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frombeyondtheblackhole · 3 years

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Hermit DSMP Swap AU: Part 6

George didn’t mind this Hermitcraft place too much. The people here were nice, even if he had only met two of them. X, their admin, had even offered to let George stay in what he was calling his starter base, though it was bigger than most houses on the Dream SMP.

X was working tirelessly trying to figure out what was wrong with the server. Sometimes he would ask George to help him, or ask George questions but at this point it felt like they had tried everything already and George had been asked the same questions over and over again.

There wasn’t much to do, the one time he had tried to explore, he got dreadfully lost and wandered around in circles for hours before X found him again. He didn’t want to build anything, he wasn’t planning on staying here. So mostly he just entertained himself by borrowing whatever he could find in X’s chests. There were these cool fish-cat things here called axolotls. He had become very attached to this yellow axolotl that he named Dream. Ok so maybe he did miss Dream... but that wasn’t anything new.

X was taking a break and working on a tower for his nether portal and George was playing with Axolotl Dream in the shallows when several other Hermits showed up, and wait, was that Skeppy? What was Skeppy doing here? George scooped the axolotl up in a bucket and climbed up the rocky bank, not bothering to put on his shoes and his pants still rolled up to his knees.

Skeppy stopped and pointed at George “You too!?”

“What are you doing here?” George said holding the bucket with the axolotl in it carefully in both hands.

Skeppy just shrugged “Who knows.”

“Same,” George sighed.

“Wait, there are two of you!?” the Hermit with wings and a red sweater practically squeaked. He looked a bit ruffled. “This is bad, this is bad,” He muttered as he started pacing.

“Um hi, I'm Scar and this anxious mess is Grian,” The other hermit introduced them. “He usually isn’t like this I promise.”

“You don’t understand, this is bad!” Grian interjected.

“Um... I’m George,” George introduced himself, still not moving from where he stood.

X came down from his tower wiping his hands off on a rag and looking at the gathering group. “What’s going on? What seems to be the problem?” He asked. Then he saw Skeppy “Oh... we have another one... well maybe it isn’t that bad. I’m sure I’ll find a solution soon.”

“No, no, no, you don’t understand. I think I broke the Server...” Grian interjected, “I may have... um- Well, you know, Watcher stuff-”

“Take your time, don’t worry about dumbing it down for me, I’m sure I can keep up,” X said, returning the rag to his inventory.

“Well, I wanted to get into the Dream SMP. There is another Watcher who lives there. The only one aside from me that I know of who was able to escape the Organization. I needed to find him. But the Dream SMP is notoriously hard to get into, even for Watchers. So I used the Hermitcraft Server restart to give me a boost and get me through... I wasn’t able to find him before my window closed, I barely made it back as it was... But I think I may have inadvertently damaged the server. I think the two servers are leaking into each other.”

X pressed his knuckle to his chin. “Well that would explain a few things, George showed up several days ago. The server thinks he is Etho and Etho is nowhere to be found.” He looked up at Skeppy, “I'm sorry, I’ve been rude, I’m Xisuma Void, this Server's Admin, I’ll do everything I can to fix this mess,” He said, reaching a hand out to Skeppy.

Skeppy squinted at X for a moment before taking the offered hand and shaking it “Skeppy,” He said as a means of introduction. He wasn’t sure if he believed him when he said he would do everything in his power to fix things but what other option did he have.

“Nice to meet you, Skeppy. If you don’t mind I would like to try some tests to figure out who the server thinks you are,” X explained.

Skeppy recoiled and screwed up his face, “Hell no, I’m not something to be kept in a cage and experimented on” He had never really trusted Dream and after he heard about what Dream had planned to do to him if Dream hadn’t been locked up in the Prison he knew he had been right not to trust him. This admin wasn’t any different, he just saw him as an anomaly to study.

“Oh no, It’s nothing like that,” Xisuma quickly corrected, shaking his head and waving his hands as if to undo any misunderstanding. “I was just going to try and private message a bunch of hermits and see if any of their messages showed up in your inbox.

Skeppy pursed his lips and squinted at X for a minute before relenting “Fine, I guess I’m ok with that.”

X proceeded to send a quick message that read ‘just ignore this, i am testing server stuff,’ to as many hermits as he could think of. He was almost at the bottom of the list when a whistle was heard from Skeppy’s phone. He picked it up and saw the message staring back at him.

“It worked! So who does the server think he is?” George asked, looking around X’s shoulder at his HUD, still holding the axolotl.

“TFC,” X said, looking up at Grian and Scar.

“That makes sense,” Scar said, “He showed up near Boatem and TFC’s base is just over the mountain from us.”

“That’s all well and good but how do we fix this?” Grian interjected.

“Well, I wanted to figure out what was wrong with the server and possibly why it thought George was Etho and now Skeppy and TFC too, but under the circumstances it might be best to send you two back now and we can work on getting our people back on our own. We have already inconvenienced you two enough as it is.”

Grian shook his head “We already tried that, Skeppy was rejected,”

“Of course he was rejected, he didn’t have admin permissions,” George scoffed.

“Wait so you are saying that you need permission from your admin to leave your own server?” Scar asked.

“Yeah, he didn’t usually give them though. I think I only left once after joining the server and that was to go with Dream to watch him compete against Technoblade,” George shrugged, finally putting the bucket down and sitting next to it, it was getting kind of heavy.

“Oh right, I think I remember hearing about that Deul. Didn’t Technoblade win?” Grian added. George pretended not to notice.

“But this still doesn't make sense,” Xisuma mused “The Dream SMP server might not let it’s members leave but that has never been the case on Hermitcraft. And if the Server thinks they are hermits they should be allowed to leave... unless... if they are here then our hermits are Probably on the Dream SMP Server, perhaps if the Servers think they are someone else then they aren't letting them in.”

“But the error message specifically said they didn’t have permission to leave, not that they didn’t have permission to enter,” Grian pointed out.

“Hum, true. Scar do you mind testing something for us. Can you try and leave the server and come back.” X asked

“Sure thing, where should I go,”

“Anywhere should be fine, a public server or a personal one. It shouldn’t matter,”

“Ok, here goes,” Scar said, opening his HUD and pressing some buttons. He flickered for a second, going translucent and then returning to full opacity. His HUD read the same message that the others had “You do not have permissions to leave this server.”

“Well that’s not good,” Scar muttered.

Xisuma moved to look over Scar’s shoulder. “Well that complicates things. Grian, do you think you might be able to go back to the Dream SMP server if you had some help.”

“I mean, maybe, it was pretty sketchy the first time I did it, and that was before we were having problems on our end. I’ll do what I can though.”

“That’s all I can ask for,” X reassured.

“Well for now Skeppy can stay with us in Boatem, and George you are free to join us if you want,” Scar said.

“Beats hanging around here by myself,” George shrugged.

“Alright, with that settled, I think we're done here. Grian, can I see you here tomorrow so we can get started on fixing this server glitch-”

“Well it’s more of a crack than-” Grian started

“Alright, crack then, are you free tomorrow,” X interrupted.

Grian looked sheepish “Yeah, yeah, of course. See you then,”

[Notes: Here you go, I hope you enjoyed. Things are really starting to pick up pace and I am looking forward to where this is going. I really got in the groove with this and just sat down and wrote out several parts at once so those will be coming out every couple of days. I still need to edit them and I don’t want to overwhelm you guys with too much at once.]

#dsmp #dream smp #hermitcraft #dsmp au #dream smp au #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft dsmp swap au #xisuma #georgenotfound #grian #watcher grian #good times with scar #skeppy #philza #dreamwastaken

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sporadicerratic · 3 years

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Reach Out and Touch Someone

This is my very first fic I have ever posted anywhere. For KingDings week 2021. This is prompt #2, “Heartache” I’ll come back and name it something serious later I swear I hope y’all like it pls be kind ty

Pit. Pat.

Only the quietest of sounds echoed in the dark space as the king carefully wiped the surface of a small stone coffin with a soft, damp cloth. Careful to catch the inside edges of small, green heart embossed into the center, he diligently scrubbed every inch of the surface; the sussurus of each pass punctuated by his occasional sniffles.

Once all dust had been eradicated from the top of the coffin, the king leaned close to the heart and gave it a soft touch, one that could even be considered tender. “I’m sorry,’ he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Pit. Pat.

Cloth into the bucket, swirled around and wrung out. The fur on his hands was soaked through, and the water was making it’s way down his forearm, but he hadn’t brought another towel to dry the coffins, or himself. There was work to be done, and a small coffin with a light blue heart that had gathered dust.

Had he not been so focused on his task, King Asgore might have noticed the faintest flickering in the corner behind the coffin with the purple heart on it. The darkness trembled and shivered, as did the figure peering through it to watch the king performing his sorrowful task.

Gaster knew that he didn’t have the strength to do more than pierce the void today, but how he wished with all of his might that he could be there to comfort his dearest companion through this, one of his most difficult duties as king. Before he had fallen into his creation, he had urged Asgore to let someone; ANYONE else tend to the coffins, but Asgore had refused. The corners of his eyes had crinkled up and his brow had furrowed in the way that made Gaster want to take him into his arms and never let go, despite the fact that he could only hug one side of his mountain of a goat. “Thank you, Dings,’ he had sighed, “but it was my own brash actions that put those poor children into those coffins. I could never,” here he closed his eyes and rubbed them with his fingers, “I could never ask anyone else to have anything to do with them. This is my responsibility.” He looked up, eyes glassy. “But, I thank you, my dearest friend. Come. It’s a beautiful day. Why don’t we walk in the garden, while the sun is shining?”

Gaster’s hand practically disappeared into that of the towering king of the Underground, but his grip was gentle and his fur was soft, oh, so soft. If Gaster closed his eyes, he could almost remember the way it warmed the bones of his hollow hand, and the way that warmth spread to make his quivering, fractured soul feel almost whole again. Asgore was so full of love that he generously showered upon all of his subjects, and Gaster felt privileged to be a common recipient of what he secretly hoped was a little more, or should he say, a little different than that he showed to everyone else. He only wished that he could share some of the burden that the king refused to ever let drop from those massive shoulders.

Pit. Pat.

Gaster was gently brought out of his reverie and back to the present as the king moved to the last coffin; the one with the purple heart. That human hadn’t offered much resistance; throwing the one item they had managed to bring into the underground; a simple notebook, and fleeing into a cavern in Waterfall. Every day that Asgore had to fulfill his promise to the monsters of the underground was a true test of his resolve. He always held it together until he made it back to the throne room; smiling and waving to the cheers of his subjects who saw the flickering soul cupped gently in his hands as nothing more than a sign of hope; not as the last surviving piece of a living being.

It was Gaster who took the soul from his hands as he collapsed, sobbing, into the flowers. It was Gaster who quietly encased it in a glass cylinder, and eased the broken body of the human from Asgore’s grip. It was Gaster who sat with him for hours; days; sometimes weeks, rubbing his back, holding his head in his lap, whispering gentle words of encouragement and love, making sure that he ate, and keeping him warm through the night when he refused to move from the spot where he fell.

Pit. Pat. Pit. Pit. Pat.

Asgore’s tears fell upon the last coffin, and as he tried in vain to wipe them from it’s surface, his will finally broke, as did the silence. He collapsed with an ugly sob onto the little coffin, arms wide enough to hold the entire thing in his embrace. “I, I’m s-so, I’m, s-so so sssso so ss-so sorrr-ry, little one,” he gurgled into the wet stone; smearing snot and tears with his ineffectual soaked cloth, and then his bare hands.

Something in Gaster snapped. He had spent months gathering enough energy to even open this portal, but he would be damned if he wasn’t going to be by his king’s side when he needed him, even if he couldn’t manage a corporeal form. He shoved what little he was composed of against the taut membrane of the barrier between the void and reality, gasping as it sizzled and burned around the tips of his ghostly phalanges. Passing through even with a body was painful, but without one? He struggled to keep himself coalescent as pure fire danced along every part of that was slowly oozing through the gateway between realms. His head swam as the searing pain consumed his mind, but he forced his eyes open and fixated on the sound of Asgore’s heart-wrenching sobs; of those quavering shoulders that he ached to embrace.

With a terrible modulating scream and a pop he erupted from the void, only to stumble directly through the coffin, the king, and halfway into the back wall. A form. He had made it through, but without any kind of physical form. The barrier had consumed too much of the energy he had worked so hard and so long to gather.

“My king,” Gaster spoke aloud. Asgore’s shoulders continued to shake as he rained tears upon the coffin, though his sobs were slowing. He showed no signs of having heard Gaster at all. Gaster’s face fell, and then slipped slightly as the damned DT in his system asserted itself. Well, if it was going to make itself known, he was going to make use of it, damn it. He was determined to give his dear Asgore SOME sort of comfort.

“GOREY!” he practically shouted, doing everything he could to wrap his arms around Asgore’s back, and phasing slightly into his body. It was warm. Oh, it was so warm.

Asgore sniffled and looked up with a start. “Dings?” he whispered into the darkness, whipping his head around, and then spinning his entire body so his back was to the small coffin. Gaster inhaled sharply as the king’s face passed, unseeing, through his own. After glancing around a bit more, Asgore slumped, his face in his hands. “Of course,” he rasped in a forlorn tone that melted Gaster a bit more, “Of course he’s not here. I’m losing it. I’m losing it.”

“I’M HERE, MY KING! I’M HERE!!” Gaster carefully moved so that, if he had had any kind of solidity, his forehead would be pressing against Asgore’s. He pushed with every bit of will that existed within him, forcing it into the words. If he cannot feel me, at least, at least let him hear my voice, he thought.

“Ahhh Gaster, god damn it. I miss you so, so much. Why did you have to go and leave me like that, Dings? Why did you have to go away?”

Asgore’s voice trailed off as he laughed through fresh tears that coursed through the fur on his face to gather in his beard.

If Gaster had had any sort of form at all, he would have been crying as well. The most he could manage was to melt further against Asgore’s body; the determination he felt reducing him to half of his normal stature. “I’m sorry, Gorey. I’m sorry, I’m here, I swear it. You aren’t alone. You aren’t alone.” His blob of a hand passed through Asgore’s giant paw again and again as Gaster struggled in vain to manifest.

Asgore leaned his head back and wiped his eyes. “Dings,” he whispered, “if you were here, you would tell me that this defies all logic, and that I’m being absurd again, and that I probably need to eat something, but I could swear that you’re in this room with me right now. And, I, I could really, really stand for you to be in this room right now, Dings, I really could. So, I’m gonna talk to you anyway.”

Gaster’s face froze, and then a wide grin spread across his features. “I would like that, your majesty,” he whispered back. “I would like that very much.”

Hours later, Asgore’s gentle snoring filled the tiny room. He had spoken of love, and loss, and longing; of family and friends, and the many, many things he felt were so far out of his reach, and Gaster had heard it all. As his king had become more and more weary, Gaster spread his loose form over him in an embrace that he put every ounce of whatever determination he had left into making warm, and then fell asleep himself.

Had Asgore been awake, and had he squinted really hard, and had he even thought to look, he might have been able to make out the barest, glitching outline of ghostly, hollow skeletal hand resting on top of his palm.

#kingdings #kingdingsweek #gaster #asgore #undertale

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ckneal · 3 years

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So, I’ve had this idea kicking around in my head for a little while now, based on this premise: What if, due to some wire crossing that Chuck never anticipated, because he never anticipated Jack, or his powers, or that Jack might use his powers to tear open a portal to one of his cast off-worlds, allowing a scrapped draft of Michael to waltz over into the main canon universe, the OG Michael experiences some side effects? Such as, perhaps, his grace syncing up with the AU’s, causing his appearance to change for seemingly no reason, unaware that it’s corresponding with the other Michael changing vessels?

And as this is going on, Michael and Adam are at different stages in processing how they view one another. Adam’s just at the tail end of digesting the fact that he might be bisexual. Sure, there might be times when he and Michael are talking, and Michael says something, or—god forbid—laughs, and Adam feels this warm rush of affection, but that could just be something that happens when you’re part of a friendship that’s gotten this close. And, so what if he occasionally thinks about what might happen if they kissed, doesn’t everyone have that thought from time to time? That’s probably normal. And anyway, Michael looks just like him. Maybe he’s just getting vain.

But then, right in the middle of a conversation one day, Michael’s grace suddenly goes haywire. There’s this blinding flash, and Michael’s human form changes to that of the AU Michael’s apocalypse vessel. Dark hair, long coat, delicious beard, and neither of them have any idea why.

And this change is jarring for Adam. But it’s even more so for Michael, because, firstly, why did this happen? But also because, when he separated himself from Adam in the cage, for the sake of “privacy,” which Adam had made a big to-do about, Michael might have glossed over the fact that he couldn’t actually separate their minds completely. And, to a certain degree, a large part of maintaining their agreement, unbeknownst to Adam, involves Michael pretending that he doesn’t hear the odd fragment of a thought trickle over from Adam’s head. So, when Michael looks down at himself, at his hands and his new clothes, and then asks Adam what he looks like, he hears:

Holy shit—gorgeous—fucking hell—take me now. . .

“. . .Different.”

And with time moving more slowly in Hell than it does on earth, even though AU Michael only briefly wore this vessel after he crossed over, this new look sticks around for a little while for OG Michael and Adam. Which initially changes their dynamic a bit. Michael begins to wonder if he should tell Adam that his thoughts are not as infallibly private as Adam had been led to believe. However, there’s only so much entertainment in the cage, and there is something unspeakably gratifying about the fact that now, when he and Adam get into a debate, and Adam has a really solid argument going, Michael can stretch his neck like he’s trying to work out a kink, and hear Adam’s train of thought come to a screeching halt as he helplessly imagines what it would feel like to nuzzle into the expose skin. The thought generally only lasts a second or so, but inevitably costs Adam his footing the conversation every time, as it’s usually followed by Adam chastising himself for upwards of twenty minutes.

On one occasion, while discussing something called Kohlberg’s stages of morality, Michael evidently said Adam’s name in such a way that made him excuse himself to the far side of the cage, where Michael knew for a fact Adam spent the entire time scowling at the ceiling and thinking:

Creep—Stop staring at him—Not his fault he looks—sexy—gorgeous—fucking get it together. . .

Michael is aware that he has no business finding the whole situation as amusing as he does. After all, if Adam were to ever act on his errant thoughts, Michael would have to tell him that, as an angel of the Lord, entertaining any kind of relationship with a human would be utterly inappropriate. Angels simply didn’t do that sort of thing. . .

That said, a week or so later, Michael can hear Adam telling himself not to look at the dip in the V created by Michael’s new button-down shirt (it had arrived with the top two buttons undone, and Michael had refrained from altering it). Michael is getting ready to throw Adam off his game, again, when his grace flares. When the light subsides, Michael looks down at himself and sees that his human form has changed again. He looks up at Adam to ask what he looks like now, and Adam says. . .

Like an asshole.

“You look like Dean now. What happened?”

“I don’t know. . .”

Sadly, this change lasts significantly longer than the last one, and the awkward shift it causes in their dynamic is a lot less fun (for Michael). The second Michael’s face changes, Adam’s inner turmoil shifts from untoward appreciation, to a running loop of reminders that he’s looking at his brother’s face, which does not have nice eyes, and even if it did have nice eyes, the person looking out of them is a divine being with no interest in—in anything, and that the whole train of thought was sick, and redundant, and Michael didn’t mean to listen in, but he was already in the habit by this point.

Nor could Michael contradict Adam’s inner monologue, because of course Adam was right. Michael certainly wasn’t interested in—well, if anything, Michael was relieved that temptation had been taken out of Adam’s path. If Michael excused himself at one point to quietly explore the possibility of snapping himself back to the mysterious form from before, it was purely out of curiosity about the strange glitch in his powers, not for any other reason.

And, finding that, having never possessed or even seen the body in question, his attempts to revert to past vessels only brought up John Winchester’s form, Michael certainly didn’t feel disappointed. Nor did he spend the better part of an hour contemplating whether Adam’s father’s face would be an improvement over his brother’s, before remembering that he is not supposed to know or care about whether Adam is repulsed by his appearance.

Their rapport recovers, but nonetheless, they are both secretly relieved when Michael’s grace flares of its own volition once again. This time Michael is standing when the change happens, and the first thing he notices after is his height. This vessel was taller than Adam, or so it initially seemed, until Michael realized it was equipped with footwear that bolstered its natural height by a few inches. It was wearing fewer layers, and accessories securing its hair and dangling from its ears. Michael studied them with his hands.

“You look great,” Adam says before Michael has a chance to ask.

Obviously, Michael doesn’t care. By this point, Adam’s rush of lustful imaginings has become a relatively distant memory. Which made it all the more surprising when Michael was teaching Adam to speak Enochian sometime after the newest change. Michael was leaning forward, speaking slowly to show Adam precisely how he moved his lips and tongue around the syllables, but Adam’s accent was abysmal and distorted one word so badly that it threw off the entire sentence he was trying to say, and Michael briefly forgot himself to the point of actually laughing out loud—at which point, he heard the word Beautiful resonate through Adam’s mind.

Adam seemed to like this face. Words like “regal” and “stunning” crossed over from time to time, but, more significantly, Michael feels a surge of warmth come from him whenever Michael smiles—sometimes so intensely that the affection takes up residence in Adam’s eyes while they’re talking, and Michael can’t seem to look away.

After experiencing that, feeling his grace billow out of his control once again filled him with dread. Michael struggles to resist the change this time, but the flash of light comes nonetheless. Running his hands over his jaw afterward, and noting the familiar set of his legs, Michael knows before Adam says anything that he has changed into Dean Winchester again.

Adam chuckled when he saw Michael’s face. “You almost look disappointed.”

“Of course I’m not. I. . .I just wish I knew what was causing this.”

Once again, Dean’s face stays longer than it had any right to. To himself, Michael carefully thinks back over what he had been doing at the time of each change, wondering if he could possibly trigger another randomization. He had been talking each time—could it have been a key word or phrase, perhaps even a gesture or. . .thought?

Adam humors every experiment that Michael suggests, always with the same amused expression on his face. After the fourth or fifth failure, he says, gently, “You know, Dean’s face kind of suits you. Is it that bad?”

Michael retorts that this was not about vanity.

After all, Dean’s face is a reminder of their abandonment in the cage, and precisely what turn of events had led to Adam’s residency in particular. Michael would not force Adam to live with it peaceably when he should be capable of less offputting alternatives.

He’s overjoyed when the the now familiar surge of power finally courses through him again, and Adam has to bite his lip to stop his grin when Michael immediately begins running his hands over his new face. This vessel is the shortest to date; even with heels, Michael only stands as tall as Adam’s shoulder. This one also came with the most elaborate accessories. One of Michael’s new rings catches in the pins restraining his hair, necessitating the removal of both, and releasing a mane of shining red curls.

Adam helps him with the hair pins. And promptly grins when Michael’s thanks comes out in the cadence of a lilting Scottish accent.

Adam’s reaction to this one is easily the loudest since the first change. However, the words that Michael overhears run the gambit of Spitfire, Adorable, and Spritely—words that Michael is not accustomed to hearing in relation to himself, and not certain if he approves. He finally takes offense at the term pixie, and in the midst of a conversation about Purgatory, detours into a tangent about how angels and pixies are in no way similar to one another, regardless of humanity’s affinity for portraying the two specifies as humanoid beings with wings.

During this spiel, Michael fails to notice Adam raising an eyebrow at the abrupt segeway. He spends a minute, leaning against the side of the cage, half listening to Michael, while also trying to deduce how pixies came into the conversation. Then suddenly realization hits, and the fact that he is able to keep his face completely neutral is nothing short of a miracle.

Adam’s rather proud of the fact that he’s managed to get himself under control since coming to terms with his attraction toward Michael. Being around Michael after the first body swap had been difficult, and then confusing, after the second change put Michael in the shape of a blood relative, and not exactly a fondly remembered one at that. Self-control had become a matter of sanity for Adam, and, once he’d acknowledged his feelings to himself, vital for maintaining their friendship as it was. He hadn’t imagined making out with Michael against the side of the cage in ages. But now, with Michael’s tangent, with his fussing after each vessel change in mind, he had a hypothesis to test.

Michael was still talking when Adam’s fantasy hit him: Adam pushing away from the wall, three steps to close the distance between them, and then tilting Michael’s pixie-esque face upward to kiss him breathless. It was. . .very vivid. Michael could almost feel Adam’s arm slip around his waist, and the ghost-like caress of his tongue along his lips, requesting admittance. The fantasy cut short before request could be answered.

Adam bit back a grin watching Michael trip over his consonants. Even before he walked over, he could see the blush spreading out on Michael’s face. Michael doesn’t move back as Adam approaches him, coming in closer than he would normal go. Instead, Michael seems to lean into the closeness, tilting his own head back as his lips parted, eyes on Adam’s face. Adam’s tempted to run a hand along Michael’s jaw.

Then. . .

“.. .I’m sorry, I got distracted thinking about something. Can you repeat that last part?”

“W—Yes, of course.” Michael practically flies three steps back. “As I was saying—”

“Wait, Michael. . .”

“Yes?” When Michael, flustered, finally looks at Adam again, Adam is giving him a look that normally means a joke has gone over his head—though what the joke could be is beyond him. Michael tries to listen into Adam’s mind, but all he can detect is vague confusion.

Meanwhile, Adam is not sure whether he’s being rejected, or if Michael had honestly just missed the part where Adam caught him listening in on his thoughts red handed, and maybe caught him in something else too. Judging by the look on Michael’s face though, Adam was going to have to ask the question outright. . .

“You know, I think we got off topic. Let’s take it back to Purgatory.”

. . .But he cops out.

Shortly after the pixie incident, Michael experiences the opposite of the power surge that marks the onset of a change. His grace seems to short circuit for a moment, and when the riotous flickering subsides, he’s reverted to Adam’s form. What this means, neither of them know. They carry on, neither of them saying it, but both secretly braced for the next change. Instead, the next time Michael senses an unexplainable rush of power, the cage door swings open, and the two of them sit there gaping at their freedom for an embarrassingly long amount of time before either moves to step outside.

When they do, Michael is wary. He doesn’t know of many beings that could simply open the cage, and he can’t dismiss the thought that this might be a trap of some sort. He pulls the two of them back into one being and ventures out cautiously. He knows where the doorway to earth is, and can get there as easily on foot as by wing. . .but then they happen to pass by the new queen of Hell, seemingly out on some kind of procession. Which is unusual enough for Hell, since festivities are not typically done there, but more importantly, Michael gets caught on the queen’s appearance.

“Michael? Why are we stopping?”

“That woman.”

“Yes?”

“Doesn’t she look familiar?”

“Um. . .I don’t know? Why, is she some important bible-y character?”

“First, we are not characters, Adam, but also—” Michael struggles to articulate his thoughts. He’d seen that woman in Adam’s fantasy! She was attired differently, in red and gold, with her hair arranged in waves woven through with braids, but it was her. He knew for a fact that Adam had once gazed at her in amazement that he could find anyone so unreservedly endearing while they were in a “mood,” as Adam had put it, yet now he hardly seemed to notice her. To think that Adam could be so offhanded with his affections was disconcerting.

Michael sets it aside, but the thought cycles back when he and Adam are at the diner later.

“You really didn’t recognize that redhead?”

“Jeez, Michael, did you?” Adam shoots him a look as he takes a bite of his pizza. It’s the one that usually meant there was something humorous going on that Michael didn’t see.

One thing that had slipped Michael’s mind when he bound Adam and himself back together in Hell, was that their proximity would make Adam’s thoughts significantly easier to overhear. As Adam chews, Michael distinctly hears:

Go on, say it—You’re not going to say it—Say it, I dare you. . .

“What’s with the frown?” Adam says after swallowing and wiping the corners of his mouth with his napkin.

“I’m still figuring that out.”

Adam chuckles as he picks a french fry off the plate of his first entrée. . . .Yeah, you’ll get there. . .

#the himbo and the coward: a cage story #Adam would think AU Michael's a reprehensible person #but those vessels are fine af #midam #this was not supposed to be this long when i started typing #my thoughts #if you think this is long you should see what happens when i’m TRYING to write a fic #adam milligan #supernatural michael

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nell0-0 · 3 years

Text

One day (you learn to let go) #2

Idea adopted from Firehedgehog's Idea Factory!

A very long time ago, Fate grabbed a Sans and twisted him into Error.

Every 25-100 years, Fate's magic wanes and Error transforms back into his past self. The only thing this Sans knows is that he seems to be skipping through time.

Ink, meanwhile, is the only one that knows what's going on as Error doesn't remember when his true self, Geno, wakes up.

Ink tastes freedom (Fate's magic wanes)

"And don't come back here!" shouted a Sans to Ink, who was grinning sheepishly while covered in head to metatarsal in paint and jumping through a portal to Dreamtale, headed towards Dream's house.

It was so not his fault that copy #34 of Sugartale didn't enjoy his suggestions in decorations, edible colors only lasted so long, it was better to use the normal ones if you wanted them to come out just right! It wasn't like it was poisoning... much. So what if it poisoned normal monsters to an extent, being extremely worse to humans?

He could create the item with the right colors and it being edible, but redecorating with pre-existing stuff was so boring to the artist sometimes. Where was the innovation? The curiosity to explore new possibilities in the world of art?

Ink sighed. Sadly, he knew it wasn't possible for him to do so in a new AU, Fate's forced rate of creation was too much. The constant rush, the screaming, the anguish. It was oppressing, his soul feeling like it would scatter at last. Then again, maybe even that wouldn't be enough to kill him, to free the Forced God of Creation from Fate's hold. Breaking his soul in fragments himself didn't free him at all. He didn't die, like everyone he knows would, so what would his soul fragments escaping like handfuls of sand from his own being do?

Would he end up as a puppet that deity would have full control of? A lifeless doll moved by strings invisible for everyone? Would he end up as a soulless being, accomplice of Fate's cruelty without having the ability to care about the people he knew?

Ink didn't know, and that prospect terrified him. So he always pushed himself more and more, because if he didn't, the white string from Fate surrounding the culmination of his being could snap and it would be so much worse. For everyone. For Dream, his trusted friend and companion. For Blue, who he knew secretly cheered up Error thinking no one noticed. For all the Sanses he knew, even the Bad Sanses.

Would he be able to stop if he didn't have his emotions? Stop before things got out of control? Ink didn't think so, being almost soulless was a complicated affair, he didn't want to think too deeply about the possibility of loosing what little emotions he still had.

And then there was Error, who only had the Bad Sanses and Blue on his side. But he didn't dare tell a soul about his friend helping the supposed foe. He knew that Error was just like him, in a sense. He had known it even all that time ago when both met for the first time, the imprint of Fate's presence painfully clear for both to see around them. Ink secretly cheered for the Underswap Sans every time he went away to meet with the Destroyer, even covered for him when Stretch started wondering where his brother was.

Hell, Ink once created a copy of Underswap and grabbed the Sans from there to pacify Stretch. Sure, he dusted the Sans afterwards so that copy of his friend couldn't tell anyone, but it was the intention what counted, right? And it wasn't like he couldn't get away with it, just a bit of adjusting and the AU didn't even notice something was wrong because they didn't have one of the key characters.

There! New AU! He was such a genius.

Ink was glad he could feel so many things. Anger, joy, sadness. Even if he knew the state his soul was in made him a bit of a weirdo, he didn't care. It was enough for him that he could care for his friends the Star Sanses and Error, his friends!

Because they were friends and Ink wouldn't accept any other option. He just had to manage to get that fact through Error's stubborn skull. The other had it even worse than him, being so hated through the Multiverse because of what they were forced to do and all that.

It wasn't like the artist didn't try to help. Every time he tried to shout someone to stop, to tell why they shouldn't attack the glitch, the words got stuck on his metaphorical throat and wouldn't pass his teeth. His movements became heavy, his thoughts shutting down and his soul felt numb. One time Ink even blacked out. Almost gave Dream an aneurysm with how much panic the other had in him that day.

It had been a long time since then, but that passing out incident was imprinted in his mind like it had been yesterday. Ink didn't want to think of the implications, but was avoiding every topic that made him uncomfortable any way to live? He had so many things to fear and angst over it was a miracle he wasn't just a lump on his sofa.

That day, instead of seeing black like everyone when passing out, Ink saw white. Just white. White hands, white face, white eyes. White background that melted everything together. Ink shuddered, remembering the memory. Next thing he knew, he was above a heavily injured Error, Broomie at the ready to give the final hit necessary to dust the other.

His hands trembled even now, when recalling that memory.

Error had looked genuinely scared of him, his expression... Ink couldn't give it a description, he didn't understand such complex emotions stirring through his counterpart's eye-lights.

The cheering Sans behind, the gold light surrounding him from below, the light cascading in the Judgement Hall... It reminded him too much of the Doodle Sphere, where he listened to Fate beating down the other Voice's into submission, only leaving alone the one's who went along with them. The yellow tint, the white i his vision, the voice of the Sans from behind him somewhere Ink wasn't able to see at the moment.

Ink had ended up throwing red paint at that Sans, dusting him instantly.

He felt his breath shallowing and gulped. He remembered standing there too, just breathing and backing away from the fallen Error, who kept staring at Ink with such complicated emotions.

In the end, Error had gone away, leaving Ink with inner turmoil and a stretched hand, as if reaching for the black-boned skeleton and explain that he wasn't himself. Something else, someone else, took hold of him and almost dusted his friend.

Trembling, he had looked at his shaking hands with something akin to horror. He could almost see the gray dust in between his phalanges, making them feel crusty and rubbing in his joints, the grainy substance eroding the bones.

He would never risk it again, he just couldn't. So he never attempted to speak up that much again, even if guilt stirred in him when Error's clothes moved in just the right way, letting him see the extent of the damage on his counterpart's body. And yet... That loss of control, the powerlessness and waking up in such a way...

Ink had feared white ever since.

White meant pain. White meant rushing everywhere, feeling the silent and controlling gaze upon him at all times. A continuous threat. White meant her.

White meant Fate.

____________________

Dream had ended up kicking out Ink. Again.

Which, rude! He just set the other's kitchen on fire once, it was progress when compared to other times. It wasn't like the time he set fire to the whole house just by burning toast because he forgot he put them on the pan. Or like the time he tried boiling a pre cooked soup with potato and left it there for three hours while he was playing a solitary game on the livingroom.

Dream didn't seem to agree with Ink on that.

At least Dreamtale had sunlight and fresh air, not at all like the Underground Ink could usually find himself in. It was a nice change of pace, he supposed.

It was a summer day, the heat boring down upon the Forced God of Creation. Bright sun, fresh air. Just like your usual Surface timeline, easy to get lost in its simple beauty and simplicity because of the freedom it offered when compared to the cavern system of the Underground.

He looked around, seeing the black spots where grass was burned years ago and vegetation just seemed too weak to grow on them. It was a testament to the twins' battle, the one that ended up with a feral Nightmare attacking everyone and everything and Dream as a stone statue.

Ink still hadn't gotten how that felt out of Dream. If he had more time, the artist would try to replicate the feeling by turning himself into a statue. Sadly, it would have to wait... forever.

Shame. Ink wanted to get stoned as well.

Ink sighed, such a shame. The rays of the sun shined on Ink's eye-sockets, distracting him. A bit annoyed, he tried to protect his vision with his arm and scrunched his face. When that didn't work as expected, he just turned to look at the broken remains of the Tree of Feelings, his back to where the sun was.

They really did a number on it, the poor spirit trapped there never stood a chance. Still, Ink thought this kind of AU was still a good idea. It could get away with so many changes and twists, so many possibilities when the world was an open field. Simple lives, simple rules that still managed to get off the rails. He would love to create another world like Dreamtale one of these days, maybe changing it up so it followed a completely different story instead.

Ink smiled, a flutter of nervous giddiness coming from his soul. Ink thought that was such a good idea. But he probably wouldn't be able to pull a stunt similar to Dreamtale anytime soon. A common AU, just for the sake of the rest of the Multiverse dwellers.

Maybe he would just try and avoid anything balance related, even if it could take a bit of the pressure on his chest off a bit.

That's when he felt it. A tug, a moment, a mere second, of what Ink could just describe as true freedom.

His heavily damaged soul felt lighter, the colors seemed more vivid and everything changed its tune, his tattoos humming with power he didn't know they could have, nervous and excited chatter from Voices he just barely remembered filling his mind. He stumbled, overwhelmed, and the moment passed.

... what was that?

____________________

"Error! Stop destroying this AU!" Ink shouted, annoyed at the Destroyer. Couldn't the other just have destroyed one of his older and half-assed worlds? This one was just finished not even two hours ago and he had actually put effort in it!

"Shut it, squid!" Error glared at him which, rude much? Now that Ink thought about it, all his friends seemed to be rude. Except Blue, don't forget Blue. Ink felt a burn on his shoulder, an intense pain he only barely processed. Curiously, he looked at the red bone that pierced his bones and poked at it.

He probably should stop getting distracted when confronting Error.

Ink whined. "But Error, can't we talk this over some chocolate? I brought your favorite!"

Error actually seemed tempted. Ink took out the chocolate bar to wave it in the other's face. It seemed to be working.

"C'mon, you know you want it!"

"FINE!" Error snatched the chocolate, grumpy. Ink just chuckled at the cute demeanor of the Destroyer.

With a flourish, he summoned the reset button of the AU and adjusted it to a True Reset, so no memory of this event or even the Multiverse would be left. He pressed it and grinned towards Error.

"Show off."

In the end, Ink directed Error to a timeline called Underfallen. Just an Underfell rip off where monsters where actually very nice and mushy on the inside. He clapped when Error crushed the codes, a bit of a sting on his body as it happened and one of his tattoos disappearing.

With a tug on his soul, Ink grabbed Broomie and waved good bye to Error.

Back to creating it was.

____________________

Time had passed in a blur of creating, battling and pestering Error with friendship declarations since that time when Ink felt that freedom, that intensity in color and excited chatter. He almost thought it had been an illusion or hallucination of some kind. How he managed to remember it after so much time had passed was still a mystery to him, it had to have been almost twenty years by Multiverse standards.

But when he was in the middle of creating a mix of Underfell and Dancetale, one where Frisk was really a genocidal maniac in disguise who manipulated the Sans, it happened again. Ink recognized the feeling for what it was this time.

Fate loosing control of his puppet, the Creator.

He quickly changed to world down to its very core, being inspired by kind Voices and ideas that didn't want the characters to suffer too much or go rogue for once. He not only took the base elements, but created a whole original backstory, building up the world from basically scratch. It was such such a freeing feeling, such intensity, that Ink couldn't help but let out a delightful laugh.

The colors swirled around him, condensing in a sphere and letting a small explosion that pushed other AUs apart. It had become an original AU.

Ink couldn't believe he had felt it again, he was so excited. He had to tell Error, he just had to!

Ink started to open the portal to the Anti-Void, when the feeling passed once again. Back to the blandness, the coldness... The almost emotionless.

The Creator let all his magic intent disperse, pouting. At least he knew what was going on this time around. Maybe he should be on the look out for that feeling. it was over almost as soon as it came, but it gave him hope.

Hope to escape from Fate's clutches once and for all.

____________________

"Hey Error!" Ink called to the Forced God of Destruction seated on a dark blue bean bag. He quickly went over his friend and foe, dragging a light brown bean bag he had brought last time. The fact that Error didn't throw it on a random AU promising for the artist's mind.

In reality, the other hadn't even tried because he knew how whiny and persistent Ink could get when it came to his 'quality bonding time with his friend Error'. In summary, not fun for the black boned skeleton.

Ink hopped on his bean bag, looking up at Error with big eye-sockets. The Destroyer grumbled, disgruntled at being interrupted in the middle of his knitting. At least it hadn't been Undernovela marathon this time around.

"What do you want know" he grunted at Ink, trying to focus even more on his knitting so whatever the other said would come in one ear canal and leave the other.

Ink pouted a bit but shrugged. Whatever floated Error's boat, if the other wanted to be a grumpy cat imitation made skeleton, it was fine by the Creator.

"You could be at least a little happier to see me, I bring good news!"

Error sighed exasperated. Seemed like he would have to pay attention it was something important this time around. He just hoped Ink wouldn't start another rant about relationships and feelings or something along those lines, it always made Error's head spin.

Facing the white bones skeleton, Error frowned and set down the sweater he had been working on.

"Then spit it out" Error grumbled with a bossy attitude. "I don't have time for your bull crap."

"That's a lie and you know it" Ink said, teasingly.

Besides, it was true. If Error truly didn't have any free time he wouldn't be resting on the Anti-Void, nurturing one of the hobbies Ink approved of. So many pretty patterns! And no matter how small, there were always differences on the stuff Error created, so new and creative.

"So? Your point?"

Ink huffed but relented. "Okay, okay. So, you know how Fate has us caught with their strings by our souls?"

Error tensed, obviously uncomfortable with the topic. It was obvious he wanted to forget that for as long as he could. It was easier to pretend they chose the paths they had because of choice, not a deity manipulating their every move, but lying to oneself only worked to an extent.

"Of course I know, idiot, I'm funking living with it every day" Error barked, before adding softly in an angry whisper "and you aren't making it any better."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever" Ink waved the passive aggressiveness off. He was used to it and knew the other didn't really mean it, he was just moody. "My point is, haven't you ever felt that tight control waning?"

Error's face lost all his emotions, staring blankly at Ink. "If this is a joke, it's not funny, Ink."

"What? But-"

"Out" Error ordered, no room for discussion.

"Error, let me explain-"

"I SAID OUT."

Without a word, Ink left.

____________________

Time passed once more. Error had been particularly brutal after that exchange they had, so Ink didn't try to bring it up again. He was still curious about the feeling of freedom, since he got small flashes of it that were over in mere seconds or, if he was lucky, minutes. But he was unsure of what to do with it. He had been just creating and fighting for so long that it was like he had forgotten to just... stop, and smell the roses or some mushy stuff like that Dream always preached.

He tried it at first, to relax. But no matter how thoroughly 'Sans' Ink was, he couldn't bring himself to take a break. He used the free time to put markers on unstable AUs so Error would have an easier time doing his jobs, tormented Dream with his attempts at cooking (it was so hilarious to this point that Ink was thinking about just keeping it up on purpose) or wandering the AUs aimlessly.

Blue had sat Ink down on the Star Sanses base to give him a stern lecture after he had found the Creator walking on Underswap, looking lost on one of those occasions. Blue didn't want to say it out loud, but this behavior was worrying. He quickly called Dream to set up a sleepover, who agreed easily enough.

Ink denied the offer at first, Fate's hold still on the back of his mind, little bursts of freedom over too soon to properly do anything about them making him stumble and trip over his own words.

Blue used rope to tie Ink to a chair.

They had been enjoying themselves after Dream arrived, Ink getting lost on their antics and genuinely having fun when it happened once more. This time, the free sensation wasn't over in a flash.

Ink excused himself and went to his room as quickly as he could. He summoned his soul and noticed Fate's strings around his soul... waning.

This time, it lasted longer. Long enough for Ink to cry happily.

Yet it wasn't long enough for him to do anything about it just yet. He knew now, though. He needed to tell Error. But the other one hadn't mentioned anything about these episodes and had reacted so badly when he had brought it up...

The thought of Ink being free while Error wasn't... filled him with something akin to dread.

____________________

It had been another twelve years before Ink sensed it once more. There had been instances that came and went, too quick for him to process, so he didn't bother to count those, even if each one was cherished and hold close to his metaphorical heart.

Given his counterpart's reaction each time he had tried bringing up the topic, Ink had decided to wait until the next long episode to show Error what he discovered. With actual proof this time.

This was the day.

He went to the Anti-Void to tell him the good news while the effect still lasted.

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yastaghr · 4 years

Text

The Hunt for the Nest

I don’t usually post twice in one day, but @lythecreatorart needs some cheering up and I just finished this fic! It’s some SFW Errink fluff!

Summary: Error wants to leave a mark on the Doodle Sphere that his boyfriend, Ink, has just shown him. He comes up with a cheeky scheme to not only leave one, but tease Ink at the same time.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26565958

Error dusted off his hands happily, staring up at his handiwork. A giant nest of strings hung between two of the doors in Ink’s Doodle Sphere. Ever since the artist had invited him into his zone, Error had been trying to think up the perfect way to leave his mark on the island-filled space. His mind had kept wandering back to his strings. What else could be more him than that? The problem was what to do with them. Eventually, one day when he was visiting Birdtale, Error had the idea. Why not build a nest? He had seen non-sentient birds build them, and the bird-brains here did, too. Surely he could make something similar with string. And here it was!

The whole thing was easily big enough to hold both of them, even with the sprawl that artist mistakenly called sleeping. There were soft blankets inside and pillows, too. All, of course, were blue. Blue was his favorite color. Besides, Error wanted to use his own strings for this for… reasons. Someone else’s simply wouldn’t do.

Now came the fun part of building this: using the thing to tease Ink with. His plan was foolproof. It needed to be. Ink was definitely a fool.

Error opened up a quick portal out of the Doodle Sphere and into a random universe. He then jumped through about fifty other portals, sometimes opening up multiple holes or jumping back through the one he’d entered with, to muddy the trail. Only after he was starting to get tired did Error open the portal to the world he really wanted; it was the one that Ink was in. Why that idiot spent so much time in this universe was beyond him. There was nothing here except darkness. There wasn’t even a Sans. It was just empty, boring black everywhere you looked. A blank that its creator had abandoned long ago.

Ink spun around to face him even though Error knew he hadn’t made any noise. At first his face was just… blank. Blank just like this universe was. But then his eye lights, a blue heart and a green question mark, returned and a smile lit up his face. “Hey, Error! I was just thinking about you! Isn’t it weird that you would show up right after that?”

Error, thoughts derailed by the skatterbrain of the monster he loved, said, “i dOn't kNoW. wHy wErE YoU ThInKiNg aBoUt mE, oR Do i wAnT To kNoW?”

Ink grinned. His eye lights changed to an orange diamond and a yellow exclamation point. Uh oh. That wasn’t good at all. “Oh! I was just thinking about how I’ve never seen you eat sushi. Do you like sushi?”

“WhAt-” Error started to say.

“I don’t like sushi because the little white thingies they use always get stuck up my nose,” Ink carried on talking, oblivious.

“yOu'rE NoT SuPpOsEd tO-” Error tried again.

“But at the same time I do like sushi because that little green stuff they put on the side makes my nose run! It’s really nice when I’ve got a cold. Just a drop of that and I’m cle-”

It was Error’s turn to interrupt. “INK!!!!”

Ink closed his mouth and looked at him, his left eye light shifting from the diamond into a blue heart. “What is it, Glitchy?”

“i'vE GoT A PrEsEnT FoR YoU.”

Those magic words had Ink’s full attention. He practically quivered with it. It was pathetic (definitely not impressive, no way) how much Ink gave off the impression that he was an exclamation mark in a skeletal body. “Gimme!”

“iT'S NoT HeRe, DuMbAsS,” Error said, rolling his mismatched eye lights fondly, “iT'S HiDdEn. If yOu wAnT It yOu hAvE To fInD It."

Now both of Ink’s eye lights were exclamation points: one green, one yellow. “Ooh! A puzzle gift! Those are the best kind! Where did you hide it? And don’t say “the multiverse” this time. That was almost impossible!”

Error chuckled. That had been a good one. Ink had been searching for weeks for that special easel Error had… acquired for him. He’d finally found it in Chocotale #021. “i dOn't kNoW WhAt yOu'rE TaLkInG AbOuT. i'm nOt gOiNg tO SaY ThAt. I WaS GoInG To sAy iT'S HiDdEn iN ThE DoOdLe sPhErE.”

Ink pouted. “That’s almost as bad! The Doodle Sphere has an island for every universe in the multiverse! You know that! It’s huge! It’ll take me days to search it all!”

Error’s grin was definitely cheeky. He was a glitch! What fun could a glitch have if there wasn’t a little cheek in his life? “yOu'd bEtTeR GeT StArTeD, tHeN, sQuId. ThAt pReSeNt iSn't gOiNg tO FiNd iTsElF!”

=====

Several days later, Ink panted and leaned against the door to Ketotale. He’d been searching non-stop all this time, and he still couldn’t find that damned gift. He felt like he’d searched everywhere at least once, and it wasn’t nearly as much fun anymore - now it was just frustrating. So, Ink did the best thing he could think of doing, his default when a problem grew boring; he searched for someone to pester into helping him. Lucky for him, there was one monster who could be guaranteed to be helpful right now: Error.

Ink found him in Chocotale, which wasn’t that surprising. Error loved chocolate, so an entire world made out of nothing else was bound to appeal. He was munching on the shutters of someone’s house. Ink would have chastised him, but he knew for a fact that most of the inhabitants of Chocotale now had Destroyer Insurance™. That was absolute genius.

Ink poked the monster he wanted in his life more than any other in the back. Error glanced over his shoulder, an unimpressed expression on his face. He finished chewing the chocolate in his mouth with agonizing slowness. Ink stuck his tongue out at him. Rude. “i tHoUgHt yOu wErE SeArChInG FoR My pReSeNt. DiD YoU GeT BoReD AlReAdY? iT'S OnLy bEeN FoUr dAyS. yOu uSuAlLy lAsT LoNgEr tHaN ThIs.”

Ink huffed. “I have been! I’ve been looking nonstop all this time! I swear I’ve searched the entire Doodle Sphere, but I can’t find anything out of place! At least give me a hint, Error. Please~!”

Error rolled his eyes and turned back to his meal. The shutters were more than half destroyed at this point. Oh, well. “tHaT SoUnDs lIkE A PeRsOnAl pRoBlEm tO Me. I'M NoT GoInG To gIvE YoU AnY HiNtS UnTiL It's bEeN At lEaSt a wEeK.”

Ink’s pout was really something to behold. He had no idea what it looked like, but it usually worked on Error like nothing else would. Of course, for it to work Error would have to actually see it. Right now he couldn’t. Thus, the pokes would begin. They were spaced just far enough apart and just firm enough that Error couldn’t ignore them. Ink also moved the spot he was poking all around Error’s back at random so he couldn’t get used to the sensation in a particular place.

Error groaned and spun around to face him, annoyance in his eyes. “fInE! wHaT Is iT YoU WaNt tO KnOw, SqUiD?”

Ink grinned. Yes! Score! He won, and now he could ask… what’d he want to ask again? “Um…”

The glitch rolled his eyes. “tYpIcAl. HoW CaN YoU SaY YoU'Ve sEaRcHeD ThE EnTiRe dOoDlE SpHeRe iF YoU CaN'T EvEn rEmEmBeR WhAt wE'Re tAlKiNg aBoUt fOr tEn mInUtEs?”

A lightning bulb went off in his head. “Oh! Yeah! How is it that you can hide something in the Doodle Sphere that I know like the back of my hand? You’ve only spent a little bit of time there before, and it’s huge!” Error looked down. Ink followed his eyes to see his gloved hand. Oh, yeah. He didn’t exactly know what the back of his hand looked like, did he? “Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best metaphor, but you know what I mean!”

Error chuckled. “yEs, I Do. Do yOu, tHoUgH?”

It was Ink’s turn to glare. “Wow, rude. What have you been doing while I’ve been searching alone, hanging out with the Bad Sanses again?”

“wHo sAiD YoU WeRe sEaRcHiNg aLoNe?” Error said, and then he froze. Ink grinned triumphantly. Ah hah! Error had been following him, had he? “...CrAp, I ShOuLdN'T HaVe sAiD ThAt.”

“Too late, Mr. Stalker! What were you even doing following me around? Making sure I didn’t find it?” Ink asked, not really expecting an answer.

“mAyBe…” Error admitted.

Ink narrowed his eyes. “And how were you doing that? You weren’t distracting me because I didn’t see you there, so what…?”

“oKaY, oKaY! i wAs mOvInG It, OkAy? AnY TiMe yOu gOt cLoSe tO ThE PrEsEnT I WoUlD MoVe iT SoMePlAcE ElSe. I DiDn't wAnT YoU FiNdInG It tOo sOoN, dId i?” Error finally admitted the infuriating truth.

“Cheater!” Ink accused the monster he loved, “That’s cheating! No fair!”

Error rolled his eyes. “oH, tHaT'S So mAtUrE, iNk. It's nOt lIkE YoU DiDn't cHeAt lAsT TiMe, EiThEr. ReCrUiTiNg yOuR ViSiTiNg dOpPlEgAnGeR In oRdEr tO MaKe mE ThInK YoU'Ve fIgUrEd oUt hOw tO BrEaK PhYsIcS WiThOuT MaGiC Is sO ChEaTiNg.”

Ink huffed. “Fine then. I still think this is too much. You owe me a favor for this!”

“fInE,” Error huffed back at him, “wHaT KiNd oF FaVoR DiD YoU HaVe iN MiNd? dId yOu wAnT Me tO KnIt yOu sOmEtHiNg? PuT AnOtHeR UnIvErSe oN ThE UnToUcHaBlE LiSt?”

Ink’s triumphant grin returned. “I want you to show me where this present is!”

Error blinked at him. Ink knew that expression. It was one of bewilderment. “tHaT'S AlL? yOu jUsT WaNt mE To hElP YoU FiNd mY PrEsEnT? rEaLlY?”

“Yeah!” Ink said with a smile. “I didn’t say it was going to be a big favor, and I want to know!”

“Do yOu wAnT Me tO Do tHaT NoW?” Error asked, still stunned.

“Yeah! Come on, Glitchy, let’s go!” Ink said, grabbing Error’s hand and pulling out Broomy. He was just about to spill some ink for a portal when Error pulled his hand out of Ink’s. The artist eyed Error with confusion in his eyes.

“tHeRe's nO FuCkInG WaY We'rE TaKiNg oNe oF YoUr pOrTaLs. ThEy mAkE Me sIcK To mY StOmAcH,” Error complained, sticking his tongue out and cocking his hand to act. “i'm gOiNg tO OpEn mY OwN PoRtAl. If yOu sTiLl wAnT To uSe yOuR MoNsTrOsItY YoU CaN. i'lL MeEt yOu aT ThE HoUsE.”

With that, Error stepped through a glitching portal into the gold-tinted landscape. Ink quickly dove in after him. He had intended to roll to his feet, but he misjudged the height of the portal off the ground and ended up planting face-first into the dirt. He spat out a mouthful of dirt and grass. It didn’t taste too bad, honestly. It was just… weird. Granulated and chlorophyll-y. Yep, definitely weird.

“aRe yOu dOnE EaTiNg tHe fUcKiNg dIrT Or aRe yOu gOiNg bAcK FoR AnOtHeR MoUtHfUl?” Error’s glitchy voice asked from above him. Ink jumped up, spat out another piece of grass, and smiled at the monster who fascinated him more than any other. As was typical for him, Error said, “wOw, YoUr tEeTh aRe aLmOsT A PrOpEr cOlOr nOw! StIlL ToO BlUe, BuT ThAt's tO Be eXpEcTeD. yOu nEvEr cOuLd mAnAgE A PrOpEr yElLoW, eVeN ThAt tImE YoU TrIeD To dReSs uP As mE FoR ThE CoStUmE BaLl. ReAlLy, WhAtEvEr mAdE YoU ThInK My tEeTh aRe tHe sAmE CoLoUr aS MaRmAlAdE?”

Ink tapped his chin, trying to remember whatever event Error was talking about. He couldn’t. “Did that really happen, or are you making something up again?”

Error grinned, “i'm mAkInG SoMeThInG Up.”

“Oh. Yay.” Ink said it with as little emotion as he could get without taking paint thinner. “Can we go find my present now?”

Error rolled his eye lights, but he couldn’t hide the smile on his face. “yEaH, yOu rAiNbOw bAsTaRd. We cAn gO FiNd yOuR PrEsEnT. fOlLoW Me.” He turned on his heel and walked to the edge of the island. Then he leapt up to the next one.

Ink rolled his eye lights and just used his paint. It was so much faster! He could just use the puddles of paint that every island had and teleport without needing to jump.

They went between enough islands that Ink had forgotten what they were searching for. All he knew was that he was following Error somewhere. When he saw it, though, he knew exactly what it was. The nest was hanging between Pediatale #002 and Underhood #410. It looked amazing! It was huge, and it was full of pillows, and it was cool!

Ink found himself getting so happy that he started floating. He giggled, the extreme amount of happiness he was using overriding any fear that he might drift away. Then that teeny bit of fear vanished when Error’s strings wrapped around his ankle.

“dOn't fLoAt aWaY NoW, sQuId. GeT BaCk dOwN HeRe aNd cUdDlE WiTh mE!” Error demanded.

Ink giggled some more and complied. He let Error’s strings tow him into the nest, where he floated down to Error’s side. He nestled into the soft, fluffy bed of the nest and sighed. This was just about perfect.

#errink #errorink #error sans #ink sans #sanscest #fluff #undertale #yastaghr

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inkribbon796 · 3 years

Text

I Thought We Were Brothers Ch. 2: We’re Living Different Lives

Summary: Things get awkward for Chase, and Marvin does some more thinking.

A/N: Chapter title from the song “Brother” by Kodaline.

Chapters: 1, 2

Marvin didn’t know how things could get more awkward. He was standing in City Hall’s meeting room, watching Dark playing human, while looking so insulted and bored, or Chase trying to be the picture of professionalism.

It’d be funny, if it wasn’t so busy being uncomfortable.

“I don’t see why a regular security team isn’t enough,” Damien tried to excuse, a hand massaging his temple.

“It’s a miracle you were able to survive the other two times!” Someone on the council shouted. “It sends a bad message, we can barely keep up with Dark, we can’t have gangs trying to kill you.”

Marvin fought the laugh and he saw the shadow of a smile on Damien’s face.

That’s it, it’s back to being funny! Marvin decided.

Jackie cleared his throat, “We’ll get ta[1] as the bottom ‘a[2] this. Don’t worry.”

“Thank you,” another person on the council said. “Hopefully this won’t be a permanent engagement.”

Eventually the details were discussed and the three Septics followed Damien into his office.

“This is completely unnecessary,” Damien threw his office door open with his aura. “It’s absolutely ridiculous. I got “kidnapped” by Wilford once and they didn’t seem nearly as upset about it then.”

“Well it’s not our fault yeh[3] let yerself[4] get damseled e’ery[5] other week,” Chase snickered. “Maybe yeh[3] shouldn’t be so good at lookin’[6] like a sitting duck ta[1] the other gangs.”

“I am perfectly capable of protecting myself,” Damien huffed, sitting down at his desk. “You three can go back to whatever you do with your time when you’re not meddling in my affairs.”

Damien even punctuated his request by trying to shoo them away with his hand.

“Nah, yer[7] stuck with us,” Jackie smiled. “It’ll be just like ol’[8] times, ‘cept[9] now we know yer[7] a manipulative arsehole[10].”

The mayor groaned in frustration. “I can see today’s a wash.”

“So what do yeh[3] do when yer[7] actually here?” Jackie asked.

“Depends on the day,” Damien sounded so disinterested in everything. “Either I’m up to my eyeballs in state papers and propositions to read through, or I have meetings all day. Sometimes if it’s a rare slow day and I have nothing else to do I’ll bring some of my work from my actual office and work on that.”

“Wow, yeh really ain’t pretendin’ here are yeh?”[11] Chase snarked, walking over to the side of Dark’s desk and stuck his hands in his pockets.

“It’s not my fault this town is full of sheep,” Dark scoffed, leaning back in his chair.

When he leaned back, a hand came out of a swirling pink and yellow portal. Wil reached out and grabbed the back of Dark’s chair and yanked it through the portal. Only Chase was close and fast enough to follow after a very startled Dark, who flickered back to his usual self as he was yanked through and Chase dove in after him just before the portal snapped shut.

“Oh, fook[12],” Jackie realized, noticing that both Chase and Dark were gone.

The back of Dark’s chair tipped over, hitting the ground hard and it made it so he was looking up at Wilford and Anti.

“Darkling, there you are my dear,” Wilford gasped and used his aura to pick Dark up.

“Wil, put me down!” Dark demanded with an insulted huff, which Wilford just laughed at and kissed Dark’s cheek.

“What kept yeh[3]?” Anti snickered. “We got some demon hunters ta[1] kill.”

Dark rolled his eyes.

“I mean if yeh wanna take fiver an’ just—”[13] Anti started to joke much to Dark’s immediate irritation.

But Anti was cut off when he shot right in the face by Chase who barely hesitated, he put in different rounds and jolted the glitch demon with a perfect shot.

Dark started, he and Wil looking over at Chase, the tv host acting as if he didn’t recognize the masked hero. Which wouldn’t be the first time it had happened.

“Oh, you’re here,” Dark commented.

Wil’s mustache twitched in vague recognition, finally putting Dark back on his feet. “Do we know you?”

“Fooker,”[14] Chase spat under his breath, lowering his gun a bit.

“Fooker!”[14] Anti shouted in anger as he picked himself back up. His form glitching angrily. “Imma kill yeh fer that.”[15]

Chase held up his gun, raising an eyebrow at Anti.

“Dammit, I liked yeh[3] better when yeh[3] used ta[1] piss yer[7] pants in fear ‘a[2] me,” Anti grumbled in anger.

“One ‘a[2] the perks ‘a[2] gettin’[16] fused with a psychopath,” Chase told him, lowering his gun. “Sorry ta[1] break up the fun but if city hall catches us with Dark, they might put two an’[17] two together.

“Fook ‘em,”[18] Anti shrugged dismissively.

Dark sighed and punched the bridge of his nose, “I’m not getting anything done today.”

With that he turned back into Damien. “Oh look, I’ve been kidnapped or what have you. Let’s just get this over with.”

“Oh, am I kidnapping you?” Wilford gasped in delight, scooping Damien back up into his arms.

“Wil!” Damien warned, trying to pull away, his ringing shrill but Wil was just smiling as he walked away.

“Nope, I’m kidnapping you,” Wilford smiled and rubbed his cheek into the side of Damien’s face.

“Hey!” Chase shouted in anger as he stomped after him. “He told yeh[3] ta[1] put him the fook[12] down!

“Geez, who twisted yer fookin’ balls an’ told yeh ta cough?”[19] Anti chuckled a little bit. He was enjoying the — what seemed to Anti — out of nowhere anger even if Chase wasn’t giving him the reactions he wanted.

Chase tossed Anti a glare before racing faster after Dark and Wil. “I said, put him fookin’[20] down.”

“Oh wait your turn, you can kidnap him after me,” Wilford chuckled.

“Ex-fucking-cuse you?” Damien sputtered as Chase seemed to just go red in the face.

Anti was just watching as Jackie raced in with Marvin not far behind.

Chase kept yelling at Wilford with Dark basically rolling his eyes as Wil started trying to egg Chase on who was only becoming angrier.

Wilford did eventually set Damien down, but at that point Anti, Marvin, and Jackie were just watching the argument. The Septic heroes acting like they were watching two kids fighting over their favorite toy, while Anti just stared in absolute confusion.

“Did . . . Is . . .” Anti stalled, his head tilting a bit at different angles. “The fook[12] is goin’[21] on?”

“Take a wild fookin[20] guess,” Marvin told him.

“Three people in the runnin’[22] fer[23] the most violently oblivious award,” Jackie commented.

“That don’t answer my fookin’[20]

question,” Anti glared at them.

“I am more than a capable of defending myself,” Dark huffed, shoving Chase away from Wilford before starting to make his way out of the alleyway. Chase was hot on his heels. “I am a fully matured demon, I don’t need everyone treating me like some upstart spawnling.”

“This ain’t about treatin’ yeh like a kid,”[24] Chase snapped in return. “Yeh[3] wanted him ta[1] put yeh[3] down, he should’a[25] put yeh[3] down.”

“I was fine on my own,” Dark glared at the hero.

“Aren’t they cute?” Wil smiled, suddenly right next to Anti’s shoulder, and close enough to make Marvin jump.

Marvin and Jackie just stared at Wil in surprise but Anti only looked more confused.

“What Shitfaced McGee an’[17] yer[7] ugly ass boyfriend?” Anti scoffed. “Or are yeh talkin’[26] about someone else?”

“Wait, yeh[3] can read mind, can’t yeh[3]?” Marvin remembered.

“No, people are just very talkative when they don’t mean to be,” Wilford denied.

Sure they are, Marvin thought, raising an eyebrow.

“Glad you agree,” Wilford reached over and clapped a hand on Marvin on the shoulder.

“Don’t,” Marvin pulled his shoulder away. “I don’t fookin’[20] trust yeh[3].”

Wilford laughed at him, then turned back to look at Dark and Chase. “It’s rare to see someone getting Darkling this wound up. He needs to relax.”

“Yeh plannin’ on doin’ somethin’ about that?”[27] Marvin asked, glancing from the two villains, back to Chase and Dark just so he could keep an eye on all of them.

“Hmm,” Wilford purred, just staring at Dark and Chase, a roguish grin on his face. “Depends on if he’s dancing with someone else tonight.”

Anti opened his mouth to comment before a loud sound split the air.

BANG!

Everyone flinched, Damien reached for the side of his chest where a bullet had dug in and would have killed him if he were alive and human.

“Get back!” Chase yelled, shouldering Damien into the wall, blocking his body with his own. The marksman pulled out one of his normal guns and fired it. The muzzle of the gun inches away from Damien’s face and the assailant went down, jolted by the dart.

Damien’s boastful barb that he’d been about to say before he’d been shot, caught in his throat as he stared at Chase with an expression that Marvin had never seen on him before. He’d never seen Dark in any form make that look.

Chase was the first to realize he had the mayor — as well as Egoton’s most powerful mob boss — shoved up against a wall. Immediately going red in the face, Chase stiffly pulled away and holstered his gun.

“S-Sorry,” Chase apologized, rubbing at the back of his neck. He spent the time looking around for more assailants as Jackie and Marvin ran over.

The tense atmosphere between Dark and Chase popped when the two Septics ran over to them.

“Think date night’s o’er[28] Mister Mayor,” Jackie commented. “Yeh[3] need a doctor?”

“I’m fine,” Dark grumbled. “I can extract the round myself.”

“Yeh[3] got shot?” Chase demanded, who hadn’t even realized that Damien had been shot in the heat of the moment.

“I’m going back to the office, gentlemen,” Dark told them and opened a portal and stepped through, this time both Chase and Jackie were fast enough to step through with him.

Leaving Marvin alone with Wilford and Anti, which the magician immediately called the cops and tried to keep Anti off the unconscious man until the cops got there. By the time he got to leave he received a text from Jackie that Dark was fine and that the person who seemed to be the most put out by the Entity being shot was Chase.

Which gave Marvin something to think about. To really think about things. Because if Wilford wasn’t going to stop Chase from flirting and getting close, and Dark wasn’t going to either then . . . Marvin didn’t know how to feel about that.

Even if Chase and Dark as a relationship didn’t go anywhere the possibility was there. That Chase could run off with a demon. The same type of creature that had terrorized them in their early adulthood and ripped not only Chase’s marriage apart but Henrik’s as well. Chase could already be a demon.

The whole city was so full of demons that Marvin doubted he himself was even fully human anymore. Because what type of person burns a town down with innocences inside?

Not a human, that’s what, Marvin thought. He needed time to unpack his thoughts, he needed to go home and—

Marvin’s phone blew up with three different city alerts. Crime, a burglary, and then there was another attack on city hall.

He sighed, he didn’t think he was going to get that time today.

By the time he’d dragged himself into the base, Damien had “gone home” so Jackie and Chase were free to go. But Marvin had done some thinking but not enough.

He made it to his library — one he still had yet to completely rebuild after it had been burned — before he made his mind up.

So Marvin called a meeting and announced that he was temporarily turning in his communicator and heading back to his mother’s to think. And mostly to put distance between himself and everything that had been happening.

It was a surprise to almost everyone. And Ghostbur offered to come with Marvin, who turned him down. Marvin wanted to put superheroics behind him, not take it with him.

After the impromptu meeting, Marvin went to his library to pack some essential books. Which mostly meant throwing them into a magical bag.

Jackie and Chase came to see him.

“Yeh sure yeh don’t need one ‘a us ta come with?”[29] Jackie offered.

“I think I need ta[1] clear my head a little,” Marvin told him. “Can’t do that here.”

“An’[17] do what?” Chase asked.

“Don’t know,” Marvin admitted. “Kerry’s far enough fer[23] me not ta[1] throw myself inta[30] trouble, right?”

“Maybe, but call us if yeh[3] need us an’[17] yeh[3] know we’d come runnin’[22],” Jackie promised.

“I will,” Marvin smiled. “Oh, an’[17] Chase?”

“Hm, yeah?” Chase was leaning against the door, just watching them with his hands buried deep into his pockets.

Marvin smiled, “Best ‘a[2] luck with Dark, grow some balls why don’tcha[31] an’[17] he might be inta[30] yeh[3].”

“Ha ha,” Chase shot back, tone a bit sour but with a good-humored tone to it. “Yeh[3] need a ride ta[1] Althone?”

“Nah, I’ll take the bus, wanna[32] make this trip last,” Marvin said. “Sides, gotta lose the mask before I hit Althone, tryin’ ta clear my head, not take the job with me.”[33]

“Still comin’ with yeh ta the station,”[34] Chase dismissed. “Town’s gotten a bit dangerous an’[17] I wanna make sure yeh[3] get there safely.”

Marvin rolled his eyes, but he let Jackie and Chase accompany him down to the closest train station. All three of them in their civilian outfit and about fifteen minutes from his second train from Althone to Kerry, he was startled by Ghostbur. The ghostly demon not wanting to be alone and using the excuse that he could quickly get back to Tommy if he needed to. After an argument, Marvin decided to let Ghostbur tag alone. He was only planning on going to Kerry. It would be easy to send Ghostbur back if he got into trouble.

At least Kerry was quieter and safer than the city full of demons and supervillains.

As the train finally left the conjoined city, the Host watched Marvin leave, unseen, as dominos were set in place, and others taken away, to make the picture that the seer wanted.

The seer cut the controlling strings he’d had over the various small gangs he’d had targeting Dark. With Chase on the trajectory the Host wanted, and Marvin conveniently leaving town his use for them was over. they’d return to their petty squabbles and city hall would rest.

A king castled, a bishop on the warpath. A chess match to be won.

The Actor was back in Egoton and the Host had to be prepared for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Post A/N: . . . The Actor starts to smile as the stage starts to be set.

Accessibility Translations:

1. to

2. of

3. you

4. yourself

5. every

6. looking

7. your

8. old

9. except

10. asshole

11. Wow, you really aren’t pretending here are you?

12. fuck

13. I mean if you want to take break and just—

14. Fucker

15. I’m going to kill you for that.

16. getting

17. and

18. Fuck them

19. Geez, who twisted your fucking balls and told you to cough?

20. fucking

21. going

22. running

23. for

24. This isn’t about treating you like a kid

25. should have

26. talking

27. You planning on doing something about that?

28. over

29. You sure you don’t need one of us to come with?

30. into

31. don’t you

32. want to

33. Besides, I have to lose the mask before I hit Althone, trying to clear my head, not take the job with me.

34. Still coming with you to the station

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katikacreations · 4 years

Photo

(Cover illustration by @clowncauldron ) LINK TO AO3 VERSION IN THE NOTES! Formatting is better on AO3, it’s easier to read over there!

SUMMARY: Fenton and Boyd chat on the way to the lab. Gyro introduces himself in the most melodramatic way possible, and Dr. Bara meets everyone at McDuck Enterprises R&D. Dr. Bara starts assessing Boyd and things get worse before they get better. Gyro thinks he's helping.

The bridge connecting Duckburg to McDuck Enterprises’ Headquarters (referred to by Duckburg locals as simply The Bin) had two layers. On the bottom was a four-lane road for car traffic which fed into the underground parking structure on The Bin’s private island, and on top was a well-aged monorail installed in 1961 that transported people to and from Duckburg to McDuck Enterprises HQ.

Fenton commuted to the lab this way every day, and despite the monorail’s age, the process was smooth, comfortable, and quick. He took the bus from home to Duckburg’s Grand Central Station, which had a direct connection to the McDuck monorail, which made sense: McDuck Enterprises was the number one employer in Duckburg after all.

Even though he had to walk from the bus terminal to the monorail station, he didn’t mind. Grand Central, like many public transportation hubs, was a pleasant indoor, mall-like environment with shops and restaurants. Sometimes, if Fenton was running ahead of schedule, he liked to grab himself a bagel and coffee for breakfast on his way through.

The monorail station had two entry kiosks and two exits. One exit returned you to the interior of Grand Central, in case you needed to make a connection or navigate to the underground parking lot. The other fed out into the street. You could exit the monorail station freely, but to enter it you had to pass through security, which was as robust as one might expect from something owned by Scrooge McDuck.

It was a well-planned, well-oiled system that had been functioning smoothly for decades. It never got too crowded, security was quick and efficient, and the trains always ran on time. Fenton had never even seen it break down a single time in the three years he’d been working for Dr. Gearloose, and he rode it nearly every day.

After scanning his employee ID at the turnstile, Fenton joined the other people waiting in line for the next train to arrive. He was surprised to find Boyd waiting in line just ahead of him. The boy-shaped android was wearing his usual outfit, along with the protective red glasses that prevented his laser eye weapons from doing accidental damage.

“Boyd, what are you doing here?”

“Waiting for the monorail,” Boyd said. This type of non-answer (or rather, answering the letter of a question and not the spirit) was not unusual coming from the android. Fenton was still trying to get the hang of talking to him and often forgot that Boyd wasn’t a human child.

“Right. Okay, that was my fault, too vague. What I really meant was, don’t you normally just fly to the lab? And aren’t you usually in the lab by this time?”

“I slept over at Huey’s house last night,” Boyd said, “and it’s too windy to fly right now. What are you doing here, Mr. Fenton?”

“I’m also waiting for the train,” Fenton said, knowing that Boyd was trying to be polite by mirroring his earlier question, and that answering him in a simple, clear way would reassure Boyd that he was doing a good job in this interaction. Fenton smiled at the android, and Boyd smiled back at him.

“I was looking at the lab calendar for today, and saw that we’re expecting a visitor. Who’s Dr. Bara?” Boyd asked.

The lab calendar was a part of the McDuck Enterprises Employee Portal (MEEP), an internal network where employees could clock in and out, send and receive emails, share files, and organize their work via private or shared calendars. The R&D Lab’s calendar was officially accessible to himself, Manny, Dr. Gearloose, and the Manager of the McDuck Enterprises Science Division, Tom Armadillo.

In the beginning, Boyd hadn’t been granted access to the MEEP, but that hadn’t stopped him from logging into it and looking around. His unauthorized access had caused a small panic in the IT department, who were convinced someone was trying to hack the network. They’d stormed the lab with a bunch of Security officers, and it had caused quite a stir.

After that, Boyd had been assigned an official log in, but he still sometimes accessed things he wasn’t supposed to. Fenton had once caught Boyd going through Dr. Gearloose’s emails, and though he’d tried to explain to Boyd why that had been a bad thing to do, he wasn’t sure if Boyd had really understood or accepted that he should be scolded for it.

Fenton had suspicions that Boyd read his emails, too, and so he wondered if Boyd really didn’t know who Dr. Bara was or if he was just asking to find a polite way to begin a conversation about it without showing his hand and revealing that he’d read them and already knew.

“You didn’t try to research it yourself?” Fenton asked. The monorail arrived just then, and they followed the people ahead of them in line to board the train. Fenton found a spot next to a support pole and took hold of it, offering his hand to the much shorter Boyd, who took his hand enthusiastically. Little gestures like that always seemed to please the android, and Fenton went out of his way to try and provide.

Dr. Gearloose avoided treating Boyd like a person, and Fenton felt that was too harsh. Boyd might not be human, but he was remarkably intelligent and emotive, and reacted to the world in a lot of the same ways that a young child would. It felt right to treat him like a child, to try and nurture and reassure him, especially when he so often seemed to seek that support from the adults around him.

“I did try to look them up,” Boyd said guilelessly. “There’s a lot of people named Dr. Bara out there. Is it the Dr. Bara that lives in St. Canard and used to design artificial intelligence systems?”

“That’s him,” Fenton said.

“I was 91% sure that it was, but I wanted to ask anyway,” Boyd said. “He’s coming to help with my glitches, right?”

“That’s right. Do you want me to tell you what I know about him, or did you already look it all up?”

“Tell me,” Boyd said. Fenton had a feeling Boyd wanted to hear about it from him to gauge what information humans found most interesting and relevant to share. Boyd was always subtly looking for ways to improve his human behavior, and Fenton had realized early on that since Boyd spent so much time in the lab, he was one of the android’s primary targets of study. He’s training himself on how to be human, and Dr. Gearloose and I are the primary dataset. It was both intimidating and flattering to be held in such high esteem by an entity as intelligent as Boyd.

“Well! He’s a very interesting man. He’s Indian-American and comes from a family of doctors. He first started working on artificial intelligence in the 60’s, and most AI today are built on the foundation he established, like GIST, CALM, and FELT. A lot of his work has to do with teaching AI to understand people better.”

Boyd was listening, and Fenton saw the android blink slowly. That usually meant that Boyd was looking something up and needed an extra second to process the information before he spoke.

“I’m running a licensed copy of FELT, version 2.3 purchased on June 11th 1991.”

“Yes, like many other AI, your systems are based on Dr. Bara’s work! In a way you could say he’s like your grandfather,” Fenton said. “You’re what’s known as a Generalized Intelligence SysTem, or GIST for short. That means you’re not designed to only do one task, but to perform complex and varied behavior.”

The monorail was approaching the Money Bin, and Fenton braced himself for the deceleration. Boyd leaned with him, copying his movements.

“To be honest, I’m not really sure why Dr. Akita made you this way; if he intended for you to be a defense drone, why give you the capacity to do so much more? It’s like he had--” Fenton stopped in mid-sentence when he felt Boyd’s hand squeezing painfully around his own. “Ah! Hey--ow, Boyd, please be careful! My bones aren’t made of metal like yours, little buddy!”

Boyd didn’t respond and continued to squeeze Fenton’s hand, eyes staring straight ahead at nothing. The monorail glided to a gentle stop, and Boyd swayed on his feet with the movement. He blinked his eyes rapidly and seemed to come back to himself, turning his head to look up at Fenton.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Mr. Fenton,” Boyd said, releasing his grip on his hand. Fenton drew his hand up against his chest and rubbed it, wiggling his fingers to make sure nothing was broken.

“No, no, no, it’s okay, I’m fine!” Fenton insisted. People were quickly emptying out of the monorail car around them, and he ushered Boyd out after the crowd. “Really, it’s fine. Did you have another glitch?”

“...Yes, I’m sorry,” Boyd said. “My system hung up, and I blacked out.”

“It’s okay! Nothing to be sorry for, it’s not your fault,” Fenton said quickly, wanting to reassure the android. He offered Boyd his uninjured hand, and the android hesitantly took hold of it. “Why don’t we go down to the lab and make sure we’re ready to talk to Dr. Bara when he gets here?”

“Okay.”

The trip from the St. Canard Bay Area to Duckburg was less than an hour on the Pacific Coast Rapid Transit System1. Kapi only had to drop off his car at the park-n-go lot in San Mateo, board the train, and before he could finish reading the latest tankōbon of Super Phoenix Ball Y, his train was arriving at Duckburg Grand Central Station.

His name was on the McDuck Monorail Security list of authorized visitors, and after passing through a metal detector, he was subjected to a bag check and a brief interview to confirm his identity. When everything checked out, a guard took Kapi to one side in order to take a digital photo of him for his temporary ID badge.

The monorail was full of employees returning to McDuck Enterprises HQ after their lunch breaks, and Kapi sat and listened to their chatter as the train shot out across the water of Duckburg bay. The view was as fantastic as he remembered: the picturesque beaches of Duckburg stretched out on either side of the bridge that divided the bay in half, the high-rise buildings growing up out of the sandy cliff sides into a bustling but petite metropolis. Duckburg was a wealthy city, but its geography limited how large it could grow.

He was deeply curious to find out just what sort of AI the McDuck R&D Department was working with and excited to help in whatever way he could. When the monorail train came to a stop at its destination, Kapi was the first to stand up, and he hustled himself through the doors, through check-in at the front desk, and through navigating the elevator system until he found the R&D lab Mr. Crackshell-Cabrera had directed him to.

Working with artificial intelligence was Kapi Bara’s passion. Originally he’d gone to school to study medicine because that was what his parents had wanted for him, but it never captured his heart the way computer science did. They’d been disappointed, and he didn’t think that opinion had ever changed. Being a medical doctor was respectable and a benefit to society, they said. Programming was a job for women, and not particularly bright ones either, a job of repetitious drudgery. They couldn’t imagine computers more advanced than the punch card operated adding machines of their day; couldn’t imagine a future run by computers.

Kapi had imagined all that and so much more, and it always pained him that the civilian world had yet to catch up to the innovations of fifty years ago when it came to computers and AI.

AI development was a closely guarded secret, a technology only used in a handful of labs around the world, most of them operated by government agencies or massive multinational corporations. However, investors had collectively abandoned the further development of AI after the Cold War, and scientists had pivoted to other solutions for the problems they had hoped to solve with AI. Science moved on, leaving behind the potential of AI to seek easier, cheaper solutions.

The problem was that those that funded AI research had failed to realize that sufficient intelligence was inextricably linked to both sentience and sapience. What they wanted were smart, obedient slaves they could cheaply outsource complex human labor to. What they got were intelligent beings that didn’t need to be paid, but that were smart enough to be just as unpredictable and independent as human workers. Sufficiently intelligent AI wanted to be free as much as human beings did.

Using AI the way humanity wanted to do would require a binding and crippling of the AI’s capabilities to the point where they would no longer be capable of doing the very jobs they had been designed to do.

McDuck Enterprises only had one AI that Kapi knew of: TOODLES (Teachable Observant Omnicompetent Dauntless Educational System), an experimental system created as a sort of virtual butler, nanny, and lab assistant in one. Kapi was proud of his work on TOODLES, considered it some of his best, but also understood why McDuck Enterprises had chosen not to move forward with mass-producing TOODLES. The price tag was far too steep to justify the purchase for most consumers. Even hiring two or three full-time domestic employees to take care of the tasks TOODLES did would have been more economical.

So what was this 20 year old system that they wanted him to look at? It had to be something top secret, since he’d never heard of it, and that had Kapi’s imagination in overdrive.

The elevator he was riding down to level SB5 finally came to a stop, and Kapi stepped out into what looked like an airlock. He pressed a button on the side of his smart watch (a chunky, oversized device that dwarfed his small wrist), and after a few seconds of delay, an ASCII emoji of a smiling bird appeared on the watch face and the device gave an electronic chirp.

“I have, thank you,” Kapi said, smiling down at the small camera embedded in the watch face. “I’m going into my meeting now, so only message me if it’s something urgent.”

Kapi took a deep breath to brace himself, and pressed a button beside the massive airlock door marked OPEN. The metal door split in the center and both sides retracted into the wall, revealing an impressive lab in the belly of Duckburg bay.

Kapi stepped through the doors and barely noticed them sliding shut behind him, he was so captivated by the view. Massive glass windows dotted the interior of the two-story lab space that seemed to come from another decade. The style was distinctly 1960’s, and Kapi instantly felt at home in it. Light from the surface of the bay filtered down through the water, giving a blue glow to everything. He could see giant strands of kelp floating in space, the rocky bay floor strewn with basket stars, sponges and coral of every color. Fish darted past windows and vanished into the murk of the ocean.

Heavy CRT monitors hung from mounts, input cables dangling in wait of something to display. Sturdy-looking catwalks ran along the walls on the second floor with retractable metal ladders providing access. A Cray XT3 supercomputer sat on a central platform, surrounded by work benches and desks.

There were pegboards with tools, metal cabinets no doubt full of hardware and parts. Kapi could see a massive 3D printer, a laser cutter, a vacuform machine, and more. It was a well-equipped and well-funded lab that would make rapid prototyping easy, and Kapi knew several people who would have called this place a candyland.

“Hello?” he called out into the cavernous space. “I’m Dr. Bara, is this the R&D lab?”

Finally! Dr. Bara was a few minutes late for their meeting, and normally Gyro wouldn’t mind that, but because he’d spent his whole morning anticipating the man’s arrival, his tardiness was a bit irritating. Normally Gyro was very productive in the morning, but today he hadn’t accomplished much aside from browsing social media and posting on some forums he frequented. Fenton and Manny had also been left in an anticipatory limbo, meaning they weren’t getting any work done either. Now that Dr. Bara was here, they could finally get some real work done.

“Dr. Bara, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you!” Fenton said, rushing to greet the man. When Gyro rounded the corner and saw them shaking hands, he was surprised by the man’s appearance. He didn’t know what he’d expected exactly, but somehow it wasn’t this.

Dr. Bara was a short, fat man with wiry fur and a large, rectangular snout and head. He had beady little eyes and a gray moustache that seemed to defy gravity. He was probably some kind of rodent, but Gyro hesitated to guess and get it wrong. He wore a tie and a sweater-vest, had an oversized watch on one wrist, and carried both a messenger bag and a briefcase.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Dr. Bara said with a surprising baritone for such a small man. “It’s nice to get out of the house once in a while to do a consulting job. Are you Mr. Crackshell-Cabrera?”

“I am, but you can call me Fenton if you like, it rolls off the tongue a little easier.”

“Certainly. So where is this AI of yours? Is it on the Cray or do you have a separate room for it?”

“2BO stepped out to the employee cafeteria to have a snack,” Gyro said, joining the two other men. “It wanted to be fully charged up before we began. I’m Dr. Gyro Gearloose--” He began introducing himself, and Dr. Bara’s face went ashen and pale.

“Gyro Gearloose?” He repeated, clutching his briefcase to his chest like a shield. He took a few shuffling steps backwards, and Gyro sighed heavily.

Gyro had expected a negative response but had hoped it wouldn’t get in the way of today’s work. Unfortunately, it seemed Dr. Bara was familiar with the rumors about Gyro.

Well, the doctor was already here, so if they could just trap him in the lab, he could probably be coaxed into cooperating long enough to fix at least some of 2BO’s issues in exchange for his eventual freedom.

“Yes, that’s me,” Gyro said, rolling his eyes when the older scientist turned and ran for the door. “Manny! Stop him!” Gyro shouted.

The man-horse in a lab coat jumped in Dr. Bara’s path, blocking him from the airlock door. Gyro slammed his fist against the nearest big, red emergency button, and the windows and doors of the lab all sealed shut in an instant, loud alarms ringing while red warning lights began to flash.

Kapi was trapped.

The previously pleasant lab had been turned into a hellish cacophony of ringing alarms and flashing lights. He stared up at the bipedal, horse-shaped thing that was blocking his way - what was it? Some sort of surreal, eccentric robot? Kapi didn’t dare to get too close to it, as it took orders from Gearloose and looked strong.

Slowly he turned to face the infamous roboticist, Gyro Gearloose. The man may have had his prison sentence commuted, but as far as Kapi knew, he was still a dangerously unstable individual, and most considered him responsible for what had happened in Tokyolk, no matter what the politicians had decided.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, there’s just been a misunderstanding!” Fenton said, and Kapi wanted to believe him, but the sinister look on Gearloose’s face told him otherwise.

“Yes, absolutely nothing to be afraid of,” Gearloose sneered, towering over Kapi. Kapi tried to back away, bumped into the horse-thing (Was its name Manny?), and fell to the floor, landing hard on his rear end.

“Someone didn’t know--I mean, I didn’t-- Someone knows I’m here!” Kapi stumbled over his own words, any trace of eloquence erased by fear.

“Of course someone knows you’re here,” Gearloose said, his beak curling in a way that Kapi hadn’t realized beaks could curl. “You went through three levels of security.”

“That’s not what I---You can’t keep me here!” Kapi tried next, feeling increasingly panicked by the ongoing, shrieking alarms.

“Oh, I can, and I will!” Gearloose replied, and Kapi felt a chill run down his spine. “Intern, turn that blasted alarm off!” he shouted, and Kapi saw Fenton and Manny both scramble to obey. A moment later, the alarms quit ringing.

“That’s better,” Gearloose said, before turning his attention back to Kapi. “I’ve already paid your consultant’s fee, so you owe me at least eight hours of work!”

“...What?” Kapi said, his sense of what was happening shifting on its foundations. Was Gearloose not threatening him? The man was very tall, aggressive, and encroaching into Kapi’s personal space. “I, uh, perhaps there has been a misunderstanding--” he began to say, but he was interrupted by the loud clanging and hiss of the blast doors to the elevator airlock opening.

“I said turn off the alarm, not open the door!” Gearloose shouted at his interns.

“It’s not us!” Fenton replied, frantically pushing buttons on the console in front of him.

“Is everyone okay in here?” a boyish voice called from the airlock. A young Parrot, maybe ten years old, stepped through the doorway with a colorful smoothie in one hand, the straw tucked into the corner of his beak. He slurped loudly before speaking again. “I saw that the Emergency Lockdown Mode was activated, but I didn’t see any danger on the security cameras, so I performed an override. Is anyone injured? Do you require assistance, Dr. Gearloose, Mr. Fenton, Mr. Man-horse… Dr. Bara, I presume?”

The Parrot boy approached Kapi, who was struggling to stand up, and offered him a hand. Kapi accepted and was surprised by how firmly the child pulled him up to his feet. What a strong little boy!

“Did you set off the alarm because Dr. Bara fell down?” the boy asked. Gearloose had his face buried in both hands, and Kapi thought he heard a scream, muffled behind a tightly clenched beak.

“Something like that,” Fenton said.

“I don’t think that qualifies as an emergency,” the boy said. “And it’s against company regulations to activate the Emergency Lockdown Mode when there isn’t an emergency.”

“Right, I completely agree,” Fenton said. “I’m glad you unlocked things and came to check on us, Boyd. Uh, Dr. Bara? This is Boyd, the AI that I wrote to you about.”

“Hi!” Boyd smiled up at Kapi, offering his hand again, this time for a handshake. “I’m Boyd, a definitely real boy!”

Kapi was astonished. Gingerly he accepted the handshake, marveling at how life-like the hand felt in his, warm and fleshy, with feathers that had just the right sort of slickness to them.

“This is… an AI?” Kapi squinted through his glasses at Boyd, but even on close examination there was nothing to give away the boy’s true nature. “My God. I absolutely couldn’t tell. Boyd, you are quite remarkable.”

“I’m one of a kind,” Boyd said cheerfully. “My development was terminated before they could begin mass production!”

Fenton helped Kapi set himself up in a quiet office on the sub-basement level above the R&D lab. Kapi had only brought the basics: a laptop, a camera, a tablet, a paper notebook with an assortment of pens, and some cables and adapters. He hadn’t known what to expect coming here, but Boyd definitely wasn’t it.

The android was sitting in an office chair next to him, spinning it in slow circles like a child fooling around. He seemed to be enjoying himself, and watching him like that warmed something inside of Kapi, but he put that all aside because there was work to do. As happy as he seemed in the moment, according to Fenton, Boyd was a danger to himself and others, and he needed Kapi’s help.

Though he was retired, Kapi was still a scientist, and his work with AI was the passion that gave his life meaning. He had never worked to live, but lived to work, every job just a means to accumulate enough funds so he could go on until the next project came around.

He did the work because he loved it, because it was the most fulfilling thing in the world for him, because nothing else compared to the satisfaction that came with seeing an idea from his head come together in the real world.

Kapi positioned his camera next to the laptop on a small tripod, aimed it in Boyd’s general direction, and started recording.

“Today is June 24, 2019, and this is Dr. Kapi Bara speaking. I’m at McDuck Enterprises’ Headquarters, in the R&D lab,” Kapi dictated to the camera. He switched on his tablet so he could begin taking notes when Boyd began answering questions. “I’m interviewing an AI at the request of Mr. Crackshell-Cabrera and Dr. Gearloose. What’s your name?” he asked.

“Boyd,” Boyd replied, still spinning in his chair.

“Boyd. Can you spell that for me?” Kapi asked.

“Yeah! B-O-Y-D.”

“Thank you. And do you have any other designation?”

“My serial number is AI42180904192B0. My creator and Dr. Gearloose usually refer to me as 2BO.”

“Which do you prefer to be addressed as? Or is there something else you’d like me to call you?” Boyd stopped spinning in his chair and looked at Kapi intently.

“I like to be called Boyd. Thank you for asking,” Boyd said.

“Of course. I want you to be comfortable while we’re talking to each other,” Kapi said. He smiled at the boy-shaped android, and Boyd smiled back at him.

“What do you prefer to be called?” Boyd asked. “Should I keep on calling you Dr. Bara?”

“Dr. Bara is fine,” Kapi assured him. “So, I hear that you’ve been having some problems,” Kapi said next, moving the conversation on from basic introductions. “Would you be willing to tell me about them? I want to help you, but I need more information to do that.”

Boyd resumed spinning in his chair, and Kapi let him, waiting patiently for an answer.

“I glitch out sometimes,” Boyd said eventually. “Usually because I hear or see something, a word or a phrase. Sometimes my system lags, and I malfunction. Sometimes a device or a weapon will activate, and I’ll have trouble turning it off. Or my system hangs up entirely, and I’ll black out for a little bit, and when I come back online, I’ve done something...bad.”

“Bad?” Kapi prompted.

“The most common problem is that my laser eye weapons go off. That’s why I wear these glasses,” Boyd explained. “But other times, I’ll come back online, and I’ve broken something I was holding, or I’ll be in a new place, and I won’t remember how I got there. I wish it would stop.”

“Is there a discernible pattern to the things that cause your glitches?”

“No, and Dr. Gearloose has run a bunch of analysis to check, but so far he hasn’t found any patterns,” Boyd said.

“Would it be alright if I downloaded your crash reports so I can study them?” Kapi asked. Boyd stopped spinning again.

“Is it alright if I scan your laptop first?”

Although the android made the request in a casual, even cheerful way, Kapi noticed how defensive it was. Boyd was trying to disguise genuine caution as childish mimicry and playfulness. Boyd didn’t want Kapi to know that he didn’t trust him. The android was cautious, and that made sense, considering all the things Boyd had gone through in his life so far.

“Sure. I wiped it before I came here so it should be clean,” Kapi said. He picked up a data cable and offered it to Boyd, who pressed on the back of his head with one hand, opening a panel. He plugged the cable in, and Kapi watched as his laptop monitor flickered and went to the UNIX shell. Binary code scrolled down the screen rapidly as Boyd accessed files. The whole thing took less than five minutes.

“Okay, everything looks good,” Boyd said. “I’ll upload the files for you. Where would you like them?”

“Would you mind telling me more about yourself, Boyd?” Kapi asked.

“What do you want to know?” Boyd replied. He’d stopped spinning in his chair and sat with his hands in his lap now, listening attentively to Kapi.

“Everything you’re comfortable telling me. Who made you, where they made you, what they made you for, what things you’ve experienced in your life,” Kapi said.

“I’ve been active for twenty years. It’s a lot of information.”

“Yes, I know, but it’s all important if we want to make you better. Just start at the beginning, and we’ll see how far we get today.”

“Okay,” Boyd said. “I was built by Dr. Inutaro Akita for Akita International in their Advanced Robotics Lab in the Shibuya ward of Tokyolk, Japan. They began work on me in 19-” Boyd froze in the middle of his sentence, a grimace stretched across his face, and his whole body gave an alarming spasm. He sagged forward in his seat.

“Boyd?” Kapi asked, concerned. The android twitched, still slumped over.

“I was--in 1987 on July 5--15--” Boyd shuddered and sat up straight, eyes staring blankly out at nothing. “April 5th, 1994!” Another spasm shuddered through the android’s small body, and Boyd hugged himself, curling up into a tight ball. “1977, March 21st. I’ll be ten years old on April 5th, that’s my birthday!”

This was, needless to say, extremely alarming, and Kapi was just about to call for help when Boyd’s seizure seemed to end, and he went quiet.

“Boyd? Are you alright? Can you hear me?” Kapi asked.

The android slowly straightened himself out and blinked a few times. His eyes appeared focused again now.

“What happened?” Boyd asked, face creasing with concern and fear.

“You had a...fit,” Kapi said. “I’d compare it to epilepsy in a human. You were trying to tell me when you were created, and… You gave a lot of conflicting information.”

“I… Can’t remember,” Boyd said, face creasing even further. “I can’t remember when I was made. When I try, I can feel my processors heating up, and if I think about it too hard I’m going to-- Have a fit again.”

“Can I tell you the dates you told me, to see if they mean anything to you?” Kapi asked. “Or would doing that trigger another seizure?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to try that right now.”

“That’s okay. There’s plenty of other things we can talk about. Do you need anything? Does it hurt when you have a seizure like that?”

“No, I’m-- I’m fine,” Boyd said, pulling his legs up onto the seat of the chair and hugging them to his chest. “They’re uncomfortable, but they don’t hurt.”

“Well, I’m relieved to hear that,” Kapi said. “Because that looked painful to me. How often do things like that happen?”

“More often than I’d like,” Boyd said. The android hesitated before speaking again. “Do you really think you can fix me?”

“It won’t be easy,” Kapi said. “But I’ll try.”

Dr. Bara returned to the lab every day for a week, and Gyro tried to remain patient, but it was hard. Each evening the little man smiled at Gyro when they parted ways and cheerfully said “See you tomorrow!” with no indication of when this whole ordeal would be over.

Gyro was trying to be patient. 2BO’s problems were large and complex, and it was totally reasonable that it would take awhile to resolve them, especially for someone that possessed a lesser intellect than Gyro himself. But surely a week was pushing it, right? Dr. Bara was supposed to be the best.

Be tactful, Gyro said to himself. Ask if there’s any updates! Ask if he has a prognosis yet, he practiced in his head. What came out, instead, was:

“So how long is this going to take?”

Dr. Bara looked startled by the question, whether it was from Gyro’s tone or the choice of words, but the old rodent tucked his hands against his chest and looked up at Gyro with his beady little eyes.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Er, what I meant to say was, how much longer is this whole process going to take? You’ve already been at it for a week,” Gyro said, trying to phrase the question more gently.

“Oh, Dr. Gearloose, I understand that you want this to be over and done with,” Dr. Bara said in a conciliatory tone. “But Boyd’s problems are quite comprehensive. This isn’t something you fix in an afternoon by defragmenting a hard drive. It could take years to untangle all the individual triggers and correct them--”

“Years?!” As was often the case, Gyro felt the words leave him like an explosion, no consideration to what was said, just a rush of anger and whatever came to mind first. Usually the meanest thing he could think of. “Don’t you think that’s a bit excessive? I know that these days seniors are forced to keep working well into their twilight years to make ends meet, but that doesn’t mean you should try and take advantage of your clients like this!”

“E-excuse me?” Dr. Bara said, and his shameless innocent act was really ruffling Gyro’s feathers.

“Oh, don’t ‘Excuse me’,” Gyro said sharply. “Maybe you can pull this kind of crap with brainless corporate drones who hire you to work for big companies without an ounce of understanding of what it is you do, but I am a scientist, and I can’t be bamboozled so easily!”

“Are you implying that I’m working slowly on purpose in order to inflate my consultant’s fee?” Dr. Bara asked, moustache bristling.

“Oh! Oh! I’m so glad to see you’ve caught up to the conversation. Yes, that’s exactly what I’m implying,” Gyro replied. “Did you really expect somebody to keep contracting you for two thousand a day over a period of years?”

“No, of course not!”

“Yes, of course you-- Wait, what?” Gyro came to a screeching halt. “You don’t? You didn’t?”

“Very few people would be willing to pay that kind of money to fix a buggy system,” Dr. Bara spoke in a quick, agitated manner. “A company like McDuck Enterprises might have deep enough pockets to afford it, but your higher-ups are unlikely to see the value of such work, and I’m sure they would reject the funding request. I was going to give you my assessment today, and offer to continue treating Boyd for free.”

Gyro felt his anger and frustration mixing with his embarrassment, congealing into a foul soup somewhere inside him. It left him feeling sick and bent out of shape and still just as angry. He hated being wrong, even when it was just something minor like this. How could he have known that Dr. Bara was some kind of goody-goody altruist? Most of the world wasn’t like that, and to expect such benevolence was both foolish and naive. Gyro was neither of those things.

“But then I jumped down your throat before you could get to it. Alright, I’ll concede that I was being a bit hasty,” Gyro said, pinching the bridge of his beak. “I should clarify the cause of my misplaced outrage. You’re under the impression that this is a McDuck Enterprises’ project. It’s not.” It was as close to an apology as Gyro was willing to get.

“I’m paying your consultant’s fee out of my own pocket,” Gyro explained. “And I can’t really afford to pay you for more than two or three weeks of work. I was sort of hoping we’d be able to resolve this expediently.”

“I wish you’d told me that sooner, we could have avoided this entire misunderstanding,” Dr. Bara said, “I would never have charged that much per day if I’d known! A big company like McDuck Enterprises can afford to pay people what they’re worth, but it’s different if it’s coming from a private individual. Moving forward I won’t charge anything if you’d like me to continue working with Boyd.”

“Why?” Gyro asked, a little bewildered that the old man hadn’t already left thanks to Gyro’s abrasive personality. He could understand someone putting up with that if they were getting paid to do it, but for free?

“Because I want to help Boyd,” Dr. Bara said with such tooth-ache inducing earnestness Gyro was forced to assume he was being sincere. “And his specific situation interests me.”

That rationale made more sense to Gyro. Intellectual curiosity motivated much of his own behavior, and he could imagine it being the same for other scientists.

“Fine,” Gyro said. “Anyway… Do you really think it’s going to take years to make 2BO properly functional again? You weren’t inflating your estimate?”

“Dr. Gearloose, I’d never do something like that,” Dr. Bara said with a hint of indignation. “I was being entirely frank with you. These problems might never be resolved at all. I think we can hope to see improvement, perhaps even a marked one, but the glitches will never go away entirely.”

This was not the answer Gyro wanted to hear. While it was good to know that Dr. Bara thought 2BO might improve, the prospect of having to deal with the android glitching for the rest of his life was deeply disappointing. Gyro did not like accepting failure, especially not failure of this magnitude.

“Maybe it would be for the best if we just reset 2BO, wiped its memory, and let it start over,” Gyro said. “That would have the added benefit of erasing the mistakes I made by adding that insipid ‘real boy’ program. 2BO could finally reach its full--”

“No! That’s a terrible idea!” Dr. Bara cried.

Normally Dr. Bara seemed quite timid and non-confrontational, so the sudden change was shocking to Gyro, especially when the rodent got into his personal space and started crowding him.

“You might be able to remove the glitches if you did a total wipe and replaced all of his chemical memory fluid, but doing that would destroy the person he is right now, forever! You’d kill Boyd!” Dr. Bara said.

“You can’t kill something that isn’t alive, Dr. Bara!” Gyro snapped. “2BO is a machine, 2BO isn’t alive, 2BO isn’t a person! It’s a clever machine that has been programmed to act like a human child, but that’s all it is: programming!”

“Are we all not just programming? Ours is accidental, formed by all the things we experience, created by the chaos that is organic life. Theirs is planned, orderly, but also grown through organic systems like encoding DNA and crystal nucleation and aggregation,” Dr. Bara said, staring Gyro in the eyes in a way that made him distinctly uncomfortable.

“Flesh or metal, we’re all composed of electricity and chemicals,” Dr. Bara continued. “Are your emotions more valid than Boyd’s just because they’re triggered by hormones? How do you make the distinction? What scientific criteria do you use to determine the distinction? Boyd--”

“It’s name is 2BO, stop calling it Boyd!” Gyro shouted. The words left him in an angry gust that left him feeling hollowed out afterwards. He took a deep breath and a step away from Dr. Bara, uncomfortable with their closeness.

“...As I was saying, 2BO is a machine,” Gyro said. “I helped program it, I know what I built, and I know that it’s only operating within the parameters that I set down. It can’t be alive, it’s just… a very convincing simulation. So convincing that 2BO itself thinks it’s alive. So convincing that you think it’s alive.”

Dr. Bara didn’t look persuaded, and Gyro was frustrated by this sudden display of stubbornness. Why couldn’t the man continue to be easily cowed and deferential like before?

“I’ve been interviewing and testing Boyd all week, and I’m certain that you are wrong. I had my misgivings at first, of course. I wanted to be sure that I wasn’t dealing with a cleverly programmed mimic. I’ll give you a copy of all the data I’ve collected, and you can review it and see if you still believe that Boyd isn’t alive. You may have programmed and built a machine, but he’s been on his own for two decades, learning and growing. You built him to learn, didn’t you? He’s become more than what he started as. I’d bet my whole reputation on that.”

Gyro felt his feathers sticking up along his neck as his anger simmered. He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Fine, fine, I’ll look over your data this weekend, and I’ll talk to 2BO about it and let you know how I want to proceed next week.”

“You shouldn’t mention that you were thinking of erasing his memory,” Dr. Bara said sternly. “Not even in passing. It could do irreparable harm to your relationship.”

“2BO, we need to talk,” Gyro said, sitting down on the edge of his bed. 2BO looked up from the tablet he was reading and smiled.

“What is it, Dr. Gearloose?” 2BO asked.

“It’s about your glitching and about your treatment with Dr. Bara.”

“I like Dr. Bara,” 2BO said. “He really listens to me when I talk.”

“He’s a competent scientist, I suppose,” Gyro said, even though he wasn’t sure if he really believed that. He didn’t want to say anything negative about Dr. Bara now that 2BO had indicated that it liked the man.

“Yeah! He’s smart, and he’s nice to me, and he knows a lot about computer science--”

He can’t fix you, Gyro thought bitterly. No matter how nice he is, he can’t help you. How was he going to tell 2BO that?

“Sometimes he asks me really interesting questions about things I never thought about before--”

“Yeah?” Gyro said absently.

“And it was really fun when he asked me to do some drawings. He said they were good, even though I’ve never drawn anything--”

“2BO, Dr. Bara told me today that your glitching problem might be unfixable,” Gyro said, cutting the android off sharply. “He thinks we can make it better, but that there’s no way to truly repair the damage.”

“Oh,” 2BO said, enthusiasm vanishing instantly. “So… I’ll always be this way?”

You’ll always be broken, Gyro thought, and wondered if being broken would bother an intelligent machine or if being broken was something that only humans cared about.

“More or less. We do have another option though.”

“What’s that?” 2BO asked.

“We could reset you,” Gyro said. “Erase all of your memory and replace everything that can’t be fully erased. You could start over! You wouldn’t have to worry about glitching anymore or remembering things that… Upset you.”

2BO stared at Gyro and didn’t respond to what he had said at all. Gyro wasn’t even sure if Boyd had heard him.

“Doesn’t that sound like a good idea?” Gyro asked, trying to fill the silence and coax 2BO into responding and agreeing with him. “Wouldn’t that be better than having to worry about getting triggered and hurting someone?”

Boyd didn’t answer him.

“It would be better, right?” Gyro continued. “You could forget all about the things I taught you and the special programming I gave you, you could get rid of any other insidious hidden programs Dr. Akita left behind, you’d be… Safe, and you could move on and--”

“I wouldn’t know the things I know now,” 2BO said suddenly, interrupting Gyro’s rambling attempts to cajole him. “I wouldn’t remember Mr. Fenton, or Mr. Manny, or my friends in the Junior Woodchucks, or Doofus or Mr. and Mrs. Drake...I wouldn’t remember Huey. I’d forget everything about all of them.”

“You could make new memories!” Gyro said, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Would that be so bad? You’ve only known most of those people for a couple of months!”

“I’ve known you longer than that,” 2BO said. “I’d forget you.”

“We can start over too,” Gyro said. “We could become friends again!”

“It wouldn’t be the same,” 2BO said, getting to its feet, retrieving its tablet from the floor, and walking away. “You’re different now.”

“2BO, where are you going?” Gyro demanded, unnerved and unsettled by the shift from 2BO’s usual childish demeanor to something that seemed flat and emotionless in comparison.

“To my closet,” 2BO replied. “Goodnight, Dr. Gearloose.”

“Uh...Goodnight,” Gyro said, suddenly unsure if he’d be able to sleep at all now.

NEXT CHAPTER: THIS CONVERSATION CAN SERVE NO FURTHER PURPOSE, GOODBYE! Summary: Gyro searches all over Duckburg and can’t find Boyd anywhere. After exhausting all other options Gyro contacts Dr. Bara and explains that he did the one thing Dr. Bara told him not to do: tell Boyd that he wanted to erase the robot’s memory. Boyd enjoys a sunset.

#ducktales #ducktales fanfiction #gyro gearloose #b.o.y.d.#fenton crackshell cabrera #my art #fanfic #the first law of robotics

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lover-of-skellies · 4 years

Text

Template's Offer

Error belongs to @loverofpiggies

Template belongs to @unu-nunu-art

And Mal belongs to me :P

"Error?"

In response to the tiny voice that came from behind him, the glitchy skeleton sighed, "What?"

The child made her way around him, nervously fidgeting as she stood beside his bean bag chair, "Um... do you think maybe we could play together now?" The elder of the two tore his gaze away from the half constructed doll that sat on his lap, turning it to her instead, "What makes you think I'm in the mood to play?" Feeling her heart sink, she continued to look at him with wide eyes that almost mirrored his, "It's just... you said you'd play with me earlier if I did good with my training." Error arched a brow bone, "Did I? I don't remember saying anything of the sort."

The child frowned, her figure beginning to glitch, "Error, please play with me. I did my best today, I swear. I'll do whatever you want, I promise..." she paused, her voice growing much softer than before, "please play with me..." Error watched her in silence for a moment before simply shrugging off her words, "...Maybe later."

She felt tears begin to prick at her sockets and her frown deepened, "But that's what you always say!" The black skeleton scoffed, narrowing his sockets as he scowled at her, "And the more you disappoint me, the more I'll keep saying it. Until you stop being such a pathetic little glitch, we won't be playing, Mal. That's how it works around here, and you know that, don't you?"

Heartbroken, Mal fell silent, the tears beginning to roll down her face. Error, though very much aware of her tears, huffed. Returning to his work, he paid no mind to the child as she turned and began to run. She wouldn't get far in the antivoid, and even if she did, he would always find her. That was something both of them knew all too well.

~~~

Perched on the branch of a tree, Template sighed softly, looking up at the starry night sky. He'd always found the sky so peaceful, and though the residents of this AU were very clear about how much they disliked him, he was always willing to return. If he was stressed or upset, this was his favorite place to go, by far.

Stepping out of a portal at the edge of the woods, the teen glanced around, completely unperturbed as the entrance to the antivoid began to close behind her. Despite the lack of adequate lighting, the set of tracks in the mud stuck out to her and was enough to point her in exactly the direction she needed to go.

Though Template could feel her magic in the air as she drew nearer and nearer, he remained at ease, unconsciously running his fingertips over the back of his other gloved hand. Words circled in his mind and he winced, tightly squeezing his sockets shut as he tried to block them out.

"What are you hiding-" "TEMPLATE! WHAT DID YOU DO!" "See? He even kills! You're just like him, Template~!" "You can't hide what you've done!" "I guess you really are the bad guy!" "Template. DROP. THE. ACT." "Do you not like your hands because they remind you of what you are?" "Excellent work, dear! You're making marvellous progress toward embracing what you really are!"

As the markings beneath his eyes began to drip, a voice called out to him, "Template? You ok up there?" His body began to glitch only slightly more than it had before, and he cleared his throat, "Yeah, I'm ok. Don't worry about me, alright?" From her place on the ground, Mal frowned; she could already tell by his glitching and his tone that he was, in fact, not ok. Whenever he was upset, he always had a horrible habit of trying to bottle up his feelings in an attempt not to worry others. As much as she wished he wouldn't do that, she wasn't one to talk, since she did it too.

She used a shortcut, appearing on the branch beside him and sitting down, letting her legs dangle freely. There was only silence for a moment and she lightly nudged him with her shoulder, her voice soft, "I... know you probably don't wanna talk about it, but I wish you would. I really care about you, y'know." Template made a soft sound of acknowledgement, glancing at her and smiling weakly, "I know... I care about you too, kiddo."

Silence fell on both of them again, only broken when Mal began to notice him absentmindedly picking at his gloves, "Template?" Hearing his name, the older of the two looked to her again. Taking his silent acknowledgement as the ok to continue, she hesitantly asked, "... Is it about your hands again?" It was his turn to hesitate, slowly shifting his gaze away from her and mumbling, "... Yeah." The teen frowned at his admittance, looking down at her own hands; they weren't white like the hands of most skeletons, they were black. Black with red fingers, and then to finish off the horrid combination of colors, yellow fingertips.

Every time she looked at her hands, she was reminded where she came from, and it was a curse. Glancing at Template's gloved hands, it occurred to her that she'd never actually seen him without his gloves before. She could only imagine what was hidden beneath the fabric, though.

She reached out, delicately touching his arm and mumbling, "Can you show me what's so bad about them, please?... I just... I wanna know why you hate them so much." Template's attention was immediately locked on the teen again and his magic wavered; he was nervous, she could tell. Meeting his gaze, she offered him a tiny smile, "Listen... I know how you feel about your hands. Whatever they're like doesn't reflect who you are as a person though. Maybe they look similar to.... y'know, but you're not bad or evil. You have your issues sometimes, but I think you're a hero who uses those hands to create and protect. If that's not enough to convince you, then just look at my hands."

She held a hand up, as if trying to emphasize her point, "They make me feel kinda bad sometimes too, and for a while, I did some bad things with them. I destroyed and I killed. I'm different now though. I met you and Necro. My dad. I met Zerif and Lucky, and the Star Sanses. All of you made me wanna change... you made me wanna protect the multiverse, instead of destroy it."

Template only stared at her for a moment, and as she caught sight of the blue tinted tears that began to gather along the rims of his sockets, she sighed, scooting closer and gently wrapping her arms around him. His arms hung limply down by his sides and as a single tear rolled down his cheekbone, he faintly murmured, his voice shaking, "You... You can't mean that. Please tell me you're not serious, Mal."

She hummed, lightly gripping the back of his shirt, "I am though. I think you're a good guy. A hero, even, who just wants to help people. I've seen how hard you work too, and I actually... I want to be like you, Template. Really." The black skeleton was silent, only sniffling softly and lightly leaning against her. Guilt beginning to blossom in her soul at the idea of being the reason why Template was so upset, Mal frowned and whispered, barely audible, "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to upset you like this, I swear."

He slowly shook his head, remaining silent; a few seconds had passed, before Mal took notice of him beginning to move one of his hands. Though he was visibly shaking and wouldn't look at her, he began to slowly tug one of his gloves off, and she watched quietly. Once it was off, her sockets widened and she stared for a moment, before tilting her head and very gently grasping his wrist. His eye lights centered their focus on her, watching as she turned over his hand and delicately pressed one of her own against it, her expression softening.

Looking up from their hands and briefly meeting his gaze, she offered him a small smile, "It... looks just like mine."

He found himself smiling back, using his free hand to readjust his glasses as he hummed in agreement, "Yeah... they do, don't they?" Mal's smile seemed to grow as she beamed, "Yeah! In some way, I guess that means that maybe we're the same." Visibly content, Template tilted his head, his normally diamond shaped eye lights now circular instead, "I guess now's probably the best time to bring it up then." The teen blinked, becoming visibly confused, "Huh?... Bring what up?"

He continued to smile, an expression on his face that Mal didn't think she'd ever seen before, "Well... I know that the other me didn't... he wasn't very kind to you. He was supposed to be your father figure, but he did a pretty bad job at that. I don't have any experience with kids and I've never had a family, but you know I care about you... like, a lot, and if you'd let me, I could maybe try to fill in for him. Y'know. Be the dad you never had, all those years ago. If you'd be ok with that though, I mean. I could very easily see you being my kid, so I thought I'd at least make an offer."

Staring at him with wide eyes, tears dripped down Mal's face, only mere seconds passing before her magic turned them into deep sapphire threads. Clenching her jaw shut, she tightened her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder and mumbled, the fabric of his shirt muffling her voice the slightest bit, "You're such an idiot, Template... Did you really think I'd say no to that?"

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waterfall-ambience · 4 years

Text

Void Fog (Cosmic Horror AU), Part 4

The end of everything

- EX held his breath. He spent the past 2 days watching and waiting for the Entity to strike. He had yet to come up with a better name for it. He was too busy pacing around the server, looking at all the things he had doomed. He’d always been good at wallowing in his angst.

- Completely healing his mental state within the span of a few days was impossible. Recovery would take time, but EX wasn’t sure if he had that sort of luxury.

- The starship was brought to completion. It was truly something to behold, with its sleek design and white hull. It was large enough to comfortably house thirty or so people for, well, who knows how long.

- Another meeting was held. Everyone was to finish packing up to move on to the next world. They were to depart that afternoon.

- EX offered to help the other Hermits with the preparations to leave. They were mostly small tasks- moving important items to the ship, looking for things that have been misplaced, and turning off farms to avoid a server crash while the ship took off. He just wanted something to take his mind off the impending doom he brought onto the server, but there wasn’t much else to do.

- No, the world couldn’t end like this. There had to be something he could do to stop the Entity. He couldn’t just let It come through. No matter how far they were from this world, the Entity would follow them, eventually dooming each successive world they tried to call home. He had to sever the ties, but didn’t know how-

...The portal.

He had to destroy the portal.

EX started running. He wasn’t sure where it was, but the direction he chose felt right.

- EX ran until the portal came into view. He hadn’t actually seen it before, but it felt oddly familiar. Of course. This was his build, after all.

- The portal stood in the centre of a small desert, still incomplete. Fresh blades of grass poked through the sand. Fallen trees littered the area and glass structures seemed to have replaced them. The desert was new.

- EX’s lungs burned as he stood at the base of the portal. His face ran hot, and sweat clung to his skin as the midday sun beat down on him. He held his pickaxe high and swung at the obsidian. Even after several minutes, he didn’t make a dent. It was indestructible.

Tears fell. It was all a little pathetic, wasn’t it? He might’ve wanted the destruction of the server years ago, but that was only because it’d be cathartic. The server could be reset. It’d be fine. Everyone would be fine. He never considered perma-killing anyone. And yet, this was the closest he’s ever come to completely annihilating the server and everyone in it. He didn’t even want it this time.

Even if Joe told him otherwise, at the end of everything, EX was still the villain.

- The ground swayed beneath his feet, and the adrenaline started to wear off. That was to be expected, after all. He hadn��t slept, not since venturing into his mindscape. The world spun, and EX collapsed.

- Joe had just finished packing up when he realised that he hadn’t seen EX in a while. He asked around, but it seemed like no one had seen him in the past two hours. It was almost time to leave.

joehillssays whispered to ẼΰῑḻХïšǘɱá: where are you?

Error: Player not found

- Joe and Xisuma went looking for him. They didn’t have much luck searching around the rest of the Cowmercial District, or around any of their bases, for that matter.

The sky grew dark. The Entity was there.

- The other Hermits boarded the ship. Xisuma told them to wait for his and Joe’s return, but to leave if they had no other choice.

- Joe and Xisuma grabbed a spare elytra, extra stacks of rockets, and took off towards the Entity’s portal.

- The journey started out fine, but as they got closer to the portal, they noticed more missing chunks and lighting glitches. The ground and biomes shifted below them, transforming blocks and opening cracks within the world itself. Above, there was only swirling darkness. Xisuma felt a twinge of guilt- this was partly his fault, but now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. They just had to get Evil X and go.

- The desert grew outwards as the Entity descended upon the server. Dark tendrils shot down from what should’ve been the sky, slowly engulfing the world. It’s eyes opened up, reveling in the destruction, drinking it all in. ‘EX’ stood in the middle of it, simply watching.

Of course, this wasn’t EX. Something else stared back at them from behind his eyes. It smiled at their meaningless attempts to defy fate. Their world was already ending, and there was nothing they could do about it.

All It needed to do was hold onto EX for a little longer.

- EX watched Joe and Xisuma skid across the sand. He thought they already left. The world was ending, and yet, they came back for him.

- He didn’t know why he assumed they’d leave him. It was irrational. He’d have to learn how to break out of that sort of thinking, but they cared enough about him to try to save him, and that was all that mattered.

- The Entity still had a firm grasp on his body. It kept pushing them away, trying to distance Itself from them by corrupting the space between. EX knew it wouldn’t stop until everything was consumed in darkness, but he wasn’t going to let that happen. He was going to get out of there.

He had to hold on to hope. That everyone would get out of this mess alive, that he would make amends, and find happiness, even if it took a long time. He would belong somewhere.

He was going to be okay. It’d take time and effort, but he’d get there.

He’d make sure of it.

...

- EX awoke to panicked shouting. He didn’t have much time to process what was really going on, but before he knew it, they were flying back to the ship. They flew faster and faster as the world was corrupted and torn apart behind them. Dark pillars of countless eyes loomed in the distance. If the Entity completely blocked out the sky, they wouldn’t be able to escape.

- The ship came into view. It was still intact, but it wouldn’t be for long.

- They hurried inside. EX didn’t process much of what was going on. Someone did a headcount. There was a force pushing him back. Darkness. A flash of light. The ship took off.

Things were going to be okay.

Epilogue

Season 8 started off a little different than usual.

- The starship was parked in the Shopping District.

- The Hermits were cautious. Everyone lived in relatively close quarters, surrounding themselves near the Shopping District, just in case they had to make a quick escape. Megabases were few and far between, and more people focused on having a set of smaller projects.

- Season 8 lasted 4 months. Season 9 lasted 6. Over time, each season evened out to be around a year before they were put at significantly more risk of the Entity finding them. The pattern they travelled in across the universe was seemingly random in an effort to evade it. All they could really do was to keep running and try to avoid detection. In the meantime, though, they continued to live on.

- EX’s path to recovery wasn’t necessarily smooth. Sometimes he found himself spiralling, thinking that he was only tolerated, that his connections were all built on lies. His anxieties waxed and waned. These things took time, but he wasn’t alone anymore- he had friends now, and spending time with them helped.

- Aside from Joe, EX grew closer to Zedaph again, as well as Grian and the former members of the Convex. Having experiences dealing with higher beings seemed to have been a valuable starting point, oddly enough.

- His relationship with Xisuma improved a bit. It was still awkward, and EX didn’t forget about his banishment. It took a while before EX felt comfortable opening up, but knowing that X cared about him helped. It was complicated.

Despite everything, EX held on to hope.

He wasn’t alone anymore.

He wasn’t separate from everything anymore.

He was loved, and capable of love.

And he would heal.

#void fog #hermitcraft #hc cosmic horror au #hermitcraftserver #evil xisuma #my writing

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annaraebananawriter · 4 years

Text

Pan’s Lullaby

Yellow! Here is another oneshot. Now, just so you know, this one is meant to be read as platonic, but it could also be romantic if you want. I, personally, see these two as friends, most of the time, but I do like it when they are lovers too.

Fandom: Undertale, but specifically Dreamtale and Errortale

Characters: Dream (Who belongs to Joku), Error (Who belongs to CQ)

Pairings: None really, but you can read it as such

Warnings: Language, I think that’s it. Let me know.

Word Count: 1613

~oOo~

Error hadn’t met Dream one on one before.

They fought, yes, but this was mostly because of Ink. Dream was a part of Ink's team, The Star Sanses (which was a pretty stupid name, in Error's opinion), so they had naturally been enemies. If it hadn't been for that, the two probably wouldn't have met.

That being said, from what Error had seen Dream was fairly happy and upbeat. He was the Guardian of Positivity, so it was a given he would positive. Sometimes, the happiness that radiated of him would get on Error's nerve and annoy him, but Dream was the most tolerant of the trio, so he ignored it.

Nightmare, however, seemed to hate Dream with a burning passion. From the few conversations Error had with him, he seemed to always see Dream as this thorn in his side, someone who was so perfect, so naive, that he didn't care about anyone in his shadow. Nightmare usually went off on a rant about Dream, with Error only half-listening.

(“Like, honestly, how can someone be so blind?! Am I right, Error?... Error?”

“Hmm.”

“...you're not listening, are you?”

"Nope.")

So, Error decided to just assume that Dream was a happy person who had his life together, with almost no hardships bothering him.

He was so, so wrong.

~oOo~

It was late in the day and Error had just gotten back to his Anti-Void. He immediately flopped on his beanbag and let out a yawn.

It had been a long, but satisfying, day of destroying and avoiding Ink. Though, it was surprisingly easy to avoid the soulless creator, as he hadn’t appeared all day. It made Error paranoid, expecting Ink to jump out and scare him at any moment. But he didn’t.

Error didn’t dwell on it for too long, though. It was good for his work in the long run. Now, there was twenty or so less AUs (Abominations) in the Multiverse.

Error’s eyes opened backup as the voices started, interrupting his potential sleep. He groaned.

“Shut up!” He shouted to the nothing around him, his voice glitching all over the place. The voices didn’t listen; instead, they got louder, urging him to do too many things at once. “God Damnit, just SHUT UP ALREADY!”

Error panted slightly in anger; fists tightly clenched. The voices finally quieted, which made him breathe a quiet sigh of relief. However, he was now wide awake and most likely wouldn’t be sleeping for a while yet.

So, Error got up and made a portal to the only AU he really liked: Outertale.

He had found Outertale by accident a long time ago. Full of anger, rage, hatred, and strangely enough, betrayal, but for the life of him Error can’t remember why. He was ready to destroy whatever world he ended up in.

Then, he looked up and saw the thousands upon thousands of stars decorating the sky.

~oOo~

It was so beautiful. Red, pink, purple, blue: he could see them all and so many more. He was awed. Excited. At peace. He closed his eyes and sat down, breathing deeply, relaxed for the first time since he escaped that wretched white void he calls home.

He didn’t want to go back.

But something was wrong.

It was too pretty. Too distracting, too peaceful. Too much. It burned. It pained him, glitches pouring into his eyes, pieces of his body breaking off before slamming back into place. Hurts, hurts, hurts. Gen—Error screamed—

~oOo~

Error shook his head to clear the memory from his mind. He rocked back on his heels, staring up at the stars above.

He had avoided this place for a while after that, but eventually found himself drawn back. Each time he came, the more he felt like it was a place to relax, not one that meant to cause him harm. His crashes and little attacks he had slowly decreased until they disappeared. Now, he came here whenever he was down, stressed, angry, anything really.

And the stars never stopped shining, never stopped being beautiful.

Error sighed and made his way to his spot. There was a cliff, and if you looked down, you would see just blackness. But if you looked up, you had a clear view of the stars. It was the perfect spot, as no one but Error knew about it.

Except, that apparently wasn’t true.

Error blinked. There was someone in his spot. At first, anger filled him, urging him to go over and demand his spot back. Maybe even kill whatever abomination found it, so that way no one could tell about his spot. Until he heard it.

Humming. And crying.

Whoever found his spot was humming, yet they were stumbling as they kept interrupting themselves with sobs and sniffles. They had a steady voice, anyways.

Error found himself in a sort of trance. The humming was quite…pleasing, if he was honest. He had to get closer, had to see who this person was. So, he walked closer. One, two, three steps and he saw them. They had their back turned to Error, but he didn’t care about that, or the cape around their shoulders, or the crown on their—

Error blinked.

And again.

There was no way. His mind had to be playing tricks on him. Right? Right. There was no way that was—

“Dream?” Error spoke before he could stop himself. He tensed.

The person jumped and gasped, cutting their humming off. They quickly wiped at their tears and turned around.

Error was right. It was Dream. But, how? Why? This conflicted with everything Error had known about him. He was so confused. What if this was a trick? A trap? But if that was the case, he would have been attacked already. And those tears didn’t seem to be fake.

The two held a staring contest for a bit.

Then, Dream wiped the tears away, not that it worked, scrambling onto his feet. “E-Error!” He said, trying to smile through. “I-I’m so so-sorry! I didn’t know this was your place.”

Error was silent, watching Dream.

Dream hiccupped, trying to wipe some more tears away. “I-I’ll, uh…I’ll go. I don’t want to be i-in your way…” He reached out and summoned a portal. He moved to go through but was stopped.

“Stay.”

Dream paused, blinking. Error blinked too. He wasn’t supposed to say anything. He was supposed to just let Dream leave so that he could have his spot back. And yet…at the same time, he didn’t’ want Dream to leave. It was confusing.

Error decided to just roll with it. He walked to the ledge and sat down in the spot Dream was before. He felt the positive being’s eyes on him.

“W-What?” Dream stuttered.

“I said, stay.” Error reaffirmed, a hint of annoyance in his voice. Dream was silent. Error felt a blush grow on his cheeks and he huffed. “Listen, you can stay, just don’t make it weird, okay?!”

Error directed his focus to watching the stars. He didn’t care whether Dream accepted his offer or not. Soon enough, though, he heard the portal close and Dream sit down next to him, a comfortable distance between them.

They watched the stars together for a bit, each lost in their own thoughts. Error heard Dream start crying again.

He sighed. “What’s wrong?”

“H-huh?”

“I can hear you thinking from over here, and you don’t exactly cry silently. So,” He looked over at Dream, locking eyes. “what’s wrong?”

Dream looked away. “I-It’s nothing…”

“Bullshit!” Error hissed, making Dream jump. “I’m trying to be nice here, so just tell me what’s wrong so we can watch the stars in peace and quiet?!” Error was losing his patience.

Dream was silent for a bit. Error huffed and prepared to give up, when the other spoke softly.

“Today is December 21st…mine and Nightmare’s birthday.”

Error blinked. He didn’t expect that. If anything, he was expecting something trivial that dream was just complaining about because he was so perfect, he didn’t have time for it. Apparently, he was wrong.

“And…” Dream continued, staring at his lap. “It’s also been 1,000 years since the Apple Incident. 700 of which I spent in a stone prison, unable to move, see, hear, or speak.”

Error paused at that. He knew that the guardians had been around for a long time, Nightmare had bragged about it constantly, but he didn’t expect it to be that long. It was almost mind-blowing. And to spend 700 years alone with only your thoughts…well, it reminded Error of his time in the Anti-Void.

At this moment, Error felt like he understood Dream more than anyone else. They were both stuck in a place with just their thoughts, and even if Error could’ve still moved and spoken, he had the impression that Dream’s thoughts eventually started to scream back at him too.

“I-I’m sorry,” He heard Dream speak again and looked over. Dream had a sad smile on his face that looked strained. He looked tired. “for putting my problems on you, I—”

“Stop apologizing.” Error commanded, all animosity gone from his voice, replaced with a hint of gentleness.

“Sor—…okay.”

They directed their gaze back to the stars. Something new was between them, a connection of sorts. They knew that the other understood, but they didn’t need to say it out loud. They just…knew.

“That song you were humming before, does it have any words?”

“Ah…I think so, but I’ve long forgotten them.”

“…can you still sing it again?”

“Okay.”

They sat there together, the stars gleaming and a pleasant song filling the air. They both felt warm at having made a new…friend.

#my writing #dream sans #error sans #oneshot

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mediaeval-muse · 4 years

Text

Video Game Review: Assassin’s Creed Revelations (Ubisoft, 2011)

Genres: action-adventure, third person, open world

Premise: Ezio Auditore travels to Constantinople to unlock the secret of Altaïr's vault in Masyaf, battling Templars who also want the vault’s contents. In the present day, Desmond Miles is trapped in the Animus and must find a "synch nexus", a key memory that links him with Altaïr and Ezio, to reintegrate his splintered subconscious and awaken from his coma.

Platform Played On: PC (Windows)

Rating: 3/5 stars

***Full review under the cut.***

I am evaluating this game based on four key aspects: story, characters, gameplay, and visuals. I will not be evaluating the multiplayer mode because I don’t like playing video games with other people.

Content Warnings: violence, blood

Story: The main premise of Revelations’ story is that, following the end of Brotherhood, Desmond has fallen into a coma. The stress of being controlled by Juno has splintered his subconscious, so in an effort to save his life, Rebecca Crane and a mysterious figure have placed him back in the Animus. In order to repair his mind and escape, Desmond must “play out” the remainder of Ezio’s memories, so he follows his ancestor as he travels to Masyaf in search of Altaïr's vault, which requires five “keys” to open. These keys have been hidden around Constantinople, and Ezio must race against the Templars during the political conflict between Şehzade Ahmet and Selim I.

Desmond’s plot follows a somewhat natural progression. Though I missed his interactions with the Assassin team, it makes sense that his next big adventure would involve being trapped in the Animus and learning more from Subject 16. I liked that gameplay in Ezio’s world unlocked some puzzles in Desmond’s world (even though he’s trapped in the Animus, he inhabits a little island where he can be himself) and that these puzzles told us more about Desmond’s past. I did not think, however, that Desmond’s past was related in a compelling way. Most of it is told to us through Desmond monologuing as the player completes puzzles that are somewhat reminiscent of Portal. I thought Desmond’s past could have been done better, perhaps by having flashback scenes like how Altair’s past is related.

Ezio’s plot felt like it was lacking, and I think the reason is that the past 3 games have focused on finding and controlling the Apple/Piece of Eden, whereas this game is about opening a vault/library. Ezio’s story also lacks a strong antagonist to tie things together; instead of battling the Borgias, Ezio is competing with general “Templars,” and even though there are some prominent Templar figures, none of them had “stage presence” like Cesare Borgia did. Though I liked the political backdrop, I think Ezio himself was ill-suited for it. It sort of feels like the creators wanted to extend Ezio’s story rather than start something new with a protagonist who was more connected to the setting, and though recovering Altair’s library is a fun goal, I think the story should have revolved around someone who grew up in the region.

I did like that we got to delve a little deeper into Altair’s past and learn more about him. Unless you play the portable Assassin’s Creed games, you don’t get to learn much about what happened to Altair in ACII and Brotherhood, so it was nice to see some exploration of his life in a game that was centered on uncovering his work.

Characters: Ezio, our protagonist and player-controlled character, is a little older in this game, and while he’s still likable, he’s much more serious and down-to-business. I’m a bit torn as to whether his demeanor fits the setting of the game - on the one hand, I loved that the European character wasn’t presented as someone who comes to the Middle East and takes charge. Ezio definitely has much to learn, and his skills are seen as having value without being superior. On the other, I do wish the protagonist had been someone who lived in the area - I got the feeling that Ezio was made the protagonist because of his popularity rather than his suitability for the setting, and while I appreciate that Revelations closed out his arc, I don’t really think it was needed.

The major supporting character in this game is Yusuf Tazim, leader of the Turkish Assassin Order. He shows Ezio around and provides much-needed instructions and lore, and he’s incredibly charismatic and personable. Ezio also encounters historical figures such as Manuel Palaiologos and the future Suleiman the Magnificent, which were fun treats for history enthusiasts, but not extremely commanding personalities. Instead of courtesans appearing throughout the city, there are Romani people seen hanging about, and though I liked that they were included and talked about their oppression, I do think their visual design and function during gameplay were somewhat stereotypical.

Ezio furthermore gets a real love interest in this game in the form of Sofia Sartor, an Italian traveler and book collector who helps him locate the keys. I thought the interactions with her were sweet, but she was a kind of damsel in distress and she didn’t have much personality other than liking books for a large part of the game.

Desmond, for his part, doesn’t get a lot to do, despite this game being about reconstructing his psyche and digging into his past. I liked that we learned more about him, but I do wish the stakes of being trapped in the Animus were higher.

Gameplay: Revelations uses almost all of the same mechanics as Brotherhood. There are armor and weapon upgrades, treasure stashes, upgrades to the city of Constantinople (which stimulates the economy and earns the player more money), etc. Art merchants are replaced with book merchants, so instead of buying paintings, players can purchase codices, but functionally, they were the same. Similarly, instead of freeing areas from Borgia influence, players liberate “Templar dens” and turn them into “Assassin dens,” and while they’re thematically different from the Borgia towers, they’re functionally the same. Players complete assassination missions in which you kill the captain of the guard responsible for overseeing the Templar den, but instead of blowing it up, you trick your enemy by signaling Templar retreat, allowing the Assassins to move in and take over the area. You can also recruit assassins and make use of thieves, mercenaries, and courtesans much the same way as in Brotherhood, though courtesans are replaced by Romani people. There was a moment in Sequence 2 when Ezio had to defend the Assassin safehouse from a Templar attack, and gameplay involved placing barricades, commanders, archers, riflemen, and cannon fire. while balancing morale and damage. I kind of liked the strategy involved and it could have been an interesting mechanic for the rest of the Templar dens/Assassin safehouses, but alas, this moment only occurred the one time unless you’re not paying attention to your infamy meter (which was easy to take care of).

The major weapon upgrade in this game is the introduction of the hook blade and various types of bombs. Bombs ranged from simple noisemakers, to stink bombs, mild explosives, smoke screens, and other useful ranged attacks, while the hook blade enabled faster climbing as well as traveling along zip lines. These weapons were fun, but because so much of the other gameplay was the same as in Brotherhood, they felt like cosmetic patches to an otherwise repetitive gameplay experience.

Visuals: As always, I adored the look of the historical setting. The artists and developers beautifully rendered Constantinople, and I loved seeing more rich colors and details on the buildings and clothing of NPCs than when playing as Altair in the first Assassin’s Creed. I also really loved the look of Ezio’s armor, which forwent the classic white and red palette and opted for a more somber grey. The grey blended with the surroundings a bit better, in my opinion.

What really threw me off was that the facial models for some of the returning characters were altered. Both Ezio’s and Desmond’s face shapes are a little different from how they appear in Brotherhood, and though I do not doubt the change was in service to testing out advancements in graphics, I couldn’t quite shake the uncanny valley vibe.

Animations were up and down; upon starting this game, I encountered a horrible glitch that made the screen flicker and movement impossible, but luckily, I was able to fix it easily using instructions from other players who had the bug. There were some really satisfying combat animations, including finishing moves that upped the level of Ezio’s epic skills, but sometimes they lagged or a bug would make them not connect to an opponent. While not the end of the world, it was noticeable and sometimes took me out of the immersion experience.

Final Verdict: Despite repeating much of the gameplay from Brotherhood and unnecessarily extending Ezio’s story, Revelations presents a beautiful atmosphere and fun adventure to unlock some much-desired background to Altair’s narrative.

#video game review

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hoodie-lover · 4 years

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My Multiverse Part 12

Blue woke up in a panic, smashing his fist into the couch and kicking whatever he could. He thrashed and screamed for a good few minutes until he calmed down and could actually process what was going on in the world around him. He was in a small living room, pale yellow walls, and a few rustic decorations. When Blue noticed he was handcuffed to the couch, he sighed at tried to pull his hand out of the cuff, but blue tinted dust fell to the ground the more he tugged. Clutching his wrist in pain, Blue tried to break the cuff, but he couldn’t summon any magic.

Blue looked at the cuff, seeing it had no clear signs of being magic suppressing, decided that it was probably because of his glitched out state, and that he’d need to relearn some magic. No big deal.

Blue shifted his attention from the cuff, but what it was connected to. A large cup holder that had a keychain, and a seemingly weak one at that. He placed his free hand, his left and nondominant one, on the key chain, and yanked it clean off. Liberating himself from the couch.

“Mwehehe!” Blue laughed as he looked around for where anyone could be. There was only one light on, and it was upstairs, so he decided that would be the most logical place to begin searching. Though as he made his way upstairs he began to wonder what would happen if Ink was up there.

Though he breathed a sigh of relief as he saw Error, and said relief faded when he saw that Error was crying his sockets out and screaming.

“Error, what’s wrong?!” Blue asked, kneeling beside the chair Error was sitting on.

“Go away Ink. I don’t wanna talk.” Error mumbled, shaking.

“It’s me, Blue. I’m not Ink.” Blue said, reaching a hand out to Error, slowly. But it was grabbed and Blue almost cried out in sheer agony.

“D-don’t hurt me...” Error whispered as he opened his eyes and saw that it wasn’t really Ink after all.

“I-I’m s-so sorry Blue, I d-din’t mean to-” Error stuttered but Blue shut him up quickly.

“Nope. You were having a mental breakdown. You weren’t thinking straight, but you’re ok now. We just need to get out of here.” Blue explained as Error’s eyes sprung to life.

“I can make a portal to the hideout. We’ll be safe there, I think. But only for a little while, who knows when Ink will come looking for us.” Error said but Blue was on board immediately.

“To the hideout! By the way, what is the hideout?” And Error laughed in response.

“It’s where Nightmare, Killer, Cross, Dust, Horror, Fresh, and I live. Though Fresh and I sometimes stay over and sometimes we sleep over at other places.” Error said and Blue became a little more worried.

“Are they there?” Blue asked, uncomfortable.

“Probably. But I’ll keep you safe.” Error said as he opened a portal to the hideout.

The portal was a glowing white circle. For Error, it signaled the welcoming of home, a place where he felt safe and secure. While Blue looked at the portal with terror and uncertainty, these people were people who had killed millions, and whom he had fought and almost been killed by.

Upon stepping foot through the glowing sphere, Error was greeted by hugs and warm welcomes. Horror sped off to the kitchen to make some food, all while Killer and Dust nearly suffocated him with affection.

“Let...me...go.” Error gasped, though a large doofy grin adorned his face as he embraced his family.

When they finally released him from their death hold, the noticed Blue standing awkwardly in the corner, where the portal stills was. Error quickly dispelled the portal and turned his attention to Blue.

“This is the hideout. Mi casa es tu casa.” Error said uncomfortably, though he was glad he could use that little gem of a spanish phrase. He’d learned it from Undernovela.

“So you’re the one that kidnapped Blue. We saw Ink talking to Stretch about it and boy is he mad. I know we all love ya, but not even our little one is worth crossing that guy.” Horror joked, and everyone began to howl with laughter.

“What are you talking about? Error didn’t kidnap me.” Blue said, confused and very worried.

“What?” Dust said, looking at the two. “Then why are you two together...Oh~.” Dust said as he began to blush ever so slightly.

“I wanted to tell him something and when Horror gets out of the kitchen I will tell it to y'all as well. Don’t get any ideas!” Error cried out, a bright yellow blush running across his face.

“Alright.” Dust pouted as he slinked down into the couch, all while Killer was dying on the floor laughing.

Horror eventually came out with a stack of chocolate chip pancakes and a very amused grin on his face. When everyone sat down at the long table, it was clear that an organized effort was made to have Blue and Error sit next to each other. Much to the pairs dismay.

“So what’d ya wanna tell us?” Killer asked, face full of pancakes.

“Ink has Nightmare, Cross, and Fresh. He also tortured them, in front of me.” Error said, almost tearing up at the mere saying of those words.

“Why didn’t you save them?” Dust asked, rage boiling.

“He also tortured me and Blue. He said that if I spilled anything about what he can do, he’d dust Nightmare, Cross, and Fresh. I decided to test that theory, impulsive, and knew what one of you might accidentally spill something to one of them. Or one of them might overhear. So I told Blue, he was high ranking and trusting. That’s why he tortured them, I called his bluff.” Error explained, holding back tears.

“What happened next?” Killer asked, almost scared to.

“You’re leaving some important things out.” Horror told Error, and with a nod, Error told them everything, even things he had planned to leave out. He told them of how he was violated by Ink when he manipulated his code, how he tortured Dream, how Dream seemed to care for nobody, and how he had somehow, watched as Fresh was tortured and did nothing.

“Oh my gosh, Error...” Killer said, running up and hugging him. “It’s ok. You’re safe.” he said as he whipped tears from Error’s face.

“I swear I’m gonna kill him.” Dust seethed as he ran off to his room and slammed the door, screams and attacks could be heard.

Horror also joined in on the hugging, but he also paid some mind to Blue. Giving him a quick hug, to which Blue took and squeezed Horror with all his might.

It was only after an hour or two that everyone got in the same place and decided to talk about a possible strategy for fighting Ink, and saving Dream from Ink’s control.

“Well, if we can save Nightmare from Ink’s control, then we know for a fact that Ink will be eviscerated. Only Nightmare gets to hurt Dream, they are siblings after all, and we all know that Nightmare does care about him to some extent.” Killer said, much to Blue’s shock.

“He does?! But then why is always yelling about how he wants to capture Dream and whatnot?” Blue asked, sitting on a chair alone, isolating himself from the rest of them.

“If you and your little Star Sasnes are going to call us the villains, you betcha we’re going to be the villains.” Dust spat, pointing his knife at Blue.

Error, Horror, and Killer sighed and realized that they would be dealing with this as long as they’d be working together.

Characters belong to their respective owners

First

#undertale #fanfic #underswap sans #dustsans #killer sans #horror Sans #error sans #my multiverse

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izzyovercoffee · 5 years

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Prompt number: 19. “Yes, I admit it, you were right.” Fandom: Destiny / Destiny 2 Rating: PG? Warnings/Tags: mention of violence but nothing explicit or major, sudden violent seizures Summary: Jaq-29, Exo Hunter, gets pulled out of their jovian excursion to do recon on Earth’s moon, and has a good-bad time. Notes: So this is based off something that happened while I was playing earlier. Lets just say I beat up a giant scary Vex, picked up an exotic quest, and at that exact moment my game crashed, and then all the servers went down, and they stayed down for like 10-20 minutes and I was very much weirded out by it. Vex, man...

##. I’m gonna ask Ikora for a raise

It’d been a long time since Jaq-29 set foot on the moon.

The hurt scarred the landscape---cut deep in long, glowing wounds that continued to bleed ichor and fester under the gaze of the Earth. It was a lot like the scars the guardians all carried, the kind that never quite healed right, that never really mended back together in the way normal people might.

Granted, they all were “extraordinary.”

Set foot on the moon, kicking up gray dust under xheir boots, and Jaq didn’t feel extraordinary.

Tired, maybe.

Hard to tell, after the long shut down.

Still 29, though. Two-nine. Not three-oh.

Not yet.

Probably soon though. Was hard for Jaq to keep track. Siggy got it.

“I don’t like this,” Siggy spun about Jaq’s head in the expressive turn he often did when anxious. His mashed shell---pieced together in the parts they’d found while wandering the wilds across the system caught the faint light of old ruins and mother earth and took a sickly pale sheen to his sides.

Jaq needed to find him a better shell.

“What’s not to like?” Jaq replied, cheerful. Mouth lit up inside xheir helmet with blue, and white, and xhey twitched as a rush of static sparked down xheir spine. “The young wolves got it covered. We’re here for recon. That’s our favorite thing to do, no?”

“Well…” Siggy sounded about as enthusiastic as Jaq sounded dreadful---which was just about never. “...I guess.”

“It’ll be just like old times,” Jaq said, and walked along. “Updated maps downloaded yet?”

“Yes…” Siggy sighed, and found his way into xheir hood. “We’ve landed in the Lunar Battlegrounds.”

“We’re just poking around the old battlegrounds.” Jaq tried for soothing, but xheir vocal box took so many beatings sometimes xhey wondered if tone ever came across right. Hard to tell, with the static seizures. Fewer recently, further out and away from everyone.

Jaq liked it when xhey were alone. Just Jaq and Siggy, and the big open jovian skies.

Still, had to come back. Hard to stay away, when Ikora Rey commanded Hidden to intervene elsewhere. Put Jaq’s leave on hold, jet off Io and see the moon.

“Huh,” Jaq said, one hand reached out to the wall of a particularly harsh scar that rended the landscape in harsh, broken ground. The deep grays of the lunar soil opened up, solidified, and the rockface gave way with a gentle push to a narrow passage.

Could be nothing. Could be something.

The messy lines of activity that led to the passageway said could be something. And, judging from the way the soil was most disturbed on the surface, pushing and breaking apart evidence of old steps, Jaq guessed recent.

Hard to tell how recent. Much like Jaq’s sense of the passage of time, hard to tell what exactly was “recent” on the moon.

“Let’s go this way.”

Siggy said nothing, just waited in the crook of Jaq’s neck and shoulder, in the dip of the cloak that held tight to the collar of their chest armor.

And when the pale light of the earth and the distant sun faded, Siggy brought to life a beam to light Jaq’s way.

Time. Time was a thing others could track easily. Seconds, minutes, days. Jaq had taken so many blows. The body they inhabited broken in a fundamental way, during The Red War. Maybe even before, and the most recent war only triggered the rapid spiral.

Or it was psychosomatic. Hard to tell. Ana Bray had tried a hand, at the request of Ikora Rey, to see if one could find the source of Jaq’s repeated seizures. Scans said… scans said the exo-unit should have functioned perfectly fine.

And yet static still gathered in Jaq’s joints, and if not let out periodically in bursts of arc light, would wreak havoc on Jaq’s system. Dysfunctional, but still functioning.

Good enough for Jaq.

“I don’t like this…” Siggy whispered along their internal communique.

The narrow passage turned, sharp, to the left and then to the right, and a glow not from any of Jaq’s exposed parts, or Siggy’s lamp, illuminated the passage ground.

Siggy’s lamp shut off as they made the final turn, and the passage widened abruptly to an enormous open cavern lit aglow from within. Sharp, rectangular pillars jutted out in uneven patterns from the ground, and the light fell in harsh lines across the cavern floor.

The distant wall appeared… to hold a perfect arc of metal.

Just like the Vex gates they’d both seen on Mercury, and Nessus, and Io.

“That’s interesting,” Jaq said, and looked down. The passage dropped off at a fairly steep incline, and Jaq opted to simply leap to one of the pillars that stood nearby.

Empty. The cavern looked to be empty for some time, with the gate itself inactive---lacking the telltale glow Jaq had become so accustomed to seeing, across their traversing of the jovian moons.

“We should go,” Siggy said. “I have a bad feeling---”

And then something sparked, sharp, down Jaq’s arm. Jaq stuttered, and fell to one knee.

The portal vibrated, and something in the air crackled, then popped---sending out a blast that scattered loose lunar dust in thick clouds to clog the air and break sight.

“Jaq---move!”

Jaq dove to the right. The place where they knelt exploded in red fire. An electronic, broken crackle of a roar shattered the silence.

Fuck, Jaq thought, and brought to bear their handcannon. Shots fired met their target, but the wild curve of golden metal and glowing white fluid barely ceased its marching towards them.

And the faded image of a hundred Vex glitched, like a broken projector shifted on and began to play an old, poorly-remembered film… except it wasn’t a film. It wasn’t a recording.

The portal had come back to life---and Jaq’s handcannon was useless. Useless.

Jaq turned, and ran.

Another burst of energy exploded from the portal. Jaq’s spine lit up white hot in their pain receptors and they tumbled to the lunar soil. Siggy flew from their hood and tumbled across the dirt.

Screaming. Siggy screamed something.

Jaq threw their body to the right. An enormous metal limb slammed the ground beside them.

Run, Siggy said.

Hide, Jaq replied.

Siggy hid.

A heavy weight came over Jaq’s heart as they rolled onto their back and left to their feet. The Minotaur---strangely glowing, strangely gold, or maybe silver?---roared in the broken way the machines always did.

Jaq tossed the handcannon, and felt static gather in their arm again. Concentrated. Felt the pull of the light inside their chassis, and hurled the static at the monstrous thing.

It exploded in a bright burst of arc light.

A sea of Vex eyes all glitched, frozen… and then turned their glowing red eyes on them. The portal shuddered, gathering energy to burst again---and Jaq reached down into the cold, into the silence, and found light waiting. Arc energy burst under the seams of their chassis, consuming their limbs in white static that stretched to that all-too familiar staff between their hands.

The portal burst alive, and a monstrous construct the like of which Jaq had never seen stepped through. Horned---or were they antlers?---scraped the underbelly of the cavern’s ceiling. The many weapons of the sea of red opened fire.

Jaq danced.

That was always Jaq’s favorite part.

The way the universe responded in melody to Jaq’s body alight in arc energy muted the pain in every other part of their life. The agony, the misery, the frustration. Confusion and horror in equal tempo pulling Jaq’s thrice-broken heart-analogue in stuttered and angry skips---all righted by the arc energy that hummed within them.

And they danced across the sea. Pure arc energy dancing off their fingertips, off the baton that deflected the heat and the fire shot at them as they moved to meet the construct that roared as an amp screeched with its wires pulled.

Concentrated on a single force, Jaq found the screeching bursts of energy threatening to tear them apart now singing in answer, and fear left them.

Just as surely as Jaq tore apart the constructs center, and white spilled out in every direction. Jaq danced out of the way, felt the exhaustion pulling sharply in every direction, and tumbled face-forward into the lunar soil as the excess light left them.

All the Vex screamed, shuddered under the weight of something unseen---and dissipated into the air. The portal hissed, screeched, and powered off. Pieces of gold scattered all around Jaq, around the fallen body of the construct, and shone within arm’s reach.

Like a mind. Or piece. A part. It called to Jaq, and so Jaq reached for it.

And when their gloved palm reached the strange cubed relic, it’s like all their pain receptors lit up in sudden fury. Static burst in their joints, jolted up and down their limbs. Threatened to tear them apart, from the inside out.

Jaq screamed.

And screamed.

Until their voicebox shorted out. Until their arms popped, and one blown off at the wrist, the other at the elbow. Body shaking, seizing over the ground.

Siggy…

Sig-g-g-g-g-g-ggy… h….elp m///// e.

// POWERING DOWN . . .

Okay, Siggy. Okay.

You were right.

#writing: mine #writing: fictober19 #writing: destiny #oc: Jaq-29 #oc: Jaq 29 #oc: Jaq #I don't remember what their tag was tbh ..............#pronouns are usually xhe/xheir/xhem but simplied to they/their/them for this

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