated himself.

But Danny could try and come up with something, now. He had memories from the past and the future, hands that were tangible again, and a brain that was mostly functional, despite Father.

But... The schedule. He had to follow it.

No, he didn't.

Father would know if the chores weren't done.

So he did the chores. By the time he was done, he was half out of his mind with internal conflict.

He had to do something to Father. Something bad. But he couldn't. But would Father do something bad to Danny? Of course not, Father loved him. So he could do to Father what Father was doing to him. Excellent.

He started to march to the lab to find something, but was distracted by stars outside the window. He lost an hour, staring up at them in wonder. One of the drugs had to be something that exaggerated Obsessions. Or Pollux had broken him. He really hoped it was the drugs.

What had he been doing?

His head swam.

What would really help, was doing something good for someone other than Father. It hit him. The cook. He could break the wards around the kitchen. But Father would notice that, unless the cook really was happy, and stayed.

But now a chorus of help help help was echoing in his core, and Danny didn't really want to ignore it. Hands shaking, he went to the kitchen and rubbed away the teeny, tiniest bit of the ward, which still rendered it useless. The cook came out of the oven, nodded at Danny, then went back in. Danny sighed in relief. He could think more clearly, now.

More important than getting back at Father was getting away. How could he do that?

He went outside and tested the shield. Still strong. He poked his powers. Still suppressed. Not that way. Could he destroy or disable the generator? First he had to find where it was. Could he go through the Zone? No, Father kept his portal locked. Could he call for help? No, the only phones in the castle were landlines and Danny couldn't talk.

Then he slapped himself in the face. There were some numbers that would send help even if you didn't talk. Sure, he wasn't sure how helpful they would be, but...

But, no. He couldn't. Not with all the ghost stuff in the lab. The GIW would be called.

Screw it. They could probably be worse than this, since they'd add dissections into the mix, but they wouldn't be called right away, especially if the lab wasn't found. Which it wouldn't be, because... because it would be pretty obvious why they had been called. Danny smiled evilly.

He went down into the lab and started searching. He found what he needed. Father really needed to have better security for these things. Sadly, he did not find his voice, which he was fairly sure had been moved to another of Father's hideouts, or destroyed entirely, or a way to magically remove the bracelets.

He trashed the lab, destroying as much as he thought he could get away with without tripping an alarm.

Silent as a ghost, Danny slipped into Father's room. He crept up to Father's bed, and raised both hands up, over his sleeping form. In one motion, he slammed both the Plasmius Maximus and a massive syringe of Pseudomyosotis alexiconia extract into Father's chest. Father spasmed and choked. Danny depressed the plunger. Then he ran. A wordless cry of rage followed him down the hall.

Wow. That stuff worked fast.

The closest landline was in the study. He picked it up, dialed 911 and dropped it. He ducked past Father in the hall, and got to the next landline. He dialed 911 again. He ran. Father was growling.

Danny didn't think he'd get to the next one before Father caught up to him, so he hid in a closet.

Which happened to have a false back that Danny knocked into and opened. Oh. So there was the shield generator. Crap. Maybe he should have looked for it a little harder before he involved the police.

He pulled the 'off' lever, then started whacking the thing with a broom, intending to break it. The closet door was flung open, and Vlad dragged him out.

Neither of them had access to their ghost powers. The fight was between a recently electrocuted, recently stabbed, powerfully built 40-something-year-old man with martial arts training and practical experience who had been exercising regularly and a drugged, skinny, somewhat malnourished 16-year-old with martial arts training and practical experience who had been in an induced coma just two weeks ago.

Danny lost the fight badly.

Which is why the police walked in on Vlad Masters dragging said semiconscious and bloody 16-year-old down the hall. Not a great image.

Danny sat on the back of an ambulance outside Father's castle, a notebook and pencil in his lap. His words were shaky and awkward, but he was relieved he could write anything. At first, he had tried to explain what had happened to him without sounding like a lunatic or talking about ghosts, then decided it didn't matter. His initial bloodwork had made the paramedic blanch. He must have so many drugs in him.

The scene they had walked in on, and the lab, if they found it, would probably be enough, and if there was any justice in the world, Father's aphasia would be permanent.

He handed the notebook to the detective. She read it, slowly. "You mean, those dental implants? He did that to you?"

They weren't really implants, but he nodded.

"Can you explain what you mean by, he stole your voice?"

Danny took the notebook back, and wrote, 'He did this to me. I could talk before.'

"Masters is having some difficulty there, as well," said the other detective.

Danny nodded. 'I did it to him because he did it to me. Its the drug in the syringe.'

"We'll have to test that," muttered one of the detectives.

"Well," said a paramedic, crossly. "He's definitely been abused. Look at these." She pointed at Danny's wrist, still encircled by the bracelet. "What even are they? Don't you have anything that can cut them off?"

The detectives shrugged.

'I just want to go home,' wrote Danny. 'Please.'

The first detective rubbed her eyes. "We're trying to contact your family, kiddo. In the meantime, you're headed to the hospital."

Danny nodded in understanding. His family might not even realize he was gone, and he looked so different now. Maybe he could undo some of the changes once he had access to his ghost form, but for now.

He sighed and looked up at the stars. They were so beautiful tonight.

#Danny Phantom #ectoberweek19 #ectober #sneaking in 5 min before midnight #tw: brainwashing #tw: abuse #Danny suffers #why am I like this #very long

36 notes · View notes

bagels-and-seagulls · 5 years

Text

oof i have not done one of these in a while but, uhhhhh, here it goes!

i was tagged by @shhhhyoursister and @thewhatgay and @nombre-appelido so that’s cool :))

rules: answer 21 questions and tag 21 people

tagging: @thesunwillshineclearer @yourstrulyjane-doe @chaotic-tender (short list, i kno, i kno)

nickname: @thesunwillshineclearer and i call each other bagel which is from this camp thing i went to and this girl was writing a gushy and embarrassing letter to her boyfriend and started it out with “dear, bagel” (becuase bae-gul) and yeah, so i started calling them that and vice versa :’) (my url comes from a time when i said they were getting demoted from bagel and someone goes “what? like a c-gull?” and that kind of stuck too) and @yourstrulyjane-doe calls me corinthian sometimes just because

zodiac sign: cancer! i kno nothing about zodiac so make that what u will!

height: 5′8″ according to my license but i think i’m getting a hunch back because of school and like furiously slouching over my desk so maybe more like 5′7.5″ these days

hogwarts house: pottermore claims i am a hufflepuff and honestly i don’t know enough to fight them on that

last thing i googled: “temporalities” because my online forum for school was telling me i was spelling it wrong but the spell check function in it doesn’t actually let u change it so i usually have to like copy the word into google and then paste it back with the right spelling

fave musicians: oof, this is hard, matt maeson, watsky, fall out boy, brockhampton, cold war kids, lizzo, halestorm, missio, nas, supertramp, beyonce, fleetwood mac, shinedown, bishop briggs, snow tha product, bring me the horizon, mt. joy

song stuck in my head: i’ve had “all good girls go to hell” by billie eilish stuck in my head for days and therefore have been listening to the album on repeat

following: 279 wonderful blogs and tbh like 100 of them are probably inactive at this point and i should go and actually look

followers: 582 (please keep in mind that i’ve been on tumblr for 8+ years at this point and back then u didn’t make side blogs so this is my main and only squeeze that has been cultivated through like 97 hiperfixations)

do you get asks?: yes! mostly prompts about davenzi but sometimes other things too which is neato :))

amount of sleep: uhhhh, i mean, my week is top heavy so like monday through thursday like 4 hours a night because homework and then like 6 for the others unless i’ve decided to not set an alarm and then it’s like 8 (i wake up at 9am at the latest usually and it’s truly tragic)

what are you wearing?: red plaid pajama pants that i’ve had since i was 16 and are ratty but i refuse to throw them away and a grey tank top i got at goodwill that is also ratty but i also will never give it up

dream job: i’m stuck between running a collections department at a medium to small sized museum or going for my phd and try to become a traveling scholar for museums

dream trip: i would die to go to mexico and see the old tenochtitlan and then travel to el salvador to see oscar romero’s tomb and then spend a few weeks in guatemala and then make my way down to panama

instruments: none whomp whomp

languages: spansih, which was part of what i studied in undergrad, and then i’ve been learning k’iche’ the past two years which is a mayan language in the guatemalan highlands

10 favorite songs: i’m just going to give u my favs right now because it changes

tempo by lizzo

the hearse by matt maeson

dance after death by matt maeson

hate me now by nas

rainbow dragon by kieyan lonsdale

mother’s daughter by miley cyrus

take the long way home by supertramp

the chain by fleetwood mac

i’m your wreck by mt. joy

didn’t know you by karmin

random fact: i’m desperately trying to adopt a ferret from a ferret rescue but they all have websites from like 2007 and therefore never see my application to adopt their ferrets and i’m debating just buying one but i also want to adopt one from one of these places

aesthetic: flare jeans, public transportation, old libraries, comfy sweaters, vintage, paintings where you can see the flaws, lizards, arm chairs, dogs, overalls, the desert, thrift shops

#about me #literally #people want to know about the real me?#wild #the ordeal of being known and all

9 notes · View notes

bernadineisreborn · 6 years

Text

Black Magic Woman

Part 1

Fandom: Harry Potter - Marauders Era

Pairing: Young Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: An exceptionally long song fic about a pretty boy who thinks you look ethereal when making potions. Listen HERE

Words: 3700... my bad

A/N: God, has this been done before??? Hope not. Let me know what you think as always. SHOW ME THA LOVE PEOPLE. [Gif not mine] This is going to be a series!

Got a black magic woman

“Veritaserum, the best truth potion we have to date,” explained your potions professor at the front of the classroom.

Your eyes shot up immediately, and you started listening. Usually, you couldn’t be bothered with Slughorn’s endless monotone droning, but truth serum might be a useful thing to know about.

“It is very powerful… As three drops are all that are necessary to make the drinker unable to tell any lies and compelled to speak the truth,” he continued. With a flick of his wand, the chalk laying next to the black board began to print the instructions for its making in neat, clean letters on the otherwise blank surface.

“The brewing of Veritaserum is much too complicated for anyone who has not yet passed their N.E.W.T. examination, so we will not be brewing any in class today. However, you may find this information useful in the future,” he finished, as you continued to copy the words from the board onto your parchment.

His lecture droned on, but you weren’t listening, instead thinking of how you could put a truth serum to good use.

You were aware that Slughorn thought this potion too difficult for a 6th year like yourself to brew, but you were exceptionally good at potions. And you were exponentially better at brewing potions than everyone else in the class knew, including Severus Snape, who thought he was the first in the class himself.

You let Snape, and almost everyone else, think that he was the best only because you didn’t want people to suspect you if they were slipped a potion unwillingly. Instead, you laughed on the sidelines as people fell victim to your potions, thoroughly enjoying the show without threat of consequence.

The only people that knew of your skills in potions were Slughorn, who could see your higher grade, and your best friend, Lily Evans. And that’s how you would have liked it to stay.

But across the room, a rugged, dark haired boy noticed the change in your demeanor as you scribbled down Slughorn’s words.

Got a black magic woman

A week later, you walked down to breakfast with Lily, a small vial of Veritaserum in hand.

“Y/N, he doesn’t really like me. He just says all those things so he can get in my pants,” she complained, but her reddened cheeks gave her away.

James Potter was crushing hard on your best friend. He had been since first year, and everyone saw it clearly. Except Lily, of course. She made excuses for his flirting behavior, as she just had, saying that he only talked to her for attention or because he wanted to break her heart.

But you knew better, you saw the looks he gave Lily when she was turned away, and you were determined to prove it to her.

“Lils, don’t be stupid. Everyone in Hogwarts can see how much he adores you,” you said with a playful nudge to Lily’s side and a roll of your eyes, “And I’m going to prove it to you today.”

“Urgh. This is going to end in embarrassment for both of us, just wait.”

It had taken you a while to get the Veritaserum right, but when you had, you’d tested it on yourself. It worked remarkably well, and you planned to use it to get Lily to see that the star Gryffindor chaser liked her just as much as you suspected she liked him.

You and Lily sat down across from each other at the Gryffindor dining table and waited. Minutes later, James, Peter, Remus, and Sirius walked in and sat down as well.

You and Lily were good enough friends with the quatrain, eating with them occasionally and getting together to study for hard exams.

You caught Sirius’ eye as he settled in, before averting your gaze.

They looked a little more tired than usual, and you tried to remember how many days it had last been since they walked into breakfast looking this disheveled. They were doing something particularly exhausting every few weeks, you just didn’t know what.

James sat down by Lily, and she made a dramatic show of scooting away from him. Sirius sat next to James, his dark hair shielding his chiseled face from your view. Remus next to you and Peter sat by Remus.

“Good morning, beautiful,” said James, smirking as he grabbed a scone and bit down into it.

A scowl accompanied Lily’s blush, “G’morning.”

“Good morning to you too, James,” you said sarcastically, as he hadn’t yet acknowledged you, “and you Sirius. Remus. Peter,” you gave them each a nod.

They mumbled back their replies, exhaustion etched on their usually smiling faces.

Remus, Sirius, and Peter bent their heads close together in private conversation and you realized it was your time to strike.

You kicked Lily in the shin, and she glared at you before loudly talking to James, “So, James. I wanted to ask you about…” she trailed off, you kicked her again, “Quidditch,” she shot a panicked expression your way before looking back at James with a nervous smile.

James glanced at you, and you shrugged, and he looked back at Lily with an amused expression, “Ask all you want, babe.”

Lily’s blush deepened, and while all four boys were otherwise engaged, you slipped three drops of the Veritaserum into James’s morning tea.

A minute or so later, he took a drink.

I've got a black magic woman

Got me so blind I can't see

“Erm, James-” he looked attentively your way. “I was just wondering, if your parents have any cute nicknames they call you…” you asked, looking at him through your eyelashes, hiding your smile with a scone in your hand.

“My mum calls me ‘pumpkin butt’ and my dad calls me a ‘thick idiot’,” he deadpanned. Then, his eyes grew wide and his cheeks tinted themselves the same pink Lily’s had been a few minutes ago.

A moment of stunned silence.

Then, Lily covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a giggle. Sirius burst into hearty laughter, clutching his stomach, “Merlin, Prongs. You’ve never told me that.”

You watched the four boys laugh, Sirius laughing as if he had just heard the world’s best joke, his stormy eyes crinkled in delight. You felt your heart racing in your chest… due to nerves about the Veritaserum, no doubt… No, your racing heart had nothing to do with the beauty that was Sirius Black guffawing at something you had done.

You watched Sirius laugh some more, and noticed that his thick hair had previously covered a long scratch on his forehead. It was above his left eye, and it didn’t look particularly deep, but it definitely hadn’t been there yesterday.

Sirius seemed to feel your gaze on him, and he shot you an amused look, brows raised in silent question. You looked away, hoping you hadn’t given yourself up.

Lily raised a thin eyebrow at James, “Do you have a crush on me?” she asked him quietly, her expression a combination of curiosity and nerve.

“Yeah. I am pretty sure I’m in love with you,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing ever. He didn’t seem as embarrassed by this second comment, but his face shifted to shock for having said it aloud.

Lily blushed. Again.

Sirius rolled his dark grey eyes, thick eyelashes fluttering. He caught your eye again across the table and gave you a pointed, accusatory look that you avoided.

You cleared your throat, “So, Remus. How was your night?”

That she's a black magic woman

She's trying to make a devil out of me

The rest of the day your classes were boring. You spent all day wondering if Lily and James would finally get together and doodling Sirius Black on a spare sheet of parchment.

It wasn’t that you had a crush on him or anything. He just had a nice face for drawing. All chiseled and everything… The cheekbones perfectly parallel with the jawline… The moody grey eyes and their mysterious charm… The smirking lips that made him seem permanently in laughter… You know, all things that were great for drawing a person.

But you weren’t skilled enough to capture him on parchment, no matter how hard you tried.

You and Sirius had a complicated relationship. You had known each other since first year, becoming fast friends when you were both sorted into Gryffindor. And you had remained friends for a while. But the past year and a half, he always had a different girl sneaking up to his room at night, and increasingly less time to be your friend. You made a poor attempt at convincing yourself that he was an ass.

Apparently, absence really does make the heart grow fonder, because mostly his actions just put a hole in your chest.

You were walking back to the Gryffindor common room, skipping dinner because you wanted to work on brewing some Polyjuice potion for your next bought of mischief.

You suddenly heard fast footsteps behind you.

Turning around, you squinted your eyes as you watched Sirius run your way from the distance.

He approached quickly, and looked relieved to see you, “Y/N, follow me,” he panted.

“What? Why?” you asked, scrunching your eyebrows together.

He looked behind him, and your eyes followed his. You could now see an angry looking Filch storming your way, eyes trained on Sirius.

“Because of that,” he said, pointing back at Filch.

Instead of asking him why that was of any concern to you, or why you should care if he got in trouble, you found yourself following him around the corner and into the astronomy tower.

Don't turn your back on me, baby

When you finally stopped running, he looked down on you, cheeks glowing from the excitement of trouble.

“Why did you follow me?” he asked, standing closer to you than you thought friendly.

“Erm- You didn’t seem like you had a lot of time to talk about where you were going or why, so… I just followed,” you manage, cursing yourself for sounding stupid in front of him.

He smiled at you, eyes twinkling with the reflection of the night’s stars, and you feel your heart beating rapidly in your chest.

“I’m glad you did, considering you were the reason I was running from Filch, anyway.”

You narrowed your eyes and raised your brows, “Yeah? And how might that be?”

“Well, you see, I know that you fed James some sort of truth potion this morning,” he thought about that day in Slughorn’s class, “and after thinking about it, I figured it was probably Veritaserum.”

Shit. You scoffed, trying to play down your panic, “And how would I have gotten Veritaserum to give to James, huh? I don’t think even Severus has the skill necessary to brew that.”

“Me either. But I think you do,” he looked you straight in the eye, face tinted with an unwavering, determined expression.

You gaped at him, trying to think of a response, “I-”

He cut you off, “I know you didn’t steal it, I would have saw on the M-” he stops, “Well never mind that. I would have known if you’d stolen it. And I saw you taking really good notes on it the other day in potions class,” he explained.

You didn’t know what to say, or how to cover for yourself. You just stood there, mouth hanging open a little.

“I seem to remember you being particularly apt at potions in our third year, I sat behind you during tests,” he laughed lightly, “There is no reason that you wouldn’t be even better now.”

You looked around the room, avoiding his eyes. The tower was silent for a few minutes.

“And how does that explain why you were running from Filch?” you questioned, still looking anywhere but at him.

He handed you a small piece of parchment that read ‘Wolfsbane’ across the top in neat cursive. “Well, I was… er, borrowing this from Slughorn’s office, and Filch caught me.”

You studied the parchment. It had detailed instructions for the brewing of the Wolfsbane potion on it, written in the same hand that you had come to know from Slughorn’s blackboards during class.

“What on earth would you need this for?” you asked, resigned in keeping up your façade.

“I need you to brew some for me.”

Don't turn your back on me, baby

“Why?”

“Because Remus is a werewolf.”

You turned your eyes back to Sirius, who looked a tad desperate. The scratch above his left eye stood out, and you remembered how exhausted Remus looked that morning. To your right, the moon shone in the inky sky, bright and almost completely full.

“I should have known,” you said, putting the pieces together. “Who else knows?”

“Just James and Peter,” he said.

You paced around a little, now worried about your friends, wondering what they do during the full moons… what dangers they put themselves in, “Is Remus okay with me knowing?”

“Yes. He wanted to tell you himself a few times before, but didn’t want to risk anyone else finding out. Anyway, now it’s a risk we are willing to take.”

You looked again to your hand, still clutching the instructions for the Wolfsbane potion.

“You know this won’t keep him from shifting, it will just make him easier to control once he’s in wolf form. It will help him keep his humanity, but not help him stay human… And there is no guarantee that I get it right the first try,” you explained.

“We know,” he said.

You turned away from the rail, and back to Sirius. He was watching you carefully, standing confident but opened to help.

“I’ll do it,” you decided, and a gorgeous grin took over Sirius’s face, white teeth shining in the moonlight. “But, I’ll need something else in return.”

He looked at you as you step closer to him, grin intact, amused and a little suspicious.

“What might you need?”

Yes, don't turn your back on me, baby

Stop messing about with your tricks

“A piece of your hair,” you smiled up at him innocently, “And a set of your robes. Whenever I may need them.”

He peered down at you, his amused expression growing. “That it?”

You pursed your lips in thought. “And pieces of hair from James, Remus, and Peter… upon request.”

He shook his head slightly and laughed, “I’m sure they won’t have a problem with that… So, you’ll do it, then?”

You nodded and smiled as he took a few steps closer to you. Your chest was only a few inches from his and you could feel yourself tense up, but you didn’t move.

“What happened to us?” he asked gently.

You considered his question, then, “You decided that every other girl’s time was more valuable than mine.”

His face crinkled together in a frown.

You lifted a hand up, as if to brush the curls from his face, then grabbed a single hair from his head and pulled.

He stepped back, a small “ow” leaving his lips.

You walked towards the stairs, “I’ll have the trial potion done before the next full moon,” you called over your shoulder as you skipped down the steps, an inexplicable bubbling in your chest.

You had no clue that you were leaving Sirius Black breathless behind you.

Don't turn your back on me, baby

You just might pick up my magic sticks

When you got back to the Gryffindor common room, James and Remus were there, waiting by the fire.

The boys looked up as you passed through the hole in the wall, expectant.

You caught Remus’ eye and made a howling motion at him, before continuing up the stairs to your dormitory as if nothing were different.

Ten minutes later, Sirius entered the common room, the fluttering in his chest matching yours.

James and Remus stood and walked over to him, hoping you had accepted Sirius’ offer.

Remus crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his foot, “Well?” he asked, “What did she say, then?”

“Erm- She said yes…” Sirius shuffled over to the couch.

“Anything else?” inquired James, noticing the odd expression on his best mate’s face.

“Yeah… She wants our hair.”

You got your spell on me, baby

A month later, the four boys were eating lunch and planning for their next full moon adventure, which was that night.

Sirius was trying to stay engaged in what James was saying, but you were distracting him. You had done something… different… with your hair. It looked shinier, or maybe lighter, or maybe it was just laying flatter. He wasn’t sure.

“Earth to Padfoot,” joked James in a funny voice. Sirius turned his attention back to his friends.

“Something interesting down there, buddy?” asked James with a glint in his eye as he glanced down the table to where you sat next to Lily. He had noticed his friend’s close attention to you the past year. James had even asked if Sirius could be the one to ask you about the Wolfsbane potion so that he would have an excuse to talk to you.

Sirius’ eyes followed James’ down the table, back to you. You looked up at the same instant, meeting his eyes and smiling shyly a little, a gesture not gone unnoticed by James.

“Oh, Merlin, Pads. Just ask her out, why don’t you?”

Sirius’ head whipped back to look at James. He forced the embarrassment off his face and replaced it with a disgusted impression. “Um, No. Why would I ask do that? We’re friends.”

“Because you clearly fancy her, mate,” said James, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Remus and Peter nodded their heads lightly in agreement with James’ words.

“I- do not…,” managed Sirius, “Do I?”

The boys laughed at this, but Sirius didn’t think anything was funny. He remembered your words in the astronomy tower. He didn’t like you, right? You were too… And he was so… And-

Remus clapped Sirius on the shoulder affectionately. “You’re gonna have to figure that one out for yourself, mate. Anyway, could you ask her for the Wolfsbane today?”

“Why do I have to do it?” asked Sirius, suddenly anxious about interacting with you at all.

“She’s much more likely to be nice if it’s you asking,” said Peter quietly.

Sirius frowned, thoroughly confused, “She is?”

You got your spell on me, baby

When classes were done for the day, you went up to the first floor bathroom, where you had been ambitiously brewing both the Wolfsbane and Polyjuice potions.

You were singing to yourself lightly, humming a tune from a muggle band you liked. Potion brewing was calming to you, you were in your happy place.

Sirius got back to the Gryffindor common room at around the same time, immediately retrieving the Marauder’s Map and finding your footprints.

He went up to the bathroom as quickly as socially acceptable, lightly knocking (as it was the girl’s bathroom). Then, he peeked around the corner.

You were standing in the middle of the room, humming, as two cauldrons hovered in the air around you. Your wand was twirling gentle shapes in the air, pouring ingredients into the mixtures, stirring, and guiding the potion-making.

Sirius walked in, hesitantly. You were faced away from him. He watched you for a few minutes, enjoying your effortless beauty while you were doing something that you loved.

He cleared his throat. You turned around, surprised, round eyes full of anxiety.

“Oh, Sirius, it’s just you. Nearly gave me a heart attack,” you gasped, hand coming up to clutch your chest.

He couldn’t help but laugh, “Sorry, love,” he took a few steps towards you, still working on your potions. “What was that song you were humming?”

You met his gray eyes, “Black Magic Woman… by Santana. Do you know it?”

Sirius nodded, a smirk reaching the corner of his mouth, “I think I do, yeah.”

He continued to watch you work on the potions.

Finally, you looked up to him again, wondering how he had known where you would be, “Well, if you’re here for the Wolfsbane, it’s nearly done.”

He cleared his throat, eyes tearing away from yours, “Yeah, that’s all I’m here for.”

Yes, you got your spell on me, baby

Turnin' my heart into stone

A few silent minutes later, you had the Wolfsbane done. You pulled a vial from your bag and bottled it up.

“I’m nearly positive that it’s perfect,” you explained, a tinge of worry in your chest, “It will make Remus feel tired while he’s in wolf form… you lot should be able to control how destructive he gets.”

Sirius nodded. You set your cauldrons down, and stepped close to Sirius again, handing him the Wolfsbane.

“Thank you, Y/N. We really needed this.”

You hummed in response, his eyes locked onto yours. The bathroom suddenly felt hotter.

“Look, Y/N-”

Sirius was interrupted by Moaning Myrtle, who usually kept you company when you were brewing, as she giggled and muttered, “I’ll give you two some privacy,” disappearing into a stall.

Sirius pocketed the vial, and tentatively reached his calloused hand out to cup your face, his usual confidence gone.

“Y/N, I never meant to make you feel like you were second best to any other girl. You’ve been my number one since first year... No one comes before you. I’m sorry for making you feel like they did.”

You let his words sink in for a few seconds.

“It’a okay. I could never stay mad at you anyway,” you resigned.

You expected him to move away now, but he stood there, holding your face and staring at you.

You smiled under his intense gaze, willing your blush away as best you could, “Are you going to kiss me, Black?” you tease.

He takes a sharp breath in, ever present smirk gracing his lips once again, “What if I was, L/N?”

You reached a hand up to mirror his cupping on your face. His cheek was soft, but you could feel stubble growing in.

You leaned in until you felt his breath on your face. It smelled like spearmint... and something else, something more rustic.

Just as the tension reached it’s peak, you grabbed a strand of his hair and tugged, coming away with a long curl.

“Ow.”

You stepped back then, shrugging at him, “I lost the other one,” you explain.

You pulled another vial from your bag and contain the thick, dark hair inside.

Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you hid the cauldrons behind a statue, calling to Myrtle as you did, “Make sure no one touches those, Myrtle?”

She giggled from inside the stall.

You started to walk away, leaving Sirius behind.

You turned around as you were walking through the door “Oh, Black… If you had been about to kiss me, I wouldn’t have let you. I’m not that easy. Be safe tonight, will you?”

He nodded and watched you leave, completely helpless for the first time since he had laid eyes on you first year.

The rest of the night, he found himself humming a muggle tune that reminded him of you.

I need you so bad

Magic woman I can't leave you alone.

---

Edit: Because of such a great response to this, I think I am going to make it a series based on popular songs of the 70s!!! Watch out for part 2! LMK if you wanna be tagged!

387 notes · View notes

a-memory-of · 6 years

Text

Kazha'a Anhsari kept pace with Laurens, walking at his side and not at his back, or too far ahead. He seemed outwardly content, at the least, as much as he could be. The way his ears flicked and followed sound, however, showed his guard was not relaxed. Every now and again, he'd scan the treeline. He did not want to expect his clan. Most would not dare come close to a settlement, save the two that had followed him to Laurens' steps and took his sight.

He'd catch a glance now and again, and shoved his hands in pockets, turning away just as fast. He knew what Laurens was thinking. Or at least he had a guess. "You don't have to worry about me all the time." It came as something of a surprise when Kazha'a spoke. Laurens Lalier openly looked to him, letting the words sink in and process before he nodded slowly. "I know. But just because I don't have to be doesn't mean I'm not concerned about your well-being. I don't want them showing up here, either."

Laurens wasn't paranoid about it. He could, most of the time, forget that there was a whole band of Keepers who would gladly eliminate the one of their own who was staying there with him. But leaving those walls and their immediate surroundings reminded him of that vulnerability. "I can't leave all the worry solely to you." Kazha'a sighed again, slowly drawing his hands out of his pockets. No matter how long had passed, it seemed he could not shake the odd feeling it have him to know someone else was there. Someone else was helping to keep an eye out, and someone else cared about his well-being. He almost opened his mouth to say that he wasn't worried. But it would have been a lie.

Thankfully, the road was quiet. And there was no sign of a rogue clan or otherwise as they neared the city proper. Some, not all, of the tension faded from Kazha'a's shoulders. His clan would not come here. For the time being, he did not have to worry about them. A crowded city however, was another story. As they walked up to the city gates, Laurens touched his hand between Kazha'a's shoulder blades. It was no secret that they were entering the territory of people who had little love for either of their kinds, but Laurens at least had some experience with the city. "Try to act natural," he offered by way of advice. "Don't stare and try not to look any of the guards in the eye; some will take that as a challenge."

The Wailers at the gate gave them a quick, mostly disinterested once-over as they passed through into Gridania. There were far more people around than Laurens was completely comfortable with, but he didn't have any choice in the matter. He just held the hope that once they were well away from the aetheryte plaza the amount of people would recede. Gridania wasn't Ul'dah, after all. It didn't have the same draw for adventurers seeking that quick Syndicate or Monetarist coin. With the hand at his back, Kazha'a briefly glanced up to the other but otherwise let it be. Kazha'a's ears lowered, and his face had trained back into that well-practiced scowl that had become strangely absent in his time at the cabin. The city proper was nothing like the villages nestled elsewhere in the Shroud. He had dealt with them before. But Gridania was a place he rarely desired to go.

Kazha'a did as he was told though, likely only not to cause trouble for Laurens. He didn't fear city guards and Wailers much on his own. He stuck close to the other's side, having to hold back a growl or two when people drew to close. The Miqo'te kept edging his way between Laurens and others, in an oddly protective way. He didn't say anything, or call attention when he did, he simply was there each time. The hand at Kazha'a's back didn't stay there long. Laurens withdrew it as they made their way through the main area of town, letting Kazha'a go at his own pace without any of Laurens's gentle prodding. The protective aspect of the Keeper's behavior mostly escaped his notice, at least until a bespectacled young Hyur woman came up to them and was met by Kazha'a.

"Laurens, what are-- oh, goodness, who are you?" she asked, giving Kazha'a a quick glance-over that seemed to size him up all at once.

"Mathilda." Laurens's eyes widened and he touched Kazha'a's shoulder lightly as a gesture to stand down. "Er... Mathilda, this is my friend Kazha'a. Kazha'a, this is Mathilda - my editor. Who I'm sure is off on some important business already, so we shouldn't keep her?"

Mathilda's appraising look intensified, the keen gray eyes behind her glasses narrowing slightly. "A pleasure to meet you, Kazha'a. I didn't realize Laurens had friends in the city." Kazha'a was also quick to size up the woman himself, eyes trailing up and down. She certainly didn't seem a threat, but that didn't mean she couldn't be. He blew a breath out his nose, huffing slightly as Laurens touched his shoulder. He crossed his arms across his chest, stepping to the side only enough that he wasn't fully in front of him anymore. His eyes never left her.

As they were introduced, Kazha'a's ears lowered slightly. Something about the way she kept looking at him unnerved him. He grunted, looking away with a curl of his lip, "I'm not from the city." "No?" Mathilda asked with a lift of her eyebrows. "Well, then good for you getting him to come here. It's usually quite the struggle just to get him out of the house!"

Laurens coughed into his closed fist, his cheeks darkening with a blush. "Ah, well. Sometimes there are reasons to go into the city. Other times there aren't."

"Are they the reason why you requested two extensions the other moon?" Her smile was, if not knowing, then definitely presuming to know. "But you're correct, I do need to be getting to a meeting. Have fun, you two. I look forward to hearing more about it in the future." He didn't really understand or care to understand most of what was being said. It was Laurens' own business how he spent his time, the woman should stay out of it. And then there was talk of extensions. Kazha'a blew out another breath as she left, arms still crossed. He had already decided he didn't like her much.

Kazha'a's ears raised up a bit, and he looked back to Laurens expectantly. He felt like he should say something, but he didn't know what. So instead, he slowly uncrossed his arms, and opted for a change of subject instead, "We're... looking for a place that sells books, right?"

With @ffxivaltstars

Laurens rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish and also a little embarrassed. "Oh, ah... yes. Yes, of course." He reached for Kazha'a's hand so they didn't get separated, leading the way toward the little bookshop nestled amongst the other shops and stalls. "I am sorry about Mathilda. She can be a little... overwhelming, at times. But she really is the best editor I've ever had."

The bookstore was not a very large place, but it had many shelves all around and all lined with various books of different sizes and colors. It smelled like a proper bookstore, too: dust, old books, and furniture polish. Laurens seemed to find ease here, his tense shoulders relaxing as he let his hand drop. "I'm certain we can find something here," he said with a nod. He politely - and perhaps with a bit of returning embarrassment - ignored the little stand near the front of the shop that contained several copies of the same books that sat in a box in his living room. "We'll probably want to try the first area on your right. Picture books and ones for new readers." Kazha'a looked down at their hands, then back up to Laurens' face and down again. It was his turn to color slightly. He had yet to get used to that feeling, and while he wasn't opposed, it was still such a new sensation. He shook his head as they walked, still probably a bit too hyper-aware and on edge for a simple shopping trip. Though the protective tension seemed to lift a bit while holding hands.

"Is it... true what she said? About missing things because of me?" he asked quietly, almost without thinking. He seemed troubled by it. But they had already reached the book store, and the familiar books in the window quieted him.

It took everything he had not to glare at the shopkeeper as he passed. He followed along to the directed area, glancing at the wall of books. These were different, most had pictures or drawings on the covers, unlike other books he'd seen. He scanned them, perhaps waiting for Laurens to pick something for him, until his eyes fell on a small book with the picture of a lion on the cover. He took it from the shelf with a curious head-tilt. And while he himself couldn't read it, the book promised a story of a gladiatorial lion that didn't wish to fight. "I've delayed deadlines for less," Laurens said, almost to himself. "A person's life is worth far more than fiction."

He let Kazha'a explore and skim over the books on his own, waiting until something caught his attention before reaching for a couple of books that covered the basics of letters and how to begin putting them together. For Kazha'a to have even a little interest in a book of his own choosing would certainly help; it was the beginning of a goal to work toward.

"Did you find something you might like?" Laurens asked after a moment of letting Kazha'a flip through the book and form his own opinion. "I've heard good things about Ferid the Lion, though I've not actually read it myself." Blinking down at the book he'd chosen once learning its name, Kazha'a tilted his head. He looked back to the rows of other books upon the shelves. There were some with pictures of children on it, playing. He had no connection to things like this. For some reason, at least, this one he found something perhaps.

With a quiet nod, he handed it to Laurens then began to dig in one of is hip bags for his gil. Laurens nodded his acknowledgment, picking up a few of the very early reader letter-recognition type books before he walked over to the cash register where the proprietor waited.

"Will that be all today?" the Wildwood man asked, surprisingly less patronizing than most might expect. Laurens was, after all, a fairly regular customer who spent a decent amount of coin - anyone coming along with him would be given a similar respect.

"Yes, Raulf, I think this should do it," Laurens replied, indicating the book that Kazha'a held as well. "And if you don't mind, will you add my friend here to my account? Anything he wants if I'm not here, I'll settle with you at the end of the month." Laurens took out his own gil pouch, counting out a handful of coins while the total was still being calculated. Kazha'a followed to the front desk, and did his best to train himself back, avoiding glaring at the shop-keep. He seemed surprisingly more accepting of his presence than he was used to. But as Laurens spoke the man's name, Kazha'a figured they, at least, were familiar with each other. He ought to be, with his books in the window like that.

When the attention shifted to him, Kazha'a's ears lowered back, but he relinquished his book onto the counter. He, too, had his gil out waiting for what he owed. He did far better with numbers, at least when it came to coin, than he did with written words. It was something he had to learn fast selling his blades as he did.

He made a slight face at being added to Laurens' account, raising an unsure brow. He opened his mouth to protest, but a quick glance back to the Wildwood had him snapping his lips shut again. The shopkeeper's eyebrows lifted, but he nodded. "All right. But you're paying for these, right?"

"Yes, of course." Laurens looked to the total and began to extend his hand, but stopped after a glance at Kazha'a. "My apologies, I made an assumption. My friend here will be paying for his own purchase."

The proprietor of the store adjusted the totals, collecting from Laurens what he owed for the rest of the books before turning his attention to the quiet Keeper. "Just the one for you? Then that'll be 5 gil, please." Ever the independent, Kazha'a gave Laurens a grateful look for allowing him this. Perhaps it was foolish, and perhaps one day he'd be more inclined to allow the other to buy him things, but for now, after all the other had already done for him it did not feel right. Kazha'a had few things that were his, and he took pride in what was.

Counting out the gil, he placed the amount on the counter and slide the book into his other hand. He looked down at it again, at the simple cover with the picture of a lion. There was a flicker of something behind his eyes, a muted excitement perhaps. A boyish wonder that was a little off for someone his age. But Kazha'a was quick to train it back, looking between the two Elezen as if he was wary of being seen.

#ff14 #ffxiv #rp #rp logs #roleplay #Kazha'a Anhsari #Laurens Lalier #Memories of the Lonely Blade

8 notes · View notes

zupeiza · 6 years

Text

Korrasami Month 2018 - The Race

Once upon a time, Atalanta was a powerful huntress that had made a vow to never marry. Surrendering to her father insistence, she offered to marry anyone who could outrun her—but those whom she overtook she speared. In one race Hippomenes was given three of the golden apples of the Hesperides by the goddess Aphrodite; when he dropped them, Atalanta stopped to pick them up and so lost the race.

Jinora closed the ancient book she was examining and sighed. After putting it back on the shelf, she pondered where to look for reading material next. Republic City Public Library had seriously taken its toll after Kuvira's attack, and to make things worse, becoming the hiding spot for a particularly vicious gang of firebending crooks reduced the amount of salvageable books and scrolls to less of a hundred.

The young master airbender looked outside through the newly-restored windows. If only they could access to all the knowledge they had in Wan Shi Tong's library... They wouldn't even need to bring the originals with them, maybe just... copy them? In some format that was not so flammable, if possible? She made a mental note to talk with Asami about that, she would probably figure out a way to manage it.

But until then, maybe visiting Wan Shi Tong's library was enough. Maybe the librarian would allow them just browsing the material. After all, the Unalaq debacle had happened years ago. And yet, she was reluctant to try. But she glanced the single shelf with all the remaining reading material they had. It was time to at least try.

She sat cross legged on the floor. The library was empty and the restoration works had managed to turn it back to its silent state. It was a good place to meditate. Better than home, even, without Ikki and Meelo interruptions. She concentrated, and in the blink of an eye there she was, in the middle of her favourite place of the spirit's world. Some knowledge-seeking foxes were startled by her apparition, but they went back to their business, and Wan Shi Tong was nowhere to be seen. Well... maybe she could just take a look to some of the books there, before she faced the scary owl spirit.

She looked around. The aisle where she had appeared was as good place as any to begin her search. The banner at the head of the aisle read "Greek mythology". Uh-huh, whatever that is, let's find out - she thought. She took a beautifully decorated volume that called her attention, it had really detailed illustrations of people - nude people in some cases, she realized, blushing - with strange-looking robes, nothing like she had seen on any of the Four Nations styles. Also, the animals, or spirits, were different to what she was used to. "Maybe 'greek' means 'fantasy'" she muttered to herself. She opened at a random page and began reading. "In Greek mythology Atalanta was an Arcadian heroine-"

***

"I don't care what you want, father! Just because you want a heir for Future Industries, it doesn't mean you get to decide who I marry with!"

Asami stormed off her father's office slamming the door. She was sick of it, of all the self-absorbed, full-of-themselves suitors pursuing her day and night. Sometimes it was charming, granted, but very soon, every time, she discovered that they weren't interested on how she was but what she was, a heiress. And she wasn't just that! Not to boast, but she was a brilliant engineer, a more-than-capable fighter and an excellent driver and...

"That's it!" She stopped on her tracks and went back to Hiroshi's Sato office. She opened without knocking only to find her father lost in thought.

"I'll marry... whoever beats me in the racetrack." Hiroshi's brow arched, he didn't expect that. "But if I win, you have to make those candidates of yours to stop pursuing me, and you will not ever attempt to force me into any marriage". Asami crossed her arms awaiting a response.

Hiroshi pondered for a moment. Yes, she was her best satomobiles tester, but that didn't mean she was the best driver in the world. He was starting to feel desperate with his attempts to secure his legacy, and the look in Asami's eyes made her think this was no bluff but an ultimatum.

"Very well, it will be as you wish" Asami dropped her arms as she wasn't expecting her father to agree so quickly. "But this will require some time to prepare... " He looked at the calendar in his desktop and browsed through its pages "It will be in three months from today."

Asami nodded, and started planning her practice schedule. Three months was more than enough to achieve perfection. There was no way she was going to lose this. There was just too much at stake.

***

"You won't believe what Huan just told me!" Opal announced stepping into the training grounds of the Air Temple Island. Bolin and Korra stopped their training session and looked at her. "My brother Wei is entering the road race to opt to Asami Sato's hand!" Bolin and Korra remained silent and exchanged an amused look. "What?" Opal exclaimed, throwing suspicious glances to both of them.

Korra shrugged and said nonchalantly "Nothing! I just thought Wei of all people wouldn't be so interested in... *ahem* ... plus isn't he a bit young for marrying?" Bolin sniggered beside her, not really helping the Avatar to get out of trouble.

Opal decided it wasn't worth to feel offended, in fact she had thought very much the same when receiving the news. "Well, it seems like Mr. Sato is trying to establish some sort of industrial empire, so he has been contacting most of the big families throughout all four nations searching for a *worthy* heir for his daughter, and that includes my own one. But apparently there is a catch, and it's that she has only agreed to marry if she is beaten in a road race. And according to this article it will take place in less than three months" She showed the newspaper in her hand to her boyfriend and Korra. Korra held the article but couldn't tear her eyes from the picture of the Future Industries heiress even if Opal continued with her explanations "But you're right, and I just think this is a last resort kind of thing for Mom trying to marry off Wei..." Opal finished sheepishly. Her mother seemed to be very open in other aspects of life, but when it came to her children she was adamant to let them live their lives freely. "Well, I'll leave you to it, sorry I interrupted your training!" and with a swift of air she flew out towards the air bisons barn.

Bolin noticed Korra was still transfixed with the newspaper article. He waved his hand in front of Korra's eyes to break the spell, but she seemed lost in thought. Then Korra raised her eyes from the article and muttered "Bolin, I think I'm in love". Bolin looked surprised to his friend, looked at the dark beauty picture in the newspaper and back to his friend. He started jumping up and down and screamed "OOOOHHHH!! This is so goophhhh mmhhh!!" Korra muffled his mouth bending a chunk of earth to silent him while shushing her excited buddy. Bolin tried to look outraged while he spitted the soil out, but he couldn't help to be happy for her. He stopped moving and putting his hand in Korra's shoulder he whispered "Okay, but you know we need a plan, right?". Korra grinned, noticing he supported her, no questions asked, and then she leaned into him, murmuring in a conspiracy tone "I think I have a solution that will work out just fine for Wei... and for me".

***

"The answer is no." Beifong's answer was curt, and she went back to her paperwork.

Bolin looked exasperated and tried to elaborate "But... but... How can you say no? It's a noble cause! Love! Young Love!” Bolin looked at his brother for help. The Chief of Police was actively trying to ignore them but they needed her, if they wanted to have a chance in all this craziness. Mako sighed and tried a different angle. "Chief, I agree all this... is nonsense,” Bolin frowned “but think about your nephew. He's being forced to compete for something he doesn't even want! I can't believe you agree with that".

Lin stopped writing and held the bridge of her nose. The two brothers looked at her expectantly. "All right, I'll do it! But only because you two nosy punks won't leave me alone!" Lin looked up to them, they were smiling and Bolin was tempted to initiate a hug, but realised it wasn't a good idea. The chief dismissed both with her hand, and they complied quickly before she changed her mind.

Wei had already agreed to their plan in the phone. He would train his driving skills back in Zaofu to avoid suspicion, but once in Republic City for the race event, Korra and he would swap, leaving her compete in his place. Having Chief Beifong onboard granted they wouldn't have any issue infiltrating the race, and more importantly, she would be a perfect coach for Korra's driving lessons. Everything was going very, very well.

***

"Brake! BRAAAKEEE!!!" Metal squeaked when bent to pull the satomobile to a stop. Korra, with her knuckles almost white on the wheel, pouted. Lin grunted, and tried to compose herself. She turned to the back of the satomobile to find Mako and Bolin, all color drained out of their faces. "This is not working, kids" the Chief of Police said without emotion. "And at this point I'm not allowing her in a car, much less in the middle of a car race! She is a hazard for anyone in her way!"

Mako ignored the Avatar indignant cry and offered "Maybe if she isn't driving?" His audience turned to him, waiting for an explanation. "I know Varrick has been working on some kind of autonomous mechanism for satomobiles, he has been blabbering about it for weeks in the press. Maybe he could put one of those in Korra's satomobile, and at least she would be less... dangerous?" Korra huffed again, but again she was ignored. The date for the race was only a few days away, and it was a fact that Korra's advances driving were mostly non-existant. For an Avatar who had managed to bend four elements, it was astounding how incapable she was to manage mechanical devices.

Bolin nodded "That might work, I'll talk to Varrick later. He owes me some favors from the times we were together in the movers business, so I think I can bring him onboard." He was getting excited again, and that made Korra abandon her pouting face, but Lin just shook her head. "If that works, that would solve the fact that Korra doesn't run anyone over - which frankly, would make my life much easier - but we also need Asami to lose, and she is a really accomplished driver. And I don't think we can tamper with Asami's car, they would find out about any attempt to sabotage."

Mako nodded in agreement, "Then we need to distract her. But how?"

***

"Raava, I need your help" Korra's inner voice murmured during her meditation.

The light spirit made her presence known to the Avatar, and prompted her to make her request. "Avatar Korra... What is bothering you?..."

Korra gulped. "I need to know about a human, Asami Sato... " Korra fiddled with her hands, suddenly thinking this was not such a good idea. "I need to know her weak spots... but it's for a good cause!" Korra extended her hands, trying to justify herself. The light spirit made something similar to a sigh sound, their connection had made clear what kind of good cause was pressing the Avatar to ask for her help.

"She is a builder, but she is no bender. She needs tools..." the spirit voice was getting weaker, but before disappearing Raava imprinted an image in her mind. It was a workshop... a Future Industries workshop... and inside there was a cabinet containing a box... a toolbox marked with an anagram "A.S.". And as quickly as it came, the image disappeared from Korra's mind.

Korra woke up from her meditation. She was back in her room and Mako and Bolin were looking at her with expectation. Korra cocked her head. "I'm gonna be needing... tools?"

***

Mako didn't feel proud. He was a cop, he was supposed to catch trespassers, not become one of them. And yet here he was, holding a cloth with a wrench, a screwdriver and a hammer belonging to Asami Sato. He handed the evidence to the Avatar, embarrassed. Korra opened the package, examined its content and hugged her friend. She knew the effort he had made to break the rules for her.

The race day had arrived. Varrick had done a good job automatising the car. They had a trial the day before and it worked seamlessly. They had even managed to make a decent mark, with Chief Beifong driving remotely. Korra put on her helmet and pulled the zipper of the overalls Wei had just taken off. Together with the scarf and gloves, nobody would notice the deceit.

She hugged a last time her two friends and a very relieved Wei, and left the locker room for the starting grid. There were six other participants, but she had sneaked into their practice and she knew they weren't rivals to her - thanks to Varrick's device, that is. Korra took the seat of her satomobile, nodded towards Chief Beifong who was half hidden in a secluded box seat, and got ready to start.

Asami Sato was the last participant to reach her car. She flipped her long, raven black hair before fitting her googles, and looked back to her competition. She smiled smugly, and sat down in her seat.

All engines roared, ready to start. Ikki held a chequered flag by its pole, and upon Hiroshi Sato nod, she waved it down, with Meelo merrily floating in a small hurricane made by himself at her side.

The satomobiles sped up, wheels rotating at a burnout before shooting off. After just a few seconds, Asami Sato red roadster was clearly in advantage of all her suitors, with Korra's silver roadster following closely.

Asami sight was focused on the track, but her peripheral vision caught a glint of something shiny in that next opponent. She frowned when she recognised one of the hammers of her personal toolbox. The other driver threw it aside to the road margin. The distraction made her slow down, allowing her adversary to take the lead.

Korra was ecstatic, the plan was working! She laughed, exhilarated, until she noticed Asami's roadster was again at her level. Korra frowned, and got ready to use her second "secret weapon". She took the screwdriver, and purposedly wiggled it for the engineer to see. Asami was alternating looks to the road and to her opponent now, and Korra smiled at the heiress gaping mouth when she realized Korra had another tool of hers in her power.

Again, Korra threw the screwdriver to the road margin, allowing herself to mouth "Oops!", very much to Asami's anger. The engineer had slowed down again, but the rage towards this... this... dirty... Beifong scumbag... made her regain her focus and push to the metal. She managed to get matched again. There was absolutely no way she was going to let herself lose to some cheater.

Korra made a long face, but she still had her last ace up the sleeve. The wrench she had in her hand looked the same quality than the other tools, but much more worn away, probably a favourite for the engineer. Again she made sure Asami was looking at her, and shook it in front of the heiress eyes.

Asami couldn't believe it. "No, not Wrenchie, how do you DARE!" She was so dumbfounded she didn't realize until she saw the other car's rear plate that she had given up so much advantage. From behind, she could see how her nemesis threw her dearest tool to the side of the road. She was fueled by her fury and hit the gas as much as she could.

Korra winced. What she saw in the rear mirror was a very VERY angered Asami speeding up. Well, she would really have to make amends afterwards. She crossed her fingers and prayed that Chief Beifong floored it as much as she could. The finish line was closing, and Asami's roadster was still a little behind. "Come on... come on..." Korra was muttering to herself now, and then, all she could see was a the chequered flag waving again, and a red blur passing her after the line. She had won. Unbelievable.

"Wooohooo!!" She cheered and threw her right arm to the air, trying to maintain her cover. When the satomobile stopped, she jumped out of her seat and started to bounce up and down.

Asami Sato was making a beeline towards her. Maybe she was no firebender, but Korra could feel fire glowing from her green eyes. She was even more beautiful in person, Korra thought. "You cheater! How did you get hold of my tools! How do you d..." Asami seemed to lose her train of thought when Korra took her helmet off. The Avatar tried her best smile, and it seemed to be working.

"You are not Wei Beifong" Asami stated puzzled. And then something made click in her head. "You're the Avatar. You're the Avatar!" This outcome was not bad after all. Asami licked her lips, smiled and flipped back her hair. "But you really are a cheater, don't think I'm forgiving you so easily"

"So... I guess me winning means we're engaged now?" asked Korra with a goofy grin plastered in her face. Asami laughed and, knowing her father was approaching them, she took the Avatar's face with her hands and kissed her.

"What do you think you're doing?"

***

That wasn't Hiroshi Sato's voice. Jinora blinked twice, before recognising her surroundings, and Wan Shi Tong voice. She gasped, and closed the book she had fallen asleep upon. She smiled awkwardly and raised to her feet. Wan Shi Tong was in front of her, extending his wings to make himself more frightening. Bowing, she tried to calm herself, and appeal to the owl spirit knowledge hunger. "Honorable Wan Shi Tong, do you know how satomobiles work?"

Atalanta's myths are told, among others, in Ovid's "Metamorphoses". It's actually quite a cool character, one of the toughest chicks of the Greek Mythology :)

I'm not sure if it is a canon divergence... but dreams sometimes diverge from reality, so...

Comments, edits, suggestions... are very welcome. I hope you enjoy it!

#korrasami month 2018 #korrasami #prompt: mythology #ao3fic

13 notes · View notes

usemeasabadexample · 6 years

Text

Bechloe Fic: The Kraken Has Been Unleashed

Chloe has a way with her. That’s for sure. And, as uncomfortable as it might make her to think about it in this very moment, Beca’s starting to wonder just what that really means.

Set at the beginning of Pitch Perfect 2. Kind of cannon, kind of...not cannon. Mostly fluff and fun and maybe some very MILD angst at best. Nothing too stressful. We've been through enough of that!

Read the rest on A03

Chapter 7

Beca isn’t sure why she doesn’t care for movies. Even when she was younger, she didn’t go crazy over certain Disney movies or characters like most other kids her age. She didn’t want princess themed birthday parties or loads of cartoon toys. None of those things seemed to hold her interest.

She may have had a brief obsession with a certain Disney princess but that’s beside the point. It’s an embarrassing memory that Beca would prefer never resurfaces.

She was into technology and libraries and music stores. Her parents bought her a computer when she was around ten and she’d play educational games for hours on end. Sometimes, her dad would even let her eat dinner at the computer so she didn’t have to press pause. He’d take her to the library and her favorite music shop every weekend to stock up on new books and CDs. Before he left. Dick.

She remembers creating “soundtracks” to her favorite books by putting together a list of songs that seemed to fit the story. Made mixed CDs full of tracks that blended together effortlessly.

She’d make CDs for her close friends and she even made one for her high school art teacher once. The woman was an actual hippie and when she caught Beca handing a CD over to a friend one day, instead of reprimanding them, which was definitely what Beca thought would happen, she asked for a copy instead. Beca shrugged and brought it in the next day.

She liked the art teacher. She even sort of liked art class itself. It was a chance to work independently and create something new.

She loves creating. Always has.

And really, maybe that’s where her dislike for movies comes from. Watching a movie requires you to be a spectator. To sit on the sidelines and watch someone else’s creation play out in front of you. You can’t change or manipulate a movie. You can’t bend it to your will and force a different outcome, and Beca prefers to be the one in control when it comes to creating. She doesn’t want to watch or listen to someone else’s tired old story playing over and over again. She wants to make something new and completely different.

It’s been that way for as long as she can remember and she doesn’t think that’s ever going to change.

That’s not to say that she can’t make a few exceptions here and there. Movies seem to have become almost an inevitable part of her life thanks to the Bellas. And, of course, Jesse. She’s okay with that. Learned to cope quite nicely she thinks. Even able to enjoy it at times.

Especially at times like this.

They’ve been watching the movie for almost an hour now but Beca hasn’t really been able to concentrate on the story playing out on the screen in front of her. Not that she needs to pay attention to understand the film. She’s seen this movie several times. Knows it well.

It’s the slowly evolving real life story that’s currently absorbing all of her attention. There’s something developing. Something changing. Whether she wants to acknowledge it or not and usually, Beca’s inclined to ignore feelings that she doesn’t understand, just completely toss them aside and never revisit them, but this is different.

This is Chloe .

Chloe. Who squeezes her hand every time one of Beca’s favorite parts comes up on the screen. Who giggles every time something even remotely funny happens even though she’s probably seen this movie a hundred times. Who quotes her favorite parts and looks over at Beca expecting her to do the same. And if it were anyone else, Beca would probably be so annoyed that she’d storm out and refuse to watch another movie ever again.

But this is Chloe.

Instead of being irritated, Beca finds it endearing. Charming even. And it makes her wonder. How and when did Chloe captivate her so completely? What sets this woman apart from everyone else? Why is everything so different when it comes to her best friend?

“Bec.” She breaks from her reverie and turns to look at Chloe, who is grinning so wide Beca thinks she might be blinded pretty soon. She gets lost staring at Chloe’s sparkling white teeth and it must take her too long to snap out of it because it isn’t until the redhead nods toward the television that Beca looks back in the same direction, noticing that her favorite scene is about to play out.

On screen, the bus driver picks up a handful of dirt and throws it into the team chaperone’s face. It makes Beca laugh out loud, almost hysterically.

She hears Chloe laughing beside her. Feels the redhead’s hand squeeze her own a little tighter. It makes her arm tingle all the way up to her shoulder and she looks back over at Chloe, instantly drawn in yet again by a perfect smile.

Chloe giggles. “Why is that your favorite part?”

“Dude. He just like, randomly picks up a handful of dirt and throws it in this woman’s face.” She's still laughing. “It’s hilarious.”

“It’s awful!” Chloe laughs too despite her claim and brings their joined hands into her lap.

Beca feels the smooth, warm skin of Chloe's bare thigh glide against the back of her hand as the redhead pulls her closer, and she has to stop herself from making any type of audible sound as the wind rushes out of her lungs and her heartbeat picks up speed.

It’s not like she hasn’t had her hands on Chloe before. She obviously has. In a variety of places as a matter-of-fact. But bare skin...that’s a new addition. One that Beca isn’t sure they should be adding to the equation because it gives her that shaky, overwhelming feeling. The feeling you get when you touch someone new for the first time. Her stomach twists and her skin tingles and she feels like she can’t breathe properly.

“You okay?” Chloe sounds so innocent.

“What?” Beca blinks rapidly as she looks away from their hands. “Oh yeah. I’m totally...yeah, I’m good.”

“Are you sure? Your face looks red.” Chloe reaches out with her free hand and presses it to Beca’s cheek. “Are you feeling sick?”

The movement forces Chloe closer and she takes a deep breath because jesus christ . This is sensory overload. “No I’m. I’m fine. I promise.”

“If you say so.” Chloe shrugs and pats her cheek a few times before retracting her hand. It’s a little harder than Beca thinks is absolutely necessary but she knows it’s playful.

She leans away and gives a warning look. “Was the slapping really necessary?”

Chloe shrugs. “Love taps.”

“Gross.” She’s surprised she's able to get the word out because hearing Chloe mention the word love in relation to her...it's a little overwhelming at the moment. And it's weird because Chloe’s always making declarations of love. She loves the Bellas and bonding nights and those sad animal commercials that devastate most people - because Beca, those poor animals were saved!- She loves college and singing and her family and pushing boundaries. Usually physical ones. She loves smiling and laughing and dancing and good lord . Chloe loves a lot of things but Beca knows it's all genuine because Chloe doesn't take love lightly. If she says she loves something, she means it. So it's not unusual to hear Chloe mention love, what is unusual is the way it's making her feel.

She turns back to the movie but she isn't really paying attention. Can't. Because Chloe's attention remains focused on her and it feels like the redhead's stare is burning a hole through the side of her head, “You're missing the movie you insisted we watch.”

Chloe ignores her. “Didn't you ever have a favorite movie?”

“Nope.” Beca still doesn't turn her attention away from the television.

Chloe scoffs doubtfully. “You're lying.”

Beca whips her head to the side. Eyes lasered in on light blue ones. “Um, what?”

She knows that Chloe can be a bit of a spitfire at times but it's still always a little shocking when it happens. She's not sure why though because Chloe has never really been afraid to call her on her shit.

The redhead turns to face Beca, criss-crossing her legs so that one knee is pushing into the back of the sofa and the other is almost hanging off the edge. “I think I know you well enough to know when you're fibbing.”

“Fibbing? Who says that?” Beca turns too, bending her leg so that she can face her best friend more easily and her knee lands in Chloe's lap.

Their bare legs touch for the first time ever and Beca can't believe this hasn't happened before because hello , this is Chloe. The woman is all hands and legs and has no qualms about using said appendages to latch onto her at anytime. So it's odd, that they haven't touched this way before. She knows she’d remember if they had because the way it's making her feel is…well, she'd remember, okay?

“Don't change the subject. Answer the question.”

“What question?” She plays dumb.

“Beca.” Chloe narrows her eyes.

“Alright.” She rubs a knuckle over the tip of her nose. “I didn't really have a favorite movie but…”

Chloe looks like she's on the verge of bursting her eyes are so wide. Beca wants to laugh but then she remembers that she's about to divulge this embarrassing information. She makes a whining sound and leans her head back onto the sofa.

“It cannot be that bad.” Chloe bounces up and down a few times. “Tell me!”

“Fine. I...oh my god…okay.” Beca closes her eyes and blows out a breath. “I liked the Little Mermaid.” The last part of her sentence is mumbled quietly enough that she thinks - hopes - that maybe Chloe couldn’t understand her.

There's a lack in response which is both a relief and cause for alarm. Because maybe Chloe didn’t actually hear this mortifying fact and Beca can just deflect and move on. Pretend like she never said anything. Or...maybe Chloe did hear her and is just waiting for Beca to look up again so that the teasing can commence.

She winces and squints up at Chloe. Like she’s afraid of what’s waiting for her. “Okay. Hit me with it Beale.”

“What?” She feels Chloe flip their adjoined hands so that Beca’s is on top now and the redhead’s free hand moves to rest atop them both, effectively trapping Beca’s hand between both of her own. “Beca.”

Hearing the gentle way Chloe says her name prompts her to fully open her eyes again and the sight that greets her becomes overwhelming very quickly. Chloe is looking at her like she’s an undernourished stray puppy and Beca doesn’t know what to say because she was pretty sure Chloe was just going to tease her about liking some damn cartoon mermaid. She’d die of embarrassment and they’d move on.

She should have known better though. This is Chloe afterall.

“Yes?” Beca grins all teeth and awkwardness.

“I loved that movie too. I still do.” Chloe’s smile is gentle. Comforting.

Beca can’t help but return it. “Yeah?”

Chloe nods eagerly. “Oh yeah. Ariel was totes willing to do whatever it took to be free. To live a life that made her happy. She didn’t need anyone’s approval.”

Chloe never ceases to amaze her. “Wow. That’s...yeah. I didn’t think about it that way.”

“And in the end, she won. Her father even willingly changed her into a human so she could be with the prince. Although,” Chloe pauses and tilts her head to the side like she’s seriously thinking about this, “I like to think it was Ariel’s dream to be human long before she saw the prince. Like, it wasn’t just for him, you know?” And the thing is, Beca knows Chloe is serious about this. She can tell by the way the redhead is looking at her expectantly. Like, do you understand what I mean?

And yeah, she does understand, actually. She knows what Chloe means.

She also knows that there is absolutely no one else on this planet that she could have this conversation with. No one else in the world that would draw such heartfelt meaning from such a silly Disney movie. If she had mentioned liking some animated mermaid movie to literally anyone else in the world, it would have ended with an attack of teasing so severe that she never would have heard the end of it.

But this is Chloe.

“Yeah, no. That’s really nice Chlo. Maybe that’s why I liked the movie so much.” Beca laughs, it’s a little dejected though. “Your version sounds...very relatable.” Chloe must understand what Beca is getting at because she smiles gently and nods knowingly.

They’ve had this conversation before. About Beca’s history with her family. With her father. The ups and downs they went through to get where they are today.

The two hands surrounding her own squeeze tightly and Chloe looks at her with so much sincerity that Beca can barely stand to look back. She shifts her eyes around and hopes Chloe doesn’t pick up on her nervousness because it feels unnecessary but she can’t help it.

Chloe can be so overwhelming sometimes.

Not in a bad way, of course.

She clears her throat and tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, hoping the break in their gaze will be enough to help her compose herself.

It isn't so she tries a change in tactic. Tries steering the conversation to a more playful place. “You know...I actually always thought Ursula was kind of awesome. She was also very relatable to me as a child.”

Chloe looks at her disapprovingly but she can't hold onto it for long because her smile is almost immediately breaking through. “Is that right?” She sounds like she's not totally convinced but she's playing along.

“Oh yeah. You know I've basically like, been a badass since I was born so, totally relatable. We’re pretty much like, one in the same.” Chloe laughs like it's the silliest thing she's ever heard and Beca briefly pretends to be offended because what the hell? She's totally badass. “Well,” she shrugs, pointing her nose to the ceiling, “it's true.”

“Mhmm.” Chloe is still giggling but it slowly subsides. She leans in closer and her look changes from playful to predatory in the blink of an eye.

Beca has to fight the instinct to back up because she doesn't mind being close to Chloe but look the older girl is leveling her with is a bit intimidating. Unnerving.

Something !

“Are you sure it has nothing to do with the fact that Ariel is a redhead?” Chloe is almost whispering into her ear at this point and Beca has to consciously remind herself to breath normally. “Because I think,” she squirms as Chloe's breath actually reaches her ear now, “you might have a thing for redheads.”

Beca swallows audibly and Chloe rests her chin on the brunette's shoulder. It doesn't seem like she's going to move away any time soon so Beca figures she better get her shit together.

And soon.

She doesn't know what will happen if she doesn't.

She turns her head slightly, their noses almost touching. “Hm...good point.” She nods, pretending to be in deep thought. “Maybe so.” She finishes with a wink and nod of her head. Chloe's laughter fills the room, effectively breaking the tension and Beca laughs with her. “You're insane.”

“Yeah.” Chloe nods. “Maybe so.” She throws in her own wink, mimicking Beca's previous reply.

Beca shakes her head and throws in an eye roll for good measure as Chloe wraps both of her arms around one of Beca's and cuddles back in.

They settle down and Beca yawns and rests her head back against the sofa again.

“Sleepy?”

“Yeah.” She yawns again. “You're exhausting.” It earns her a punch to the shoulder and she laughs lethargically.

“Wanna take a nap?” Chloe sounds sleepy too.

“Do you really even have to ask?” Beca leans her head to the side to look at Chloe but the redhead is already scrambling to grab a blanket and Beca lets her body fall to the side without Chloe's there to support her. She tucks her hands under one of the huge throw pillows and lies down, settling comfortably against the back of the sofa.

The cushions dip and suddenly Chloe is scooting in next to her before she can move or react to this new development. “What are you doing?” Her eyes are wide and she feels like all the oxygen has left the room.

“Napping.” Chloe deadpans like she's stating the obvious and Beca guesses that was well deserved because duh .

She does feel like her surprise is warranted though. It’s not like they do this on the regular.

“Right.” Rationally, she knows this shouldn’t be a big deal. They’ve had plenty of sleepovers. But they’re usually in separate beds in some hotel room. Or in some communal room with the rest of the Bellas wreaking havoc somewhere. Places with plenty of space. And yes, they sometimes share a blanket on movie night and yes, she’s slept under the same blankets as Chloe in the redhead’s bed before but it’s a queen-sized bed so there’s never been any reason for them to be pressed up against one another.

This is different.

This is a confined space under the same blanket and Chloe is wearing those tiny shorts and she smells really fucking good and what the fuck ?

Her thoughts are rapidly escalating but Chloe seems unphased, like this is the norm, and she scoots into the sliver of space next to Beca, covering them both with the oversized quilt Stacie was given by some random man at a craft show.

Which sounds really odd but that’s a thought for another day because Chloe’s head lands on the pillow next to hers and Beca has to fight the urge to press herself back into the sofa to put a bit of distance between them. She doesn’t want to make Chloe feel weird or uncomfortable by moving away because honestly, Beca doesn’t feel either of those things herself.

She does feel a little lightheaded. A little like her stomach has skyrocketed into her throat. It's the same feeling you get after the first drop of some crazy roller coaster ride.

It's exhilarating but also a little nauseating and a little scary at the same time.

A gentle touch lands on her shoulder, stopping all thoughts of amusement park rides and she looks over at her best friend. Chloe doesn't looked alarmed at all. She looks content and it makes something inside of Beca click into place.

Settles her and winds her up all at once.

“Sleep tight.” Chloe mumbles and closes her eyes. Her hand doesn't leave Beca's shoulder and she takes a deep breath to steady herself.

“You too, Chlo.”

The last thing she remembers before falling asleep is Chloe's hand slipping to the curve of her neck. It makes her smile and she dozes off feeling more content than she can ever remember.

-----

“I’m coming, I'm coming! Keep your pants on!” Stacie mumbles. Completely uninterested as she ambles to the front door.

Someone has been knocking incessantly for the last five minutes and no one has answered, forcing her to stop her manicure mid-file to tend to the situation herself.

Although, Cynthia Rose isn't very far behind. “Did you just tell someone to keep their pants on? Damn girl.”

“Uhh you're right. Why did I say that? No need to keep your pants--” she stops when the door opens and she sees who's on the other side. “--Jesse. Hey.” Stacie leans against the door as he steps into the entryway.

“Hi Stacie.” He quickly bounces his head up and down as he greets her. It's a gesture equivalent to that of someone tipping his hat.

If he were wearing one.

“Sup?” Cynthia Rose pops out from behind Stacie.

“Oh. Hey. Didn't know you were back there.” Jesse pauses and Stacie takes the opportunity to rib her fellow Bella.

“Yeah she's always hiding. Behind doors. In closets...”

“Bitch.” Cynthia Rose shoulder bumps the brunette before stomping back upstairs.

Jesse quirks an eyebrow and points up to where Cynthia stormed off but Stacie just waves him off. “She's fine. What's up lover boy?”

He shakes his head to clear it. “Is Beca around? I keep texting but I can't get a response. I haven't talked to her since last night. I just want to make sure she's okay.”

Stacie nods towards the living room and shuts the door, following Jesse to where she knows her co-captains were lounging earlier.

They stop in the doorway, looking in to where Beca and Chloe are napping on the sofa. Chloe's hand is still resting on Beca’s neck and Stacie rolls her eyes. “They've been there all day. Good luck!” She blows an air kiss as she departs for the stairs.

“Thanks.” He briefly considers waking Beca but quickly decides against it. He would prefer to survive the day. The thought makes him laugh to himself and he shakes his head as he leaves the room to head back to the Treble’s house.

He’ll see Beca tomorrow. After all, they've got all the time in the world.

#bechloe #bechloe fanfiction #bechloe fanfic #pitch perfect #pitch perfect fanfiction #beca mitchell #chloe beale #the kraken has been unleashed #pitch perfect 2

42 notes · View notes