#theory evidence of uncertain shifts

[soracities]

Khadija Queen, from "Theory; Evidence of uncertain shifts"

[glitteringcrab]

Rick Prime's decoys

1. If Evil Morty knew for sure that the fingerguns would work on Rick Prime and he had the situation totally under control, wouldn't he have used them the first time he came within close proximity of Rick Prime?

You know. Instead of punching and kicking and getting strangled?

2. If he didn't know for sure whether the fingerguns would work on Rick Prime, was it because he made them with another Rick in mind, a Rick whose head was full of cables that could be overloaded by electricity...

(there is really no other way I can interpret his look except "uncertain")

Maybe he thought that, at worst, the fingerguns might temporarily incapacitate Prime, granting Eyepatch Morty a few more seconds, and at best, Rick Prime might have some sort of implant allowing them to work kinda as intended...

And work as intended they did...

(kinda similar, isn't it? Not the same, but similar.)

2. So, what, is Prime's head filled with puppeteering cables like Evil Rick's was?

Well, no.

And why should it be?

It shouldn't.

He works alone. He doesn't bother to team up with anyone, to manage people, or anything of the sort. He has said as much.

(headache? Interesting choice of words heh)

And yet, against the face of opposing evidence, I will continue talking :P

3. Because how do we explain THIS:

I've read a fan theory that Prime has time split himself (go read it!!!), and that's how he was able to be at several different places at once:

"I wish Morty. It's all the places he is."

And there could be a lot of truth in this theory, but it doesn't really explain why there would be a "main" Rick Prime.

If all copies of Rick Prime are the main one, and are just time shifted, then Rick C-137 would really have to kill all of them.

No, wait. Maybe killing the first (chronologically) Rick Prime would work as a domino effect and make all of them disappear via paradox??? (this might explain how Evil Morty seemed to be able to delete whole trees of Rick Prime clones at once)

Could be.

However, Prime being time shifted doesn't explain by itself how the copies were apparently able to communicate with each other. Finish each other's sentences.

They act like a collective, don't they?

Of course, you don't need mind control to explain that. It could just be a simple communication thing.

However, we've seen Rick C-137's decoys not only acting independently from each other, not only being unaware they're decoys and ignorant of each other's actions, not only being worried they might be fake, but trying their best to be the ones to come on top, the last ones to survive.

Compare this with Prime's decoys, which, despite Prime's massive ego, didn't even bat an eyelid at the prospect of being shot:

(I'm dead XD Look at his face)

So...

4. What if Prime was... mind controlling his own decoys? Puppeteering them, sorta?

Or maybe, if that was too much of a drag for his concentration, what if he let them act independently from him most of the time, overriding them only when the situation called for it?

Or maybe it was a time thing, and he used a puppeteering-ish/operation phoenix-ish implant to communicate his thoughts and transfer the consciousness? (but I still feel the various time split Rick Primes would try to fight each other... Time split Rick C-137 was quick to become paranoid and try to murder himself.)

Or it could be something entirely new, something that incudes all of the above at the same time. Maybe he did time shift himself and then merged his consciousness or something, to become one ultra person.

5. Anyway, the lack of visible cables (or any kind of implant on the head) could be explained by craftmanship more superior, discreet or compact than the one Evil Morty is using...

(and, interestingly, we never got to see what Rick Prime looked like at the very end... because Rick C-137 was blocking the view)

6. If this theory is true-ish, then this would be the understatement of the century...!

It's the least stealthy technique possible!!!

Prime would have at all times detailed information on exactly what Rick C-137 was doing, where he was, who was with him, and how far his search progressed.

This would be an extreme disadvantage for Rick C-137 I feel, which points away from this theory.

7. (Still going along with the theory anyway) Maybe THAT was the purpose of his Very Cool Chair: maybe the "main" Rick Prime (whatever that means) would sit there and control all his clones and decoys simultaneously, like a king on his throne:

Maybe all those thin black cables really were supposed to go to his head, but probably through a different piece of equipment or implant, and not through Eyepatch Morty's fingergun.

8. If this theory is true, it would be in line with the show's implied narrative that Rick Prime is the smartest, craftiest, strongest, most cunning Rick; he is the best in every aspect (except empathy lol), trading emotion and family and morals for... infinity. Greatness. Playing god.

His weapons are the deadliest, his teleportation goo the most versatile (it can take the form of living organisms!!), his creations the most elaborate, his messing with time the most advanced (he keeps himself youuuuuung)...

...So it would make sense that he has dabbled in brain control as well, reaching the point of simultaneously controlling hundreds of bodies at once.

[linktoo-doodles]

you've probably been asked this before but if you could change anything (rewrite remove add) about ctntduo (character, dynamic,events) what would it be?

Interesting, haven't been asked this before actually!

One of the crucial issues with ctntduo especially once it was established as an actual plot point during Las Nevadas is that while ccWilbur was focused on his own arc and how he and quackity were paralleled, ccQuackity had his own story to tell. He clearly included cWilbur's influence on his character, but nothing past this. I think it impacted the weight of tntduo's dynamic in the story.

In his finale and pentultimate stream, Quackity focused a lot more on dapuo and his character's dynamic with Charlie. I don't even fully agree with how it went, because he clearly wanted to include more stuff with the whole las nevadas crew and his dynamic with Charlie kind of went into a direction that didn't really fully flesh out their nuances that I would have liked. Charlie was a bit... woobified in his writing. But most significantly for this post, Quackity did not have the same emotional investment for ctntduo for the same way Wilbur did, and it accidentally shifted the character dynamic to being less of equal stance too.

So firstly, I mean this is a common suggestion but to have more streams with Wilbur to intersect the burger arc was one thing. I really like how it was more in Wilbur's POV to make Quackity's role in this more uncertain! But I would have desperately wanted Wilbur to have taken part of the prison break, clearly idolized Dream for saving him, then wrestled with exile after Tommy told him. Pissed off Quackity got to Dream before he did. Wished it was him doing the heroic torturing to gleefully put himself as the hero "saving" his brother. Inconsolable differences, where Wilbur straight up fantasizes killing cDream over and over was one of the most beautiful streams ever tbh.

Another theory that my friend suggested and NEVER got out of my head is that after Wilbur planted tnt detonations to fuck with Quackity, Quackity actively destroys a part of his city and blames it on Wilbur. Vile. Underhanded. No one has any evidence and people are quick to turn on Wilbur -- Tommy believes him though.

And, I've never admitted this but I personally believe Wilbur's finale had initially involved asking Quackity run away with him to Utah. I know. Not Tommy, he'd idiotically choose Quackity. I know that sounds really stupid but for this to work, Quackity would immediately turn him down. It would parallel when Wilbur eagerly accepts the "offer" to join Quackity's Las Nevadas from the very beginning. During that time, Wilbur is so in disbelief that Quackity would turn him down. You can see him convincing himself that he's changed for the better, you can see him really believing he'd be the perfect man for the job. But this time, when Quackity says no, Wilbur accepts it.

They would never work out, bc that is not the POINT of ctntduo. Each have their own arcs that are not resolved by ending up together. They go their separate ways in the end, but respect each other. I never liked him anyway.

so TLDR

More burger lore streams... We really didn't get much of ctntduo

Dream's prison break with Wilbur's slow descent realizing his "saviour" is not to be idolized

Quackity destroys part himself in the process trying to get back at Wilbur

"Come to Utah with me?" "...I won't."

[chaoticstupiddm]

So, how long did Tyler know?

Okay, we've all heard that Hunter Doohan said, Tyler did not know, who Wednesday was, when he first met her. He also recently stated in the A Book Of interview, that he has met Laurel around one year prior, and turned him into the Hyde. We also know, that the first official victim died one week before Wednesday got there.

So the timeline here is kind of clear. Laurel knows, Wednesday is coming, so she gets Tyler to do some little murdering around. Easy. Does Tyler know, why he has to do it at that point? We don't know.

So let's consider their first meeting (with the lovely First Kiss background music). Tyler is a scaredy-cat, but slips into a comfortable banter-like conversation, tells Wednesday, she is the first Nevermore kid he met, who got their hands dirty. He sneakily asks her name, but there seems to be no big recognition on his face after hearing it. We know, that Tyler is a good actor (just like the actor, who portrays him), so he could be pretending to not know the significance of that name. But he also kind of just let's Wednesday go, doesn't really encourage her to stick around with him, which I suppose he would do to keep an eye on her, not let her get out of town that easy.

Then, he hears the name Addams from his father, and he seems a bit confused, looking back and forth between his dad and Wednesday. Its hard to pinpoint his facial expression, because he is out of focus for much of the scene, but I still don't think he recognizes relevance of the name.

You know, when he might realize, she could be important? During the cello scene, when he finds Gomez's file. There he could se clearly, that he "killed" Gareth Gates. So now he for sure knows that his master is deeply connected to the Addams family. What he might do after this revelation, and Wednesday's call is pure speculation.

What we know, that by the time the harvest festival rolls around, he knows he has to protect Wednesday. OR he was ordered by Laurel to go after her, to make sure she is okay.

So, after this long introduction, I would like to theorize.

Theory I.

He has been a slave for this woman for a year. He has been killing animals for a while, based on the carcass in the cave.

He also said, he first didn't remember things, then the memories started to come back "the sound of their screams, the panic in their eyes". Does it sound like, he is talking about animals here? Because to me it does not. What if he thought he was killing animals all along?

Theory I./a

And then comes Wednesday, saying she saw the monster, and it saved her, when Rowan tried to choke her to death. He was following his dad to see what he can find in episode 2. Maybe he also needed some evidence, to make sure it was him, who has been going around murdering people, and he got that.

With that, by episode 3 he is aware and the bathtub scene makes sense, if that was his first "being there in the head" murder.

I still believe, that if this was the case, he was aware of Wednesday's relevance to Laurel's plans. Maybe not to the full extent, but still.

Theory I./b

Alternatively, his first conscious shift was with Rowan, because he knew, Wednesday was important to Laurel's plans. But the body disappeared the next day, so he might feel uncertain about everything, and that is why he is following his dad.

Theory II.

It would make sense to train him on animals, so he gained full consciousness by the time he needed to kill people. It is useful, to have your slave be able to act smart, when it is most important.

He still didn't know, who Wednesday was when they first met (maybe Laurel didn't mention her full name), but he knew it by the time of the Harvest festival, and he could turn on his own to save her, because he was trained so well.

So then what about the admission about the delicious panic in the victim's eyes? Animals can panic as well. They also want to save their lives if a giant predator is hunting them.

Neither of these are exactly perfect.

With the first theory, Tyler should know he is a monster, and should be aware of the hikers. He might be in denial for a bit there, but three dead bodies is a bit much.

The second one paints a picture of someone, who knew it all along. But where do you put his speech? Animals can panic as well, they also want to save their lives if a giant predator is hunting them, but it feels odd, to phrase it the way they did.

So there has to be a middle ground somewhere. It could be that he knew, what his monster was doing, he just had no recollection of the specific details, and those came later.

Also this does not answer the question of how long did he know, why Wednesday was important.

I think it's safe to say, that by the middle of episode one, he had to at least suspect something. He had the file, and knew the names attached to it. There had to be some significance, why he was not immediately ordered to take her out. (I mean kill, I think the other kind of taking her out was his idea. That deserves its own post.)

He was killing those people for a reason; body parts were missing; and he also had to keep one specific person safe. The boy is not dumb, he could put two and two together. At the latest, I would guess he knew by the end of the 2nd episode, probably even sooner.

Do I think, this changes anything going forward? Nope. Was it fun, to just ramble about it? Yep, absolutely.

[mariacallous]

Policymakers seeking to spur persistently faster economic growth sometimes make claims about the long-term benefits of fundamental tax reform, which economic theory often suggests can be a potent force over many years. However, the more tractable and plausible tax reforms that become law have historically offered weaker impacts on economic growth. After the fact, the evidence is that these politically feasible tax reforms and tax legislation that have already been enacted uniformly fail to spark even moderate expansions in the long-term size of the economy.

In broad strokes, tax reform has the potential to have long-term effects on the economy through three principal channels: (1) changing the amount of tax revenue collected by the federal government, (2) altering incentives to improve economic efficiency or better align behavior with societal goals, and (3) redistributing income. All three types of effects can affect—positively or negatively—long-term gross domestic product (GDP). Nonetheless, the major tax reforms enacted in recent decades historically have had extremely small effects on long-term aggregate output.

And yet the estimated effect on aggregate output often receives more attention than the significant effects on revenues, behavior, and income distribution. In our view, this is a mistake. During the forthcoming policy debate necessitated by the sunsets in the Tax Cuts and Jobs Act (TCJA), we believe that scrutiny of the inevitable estimates of GDP impacts should take a backseat to these other effects.

In this essay we intentionally center on the long-term impacts of tax reform rather than on the short-term effects that may come from tax policy shifts designed to stimulate the economy. When policymakers enact tax changes that take effect quickly, such as an immediate cut in tax rates, aggregate demand typically responds and can lead to short-term boosts to GDP. For example, during recent downturns, Congress legislated household tax rebates that boosted consumption and, subsequently, near-term growth. We are setting near-term effects aside, and instead we focus on estimates of how enacted tax reforms have affected the productive capacity of the economy over the longer term.

Over the past four decades, Congress has substantially reformed the tax code eight times, most recently in 2017 with the TCJA. Our review of major tax reforms since 1986 shows that the most comprehensively estimated impacts of those reforms have ranged between a 0.5 percent increase to a 0.5 percent decrease in the long-term level of output. Although these estimates are highly uncertain, we walk through some practical reasons why the effect of tax reform on aggregate output is relatively small.

We argue that, when tax reform is projected to have a minor impact on aggregate output in the long run, considerations of those effects should be secondary relative to effects on federal tax revenues, changes in behavior to further broader societal goals, and distribution of income. It is particularly shortsighted if a focus on small negative aggregate economic effects precludes the passage of well-designed tax policy that would achieve other priorities.

[miarico21]

While right-handedness is considered the “default”, or what is “correct”, left-handedness is quite common, with about 10% of the population being left-handed. However, this estimate is uncertain, as many people have been forced to predominantly use their right hand. Handedness is not a coincidence, but rather has a neurological explanation behind it. 

The brain is split into two sides, the right and the left, and each side of the brain controls the opposite side of the body. The left hemisphere is often referred to as the logical, straightforward side, while the right is the artistic and emotional side. The left hemisphere of the brain controls movements of the right hand and vice versa. The biggest theory behind hand preference argues that evolutionary natural selection resulted in the majority of individuals with speech and language control in the left hemisphere of the brain. Because of the need to produce written language, evolutionary development resulted in a preference for right-handedness, as the left hemisphere controls speech and language.

There are genetic theories behind hand preference. It has been proposed there are two genes that are associated with handedness, one called the D gene for dextral, or right hand, and the other called the C gene for chance. The D gene, which is more frequent in populations, results in right hand preference, whereas the C gene, which is less common, results in individuals with a 50% chance of being right-handed and a 50% chance of being left-handed. However, genetic linkage analyses in families with a large number of left-handed members have not found convincing evidence for a single major gene. It is known there is a genetic component. For example, one study of over 25,000 pairs of twins revealed that the preferred hand for writing or drawing is a weak genetic trait with a heritability of 24%. This supports the genetic component of handedness, but also confirms there are environmental components as well. Although there are single gene theories that correlate with data on the prevalence of handedness, studies have failed to identify a single gene locus responsible for handedness. Additionally, genome-wide association studies (GWASs) for handedness have found no statistically significant associations.

When looking at the brain structures of a left-handed versus right-handed person, brain hemispheres tend to be more symmetrical in left-handed and ambidextrous individuals. Out of right-handed individuals, 95% have brains that strictly divide up tasks—the left hemisphere almost exclusively handles language and speech, whereas the right hemisphere handles emotion and image processing. However, in left-handed individuals, only 20% have brains that divide up these tasks so concretely. This is likely due to the correlation between written language and speech and language as controlled through the brain, with language control shifting to the right-hemisphere in left-handed individuals. One study looked at asymmetry between different handed persons using MRIs. When looking at cortical thickness—the thickness of the cortex, a region of the brain—asymmetries, there were two clusters where left-handed individuals differed on average from right-handers, one on the postcentral gyrus, and one on the inferior occipital gyrus. For all surface areas and thickness asymmetries within these significant clusters, left-handed persons had lower average asymmetry indexes than right-handers. To further explain this, if a cluster in right-handed persons was more asymmetrical to the right, it had an even stronger rightward asymmetry in left-handed persons. And if a cluster in right-handed persons was more asymmetrical to the left, it had a weaker leftward asymmetry in left-handers. This study concluded that left-handedness is associated with a neural shift to the dominant right hemisphere for hand motor control, within all the significant cortical clusters associated with handedness.

Another study looked to identify structural brain differences in different handed individuals. They looked at 21 right-handed people and 21 non right-handed people (left-handed or ambidextrous). Measures of the cortex such as thickness, surface area, volume, and curvature, as well as volumes of subcortical structures—regions below the cortex—such as the amygdala, caudate, hippocampus, globus pallidus, putamen, and thalamus, were were compared between the two groups using whole brain 3D T1 weighted MRI. They found the volumes of the right putamen and left globus pallidus in non right‐handed participants were significantly larger than those who were right‐handed. They concluded that there were significant differences in brain morphology between right‐handed and non right‐handed individuals, especially in the basal ganglia, which could produce differences in motor control according to handedness. The basal ganglia are a group of subcortical nuclei within the brain that are primarily responsible for motor control. Thus differences in these nuclei in right versus left-handed individuals could explain the differences in motor control.

While a specific gene has not been discovered to be responsible for handedness, it is clear that handedness is a result of brain development related to speech and language. Clear symmetry differences of brain hemispheres are present between right and left-handed individuals, as are brain morphology differences in general. 

[camslightstories]

It’s not that easy

Alex Danvers x Reader, Maggie Sawyer x Reader, Sanvers x Reader

Notes: Hey guys! How are you doing? I finally finish this request which took a lot of me but here it is. I really hope you guys like it and I’m sorry for being so inactive lately!

My inbox and messages are always welcome for everyone so just text me to chat anytime! I wanna heart your requests, opinions, theories, questions and more!

Request- anonymous

Taglist: @captain-josslett​ @aznblossom @multi-images

The Department of Extranormal Operations was often overwhelmed by silence, people knew what they had to do and they did. No one in the right mind wanted to deal with the director, Alex Danvers in any type of situation. The black lead walls made the building feel safer even though there were at least a hundred elite trained agents walking around it.

The long led lights on the roof illuminated the room. A three target sheets at the other end of the roof. Various pads around your body protect you in the training. A table in front of you with different sharp objects of all sizes.

The difficulty you had as you started to concentrate on the training after your new powers started to show up. Your mind now was invaded by thoughts that took control of you. Pressure in your mind as your telekinesis started to show up in the most unexpected moments and unfavorable moments.

Sometimes the things you wanted or thought about would land in your head or back, leaving marks or pain around your body, you remembered how you got some of them but not the others. And as one of the new recruits on the DEO instead of being on the field regularly, you were on the tech and backup side beside Winn earning the trust of the group.

Most of the time your moves were uncoordinated and clumsy and it got worse every time you would catch the side of a certain director or detective. Your focus was lost completely when you realize the couple entering the room hand by hand with Supergirl and Winn, not so long behind.

Failing to begin obviously you caught both of their glances making them smile, and when you were about to return a smile when a cup flew straight into your nose. The red liquid dripping from your nose and upper lip was now covering your hand as you clutched it in your face trying to relieve some of the pain, only making it worse as it stung.

You were so distant in what was happening in front of you, that you didn't notice when the couple ran in front of you with concerned looks on their faces. Until a soft hand caught your jaw tilting it up carefully as they watched the wound. You stood in shock as you felt the closeness with the director’s girlfriend, observing every small detail of the Latina.

Her brown eyes squinted in concentration, you couldn't really compare them chocolate, or your favorite espresso shot, they were hypnotizing without any other thought. She was biting the inside of her cheek, as her eyebrows came together when she focused her attention on you. Small dimple in her cheek as she focused on you, her hair dropped from her shoulders with small highlighters at the end of it. The small little freckles around her nose popped out every time she would scrunch her face in concentration. And every little detail was there, and you couldn't help but memorize them.

Your eyes turned away when you felt the first burn in your face, immediately crunching your nose as a reaction to the discomfort making the couple laugh softly. Your face had moved so fast as you heard the laugh of Alex Danvers for the first time, it was soft, addicting, and combined with her girlfriend’s laugh unforgettable.

Maggie claimed as she kept holding your face with the stuffed alcohol cotton in her hand. Her tone with gentleness and a hint of control, you didn't even protest since your focus was on hoping there was not an evident blush on your cheeks.“Y/N, you need to stop doing that adorable thing while I clean the wound up, okay?”

“Sorry” You murmured under your breath as you felt a stare, looking to your side to find the DEO director watching you intensely with a spark in her eyes. A spark you couldn't identify even if you tried, there was something odd about it. It did not hold anger, jealousy, or any negative feeling but uncertain like if she was wearing her feelings on them. You didn't even think twice before apologizing looking up to the ceiling immediately, hoping for the moment to end.

The redhead director asked when her girlfriend finished helping you. “That's it, agent Y/L/N. How are you feeling?”

“Fine, good- great. Thank you” You rambled out immediately standing straight up in front of her with difficulty as you did thanks to the various pads around you. Averting our eyes from them, only to find the superheroine and her friend containing their smiles.

Alex and Maggie looked at each other as you ran out of the situation the moment your name came out of Winn's mouth. Your blushed cheeks never disappeared as you helped the brunette man and neither did the small smile in their faces when you subconsciously would steal glances from them immediately looking down when they caught your glance.

——

The tension of the room was thick as you and the rest of the new recruits stood listening to the Director Danvers orders. Your undivided attention was on the redhead woman as she spoke, only shifting your glance when the redhead stared back at you discreetly.

Even when you tried to now lose focus when she spoke, you found yourself zoning out as you stared at her. Some of the important details remained in your head as for the rest, like when people say it ‘in one ear, and out the other’.

You found yourself being called out by the director before the rest of the recruit walked out of the briefing room, your hands fidget with themselves as you stared unsubconsciously at the redhead while she did the same. Quickly noticing the director started, your eyes widened in embarrassment for a second making her tilt her head questionably.

Adorable.

You thought and before realizing it she smiled blushing furiously at you. You started to shift in your feet when she started speaking. Her voice sounded different, it wasn't the same tone she would usually use in the agents, it had a hidden sense of corner and care and you couldn't help the butterflies in your stomach as she spoke.

“I will like for you to be with me and the rest of the Supergirl team during this mission”

You stared at her wide-eyed as the words fell out of her mouth. You nodded quietly as you felt your mouth go dry, the anxiety creeping inside of you as she dismissed you. You couldn't help but deliberate on the fact that your boss and the NCPD detective are well aware of your immense crush on both of them.

Your thinking of the different excuses you could make up when they would ask about your attraction, or your falling for them was interrupted when you ended up crashing into something harshly in the training room, falling face-first into the floor. Groaning at the throb of your head, you murmured harshly to yourself. “What is next to a fucking mat?”

The moment you realized the words fell out of your lips, it was already too late. The blue mat had already hit your side. You kept silent before getting up, throwing the training mat directly into the wall in annoyance. Cursing your powers as the pain inflicted by your misunderstood words and thoughts was now getting irritating.

And certainly didn't help that you couldn't get out of your head, certain couple. Their smiles, their laughs, their little details on their expression or attitude when they are focused on something, or the way their eyes light up at the mention of motorcycles, guns, or pool.

You couldn't get enough of them. And as much as you tried and tried, falling every single time, you couldn't get them out of your head. You knew the moment they found out about your attraction to them was going to be just like the rejection in movies, you begin rejected, and get heartbroken once again.

——

Kara stood beside her sister, hands-on her belt, biting her lip in a way to suppress her smile as she looked at Winn. Winn looked at the Danvers Sisters before speaking, explaining the options for the mission without letting go the teasingly open remarks to the redhead and the Latina, every time your name would come up.

Alex would immediately blush and tell the brunette to shut up, while the Latina kept quiet, shaking her head at the group antics. Every once in a while the couple shared a knowing look with a small smile, and when they did Kara would make a teasing remark to them.

“Golly, you guys got to get your crush under control” Kara claimed quietly so only the couple could hear, ignoring the blonde both of them turned to glance at you when the Brunette technician had called you.

“It’s not that easy” both of them murmured staring at you.

You stood beside Winn as he gave you various things for the mission, a mind control shield that for you helped control somewhat your powers, which he called the ‘de-tel control’

And as the brunette technician talked to you, you felt a glance on your back. Turning around you saw the Latina and the redhead snapping their heads immediately to their side with blushed cheeks. You looked at them questionably before turning back, and as you did the faint whispered from Kara caught your attention “And you say I'm the oblivious one”

Ignoring it, you kept your attention on the technician explaining what you were going to have during the mission. But a certain gut feeling didn't let you understand half of what Winn had said.

——

You stood beside Kara in front of the warehouse door, your hand reaching for the alien gun, Winn had given you under restricted rules. The heroine scanned the place only to shake her head because of the lead walls, while you stood at her side listening to Winn through the comms explaining what the scans signals were giving out.

The moment the blonde gave you the first sign to move inside with her you activated the ‘de-tel control’ at the side of your head. A small beeping sound invaded your ear, coming directly from the shield, ignoring it you kept registering the place with precaution. When the couple announced in your ear that they had arrived you couldn’t help but smile as the two sisters annoyed each other.

Neither of you guys could find something in the Warehouse after checking the place. The Director of the DEO looked annoyed as she spoke in her earpiece directly to the technician while Kara and Maggie wandered around checking everything again. You stood at the side scratching your head as the throbbing pain in your head began to fill in.

You kept quiet as the frustration began to fill you, with the pain in your head it felt almost impossible to concentrate on the mission. Walking to one of the sides of the warehouse where lines of shelves were, you stared at a solemnly black box on the first shelf, and as you did the pain on your head increased.

The pressure of the shield didn’t really help, it felt like someone was pressing a gun to your head and the frustration didn’t really help. You were about to take the thing off when the red-headed Danvers appeared at your side, a hidden smile in her face as she talked to you, rambled to you specifically.

“Y/N, how are you feeling? It seems as we arrived too late, but Winn is running more scanners to determine if there is something we missed, it's really nice-...great for you to work with us, Agent Y/L/N”

Kara and Maggie staring at the two of you curiously with a small smirk and a beaming smile. Both of them frowning seconds after as they stared at you worriedly. You were about to ask for the sudden change when the racking pain overwhelmed your head, you didn’t register the moment you felt into your knees crying at the ripping pain.

You felt as if you were underwater as the oxygen inside of you started to leave your system. You hear the familiar voices distantly, so far away to reach for help. Your vision went blurry as you felt your body giving in.

Alex had knelt down next to you, calling your name out various times. Her hands went to grab yours as you gripped tightly your hair, crying out of pain.

The redhead didn’t register the moment her girlfriend and sister stood beside her with the same worried expressions. Kara stared at your hands carefully as Maggie and Alex tried to make you let you as you hurled yourself unconsciously. Noticing the beeping light at the side of the device on your temple, she didn’t hesitate to take it out as fast as she could without hurting you further.

The pain had slowly calmed down, the beeping sound on your ear now stronger than ever made you turn to where the black box stood. Your mind seemed to concentrate on the box and the sound, you couldn’t hear what they were saying, somehow the pain had gone away but the feeling of being underwater stood stronger than ever.

The black box flight directly into the wall cracking it open revealing the items inside, the heroine immediately determined the same beeping sound before yelling into her comms. “We have a bomb, Winn!”

The blurred voice through the comms invaded your ears “That’s what triggered the device and Y/N pain! You guys need to get Y/N out of there now!”

“I can turn it off, get Y/N out of here” Kara claimed to look at the couple.

You felt two arms lifting you up in bride style before you felt the exhausting feeling gaining over you, everything seemed to barge in your senses before your blurred vision became black.

——

Alex and Maggie sat at the chairs beside your bed. Worry expressions on their faces as they did. The med bay had been cleared out by the Director the moment they arrived, the redhead with you unconscious in her arms walked in, immediately checking you herself. Kara had arrived shortly after, stopping Winn from coming into the room and explaining what had happened to you.

The blonde knew the moment her friend would walk in saying he may have not tested your shield and didn’t think of protection against bombs, the least he was going to receive from the couple was a punch or maybe two.

And even after all she couldn’t help but smile at the crushing of the couple, it had been a few weeks since they had revealed it to her and she has been teasing them nonstop. With their nonstop talking about you, the social media stalking, the long looks, and the special caring treatment they would give you every time you were around.

Alex and Maggie both looked like kicked puppies staring at you with worry and nervousness as laid on the hospital bed wired into various machines. Neither of them had left your side after 36 hours of you being out.

The first thing you registered as you slowly opened your eyes was the bright white light on top of you, and the thirstiness on your throat. Sitting up still adjusting to your surroundings you reached for a table, wanting to drink water.

You didn’t register the couple on the chairs until the cup of water on the table was brought out without the right instruction, showering all of your head with it.

You cursed without thinking when you started to rub your eyes only to be cut off when a teasing voice made you know you had actually said it. “Fucking-”

“I had no idea someone could sound so adorable cursing” The Latina woman claimed with Alex by her side.

You blushed before clearing your throat trying to hide your embarrassment as you spoke. “Hey”

“How are you feeling? We have been worried sick” The redhead said as she grabbed your hand carefully, scared of you pulling away.

“I’m...” You started only to stop when the Latina grabbed your left hand, in the same way, her girlfriend had done.

“Great, good, amazing” You stumbled in your words as the butterflies in your stomach began to move rapidly, so fast you felt your heart on your ear, and by the looks, on their faces, they had registered by the rapid beeping of the monitor.

——

You walked down the hallway a few hours later with the basic sweats from the DEO. The butterflies in your stomach hadn’t left since the bed moment with your crushes and certainly didn’t help the fact that every time you would look at them, they seem to increase.

The loose grey sweatshirt helped you hide your hands in the long sleeves, as you walked anxiously out of the med bay. But before you could go downstairs to grab your things and go home for the ‘rest’ you needed which Alex had ordered. Two voices behind you made you turn out as fast as you could.

“Y/N!”

With your heart in your sleeve, and the anxiety in your chest you gave the couple a small smile before speaking, a tone higher than your regular voice. “Hey guys”

The two of them furrowed their eyes before shaking their heads simultaneously, you looked at them worriedly only for them to reassure you with smiles. Before anything else could happen Maggie spoke up, fidgeting with her hands as she did.

“Y/N, we like you… like a lot and we were wondering if-”

Finished Director Danvers “You would let us take you on a date?”

Your eyes widened in surprise, and your cheeks blushed completely as you stared at them lost of words. The couple shifted in their feet awkwardly waiting for your response, as you kept quiet the Danvers woman started to speak again nervously looking at you.

“And if you don’t, then that's completely fine. We understand and we never wished-”

Cutting the redhead speech you beamingly smile at them. “YES!”

You cleared your throat as you watched them giggled at your response before straightening your back before responding again. “I would love to, I mean”

They nodded and told you, they would pick you up by 7 at your apartment. You walked away almost bouncing in your with butterflies moving incredibly fast in your stomach and your ears full of your beating heartbeat.

And without any surprise, months after you couldn’t help but fall more in love with your girlfriends. And somehow the strong ear-filling heartbeat and the butterflies on your stomach never left.

[fallingsunflower]

Can you tell me why you think this is a pr stunt please

Yeah, also I'm sure I'll forget something so @ my anons feel free to add anything. And I'll try to explain this with as little bias as I can (I am incredibly biased because I really don't like Olivia but I'll try to keep my thoughts on her to a minimum).

There's a couple different reasons I think this is a stunt. It's not a simple answer so I'll try to outline it as clearly as I can.

DWD had a rocky start from the beginning, and it only continued throughout filming. Dakota Johnson (a big name) left. Shia (the original lead) either left or was fired. Then there were all the allegations surrounding him. I don't know if he was fired for those allegations or if he quit due to creative differences with Olivia. Either or, his name tarnished the film a little bit. Then covid shut down production for 2 weeks which caused the set millions. There was the second NDA the cast and crew had to sign for unprofessionalism, which I'm sure didn't bode well with Warner Bros. DWD also went two months over schedule, which again cost WB millions. A PR stunt is a common tactic used to draw attention away from negativity.

This is Olivia's second directorial movie, following the box office failure of Booksmart. Booksmart only brought in $25 million (internationally) during it's course in theaters. For reference, Five Feet Apart (a smilier movie that came out the same month) made $99.5 million. Captain Marvel (which came out the same weekend as Booksmart) made $1.128 billion. My guess is Olivia's hoping DWD will do well in the box office because she has some unheard of director deal where she gets half of the box office earnings once the movie breaks even. She probably wants to draw in as much publicity as she can for the money, but also to boost her own image as a female director. She's in her late thirties which is a "condemned" age in Hollywood women because of the industry's sexism. It's hard to get any gigs at that age. She also probably also wants to be the next big thing. There's a lot of reasons why she'd want to bring in publicity to DWD and a stunt is part of that promotion.

Speaking of promotion, Booksmart had major issues with promotion. It wasn't marketed effectively (you can read about it here). The stunt could be another marketing strategy.

DWD also started filming during a very uncertain time due to Covid. At the time, no one had a clue when social distancing or mask wearing would come to an end, or proper movie promo. It doesn't seem impossible that they'd pull some extra strings since at the time, proper movie promo seemed unlikely.

Whether or not the stunt was originally intended for Harry's image, I don't know, but I do think he's riding it out now. It's bringing him in revenue since he's not touring (those pap pictures of him and Olivia probably have sold for an insane amount and him and Olivia get a cut of the check). He also, like Olivia, could be making his salary based off of what the movie makes (so a percentage of it). At the time he was also scheduled to tour (still is) so maybe he knew he wouldn't be at movie promo so he agreed to do the stunt to fulfill his part. Then I also have a theory that Harry got mixed up with something and the stunt is being used as a distraction (but I have absolutely no proof of this - it's just me)

There's also brand promotion. Not sure if that would be included in the original deal or as an add on but it's been shoved down our throats since the beginning and a lot of people don't pay attention to it. There's Gucci from the wedding (which conveniently was Harry's Gucci Beloved campaign). There's Eliou the jewelry brand. There's Bode. Now there's Nike, and it's not the first time Harry's been papped with Nike during this stunt

But even if you choose not to believe all the above things, there's still the very obvious consensus from Harry's fans and most of the GP that something is off with this "Relationship". The timing. The lack of chemistry. The predictable pictures and timeline. Literally every single thing points to it being a PR relationship. Even a verified journalist said she think its PR (on Twitter - I forget the username)

So here's what I think happened/and what's continuing to happen: I think the stunt was part of Harry's deal to join DWD. There have been seeds of "evidence" since the beginning (i.e. Olivia sticking her head at an uncomfortable angle out of her trailer to be seen talking to Harry). I think the wedding pap walk was planned since the beginning also but Olivia wasn't planning to go over schedule with DWD. I think the pap walk was supposed to come after production ended to keep things "professional". But due to their contracts, they probably couldn't back out and needed to go forth with the walk even though they were still filming.

I think there was a 6 month mark for the yacht pics (or PDA pics in general) because I think the movie was slated for a September 2021 release/July 2021 trailer. The timing would make sense - big stunt to draw attention to the movie. But obviously things got shifted around with the pushed back release, most likely WB's decision to give the movie a fighting chance (my guess is it will be released during the "movie dump months" of early 2022). Now I predict either the breakup or another big move right before the actual movie release.

I think Olivia and Harry's teams feed info to fan accounts, gossip blogs and magazines to keep things "organic". This can be sightings or pictures. Ever notice how many of those come from burner accounts? A lot. And I'm sure some of them are real, because after all if Harry and Olivia go out in public together they're going to be spotted.

As for the smoothie shop video, since this needs it's own explanation, the security footage can't just be "leaked". No one has access to it besides security. I don't even think the owners have access. So it wasn't organically "leaked". There's no possible way it way. It's illegal. The only way that footage could have gotten out is if the people in the video requested it, and probably for a pretty penny too. It was released during a content drought so I think it was a staged leak. (The pictures of Harry as Jack were also a staged leak. No one has access to film footage except the director, producers, and editors).

So yeah, that's my thought. I won't be convinced it's real unless they get married or have a child together

And also, just to add, PR stunts are common in the industry. It's not impossible for this to be a stunt. Celebrities will do a lot for fame and money. Harry's seemed to have fallen down that path

[angelanimedesaray]

Wings in the Dark Chapter 8:  Bleed

AN:  Okay, um...all I’m going to put for this chapter is, ah...this little quote from AOT’s Wiki about Levi:

“When dealing with individuals he perceives to be enemies to mankind, Levi is capable of behaving sadistically, even vindictively. “

Characters:  Levi, Fem!Vamipre!Reader, Eld (Briefly/Mentioned), Erwin (Mentioned)

Pairing:  (Eventual) Levi x Fem!Vampire!Reader

Warnings:  Blood, Violence, Injury, Self Inflicted Injury, Misunderstandings, Near Death, Forced Blood Drinking, I think Mild Torture counts for this...Language

Word Count:  7842

<----Previous Chapter    Masterlist    Next Chapter---->

*Levi’s POV*

Levi waited a few days before he did anything.

He would have waited longer, but he knew if he waited a week or more, she would have the chance to kill again, and he wanted to act before she could.  The other night it had been someone who had jumped her that she’d attacked, but who would it be next time?  Some random civilian off the street?  Considering the conditions in the Underground, the man she killed could have been someone just trying to survive--Levi himself had been a thug in the Underground.

Of course, given the area they’d been in, it was less likely that man had been just trying to get by, but there were too many unknowns about her, too much sinister implications in the stark facts alone, for him to go off blind, naïve faith that she was some kind of vigilante type that only preyed on the truly terrible.

Though honestly, even that thought sickened him.  If she was just another person, which was the theory he would act on considering how insane the other one was, then that meant she was going out of her way to kill people in the Underground, and that kind of self-righteous dealing out of judgement and death was sickening to him.

Of course, he was still keeping the insane theory in mind.  He had no solid evidence he’d seen with his own eyes to prove it, just a bunch of theories and circumstances that fit so snug and perfectly into the larger picture he couldn’t ignore it.  But he wasn’t going to treat her as some supernatural creature of darkness until he saw something that proved it without a doubt.

All the more reason for this plan for a confrontation he’d managed to cook up in a short amount of time.

Firstly, he hadn’t told Erwin yet.  Not because he’d suddenly decided not to have the other man involved--no, Erwin needed to know what was going on, no matter how this panned out.  Why he withheld the developments he’d made in the Underground was because he was still uncertain about the more insane theory.  There was too much for him to omit it, but he didn’t exactly want to go up to Erwin and tell him that he thought L/N was a demon who drank blood from humans she killed every week.

Erwin would probably have him committed if he told the man he was considering it with no actual, solid proof.  So, Levi had left behind a letter addressed to Erwin explaining what he’d discovered in the Underground and his two theories, complete with the tale from the Underworld and why he was crazy enough to even consider it, and how at the very least she was a serial killer so either way she was a threat.  That way, if something went wrong during this confrontation and he didn’t make it out of there alive, the secret wouldn’t die with him, and Erwin would still be warned.

That was his main concern.

The second had been how to approach this.  How to get the upper hand on her when she was already so...refined in her senses.  How she always seemed to know when he was nearby or when he was heading her way.  How was he supposed to get the drop on someone like that?

That was where Eld came into play.

He did his best to make it look unimportant and nothing more than part of the usual daily routine.  The command was given in passing as Eld came from the opposite end of the hallway, Levi stopping him briefly to ask him to tell L/N to make a delivery for Levi to a specific address, with instructions that included a fake package waiting just outside Levi’s office for L/N to pick up and deliver.

The address, unbeknownst to Eld and certainly to L/N who had just recently come to the surface compared to Levi, was to an abandoned warehouse a little ways outside of one of Rose’s main towns.

After giving the order to Eld, Levi kept walking with a purpose like it had simply been a passing thing instead of the first domino to fall in his plan for cornering L/N--or at least getting the drop on her to give himself a bit of an upper hand in this mess.

Now he just had to get to his observation point before she had the chance to make the delivery, and wait.

No more games.  It was time he started getting real answers from the source itself.

Levi left his jacket behind, making sure he had full mobility, ODM gear primed and ready as he crouched low on the rooftop of another tall building a few houses over from the warehouse.  He waited in silence, sharp gaze on the roads as he waited for L/N to appear with the fake delivery.

He tried not to think too much about the situation any more than he already had.  He was already so wrapped up in conspiracy theories as it was he didn't want to get any further in his head, especially since he needed to be focused on the confrontation at hand.

Leaning against the chimney of the home he was waiting on top of, Levi attached one of the ODM gear blades, just in case he needed it as soon as his feet hit the ground.  When he needed to move, the only sound he wanted to make was the ODM gear, and hopefully he could push it fast enough L/N wouldn't be able to bolt.

Speaking of…

She finally appeared, making her way down the street towards the warehouse with the fake parcel in hand.  She slowed down when she saw the state of the building, hesitation appearing in her movements, head suddenly on a swivel.  She was good at sensing the danger in a situation, which under normal circumstances would be a good thing, but currently it made Levi’s job a little harder.

Levi shifted just enough so he was ready to move immediately, watching L/N as she cautiously made her way into the warehouse.  Heart pounding, Levi waited a few seconds, giving her the chance to walk deeper into the warehouse, to put down to parcel where he’d described…

The cables of his gear fired, and he kicked off the roof, a burst of gas propelling him forward, feet extended out and arms crossed in front of his face to protect himself as he crashed through one of the warehouse windows.  Below him, she whipped around at the sound of the glass crashing, body coiling like she was going to run, retaliate, or simply dodge.  After seeing it was Levi crashing through the window, she hesitated for the briefest moment.  It was all he needed for him to move just slightly, to adjust now that he had a visual of her, so that he could land atop her.

His knee was planted into her chest, foot planting on the ground beside her solidly, one hand slapping against the ground beside her head while his other put his blade at her throat.  With her pinned solidly beneath him, Levi's eyes flashed, glass crunching beneath his boot from the shattered window as he made sure he was in a solid position that would not be easy for her to break free of.

"What are you?" Levi ground out, steely gaze fixated on her eyes, reading every twitch in her face to make sure he caught if she tried to lie to him.

It was the first thing he asked, because he knew she was a serial killer, at least, but if she was more, if those monsters from the story were real and she was one of them…

She hesitated.  It wasn't confusion that flashed across her face at his question, and she didn't immediately spout some bullshit lie about being innocent of anything that would justify his ambush.

The fact that she didn't immediately ask him what he was talking about gave him a bad feeling, a sense of his monster theory slowly solidifying.

He still wasn't ready to believe it entirely, but it was continuing to gain traction.

"You're going to have to be more specific," she said in a level voice.  Beneath him, she kept perfectly still, attempting to look non-threatening.  it didn't work when Levi knew she'd killed a man just a few days ago by ripping out his throat.

Levi’s grip tightened, the blade held straight against her throat as his eyes flashed dangerously.  "I'm done playing games with you.  I know you've been sneaking around the Underground killing people for years, longer, perhaps."  Even though he wasn't entirely certain, he decided to take a leaf out of Erwin’s book and gamble to see if he could coax a confirming reaction, growling the words out in anger.  "You're not even human, are you?"

Alarm flashed in her eyes, and her posture shifted to a more on-guard position, body tense beneath him as her words came out careful and measured, full of wariness.  "What do you--"

"Enough with the games!"

He was pissed now, fed up with the round and round with her constantly slipping through his grasp.  Her attempt to continue to be dodgy right now only inflamed his temper, causing his free hand to grab her collar and lift her up before slamming her against the ground again.  Glass cracked and crunched beneath her from the impact, likely causing the glass to tear up her back in the process.

She didn’t react in pain, though.  Her eyes hardened and she grabbed at the hand that was clutching her collar, attempting to pry his fingers away as she ignored what he was saying in favor of trying to get his hand off her neck.  She wasn’t even going after the blade, which would have made far more sense in his mind, but both her hands were going for the one at her collar.

She was protecting something there.

“She’s always wearing the same necklace, all the time–I’ve never seen her without it.”

That had to be what she was protecting, what she was so focused on right now.  Realizing it might be something he could use as leverage, his hand delved a little further until he felt a chain and medallion, fingers curling around it before he ripped it off her on an instinct, holding his hand far out of her reach while the other hand kept that blade on her neck.

Since Levi had come through the window and pinned her to the ground instantly, they were sitting in the sunlight.  The shadows of the warehouse were a few feet away from her, and Levi’s body was partially blocking out the sun.

As soon as the necklace came off of her, as Levi pulled his hand back to hold it out of reach, the parts of her that were exposed to the sun and not hidden in shade or shadow began to steam and burn.  In a sudden show of strength that revealed just how much she had been holding back, she let out a scream of pain and darted off into the shadows, momentarily abandoning the attempt to protect or reclaim the necklace in favor of getting out of the sun and curling up in the shadows a few feet away.

Levi sat frozen in place, staring in shock at the woman whose skin had turned red and blistered, the steam already starting to lessen and the skin that had been burned starting to heal itself as he watched.

What...the fuck...

That...had not been normal.  Nothing about this situation, about the woman in front of him, was normal.  No more doubts, then.  The insane was the reality of what he’d discovered.  She really was the creature from the Underground tales.  A creature of shadows that fed off the blood of humans.

"It's real, then," he said in a monotone voice, getting to his feet as she continued to lurk in the shadows, the pain from her burns lessening enough she was unfurling from the defensive, pained position of a few moments ago and was slowly getting to her feet as well.

The tension in the air, the dynamic between them, shifted entirely with this new development.  There was open hostility in Levi’s gaze as he tucked the necklace safely away.  As long as he had it, he had an advantage over her--he didn't understand the specifics, but it seemed the necklace he had protected her somehow from the sun.  As long as he had it instead of her, she was trapped and restricted to the shadows of this warehouse.  He would have an environmental advantage.  Though she would also probably be desperate to get it back.  He would have to be careful of that--desperation made people unpredictable and dangerous, and she was already both of those on a normal day.  At least she was to him.

Now that the impossible had been confirmed, many of the theories Levi had been keeping at bay in case it really was impossible now came flooding in, hardening his resolve and deepening the hostility the longer he thought about it.  She might not have done anything to harm the Scouts yet, but that didn’t mean she was innocent.  She hadn’t been around Erwin yet, had she?  What if Erwin was her target?  Now that everything was rapidly falling into place, the enormity of the implications that came with her being an immortal creature was falling over him as well.  At the rate she’d been feeding on people in the Underground recently, she must have killed hundreds of people across her lifetime--more, maybe.

And that locked door double homicide--the way Victoria had died, how it had only been Victoria and Y/N Frazier in the room, how there had been no sounds to alert the parents, how strongly the police had suspected it had been someone the girls knew.  Now that he knew what L/N was, it made sense for Victoria’s murderer to have been L/N herself.  The woman in front of him hadn’t been above killing her best friend back then, so even if that man she’d killed last night had been scum of the earth, anyone was fair game to her.  Who knew who else she had hurt or killed during her lifetime?  She was just as much of a threat as the Titans, except her, he didn’t know her intentions.  Titans were mindless beasts that ate humans just because.  She had intelligence, she mingled with them, she picked them out, stalked, and preyed upon them, and her intentions with the Scouts were entirely unknown to him.

Which made her much more dangerous, in his mind.

He would deal with his reaction to finding out these monsters of the shadows were real later.  Right now, he had to deal with the situation at hand and the creature that was staring him down from the shadows now.  Reflection could come later, if he survived this, considering how in the dark he was about what they were capable of and what they could do.  Or how to kill them, now that he thought about it considering he’d just watched those burns across her skin rapidly heal.

Decapitation seemed like a safe first attempt, if it came to that.  He needed answers, first, though.  He might actually be able to get some answers now that the façade had been dropped.  There was no point in her trying to hide it now that he knew for a fact that she wasn't human.

"Why join the Scouts?  What did you hope to gain--what were you trying to do?  Were we just your convenient cover or does it go deeper than that?"

*Reader’s POV*

Wariness had quickly turned to alarm as you had approached the warehouse and as Levi jumped you.  You’d heard his approach, but seeing it was Levi crashing through the window had caused your hesitation--the last thing you wanted was to do something that suggested you were threatening him.

Alarm, however, had given way to panic one Levi pulled the necklace from your neck.  That necklace was your freedom.  Your life.  And he had quite literally just taken it from you and was now actively keeping it from you.  Without that necklace, you couldn’t walk in the sun, couldn’t be in the Scouts, couldn’t stay on the surface--you would have to crawl back down into the Underground for the rest of your life because as far as you knew, that necklace was the only one of its kind.  You’d acquired it by a nigh miracle, off the body of another vampire.  Finding another would be no small feat--practically impossible.

All other thought went out the window, except for the singular consuming thought to get the necklace back.  Now.  Levi’s questions were secondary in the wake of the need to get your necklace back.

“Give it back,” you said in a harsh tone, gaze boring into Levi as any calm or timid demeanor gave way to a hidden ferocity from your nature.

“No,” Levi replied simply, taking a step back deeper into the sunlight.  “You’ll answer my questions first.”

In an attempt to take it back by force, you rushed at him, not sure which pocket it was in, but knowing if you moved fast enough you could at least knock him out of the light and have a better chance at finding it in the shadow.  Levi side-stepped after seeing you coil for an attack, moving out of the way just in time.  You crashed into the shadow with a gasp, skin blistering again from the brief exposure to the sun.  You would just have to tolerate the brief pain--it was nothing compared to getting that necklace back.

After taking a moment to let the burn ease, you shifted and rushed at him again, this time successfully knocking him into the shadows before he staggered backwards into the light of another window, blade in front of him in an attempt to ward you off and warn you he /would/ cut you if he felt he needed to.

“Give it back, now,” you reiterated in a growl, and Levi’s gaze hardened again, angling the blade in front of him so the sunlight glinted at you, causing you to have to duck out of the way with a hiss.

“While I have it, you can’t be in the sun--you can’t leave this warehouse.  Correct?  I’ll keep it until I have my answers,” Levi answered, continuing to reflect the sunlight off his blade to force you to move.

Not in the mood to be toyed with--and the irony currently escaping you considering Levi had alluded to the fact he’d felt like you’d been toying with him all this time--you rushed him again.  This time, he grabbed at you when you connected with him, both of you falling to the floor and rolling across the ground, your hands grappling at his waist to try and find the necklace.  Since your hands were currently occupied, it was easy for him to grab you and roll you over, attempting to pin you to the floor face first with part of your body in the sun.

“Answers, now!” Levi shouted over your cry of pain, body weight pressing down on you to try and keep you down and in the sun.  “Why join the Scouts?  What do you get out of it?” Levi demanded to know.

Considering how much he wanted answers, you doubted he’d be doing this if he knew that being in the sun too long would kill you.  He just knew it hurt you, which was probably why he was trying to use it to make you talk.

With an angry and pained snarl, you briefly went still before rearing back to throw him off, turning in the same movement to push him off of you and break free.

This was quickly turning into a full on fight.  So much for not antagonizing him.

As Levi got back to his feet, the edge of the blade was angled more fully towards you.  It seemed he could tell this was becoming a full on fight as well, and was about to step it up.

You weren’t armed, not in the sense of weapons that weren’t body parts.  Your fangs weren’t an option--both because you refused to bite him, and even if you wanted to, you couldn’t, thanks to what you’d been putting in his tea…

Which meant while he had his own natural abilities and his blade, you just had your strength and speed, plus you were holding back because the last thing you wanted was to kill him, which made this all the more complicated.

Once again, you rushed him, and like last time, he met your attack instead of stepping away, trying to throw you aside into the sun.  You dug your heels in to prevent it, feeling Levi’s fist connect with your gut and causing you to stagger slightly, fingers clenching in the fabric of his shirt as you threw him aside.  He didn’t go far, planting his feet after a few staggered steps before his foot cut through the air, colliding with your jaw.  You reeled back, hand on your bloodied lip before you felt his hands on you again, taking advantage of your momentary daze as he swept one of your feet out from underneath you, pushing you backwards and to the ground again.  His blade was at your throat once more, except this time it was biting, just shy of drawing blood as he held you firmly down with all his strength, all patience and tolerance gone from his eyes.

“Answer me, or I’ll just kill you and be done with it,” he threatened, the chill in his eyes and the blade breaking skin and drawing blood from your throat for emphasis and to show how serious he was.  For him, it was your last chance to talk.  And for extra incentive, he was attempting to keep your arm pinned and burning in the sun.

Your instinct for self-preservation triggered at the very direct and real threat against your life, you threw him off of you with all of your strength, tossing him aside and hearing him go through a wall before landing with an ominous sound out of view.

You heard a choked sound...silence fell over the room...and you could smell the blood in the air.

No...

The scent of blood was getting rapidly stronger and overpowering.

No, no, no…

You’d only been trying to get him off you, wanting the threat to your life removed before you were going to pin him and make him listen while you took back your necklace.

You hadn’t meant to hurt him--not as seriously as the scent of blood in the air suggested.  And now you were afraid of what you were going to find as you got up from the floor with your heart in your throat and arm cradled to your chest, waiting for it to heal as you rushed forward to see what state he was in and assess the situation.

*Levi’s POV*

The first impact as he was sent flying through the wall had been enough to stun him and knock the wind out of him, trying to brace himself for the next impact when he felt the wall give beneath him, choking on the dust he inhaled before he felt the second impact on a second wall that had been perpendicular to the first and already partially broken and decrepit.  It gave way partially but not entirely, wood and other building materials cracking and giving way beneath him, Levi’s full weight smashing against the broken materials.  Oddly enough, he didn’t fall to the ground.  His head cracked against stone, pain shooting against his head and momentarily disoriented and unable to grasp his surroundings as something held him in place.

He choked again, partially on the dust from the broken walls, but also from pain--not just from his head, but from something that made it hard to breathe, that had him starting to go into shock.  As his vision slowly came back, sunlight falling across his body in beams from a boarded up window, he looked down to see some of the wooden internal, structural boards of the broken second wall sticking through his stomach.

He’d been impaled.  Plus the back of his head felt damp, telling him he’d cracked his head hard on the stone behind him as well as been impaled somewhere fatal.  Impaled in a place that would give him a slow death, too.  Of all the ways to die, it was going to be impaled on a random piece of wood in a broken down building.  Not fighting Titans or anything like that.  All that time fighting Titans, putting himself out there and putting his life on the line time and time again, all those people dying around him in fights with man eating giants, and this was how he was going to go out?

What a joke.

Well...perhaps there was something fitting in his death in the fact it had been in the middle of a struggle with another man-eating creature.  Either way, he was still going to die.  She would either watch him die or leave him to die, because it was the best situation for her--he would be silenced, her secret would remain.  Well, as far as she knew.  She didn’t know there would be a letter for Erwin to find in his office revealing her secret to the Scout’s Commander.  He had some comfort in that thought, at least.

He’d known this was a possibility going into this situation with so many unknowns, but he’d still hoped that maybe he could make it through this alive.  Apparently his luck had finally run out.

As Levi came to terms with his rapidly approaching death, L/N suddenly climbed through the hole in the first wall, her burnt arm cradled to her chest even as it rapidly healed, eyes wide at the sight of Levi impaled in front of her.  Her hands shook slightly as she approached him, her unburned hand reaching out instinctively for him before it was burned by the sunlight, as if reminding her that she didn’t have her necklace and couldn’t withstand the sunlight.

She let out a small hiss, stepping as close as she could with the sunlight as her hands started searching him again, patting him down in a rush, obviously looking for the necklace he’d stashed away.

“FUCK!” she shouted halfway through, making Levi flinch slightly at the outburst, her hands repeatedly being burned and forcing her to pull away before she would reach out again, uncaring if she would get burned, simply desperate to find that damn necklace.

In his mind, it showed how little she cared for his life, how inconsequential it was to her in the grand scheme of things.  How she could ignore the dying man in front of her so completely in her search for that damn necklace.

He wouldn’t get any answers from her before he died, would he?

Her hand finally found the place he’d tucked her necklace away, a modicum of relief flashing in her eyes as her fingers curled around the fine chain and she pulled back, stepping away from the sunlight as she quickly put it back on.  Her head lifted, eyes meeting his, and Levi felt a sudden surge of panic as he realized there was a red glow in her eyes, a red glow that was getting stronger as she stepped closer to him.

His mind was filled with that tale Kenny had told him, how the glowing red eyes was the last thing a man saw before having his throat ripped out and being devoured by the monster of shadows.  On a self-preservation instinct, Levi’s limp grip tightened on the blade still on his hand through pure survival instinct drilled into him after years in the field.  As she came closer, he attacked with the blade, slashing at her to try and keep her back before she could tear into him.  He was dying, but at least let him have some control over how he died--he would rather die from something stupid like being impaled like this than ripped into by her while he lay helpless and unable to do anything.  He might be dying, but he would fight until his fingers couldn’t grip the blade anymore to keep her at bay if it meant dying with a scrap of dignity.

*Reader’s POV*

When you saw Levi, the panic was palpable in your blood, causing your pulse to quicken and your hands to shake as you went up to him.  Where he was pinned down, he was in the sunlight, which meant you couldn’t help him like you needed to until you had your necklace back.  You hated prioritizing it over his life, even for a few moments, but you needed the necklace back so you wouldn’t be restricted by sunlight while you tried to help him.

Every moment you’d been unable to find it had been torture.  Yes, because you kept burning yourself in the sunlight as you tried to find it on his person, but also because you could practically feel his time running out with every second that passed with you unable to find the necklace.

And then there was the big issue.  The temptation.  You had always been afraid of what would happen if Levi’s blood was ever spilled around you.  Just being around him and what you knew about him was enough to tell you his blood would be exceptional, one of the best sources of blood within the walls you were going to find.  Freshly spilled blood was always tough to resist, but when it was exceptional blood like his, and when this much of it was being spilled so close to you, the red blossoming rapidly across his white shirt…

You had to fight yourself every moment you were standing in front of him, that intoxicating scent trying to overwhelm all of your senses, dizzying in its intoxicating nature, drawing you in at a time when you couldn’t afford to take a step back.  You knew your eyes were glowing red as your vampiric nature tried to take full control, your teeth aching painfully in your mouth, fangs wanting to protrude forth and begging you to sink your teeth into his warm skin.

But you couldn’t.  You couldn’t.

He needed help, the kind of help only you could give him right now, and if you didn’t do it soon it was going to be too late.

Trying to overcome your instincts by sheer willpower started to feel impossible the longer you stood just in front of him, teeth grit painfully together especially with how much your jaw was aching right now.  It helped to remind yourself in your head over and over like some kind of hypnotic mantra that he had white sage in his blood and it would be poisonous for you to even have a small sip--even if you did give in, it wouldn’t end well, not just for him but for you, too.

Finally finding the necklace had been a relief--no more wasting time, you could help him without restriction now.  Plus it was a huge wave of relief to have the small item that provided you with freedom, though any relief you felt was quickly muffled by the situation you and Levi were now in.  Able to finally stop focusing on that necklace once more, you looked up at him just to make sure he was still conscious, that he was still with you and wasn’t too pale, considering he hadn’t said a word the entire time you’d searched him.  He might have still been in shock--

The sudden whistle of his blade slicing through the air and across your chest quickly dispelled any foolish notion you had about him being in shock.  The rapid pounding of his heartbeat was enough to tell you the action had come from raw fear, and that fear was still rampant inside him even as he slowly bled out in front of you, his gaze still hard as steel despite his fear and the situation he was in.

The wound across your chest caused you to stagger back with a low groan, blood blossoming across your now ripped shirt even as the wound started to slowly stitch itself back together.  The severity of the wound meant that the healing sapped at your strength, making you feel a hint of fatigue while also intensifying the thirst that was already so hard for you to control with so much top tier blood in such close proximity.

His breathing was ragged, but he still held that blade up to protect himself, showing he was ready to struggle against you until all strength left him.  You couldn’t afford that right now--you needed cooperation if you were going to get him out of this.  Or you at least needed him in a position he couldn’t fight back, though you weren’t about to wait until he lost his strength due to blood loss--it might be too late by then.

Using your speed to attempt to grab him before he could react, you snatched his hand that was holding that blade aloft with both of your hands, pausing for just a moment to meet his gaze.

“Sorry, but I can’t have you cutting me up right now and making this more difficult...it’ll heal anyway,” you said apologetically, seconds before you broke his hand without warning, a sound finally escaping him in the form of a sharp shout of pain that he quickly cut off, gritting his teeth even as the injury forced him to drop the blade and prevented him from drawing another--at least with that hand.

Now that you’d taken care of any attempts to try and attack her with the ODM gear blades, you lifted one of your arms up to your mouth, biting deeply into your own skin with a pained whimper.  This wasn’t something you’d done before, especially not like this, but you knew it would work, so you muscled past the instinct not to hurt yourself and through the pain, making sure you drew enough blood it dribbled down your arm before you released it.

Levi was watching you in horrified silence, probably trying to figure out what the hell you were doing.  It was clear he, ah...didn’t think very highly of you, but you were trying desperately not to take it personally and focus on your current task--making sure Humanity’s Strongest didn’t die from a stupid accident during a fight that had been born from a complete lack of understanding and communication.

“I know it’s gross, I know it’s weird, but you’ve got to drink it,” you told him as you moved closer, lifting your arm to his mouth.  He gave you an incredulous look and a quick no before you had pressed your arm against his mouth, and he tried to push your arm away with his one good hand, body tensing as he started to struggle, causing his wound to bleed more, fresh blood staining his shirt around the wound.  You hadn’t moved him off of what was impaling him yet because you knew it would only make him bleed out faster, but if he was going to keep struggling like this, he was only going to do more damage.

Attempting to get him to stop moving, you pressed your other arm against his upper chest, that injury still pressed hard against his mouth even as he clenched his teeth and tried to keep his lips pressed together, tried to turn his head away and resist.

“Stop fighting me--it’s just going to make things worse, and we’re already on borrowed time,” you pleaded with him.  He didn’t listen, though.  It was no use--he saw you as an enemy, he didn’t trust you, why would he believe what you were doing was to help him?

You’d pushed your arm past his lips and up against his teeth--the only reason he didn’t bite was probably because he knew that would only accelerate or help what she was trying to do.  All he could do was try to resist, try not to swallow any.  The wound on your arm was healing, the bleeding slowing down as blood slipped down his chin, his resistance making a mess even as he coughed, choked on his own blood that was starting to well up in his throat, and attempted to spit out what had made it into his mouth, speckles of blood dotting your skin and his lips.

You hated how cruel it was, but he wasn’t giving you much of a choice.  Desperate to get your blood in his system so it could heal him, and a fair amount of it so he would heal quickly, you pulled your arm away, covered his mouth, bit into that same spot again hard enough tears pricked in your eyes, and then forced your arm against his mouth again, this time taking care to cover his airways and suffocate him until his reflex to swallow kicked in.

You held him down as best as you could as he struggled violently against you, unable to look him in the eye in the process and simply pressing your body weight against his to keep him pinned in place and try to minimize the damage his struggling would do to the already fatal wound, ears straining for the sound you were waiting for that would tell you he’d finally swallowed.

It was a relief when it finally happened, two big but reluctant gulps causing relief to wash through you as you instantly pulled back, Levi sucking in instinctually desperate gasps for air as you started undoing the brown wrap of your uniform that was around your waist, reaching over and pulling Levi’s free of his uniform as he sputtered and retched.

At the sound, you suddenly snapped to attention and reached up to grasp his chin, eyes flashing dangerously.  “Don’t you dare try to spit it back up you stubborn, idiotic asshole!” you snapped, some of your frustrations leaking out despite your best efforts to try and stay calm in this situation.  “I’m trying to save your life you goddamn idiot!”

Pulling the wrap on his uniform free as well, you quickly wadded both of them up, finally slipping one hand behind him against the middle of his back, the other resting on his chest, bracing yourself as if this was going to hurt you as much as it was going to hurt him.  You reminded yourself to breathe through your mouth instead of your nose in the hopes that would help lessen the bloodthrist when the blood gushed out with what you were about to do.

Fuck, this is not how I wanted this to happen, if it was ever going to happen, you thought to yourself before--again, without warning Levi--you pulled him quickly off of the wood that had impaled him.

Levi’s cry of pain was far more audible this time, his legs buckling and causing you to have to support his weight as your hands shifted, pressing the wadded up wraps to the entrance and exit wounds of where he’d been impaled to try and staunch the bleeding and try to keep as much blood as you could in his body as long as possible.  You didn’t know how long it would take your blood to start healing him, or if it would heal him in time, but you did know from personal experience that the healing wouldn’t work properly if he was still impaled.

You hoped for his sake the healing would outpace the rate he was dying, even with all the time you’d lost with all his stubborn struggling.

“Careful, careful, try not to move, you’ll only bleed out faster,” you warned him as you very carefully laid him down, letting the weight of his body press the wrap against his back against that wound while you pressed down with your strength to staunch the bleeding from his stomach, your now free hand making sure you laid him down as gently as possible, crackling his head until he was lying still on the ground.

You swallowed thickly at the increased scent of blood in the air, small groans trapped in your throat, eyes closed and nostrils flared as you tried desperately to resist the urge to drink from him.  There was a dark voice in the back of your mind that whispered what a waste all this blood would be if he died, but you shoved it aside viciously, pressing perhaps a little tighter than necessary against the wrap you were holding to his stomach.

After a few moments of tense silence, you heard Levi’s voice rasp out a question, his broken hand lying limp against the floor and the other instinctively clutching at the wrap with you.

“Why?  Why not leave me for dead, when I know what you are?  Your secret would die with me--so why are you trying to help me?” he asked, voice hoarse and strained, his eyes burning with confusion, showing just how lost he was at how quickly this whole encounter kept shifting in direction and tone.  And looking into his eyes, you felt a sudden wave of sympathy and pity for him.

He was just as lost and confused as you had been all those years ago, when this had first happened to you.  You couldn’t hold any of this against him.  He’d clearly thought you were a threat--understandably, since you technically were.  Even now while you were trying to help him, you were fighting tooth and nail against your nature to rip into him instead.

He needed answers.  He deserved answers.  The truth, no more lies or deceit.

You were going to give him what you never had the luxury of receiving.  An explanation.

“Humanity can’t afford to lose you,” you said, the words coming out far more gruff than you anticipated, how much you were struggling right now leaking out into your voice, your body rigid with the effort it took to resist the blood seeping out of him just below your hands--blood that was actually starting to stain your hands, you could see now.  “And I don’t want you dead.  I never have and I never will.  You need to live, even if that means I have to run, because the Scouts need you.”

You cleared your throat, deciding to add a bit more logic that might sit more comfortably with him considering he’d gone into this seeing you as an enemy.

“Not to mention, I’m not an idiot.  It won’t be hard to figure out I’m responsible if you die here, like this.  There’s that, too,” you added in a fairly flippant voice that hinted at humor, like you were actually trying to lighten the mood.  The attempt fell flat, though--you hadn’t expected it to stick, at least, it had been a knee jerk reaction.

His breathing was shallow, but he still attempted to speak again, trying to get the most important questions out first while he still had time.

“Why...did you join the Scouts?” he asked, voice low and quiet from a lack of energy, the sound alarming you because it made you realize just how much blood he’d lost, how weak he already was.  Still, you answered him, hoping to keep him engaged and awake by answering his questions.  You needed him awake, because that meant he was still with you, he still had a chance to make it out of here alive.

You cleared your throat, trying not to get emotional over the question that actually had quite a personal reason behind it.  You’d only given him a partial truth that night he’d asked you in the mess hall after you’d returned from the Underground.  Now, with him knowing you weren’t human and having something of an understanding of what you were, you could give him a more complete picture.

“I couldn’t take living the way I was down there.  Killing to survive and nothing more, doing nothing with my life except surviving--if it could even be called that.  And it was coming at such a high cost just to keep myself physically alive, a high cost in the lives of others, and I...I wanted to do something that made my life feel...worthwhile.  I don’t think it could ever justify all those deaths, but at least I could do something to help a cause bigger than myself.  I could put these abilities of mine to use for something other than killing people to survive.”  You met his eyes, your panic rising to see the fogginess in his gaze, how unfocused he was, how much he was struggling simply to stay present and hear your answer.  You spoke a little louder to make sure it got through to him, pouring your emotions and intent into your next words in the hopes he would hear you and believe the sincerity of what you said.  “I really did join to help in whatever way I could.  I wanted to give my life some meaning again, so that maybe I could feel like I had a reason for living, for being what I am.”

Levi’s breaths started to hitch and catch, eyes fluttering, head starting to loll to the side, consciousness clearly starting to leave him.  In a panic, you reached out with your free hand to grab at his chin, trying to turn his head back to its upright position to look at you.

“Captain?  Captain Levi?  Levi, stay with me, I need you to stay awake.”  His eyes focused on you for a moment, but only briefly.  His eyes never regained that conscious clarity, remaining foggy and unfocused as his eyes started to flutter again.

“Captain!” you shouted harshly at him, smacking him across the face in hopes to spark something of a physical reaction.  “Hey, stay with me--you can’t let yourself die, especially not right now,” you lectured him as his head briefly lolled towards you after you’d smacked him.  He was already slipping again, though, and you continued to shout at him to try and keep him with you, desperation coloring your voice.

“Levi!  You have to stay alive, especially now that you’ve got my blood in your system.  Please, stay awake, just a little longer!  I need you to stay with me until my blood heals enough of your wound, okay?  Captain Levi, stay awake, stay--Levi!”

You could see him struggling, see him trying to stay awake and alert, trying to stay with you, but he went limp, his consciousness leaving him soon after, breath a bare rattle and his pulse alarmingly weak.

“Captain Levi!”

Next Chapter---->

Levi Tags:  @humanitys-hottestsoldier @clary-quinn @sunny-flo​ @whalerus​  @thirstyforsometea ​

Wings in the Dark Tags:  @regalillegal @animeluver23 @theshylittleelfgirl @queenthorin1 @dilucs-thighs @sociallyanxiousmouse @subtlepjiminie @hakunamatatayqueen​ @queenofcurse​

[danger-xylophones]

Family Reunion Part 10

{masterlist}

Warnings: Have some more angst, my friends. Some character death-as in It happened in the past TPM, some description of pain/injury, a contactless duel, brief mention of suicidal thoughts. 

This got really dark towards the end, I’m sorry. 

Notes I’m so sorry this took so long, I was going through some stuff and this was a real humdinger of an installment to get hung up on. 

Ya’ll need to thank @aberionart for this even getting completed. If not for her art giving me the motivation to attack this beast of a chapter, it wouldn’t have gotten done. Thank you for helping me get out of my writing funk! I always love your art and how positive and supportive you are of everyone! 

PADAWAN WILD

Words: 6.7k

Taglist:@and-claudia // @tararuthven // @aberionart // @noiralei // @pinkiemme // @darthsmol // @zabrak-show // @obi-wan-kanbonemi // @videogamesandpoorlifechoices // @justalittlecloud

<- Previous 

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“Well,” a voice unlike any you’d ever heard before seared over your ears-creating a cold sense of dread that dripped down your spine like ice water. You flicked your eyes open cautiously and raised your head off of Wild’s, simultaneously pulling the young boy closer to you. “What do we have here?” It continued, echoing all around with a low, completely unnatural reverb. You couldn’t help but pick up on the way the owner of the voice pronounced the letter ‘w’-like a ‘v’ instead. It...it was similar to the way Maul used to speak after trying to teach you paecian. It was always so funny to you that speaking in his mother tongue accidentally made him develop a bit of an accent for a little while afterward. Reluctantly, you rose to your feet, keeping Wild close to your front though as your gaze trailed down the ramp to observe Savage standing next to a tall creature clad all in red. They had a high forehead and black tattoos over their face in large blocks and groups. Eventually, you locked eyes with them, e/c staring into piercing, eerie blue. “Ah, you must be padawan L/n.” 

“Mother Talzin, I presume?” You greeted cordially despite the agonizing urge to reach for your sabers and rid the galaxy of the witch. “I am...honored to finally meet you in person. But, if you please, I go by Y/n as I have forgone any affiliation with the Jedi.” 

Mother Talzin hummed, moving unnervingly slow as she bowed her head just enough to acknowledge your confession. The strange tentacle-like pieces of cloth affixed to the back of her cloak followed the movement, slithering in the non-existent wind. “Very well, Y/n.” The Nightmother scanned you in silence after her statement, most likely trying to size you up. You kept your chin raised as you turned to face her more and pushed Wild behind you. Immediately, the witch caught the movement and her eyes zeroed in on Wild. “Ah, and who might this be?” 

You swallowed and let your eyes flicker over to Savage for help but the yellow zabrak could offer none. “This is Wild.” You eventually explained. 

“Your son?” The Nightmother observed though you had the slightest inclination that, though it sounded like a question, it was a statement designed to make you uncomfortable. And it was working. You nodded briefly, tongue darting out to quickly wet your lips-you were getting nervous. Mother Talzin became quiet again, now scanning over Wild who was quietly peeking out from behind you, one hand fisted into the fabric of your tunic and the other itching for one of the sabers on your hip. Evidently, he was as uncomfortable as you were. “He is a fine specimen.” You bristled, stepping to the side to shield Wild from her gaze entirely as your hand landed on your saber. Talzin looked back up at you and spoke with a wry smile, “It is a shame he is a half-blood, he would have made an excellent nightbrother.” 

Over my dead body. You thought bitterly and fixed the witch with the most murderous stare you could muster. Talzin was unfazed by your offense and simply directed her attention to the other red zabrak in the cargo hold-Maul, who had sequestered himself behind boxes once more now much further into the hold. The guilt that followed your realization that he was hiding from you stung more than any blaster bolt would. 

You were pulled from your misery by the sound of the force swirling and converging on one spot, ominous whispers and chants following where it went as a green mist started to fill the cargo hold. Mother Talzin, still stood at the end of the ramp was swirling her hands around a steadily forming glowing green ball of her magic. “Come,” she commanded, her voice taking on a higher reverb, “Let us fix what has been broken.” She calmly released the green ball and it glided over to Maul, bathing the cargo hold in an unsettling yellowish green as it went that had Wild clinging tighter to you as he poked his head around your waist to watch. Your hand fell to his shoulder, wrapping it in a tight grip as you followed the orb with your eyes. “Come to me.” Talzin continued. “Come to me, come to me.” The orb disappeared briefly as it weaved between crates, only trackable by the ominous green glow. “Come to me, lost one, come to me. Follow us, son of Dathomir. Follow me, lost one.Come, child of Dathomir. Follow me.” Talzin urged once more, the whispering and chanting echoing ominously back, till Maul finally began to listen. Originally shying away from the magic, he now followed it-shoving boxes aside and chasing after it like a child enchanted by an odd bug that flitted through the air. 

You started to back up to give Maul more room and encouraged Wild to do the same with a hand on his shoulder. He rolled it and your hand fell away. It felt like someone had stabbed you through the chest. You froze completely, eyes glued to the half-zabrak who didn’t acknowledge you and instead kept his attention fixed on Maul as he followed Mother Talzin and Savage away. 

The hangar fell silent. Neither of you moved. 

You rolled your lips in, anxiously gnawing on them. You had to say something. “Wild…” you began in a soft voice. 

“Don’t.” The word was whispered, barely audible, but it bombarded your ears like a barrage of blaster fire. “Just...don’t.” You had never heard your son sound more defeated. 

“Alright.” You swallowed in an attempt to keep the tremble at bay. “Wild, are you okay?” 

“...Yeah.” He lied and you sucked in a breath. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

Force, you’d messed up. “Okay…” you began slowly, stalling on every syllable that left you, “what do you want?”

“...” Wild shifted but continued to stare at the opposing wall. You could hear the answer he wanted to give as it floated all around you, suspended by the anxieties of the both of you. Force, you’d messed up. The truth. It mocked you. Bouncing off of the walls and around your feet-all emanating from the only other person in the room. The truth, the truth, the truth. “A duel.” 

The reply caught you off guard, Wild’s thoughts and true desires disappeared in an instant which returned the both of you to that deathly still cargo hold once more. “What?” You asked, taken aback. 

Wild finally turned to face you, his little red face set in the most serious expression he could muster. To you it was the perfect cross between Maul’s scowl and your glare and you did not like being on the receiving end of it. That look was meant for strangers that were too nosy for their own good. That look was a defence you had taught him. That look was not supposed to be used against you. “You joked about training earlier and then you asked me what I wanted. Well, I want to duel as part of my training for today.” The young boy asserted with crossed arms. 

You blinked, regarding your son uncertainly. Wild didn’t like to duel because he could never beat you and that always frustrated him and he’d get all huffy and sulk in the farthest place from you. “Alright…” you began. You continued to size Wild up. Your son had a plan and he was determined to box you in, that much you could tell, but what that plan was was unclear. The truth. That was his goal. And suddenly you knew what he was going to do. Both he and yourself knew that you were the most open about Maul when you were preoccupied. So, in theory, if Wild could distract you with a fight he could weasel more information out of you. A good plan but not one you’d go along with. “Here.” You tossed your blue lightsaber to the boy who scrambled to catch it. “Take up position.” You commanded, switching into your teaching voice-the one you had once used on younglings during your tenure as a padawan, the one Ki-Adi had used on you, the one you loathed to use on Wild. Following your own instructions, you ignited your lightsaber, green blade bathing the cargo hold in a complimenting glow, and dipped into a slight crouch. The hilt of the saber twirled elegantly in your hand-a practiced manuever Maul had helped you perfect so you could slip between forward and reverse grips with ease. Wild faltered. Evidently, he had been prepared to argue. But, your son reacted swiftly by correcting his face and mimicking your pose though he kept his saber in front of him pointing up. “I don’t need to repeat the rules-no contact, tap out when you need to, and nothing that could endanger either of our lives. It is crucial to be aware of all that is around you in a duel and a great way to practice is by following the rules laid out during training.” You quickly rambled off the same spiel you always repeated when you and Wild dueled. “If any real injuries occur, we end the duel immediately. Understood?” 

“Understood.” Wild confirmed with a firm nod. 

The game began. You kept your eyes trained on your son and remained still, your only motion the infrequent twirl of your lightsaber as you gave the boy the opportunity to make the first move. He was beginning to look more and more uncertain. Still, he took a step to the right-you took a step to the left. You took another step, he did as well and thus you both began to slowly circle each other. Wild shifted his grip, slipping into the opening stance for Form II and you mimicked him-your own legs taking on a wider stance as you brought your lightsaber slightly off to your side pointing up and held between both hands. Form IV, the form you’d adapted to survive. In your training you had always favored Form V, liking the way it offered both defense and offense, but after meeting Maul you’d started to favor IV. Wild, on the other hand, was a more defensive fighter (probably because he was younger) and he relied heavily on the basics and Form III. But he was nervous-he was vulnerable. And he wasn’t going to make the first move. Noble but potentially dangerous. You moved in. 

You darted forward, lightsaber swinging for his left leg as it was the most exposed. Wild moved quickie and swung his blade down to block it and you fell back. Your son was too careful-too afraid of fighting to chase your strike. It was something you were working on-you’d forgone teaching him IV for now and opted to begin V for him to encourage the introduction of more offensive moves. It was a slow process. 

Spotting another opening on his right, you moved in again. Wild reacted quicker this time and met the strike with enough time and force to push you back. Good. But that left him exposed to a kick to the ribs. You brought your leg up quickly and stopped just before you made contact. “Protect your vitals, Wild.” Was your simple instruction as you moved away before he could retaliate. You were moving quicker now, feinting to the right before swooping in for his left. And Wild was beginning to loosen up-reacting more sharply as he did so. But still, “Wild, loosen up. You’re far too tense for any effective combat.” You corrected with a well aimed poke with your index finger to his kidneys. It was an attack he would’ve been able to block had he spun in time. Wild whirled around to strike at you but you were too quick, already leaping over him to continue mock-striking his sides and other exposed vitals. Wild was growing frustrated. He spun on his heel faster than anything you'd seen from him this whole time and brought the blue lightsaber down. You met the strike. He moved to the right, you matched him. He moved his blade to the left, you twirled yours to meet the strike and pushed him back. A huff slipped from him as he recovered and came at you once more. You blocked it and quickly brought your leg up-attempting to “kick” him in the side again. He took one hand off of his blade to block the strike which was a critical mistake. You spun around swiftly and caught Wild’s blade once more and began to steadily force him to back up. Locked in a stalemate with you steadily placing more of your weight in the strike and Wild perpetually collapsing under it you made your next move carefully. You snapped up, removing your weight with a quick spin of your saber that had Wild’s wrist twisting back uncomfortably. He yelped and dropped the saber. You deactivated yours and stepped away while your son assessed his wrist. “Loosen your grip next time, it will help you maneuver the blade more fluidly which, in turn, will make a move like that much more difficult for your opponent to pull off.” 

Wild muttered something under his breath that you didn’t catch, eyes trained on the fallen lightsaber as if he could make it combust with his mind. “Would you like to try again?” There was no verbal response from the young boy. He, instead, bent down and scooped the weapon up again-inspecting it as though he had never seen it before. He was silent for a few more seconds. 

“When can I get my own lightsaber?” He finally asked and met your e/c eyes with his saffron ones. “Yours is too light. It feels like I’m holding nothing.” Too light. You knew Wild didn’t like using your blue saber-while it was the heavier of the two you weilded it was still built to be lightweight like your green one-though it wasn’t a complaint he voiced often. You shifted, your stoic, teaching oriented facade falling away for a moment. Wild was proving to be more and more like Maul as time progressed-he favored brute strength and speed despite being a defensive fighter. With a deep breath in you steadied yourself, mind flitting to the location of the lightsaber you had intended to give him-it would have been perfect for your son despite only being half of his father’s original weapon. You had rebalanced it (your pet project you used to lessen the ache in your chest when Maul’s “death” was a fresh wound). You made sure that the energy dispersion was adequate but the blade still deadly. You’d cleaned it and sealed the bottom up to remove the jagged edge left from when Kenobi sliced your love’s weapon. You’d restored it. But the kyber crystal was removed: taken out to avoid potential injury of you or your son should it decide to malfunction and placed in a hidden compartment in the bottom of your green saber. 

“I told you-once I finish teaching you Form V, we’ll try and sneak onto Illum or somewhere else to find you a kyber crystal.” You informed placidly, keeping your eyes on your son. You filed away the knowledge of Maul’s saber for now. Wild grumbled under his breath again and you raised an eyebrow at him. “Would you like to try again?” You asked once more. He didn’t answer verbally, merely slipped into the opening stance for V this time. With an acknowledging nod, you readied your own weapon. 

Wild struck first this time: darting forward with as much speed as he could muster. Instead of blocking it, you fell back and doubled around to strike at his back. But Wild had learned and fell forward causing you to stumble which gave him time to whirl around. He brought his saber down towards your leg but you blocked it. Instead of backing off like you thought he would, your son continued to press his weight down. “Good, Wild, good.” You commended in as warm a tone you could muster. “But watch your back leg because…” you spun out of the lock and mimicked his earlier strike though you stopped before you made contact. “If I was a real enemy, that would be the first thing to go for.” Wild didn’t acknowledge the instruction. He, instead, launched right into another volley of strikes. “Your wrist, sweetpea, use your wrist instead of your whole arm-it’s faster, more maneuverable, and it doesn’t take as much energy per strike.” You corrected again. There was a muttered complaint under his breath but he did correct his grip. You took the chance to lob your own series of strikes against your son. His blocking was a little sloppy but he had improved since the last time you sparred. 

You were getting bored though. Without warning, you raised a hand and used the force to pull your son off balance. He hit the durasteel with a loud thump, the lightsaber clattering on the floor next to him. Almost immediately, he slammed his hands down and sat up to regard you with the most scathing scowl he could. “That’s cheating!” Wild shrieked at you. 

You tilted your head and shrugged. “Your opponent will do whatever they can to gain the advantage-you must be prepared.” You explained placidly whilst inspecting the hilt of your lightsaber. “Again.” Returning your attention to the half-zabrak, you slipped into your opening stance once more. The young boy sighed exasperatedly and snatched up his fallen weapon. Your son was starting to get frustrated which told you it was almost time to take a break. “Once more and then we’ll stop.” Nothing. “Fair?” A low sigh and the igniting of the blade once more was his reply. This time, you didn’t wait for him to strike. You surged forward, aiming a strike for Wild’s neck at as slow a pace as you could manage. Wild met it and flicked you away but you were quick on the uptake and resumed. Another strike towards his leg, towards his arm, and his hip-each one deflected and reciprocated. Wild was getting better at tapping into V, relying less and less on the purely defensive tactics he always relied on. But, he was getting tired; his strikes were getting sloppy. You weren’t faring much better. A headache had formed-the two epicenters either side your skull. It was strange. There was a bizarre climbing sensation that accompanied it-like two hands clawing up either temple. You were very grateful that you decided this would be the last round as a quick nap seemed to be in order. 

Wild was still on the offensive, attacking with all the strength he had but he was slowing down quick. Again, you raised your hand and pushed him away using the force. The boy sighed low in his throat-the sound bordering on a growl. But, his attacks resumed all the same. You repeated your own actions. “Stop.” The growl was more coherent this time. You both repeated. “I said stop that!” Wild snapped again, diving forward. You furrowed your brows and fell back to avoid the strike entirely. You raised your hand once more and Wild froze mid step, held in place by an invisible grip. 

“Wild, are you alright?” You asked, teacher facade fading entirely as you sheathed your saber and took a step towards him. “We can call it quits if you’d like-!”

“Will you stop that?” Wild yelled and in his anger, he managed to escape your grip. The boy recovered quickly while you were left floundering, trying desperately to understand what was happening. But you weren’t fast enough. Wild set his face in a scowl, his eyes flickering a strange color for just a moment, and raised both of his hands and your back collided with the opposite wall. 

You didn’t know what had happened. One minute, you and Obi Wan were stuck behind ray shields, helplessly watching the ensuing fight between Master Qui-Gon and your love, your husband, Maul, and the next, you were curling over Master Qui-Gon’s body in a fruitless attempt to urge him to cling to life while Obi Wan went for Maul. You knew what Maul was. You knew what he could do. But to see him do it? 

You were trembling, eyes not straying from the two figures locked in combat. You didn’t know what you were feeling but there was a lot of it that caused an anxious swirling cyclone to manifest in the pit of your stomach. One hand curled around your barely formed bump-was that really the father of your child? The one that could kill without thought? No. You told yourself. No, that is not my Maul. That...that is Darth Maul. There was a sudden squeeze of your hand that momentarily distracted you from the fear now slowly consuming you. Qui-Gon was still fighting. 

“Master Qui-Gon!” You exclaimed quietly, returning your attention to the dying man. “Master Qui-Gon, speak to me, please.” You begged the Jedi. Almost painfully, his eyelids fluttered open. 

“O-Obi Wan? Where...where is Obi Wan?” He wheezed and looked around as best he could. 

Tears pricked your eyes as you opened your mouth to answer. “Fighting Maul, maste-” You were cut off-your body suddenly airborne. You flew away from the fallen Jedi’s side until your back collided rather harshly with a durasteel wall on the opposite side of Qui-Gon. Pain ricocheted up your spine at the sensation as your eyes immediately tried to take in your sudden shift in surroundings. Your gaze settled on Maul and Obi Wan, the former stood with his hand outstretched towards you and his lightsaber at his side. There was an unreadable expression on his face that was dominated by concern. Rightfully so, you should think, from having practically flung you across the room. Still, it was clear that he hadn’t meant to launch you into the wall-a minor comfort in contrast to the dawning understanding that you had been so foolish. You were a traitor to your people. You were in love with a Sith. 

“Mom! Mom, please! I-I-I’m sorry! I-I didn’t mean to-to throw you. I was just, just angry and I don’t know what happened. Mom?” You were brought back to reality by the frantic shaking of your shoulders, the stinging in your lower back, and the throbbing of your head. Not to mention the downright terrified tremor in Wild’s voice. Your eyes flickered open. Panicked saffron met your unfocused e/c. “Mom!” Wild exclaimed and launched forward, arms wrapping around your neck. 

“Sweetpea, what happened?” You kept your voice quiet as you returned your son’s panicked hug. It was a little awkward given your current seating against a box on the floor but you voiced no complaint. 

The boy pulled back and your heart broke at the sight of tears gathering in his eyes. “I-I don’t know! I just...I just got really mad and-and I wanted to...I don’t even know what I wanted and I just was going to push you like you’d been doing but-but...I threw you and you weren’t waking up!” Wild explained in a shaky voice that you could barely understand, chest heaving with barely restrained distress. 

Thinking quickly, you placed one hand on his shoulder and the other went to cup the side of his face. “Hey, look at me.” You commanded in a very soft voice and an imperceptible tug to focus your son on you. “I’m alright. I’m not hurt.” You continued slowly, trying to convey that you weren’t angry or even injured. Sure, your back stung from the impact and it appeared as though it had triggered an unwanted trip back to an unpleasant memory but you knew it wasn’t Wild’s fault. “You did not hurt me, Wild.” You reassured once more whilst maintaining eye contact with the young boy. He sniffled and blinked and the gathered tears finally fell. “It wasn’t your fault, sweetpea.” You continued, now carefully wiping the tears away. Wild now refused to meet your eye but you pressed on. “And I don’t blame you. Accidents happen-I can’t tell you how many times I accidentally shoved your father when we’d spar.” He looked up at that and you sent him a smile, happy to see the curious glint replacing his previous sadness. 

“Really?” He questioned in a tiny voice. You smiled a little wider-you knew you were somewhat playing into his original trap but this felt like a tidbit you could spare to tell. 

“Yeah, he was always trying to teach me how to be more aggressive-in regards to dueling, mind you-and...I may or may not have gotten carried away a few times.” A wistful look darted across your face. “If he were here, he’d be embarrassed about how many trees I launched him into.” 

“Trees?” Wild was brightening up now. 

“Oh yes, we had a special planet we’d meet on-one far out of the Jedi’s range where we could just...be us. For a little while anyways.” You sighed. Us. “It was a beautiful planet, Wild, with lush forests and countless caves filled with glittering jewels. And the most gorgeous waterfalls I’d ever seen.” You could see it now, the planet you hadn’t dared to return to. You’d gone everywhere else alone and with Wild but that damned planet. “We met in the same spot every time-in the clearing where we’d met and we’d go running off to explore...we’d find a lake to spar next to and…” a giggle escaped you at a vague memory of Maul’s first reaction to swimming, “and I’d teach him to swim sometimes too.” 

Wild laughed with you, more so out of shock that reminiscence. “He didn’t know how to swim?” 

You shook your head. “He was from here, Wild. Dathomir’s not known for its swimming holes.” You explained with a comical lift of your eyebrows at the boy. “Anyways, in exchange I guess he’d teach me how to fight like him. And that meant I had to learn how to channel my anger. That meant I accidentally threw him a couple of times. It’s something you’ll learn too and if I must, I will gladly be your test dummy.” Wild huffed a laugh through his nose and you patted his face, pleased to see him calming down. You fell quiet for a moment as you observed the little lift of Wild’s smile and the scrunch of his nose that always followed a laugh. It was your smile on Maul’s face. Wild had Maul’s eye color but your eye shape. Your nose but the slight scrunch Maul would do when he spoke or smiled. He really was the perfect combination of you both even if your attributes were subtler. Wild was determined, intelligent, and protective. He was thoughtful but action-oriented as well. Calculated but not heartless. “Force, you’re so much like him.” You finally broke, not even aware that the thought had escaped you. 

“Like who?” Wild asked with a slight tilt of his head-an action no doubt learned from you. Curiosity seemed to radiate from him but also an underlying keenness that told you he knew exactly who you were referring too. Clever-another one to add to the growing list. 

“Your father, Wild...I...I wish he’d gotten to know you.” 

“Y/n…” Maul seethed, his voice ringing in your ears though it was barely above a whisper as he stalked closer to you. His lightsaber...or rather half of his lightsaber still grasped in his hand. 

You were running towards him despite the short gap between you and crashing into his chest before you knew it. “I know, Maul, I know.” Your voice was choppy, form shaky, as you wrapped your trembling arms around his torso. His hand fell on your shoulder-not quite returning the sudden embrace but gripping hard enough to make it clear he had you. “I know I shouldn’t have come-I should’ve run away as soon as that damn door opened. I’m sorry.” The zabrak was silent as his lightsaber hummed close to your ear. You continued to press your face into his robes, not acknowledging the heat close to your head. Eventually, Maul took a deep breath and released it in a sigh as he sheathed his weapon. His arms wrapped around you-one on your waist while his other brought his hand to the back of your head. 

Maul pressed his face to your hair and you could feel his lips move as he spoke. “It’s alright, my light. I know.” The sound of him so gentle and understanding nearly brought you to your knees. This was your Maul-not whoever he was mere minutes ago as he battled your fellow padawan...Obi Wan...you didn’t dare let your mind dwell on the fate of him. 

You held each other for a moment more, the world around you slipping away, until you became overtly aware of how your stomach brushed against his. Your baby...you had to tell him now. You pulled back till you could look him in the eyes, saffron surrounded by a ring of vermillion meeting with your e/c. “Maul, I have to tell you something.” 

“He...he would’ve loved you.” You were ashamed of the way your voice broke at the admission. He would have loved Wild-that much you were certain of-if he he had gotten the chance to know him. But would either have that opportunity now? If Mother Talzin was successful in restoring Maul, would he be the same? You knew that you’d changed over the years-you’d had to for both your son’s and your own survival-but what would Maul be like? Your husband or the Sith Lord?...You supposed your distinguishing between the two the last time you’d described his father had not been unprecedented. With a deep breath in to steady yourself, you returned your attention to your son. “He would have taught you so much more. I wish you could meet him, Wild.” But...I don’t know if the Maul you meet will be the one I fell in love with. 

“Mom, you...you don’t have to talk about Dad if it’s too painful.” Wild’s barely audible voice brought your attention back to the present. 

“No....” Your voice was firmer than you’d expected it to be which took both you and your son aback. “No,” you tried again in a softer tone, “you...you deserve to know everything.” With a nervous swallow you continued. “Whatever you want to ask...I will answer.” There was no going back now. If the Maul that returned wasn’t the Maul you had known then maybe you could give Wild a chance to know his father through you. 

Wild gaped at you for a few seconds, your offer not quite computing. “...Are...you’re serious?” He asked skeptically with wide eyes. “Actually serious?” Your only reply was a nod as you let your hands fall to your sides and you shifted to sit on your knees. He was quiet for a moment longer as the gears turned in his head-most likely searching for the right first question. “Where did Dad die?” 

You swallowed again to stifle the panic. “...he...he didn’t.” Wild’s eyes widened a little further as shock overtook his face. “I...lost him on Naboo.” You scrambled to elaborate as your son fell completely silent. You weren’t even sure if he was breathing. “I thought he died but...when Savage found us...he told me that he had been sent to find him. He wanted me to help locate your father. I told him that I watched him die on Naboo.” 

“What was he doing on Naboo?” Wild finally spoke after another beat had passed. 

“He was...helping enforce the blockade.” You knew you were being vague but Wild was going to draw his own conclusions soon. 

“The blockade?” He emphasised, referring to the blockade you’d told him Darth Maul had overseen. “What...why?” 

“His master had instructed him to.” 

“His master? So...Darth...did Dad work with the Sith?”

He was getting closer, that was for sure. “...Yes.” 

“Was...was Darth Maul his master?” 

“...No.” 

“Then...I don’t know what that means.” Wild admitted, retreating inwards to mull over the newly divulged information. 

With another sigh, you closed your eyes in an internal debate of whether or not you provided him with what could possibly be the key clue your son needed. It was a short lived debate though. “Peace is a lie, there is only passion.” You began to recall the mantra Maul had often recited to you when teaching you how to channel your own anger. “Through passion, I gain strength.” Your eyes began to sting behind your eyelids as tears of your own began to form. “Through strength, I gain power.” There was a shift-not only in the cargo hold or between you and your son but it felt like a great power was being awoken all over the red bathed planet. “Through power, I gain victory.” It shifted again, growing stronger, angrier, darker. “Through victory, my chains are broken.” The chains...the chains are the easy part...it’s what goes on in here that’s hard. Those words-some of the first coherent thoughts to spill from Maul upon you and Savage finding him suddenly rang throughout your head. What went on in Maul’s head would certainly prove the most difficult part to understand, that you were certain of. It had taken you months to even get a read on his personality when you were young. It had taken months for him to accept his feelings for you and even longer for him to accept that you returned them. It had taken years for the two of you to decide that spending the rest of your lives together was the right course of action and months for the Force to grant you one physical piece of evidence to prove the validity of your relationship. The Force had given you Wild and the promise of a life with Maul...and almost all of it had been taken away in an instant. Your lives bound to the will of the Force by chains too thick to break. “The Force shall free me.” You opened your eyes and let your gaze fall on Wild. He was staring at you with a mixture of confusion and undeniable curiosity. 

“What...what was that?” He asked in a tiny voice. 

“The code of the Sith.” You answered immediately, the words falling freely from you now. 

“Why do you know that…?” 

“A Sith taught it to me.” 

“Who?” 

You blinked. He was so close to figuring it out. “I have only ever met one Sith, Wild.” 

“...” He said nothing, his gaze moving away from you to gaze out of the cargo hold at the red bathed planet. Wild’s jaw was tense, his hands anxiously clenching into fists only to unclench a moment later, and his eyes frantically darted from side to side as though watching a battle before him. “What…,” he turned to you, “was Dad’s name?” 

Finally. You closed your eyes once more to prepare yourself for whatever was about to come. You only spoke once you opened your eyes. “Mau-” A searing pain tore through your abdomen, cutting you off in an instant. Screams clawed from your throat at the sudden sensation that felt not unlike a heated knife being stuck into the flesh above your hips and around your torso. You fell to your side, hands snaking around your lower stomach. 

“What is it, Y/n?” Maul questioned, picking up on the urgent tone in your voice immediately. His hands retracted from around you to take a firm hold on your forearms. 

Unable to fight the smile that clawed itself over your face, you turned your hands over to also grasp his arms, anchoring both of you in that moment. “Maul, my love, I’m-” He stiffened, eyes locking on something above your head. With a harsh shove he sent you to the floor as his hand shot for his lightsaber. 

It happened in a blur-a flash of green, a choked breath, and the worst pain you’d ever felt tearing its way across your lower abdomen. It was the worst moment of your life-your love and your connection to him being severed in one fell swoop from Obi Wan Kenobi. You didn’t know if you screamed or cried. You didn’t know if you did anything else besides watch as Maul fell away, lost to some unimportant reactor shaft on Naboo. A death so unbefitting a man of such power it almost felt poetic. Unjustly poetic. Was this some form of punishment? You knew you grabbed his lightsaber, clinging to it as you prayed for death to take you as well. If the Force should decree for you to suffer a fate worse than death than it would lose you to it as well. 

But you were stopped. Two hands pulled you away, you were led back to the council to await a different fate unknown to you. The last touch of your love seared into your skin as was the pain of his fatal wound. 

You opened your eyes, vaguely aware of the mutterings falling from you and the cold press on your forehead. There was a firm grip on your hand and a warm weight pressed into your side. “Through victory, my chains are broken. The Force shall free me.” Your voice mixed with another’s graced your ears-the mantra of the Sith being repeated over and over as the pain in your abdomen began to fade till none remained. You sat up and immediately wrapped Wild in a hug. His muttering stopped to be replaced by yours. “Wild, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” You kept repeating it as your son clung to you. 

“What happened?” He gasped out, grip like iron as he latched onto your arms. 

“Maul.” You brought him up to eye level. “Maul’s back.” You exclaimed, already able to feel the familiar turbulent presence of your husband. “He’s back.” You began to struggle to your feet, shaky and weak as they may be. 

“Mom, calm down-you’re injured.” Wild tried to drag you back down but you pulled your hand away from him. 

“No, I’m not. I’m fine. Wild, we need to go. Please. He’s back.” You tried, already doing your best to march out of the cargo hold.

“Mom, hold on. What are you talking about?” 

“Maul. I told you. Come on!” You were insistent, being pulled out of the ship by that commanding presence. 

“Not until you tell me what my dad’s name was!” You stopped short, realization dawning on you. 

Before anything could be said, a clinking sound echoed in from outside the ship causing you both to freeze. Wild immediately dropped into a defensive position, calling your blue lightsaber to him. You closed your eyes again, trying to sense what was going on. Maul’s presence was overwhelming-it crashed into you like a wall of water freshly freed from a dam. His signature was one so powerful and tumultuous that you had had little else to liken it to over the years. Where your connection with Wild was quieter and warm, the one to Maul was fiery and deceptively silent, threatening to burn you if you held onto it for too long. Force, you’d missed it. You stepped forward, eyes flying open as you did so and focused on your own presence-trying to amplify it for Maul. You had to know if he was the same man. The clinking stopped. His signature changed-a blinding glow forming to accompany the wrathful haze that always surrounded him. The clinking resumed, faster now as Maul grew closer to the ship. 

You broke out in a run, darting out of the ship before Wild’s startled cry could meet your ears and rounding around the wing of it. You stopped the same time the clinking did as before you stood a red zabrak, standing a little warily on his robotic legs, whose head was crowned with ivory horns and whose eyes burned with light brighter than any star. “Maul…” You breathed out. 

He straightened up, confused scowl falling away, as he spoke with a voice that rumbled like distant thunder. “My light…” 

…………………………………………………..

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[soracities]

hey, do you have any writing about feeling anger? im going thru it rn and i figured id ask

“Anger is a bitter lock. But you can turn it.”

— Anne Carson, “Hokusai”

“Isn’t all that rage so ugly? / And isn’t it mine, still? / Good god, isn’t it mine?”

— Ashe Vernon, “Buried”

— Khadija Queen,  “Theory; Evidence of uncertain shifts”

“A strange rage filled her, a rage to tear things asunder.”

— D.H. Lawrence, The Rainbow

“I bide time,/ Horse-tongued & blue as poison, the double / Line of my eyes gone to slits. I hate like a tooth hurts, / At the root”

— Jane Yeh, “Revenger’s Tragedy”

“Give me blood and rage and a heart for horror; teach me to be tough enough to face this world still standing. Make a Fury of me.”

— Elizabeth Hewer, “Finding Ariadne”

— mahogany l. browne, “litany”

“They tell me, shaking their heads: ‘You should be kinder. You are somehow furious.’ I used to be kind. It didn’t last long.”

— Yevgeny Yevtushenko, “Fury”

“The rage in women is terrifying. The rage in Hester Swane is terrifying. The rage doesn't come out of nowhere. The rage comes out of being said no to just one time too many, where you should have been said yes to, if the world was fair [...] and if society is always saying no to you, that rejection has to go somewhere. It turns dark, it erupts.”

— Marina Carr, “How Wonderful to Burn Down the Whole World”

“I was a girl. I was juniper or magnolia, all violet and rage.”

— Lorna Dee Cervantes, ‘Before You Go’,

“I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.”

— Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

“Two eyes the colour of anger, a ring of cold, a belt of blood — “

— Octavio Paz, “Central Park”

— Beth Fein, “Philomela,”

“Do you know what it is to dance with rage? That’s what I do inwardly again and again.

— Henry Miller, letter to Hoki Tokuda Miller

“MEDEA : Anger, the spring of all life’s horror, masters my resolve.”

— Euripides, Medea

“A savage desire for strong emotions and sensations burns inside me: a rage against this soft-tinted, shallow, standardized and sterilized life, and a mad craving to smash something up, a department store, say, or a cathedral, or myself.”

— Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf

“Is it better to throw yourself head first and laughing into the holy rage calling your name?”

— Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch

“Anger has its place. Anger has fire, and fire moves things.”

— Nina Simone

[jiminieloved]

Pt. 1 There are two schools of thought regarding when Jikook started dating. First and primary theory is INU era/2016. Most jikookers believe they became official following JK's coming of age. Second theory is 2017/ GCFt. Some believe that jikook became official in 2017 but could have/probably were engaged in not so platonic relations prior. I write this bc I find myself torn and want to have a discussion about it. There are things that lead me to believe both but both can't be equally true

pt. 2 In 2016 there is definitely a shift in how jikook interact. The sexual tension is palpable and we get many moments that IMO confirm at the very least intimacy: osaka vlive, graduation song JK sings to Jm, stares and etc. However, nothing signals couple more than their post GCFt aura. Even the members began policing their interactions. So, I am more inclined to believe theory 2 BUT I have a problem with thinking Jk and JM would be okay just fooling around with no strings attached..

Pt 3. Neither JM or JK seem like the type who would be okay with that sort of arrangement. I could be wrong, and that could explain some of the insecurity I see from JK prior to 2017. If there is intimacy with no label then one could understandably feel uncertain especially if internally they've defined the relationship. But, I do struggle with accepting the possibility that either would be okay with an undefined relationship but that could just be me projecting. So I am pulled to theory 1.

Pt 4. To sum it up, based on what I see and how I interpret it I am more drawn to theory 2, they started dating on 2017 but were intimate prior. The intimate "prior" part is one of the things that puts me on the fence. Based off Jikook's words and actions it's hard for me to see them engaging in undefined intimacy. However, that post GCFt aura which screams new couple + evidence of sexual intimacy in 2016 really makes me pause. I have more reasons for me being torn but your Thoughts?

I’m kind of hesitant to touch this one but since you took all the effort I will give you my thoughts. I’ll be answering in terms of a relationship shift, because we don’t know if they are in a defined relationship so I can’t speak to that. We do know that their relationship at some point took a turn from bickering and brotherly to tender and caring. And I have made some observations on this relationship shift in the process of making my timeline. Let me speak on some milestones we’ve observed, and how they might fit into the picture of their relationship. 

In March of 2015, Jungkook made a song recommendation which caused some heads to turn, especially from LGBT fans. Over the past few days he had recommended some extremely depressing songs, but this song was both depressing, and about an unrequited love for another man. It’s called “Memo” by Years & Years. 

To me, this marks that something in Jungkook was shifting, in his mentality, in his personal attitudes, and in his newfound love for LGBT+ artists and music (which would become more and more apparent in the future). It doesn’t necessarily mean that something happened between him and Jimin but I think it’s an important milestone, especially for our perception of who he was as a person. He didn’t let us in on too much in those days. 

As per Jimin’s mentality, I actually think that it’s hard to see as much as a shift because he’d been pretty loud about admiring Jungkook since the beginning. However, I think a good example of timing for the other members catching on to the depth of his admiration is in this MV reaction video.

Jimin keeps mentioning how good Jungkook looks, and eventually Hobi, apparently fed up, just says “think about that by yourself”. It is just an interesting thing to say. Not as huge of a moment but just a little detail that has always stood out to me.

Around this time, Jikook started showing up at the airports in matching, but generic looking outfits. It could be nothing, but it was interesting to me that around the same time of these ‘milestone’ shifts in mentality, they also started wearing matching outfits. 

The next big milestone for me, which I’ve already made a post about, happened in August of 2015. I remember the timing because it’s marked by Jimin fainting on stage at a fansign, though this probably (maybe) has nothing to do with the actual shift itself. Though... maybe it does, because the very next concert, 2 days later, Jungkook flirted with Jimin on stage, and Jimin couldn’t hold back his smile in response. 

Then, just a few days later, Jungkook gave another song recommendation, and Jimin tweeted a reference to the lyrics of the song with a blush emoji and a music note emoji in response??????????

The lyrics Jimin referenced? 

"I will pick off the stars and into your two hands, I will give them fully to you”

Receipts 

After this, a string of very interesting concert moments happened between the pair. I can’t help but to think something drastic changed. 

That being said, I do think there were more things that had to happen between the pair to arrive at the state they’re at now. 

That being said, just a month or so later Jungkook discovered and tweeted about Troye Sivan, and from there it was all downhill. lol

I can’t speak yet for what the following turning points were, but I think this is the most important turning point that happened in their relationship, maybe prior to 2017 and GCF Tokyo, because it was the gateway for all of the intimate behavior to start occurring in front of the camera. 

I think that behind the scenes things really changed in 2015, and it was a process of them coming to terms with whatever they are, and then becoming more and more comfortable showing that truth to the camera and the public. This was a several year long journey, and they are still on it even now. Things have surely changed behind the scenes between August 2015 and 2020, but I stand by my belief that whatever happened in 2015 allowed those other changes to slowly occur. 

I know this doesn’t directly answer your question, but I can’t tell you “Jikook started dating HERE because we don’t even know if they are dating. 

I am guessing you are hesitant about the possibility of an undefined relationship between the duo, maybe because of a cultural taboo or just a personal moral belief, but you have to understand that we really can’t just assume that they’re dating and state that as fact, and there’s also a lot more variables in their lives than there are in an every day relationship. I’m not saying they’re not dating, but it also wouldn’t shock me if they were undefined, or still are now. 

I absolutely can see them engaging in ‘undefined intimacy’ if I’m being honest with you. Jimin is a hopeless romantic, sure, but they were also mid-20s boys, and let’s be real, Jimin had been yearning for a loooong time. 

And I’ll tell you from personal experience as a gay person, undefined experimentation is pretty much a GIVEN for us when we’re figuring out our sexualities. Straight people don’t have to really think twice about ‘is what i’m feeling real? is it just a mistake? is it a phase? am i just fooling myself? will it stop being real when it becomes sexual?’ and 100 other questions. If you really do think they are dating, I can pretty much guarantee you they would’ve experimented with each other prior to putting any sort of label on it. With a few exceptions I’m sure, this is just simply how a lot of LGBT+ people figure themselves out, and I urge you to not view that as a negative thing. 

Anyway I’m not sure I said everything I want to but I’m running out of steam, lol. Hope this somewhat helped :)

[funkymbtifiction]

Is this really Te-dom anyway? Do I overthink it?

Hi. This is more or less a ‘playful’ suspicion. I don’t know if it’s true. I have rooted for ENTJ 1w2 for a while (I use a lot of Te, no Si, so ENTJ). But there’s something I’ve seen. Maybe I’m using Ne after all?

The thing is I have almost no Ni using people to compare at all. While I believe I use Ni, I have a doubt because, well, I don’t see Ni user doubt themselves or change their worldview radically as much. I have been floating through typing for 4 or 5 years already. It’s not easy to nail function down except Fi. I know I have Fi and Te. But perceiving functions eludes me. (I first type myself using functions as ENFP though, actually)

My INTJ friend described me as ‘puff ball.’ He said I’m very scattered and lack focus. Easily distracted, uncertain and indecisive. What I mentioned was true, I’m very easily distracted by opinions and points of view that people need to remind me to gather myself up and be decisive as a leader. I have one point, when other offers different views I shift on it immediately. There is no-cross lines but in general it’s like that.

Honestly, for Te-dom, I doubt my Te all the time. Compare to the high Te I know, my Te seems really weak. I’m assertive and frank, yes. But when it comes to actually putting and enforcing structures, I usually don’t do it well. I’m not as good at providing structure or catching on what 'actually’ been said. I usually fall off the tangent or misunderstand people because I don’t catch everything they say. The extended use of Te like organizing things for fun, labelling and taking charge drains me real quick. I still don’t get how my Te-dom friend manage to stay alive doing like 5 different projects at once and managing every damn thing. For something like setting deadlines and getting people in line, I can manage. But organizing extensive thing with lots of details without anyone or anything to help with can be really hard. 

The other thing is, I don’t notice it until a while ago, I tend to leave things half-baked and let other people getting it done. I’m not proud of it but I really need to force myself to focus on completing things without getting distracted. It’s almost like I have a brain and intelligence enough to actually do something worthwhile but I lack focus to do it. I mean, quoting my aunt, I can be a lot smarter and more capable if I really do something. 

When it comes to something I really care about. Such as ethnic groups. I go all out and will stop at nothing until they are well and strong. I realize that most of the time, what I can do well tie to my values. Most of my works are drenched in subjective ethic. I chide at things passionately and my work tends to be better when I do it. 

Ok, it might not be anything at all. I’m sorry and thank you.

Each time you ask me about a type, you provide alternate evidence to support it. First it was ESTJ. You were convinced of that and seeking to know if you were right. Then you were ‘sure’ of being INTJ. Then ENTJ. It feels like you cannot settle, and you aren’t standing on solid proof. In one post, you mentioned having been convinced of ESFP and now ENFP. This tells me you do indeed have Ne (cannot decide, finding evidence to support each new supposed accurate typing, no real connection to singular conclusions) and Te. Given your waffling, it’s possible you did over-represent and over-estimate your Te skills, so I would say ENFP is highly likely. It’s also possible your 1-ness is just strong (high) Fi. (All of this is painfully reminiscent of my own typing journey due to Ne confusion.)

If you are ENFP, you’re going to continue wondering if you are wrong, second-guessing your conclusion, trying to fit yourself into other types, and asking questions until you realize… that’s what Ne does. It’s what your Ne is doing naturally – seeking alternate theories and possibilities and not wanting to rule out anything that is feasible, without having actual proof rather than vague self-assumptions (”I am soooo good at this!!!” hyperbole is not the same as “well damn, look what I just did… and how it proves I suck at this function”). I would say live with ENFP for four months and seek real-life evidence to support it, rather than living in a hypothesis.

This is the last ask I will answer from you. It’s nothing personal, and you are not in trouble, but I’ve said all I can and now you need to rely on yourself, and spend time with your true self. I’ve given you quite a lot of attention over this process, more than I give most people, and it’s enough. For what it’s worth, I think you have found the correct type now! :)

[moiraineswife]

Painrial - A Stormlight Fic

ONCE AGAIN: THERE’D BE SPOILERS FOR RHYTHM OF WAR IN THIS HERE FIC. 

TURN BACK NOW IF YOU HAVE NOT FINISHED THE BOOK.

TURN BACK. PAST THIS POINT THERE IS NO RETURN. 

ON YOUR OWN HEAD BE IT. 

I WILL NOT BE BLAMED IF YOU KEEP READING AND SPOIL YOURSELF, I WILL NOT. 

Title: Painrial

Summary:  Set in the middle of Rhythm of War.  Navani's POV, set during one of their many scholarly research sessions. Raboniel is an ancient Fused, but she doesn't have an ancient body to match, so she's fine studying on the cold hard floor. Navani's body is less happy about this. Raboniel discovers some novel uses for her abilities to help. They're all extremely gay.

Teaser: 

No, decorum was not the problem. She was simply having a bad day. 

Her sense of propriety did not object to any of this, but her hips certainly did. And they’d recently invited her shoulders to join in the angry demonstration. How lovely.

She hissed irritably and stretched her legs out in front of her to see if that would help. It did. For precisely a minute. Then it didn’t.

Storms but she missed her painrial.

Link: ao3

Commission Link: Have me write other cosmere characters

Navani groaned softly, shifting in place on the hard floor. 

With Raboniel working beside her today, the desk had proved too confining for all of the papers, experiments, and reference books they were working with. So, at Raboniel’s suggestion, they had relocated to the floor, spreading their research around them. 

It did make it easier to organise and group information, spot patterns and connections, she had to admit. But it caused other problems. 

Navani had thought, and secretly hoped, Raboniel would be too important to sprawl on the floor with a human. She had strange ideas of propriety. 

She reminded her of Jasnah, in some ways. Though she personally didn’t seem to care much for her society’s expectations in terms of lauding her own importance, there were things she absolutely expected to give the proper presentation and respect. Appropriate use of her title, for instance. 

Evidently, sitting hunched on the floor scribbling on scrap paper was not among the things that were a slight to the Fused’s honour. 

Navani had, therefore, had no choice but to join her. 

She had been in a queen, in one way or another, for most of her adult life. She didn’t consider herself above sitting on the floor either, as it happened, especially not in the name of science. 

Being the dowager queen for some years had accustomed people to her ‘eccentricities’ which were, in fact, perfectly ordinary human things. Just things they felt one of her station should not being engaged in. That was ebbing again, in her role as Queen of Urithiru. 

Indeed, Dalinar had almost had a heart attack when he’d caught her studying on the floor once. Bless him. You’d have thought he’d walked in on her giving on the Heralds a massage with her unclothed safehand. 

No, decorum was not the problem. She was simply having a bad day. Her sense of propriety did not object to any of this, but her hips certainly did. And they’d recently invited her shoulders to join in the angry demonstration. How lovely. 

She hissed irritably and stretched her legs out in front of her to see if that would help. It did. For precisely a minute. Then it didn’t. 

Storms but she missed her painrial. 

Raboniel’s eyes flicked towards Navani and she hummed a rhythm Navani couldn’t place, but didn’t say anything. 

Conscious of the Fused’s attention, she tried not to show her weakness, to focus on her work instead. Impossible. 

The pain, coupled with her heightened sensitivity to it, was like a screaming baby. Highly distressing, and incredibly difficult to simply ignore. 

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to be still, concentrating on her breathing, which had become rather shaky and laboured. 

That didn’t work either. 

Frustrated, no longer able to care what Raboniel thought, she got to her feet, stretching. She rolled her angry shoulder, and it popped with a spasm of pain that made her gasp in spite of herself. 

“Navani,” Raboniel said from behind her, “Is something wrong?” 

Gritting her teeth, Navani forced herself to turn, bowing her head respectfully to the Fused. 

“I apologise if my lack of focus is displeasing to you, Ancient One,” she said. 

Raboniel studied her, still humming to that indecipherable rhythm. She did notice, distantly, that it didn’t sound like derision, however, as she would have expected. 

“I did not ask out of displeasure or irritation, Navani,” Raboniel said, “But out of concern.” 

Navani exhaled slowly, gripping the back of the desk chair in a white-knuckled grip, as though this would help somehow. 

“I am in pain, Ancient One,” she said, too sore, and too tired, and too storming frustrated to be delicate about it. 

Raboniel blinked and sat up straighter. Her rhythm became faster, with sharper, higher pitched beats, “Have you been injured?” she asked, sharply, “Shall I send for a healer to attend you?” 

Navani smiled wanly. Would that it were so easy. 

“Thank you, Ancient One, but no, there is nothing any healer can do for me. My own have already tried.” 

Renarin had insisted, bless him. Navani had suspected, correctly, that he would be unable to help her, but he had wanted to try. 

“This is an existing condition,” she explained, “It is not something that can be cured.” 

Raboniel cocked her head to the side, considering, “I have heard of a condition among humans that causes degradation and inflammation of joint tissues that comes with wear and age. You do not seem old enough for this, however.” 

Navani nodded, too fatigued and hazy to remark as much as she should have on the fact that Raboniel knew of arthritis, of all things. 

“The surgeons suggested this to me when my symptoms presented around ten years ago,” she explained, “They thought I might have an early on-set of the condition, though their usual treatments did not seem to help me,” she said, grimly. “Another suggested that it may be a lesser known neurological condition that causes pain but does not cause observable physical damage. Without any way to see the joints, they could not be certain.” 

Raboniel nodded, apparently considering, then, surprisingly, she got to her feet and walked over to join Navani. 

“Would you object to my examining you?” she asked, the music of her words surprisingly gentle, as if intended to put her at ease. It made it clear this was a true request, not a veiled command. 

Startled, Navani shrugged and nodded. What was the harm? Perhaps the Fused thought that she was lying. She had experienced that before. If someone could not see an injury, they assumed it was not present. 

Raboniel, already having deduced that the shoulder was a problem area, motioned for Navani to remove her havah there. She did so, easing it down off her shoulder, bearing the skin for the other scholar. 

She wasn’t sure what the Fused wished to examine. There was nothing to see. No visible sign of injury, no swelling, or redness. 

Raboniel examined the area carefully, giving her a thorough, and apparently practiced, visual inspection. Then she said, “May I touch you? I do not intend to hurt you, and I shall stop if you request it. But I have something I wish to attempt.” 

Baffled but intrigued, Navani nodded, “You may proceed,” she said. 

Raboniel laid a hand on Navani’s shoulder. Her skin was callused, like Dalinar’s, but was warm, which she had not expected, for some reason. 

Navani watched, fascinated, as Raboniel closed her eyes and hummed a strange, pulsing rhythm that steadily passed out of Navani’s hearing range, and was unlike anything she’d experienced before. 

Even as she became unable to hear it, however, she felt it vibrating through her shoulder. 

She gasped in surprise, and Raboniel faltered for a moment, blinking her eyes open, and making to remove her hand. Instinctively, Navani placed her own over it, keeping it in place. 

“I am well,” she breathed, “Please, don’t stop.” 

Raboniel nodde and closed her eyes again, continuing. She did this for several minutes, moving her hand to different places several times. 

Finally, she stopped and hummed a different rhythm that Navani could hear, one that sounded satisfied, “Your second surgeon’s hypothesis was correct,” she announced, “I cannot sense any damage to the joint itself.” 

“Sense?”Navani repeated, feeling vaguely overwhelmed. She thought she knew what Raboniel meant, but surely…

“If I touch you, and push a certain rhythm into your skin, changes in how I in turn feel that rhythm allow me to build a vague picture of things beneath the surface of your skin. 

“In doing that, I cannot detect any obvious holes or degradation to the muscle or joint. Though, I will admit, this process is uncertain.” 

“Storms,” Navani said, reeling from the implications of this. “It’s like cremlings that live in tunnels in the rocks,” she whispered, hand to her head, “They emit sounds and use how they bounce back to see without eyes. Scholars have recently made a study of it, but they considered it an exercise in natural science, only. No-one imagined it might have implications or other uses for us.” 

Raboniel nodded, humming in the way she did whenever Navani grasped a theory she was explaining, and expanded upon it. A pleased, excited rhythm. 

“It is inexact,” Raboniel said, “And imperfect. Though it is a promising avenue for exploration nonetheless, no for now it has had little testing.” 

“It’s incredible,” Navani breathed, “Truly, Raboniel.” 

For once, Raboniel did not seem to mind that Navani had forgotten her title. Indeed, she actually smiled. 

Then the expression faded a little. 

When she spoke, Navani expected her rhythm to be that satisfied one again, but it was softer, more wistful, with an almost mournful cast to it. 

“Sometimes,” she said quietly, “Sometimes I wonder what good I might have brought to this world in all my long years, had I not been made to fight this endless war. How many might I have saved had I used my abilities to heal, rather than harm? What a wonderful, impossible dream that is.” 

Navani reached out, daringly, and took her hand, the one that had been on her shoulder, and said, quietly but firmly, “It does not have to be impossible. It is not too late for that, Raboniel. You could still save lives, if that is what you wished.” 

A darkness suffused her rhythm as she replied, “I shall, Navani. I intend to end this war, and with it save thousands from the horrors I have been subjected to throughout so many Returns. But I will not achieve that through gentle words and medical innovation. 

“This war persists as each side is assured continuation. The Fused will return again and again, with mangled minds and hollowed souls echoing with the songs of hatred and pain. The Radiants will die, but their spren will bond others to fight us. 

“And we will fight. And they will fight. And on and on it shall go, as it has for thousands of years. 

“The only way for me to end it is to change the stakes. Make them real. Make them bloodier. Make death real, for both sides.” 

Navani felt a chill run through her at that, but forced her voice to remain steady as she said, “My husband, Dalinar, believed that, too. He thought the only way to win a war was to deal so much death to his enemy that they could never recover.” 

She met the Fused eyes and squeezed her hand, saying fiercely, “He was wrong. He was a monster,” Navani pressed on, determined, “He became a better man. He changed. You can change, as well, it is not too late.” 

Raboniel studied her for a long time, before she smiled wryly and said, “I have always been fond of this aspect of humans. You have such hope in the potentials of the future. You believe that things will change, that things will become better. You think that if something can happen, then it shall.” 

A distant look entered her eyes, and something dark reflected within them, something deep, and full of pain. 

“We see it differently. The future can be different from how the past has written its script. But it must be forced, it must be pushed, it must be given some reason to change. It will not do so on a whim.” 

She looked down at Navani, her eyes deep, her rhythm pulsing strongly against her. 

“You seek to be that force for me, Navani Kholin, the will that shifts me from what thousands of years of history proclaim I shall be, to the mythical ideal of what I might become that lives in your mind. I commend you for that. It takes bravery, and true grit, to achieve. But it cannot be.” 

“Why?” Navani said, a hint of desperation in her voice, “Why must we continue this cycle of death, and only escalate it? Why can it not change? WHy can you not change?” 

“Humans are fleeting,” Raboniel murmured, “This refreshes you, revitalises you, brings new ideas and new eyes to the same old song. Your husband, he was a monster for, what? Two decades? Crem that has only just fallen may still be molded, still be altered.

I have been a monster for thousands of years, Navani. 

When crem is left for centuries it becomes stone. When it is left for millenia, it becomes part of the fabric of this world. 

I am as eternal and immovable as the stones and storms of Roshar, Navani. They cannot stop blowing, their fires will not stop flaming and I? I will not stop, either.” 

Navani trembled, the weight, and power, and depth of this woman’s experiences shaking her very being. 

“Now,” Raboniel said, her rhythm becoming stronger, brisker, once again. “Is there anything I might do that will alleviate your pain so you may continue your research with me?” 

Navani paused, momentarily thrown by the sudden change in the conversation’s tone. Then she pulled herself back to level, business-like ground as well. 

“There are certain plants and medications that can dull the pain, Ancient One,” she said with a grimace. 

Raboniel cocked her head, “Then why do you make that face, Navani?” 

“They are known to dull the mind as well as the senses,” she said, “Or they have other, even less desirable side-effects.” 

Raboniel hummed, and this time she did sound displeased. “Is there nothing else?” she asked, “How did you deal with it before we arrived here?” 

Navani hesitated. Storms, what she wouldn’t give for her painrial back. But no. She couldn’t tell Raboniel of that. Painrials were too essential to the traps and plans she had simmering in the back of her mind. It would not do to reveal one so explicitly. 

Instead she said carefully, “Heat has proved an effective therapy for me in the past, Ancient One.” 

“Heat?” Raboniel said, humming to a thoughtful rhythm again. “Would you object to my touching you again, Navani?” she asked softly. 

She should have. After what this woman had just said, after what she had implied about what she had done, what she was capable of, she should have fled to the opposite end of the room and placed herself as far from her as possible. 

Yet she nodded, cautiously.  

Raboniel approached again, flexing her hand, and Navani gasped as flame engulfed her palm. A moment later they faded, but her palms retained a soft glow, like coals in a dying fire. 

She met Navani’s eyes, questioning, and Navani tentatively nodded. 

The other woman put her hands on Navani’s aching shoulder and heat from her palms, giving her the feeling of sinking into a hot bath after a full day’s hard labour. 

She shivered, relief washing through her, as her muscles instinctively relaxed, no longer taut with pain, and she trembled. 

She would have fallen, but Raboniel, anticipating this, moved a hand to support her, and Navani gripped her forearm, steadying herself as she let out a long, slow breath, and fought not to moan with how good it this felt. 

“It is helping?” Raboniel asked softly, rhythm curious. 

Navani nodded wordlessly, eyes still closed, drinking in the relief at the contact. For the moment, she forgot that the source of the heat was not one of her fabrials, but an ancient, god-empowered, immortal, voidbinding Fused and simply enjoyed it. It had been so long since she’d had any kind of relief for her pain. 

After a moment, Raboniel shifted her hands from Navani’s shoulders, down to her hips and lower back, letting them rest and soothe the aches there as well. 

This time Navani did let a hoarse moan escape her. Stormfather but she had been suffering with this all day. Raboniel hummed her reply. 

“I am glad that this brings you some relief from your pains,” she said quietly. 

“I thought you could only progress towards destruction, not relief, or calm,” Navani said, too boldly. 

“Careful, Navani,” Raboniel hummed, though her rhythm was one of warning, not fury. 

Raboniel withdrew not long after that, but left Navani feeling refreshed and energised as if she’d just drunk in a goblet full of Stormlight. 

They returned to their work, and several times more over the hours they studied together, Raboniel leaned over and pressed warmed palms against her to soothe away her aches. 

Navani tried not to think about what it meant when Raboniel’s hands lingered longer than they needed to. Or how she leaned into the touches perhaps more than she should have. Or how more than the heat from her palms flared inside Navani when skin met skin. 

Storms. 

Somehow, this may have caused more problems than it had solved… 

****

A/N: 

For anyone wondering: I wrote Navani as having fibromyalgia, because that's what I have and am therefore the most familiar with.

I wasn’t sure if Raboniel had the surge of Division or Transformation, so I kept it vague and made it gay so it worked.

Expect more content in the near future. Just as often as I remember I have stuff to post...

Comments are Delightful. I thank everyone who commented on the Jasnah/Wit piece. I am fuelled and inspired.

If there's anything in particular y'all would like to see for these two hit me up btw.

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

Of Monsters and Moose || Arthur and Kaden

TIMING: 2 months ago, during Sand and Glass POTW LOCATION: Moose Caboose  PARTIES: @arthurjdrake and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Bloody Mary decides to pay Kaden and Arthur a visit. AKA Sometimes your pixie roommate sets you up for a really bad blind date

The message on his phone was a surprise. Arthur wanted to meet him at Moose Caboose of all places for lunch. Kaden wasn’t certain why, especially there of all places, but he figured he’d find out. He had to figure if he was reaching out, there was a decent reason. It’s not like they were close but he had proven to be trustworthy. Enough. Kaden was thoroughly certain that Arthur was not just a man but a phoenix despite his denial. Maybe he’d have a chance to prove it. Subtly, of course. It’s not like he really made it a point to hunt phonexies. For one, they were rare as shit. And two, they weren’t usually the type to harm humans. And three, they weren’t exactly easy to kill if what he’d read in books were true. He wasn’t sure if they just sprung back to life from the ashes like a flaming zombie but he didn’t particularly want to find out and get on the bad side of a fire wielding bird, fragile as they were supposed to be. He took a seat at the restaurant and waited and wondered. Ever so often he noticed a flash or two of something out of the corner of his eye. Likely just people moving back and forth. “Hey,” he said, spotting Arthur as he took a seat. “What was it you wanted to discuss? It sounded sort of urgent. But uh, I guess only so urgent if we’re meeting, well, here.”

The moment Arthur’s phone had pinged with a message from Kaden Langley suggesting they meet at Moose Caboose two thoughts initially crossed his mind. The first: suspicion. After all, the last time they’d spoken Kaden had been rather accusatory regarding his own theory that Arthur wasn’t as human as he appeared to be. He was right of course, but that certainly wasn’t something that he particularly wanted to confirm. The second: surprise considering he really didn’t get the impression Langley liked him enough to even be interested in meeting up to discuss pie. But as ever, curiosity would kill the cat - or bird. Arthur glanced at his phone re-reading the message he’d received from Kaden while walking towards the booth Kaden was seated in, framed by a stuffed moose surrounded by pickled pumpkins with varying degrees of scarily carved faces. Grey eyes lifted as Kaden arrived accompanied by a look of puzzled interest. “Sorry? I wanted to discuss? I’m not sure--” he paused looking back at his phone and turning the screen towards Kaden to show their last conversation several months back followed by a more recent conversation initiated by an obscure message from Kaden earlier in the afternoon. “But I guess I was wondering the same thing.”

“Yes, you. You’re the one who invited me here.” Kaden thought the other mean was supposed to be smart, what had happened? Did he really not remember? He showed up, he had to know something. Kaden’s brows furrowed as he looked at the phone. ‘Meet me at Moose Caboose, pie man. We need to talk.’ The fuck? That was his name and information. But he had never seen that message before. “I didn’t send that,” he said, shaking his head. Part of him wanted to grab the phone and scroll through, check it closer, make sure it wasn’t a lie or a trick or magic but that seemed like a bad move. What if he just grabbed it and shook it? No, still bad. He sighed. “Well I got a very similar message from you so I don’t know what to make of that.” Kaden pulled out his phone and went to show him the message only… It wasn’t there. “Putain?” He scrolled through it furiously and there was nothing, just the conversation from months ago. “Ah, putain,” he repeated when it sunk in what probably happened. The pie comment. “Rumpleskuffs,” he said, grumbling. “Pretty sure my p-- my roommate sent that. As a joke.” He sighed before noticing another strange glint in something nearby. Odd. “Guess you might as well stay,” he said gesturing to the seat in front of him. “I’ve had worse company. How’s the girl? Was it Kat? She alright?”

“You didn’t? Weird…” but Kaden seemed genuine in that statement and his apparent confusion. He stood, shifting his weight from one foot to the other wondering just what Kaden was playing at here scrolling through his phone for some kind of evidence? Arthur blinked twice, “I’m sorry Rumpleskuffs?” Kaden had a room-mate called Rumpleskuffs? “Uh… Oh. So you didn’t want to talk about pie.” Well, that made this an interesting situation then, glancing between Kaden and the empty seat there was a half-a-second pause uncertain which way that remark should be taken. Folding his hands on the table, Arthur gave a small nod in confirmation. “Katherine? Yes. Fine, still suffers with some nightmares but talks a lot about the brave prince charming that came to destroy the evil monster. Kids… Pretty resilient huh?”

“We can talk about pie if you want, I guess. I’ve been making a lot but I’m not sure why you’d care.” Kaden was fairly sure that Arthur didn’t need to know why he was making so many, either. He didn’t love talking about feelings and bullshit with people he was close to let alone with near strangers. “Yeah, Rumpleskuffs, he’s a-- it’s a nickname. Weird guy. Likes pie a lot and messing with me.” He wasn't sure why he was worried about the likely phoenix knowing about his pixie roommate but he was. Maybe he just didn’t want to explain it or be judged for it. Wasn’t sure. Also felt like a bad thing to announce in public. “I don’t know how possible it is to grow up in this town without nightmares,” he said. “Glad to hear she’s otherwise okay.” He gave a small smile. “Not sure I should be anyone’s prince charming, though. Warn her about that one.” His brow furrowed as he noticed something moving in his glass of water. Odd.

A part of Arthur wanted to point out that really he didn’t care all that much but the rational part of his brain recognised that antagonising a hunter probably wasn’t the smartest of moves to make. So opted instead to say, “oh really? Is there another pie contest or something?” Rumpleskuffs? He rolled the name around in his head a little bit, “weird name that… How’d he get the nickname Rumpleskuffs? He isn’t a fae or something is he? I don’t know what their obsession with pie is… Or maybe it’s just the ones I’ve met but they all seem to share it.” His fingers curled a little under his chin in thought. “I dunno, I think if you’re stubborn enough it’s possible either that or you’re just lucky. One or the other.” Despite everything a smile edged its way onto his features, “she’s hardly going to pay any attention to me on that one plus you kind of look like that Flynn dude from that cartoon so I doubt much of anything will change that.” But Kaden was looking over his shoulder and naturally Arthur turned to glance behind him, finding only his own reflection. Weird. “Everything okay? You seem a bit- I dunno, distracted?”

“Not that I know of,” Kaden said with a shrug. Even if there were a contest, he didn’t have time to give a shit. The excess baking wasn’t for anyone else but him, not really. He froze when Arthur instantly pegged Rumple as fae. Putain. “I’m, uh, not sure. Just, it, yeah he’s a little fae. Mostly.” He wasn’t sure why he wanted to hide it. Shame mostly, to be honest. Alright, sure, he was dating Regan who was fae but that was partially because he hadn’t known initially. This was worse. Stupider, even. Maybe he should just accept his fate and get over it. Or rather is fae-te. He was a magnet for fae and fae bullshit. “Maybe so. But they’d be pretty hard pressed,” he said. This town was so full of living nightmares he couldn’t imagine skipping over all of it and coming out of this place without any scars of any sort. “Like Flynn who?” His forehead creased as he tried to imagine it. A cartoon prince who looked like him and fought monsters? He couldn’t imagine it. “Huh. Odd. Can’t picture it. I’m pretty sure no one would call me a prince either way.” He sighed and took a sip of the water the waitress left at the table. As soon as he went to take a sip, he swore he saw a figure in it, something dark and moving. “Merde!” he shouted as he dropped the glass from his hands, water spilling everywhere across the table. “Shit, shit, I’m sorry I thought I saw something in the wa--” He caught a peek at the glass and saw another flash of something and stumbled back out of his seat, catching himself on the edge of the chair before he tumbled to the floor. What the fuck was that?

For a hunter it seemed to strike Arthur that Kaden wasn’t the most apt at concealing his discomfort in a situation such as being caught in a lie or an omission of fact. “Not sure?” there were several ways to test whether Kaden’s apparent flatmate was a fae, but Arthur didn’t feel that right now was the best time to comment on it. “Perhaps, either that or find a decent enough spellcaster versed in the whole sphere of memory magic. That would usually clear up any issues considering if you can’t remember an event it can hardly give you nightmares hm?” But if the kid was happy enough and relatively untroubled then who was Arthur to interfere with how her parents - his great great times seven or something of the sort grandson chose to raise her. “Flynn Rider- Rapunzel- The- You don’t know? Oh huh…” he trailed off shaking his head “yeah okay probably better you don’t then.” Yet his attention was promptly diverted by the sudden commotion of water being spilled that had Arthur jumping to his feet in a flash at the same moment Kaden almost tumbled onto the floor. He peered at Kaden’s line of sight fixed on the glass and blinked as something seemed to shimmer and shift in the reflection “Oh bloody hell- Not again.”

Kaden did his best to act like nothing strange had happened, that he hadn’t just nearly fell from his seat, startled by a fucking glass of water of all things. “Sorry that was, I thought I--” It was then that he noticed Arthur was standing. He’d jumped away from the water like it was acid. If he was what Kaden suspected he was, it was likely that it was similar. Kaden didn’t get a chance to narrow his eyes or even question it further. “Not again? What do you mean not again?” he asked, brow furrowing. The reflection in the glass seemed to answer for him. As he looked into it, he saw a woman with a knife. Then felt a sting of pain across his cheek. “Putain!” he shouted, and clutched his face. He felt the blood running along his palm. What the hell? He pulled it away to examine his hand. Yeah, that was real alright. Real and red and painful. Kaden dared to lean in, get a closer look. “Murderer,” the spirit growled. The creases in Kaden’s forehead deepened and he saw a knife push forward towards him out of the reflection towards him. “Shit!” he shouted as he dived out of his chair, finally hitting the floor. “What the fuck is she talking about?! What’s going on?!” he asked Arthur. By now the whole restaurant had their eyes on them, there were whispers all around and lots of confusion. Kaden didn’t exactly care. But he did wonder if now was the time to tell people to leave.

Too many things happened at once, the accusatory glare and the sign of something strange lashing out of the upturned glass of water. A twisted ghostly visage one Arthur had seen not several weeks back in his very own kitchen attempting to drag Freyja down the stairs by her hair. “Oh shit” the panic was clear, though now really wasn’t the time to explain. “NO DON’T!” he yelled out instinctively as Kaden leaned in to inspect the glass right as another swipe of the knife followed one that could’ve certainly taken an eye if not for Kaden’s speedy reaction. “The reflections, she’s in the reflections” it was right as the words left his mouth that he saw the same figure manifesting in the glass panelled window, immediately, Arthur shot in Kaden’s direction, moving to backhand the glass off the table into the very panel the ghost had started to appear in. The whispers were silenced by the shattering of glass, glistening fragments spilling left right and center. A baleful shriek followed the sound and Arthur moved back over to Kaden extending a hand out to where he’d fallen “I know you have fuck all reason to trust me, but I need you to listen to me now - we need to get you out of here because she won’t stop until your head’s on a platter.”

“What?” Kaden sputtered as he worked to right himself onto his hands on knees, avoiding the glass shattered around him. “Me? What about me? How--” He was struggling to piece together all of the disparate pieces of the puzzle together in his panicked state. Ghost. This was definitely some sort of ghost or spirit. Reflections. Was this-- There was no way. “Don’t tell me this is Bloody fucking Mary,” he said in a hushed tone to the professor as he took his hand, letting him help him pull him off the floor. “Murderer,” rang out again, from over his left shoulder. Kaden looked back and saw the same woman in the mirror, ragged and dark and angry. Her knife reached out and this time Kaden ducked, putting his hand over his head. “What the fuck does she want with me? She’s got to be really fucking mistaken because I’m not a goddamn murderer.” There was chaos in the restaurant now, customers watching them and looking around them for the source of the commotion. A few of them had seen the reflection and pointed towards the mirror. Some of them seemed to think it was a show. Most of them were annoyed for the interruption. “Excuse me, we’re going to have to ask you to l--” the waiter started. “Way ahead of you,” Kaden said before ducking out. “How the fuck do I avoid all reflections? It’s nearly goddamn impossible.”

“Not now,” Arthur answered with a shake of his head as Kaden righted himself glancing at the hunter. For a moment there was a strange and sudden urge to laugh but no sound escaped him, only a grimace of acknowledgement and mild determination while backing up. “Would it make it momentarily better if I lied and said no?” But further words were cut short as the ghost swiped out from the window seemingly keen to totally ignore Arthur’s presence in the room next to Kaden. It sparked an idea, and Arthur shifted between Kaden and the next window using himself to block the ghost’s reach for Kaden. The waiter that had served them but moments prior looked as though he were about to have an aneurysm on the spot at the shattered window panel and it was the least Arthur could do to offer an apologetic look and passing remark of “sorry, I’ll pay for that later yeah? Claustrophobia, my friend doesn’t do well inside.” Eventually they made it outside but the parking lot posed an entirely separate issue and Arthur had to run through through options. “The park, open field right? Just round the block… If we get there we can probably wait her out… I don’t think you’ll be able to do anything to her… She’s not a normal ghost.”

Kaden wanted to be annoyed at the bullshit explanation to the waiter, but he didn’t have much of a chance. It’d have to fucking do because they had to get the hell out of there. “A park?” It made sense, he had to admit. There shouldn’t be a whole lot of reflective surfaces surrounding him there. He’d just have to avoid any water nearby. And if his suspicions on Arthur were correct, he’d be just as keen to avoid that as well. “Okay, park. That’s-- Go, let’s go.” He reached into his wallet and shoved a twenty dollar bill on the table before running out, ducking and dodging like it might help. “I know who the fuck Bloody Mary is! I’m a--” He stopped short, didn’t want to scream it out in the middle of the street that he was a hunter. Seemed like a bad fucking plan. “Just trust me, I know.” He started running in the direction he indicated, past the cars and show windows. Shit, fucking shit. He tried not to look but he had a feeling it didn’t matter one way or another if he checked his reflection. “Let’s get to the fucking pa--” His words were cut off by something grabbing at his ankles and dragging him back along the concrete. Kaden screamed and tried futilely to fight off the invisible, intangible object pulling him and scraping him along the sidewalk. He tried to grip the edge, keep from going any farther, but it wasn’t doing much good. Putain.

Arthur’s mind in a spur of the moment decision making process felt that a rather bullshit explanation seemed perfectly reasonable in comparison to telling their rather human waiter from what he could see that bloody goddamn Mary was here to try and kill them. Not them. Kaden. What was it about almost every instance they ran into one another that ended up in something going absolutely sideways? Breaking outside Arthur took off down the street high-tailing it after Kaden with half a mind to smash the windows of the cars they passed. After all, what was a bit of public property damage compared to sparing someone from meeting a rather bloody end at the hand of an equally murder orientated spirit? “Okay! Okay right-” and so they set off, Arthur mainly focussed on running; moving his feet one after the other even as the beginnings of a stitch started to cramp his side. Who knew that a lifetime of office work and preference for milk chocolate brazil nuts during a marathon of Clone Wars did not an athlete make. It was such complainant thoughts and panicked interspersed contemplation regarding what the hell they were going to do next that almost caused him to trip over Kaden as the man crashed to the sidewalk being dragged in the complete opposite direction.

“Oh shit- shit! Hold on!” Park. Right. Grass, bushes… Rocks. Rocks! With little other thought Arthur dove to a nearby bush rummaging around in the vain hope of finding- There his fingers curled around the rough texture of a rock about the size of his fist before scrambling back to the street and hauling his arm back to lob the rock straight through the nearest window of a smart looking mercedes. The glass shattered and its alarm blared but Arthur was already grabbing a piece of glass, little care for the jagged edge cutting into his palm as he brandished it towards the spirit speaking with a courage he didn’t admittedly feel right there and then. “Let him go Mary. He isn’t deserving of your wrath.”

White glass like eyes belonging to a gaunt face framed by stringing black hair snapped away from their intense focus on Kaden for but a moment before returning to the hunter with a snarled hiss, the shrill sound akin to nails scraping down a chalkboard “murderer.”

Kaden could feel skin scraping off his palm as he tried to wrap his fingers around any piece of concrete he could grab onto. He felt some release, the dragging stopped, but it was in exchange for the familiar sounds of glass shattering, the sharp pain of car alarms blaring in his ears. Still, he wasn’t going to complain too much about having a chance to scramble up from the ground. “Why does she keep saying that?” he said, voice laced with panic and confusion. Of course he wasn’t deserving of her wrath. Did she really think all killing made him a murderer? He wasn’t. That wasn’t how this worked. He’d never killed a human. Not once. Fucking spirit had to be mistaken. Even then, he felt like he should cover himself with his jacket, just hide. Like it might eliminate his reflection, make this go away. “We have to get out of here,” he said, grabbing Arthur’s arm and leading him towards the direction of the park, crouching behind the other man as best he could, hoping it might shield him from the spirit’s wrath. They had to leave. If not just because of the spirit but because he wasn’t looking to pay for this fucking broken car window. Somehow he didn’t think Alain was up for doing him any favors as of late. A wail rang through the night as black hair and a glint of silver flashed in the reflection of a shop window followed by a flash of pain along his arm. “Repent,” it bellowed. Putain de merde. “Repent for what? I’m not a murderer. You have the wrong person. Leave me alone!” That park had to be close. It had to be.

“Because that’s what she thinks you are and she’s not-” Arthur didn’t have a chance to finish the sentence as the spectre wailed; seeming to grow frustrated with the constant interruptions of this interloper. The frustration grew even more apparent as Kaden moved behind Arthur out from its line of sight and reach.

“You protect the guilty,” the accusation was harsh and grating and punctuated by a wild advancing slash that Arthur tried to block, but instead slid off and caught his shoulder clean, rending flesh and causing him to cry out in pain.

Stumbling back a step but keeping Kaden behind him he caught himself trying to ignore the stinging ache of his shoulder and where it was fast staining his jumper crimson. Arthur stared back at the spirit with a mixture of defiance and pain but also using the time to keep walking backwards. Just keep it talking. Use the time until they got to the point they could make a final run for it. “So what if I do? Bit hypocritical wouldn’t you say? You’re no better than them in the end.” The ghost lunged again but he was more prepared this time; dodging to one side and glancing behind him in the process towards the gate that was about ten metres away. Just a little further and they could run.

Shit, she was attacking Arthur now, too? That-- He wasn’t a murderer, then, was he? Kaden would have to figure that one out later. Honestly, she was clearly fucking confused so he wasn’t sure it was worth conjecturing one way or another. “Come on,” he said as the two of them backed towards the gate. “Any day now.” He didn’t like the idea of giving this bitch of a spirit any more opportunity than they had to. They were close, almost there, when she lashed out one more time. Arthur dodged and Kaden tried to duck, too, but he caught another edge of the blade slicing into his back. He screamed out but he turned on his heel towards the gate anyway, pushing past the pain. He wanted to make sure that was the last of it. He could manage it once he was something closer to safe. At the sight of the gate, Kaden practically slammed into it with his shoulder. It gave way without much protest and he kept sprinting into the middle of the field. Once he was pretty damn sure there was no shot of his reflection betraying him, Kaden collapsed to the ground and winced at the pain across his cheek, along his back, the various cuts from the various shattered glass. It took him a moment to catch his breath, collect himself enough to form words. “Thanks,” he managed to say, looking up at Arthur as he pulled himself up off the ground. “Your shoulder. You need first aid.”

There was no putting it off now and as the gate hinges squealed and grated open, Arthur legged it after Kaden into the middle of the grassy expanse of the field breathing heavy when they both finally came to a stop and took stock of their situation. Finding nothing malicious stalking them Arthur turned and sank down onto a nearby bench grimacing a little as he picked at where the fabric stuck to the slash; roughly several inches long but not too deep, “it’s not too bad.” And in all honesty it wasn’t, certainly wouldn’t kill him. Instead, Arthur looked back to Kaden assessing the damage the spirit had managed to do in their escape down the street. “Are you okay? That spirit seemed… Kinda intense in wanting to get her hands on you.”

“I’m fine,” Kaden said with a grunt as he pushed himself up off the ground and onto the bench next to Arthur. “That spirit seemed fucking confused is what she seemed like.” He winced a little as he felt the cut on his face. It stung, but it might not even scar, more surface level than anything. Which was nice. “Going after me. Going after you. Isn’t she meant to target murderers? Putain de merde. Someone fucking lied, I guess.” He shook his head and looked back to his companion. “You sure you’re alight, though?”

“Confused?” Arthur echoed side-eyeing Kaden for a moment trying to process the logic behind where the other man was coming from considering what they both knew Kaden was. A hunter. Someone that rather literally existed to balance the scales of existence of supernatural beings. “I mean there’s a fair justification in her going after you... Not that I’m saying she should” he added quickly “just… like you do mur- uh- kill people that aren’t human. Which is murder...” Leaning forwards Arthur rubbed his hands together. “I think she also goes after people that just get in the way of her target ‘cause I’ve never killed anyone in my life.” Or more correctly, in this life. “Uh yeah, though I’m not sure how we’re meant to get back home unless we just… Wait and hope she goes to chase someone else or something.”

“Killing monsters isn’t murder.” The words left his mouth like a mantra, without thought. Kaden wasn’t sure he believed it or not. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to think about what those words even meant anymore or if they held any weight in any shape or form. Either way, he had to hold onto them. If he didn’t-- He just had to. “Guess so.” Must have meant Kaden got in the way of someone else. Right? It had to. There was no other option. He couldn’t be a murderer. That wasn’t something he could live with. And so he wouldn’t. “Seems like that’s the. Guess I owe you dinner, huh?”

“Even werewolves or people that just so happen to have less normal aspects of themselves? Not all supernaturals are monsters - Regan’s a good example of that no?” How many times had Arthur had this conversation with hunters or slayers over his lifetimes? Too many to count but it always boiled down to the same gritted determination of belief that monsters of all shape and size were evil and that somehow their deaths was justified lighting it under the simple guise of monstrosity. It was interesting in a way, seeing how some people tried to justify their actions in their own mind to help them live with the actions and decisions they made on a daily basis. “If an evening out with you is always gonna end up with one of us almost dead or mauled by some beast… I think maybe next time we stick with an afternoon drink - lessens the chances a fraction hey?”

“We’re not talking about Regan right now.” Hell, Kaden was barely talking to Regan right now. And the less he thought about whatever was happening in those woods with Deirdre, the better. And he wasn’t going to try and sort out his feelings on the matter or the growing list of exceptions he was making while sitting on a park bench nursing his wounds after running from a fucking spirit that was trying to kill him through a goddman mirror. Not going to happen. It was bad enough he broke down with Morgan in the woods after that shit with Alain and the bugbear. He was not going to have another fucking moment like that on a park bench. No, thanks. “Spirit must have been mistaken,” he said flatly, with a tone that indicated he wasn’t debating this. Kaden sighed, trying to let go of some of the tension he was harboring. “Worth shot. Even if I’m not sure that all the monsters of White Crest take a break while the sun is out.”

[songfell-ut]

Chapter 11 is a doozy

This one ends with what I thiiink may be the first scene I envisioned. Probably need an “angst” tag on there, but I still dun really know how the tags work. Are they a good thing to cram in, @lostmypotatoes? 

Link is here. I’m going to bed

The child lay face down in the flower bed, too stunned to cry. When she lifted her head, the world spun in circles; when she tried to get up, her leg hurt so much that she gasped. She sniffled, hiccuped, and waited for someone to come help her. But no one came. It was too much: she finally gave a long wail, working herself up to sob so hard that tears and snot started dripping all over the golden petals.

Something was coming down the stone passage. She stopped and huddled into the flowers, but they weren't tall enough to hide in, and a patch of sunlight shining from above lit her up clearly.

He walked out of the darkness with a sword in each hand. His eyes glittered; when they met hers, she froze, too scared to breathe.

The...man? It must have been a monster, because it looked like a person, if a person could also be a goat: white fur, horns, and golden eyes, with a muzzle and a pointy black stripe on each cheek. But it walked on two feet and wore a long black robe with a symbol on it...like a person.

To her surprise, the monster didn't eat her, or breathe fire, or chop her up. He watched her for a moment. With a flick of each wrist, the swords vanished. "Hello there," he said in a soft, deep voice, squatting down a few feet away. "Where did you come from? Are you hurt?"

She couldn't answer. To her even bigger surprise, the monster sat down with his legs crossed and took hold of his floppy white ears, one in each hand. He flopped them over his eyes and looked around, as if surprised. "Oh, no! I thought there was a human in here! Who turned out the lights?"

Now she was puzzled, and slightly insulted. What was he doing? She wasn't a baby!

But as the goat-man kept it up, calling, "Hellooo, huuuuman?" and turning this way and that, her fear ebbed away until she started giggling. He scooched closer and peeked out from under his ear. "Aaah, no, it's the human," he said in very fake terror. "You've caught me. Please, human, if you let me go, I'll take you somewhere safe. I'll even heal you—have you ever been healed before?"

The human shook her head, leaning over to wipe her face on some of the bigger flowers. He let go of his ears, moved closer, and extended his white paw—a hand with five fingers, but sharp nails and fur, still a paw. "It's easy. All you have to do is touch the green light. See?" His palm glowed, and the child poked at it, fascinated.

After a few seconds, her leg didn't hurt anymore. She sat up, and she wasn't dizzy. The goat-man smiled at her, only the very tips of his fangs showing. "All better?"

Monsters were supposed to be bad, but he had the kindest eyes she'd ever seen. He held his paw – hand – out again, and she took it, delighted at how soft his fur was. "It's very nice to meet you," he said. "My name is Asriel. What's yours?"

She had to think for a second. "My name is—"

 ~

 Sans jerked awake. Someone was banging on the door. He tried to stand up, but the floor wouldn't stay still: it dumped him right off his feet. "Fu' you, too," he told it. Dammit, his head hurt.

The banging didn't stop. With a more concerted effort, his body got off the floor and carried itself all the way to the front door. He wrenched at the knob and shoved it open.

Dr. Serif moved back exactly in time to avoid a broken nose. "Good morning," he said coolly, and pushed past Sans. "Close the door. Do not break it."

The boss monster tried, he really did, but the knob kept jumping out of the way. With a quietly profane expression, the doctor used a series of hands to shut the door, pull Sans into position, and grab the back of his head. "Holy fucknuts, that's better," the giant skeleton mumbled a moment later. "Thank—ow!"

"You and your foul mouth are welcome." Gaster surveyed the front room. "This is a lovely house. I hope you've treated it well." He sniffed the air several times. "Whatever did you do? What have you had to drink?"

"Water! Mostly. A little cider, no liquor in it." Now that Sans was sober, he was chagrined to follow Gaster to the kitchen and see a huge heap of brownish apple cores on the table. "They were sellin' a bunch on my way back here last night," he mumbled. "I was hungry."

Gaster pointed at the cores, and the wastebin. Sans obediently lifted the pile and dumped it into the bin with a touch of magic. Gaster then pointed at the compost heap outside, and Sans heaved a huge sigh as he picked up the bin to take it outside.

The older skeleton gave him an odd look as he came back in. "Do you mean you were on your way back here last night from the Underground?" Gaster inquired.

"Well, yeah. Where else'd I be comin' from?" Sans stuck his head in the sink, opened his mouth, and turned the faucet on.

"Apparently, a place where you can be drunk enough to lose an entire day."

The boss monster coughed violently, turning the water off before he drowned himself. "Where I what?"

"You set out with Snowdrake two days ago. The High Priestess expected you back at some point yesterday. It is Sunday, and she had to attend matins, or else she would have come with me to check if you were dead or merely sleeping off your overconsumption of...hmm." A pair of hands took hold of Sans' skull and pulled it down for closer inspection. "You still smell like apples. The priestess also said she smelled it the other morning." Sigh. "At least you spent the missing day here, judging by the age of those apple cores, and not out gallivanting after poachers." Gaster released him. "By any chance, did you stay in human shape for a long time, then eat, and then remove your device before you went to sleep?"

Sans couldn't remember anything. "...Yes? I think?"

"I would call you names, but as I did not figure it out, either, I will call you only one: idiot." The doctor sighed again. "Apples ferment fairly easily. I've never heard of fluctuating magic levels and shifts in internal chemistry rendering them an intoxicant after consumption, and there's no reason for such a weak form of alcohol to affect you this badly, but it's a viable hypothesis. No more cider or apples for you, young skeleton, until we can test the theory in a more controlled setting. Till then, we'll need to check the rest of the house before we can leave in good conscience."

The forensic evidence was not difficult to unravel. Most of the house was fine, but little puddles led from the wet patch in the living room where Sans had fallen asleep all the way into the bathroom, where every single towel was wet, either from being thrown on the wet floor or folded up and placed inside the tub...which was full of water. Without being told, Sans sheepishly set to work unplugging the tub, wringing things out, and draping them over surfaces where they could drip dry. His drunk self must have been experimenting with his human form, taking several baths and...

Oh. Oh, wow. Now he sort of knew what he'd been doing yesterday. It wasn't his fault that he'd gotten so worked up from snuggling Frisk; when he awoke, he'd had the idea to put the chain back on and see if that one thing down there would happen again, and it had. The little he knew of male human physiology and its parallels to monster reproduction had finally coalesced; he'd realized was going on and what he could do about it, and did it. It'd been really fun for a while, but then he...had he had to stop for some reason? Had his hands gotten tired, or was it something else that wasn't working? He couldn't remember.

As for what had been working, damn. He still loathed humans, but this explained a lot.

He had some questions, though. He'd have to peruse Frisk's textbooks when he got back, or ask the doctor, in the event the books failed to cover the finer points of magic boners.

Gaster watched him tidy up in silence. When the bathroom was back in order, he said crisply, "Find your device and come with me. Frisk has been working very hard and sleeping very poorly, and she needs moral support."

That sounded about right. Sans found his silver chain tied to a light fixture in an empty bedroom, put it on, and followed Gaster out of the house, stopping long enough to lock the not-quite-damaged front door.

It was a cold enough morning to see their breath; they passed several children pretending to hold cigars and exhale smoke. "Nice day," Sans complained, huddling deeper into his overcoat. "D'ya mind if I just go somewhere no one can see an' take a shortcut back?"

"She made her decision," said Dr. Serif.

Sans came up alongside him, sure he'd misheard. "She did what?"

"She decided to throw the box away yesterday morning. I disposed of it myself. It's gone."

They walked. It was cold. "Huh," said Sans.

"Indeed."

Five minutes passed. They kept walking. It was still cold.

The doctor looked sidelong at him. "Are you all right?" he asked delicately.

Sans shrugged. "Is she all right?"

Dr. Serif looked this way and that as they stopped at a crosswalk. Several heavily laden wagons were trundling by, drivers and horses alike shivering in the relentless wind. "Not entirely," he said over the noise of wheels crunching on pavement. "She's no longer uncertain of herself, but she has been writing letters nonstop instead of sleeping. Lord Owen has departed to visit his sister for a few days, just in time to miss the news. Did the first fortune have any sort of timetable attached?"

Sans shook his head a little. There was nothing to say, so he didn't bother trying.

One of the wagons was stopped because a horse had decided to take a break in the middle of the street; the driver was climbing down to convince it otherwise. "I'd like you to attend a discussion with my colleagues this afternoon," said Dr. Serif. "Most of them are excited about the possibilities of solar energy conversion, but several are requesting more details before they will support the project."

"Sure," Sans mumbled.

The wagoners behind the recalcitrant horse were getting impatient. If the doctor felt the same way, he didn't show it. "Two weeks," he said, as if to himself. "It's been approximately that long since you were captured, hasn't it? It feels much longer."

No answer. Dr. Serif shifted around until he was facing Sans and took a look at his chest. He grimaced. "Sans, may I just say—"

"Ya think she'll let me come back?"

The doctor blinked. "Beg pardon?"

Under the sounds of the drivers cursing and other pedestrians complaining, Sans said, "Even if she marries that fu—friggin' dork, it's not like she's gonna be locked up fer the rest of 'er life. An' it's not like I'm gonna learn every damn thing she knows in one month. If she can't come to the Underground, I'll just hafta drag my bony ass back here for more lessons. Right?"

"More or less," said the royal sorcerer.

"But..." Sans rubbed his chapped lips, which made them hurt more. "Remember when I talked about killin' someone if they bugged me, and Frisk said I was just doin' what I wanted, 'n not ta come back if I did? What if I run into poachers again and I have to kill 'em?"

"...Because of a life-and-death situation, or because you personally cannot stop yourself?"

"I dunno! Both?"

Dr. Serif discreetly wiped his nose on a handkerchief. "I suspect her definition of 'life-and-death' differs from yours, but I believe she was more concerned with your self-restraint. Let me ask you this: have you ever killed a human purely for enjoyment, or found an excuse to kill one who was not an immediate threat? Even if eliminating someone was fully justified, have you ever deliberately used a slow or painful method to inflict more suffering?"

For the first time since he'd become a boss monster, the thought of slaughtering humans made Sans uncomfortable. "I only ever fight 'em where they're not s'posed ta be," he pointed out. "The only ones ya see out that far are lookin' ta catch monsters. I'm not goin' to their villages or anythin'."

"You're not answering me. I repeat, have you ever—"

"What am I s'posed t'do?! Sit down everyone I see carryin' a buncha chains an' explain that it hurts our feelin's when they're mean to us?"

"I think you'd be better off asking yourself these things instead of trying to argue with me. I also think you know what Frisk would say if you were to ask her directly."

Sans shuffled his feet, wiggling his toes inside his leather boots. The stubborn horse and its wagon had finally started moving down the street. "Here's another question," said the doctor. "Have you ever successfully restrained your temper around the High Priestess?"

The human-ish boss monster glared at him. "Are you kiddin'? Ya think I wanna worry about breakin' 'er like a twig every time I get pissed off?"

"I do not." Dr. Serif employed his handkerchief again. "Have you ever fully lost your temper with her, or in her presence?"

"Well..." He thought guiltily of the time he'd badgered her about singing till she damn near whistled a hole through his skull, and he smiled at how she'd climbed on the table to get in his face afterward. Man, he'd deserved that. Then there was the dent he'd bashed in the tabletop that other time... "I was just bein' a dick. I didn't even think about hurtin' 'er."

"Really? You've made it sound as if it is not possible to restrain yourself in moments of duress. The High Priestess is a remarkable young woman, but she is a human being, just like the ones you—"

"She's not like them, an' I'll break yer fuckin' neck if you say that again."

The people standing near them inched away as Dr. Serif looked at Sans. Sans stared at him, unblinking, until the doctor sighed. "If I have to put literally everything in a Frisk-centric context to get through to you, I will," he said testily. "Do you think she would be pleased to hear you threaten to kill someone for insulting her, which I was not?"

Sans bit the inside of his weird, fleshy cheek. "No," he admitted.

"You will not be with her all day, every day for very much longer. Do you really think she would allow you to return if she had reason to believe you'd killed or needlessly injured anyone in the interim?"

Sans tapped one foot, then the other. "Dunno how she'd even know if I did. S'not like I'd be strollin' up t'her with blood 'n guts all over...my..."

He trailed off as a memory prodded him: that dream recounting his very first encounter with poachers, how he'd crunched the sorcerer's spine and then slammed the other humans into each other until they stopped screaming. He'd enjoyed it immensely till he heard that familiar whistle behind him and realized that Frisk was standing there, seeing him in all his murderous glory.

The moment he heard that sound, before he even turned, he'd instantly gone from elation to abject terror. He thought she would run away from him, or demand some kind of justification he couldn't give, or tell him never to come near her again; she could have accused him of tricking her, pretending to be the kind of person who wouldn't do something like this, much less enjoy it.

She hadn't. She didn't even flinch when she saw the literal blood on his hands. She'd just been herself—said she wanted to see him, apologized for hurting his feelings, and opened up to him about her fears and frustration, as though he hadn't just slaughtered a bunch of people and laughed about it. When was the last time anyone had asked him for help with anything, period? Had anyone ever asked him for touchy-feely advice? In the last few months, he'd spent so much time away from the Underground that even Pap had pretty much stopped bugging him about puzzles or picking up his socks whenever he was home.

...Damn. What if he enjoyed killing stuff so much because it was the only thing he was good for anymore? If he could somehow stop, what would he have left?

And the worst part was that after all that, she'd still wound up hugging him again, and even now, his SOUL was still a little mushy around the edges.

He didn't understand. Frisk wasn't blind or stupid; how could anyone with half a brain see what he was capable of and still care about him that much?

And why was he getting aroused again?!

The last wagon had trundled out of the way. "It's very simple," the doctor remarked, pulling Sans along by the elbow as the backed-up crowd surged forward around them. "What would you rather have? Freedom to be as horrible as you wish, or the right to ever see Frisk again?"

"But—"

"But what, Sans?"

But what, indeed. All this moralizing was background noise compared to the fact that she'd chosen her "adequate" future, and the only thing he could control was whether he'd be allowed to drop by from time to time. He had no right to pout – or be a complete fucking wreck – because she'd taken his advice and stopped agonizing over her decision. It wasn't as if anything had really changed, as far as he was concerned; she wasn't going to stop being his friend or teacher just because she was getting married to some human moron. Was it her fault that his deep-down, germ-sized hope of somehow fitting into her second fortune had been crushed like it deserved?

Stupid Gaster. If he hadn't given Sans that stupid chain, the idea of fathering her kid would never have been so cruelly plausible. Sans remembered how he'd found out he could make a tongue for himself when he wanted: he'd been curious about Toriel's famous pies a few years back and wanted to see if he could taste them somehow. In the same vein, the chain hadn't given him brand-new powers of smell or touch or boners, just shown him how he could've done it at any time.

Then Gaster had gone and told him for a fact that skeletons and humans could have children together, which meant sex, which brought it all full circle: he should be capable of manifesting and fully employing the relevant equipment, just like his tongue. Of course, there was that awkward size difference between him and the average human, and Frisk was even smaller than average, but if he could conjure a thing with magic, wouldn't it be logical to assume he could adjust it as needed? Hell, why couldn't he temporarily downsize his overall structure long enough to—

"—ans? Sans!"

The boss monster twitched. Dr. Serif had tugged him down a side street and looked ready to slap him to get his attention. Sans raised his hands. "What? Whaddya want?"

"I want to ascertain how you're going to behave before we arrive." The doctor somberly folded his arms, then spoiled the effect by getting the handkerchief out to blow his nose. "Are you going to be a friend, or a problem?"

There was that painfully accurate summation again. He needed to remember that he was operating under different rules than human males, or even other monsters: his actual parts weren't the biggest issue, no pun intended for once. He had to accept that it wasn't gonna happen. "I'm her friend," answered Sans. "Not like I can be much else. She's not a boss monster, so..."

"No...no, she is not." The doctor paused, as if in thought, then took Sans' elbow again. "To the castle, please, the stairwell outside her quarters. I don't know about you, but I'm freezing my ass off."

 ~

 Sans was so nervous to face Frisk again that it was both a relief and a letdown to find out she wasn't in her rooms. "I did wonder," he remarked to Gaster as they threw off their disguises. The boss monster stacked some logs in the fireplace and tossed a handful of flame on them. "Right after I came here, she said her mom was sick, but I never heard anythin' else about it. This's the first time I know of that she's gone t'see 'er."

"Rosa doesn't do well with most visitors," Gaster explained. "She suffers from a degenerative neurological disorder. Frisk ensures she has the best possible care, but there is little to be done except keep her comfortable."

Sans scratched his metacarpals—using fire always made him itch. It was no wonder now that Frisk hadn't wanted him to go bug her mom with questions about her visit to the Underground. No wonder she was always so stressed, either, with a dad who was somehow neglectful and nosy, and a mother physically and mentally out of commission. Poor lady—and then, when she'd just wanted a little bit of guidance from the fortune-teller, she'd gotten this fate-of-the-world shit dumped on her!

That did it. No matter how crappy and torn-up he felt, Sans vowed he wasn't going to do anything to make her life harder. He wouldn't kill that Owen guy; he could help deliver stuff, make sure no one tried to murder her before the wedding...

Fuck. He wished he'd never gotten caught, or that someone, anyone else had come to get him out of his cell that day. He'd known better than to get close to another human, he'd done it anyway, and now look what had happened!

...No, whatever he was feeling, she had to be feeling way worse, even if it was for different reasons. As things were, at least he could be here to help. He'd have to keep telling himself that.

Gaster had picked up a huge folder and was leafing through its contents, his face impassive. "She's left you some guidelines for your next set of experiments," the older skeleton said, indicating a small set of books and papers on the counter. "Completing them to the best of your ability would be an ideal apology for your absence. Let me know if you need help."

The boss monster could see the sense in that, so he read over Frisk's list of supplies and recommended recipes, each book marked conspicuously with a new bookmark. He had to smile at that. Her handwriting was cute, too, with little swirls on the ends of some letters.

The materials she'd set aside for him included a block of alfalfa hay, cubes of alfalfa meal, and pellets of various plant materials, though it was mostly alfalfa. Sans amused himself as he worked by thinking alfalfalfafalfa until the word fell apart and reading it made him snicker. Hay, he had to stay sane somehow!

It wasn't enough. Waiting for Frisk was killing him. Her lunch was delivered a couple of hours after they got back, and she wasn't there. Gaster told him not to be alarmed, that she'd probably been called to mediate something or help someone else now that she was being accompanied by humans instead of a giant skeleton, but that didn't make Sans feel any better.

Eventually, when the mixtures had all been applied to the seedlings and everything was labeled and recorded and double-checked, Sans got so antsy that he started looking through the other books on the worktable. One had a freshly dog-eared page that made him open it up to smooth it out, wondering why she'd bothered to get the damn bookmarks if she wasn't going to use them, and then why she'd been reading up on truth spells.

Huh. There was a scribbly mark at the start of one paragraph: The stronger the application, the less ambiguous a subject's words become. Sarcasm, hyperbole, and similar rhetorical devices cannot be employed to say anything the subject does not sincerely believe to be true. Sans shrugged, put a bookmark in like God intended, and set it aside.

"It's time," the royal sorcerer said presently, several hours after lunch. He put the folder away and beckoned to the younger skeleton. "This way. Please leave your device off."

Sans had forgotten about talking with the other sorcerers, and absolutely did not want to go. The doctor had to speak to him rather sternly and at great length about the importance of alternative energy, educating the highest levels of human society and allowing the best possible knowledge to be passed down therefrom, filtering out rumor and bad information before it began, all for the mutual benefit and future coexistence of monsters and humanity.

Sans still didn't wanna. Dr. Serif ended up having to shove him bodily out the doors and most of the way down the hall, unseen hands prodding him until he gave up.

Nevertheless, with his resolution to make things smoother for Frisk, Sans got through the meeting pretty well. It was held in a library with about a dozen whey-faced nerds in black robes, most of whom were too curious to be scared of him; he had to spend a half hour answering questions about monsters and letting them watch him breathe and talk and all sorts of crap first.

Then they went over Dr. Serif's notes, clarifying a few points Sans had forgotten or mixed up. The boss monster had to admit that the sorcerers were good about catching mathematical discrepancies, and one woman had some solid ideas about different alloys that could improve the solar arrays' efficiency and reduce the chance of warping or melting the panels. Her wavy hair reminded him of the High Priestess—one of her half-sisters?

Whatever. The discussion lasted a few hours, and though he did find it interesting, Sans wanted to see Frisk so badly that the moment they adjourned and Dr. Serif indicated he was going to go to his own quarters, the boss monster didn't even bother leaving the room before he teleported himself back. The guards were getting used to his sudden appearances, and informed him without much fear that Her Eminence had returned less than half an hour ago.

Sans faced the double doors and fought down his sudden nervousness. It was cowardly of him, but he couldn't bring himself to knock. Instead, he eased a few tendrils of magic through the crack in the doors – did she even realize the barrier was permeable there? – and lifted the bar very, very carefully, setting it against the wall on that side with as little noise as possible. The doors swung open on well-oiled hinges, and Sans shut them behind him just as quietly.

She wasn't in the workroom. The light outside was fading; the bedroom was dark, as was the office, and the dressing room. To his surprise, he heard faint splashing sounds from the tub—what was she doing in there so early?

At a loss, Sans wandered over to the worktable. At least he'd cleared it before they left for the meeting. The problem was that the dent was showing, the one from their argument over transitioning monsters from slavery to partnership. He still hated the idea, but there was no reason it couldn't work, maybe, eventually...in the other future where she'd opened the box.

Sans shook himself and applied his frustration to that stupid dent, hating the loss of self-control it represented. Sure enough, when he released a burst of magic over it, the damaged wood creaked, swelled, and filled itself back in like rising bread dough, leaving a solid surface with only a few fissures. I'll be damned, I fixed something on purpose, he mused, poking at it.

The splashing in the bathroom stopped. The skeleton froze, wondering if she'd heard or felt anything, but then the sounds resumed. It occurred to him for the first time that she probably didn't have clothes on, and he immediately decided to think about something else. Oh, look, there was the folder Gaster had been reading the whole afternoon. Sans reached for it—

Something shot straight through his SOUL, seizing his entire body up, magic and bones and all. It was a sweet, unearthly sound—it was Frisk.

She wasn't humming, or whistling, or tapping a rhythm on something with her hands. She was singing, very low, just loud enough to give him chills: "The years now before us, fearful and unknown—I never imagined I'd face them on my own..." A deep breath. "May these thousand winters swiftly pass, I pray—I love you, I miss you, all these miles away..."

Sans was rigid, every fiber of his being waiting for the next verse. But the voice had faltered, and the next sound was an all-too-familiar sniff, and another, till it became clear that she was, if not actively crying, too upset to continue. Well, no shit, that's the sappiest thing I've ever heard and you're already a mess, said a very tiny corner of his mind.

Meanwhile, his feet were moving, and the rest of him followed straight to the bathroom. Too bad she hadn't locked it, because he could not physically stop himself from opening the door and striding in to kneel by the tub, reach down, and drape his hand over the very startled priestess' back and shoulders, pulling her as close to him as the side of the tub would allow. "Hi," he murmured into her hair.

Nothing happened for several seconds. "...Sans?" Frisk had hunched over in alarm when he burst in, but after a moment, her hand crept up to rest on his humerus, though she remained huddled against the high enamel side. "What..."

His eyes were closed, his mind still a hazy mess of feeling. It didn't help that she smelled amazing, and she felt amazing, and...

"Sans?"

She was much warmer than before. Well, that made sense. The bathwater was very hot, and she was in the bath.

Something felt different under his hand. How had she gotten even softer? His metacarpals flexed, and she squeaked. "Sans!" she hissed.

"Hm?" How was he supposed to concentrate on anything when he was touching bare skin?

Wait. Why was he touching b—

Oh.

Shit.

...So, if she was in the tub...that meant he shouldn't move his hand down like—

"SANS!"

 ~

 The good news was that she didn't seem sad anymore. The better-than-expected news was that once the shock wore off, she wasn't really angry with him, though he didn't know that right away. The split-second he snapped out of it, Sans had been so mortified that he took a shortcut straight back to the bedroom and locked himself in, half out of fear for his personal safety and half afraid she'd be mad enough to leave again if he hung around.

But within ten minutes, she was knocking on the door and saying his name. "Nope," he muttered back.

A sigh. "Please let me in, Sans. I just want to talk."

Dammit. Sans twitched a phalange at the lock, and it clicked open.

Frisk was in her purple robe, face still flushed. Sans remained sitting on the side of bed by the opposite wall, staring at the cold fireplace, awaiting his doom.

Another sigh. She clambered onto the bed, or so he inferred from the rustling of the mattress and the scent that drifted over him a moment later. "You're not in trouble. That was my fault," she said, strangely matter-of-fact.

Blink. Blink. Blinkblink. "How."

The priestess shifted around, and he risked a peek at her. She was sitting at about his-arm's-length away, her hands and feet tucked in, legs pulled up and cheek resting on her knees. "I wasn't sure if I'd heard you come back or not. I was lonely, I wasn't thinking. I had this stupid idea to...I don't know, lure you in, if you were here?" Frisk buried her face in her fuzzy sleeve. "That didn't sound any better in my head." Squirm. "I didn't think I was using that much magic. I wasn't thinking at all. I'm so sorry."

Okay. That was unexpected. Sans was relieved, but didn't know whether to also be pleased or angry or what. He could start by kicking himself that he hadn't gotten any kind of look at her—she was so small that when she was scrunched up at one end of the tub, he'd have to be looking straight down to see anything, which he hadn't. He hadn't busted in there with any intention except to be near her.

So...should he tell her that he didn't understand many nuances of human interaction, but he was pretty sure that being lonely was the worst possible reason to call someone else in while she was in the tub? She probably didn't think that he was as functionally male as he was, which was completely understandable, but still...

Still, here she was. And it turned out that his tiny, squishy, beaten-up hope, the idea that he could somehow cram himself into a bigger role in her life than "pet project," wasn't as dead as he'd thought. It was resurging, and so was the now-familiar urge to grab her, except this time, he knew exactly what he was supposed to do with it. He knew that she'd missed him and had just admitted enticing him in while she was naked, and—

Sans didn't remember that he was a boss monster, or that she trusted him not to do anything like this, or any of the other terrible things that could happen if he got carried away. He was shifting his weight to reach over and pull her toward him when she said, with her face still buried, "Where were you yesterday?"

Oh. Right. The skeleton moved back, screaming internally and crossing his legs as hard as he could. "I—I wasn't off hurtin' anyone. I was at yer house...uh..." There was no other way to say it, was there? "I was drunk as hell, pretty much the whole day. Doc says switchin' back and forth from me ta human 'n back made some wacky chemical reaction that fermented all the apples I'd had, 'n...yeah. I didn't do it on purpose, I swear."

She raised her head, frowning. Sans wracked his brain for something to make her stop it. "At least we found the core of the problem, huh?"

Her expression lightened a little. "All right, I believe you." But then she frowned again. "Please don't do that again. You really scared me when you didn't come home yesterday."

Come home? Was she trying to fucking kill him? "Sorry." Sans forced a laugh. "You can always come check on me when we're asleep, right? Now I know ta clean up whatever I'm dreamin' in case I have company."

The young woman fidgeted, tugging a lock of hair behind her ear. "Do you have a lot of those, where you're reliving things you've done?"

She didn't sound upset. Why didn't she sound upset? "Sometimes," he admitted. "Depends how I'm feelin' when I go ta sleep, what I've had to eat, how tired I am, that kinda thing."

Frisk rested her head on her knees again, looking right at him. "You weren't always like that, were you?"

It wasn't an accusation. It was a calm, non-judgmental invitation to talk about it if he wanted to, which made him feel worse. "Well, no," he said, throttling down his...everything. "I wasn't a giant psycho till I got hit 'n started growin' like this." The boss monster tapped his sternum. "It's been a little at a time, but I get bigger n' meaner every year. Back when me an' Pap first met Kris, I hated humans, but I never woulda dreamed of killin' 'em full-time. Now..."

Her gaze didn't waver. "Did King Asgore order you to guard the Underground from poachers?"

"Nope. 'Fact, 'm really not s'posed to be out there at all. No one is." Sans scratched the back of his skull. He could still feel it where she'd touched him the other night. "I started doin' it a few years ago when a kid came through Snowdin cryin' fer his mom. We all knew she'd gone t'look for her husband 'cause he left to hunt some deer 'n didn't come back. So out I went, and I found 'er pretty quick. They'd wrung all her magic out. She was still alive, but not for long."

Someone knocked on the outside doors. Frisk very quietly rose and went to open it, bringing their dinner inside and putting the heavy bar back in place. Then she returned to her spot on the bed. "So the King doesn't know what you're doing?" she asked.

Why were they talking about this depressing shit instead of hugging some more? ...Probably because he couldn't trust himself right now to stop at hugging. Besides, he'd never told anyone any of this – especially not Pap – and he'd probably never be this comfortable with anyone else. "Oh, he knows," said Sans. "He's just useless, an' scared of me."

"Asgore? What do you mean?"

Her eyes had gone wide. Sans studied them for a second, thinking vaguely nice things about the color of wine and being very lovely in general, but it wasn't enough to drag him out of the mood he was working himself into. "I mean he's no good without the Queen, and she's hunkered down in the Ruins 'cause she blames him for everythin' that happened with Chara before the accident. Meanwhile, his big dumb ass knows she's right, but he won't apologize 'cause he's still pissed that she stood up to him in fronta everyone and let the humans go, as if killin' 'em woulda brought Asriel back. It's almost worse than havin' no rulers at all." The boss monster looked at his hand, feeling his eyes light up. "There's no food, no leadership, no one knows what's gonna happen."

"Sans—"

It was too late. Now that he'd started, the words came pouring out: "It wouldn't be so bad if everythin' in the Underground wasn't made of pure magic, but when there's that much fear and anger goin' around, you can actually see it build up, like fog. No joke. It's this shit-awful funk just kinda hangin' over everything. A couple years after the humans left, it got so bad that it even started infectin' Papyrus. The first time he yelled at me – I mean, screamin' at me outta nowhere, when I wasn't even buggin' him – I went out an' I saw this cloud over our house, and I just kinda snapped."

His hand opened and closed. Frisk stayed quiet. "I was so pissed that I tried ta pull some of that crap out of the air with my magic, just t'see what'd happen," Sans continued, "an' it actually worked. It came down, and it vanished. So I grabbed all the rest of it I could find, 'n it stayed gone. 'Fore I knew it, Pap was his old self again, 'n everyone seemed a little happier."

She shook her head. "When you say that it vanished, do you mean it evaporated, or did you absorb it?"

"Yep! Turns out when my magic touches any of it, I can't get it out again. It's just...in me. An' I hafta siphon more it off every couple of years, or everyone starts gettin' screwy again." He chuckled, a hollow sound that made her wince. "Gotta say, it's powerful as hell. The more I take, the stronger I get, an' now look at me." Sans shrugged. "I dunno. It's like gettin' hit with that explosion opened a hole in me I could fill with whatever I wanted, an' I didn't have anything else ta put in it."

Frisk watched him in silence, letting Sans get the last of his thoughts out. "So here we are. Pap's stayed his cool self, I'm a big ol' grouch, an' I could probably take Asgore in a fight if I really wanted. He knows damn well what I'm doin', but as long as I'm out protectin' everyone, he doesn't hafta worry about what else I'm up to, an' I feel like a helper. Everybody wins."

"I doubt that," the priestess murmured. "If you've spent years soaking up all the negative energy in the Underground and then feeding it with constant violence..."

It was now dark outside. Sans made a careless gesture. "I'm hungry. Ya hungry? Let's—"

"I'll go back with you."

The skeleton stopped in the act of pushing himself to his feet. He slowly turned to face her. "What did you say?"

"You asked me to come with you to speak to Asgore. This is my answer," she said calmly. "We still have a little over two weeks left. I've organized a series of inspections that will probably end up with more monsters being confiscated and placed in my custody. We can have one of them bring a letter to the Underground ahead of time to let him know we're—"

"Nope." Sans got up and went into the workroom. "Time ta eat." He unloaded the trolley, got everything set out, put the trolley out in the hall, barred the doors, and sat down.

Then he sighed, and went back to the bedroom, where Frisk was still sitting on the bed, just staring at him. "Look. Frisk. I've been thinkin' it over, an' it was a bad idea. I..." He shut his eyes as tight as he could. "Asgore will kill you. Okay? You've got the most unbelievable SOUL I've ever seen, and he'll see it, too, an' he's gonna try ta take it. He's gotten so bitter since Toriel left that I don't think we could even talk to 'im. He'd kill you, or we'd hafta kill him."

Frisk stood up on the bed, so that she was only a couple feet shorter than him, several feet away. "It's true, then? A monster can steal a human SOUL to become more powerful?"

"It's true, and it wouldn't be 'more powerful.' Try 'godlike.' An' that's just a regular monster 'n human. If Asgore got ahold of your SOUL, he could kill every human in this kingdom, an' nobody could stop 'im."

Her face had grown pale. "I see," she managed. Frisk slowly sank back to the mattress. "I...go ahead and eat. Please get started without me."

Sans felt that helpless anxiety that, unbeknownst to him, was so common among males of both species—should he at least try to comfort her first? "'Kay," he rumbled. "'m really sorry, Frisk. If there was anythin' I could do ta—"

"Please get started without me!"

Crap. He should've just listened to her. "Okay, okay, I'm goin'!"

Sure enough, the moment he stepped into the workroom, the bedroom door closed, and Sans felt a fresh barrier go up. He sat down and poked at his food. It didn't look that great anymore, but he might as well be miserable, not miserable and hungry. It wasn't like she was going to be in there all night, right?

...Right?

 ~

 No sooner had they stepped out of the flowery cavern than she heard more footsteps, bigger and heavier ones. "Asriel!" It was a woman's voice echoing from far off, stern and a little scared. "Asriel, my child, where are you? They'll be here any moment!"

"Here, Mama," called her new friend. "We're coming." He tugged gently on her hand, and she let him guide her down a long, purple-tiled hallway.

"'We'?" The motherly voice was moving toward them. "What do you mean, dear? No one else should be down here unless—"

They rounded a corner, and so did Asriel's mother. She'd sounded like a normal human mom, but she was another goat monster, with short horns and a purple robe. "My goodness!" The goat-lady hurried forward and dropped to her knees in front of the child. "Where did you come from, little one? Are you hurt? Is he hurt, Asriel?"

"No, Mama," he said, smiling at the child again. "I found him in the golden flowers. He got separated from the others and fell down here."

"I see," the goat-lady said, her voice sounding funny. But then she smiled warmly at the human, who smiled right back. She'd never had a real mom, and this one seemed like everything she'd ever dreamed of, except with more fur. "Welcome to the Underground, my child. I am so very pleased to have you with us. I am Queen Toriel, and it seems you've been lucky enough to meet my son, Prince Asriel."

The little human looked up at him in terror. The prince? Had she been rude to him, or to the Queen? Should she bow, or say something royal, or—

"It's all right, Kris," said Asriel. "Mama, I'd like to take him to the house and get him cleaned up before the rest of the humans arrive. We'll be in the Great Hall as soon as we can."

"You most certainly will not! You will go tell your father that I am attending to our very first guest, and we will be there when Kris is ready." Toriel got to her feet and took the child's hand from Asriel. "Come with me, little one. Off you go, dear." She made a shooing motion at her son.

Asriel sighed, but arguing was clearly not an option. "Yes, Mama. I'll see you again soon, Kris!"

The child nodded, watching him disappear around the corner with amazing speed. Monsters could do that, couldn't they? At least some of the stories seemed to be true.

Toriel smiled down at her again. The child suddenly felt strange, but in a good way. Asriel was wonderful, and his mother looked so loving that the child wanted to throw herself into her arms right there.

And just like magic, the Queen released her hand, knelt, and opened her arms for a huge, warm, cloud-soft hug. "Poor child," Toriel murmured, the vibrations in her chest rumbling against the human's cheek. "We will take care of you for as long as you are here. I promise."

The child burrowed her face into the monster's robe, where no one could get mad at her for crying. If this was what the Underground was really like, then she wasn't scared anymore. She wouldn't run away; she'd stay as long as the others did, and fib all they wanted her to. She wished she could stay forever!

 ~

 Sans jerked awake as a fork rattled onto a plate. "Dirt," said Frisk. "Sorry about that."

He'd fallen asleep on the workroom floor. It was dark out; the clock was about to strike 2. "What're you doin' up?" The skeleton got up and sat at the table.

"Cleaning," she said pointedly, stacking the last plate onto the last tray and setting them on the neglected trolley.

There was a stack of paper and a couple of ink bottles laid out, and Sans recalled how Gaster said she'd been writing nonstop. "What's all that?" he asked suspiciously.

"It's paper." Frisk sat down and grabbed a fresh sheet. "I have arrangements to make."

Sans made a rude noise, ignoring the twinge in his SOUL. "Yeah, but isn't it kinda soon? He hasn't even asked ya." He rapped the tabletop with his knuckles. "What's the first step again with all that crap? Gettin' a ring?"

The priestess paused, face going blank. "The first...?" She shut her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Can I assume you had a talk with Dr. Serif on your way here?"

Twinge twinge. "Yep. He tol' me he threw the box out for ya." Twiiiiinge. "He wasn't lyin', was he?"

"No." She opened her eyes. "I've checked your work on the seedlings. I don't know exactly what you had in mind for that last batch of pellets, but we'll see how it goes over the next week. Do you have any questions?"

What the crap? Was that all she was going to say? Maybe she'd do some other thing when the seedlings had grown a little more. "Uh, yeah, one question. How much sleep did ya get just now? I was up fer a couple hours before I passed out."

"Hm." The priestess rummaged in a little box of writing supplies. Only two witchlights were on, just enough to show that she looked terrible: pale, red-eyed, and...resigned, as if someone had done something really awful and left her to deal with it, but it was somehow her fault, too.

"Don't 'hm' me, lady. Ya look like total crap," he said bluntly.

Frisk ignored him, fishing out a pen. He was ready to demand an explanation when she started whistling again, the same beautiful but sad song from before. This felt much more pointed than her usual soothing noises, but it was still effective; Sans could muster just enough energy to be indignant that she was putting him back to sleep, and then his head was on the table, and he was asleep.

 ~

 To Sans' surprise and frustration, the next few days followed the same pattern, but worse. There was no more hugging, or talking about feelings, or any of the things he'd grown to expect. Frisk stayed a little too busy and grew more and more tired, but she ignored his questions, saying she'd explain what she was doing once it was over; after the second day or so, it was all he could do not to blow up at her. He couldn't force her to act happier now that her decision was made, but it sucked that he'd advised her to pick something and stop being miserable, and she'd picked something, and now they were both miserable.

Not only would she not talk to him, she kept inviting Dr. Serif to the workroom to go over solar panel specifications or observe his experiments. There was no more quiet time alone together in the mornings or evenings: if they weren't studying, she was writing, or so mopey and distracted that it wasn't fun to beat her at chess anymore. The moment they were done eating dinner, she took a bath and went straight to bed, or at least to her office, leaving the light on and probably doing more goddamn work instead of sleeping.

She also started making him escort her into town in the afternoons to help her carry stuff. She'd gone instantly from no interest in shopping whatsoever to buying large quantities of the most random things imaginable: play scripts, different types of magic stones, miniature targets for archery practice, hair accessories, bath items, bolts of silk, children's toys, dance charts, expensive figurines, sheet music, a silver tea service, books on education—it couldn't be some kind of weird impulse thing, because the few times she let him peek over her shoulder as she wrote, he'd seen that she was making shopping lists. Whenever they brought another load of crap back to her rooms, she didn't unpack anything, just had him stack it clear up to the ceiling in her office.

The kicker was that Frisk didn't even seem to enjoy hoarding all that stuff, or anything else she was doing. She almost never smiled at him or made puns anymore. She just kept writing, and dodging his questions, and looked ready to cry pretty much all the time.

It would've been neat if his libido had also gotten mad and decided to grab its toys and go home...but no. Sans had now perused enough of Frisk's science and anatomy textbooks to piece together the entire picture of human reproduction; through his own hands-on experimentation – in the bathroom, in the middle of the night, sober this time – he could say with reasonable confidence that the process for humans and monsters was much more similar than he'd thought, and everything was working fine on his end. If he had his skin on, he could of course feel more, but he couldn't finish. As himself, the process took a lot of concentration, and he got weirded out if he looked down at it too long, but—

Why was he even bothering? Sure, it felt pretty great, but he wasn't a human. He was a monster, and monsters weren't designed to waste their time or magic playing with themselves. His instincts were all pointed straight at Frisk, and now that he knew what he was supposed to do, it was getting harder – ha – to content himself with alone time. He couldn't stop thinking about holding her again, and he didn't think it was that disingenuous to want to point out to her how much better she'd feel if she'd opened up to him again. And then sex.

...Damn it all to hell. Was the entire second half of his apprenticeship going to be like this?

 ~

 It was her own fault. She wasn't supposed to be there. She'd snuck in to get some chocolate from the refrigerator, and when she heard the grown-ups come in, she realized she'd taken too long to sneak back out. The best she could do was run behind Toriel's armchair in the living room and flatten herself against the back of it at an angle. Never mind how hot the fireplace was; they already sounded mad.

"For the thousandth time," she heard the King say in his big, rumbling voice, "if I had known that he could not marry you—"

"Then I still wouldn't have been welcome in my own home. Would I, Papa?" The child buried her head in her arms. It was her. Chara. She wasn't even pretending to be nice anymore. All her hatred was out in the open, aimed right at her former parents.

"My dearest child, please," Toriel said desperately.

"Your dearest child? Where? It would be so lovely to meet them! Ah, don't tell me—did you pick up another stray human?"

"Chara," protested the King.

"Is it Kris?" A short, cruel laugh. "I'm sure you'd rather have a boy this time! If they get someone pregnant, they don't have to deal with the consequences, do they? By all means, you can have him. I know you both love surprises."

The little human wished she was dead. Toriel and Asgore were both such nice people! Why was Chara saying these horrible things to them? Did she really like anyone? Was it some kind of game to her to be so pretty, act so perfect, and sing such amazing songs, then turn around and be a bigger monster than anyone with fur or horns?

"What do you want, Chara? What would you have of either of us? We cannot turn back time, but—"

"But you can do whatever you damn well please now. Don't worry, Mama, Papa. You might've thrown me out like a dog, but I made do. At least I survived."

The armchair rocked back into the child's body as Toriel sank into it. Asgore was silent; there was no sound except the Queen's sobbing.

More footsteps. Oh, no, it was Asriel. He was going to come in and see his mother crying and hear Chara, and—

"Big brother!" Light, prancing footsteps ran to meet Asriel. "I'm so sorry, Azzy, but we were talking, and I think I upset Mama," Chara said sheepishly. "Can you and I go for a walk so she can calm down?"

"Of course!" A brief pause, as if Asriel was seeing his parents' expressions. "Er...we'll be back in a bit. Is that all right?"

Asgore grunted. The child could feel Toriel shaking through the back of the armchair, though the Queen held her tears back till the front door had closed behind Asriel.

The King cleared his throat. "Tori, I—"

"Don't you 'Tori' me! Not now. Maybe not ever!"

The child hunched down even further as Asgore hurried away down the hall, slamming the bedroom door. This couldn't be happening. Maybe, if she stayed still enough, she'd wake up. If she was still...if she was good, maybe—

 ~

 Fourteen days were left of his month at the castle.

Frisk had gotten up looking as pale and worn as usual, but the moment Sans saw her leave her office, he knew something had changed. She was still unhappy, but now she also looked determined. "We're having dinner with His Majesty and Prince Gaius tonight," she announced as he unloaded breakfast onto the table.

"Oh yeah?" Sans glanced at the tray of unopened mail. "How d'ya know? You didn't mention it yesterday."

"I just decided it," she said flatly.

Sans sensed this was not the time to ask stupid questions, and he couldn't think of any smart ones, so he nodded and turned his attention to his food while Frisk wrote yet another note and put her scary-looking official seal on it. A few words at the double doors, and a guard ran off to take it straight to the King.

The course of the day itself was decided for them: before they had finished eating, someone else came to the doors with a sheaf of papers. Frisk brought them back to the table and asked, "Do you remember how I mentioned surprise inspections on how monsters are being kept?" She held up the papers. "I ordered fifteen of them for last night. These are the reports."

That explained several of the letters she'd been working on. "Didja ever get those records you wanted from the doughy guy?"

Frisk didn't crack a smile, but at least she wasn't frowning. "Yes, the Cardinal provided them the day you took Snowdrake home. I'll keep my promise to show it all to you, but I wanted to get the worst of the worst taken care of first. This way, you don't have to worry about anyone being in immediate danger. Please get started on those root measures while I go through these."

He did, and she did, and Sans could only console himself that he at least knew what she was writing this time. Of the fifteen near-simultaneous visits, five had resulted in citations and scheduled followups, while eight monsters had been found in such dangerous or unsanitary conditions that the Church agents had immediately confiscated them. That explained why she hadn't told him sooner what those letters were for—he might have gone straight out to liberate the monsters.

Frisk had prepared a dozen custody letters with blanks for monster and owner names and specific offenses, so that she had only to fill those in to get the custodial paperwork started. In the meantime, the monsters were being cared for in temporary quarters by people who knew that the High Priestess would hear of anything at all being done wrong and take swift action to correct it.

Watching her scribble her way through the pre-written letters and the documents necessary for the deposits on each monster, Sans had to reflect on the amount of time and forethought all of this had required, and congratulated himself on not going off on her for being so little fun the past few days. Granted, it was a pretty low bar, but he'd stumbled all the way over it! Even if she was going to marry some other schlub, he, Sans the skeleton, had been a helper, and he hadn't had to kill a single person to do it!

...Huh. He really had helped, and he really hadn't killed anyone, had he? Now all he had to do was keep his hands to himself and focus on his genuinely interesting homework for a couple more weeks, and...and he'd figure out what to do then.

Once Frisk was done and had summoned someone to whisk the papers away to their exciting new life, she had a new task for him. "When you return to the Underground," she told him, "I'll send as many seeds and herbal ingredients along with you as I can. But you also have your salary, and if you're going to use it for large quantities of foodstuffs, we need to arrange it ahead of time. I've compiled a list of current prices for wheat, barley, different kinds of beans, rice, and other nonperishables. Please look through these and make a rough estimate of what you'd like to pick up on your way back. I'll pay for the rental of a horse and wagon, or wagons, depending what you choose and how many trips we want to do."

"Neato." Sans glanced at the tray of letters, still untouched, and recognized the crest on one that had fallen slightly askew from the pile. "Hey, isn't that from yer boyfriend?"

"Don't be childish," Frisk said, so sharply that he wished he'd kept his mouth shut. She plucked the note out of the stack and ripped it open, scanning the few short lines. "Of course he heard about it already." The priestess tossed the note aside. "Before you ask, no, he's not proposing. He says he'll be there another week, and then they're both going to visit their parents."

Interesting. Sans didn't know if the guy was being overly confident that she'd wait for him, or what. Ha, maybe rich humans just took so long to set up big weddings that he was giving her a couple months' head start to get her shoes made or something.

...Actually, that could be the case. But at least it'd be a while before the guy came back! Who knew? Maybe he would choke to death on something or fall off his horse or—

Sans knew he should try to not wallow in evil thoughts, but it wasn't his fault: Frisk had bought some perfume when they were out yesterday, a light vanilla with hints of citrus that made her smell like candy. He'd had trouble focusing around her before, and now Sans found himself crunching his femurs together to help remind him that no.

Still, he had plenty else to think about; figuring out what to buy for the Underground, how much everyone would like of which food within his budget, was kind of like a puzzle. Papyrus probably wouldn't have enjoyed it, but Sans got so into it that lunch came while he was still scribbling in the margins. "We have more paper, you know," Frisk remarked at his shoulder.

That sounded more like the lady he knew. Sans didn't know what she'd been thinking, but as long as she was happy again, or on her way there...

Another good thing happened a little while after they were done with lunch. A couple of servants came puffing down the hall with two enormous boxes that turned out to be a cavernous black overcoat trimmed with white fur, a giant red shirt, and correspondingly large trousers. "Surprise," Frisk said as the men unpacked everything. "I ordered them when you were out with Snowdrake. I thought you could use more than one set of clothes. Very fancy, I know."

It was almost exactly the same outfit as his human form, but real, and exceptionally well-made. How much had the materials alone cost, never mind getting clothes this size in less than a week? "Are these slippers?" Sans demanded, lifting out a pair of enormous black slippers.

She grinned for the first time in days. "Remember the time we were arguing about whether you needed shoes? Here's a compromise. Try them on, please."

The shoemaker must have thought she was joking about his size, but the joke was on him: they fit perfectly. It was more comfortable than clacking around with bare bones. Way more. "Huh," he said.

"Excellent. There's no charge for these, by the way. Consider it hazard pay for taking me to the festival, and all that shopping." Frisk gave each of the servants a hundred-dinar piece and nodded them and the empty boxes out of the room.

Aaargh, she smelled great and she was being ludicrously generous—oh, good, she was going into the office now to let him try the new stuff on. Well, from a civilized point of view, he could see the sense in having more than one set of clothes: he'd only had his newish ones washed one time, and had worn the gross old ones while he waited. This way, he could just throw those out.

...Or he could throw out the other set, too. The black and red ensemble was warm and comfortable, it had great pockets, it looked cool, and he was never taking it off.

That resolution stayed with him all the way to their dinner with the King. When they arrived at the small dining room where King Stephin ate with his son every night, Sans remained decked out in his new stuff, including the slippers. To his absolute bemusement, not only had Frisk not argued, she'd donned a black dress with little sparkly bits and a garnet necklace and earrings. It was stupid and dumb of him to be so pleased that they matched, but, they matched.

This did not escape the King, who welcomed him with the same cordiality as their first meeting and gave Frisk a weird look as she came in. The Prince was a thin, sandy-haired, sickly-looking kid who had obviously been warned about him, because when the greetings and introductions were over, he seemed more relieved than scared. When he wouldn't stop staring, Sans ignored his own instructions and looked directly at him to say, "No worries, I don't bite."

Gaius nodded, fascinated. Frisk took a dainty spoonful of soup and, under the table, kicked Sans in the tibia. "Sans has made remarkable progress in his studies," she said pleasantly.

"Oh? How wonderful," the King said, also pleasantly.

"Yes, he'll be invaluable to his people when he returns to the Underground. I wanted to ask you, Majesty, to consider whether it may be permissible for me to accompany him there for a short time, to offer him my continued assistance."

Sans glanced at her in disbelief. Yes, he'd heard right, and she was smiling at him in open defiance. The skeleton had to force himself not to snarl at her. What the hell was this?

The King didn't seem much happier with the idea than he was. "That may not be wise, Your Eminence," he replied. "I wish relations between our nations were at a point where such a venture would be possible, but I have been made to understand that my brother monarch is no longer inclined to receive human emissaries. We must consider your personal safety."

"Of course." Frisk sipped her wine, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "It's a pity you couldn't have visited with the last delegation, Majesty. I'm sure you would have enjoyed catching up with King Asgore."

From the King's stiffened back and tightened mouth, Sans guessed that it was one of those polite little conversational bitch-slaps humans were so good at. He wasn't sure about dishing one out to the actual King, but the old man seemed to recover well enough. "Indeed," he said. "I'm sure your pupil will prove capable."

Frisk inclined her head, earrings swaying. "I hope this will be the case, Your Majesty, and that the knowledge he gains from us will be useful enough to prove our good intentions to his King."

The conversation moved right along from there, but Sans was barely listening. He made the correct noises when Gaius started babbling at him about the book he was reading about people fighting each other with giant cats or swords or something; he sort of laughed at Stephin's jokes; he let the High Priestess tell them about the things they were working on. "Sans says there are magic flowers in the Underground that will repeat whatever you say back to you, and to the next person who touches their petals," she informed the young Prince.

"It'll repeat anything?" Gaius asked eagerly, no doubt plotting the sort of words he'd say.

"Any sound at all. If I ever make it to the Underground, shall I bring one back for you?"

The boy agreed so enthusiastically that he started coughing, and dinner was brought to an end by the arrival of dessert: apple turnovers. Sans took several, mind still buzzing, though he noticed that, like the rest of the food, the things were pretty damn tasty. So was she messing with him, or trying to throw him off so he would be too distracted to do something rude or scary?

No, she knew exactly what she was doing: as they bowed their way out and returned to her workroom, her head stayed high, and she carried herself to her dressing room with absolute certainty. Frisk came out in her robe and stopped in front of Sans, who was blocking the bathroom door. "Yes?" she asked rhetorically.

"Oh, nothin'. I'm just tryin' ta figure out what's wrong with my ears. It sure sounded ta me like you told His Majesty that ya don't care if my Majesty wants to rip your heart out 'n eat it."

The priestess feigned dismay. "I'm so sorry to tell you this, Sans, but...your ears, they're—"

"Not now!" Sans jammed his hands into his pockets, leaning down to look her in the face. "I already told ya, I'm not takin' you with me! Ya got that?"

"I got it." Frisk crossed her arms at the waist. On a hunch, the boss monster checked her SOUL—oh, fuck, it was already that bright? And her determination was still rising. "That's really unfortunate. It'll make getting in a lot more difficult for me, not to mention dangerous," she added.

The boss monster ground his teeth. "Ya know what's not hard or dangerous? Keepin' yer ass away from the Underground!"

She smiled, and said, "No."

Sans was at a complete loss. He had never heard anything more definite than that one word. "Why 'no'?" he asked, incredulity overtaking his anger for a moment. "Do ya really not trust me to teach the others the stuff I'm learnin'?"

"That's not it," she replied.

"Then what the hell is it? Are ya curious? Do you wanna tell everyone yer mom said hi or somethin'?!"

"No." Frisk's arms dropped to her sides. "I want to tell them that I say hi." She smiled again, but in a wistful, absolutely unyielding way. "Thank you for being so patient with me the past few days, Sans. I haven't..." Her smile disappeared, one hand brushing her hair back and the other curling into a fist. "I lied to you. I lied to everyone, but I should've told you the truth already. I..." She swallowed, her pulse racing so that he could see it in her throat. "I opened the box, Sans."

The clock ticked. The fire hissed and popped.

"No you didn't," the boss monster said blankly. "The doc threw it out for ya."

"He threw it away after I opened it," she said, enunciating each word carefully. "After our dream, I woke up, I opened the box, and I took out this little orb inside it—" Frisk made a small circle of her thumb and forefinger to illustrate its size. "I made a barrier. I stuck the orb into it, and when I pulled the barrier back in, the memories came with it."

The skeleton felt as if someone had opened the top of his skull and vigorously swished his brains around, then slammed the top back on. "So...?"

"So I gave him the box out in the hallway in front of the guards, and we acted as though I'd never opened it." Frisk swallowed again. "It's been coming back to me in bits and pieces, but now I know what happened. Mostly. And I am telling you—" Her face hardened until she was almost unrecognizable. "I am going back to the Underground, with or without you. I'm going to see everyone again or die trying. I am not exaggerating, Sans. Do you understand me?"

"Hell fucking no, I don't understand you!" Sans' foot rose and hit the floor so hard that, even with the slipper on, he felt a board crack beneath the carpeting. "Whaddya mean, 'go back'? Are ya makin' shit up 'cause you have some kind of death wish?"

She was breathing rapidly, her throat still pulsing. "A death wish? How many times has someone tried to kill me here, Sans, even in my own bedroom? If I go with you, at least I'll have someone to hide behind!"

"I'm not takin' ya anywhere more dangerous than the candy shop, or whatever other shit you wanna get next." He snorted. "'sat why you've been buyin' all that crap? Are ya gonna play Father Christmas an' bring everyone in the Underground a buncha presents?"

"Yes," she snapped. Sans was seriously considering teleporting in order to avoid wrecking something when Frisk went on, "Think about it. Who do you think the targets are for? Do you want Undyne destroying your front window again because she got carried away and forgot that Monster Kid couldn't catch any of her spears? Then Papyrus had to send her home because she treated cleanup like another challenge and kept pounding the glass instead of sweeping it up."

Cold shock poured down Sans' spine. "Wha...how—"

"The magic stones are for Alphys to study. She's probably starved for more plays to read, and she can act them out with the new figurines, but she'll have to share the scripts with Mettaton. The luxury goods are mostly for him, and a few are for Toriel. Does she still have trouble with the skin itching at the base of her horns? Either way, I also got her some books on teaching. I'll leave the tea service outside Asgore's door with a note on it—shall I go on?"

"This isn't funny!" Sans was breathing heavily, too. "What—how the fuck d'you know all that? None of the humans were there when Undyne broke the window! It was just us an'..."

"And Kris."

Sans shook his head wildly, stumbling back until he bumped into the bathroom door. "This is messed up, Frisk! Ya found Kris and didn't even tell me?! How long were you gonna sit on that?!"

"I only just found out, and I'm telling you now," she said firmly.

Sans' SOUL felt sick, and ecstatic, and so scared that he wanted to hurt something. "Okay. Great. Perfect. What are you tellin' me now, Frisk? Where is he? Is he okay? What else did he tell you?"

Frisk shut her eyes. She opened them. "We don't give Papyrus enough credit," she commented. "He figured it out before I did, and you still don't—"

"Would you fucking stop the cryptic bullshit an' spit it out already?!"

"Fine! I'm Kris!"

Another crystallized moment. Sans felt his head move back and forth, back and forth, on its own. "Shut up."

"I'm not joking."

More shaking, spreading down his frame. "What the hell, Frisk," he muttered, almost more disappointed than angry.

"They brought me along to see how the monsters would treat a child, as a guinea pig," she spat. "Why do you think I was allowed to spend so much time with you completely unsupervised?"

"Just knock it off, Frisk! Kris was a friggin' boy!"

"Kris had short hair and wore boys' clothes! It's not the same thing!"

"God damn it, Kris was, what, four or five—"

"None of you ever asked me how old I was! I was ten, thank you, but I was so malnourished that I probably looked like a toddler!"

Sans dropped to a squat, resting his elbow on his knee and his hand over his face. "I don't fuckin' believe this. Didja get brainwashed, or is this some kinda joke?"

"Why in God's name would I or anyone else joke about this, Sans?!"

"I don't fucking know!" Sans slammed his fist into his femur so hard that Frisk jumped. "Ya know what? We're done here. I'm goin' to bed." He got up, hobbling a little to move past her. "Have fun in yer little fantasy world. Lemme know when—"

"Do you want to see my stripes?"

Sans stopped as though he'd run into a brick wall. He could feel his sockets burning red-orange as his SOUL tried to yank him backwards. Sans slowly turned to look at Frisk, who hadn't moved, her back still to him.

Stripes. Sans watched, too heartsick to speak, as the young woman opened the neck of her robe and began easing it off her shoulders.

It wasn't entirely Papyrus' fault. Sans should have been keeping at least one socket on them, but it was late and he was busy on the floor with some very important dozing. A pillow came flying at him, and he caught it with his eyes still closed, sending it end over end back at Papyrus.

"NYEH HEH! WELL DONE, BROTHER! (PSST! HUMAN! LET'S HIT HIM WITH THE SPECIAL ATTACK NEXT!)"

Kris giggled. "Okay," he whispered, somehow even louder than Pap.

"ARE YOU READY TO SURPRISE HIM? VERY WELL! ONE! TWO! ...WHOOPSIE!"

Sans did not see what happened next, but he did hear the distinctive sound of a full glass of water being knocked flying, and sighed, opening his eyes.

"ACK! YOU ARE WET, HUMAN! SANS! PLEASE ASSIST KRIS BEFORE HE MELTS!"

"I'm gonna melt?!"

"probably. i dunno." Sans got up and beckoned to the child, who was holding his shirt away from his body in obvious panic. "you go get a towel, pap, and i'll find the squirt something dry to wear."

That got him a smile. Sans led the way to his own room, where he probably had a clean shirt somewhere. He switched the light on and selected a likely suspect from the top of the laundry pile. "here we go. survival of the fittest, amirite, kiddo? heh. gimme your shirt, and we'll put it over—"

Kris had already pulled his shirt off. He was painfully thin compared to the other humans Sans had seen, but as the kid turned to wring the wet shirt out – all over the carpet, sigh – it wasn't his protruding ribs or spine that brought Sans up short. It was the livid pink and too-white lines criss-crossing each other in the middle and lower parts of the little human's back, with one or two errant marks near his shoulders.

Scars. Those were scars. Someone had hurt the kid so badly that it'd messed up his skin for the rest of his life. How could—

Sans didn't mean to stare, but Kris looked up and caught his gaze, and the absolute worst part was that he smiled, and laughed a little. "You're lucky. None of your stripes probably show."

"stripes?" the skeleton repeated.

"Yeah." The child's tone was so casual that Sans' SOUL hurt. "It's okay. Mama told Cook to stop leaving so many marks."

Sans gestured, almost mechanically, for Kris to raise his arms. The child did so, and Sans pulled the dry shirt down over his head, tugging it down until the hem almost reached Kris' knobby knees. Then the monster did something that confused the human quite a bit: he leaned forward and put his arms around the child, resting his hand on Kris' head. "no one gets stripes around here, pal," he said into the human's fleshy ear.

Pause. "They don't?" queried Kris.

"nah. it's a very important monster rule: no stripes. if anyone tries to give you any more, you just send 'em to me and pap. we'll explain the rule for you." Very, very thoroughly, he thought, gritting his teeth.

"Oh. Okay." Kris dutifully put his arms around Sans, with a slightly puzzled air. "Thanks, Sans."

Holy moly, did the poor kid not know how hugs worked? What the actual hell was wrong with humans? The skeleton stood up and held his hand out. "c'mon, kiddo. let's go tell pap your skin melted."

"Okay!" Back on familiar ground, Kris hopped up and down. "Can we tell Toriel my skin melted?"

"haaa ha ha ha no."

And they'd gone back to Pap's room, and Pap had immediately bought it, and they'd snickered while he lost his mind about what Toriel was going to say and whether they could make some new skin for him out of paper. Sans had pointed out that that would make bathtime problematic, and—

And Sans had never, ever told anyone about the "stripes."

And now he was watching a beautiful young woman ease her robe all the way down to the small of her back, and there was the same pattern of scars, the same long, thin pink and white lines he'd seen on Kris twelve years ago. "It's not a trick," she said, her voice a little too calm and steady. "You can touch them if you still don't believe me."

"I believe you," he said roughly, but he couldn't help himself: a second later, Frisk jumped as his phalange grazed the spot where the most lines intersected. "Shit! Sorry. Sorry!" Sans snatched his hand away. "I...I believe ya, I swear. I just—"

"It's all right. Go ahead." She turned her head enough for him to see her attempt a smile. "It doesn't hurt anymore."

Liar. Sans sat down and crossed his legs, accepting the pain where he'd hit himself. He turned his hand and very gently ran the side of his forefinger down her back, starting at the velvety, unbroken skin below her neck and across the bumpy scar tissue. Then he did what he'd seen her do too many times and wiped his eyes on his sleeve, where the red wouldn't show. "So...Kris, huh?"

"That's me." Frisk's voice cracked. She was clutching the robe against her front, so that he could only see the graceful lines of her shoulders, and the marks someone had put on the sweetest kid, the best person anyone could ever meet.

"They had to remove my memories at St. Brigid's," she continued. "My father didn't go with the delegation because his wife was about to deliver and had already been sick. She died while we were on our way to the Underground, and he started checking on all of his illegitimate children. After they made me leave with the others, I was sent to the convent to be educated, and I was a mess." She swallowed twice. "All I wanted was to go back to the Underground. It didn't matter how many times they told me the monsters didn't want another human down there. I wouldn't eat, I wouldn't sleep, I just kept—"

"What the fuck! Of course we wanted ya there!" Sans slammed his fist into the floor. "Do you have any idea how much everyone missed you?!"

"Yes! And I wanted to go back just as much!" Frisk's facade was crumbling rapidly. She hadn't pulled up her robe yet, possibly because her hands were clenched too tightly. "I didn't know if everyone was all right after the accident! No one would tell me anything!"

"No. They tore it all outta your head instead." Sans ground his eye sockets into his sleeve again. "An' ya got it back, and you've keepin' it to yerself?"

"I'm sorry!" The pain in her voice was so raw that Sans flinched. "I'm sorry! Kris wasn't real, it was just me! And no, I didn't tell you any of this! I was so scared of what you'd say, if you'd believe me or not—"

He hadn't. He hadn't believed her. She'd had to get half naked to prove it. If Sans could have ripped his SOUL out and punched it, he would have done so right then and there. "Whaddya mean, it's 'just you'?" he demanded, rougher than he meant to.

Her head drooped, leaving a long curve of neck and shoulder that the stupider parts of him couldn't stop staring at. His instincts were starting to kick in: she was hurting, she needed him, she'd already showed him this much skin and let him touch her—

Sans' whole body twitched as another thought crashed in: the fortune. Her second fortune.

The pain of that sorrow and regret will be unbearable for a time, and they will not be yours alone.

But the rest of it, the joy and power, and a child—

Frisk buried her face in her hands, shaking her head harder and harder. "I have to go back, Sans. I have to! Please, Sans, take me home with you! I just want to go home! Please—"

Sans didn't think, he acted. Frisk gasped as he turned her around and opened his overcoat to sweep her under it before he put his arms around her, holding her as tight as he dared. "Okay," he said, swiping at his eyes again. "Okay, kitten. I'll take you with me. We'll both go, and we'll tell everyone you're back." After all, the monsters – especially the King – would never accept the humans' High Priestess trying to cozy up to them, but they just might listen to Kris, especially when she was returning Sans to them safe, bringing food and gifts. They wouldn't let Asgore hurt her.

That was the difference in her fortunes. The other humans had done too good a job of erasing "Kris" and turning Frisk into the ideal High Priestess. If she hadn't been brave enough to remember everything—

This wasn't fair! He already loved her so much, and now this? What was he supposed to do?

Right now, he just held her as she buried her face in his new shirt and gave vent to huge, racking, wailing sobs, finally letting out years of grief. He allowed her to cry until she started hiccuping, and then he started petting her hair and just a little down her neck and shoulders, nothing objectionable—all he needed to do to quash his sex drive was think of Kris smiling ruefully about his "stripes." The bones of his face itched where the red kept trickling down, but the sky could have started falling, and he wouldn't have moved before she was ready.