#there's at least half a dozen section from that chapter I could have used here but this is the least spoilery | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

undertalethingems · 3 years

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Bark at the Moon Chapter 19: Darker Yet Darker

Or read on my Ao3>

Rating, Setting: Gen, Pre-canon

Chapter Warnings: None?

Chapter Summary: If Alphys is going to help the brothers overcome their inability to shift forms, she needs more information. Information that lies in the grim, long-abandoned sections of the lab she never knew about. The lab where the brothers were made.

Alphys breathed. In, and out. She meshed her fingers together, then snapped them outwards with a crackle. She picked up a hammer, a blowtorch, and lowered the welding visor over her eyes.

It was time to 'hack' into the abandoned labs.

Of all the floors listed on the elevator, all but two seemed to be operational--the entry floor, and the lowest, where she'd conducted her experiments. She'd wondered about the others, of course, but had never been able to verify that they existed. As far as she could tell, they'd been dummied out, so to speak--placeholders in the elevator's control panel that weren't actually connected to anything.

Thanks to a couple of skeletons, she knew that wasn't true. There were whole sections of her facility that had been sealed off, and who was she, as a scientist, if she didn't investigate? This was supposed to be her lab, what if there was important equipment to salvage? Not to mention the implications it might have for her friends. So she'd gathered her tools and her courage, turned off most of the elevator's safeties to keep its doors open, and began lowering it manually so there'd be no bypassing whatever floors lay between. Slowly sinking downwards, her heart leapt when a door finally rose into view in the dim light--but she quickly got to work.

The blowtorch hissed and sparked, and a clang announced it had done its work. Alphys shut it off and switched to the hammer, using it to knock the doors loose and slowly pry her way through. She could really use Undyne's muscles right now... Her strong, broad shoulders... those powerful biceps covered in glimmering scales... No! She could dream later. There were people counting on her. She wedged herself in the half-open door, braced herself against the other, and pushed with her leg. It grated open, and finally, she set foot on a floor it seemed no one had used for decades.

The landing was nondescript, lit by the weak emergency lighting she was familiar with. Even so, she exchanged the welding mask for a headlamp and flicked it on, illuminating the rest of the hall down to a doorway. She took a deep breath--and tried not to choke on the stale air. Even the ventilation system seemed to have been cut off here... She'd have to be careful. Gripping her hammer, she shuffled forward into the gloom.

A greyish-white mass erupted from the wall. Alphys shrieked, backpedaling so fast she tripped over her own tail. She landed on her back and rolled, scrambling on all fours for the elevator--and then she stopped. She recognized that electronic buzzing...

She turned, looking over her shoulder. "M-m... Memoryheads?"

The mass screeched, coalescing into a more familiar appearance, and Alphys turned over and sat as she tried to catch her breath. What were they doing here...?

"U-um, hi... you know you can leave the lab now, i-if you wanted," she said, slowly recovering from her nerves. "S-sorry I yelled, by the way, you just startled me. It's... k-kind of spooky down here, huh?"

The memoryheads buzzed like an old computer's disk drive.

"W-well, maybe not to you, ha ha... U-um... I sure hope you're the only thing lurking down here! I-I... I'm going to keep going now, okay?"

She got to her feet, brushed off her coat, and picked up her scattered tools before proceeding back down the hallway. She passed the memoryheads, and looked back to see they'd begun following her a few feet behind. What Undyne had shared about them popped into her head, and she had to wonder... Maybe they could help her.

"H-hey! So, I... I didn't make you, did I? You weren't part of my experiment."

A harsh grating sound emanated from the amalgamate. Oh, that's right--Alphys dug into her pocket for her phone. The speaker crackled with static, and she listened.

"NEGATIVE RESULT."

"O-Oh, that means, no, right?"

"That is correct."

"O-oh... Oh man... so my hypothesis... C... Can you... show me where you were made?"

"One moment, please."

The memoryheads phased through the floor.

"H-hey! I can't do that!" Alphys spluttered, then sighed. She should have known... the memoryheads were the more enigmatic of her charges... and they weren't even hers! What had she gotten into...?

"You may join us now," the phone suddenly crackled, and she jumped.

"Wh-where? What floor? What number?"

"666666666666666666666666666666666666--"

She shut the phone off, ending the harsh screech. Was there even a sixth floor? She turned back for the elevator once more--though she definitely wanted to check out all the abandoned labs had to offer, she had a priority. Back inside, she checked the panel--and there was indeed a sixth level. She'd head there, and could only hope the memoryheads actually had something for her.

A bang, clang, and scrape, and Alphys forced another set of doors open. The air here was even stuffier--a lingering chemical trace intermingled with decaying tile and carpet. She coughed, and hoped the air coming down the elevator shaft would be enough until she got the ventilation working. She'd take it slow until then.

"O-okay, I'm on the sixth floor, Memoryheads," she spoke into the phone, and static rose on the line.

"Come join the fun." "Come join the fun." "Come join the fun."

She sighed. They were helping, in their limited way. There was nothing for it but to venture into the dark, and see what she'd find. She shuffled forward, feet padding along warped linoleum--the first monster to tread these halls in years.

No.

Alphys' breath caught in her throat. There, in the dust--there were footprints. She swallowed hard, and followed them. The hall opened into a room, and she passed by rows of deteriorating machines. She could only guess at their purpose--all rotten rubber tubing, peeling paint, and oxidizing metal. Generators, perhaps. The footprints passed them by, and so did she. Another hall lead to another room, this one lined with all kinds of monitoring equipment, their paneling and readouts coated with years of dust and stained by a burst pipe. But nothing here seemed to have a means of storing information--there wasn't much to be gleaned here. So she continued on.

She finally came to a room that looked like a laboratory, with workbenches and cabinets on one side--and a pair of operating tables on the other. There was also some kind of device on the floor--it had been shattered by an incredible force. The footprints seemed to stop by it before moving on.

The next room made Alphys gasp--and not because the air was thin. It was U-shaped, and tall cisterns lined the walls, nearly reaching the vaulted ceiling. The memoryheads waited here.

"Th... This is...?"

"It's a real get together," the memoryheads stated, apparently confirming her unfinished thought.

Alphys hurried over to examine the nearest tank, pouring over its construction. The craftsmanship, the expert tooling! What she wouldn't give for a set of blueprints or schematics or--a chill suddenly ran down her spine. No. This wasn't anything to get excited about.

She looked back up at the cracked glass walls of the tank before her. This was where the brothers had been... made. They'd both come from one of these--not sparked from a parent's soul like any other monster. If Gaster had stopped there, he might have been alright, but then he'd...

She turned back to the memoryheads. "C-can you show me... Do you know where the brothers lived down here? Sans and Papyrus?"

"Invalid statement. Please try again."

"Oh, you don't know... O-okay, I can figure it out. Thank you for leading me here."

"Our pleasure."

She nodded to them, and headed back the way she'd come. It seemed the owner of the footprints had done the same--but then had seemed to stagger... and then the trail vanished...? Weird...

Wait. Alphys squinted, and found a clear print. She placed her own foot beside it to compare. It was just a little smaller, left by rounded footwear... These were Sans' footprints. She should have known...! She sighed. What had Sans been looking for down here...? In any case, his trail went cold. Alphys only had her own guidance to go on now.

There was another doorway opposite of the tank room, so she headed for it--and thanked her luck as rows of ancient computers greeted her. Finally! This was what she'd been hoping for. She headed for the nearest one, and booted it up--or, tried to. It briefly wheezed to life, only to die, and she swore under her breath as she dove under the desk to open it up. These were built into the floor?! Oh come on... Maybe she could remove the hard drives and take them back to her lab for analysis. She pried the side panel open and took a look--well, that was unusual.

And bad.

The main drives had melted together somehow, the plastic and metal a bubbled mess. She swore under her breath again, and reached in to see what her magic could tell her. The spark of magical electricity raced out, laying the computer's wiring bare in her mind's eye. It was the skill that had made her such a mechanical genius, and as she sensed the magic's ebb and flow, she sighed. She'd salvaged many a broken machine others had written off, but the chances of getting anything more than parts out of this were slim. She squeezed back out from under the desk, and surveyed the room. There were at least a dozen more... She had to hope she could get something out of those. She dusted herself off, moved to the next station, and got to work.

Three hours later, and Alphys had pulled as many drives from the remaining computers. She didn't have high hopes for these either, but they'd seemingly suffered the least damage from whatever event had fried an entire room of computers. She suspected the events leading to Gaster's disappearance might have been it... but that didn't help her now. She put the drives in her tool satchel, took one last look around the room, then headed back for the elevator.

The memoryheads burst from the floor again, and Alphys shrieked.

"G-guys! I know I sh-should be used to that by now, but please--"

The amalgamates buzzed, and she pulled out her phone to listen.

"Right this way."

"O-oh, you know of... more stuff?"

"CORRECT."

"Okay. Um, lead the way then."

Alphys shuffled after the memoryheads as they flit down the hall and into the elevator. She gave them a quizzical look--and jumped as the elevator started without any input--any visible input, at least. It rose to the next floor up, and Alphys dug for her tools, expecting another round of cutting her way in. But the doors dinged and opened smoothly onto a wide landing, and she watched the amalgamate glide out. But she shook her head and followed.

The hallway opened into a larger room, with windows along one side and a door to another hallway that continued on straight. Of chief interest to her was the large computer terminal set into the wall, but there was also a monitor near the windows, and she could just make out another placed in the hallway. If nothing else, this looked promising.

She padded over to the terminal, then blinked and turned back to the memoryheads. "Hey, u-um... thank you."

"DON'T MENTION IT." "You're welcome" "be seeing you."

They phased out, leaving Alphys alone in the abandoned lab once more. She took a deep breath, and turned back to the main terminal. This looked more advanced than the computers she'd already raided, and she hoped it had been better shielded from damage. She gathered her nerves, and turned it on. It flickered--and command-line text spurted across the screen. Alphys grinned, cracked her knuckles, and got to work. Alphys dug into the files, many of which, though corrupted, still held tantalizing fragments of data.

"O-okay, this said something about behavioral sources, and that other file mentioned cross-referencing a natural history encyclopedia with the behaviors observed in a study group... A study group of what though...?" Alphys muttered to herself as she wrote her own notes on what she'd pieced together. She'd copied down a few tables of measurements, and found parameters for the tubes she'd seen in the other rooms. But there was still more to comb through, and amid the gibberish of corrupted text more complete phrases stood out, forming a log of observations.

"...UBJECT REQUIRES FOOD. UNFORTUNATE. I WAS HOPING IT WOU..."

"...BEAM OUTPUT UNDER EXPECTED PERFORMANCE. SUBJECT CONTINUES TO EXHIB... URTHER TESTING REQUIRED..."

"...SUBJECT EXHIBITS UNUSUAL BEHAVIO... NGE OUTSIDE PREDICTED... NOT FOLLOWING MY INTENDED..."

"Y-yeah, of course they didn't, you jerk," Alphys muttered to herself as she continued to scroll through the files and copy whatever had survived. She already didn't like Gaster very much, but these files were doing nothing for his reputation. She found a proposed recipe for whatever he'd used to feed the brothers and grimaced. "Just plain food-grade magic and a few basic vitamins...? Really? That would have no flavor... No wonder Sans loves fast food and Papyrus can't cook... Oh, this log looks pretty complete! Let's see what it says..."

"I HAVE NOW CONFIRMED IT... BOTH SUBJECTS EXHIBIT TROUBLING ABILITY. PHENOTYPE EXPRESSION IS VARIABLE... SEEMINGLY AT WILL. MORE TESTING WILL BE NEEDED TO DETERMINE IF THIS COULD BE... PREVENTED IN SOME WAY. FOR NOW, UNDESIRABLE ATTRIBUTES WILL BE MITIGATED."

Alphys shuddered. "M-mitigated... I guess that's a nice way of saying he made them be what he wanted... ugh. Well... there's another entry, so..."

"PHENOTYPE ISSUES PERSIST. NO PROGRESS MADE ON SUPPRESSING THE ABILITY. IT APPEARS TO BE A FUNCTION OF THEIR... DESIGN FLAW."

Alphys stared at the words before her. "Design flaw... what does he... wait.... Does he mean their souls?!"

Disgusted, she pushed away from the terminal and paced. Suggesting a soul was a flaw... she couldn't understand it, couldn't comprehend the callousness this log boasted. She bristled, and static crackled across her scales--oh, the last time she'd been this angry it had been watching Mew Mew Kissy Cutie 2! But as angry as she was, she needed to keep looking. She needed whatever information this place still held. She took a few more deep breaths, ran her hands over her face, and returned to the computer to keep digging.

As it so often did, the time flew as she worked. She only realized how long she'd spent browsing and recovering files when her stomach growled, signaling it was well into the night and she'd forgotten to eat. She sighed, and rubbed at weary eyes... She'd collected so much, but there was still more, dozens of files she hadn't gotten to. She'd have to come back and keep looking at this--at least she knew where it was now. And all she'd read was enough to start formulating a hypothesis.

She shut the computer down and gathered her things, then shuffled over to the windows to have a look before she headed up. She couldn't make out much in the dim light, but the room beyond seemed... huge. She looked around and... oh! There was a light switch here. She pressed it, and overhead lighting clicked on, revealing the room beyond. It was huge--perhaps twice the size of the main floor upstairs, if not bigger. The walls were stained--but had clearly once been a stark, sterile white. Was this where the brothers had been... tested?

Alphys pursed her lips, and backed away. The lights had also been turned on in the hallway, showing more rooms. She wasn't sure she wanted to, but... she was curious. She shuffled on, and came to the first door. It was reinforced, and she could only just see through the window if she stood on her toes. More stark walls, though the room was much smaller--then she realized it was subdivided, with a thick window and another reinforced door splitting the room...

A pit grew in her stomach. This... had to be...

She wouldn't have believed anyone could keep a fellow monster like this. But, considering what she'd just read she wasn't surprised Gaster had only provided the bare essential to the brothers. She glanced up at the monitor set into the wall nearby. If it was anything like the ones she'd used herself... She waved her hand in front of it.

"HOLDING ROOM 1. CONTENTS: UNOCCUPIED."

"A-ah..." she uttered, and shuffled to the next. It was identical to the first.

"HOLDING ROOM 2. CONTENTS: UNOCCUPIED."

She supposed it was better they were empty... but she wanted to see them all. The third room was slightly different--it was a bit larger, and had a raised shelf on one side. If she squinted, she could just make out what seemed to be a ragged scrap of fabric laid on top of it. Was that... supposed to be a bed? Maybe this was where the brothers really lived... At least it had more space than the holding rooms, but there was nothing to make it any more comfortable. It was just bare, featureless metal walls. She grimaced, and activated the nearby monitor.

"ENCLOSURE 1: SUBJECT 1. WARNING: DO NOT APPROACH. SUBJECT IS KNOWN TO BE DANGEROUS. DO NOT PERMIT INTERACTION WITH SUBJECT 2. EXPERIMENT CONCLUSION: FAILURE."

Alphys shuddered, then turned to the next room. It was similarly barren.

"ENCLOSURE 2: SUBJECT 2. WARNING: DO NOT APPROACH. SUBJECT IS KNOWN TO ESCAPE, MAY BE DANGEROUS. DO NOT PERMIT INTERACTION WITH SUBJECT 1. EXPERIMENT CONCLUSION: FAILURE."

Alphys clenched her fists. Her friends weren't failures... they were incredible for holding together for so long, getting through so much, and then doing nice things for her and trusting her to help them. They had survived all of--this. Her goal was clearer than ever--but she was too tired to work on it now. She turned her back on the abandoned lab and headed for the elevator.

Reaching the fresh air of the main floor was a relief. As tempted as she was to immediately plug the hard drives she'd collected into her computer and start recovering them, she opted to fix some instant noodles and catch up on the Undernet instead. It had been a long day... she'd get back to work tomorrow, after she'd had some time to recharge.

The drives she'd recovered from the lab were plugged into her main computer as she heated up breakfast, and she sipped at a mug of coffee as she poked at them virtually. If she could coax more information out of them, it'd bolster her suspicions. To say the code structure was archaic was... an understatement. But, it meant the password protection was easily bypassed with a few tricks--she was better at actual hacking than the 'hacking' she'd done to get into the abandoned lab floors, and in moments she'd begun browsing whatever files remained. There were plenty to choose from, many of which seemed to relate to details of the Core and other technological projects. But none seemed to relate to the brothers' origins, and after thoroughly checking the rest of the available files, she moved to the next drive.

It seemed these computers hadn't been used for anything relating to the brothers, however. Barring any damage or corruption, each drive contained essentially the same files. Alphys' best guess was that that room of computers had been used by everyone in the lab... and perhaps not everyone was allowed access to the files detailing Gaster's little project. She sighed, setting the old disks aside. She'd have to go back to that main computer after all, see what else she could get, and collect her own data to compare. And that would mean calling the brothers in for some tests.

"O-okay, just, hold still please!" Alphys said, trying to steady her own hands as Papyrus fidgeted.

"Are all of these really necessary?" he griped. "They're making me, itchy, I think."

"I n-need them so I can properly read your magic! Th-these sensors are the only way to tell what's going on with it, and they won't work if I don't get them placed just right," Alphys explained.

"think of it like one of your puzzles bro," Sans suggested helpfully from where he half-dozed nearby. "do it in the wrong order and ya gotta start over, right?"

Papyrus sighed. "I suppose. Very well!"

He finally sat perfectly still, allowing Alphys to place the rest of the sensors.

"Okay! There! That's it for that--now I need to make sure they work, and then we can get, um, some data. You guys ready?"

"Finally! We're doing real science!"

"instead of being the science done," Sans joked--was it a joke? Alphys hoped so as she flicked the electro-magical field reader on.

"Okay, just like we did for S-Sans, I'm going to need you to hold still and wait for a minute so we can get a baseline," she explained.

"Of course! I was paying attention!" Papyrus huffed. "I'm just excited! To think, after all this time, we might find out why... I'm tall, and Sans isn't!"

"well, that's one possibility," Sans said, and Alphys couldn't help but laugh.

"I sure hope we find out more than that. O-okay, just a little bit longer, and...!" She watched the timer count up to one minute, then cut the data collection off. "Okay, now, I'm going to start it again, but I'd like for you to cast a few attacks. I-it can be any pattern or bullet type, you just have to keep it up for thirty seconds!"

"A simple task for someone as great as me! I'm ready!"

"Target's over there--aaand go!"

Papyrus obliged, sending a flurry of bones at the dummy Undyne had loaned them for the day. He started with a basic array, then quickly built up to a complex pattern before finishing with a blast from his own jaws. Alphys gave him a smile as she cut the reading off.

"Okay, that was great! Sans, are you sure you can't give me at least a couple attacks to compare...?"

"Yeah, come on, Sans! Your patterns may not be as good as mine, but you don't want to mess up Alphys' data, do you? I know you can do it!" Papyrus encouraged, and his brother gave a drawn-out sigh as he got up and trudged over.

"alright, alright. i'll throw you a bone."

"Sans! You better throw more than one! You have to fill thirty seconds of data!"

"geez, don't remind me."

Alphys finished disconnecting the wires that had linked Papyrus to her machine, and reconnected the lines that were still attached to Sans from his first round of tests. "Okay, everything should be hooked back up. Are you ready?"

"as i'll ever be."

"And... go!"

Sans immediately opened with a pair of blasters before tearing into the dummy with a bone maze, then sent alternating blue and white bones at it before summoning another round of blasters. As she watched, Alphys wondered if they would have a training dummy to return to Undyne by the time this was through. She gave the signal for him to stop, and he flopped to the tile floor panting.

"Sans, you showoff! Alphys, I want to do mine again, I can do better than my troll of a brother," Papyrus said, indignant. Despite his breathlessness, Sans chuckled from the floor.

"U-uh, well, maybe later--I only needed to see you guys using your attacks, it didn't really matter how, um, flashy they were," she replied, holding up her hands. "That should be good enough for now. Th... There's one other thing I wish I could test, b-but, I think I can just use the old... the old data I was able to recover for that."

"I thought the point of this was to collect brand new, un-possibly-corrupted data?" Papyrus said, fiddling with one of the wires trailing from his skull.

"W-well, yeah, but... I can't ask you guys to do it, not when you guys have worked so hard to..." Alphys fidgeted. "I don't want you to feel like you have to do anything you don't want to, and I can't imagine you'd want to do, um, this potential round of testing... so, f-forget it! It's fine."

"you wanna know what our magic's doing when we slip," Sans surmised, pushing up into a sitting position. "isolating those patterns might tell us how to turn 'em off... that's what you're thinking, right?"

Alphys sighed. "Y-yeah... but... I know how hard it is for you guys to break out of it. And... I don't want to make you do anything you don't want to. I... I saw where he kept you. I... I read at least... some of what he did to you... And I don't want this to be anything like what you went through down there."

The brothers exchanged looks. After a moment, Sans sighed. "we want to get this figured out as much as anyone. if that means... letting go... well, with any luck it'll be worth the trouble, right? plus, i'll have you guys to pull me out of it."

"Oh no you don't Sans, you are not sacrificing yourself! I mean, it's very selfless of you, but! You also have the worst time with it. So I volunteer!"

"no way papyrus, i'm not letting you do that to yourself. i'll feel better knowing you're looking out for me."

"And! You'll be looking out for me! It's fair either way!"

"no, you're not doing it. end of story bro."

"Guys," Alphys interrupted, "we don't have to do it! I shouldn't have even mentioned it, ugh."

Papyrus turned to her. "Doctor Alphys, if this is going to help us figure out how to never do this again, then I think we should. I... I want to know what he did to us."

Alphys looked at his earnest expression, and turned to Sans. "Is... Is that how you feel too?"

Sans closed his eyes and rubbed his face with a claw. "... yeah. everything we've tried... it hasn't worked. i have no idea how we figured it out as kids. so... anything that might help us get this over with... we gotta try all our options, right?"

"O-okay... If you guys are sure... then, I'll take care of my side of things. If you need a few days to decide who's going t-to... do the tests, or if we're doing them at all, that's fine. I can analyze what we collected today in the meantime."

"I think that may be best!" Papyrus replied, and Sans nodded. "You'll hear from us soon enough! You can count on it!"

"J-just, take care, okay?" Alphys said as she hurried to help remove the sensors from the brothers' skulls. "I d-don't want you guys to get hurt because of me..."

Papyrus turned to pat her head. "Don't worry about us, Doctor Alphys! We've gotten through far worse! And! This time! It's on our terms!"

She bid them farewell, hoping they hadn't all just made a terrible mistake... but she had to trust the brothers. They had gotten through worse, and come out on top every time. They were counting on her to do her job--so she ought to do it. She gathered up the lines from the EM reader, and wheeled it closer to the computer so she could input the data and begin her analysis. She'd compare the brothers' readouts to samples she'd taken of herself, some of the engineers from the Core, and her friends--all to see if anything differed between them. It was bound to be interesting.

The days passed, and even as she continued trawling through the data collected by a cruel man, she realized she was having fun doing science again. Watching the numbers come together, formulating a hypothesis, tweaking variables to monitor the effects... This was so much more up her alley, finding how all the pieces fit together. And as she collected more pieces, she was getting a clearer picture of just what state the brothers' souls were in, and what Gaster's experiment had been meant to achieve.

She just needed was one last piece to confirm her idea and start working on a solution. She could only hope she'd hear from the brothers soon...

Finally, Sans called her one afternoon, sounding especially weary. "heya alph."

"Oh! H-hi, Sans! What's up?"

"i, uh think we're ready."

"... I guess Papyrus won the argument, huh?"

Sans managed a laugh. "yeah. i couldn't stand up to his flawless logic... which was 'go into the woods for a few days to loosen up' before i could get around to it myself."

"Uh. Wow."

"yeah. he's always really on top of things."

"He's... okay, right?"

"oh yeah, my bro's fine. it's just... rough, seeing him like this, y'know?"

"I bet. A-anyway, I'm ready whenever you guys are."

"ok. we'll be right up."

"Okay! I'l be ready!"

Sans hung up, and she scrambled to actually be ready, because whenever Sans said he was about to be somewhere, he was almost always already there. She pulled the EM reader away from the wall, and gathered a bundle of sensors and draped them over the top just as there was a knock at the door. She squinted, because that was an automatic door...

"Come in!" she called, and the door slid open.

"you're supposed to say 'who's there'," Sans replied as he ambled in, Papyrus in tow. "alright, good luck getting him to hold still this time. don't think he's, uh, as far as he could be, but, should be enough for your tests."

Alphys looked from him to Papyrus, who was warily sniffing the floor. She could already tell in how he carried himself and studied the room that he really had fallen back on instincts. Which was what they needed for the test, but... like Sans had said. It was rough seeing him like this.

"O-okay. Papyrus?"

He perked up, and swung his head around, tilting it to one side.

"Um, hi. Can you come over here, please?"

He looked to Sans, who nodded before walking slowly over to the machine. Papyrus followed, and scrutinized the device thoroughly before sitting down and studying her patiently.

"Okay, now, I need you to hold still while I stick these on," she explained, feeling like she was repeating herself--but she wasn't sure Papyrus remembered the last time he'd been here. "Th-they might get a little itchy, but, I need you to let them stay on, okay?"

Papyrus made an uncertain warble as she approached, but Sans gave him a reassuring hoot and laid down. Alphys gave him a look.

"U-um... you're not... slipping too, are you?"

He gave her a weary shrug. "doing my best not to, but... we stick close, y'know?"

Alphys pursed her lips, but continued with her task. Papyrus was surprisingly patient despite his former concern, only fidgeting a little as she pasted the sensors onto his skull and sternum. He tried to scratch at them once--but Sans batted his hand down with a gruff rasp, and though Papyrus shot him an annoyed look, he settled down.

"Okay, they're all hooked up! I'm starting the test now--just, hang in there okay?"

Well before the minute was up, Papyrus got too fidgety again, and risked pulling away from the machine--but before Alphys could scold him, Sans started a game with him. He summoned a small bone just within the reach of Papyrus' neck, and Papyrus snapped at it--missing as Sans pulled it away at the last moment. Papyrus uttered a playful growl, his tail flicking before he lunged at the bone's new spot--and missed again. Sans evaded him a few more times before Papyrus caught the bone in his jaws and it fizzled out of existence. Sans summoned another bone, and the game began anew.

"Alright, that should be enough!" Alphys announced, and the two looked up--though Papyrus took the opportunity to catch the latest bone Sans had been taunting him with. "I think I can work with this--thank you so, so much you guys. I should have more info in a week or two... Are you really going to be okay?"

Sans shrugged. "we're going to undyne's after this, she'll get him to shape up. we'll see ya later, alph."

"O-oh, okay! Tell her I said hi," Alphys said, hoping she wasn't blushing as she peeled the last of the sensors off Papyrus. "With any luck, I'll be able to help you with a different kind of shape."

"heh, good one. ok bro, ready to see undyne?"

Papyrus warbled an affirmative, and with a click, and a blink, they were gone.

Alphys shook her head, and turned to begin analyzing her results. She still didn't get how Sans did that. Maybe there'd be something in the data.

There certainly was a lot of data to go through. Alphys had been building her hypothesis, but as she got deeper into the numbers, she realized there was more to it. She dug back into the abandoned lab's computers, hacked and reconfigured her way in, and scraped every last bit from the broken registries and hidden backups. She cheered when she found a nearly complete log charting the brothers' growth, only to feel sickened by Gaster's actions yet again as she read the suggestions on how to alter their physiology and diet to get better results--whatever that meant.

"Subject had human-derived willpower substance drawn today..." Alphys read, squinting. "Human derived... willpower substance? What does he mean by..."

A chill seized her. Surely it wasn't the same...? She scrambled back through the readouts she'd taken from the brothers, and cross referenced them. Oh. That would explain... why that part of the wavelengths had looked so odd. She sank back in her chair--it really was the same. Determination... Really, knowing the memoryheads hadn't been her doing, and the blueprints she'd found, she shouldn't be so surprised. Somehow, the brothers were stable--thank god. But, why...? Why add that to... a living weapon? Or a monster? She kept digging, trying to understand the man who'd created life just to use it as a tool.

But before she could make much progress or come to any conclusions, Undyne called her.

"Alphys, are you busy?" she said ugently, and Alphys dropped the stack of papers she'd collected.

"N-no, why?"

"It's Papyrus. We can't get him back."

Alphys froze, heart racing instantly. "...Wh-what? It wasn't too b-bad when he was here--what's going on?"

"It's," she started, frustration clear, "it's like he just keeps sliding, no matter what we do. Sans won't say anything but I can tell he's worried. We thought you might be able to tell us something..."

Alphys gave a shuddering breath. "I... It's too early, I haven't had a chance to analyze everything yet. I-I only have a guess as to why the brothers can change at all, not--not how to help them yet..."

Undyne grunted. "Okay, well, we'll help him as much as we can. Let us know as soon as you find something, okay? Please."

"I-I'm working as fast as I can. Just.. just tell them to hang in there, I should have something soon."

"Okay. Thank you, Alph."

She hung up, and Alphys was left staring ahead at her desk. It... was... probably okay? The brothers had been stuck in their feral states before, and both had snapped out of it eventually. It was the pattern--even if they stayed in the blaster form for a while, they'd get back to their true selves...

A pattern.

The idea seized her. Scrambling through the papers before her, she began compiling all the notes, charts, anything that was relevant. She hoped her hunch was wrong, dread coiled tight in her chest as she began running the numbers.

A week of nearly constant work later, and she had her results in hand.

Alphys stared at it, threw it aside to pace, then came back to it. This couldn't be right. But it explained... too much about the problems they'd had. She couldn't bear the thought of telling them... but she had to, didn't she? They deserved to know. But if she told them, wouldn't they hate her...? No, they might hate her more if she didn't say something, tell them that they...

She had to tell them.

"Th-thanks for coming," she uttered, trying not to let her voice shake as Undyne and the brothers entered her lab again. Papyrus balked at the doorway, and only scuttled in once Sans had plodded into the center of the room, proving it was safe. His gaze darted around his surroundings, and he chittered nervously. Alphys frowned. They really hadn't gotten him back, and today... she'd be telling them why.

"Uh, so, how's it going?" Undyne said, trying to lighten the mood with small talk as they gathered around a fold-out table. "You said you had something for us, right? Not gonna lie, I've been super excited for the results."

Alphys sighed, and Undyne's smile fell.

"Alph... what did you find?"

"I-I," she stammered, "I found... well... I found a lot. Not everything, but, enough to figure some things out. I was able to piece together what Gaster did to make the brothers the way they are, b-but... I also found something... that's... bad. And it has to do with why Papyrus isn't back to being himself... but I didn't find out any way to help you... I'm sorry."

"s'ok. you did your best," Sans said, his head laid on the table and eyes dim. What was happening now had clearly taken its toll.

Undyne grimaced. "Well, it's only been a little bit since you started working, right? Maybe you just haven't found the answer yet. But, I think you should tell us what you did find."

"Maybe," Alphys said, trying not to sound defeated. It was true she'd only had all the data for a little while, but... she wasn't sure it would matter. "I... I want to be more honest about my work, s-so... I'll tell you what I found, even though it's bad news... If... if you don't want to hear it, I don't blame you..."

Sans closed his eyes. "Papyrus... isn't going to understand it. So... you can say whatever."

"We're not gonna be mad or anything just because you did your job," Undyne reassured her. "Tell us what you found out."

Alphys grit her teeth, and turned to Sans. "S-so... I guess I'll start with why you guys are like this to begin with. The beginning's usually a good place to start, right? Ha ha... Anyway... I'll, um, try not to ramble but... I think the gist of it... is that, Gaster tried to make a living... bullet. You know how some monsters can cast attacks that, um, seem like their own entity, right? That sort of construct is uncommon, but not unheard of--but, they're not truly living things, they're attacks the same as any other. It seems like... Gaster wanted to take this idea further, and make attacks that could potentially think for themselves and last outside of battle a long time. All to hunt humans...

"He constructed some extremely advanced attacks--based on what I could find, he figured out their most intricate workings, even how to 'program' them with certain traits or behaviors--ones he learned hunting animals on the surface have. It looks like he spent years refining this technique. But... he still couldn't get them to last outside of battle like he wanted. The way he saw it... the next step was to add a little bit of soul energy. H-he, um, apparently didn't expect... that even a small amount would become a full soul. S-so... the soul formed inside this... programmed attack format.

"It was easiest for the magic to flow along these pre-constructed paths... but the soul... still contained the genetic format for a skeleton monster--a bipedal form with intelligence and skills beyond what Gaster had intended. So... without realizing it... he ended up with a sort of... hybrid, of his specialized attack, and a monster that, um... technically... was his... child."

"Gaster should count himself lucky he's erased, because if I got my hands on him..." Undyne growled, her fists clenched tightly, "he'd WISH he was."

"Y-yeah, seeing all this, I was furious too," Alphys breathed. "He... in what little I read, he just... talked like he was working with animals. M-maybe... he'd convinced himself that's all you were. B-but... so... that's... where your instincts, and ability to transform, come from. It was all him--he, unwittingly, gave your souls this ability by trying to fit them into another form."

"...huh," Sans uttered. "guess that does explain it... why we can do it, and why the instincts only come up when we're like this."

"So is there any way to like... turn it off?" Undyne said. "It's not really a part of them, so maybe--"

"I-it is, though" Alphys said, downcast. "It's as much a part of their soul as, I dunno, bone magic. A-and, turning it off, w-well... Gaster wanted to do the opposite, and take away their other form... He never actually succeeded, obviously, but... that... brings me to the bad news."

"Wh... What do you mean?"

Alphys heaved another sigh. "I didn't think anything of it at first. It just seemed like... like a coincidence, or maybe Gaster just wore you guys down over time, but... You've said it was easier to change back and forth when you were younger, right? And you just... did it less as time went on... B-but... well... with Papyrus being unable to get back from even a relatively mild slip with your guys' help... I got to thinking...

"Maybe... maybe there was actually a pattern to it. Th-that... as time has gone on... it really.... It really is getting harder for you guys to switch back and forth. Like... like the forms get more entrenched as time goes on, a-and, the longer you stay in them. S-so... I plotted all the times it mentioned you guys switching forms on a graph... a-and..."

She slid a pair of papers across the table for Sans and Undyne to study. Each was labeled with their names, and the points on the graphs plotted lines--but they looked more like waves, the crests and troughs of which increased in amplitude as time went on as their frequency decreased. A fainter line projected the waves' path into the future--and it went off the page.

"I-I... I think... W-well, the data suggests, that, if... if we can't get you guys changed back soon... you... you might... slip, and... not... not be able t-to break out of it... e-ever... ever again."

Sans' eyes blinked out. "... papyrus is going to be stuck like this forever?"

Alphys had never heard his voice break like that before. She could barely speak herself, but she couldn't leave things there. "I-I don't know, there's--there's still a chance we can bring him out of this. We just--we can't let it get too far, o-or... A-and I mean, I could be wrong! God, I hope I'm wrong... My d-data is probably pretty incomplete, I don't have much f-from, when you were younger or before all this... B-but, it's... It's a possibility, and, when you called and said you hadn't gotten him out of it, that's when I realized what might be going on, why you might not be able to change back like you did a long time ago... and, I... I'm so sorry..."

Undyne clenched her fists. "I... I really hate Gaster. ALL of this, ALL of your guys' suffering, is because of HIM, and hearing it might not be something you can escape? I WON'T accept that. Alphys, if I can help you, just tell me what to do--I'm NOT letting this guy take my friends away after he's already DEAD."

"we'll still be around," Sans uttered, voice subdued. "just won't be like we used to. i... i dunno what we'll do to live, but... h... hey, just... keep being nice to my bro, ok?"

"Sans, we're not giving up! I can't give up! I WON'T give up! I--" Undyne was interrupted as Papyrus, seeing her upset, had put his head against her arm and nuzzled it. She grimaced, and patted him with a hand as she continued. "I said it before, I'll say it as long as I need to. I won't rest until you guys are back the way you want to be. Alphys hasn't finished her research, so there might still be something we can do. For your brother's sake, don't you DARE slip, or give up, or let go. Okay?"

Sans looked up at her, beleaguered. "dunno... i was never good at fighting the inevitable..."

"Well it's not inevitable yet," Undyne stated firmly. "Alphys, if we get the bros changed back soon, what will happen?"

She thought. "I-it... it should mean it's their other forms--the regular skeleton monster form--that becomes dominant. A-at least, at least on this scale. I didn't plot ahead like... decades, s-so it's possible this doesn't show every outcome... B-but... the sooner we avert the current trend, the better..."

"so... how much time... before we're too far gone?" Sans murmured, and Alphys winced. Despite Undyne's words of encouragement, he was obviously doing pretty badly.

"I can't be sure--it, I think it depends on how much you keep exercising your mind, since that seems to be what's helped you break out of it. I'd... I'd keep trying with Papyrus too. I... I'm with Undyne on this one, I... I don't want to give up, even though it looks really bad... S-so, please... you can't give up, Sans. I know that's really hard for you, b-but... one of the other things I discovered, that I'm still researching is... that... You both have artificially elevated levels of Determination. I... I think that's something else he figured out--how to give Determination to monsters in a safe way. It might be another factor in why you haven't been able to change back, but... It might help keep you going, too."

Sans studied her for a while, then closed his eyes. "i dunno. all this... sounds like there was never anything we could do about it. the moment either of us changed this last time... our fate was sealed. i'm... i'm just so tired. all the work we've done to keep ourselves together... it didn't get us anywhere. i... i'll try to keep it together, for papyrus... i don't want to leave him hanging. but... it's been real hard. and if it's only going to get harder... i don't think i can keep it up for much longer."

Undyne reached over to pat his shoulder. "Look, we'll get through this. You just keep holding on to yourself, I'll help with Papyrus--done that before--and Alphys will keep looking for a solution. Monsters didn't get to where we are today by giving up, so you can't either."

"Yeah Sans, I promise I'll keep looking," Alphys stated--Undyne's will was bolstering her own. "Now that I have an idea of what's going on... maybe I can figure out how to undo it--not, not all the way. Like I said, this... this is a part of your soul. But... if we can figure out how you can change back, then, it should stay dormant for a long, long time. And, that's worth going after."

Sans opened his eyes, their lights returned as he studied them both, then looked to his brother, who had gotten bored and wandered off to bat a piece of crumpled paper across the floor. "i... to be honest? i dunno if i care how we end up. all i want is for papyrus to be happy. but... i guess... if i slip too, i dunno who's gonna take care of him. if i can't hold a job, we can't pay for a house, or good food, or... he couldn't do any of the stuff he really loves. i, uh, remember how it was when we lived in the forest, and... i don't want him living like that ever again. so... i guess i do have to keep it together, huh?"

Alphys smiled with relief. "Y-yeah, you do. I still have a lot of data to go through, s-so, nothing's decided yet, b-but... I figured you should know what might be happening, and... hopefully... do something about it. I know I'm going to try."

"Yeah, don't worry! We've got your backs, okay?" Undyne said, grinning widely. She wound up to slap him on the back, but he dodged out of the way.

"ok, don't make that literal," he said, sounding a little better as he squinted at her. "i, uh... won't make any promises. but... hey, maybe i should help with the research too. if there's anything good i inherited from gaster, it was his smarts. science stuff is still cool, despite him."

"I'm glad he didn't totally ruin it for you," Alphys replied, heart soaring as her own hopes returned. "I certainly could use the help, and it would help keep your mind sharp, s-so, if it's not too much for you... that might be good for both of us."

"heh... using gaster's own specialty against him? can't say i don't like the sound of that," Sans replied, something like spiteful glee shining in his eyes now. "yeah. count me in."

"Aw man, all of us working together!" Undyne cheered. "It'll be great!"

"Yeah... yeah, I think that'll be nice. I'm... I'm sorry I couldn't give you guys good news today, but... That's hardly the end of it," Alphys said. "We'll see where the data leads us, and go from there, and not give up until we're sure we've thought of everything. Until then... I'm not through with Gaster's work. He... he's dead... But I won't let him win!"

#Undertalethingem writes #bark at the moon fic #gaster blaster au #sans (undertale)#papyrus (undertale)#alphys (undertale)#Undyne (undertale)#aaaah finally! sorry it took so long to get this out but it's done now ^^#let me know if i need to tag anything??? i don't think there's anything obvious but #this is an angsty story with bad things happening so =u=;

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bedlamsbard · 3 years

Text

Part two of the Caleb and Loth-wolf concept! I am tentatively planning for this to be a five things fic, but I am absolutely unwilling to commit to that at the moment. This follows part one; technically it’s backstory for The Starry Crown, but its relevance there isn’t in any of the posted chapters and it stands on its own.

About 4.7K below the break.

***

When Caleb had a question about anything, which was often, because he didn’t like not knowing things and he liked the satisfaction of having a proper explanation to fill empty spaces in his knowledge of the universe, his preferred method was to pester the crèche masters until he was satisfied by their responses. But this time he didn’t want to let Master Krell know about Rroshaal, since if Rroshaal had wanted Krell to know about him he would have stayed with Caleb instead of disappearing.

So instead, Caleb went to the library.

Caleb liked the library. It was quiet and while sometimes the Knights and older padawans working there looked askance at his presence, no one had ever kicked him out, though he had on occasion been steered away from some of the more restricted sections. Master Nu, upon once finding him struggling to fetch out a holodisk shelved out of his reach because he was intrigued by the symbols on the spine, had shown him how to use the computers to search the Temple databases. Caleb’s log-in was keyed to his DNA and he hadn’t yet figured out how to get around that, so his access was fairly restricted compared to what even an initiate or older youngling might have gotten, but it was better than not having it at all, and he could lose hours scrolling through seemingly endless amounts of information. Sometimes he didn’t even recognize the redactions where information that wasn’t appropriate for his level had been hidden.

He waited impatiently through his last few lessons for the day, which he normally liked but wasn’t in the mood for, then practically ran out of the classroom and towards the library. Caleb made his way through the mazelike corridors of the Jedi Temple with the ease of long practice. He could have done it blindfolded; younglings trained and played that way, placing their trust in the Force and their other senses so that they didn’t become overly reliant on their eyes. This time he didn’t bother.

It was late enough in the day that most of the diurnal species in the Temple – the majority of them – had gone to dinner, either to eat in their rooms or the crèche or one of the big public halls or the gardens. Caleb bounced excitedly into the library and looked around for a free computer. The few Jedi still there looked around at his entrance, indulgently amused at his arrival. Caleb waved at them cheerfully and went over to the nearest computer, raising the seat up until he could see the screen clearly. He poked at the keyboard with his index fingers, trying to think of what the best search terms for Rroshaal’s species were.

Half an hour later, he had found all sorts of canines and felines and other mammals which varied from adorable to terrifying, but nothing that matched his memory of Rroshaal. They varied on the sentience scale, and if Caleb hadn’t been so focused on finding Rroshaal’s species he might have dropped everything to go beg the crèche masters for a miniature hamerlok puppy, but as it was he filed that away to think about later.

Caleb ended up in the library often enough that he knew better than to waste time searching for something when he didn’t know the best way to do so or didn’t have the necessary access. He looked around for one of the librarians and saw Master Nu coming towards him; she had found him on one of his research spirals a dozen times before and knew his pattern. He waved at her and she smiled at him.

“What are you looking for, Caleb?” she asked, resting a hand on the back of his chair.

Trying to sound as grown-up as possible, Caleb turned towards her and said, “I’m trying to identify another species, but I haven’t been able to find him – them.”

“A sentient species?”

He nodded. “But not a humanoid.”

“Someone you saw here in the Temple?”

Caleb bit his lip. Technically he had seen Rroshaal in the Temple, but he didn’t want to admit to Master Nu that he had been in the underlevels, and that wasn’t what she meant anyway. She was asking if he was talking about another Jedi, or maybe one of the civilians who were in the Temple sometimes. “I had a vision?” he said tentatively. It was partially true, after all; Rroshaal had shown him his species through the Force, and that was sort of like a vision. And he had seen Rroshaal with his own eyes, which was technically vision even if it wasn’t a vision. “I read a holobook,” he added, almost immediately afterwards. He read lots of holobooks.

Master Nu looked amused, but didn’t comment on the two contradictory explanations. “Do you know what this other species of yours looks like?”

Caleb nodded firmly. “Big. Furry. Sort of like canines – maybe like lupines. I don’t understand the difference,” he admitted. He pointed at the screen, which was still open on the image of the miniature hamerlok, which was a domesticated subspecies of an Alderaanian predator. It looked a little like Rroshaal had, except much smaller and less fluffy, and the wrong color, though the entry said they came in lots of colors. “Like that. But not. And they can use the Force. And they live in grasslands.”

“Hmm,” Master Nu said. She thought for a moment, then leaned over his shoulder. “Has anyone shown you how to use species identification software?”

Caleb perked up. “That exists?”

“It’s often used by law enforcement, but many Jedi find it useful for other purposes as well,” Master Nu explained. “Most Jedi don’t have to use it until they’re padawans.”

Caleb bounced excitedly at this new information, moving his chair to the side so that she could bring up the program. She had to enter her own ID and log-in information, then adjust the access levels so that Caleb would be able to use it without having someone else log him in. He watched excitedly as she showed him how to cycle through different physical traits, slowly building an image on the screen of Rroshaal as Caleb remembered him. When he was finished, the program offered him a list of possible species that matched the criteria Caleb had inputted.

“Do any of these look right?” Master Nu asked. “From your holobook?”

Caleb shrugged. “No, Master. Can we look at all of them?” There were fewer than a dozen, ranked in order of most to least likely.

“That’s usually the best way to do it.”

Caleb carefully put his finger to the first option, which read TUK’ATA/SITH HOUND (MORABAND). As soon as the new window opened, he shook his head, but read the entry anyway, fascinated, then looked up at Master Nu. “They can’t really all be evil, can they? I mean, if you got a pup and raised it here in the Temple – or away from the Sith worlds, anyway –”

“I can’t recall whether anyone has ever attempted it, but looking up their history might be a good research project for you,” Master Nu said, bemused. “It does seem like the sort of thing someone would have tried, especially during the aftermath of the Sith Wars.”

“I want to try,” Caleb declared.

“That is the sort of experiment that will have to wait until you’re at least a padawan,” Master Nu told him firmly. “Since you would have to go to Moraband to find one – every attempt to traffic them offworld has failed. That’s something else you could look up another time.”

Caleb nodded and closed the window. He touched the next item in the list, LOTH-WOLF (LOTHAL), and as soon as it opened, said delightedly, “That’s him! But they’re not extinct?” he added, seeing the first line of the entry.

“Why do you think that?”

“I saw him. I talked to him.” Caleb remembered abruptly that he didn’t want to explain how he had done so and said quickly, “In my vision.”

Master Nu quirked an eyebrow at him. “Do you want to tell me about your vision?” she asked. “Or perhaps talk to one of the masters who specializes in seeing?”

Caleb shook his head so rapidly that his learner’s braid hit him in the nose. “I have to figure it out on my own,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster when he was lying through his teeth. He copied the information carefully to his data storage account, then went back to get the tuk’ata information too while Master Nu went to find him some more books on Loth-wolves, after first making him promise that if he had another vision he would bring it to her or one of the other masters. Since if he ever actually did have a vision that was more than the flashes of precognition that gave Jedi their reflexes he was planning to tell everyone he knew, Caleb promised this solemnly.

Master Nu came back a few minutes later with a stack of holobooks for him – one a survey on Force-sensitive semi-sentient creatures and non-humanoids, one a travelogue from a Jedi Master who had mapped out many of the known Force-strong worlds, and one a history about Force-users who partnered with non-humanoids or semi-sentients. Caleb quietly thought that both “semi-sentient” and “non-humanoid” didn’t describe Rroshaal at all, but he wasn’t about to tell Master Nu that. Well, the non-humanoid part was true, but it didn’t really sum up what Rroshaal was.

He put the books carefully in his bag, noting that the history book was past his usual access level and wondering why, thanked Master Nu, and hurried off to the nearest dining hall. Dinner was still being served; even if he had missed it there was always food available somewhere in the Temple, though sometimes you had to do a bit more searching to find it. He wrapped a dozen meat pasties in a napkin along with two pieces of his favorite spice cake, then wrapped them in another napkin before putting them in his bag and making sure his water bottle was still mostly full. No one paid him any attention – he had found one of the dining halls that was mostly used by Knights and masters, a few of whom he knew, but everyone in the Temple was used to everyone else occasionally doing odd things. He waved at a Kiffar Knight who was one of his teachers in staff-fighting and left, grabbing a jogan fruit from a bowl as he did so.

He had to pause outside the hall and think about the best way to get down to the underlevels, since he wasn’t supposed to go there. After getting caught down there the previous day he probably really wasn’t supposed to go there, but it wasn’t like every youngling didn’t do it at one point or another. Like almost everything else in the Temple, there were lots of ways to get there, but Caleb thought that it was probably best if he chose one of the entrances closest to where Rroshaal had left him. He wanted Rroshaal to be able to find him again, but he didn’t want to get caught by Master Krell or any of the other crèche masters, either.

Decision made, he went trotting off. It took him longer to reach the underlevels than he had expected, since he was coming by a different route, but eventually he reached the bottom of the last staircase and hesitated, looking around. He had taken care to bring a glowstone with him this time so he wouldn’t get caught in the dark again, even if he couldn’t shake the feeling that it felt a little like cheating. What Caleb should have had was a lightsaber, but he wouldn’t have a lightsaber until after he had had his Gathering, and his cohort wouldn’t go on their Gathering for at least another two years, maybe even three or four.

“Rroshaal?” he called into the quiet, waiting dark of the underlevels. From here it just seemed like empty, unused space, but Caleb knew that it wasn’t. Further away – and further down – the underlevels deteriorated into a series of mazes, layers and layers of ancient temples built on top of each other. He’d read a book on it – well, he had run across it in a history, but when he went looking for more books he had found that they were beyond his access level, and Master Nu couldn’t be convinced to give them to him anyway. Caleb thought he might ask again, now that he had the excuse of having been caught down in the underlevels. He might as well use it for something. Maybe he could convince Master Krell and Master Nu that having to write a report on the history of the underlevels was an appropriate punishment.

“Rroshaal?” he called again. “It’s Caleb Dume. Rroshaal?”

There was no response. Caleb hesitated, wondering if he ought to go further in and away from the stairs. Maybe Rroshaal wouldn’t want to come this close to the entrance to the rest of the Temple, even though he had brought Caleb back yesterday.

He stood there for a few minutes, calling occasionally and hoping both that there weren’t security cams down here and that no one could hear him from the next level up.

There was no response.

Caleb stood there on the last step, feeling heat gather in his cheeks from embarrassment. He’d thought that Rroshaal had liked him. He was on the verge of going back to the crèche to palm off all the pasties on his crèche-mates when he thought suddenly, no. He had been acting like Rroshaal was a dumb animal, like the charhound pup one of the older initiates was fostering. Not that the charhound wasn’t very intelligent, but it wasn’t exactly a person, and Rroshaal was.

He reached with the Force, concentrating on his memory of Rroshaal’s strong sense of personality, and let his mind sink down into the vergence the Temple was built on. He knew that he wasn’t supposed to do that because vergences were dangerous – even Knights and masters weren’t supposed to do that – but Caleb thought that because he more or less knew what he was doing with it that he probably wouldn’t lose himself in the Force. He remembered what Rroshaal had told him yesterday, about the vergence where he lived and being able to move between that vergence and the one under the Temple. In a way, every vergence in the Force was one. They were unique – but at the same time they were also one.

Rroshaal? he thought, layering his memory of Rroshaal’s strong personality onto it. With rare exception, Jedi weren’t telepaths, but for their first few years in the crèche they didn’t have to speak to each other with words, either; they had the Force for that. Rroshaal, it’s Caleb Dume. He added his own mental signature to that, the emotional overtones in the Force that would tell another Force-user that it was him, Caleb Dume, and not someone else.

He could feel the weight of the Force as he opened himself to it. It was like the lake that he had seen on Alderaan when his cohort had visited the planet the previous year, the deep lake that was actually a rift in the planet’s surface and was more than ten kilometers deep. It pulled at him, at the surface of his mind; Caleb was aware of it – of it fluttering at the edges of his consciousness, bits and pieces of things that had happened in the past, that could have happened in the past, that were yet to come, of people who were long dead or were yet to be born or might never be born, of his people and the enemy of his people and all of those who touched the Force in their own way, whether they were Jedi or not.

He had never gone that deep into the Force before. He hadn’t meant to do so now.

He fought aside his instinctive panic, knowing that, like the lake, if he panicked he would drown. Caleb concentrated hard on his memory of Rroshaal, forcing himself to ignore the insistent whispers of almost-sound and the flickering almost-sight at the edges of his mind. Jedi were will. He wouldn’t let himself be swayed from his intention, now that he had set himself upon it.

Jedi were the Force. Whatever it was trying to show him, he already knew – he already was, or would be, or could be. All things were true at once in the Force.

Not trying to show him, he thought, a little dizzy. Do or do not. There is no try.

Caleb stopped fighting the almost-visions and let them pass through them instead, still keeping his mind on Rroshaal. He felt – bigger, somehow, older, as if his body no longer quite fit him in his dim awareness of his own physical form. But it wasn’t not his body, either; there was nothing unfamiliar about it. Caleb accepted that and let his call to Rroshaal roll out again, noting absently that there were layers in his mental signature that he had never been consciously aware of before. But they had always been there, of course.

He felt an instant of sleepy surprise, then acknowledgment.

They came from outside himself and were accompanied by a strong sense of place; Caleb tasted prairie winds and the rock-smell of an unfamiliar world, the warmth of lazing in a sun he had never stood under.

Certain that he had been heard, Caleb dragged himself uncertainly out of his trance. Reality fluttered around him; Caleb could feel it flexing, as if someone had shaken out a sheet and each fold held a different possibility, a different time, a different place. Then, before he had time to panic, it settled again, leaving him gasping in the dim light of the underlevels.

He sat down heavily on the steps.

After a moment he dug in his bag and came up with the jogan he had grabbed in the dining hall, which he ate slowly. One of the earliest things that younglings were taught was to eat or drink something after an intense meditation session, because it reminded them that while they might be the Force and full of light, they still had physical bodies. Caleb ate the jogan in small, neat bites, concentrating on its taste and how it felt in his mouth, and eventually got out of his datapad to read the database entry about Loth-wolves that he had gotten from the library computers. He had finished both and set the datapad aside so that he could wrap up the jogan pips to throw away later when he heard the soft click…click… of approaching claws on the marble floor.

He saw Rroshaal’s glowing eyes first, coming out of the darkness of the underlevels.

Caleb stood up to greet him, momentarily startled by how big Rroshaal was – he’d somehow forgotten. Rroshaal came up to him and ducked his head to nuzzle thoughtfully at Caleb’s hair, then licked Caleb’s face in a greeting.

“Hello!” Caleb said happily. “You came!”

Rroshaal licked his face again. He had been napping, he told Caleb; it was the middle of the day on his homeworld, and most of his people slept then. Caleb got the brief impression of windswept grasslands, too hot under the summer sun for Rroshaal to want to be out in.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he said. “It’s dinner time here. I’ve got dinner,” he added. “If you want?”

Rroshaal made an inquisitive sound and lay down as Caleb dug in his bag for the pasties. He laid most of them down on the cloth for Rroshaal to sniff at, but kept two for himself, watching Rroshaal eat each one in two bites. Interesting, was his observation when he was finished.

“It’s ronto, I think,” Caleb said; he was only halfway through his first one by the time Rroshaal had finished. “Do you have rontos on your world? They’re saurians, they live on desert worlds mostly, and a lot of ranchers breed them for meat.” He pictured the holos he had seen; he hadn’t seen one in person yet.

Rroshaal’s response was in the negative. Hoppers, he replied to Caleb, along with a strong sense of a big four-legged mammal that moved by leaping from its hindmost feet; it used its front legs more like arms and Rroshaal had a strong, vivid memory of being punched in the nose by one during his last hunt. The memory was accompanied by a strong, gamey taste of raw meat that made Caleb blink, a little startled. Lopers. This seemed to encompass several different kinds of hooved herbivores, some of which were nearly as big as Rroshaal and some of which were much smaller. They moved in herds and ran fast, leaping across the grasslands when the pack hunted them. Horrible birds. These were flightless birds two or three times as tall as Caleb, taller than Rroshaal, with toothed beaks and talon-like feet; Rroshaal showed him the scars another Loth-wolf had from being attacked by one some years earlier, but added that they were tasty after you brought them down. Others. He got a flickering sense of what his instructors would have called “a healthy ecosystem,” and recognized a few species he had seen in holos before. Or relatives, anyway, but you saw convergent evolution on many worlds, and colony worlds especially.

Rroshaal sensed the thought and made a little whuff in the negative. Too much prey, he told Caleb. Horrible birds kill some, but only on one continent. Used to be more hunters. Caleb got a hazy impression of several kinds of big felines and avians; the haziness was because they were extinct and Rroshaal had never seen them himself, only through the passed-down memories of other members of his pack.

“Colonists killed them?” Caleb asked, remembering one of his classes. It happened a lot.

Rroshaal made an affirmative sound. Others, he said again, showing Caleb several animals he recognized.

“Those are nerfs,” Caleb said. “They’re all over the galaxy. People breed them for meat and fur. And the little saurians are nunas. They’re meat animals too. I can’t remember what the fluffy ones are, but I’ve seen holos of them before.”

Tasty, Rroshaal observed, licking his lips. Then he laid his chin down on his paws and added sadly, Not enough pups.

That reminded Caleb. “I read about you!” he said. “I looked you up in the library. You’re a Loth-wolf.”

Rroshaal flicked an ear, bemused by the name. The People, he said instead.

“I know, but most species call themselves something like that. I’m a human.”

Rroshaal raised his head and snuffled thoughtfully at Caleb’s knees for a moment before saying doubtfully, You’re People. You feel like People, even if you don’t smell like People.

Caleb put his hands out for Rroshaal to sniff, then lick clean of lingering crumbs. “I’m a Force-user – a Jedi. Maybe that’s it.”

Rroshaal whuffed again, dubious.

“You’re supposed to be extinct,” Caleb said, then hesitated, unsure if he had hurt Rroshaal’s feelings. Instead he just felt the Loth-wolf’s resigned weariness.

Not enough pups, he said again. It took Caleb a few moments to sort through the flurry of information that accompanied the words; Rroshaal had been the only pup in his pack to live more than a year in the last decade. Pups had been born dead or had gotten sick and died soon afterwards. He had heard that other packs were just as badly off.

Caleb said shyly, “We – the Jedi – are having problems too. I heard the crèche masters talking about it with Master Windu and Master Yoda once. There used to be thousands more Jedi than there are now – there are whole sections of the Temple that are shut up – and the cohorts keep getting smaller and smaller. Even two hundred years ago you’d have cohorts of dozens, but mine is only three people, and the ones after me are the same. About twenty or thirty years ago all of a sudden the Temple started getting large cohorts again – large by current standards – and that lasted for about twenty years before they suddenly started dropping off in size. The senior padawans now are from the last few large cohorts. The masters don’t know if not as many Force-sensitive younglings are being born or if they’re just not being found.”

Rroshaal made an inquisitive noise.

“I don’t know all of it,” Caleb admitted. “When babies are born in Republic medcenters, they’re required to have a lot of tests run, and one of those is for midichlorian count. That gets passed onto the Order if the parents consent, and if it’s high enough then someone – usually the Sector Watchman – will check on them regularly. Just because you have a high midichlorian count doesn’t mean you can be a Jedi, though, so the Watchmen have to keep checking, and of course if the families refuse then they won’t. Outside the medcenters it’s mostly just the will of the Force.” He stared longingly at Rroshaal’s soft-looking ears, wondering how rude it would be to ask Rroshaal if he could pet them. “I was born in the Temple.”

Rroshaal’s ears flicked forward, interested.

“It’s not usual,” Caleb admitted. “It happens once or twice a generation, but usually even if one or both parents is a Jedi then the baby won’t be strong enough to be one too. I was. That’s not rare, but it’s not common, either.” He shrugged in response to Rroshaal’s question. “I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter who they are. If I hadn’t been strong enough in the Force to be a Jedi I would have gone to one of their birth-families if they wanted.” He hesitated, then admitted, “I heard once that one of them is an old military family on Coruscant, but I don’t know if that’s true or not. And it doesn’t matter anyway since I’m a Jedi.”

People, Rroshaal insisted.

Caleb spread his hands for Rroshaal to see. “Not People, not like yours,” he said. Then he got the cake out of his bag and offered one piece to Rroshaal, who sniffed it with interest, then sneezed. “It’s spice cake,” he explained. “It’s my favorite.”

Rroshaal ate it out of his palm in several delicate bites, then lay licking his teeth thoughtfully as Caleb ate his own piece of spice cake. Good, he decided finally, then gave Caleb a grin, tongue lolling out of his mouth. Different.

He licked Caleb’s hands clean when Caleb held them out again, then flicked one ear back as if he had heard someone calling him. I have to go, he said regretfully. My mother wants me.

Caleb had the brief impression of a bigger version of Rroshaal, brown and with a scarred ear, whom Rroshaal regarded with occasionally frustrated adoration. He said wistfully, “Can I see you tomorrow?”

We’ll be away, Rroshaal said, and Caleb could tell that he genuinely regretted it. Embassy to another pack. He thought, then said, Nine days?

“How long are your days?” Caleb asked, then realized that Rroshaal probably didn’t count time in hours. “I’ll look it up.” He hesitated, then added, “Can I hug you?”

At the affirmative response, they both stood up, and Caleb carefully put his arms around as much of Rroshaal’s furry front as he could manage. He was just as soft as Caleb remembered from the previous day and smelled of clean fur and unknown winds, a little musky. Rroshaal tucked his muzzle down against Caleb’s back, then licked his face after Caleb released him. Caleb curved the backs of his knuckles against Rroshaal’s cheek, carefully stroking the short fur there, then giggled as Rroshaal rubbed his cheek against Caleb’s smooth one.

Soon, he promised, then, Bring more of the cake-thing.

“I will,” Caleb said.

Rroshaal licked his nose, then backed away. Caleb must have blinked, because one moment Rroshaal was there, then the next he had vanished into the shadows of the underlevels.

Caleb sighed regretfully and rubbed the back of his hand over his nose, the scooped up the discarded cloths and stuffed them into his bag. He had a lot of reading he wanted to do before he saw Rroshaal again.

#cut scenes and concept writing #caleb and the loth wolf tag #comics caleb is a tiny nerd #as always comments are appreciated #eta: yes I DO have a partially written concept for caleb's extended birth family; the forbidden backstory

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procrastinatorproject · 3 years

Text

Fic writer review, thank you to @thelaithlyworm for the tag <3

how many works do you have on AO3?

Ten? Oh no, it’s actualy 12 now!

what’s your total AO3 word count?

86,468

how many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Grand total of 1: Star Trek: Picard - although my latest offering might branch a bit into other Trek as well.

what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

“Passengers”

“And a Barrel of Gagh”

“CMO’s Log”

“Preparations”

“Game Night”

Which is actually kinda interesting. I wrote Passengers, Preparations, and Game Night while the fandom was still a lot more active (especially in the Aramis in Space corner), so that makes sense. The CMO’s log has had chapters added every few months, giving it probably the most exposure of any of my fics. Barrel of Gagh, though? I think I’m gonna attribute that to Thimblerig turning it into a truly, TRULY brilliant piece of podfic. Also the fact that it’s whump involving a character played by Santiago Cabrera. ‘tis A Thing..... :D

do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I really try to! I love talking with people in the comments and just... thanking the people who found the time and energy to leave comments. But especially in the last few months I have gotten very bad at keeping up with the comments and now there’s about two dozen that I have neglected to reply to for a painfully long time 🙈

But I will get there! Because I love that kind of interaction!

what’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

So far, none of them have had angsty endings. Angsty middles, yes, but not endings. I’m just a sucker for everyone being happy in the end. Or at least on the way to being better, and supported and cared for on that way.

do you write crossovers? if so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I haven’t yet, but I’m definitely not opposed. One of the threads of my 200k unpublishable whump scenes takes place in a continuity that has existed in my daydreams for... I wanna say six years at the very least, probably longer. It’s mostly straight-up Star Trek, but with the twist that it involves the Wraith, the telepathic, hive-minded alien race from Stargate: Atlantis that suck the life force out of you with their hands? Or, well, at least a variation thereof.

I once typed up the world building for that particular setting and it took me three hours to try and make it all make sense. So it’s... involved. But not necessarily “crazy”. And I’m not sure I’m ever actually going to publish any of the stories I have set in it (not least because that would envolve finishing any of them and bringing them into a form that is interesting to read for anyone but me...)

have you ever received hate on a fic?

Nope.

do you write smut? if so what kind?

Hm, not yet. I do enjoy reading smut, but only under very specific circumstances. I think I may eventually try my hand at smut, but the inner prude is still very strong. Writing about Rios and Xyr making out (which, honestly, was really tame, all things considered) made me melt in a puddle of blushing embarrassment, so full-on smut is probably beyond me at the moment. One day!

have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of. Though litigating that in a fandom like ours would be... tricky. ST:Pic is way too small to steal stories outright. But similar or the same ideas pop up all the time. And it’s a complete coincidence. Reading the book that recently came out and that has a kinda similar setting to a lot of my stories (pre-season 1, early in Rios’s history as captain of Sirena, dealing with original characters, holo shenanigans, friendship with Raffi, etc.), I was struck by just how many elements, both scenes or story beats and little details, were similar to things that have cropped up in my writing. And it is entirely coincidental, because I am beyond certain that the author doesn’t read fanfic. Just... for legal reasons. Not to mention I wrote a bunch of the things I saw parallels to while the book was already in production, and some of them are only in my drafts.

So there is a ton of convergent evolution going on in this particular section of the fandom, and trying to litigate who came up with certain plot ideas or character beats when would be a sysiphean disaster. Some things are clear and whenever I use any of them I give credit where I can, but people will have very similar ideas. It just happens. So no, I haven’t had either a full-on story or “an idea” stolen, and I might change my tune if it ever does happen, but so far, I’m trying to practice equanimity, so I’ll be better at it should I ever need it.

have you ever had a fic translated?

Sadly no. My dad keeps complaining that all my fic is in English so he can’t read any of it, but honestly? I’m kinda glad for this very convenient excuse. Maybe if I ever feel like I want to practice my interpreting skills, I will give translating the stories into German a shot. We’ll see. Otherwise, if anyone feels inspired: Have at it! Just let me know, okay?

have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not quite. I have a draft of off-the-cuff worldbuilding that I wrote on Discord with @curator-on-ao3 and that I would love to turn into an actual short fic (letters from a conference on holo-ethics), but I haven’t gotten around to it yet.

what’s your all time favorite ship?

I don’t really do shipping.

what’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I WILL NEVER ACCEPT DEFEAT!!!! One day, I will write the next installment of Star Trek: La Sirena! I have so many ideas for that continuity and those characters. I’m not going to abandon them!

what are your writing strengths?

Hmmmmm. Probably detailed worldbuilding? Ask me something about, say, a technological or cultural aspect of Star Trek and chances are, I have thought about it in the past or will come up with three different sets of intricate lore within half an hour. (Things like... the architecture of San Francisco, or Will there still be taxi drivers? or the treaty between IKEA Intergalactic and the Borg Collective, or the Universal Translator, or Emergency Services or Why There Are Very Few Ambulances On Earth Anymore etceterah etceterah...)

I’m also good at slapping together off-the-cuff plot ideas (if, say, you need an explanation for how Seven and Agnes ended up stranded on a desert island, I could probably give you three different scenarios pretty quickly. Just don’t ask me to make them poignant or actually write them.

I’m also very, very good at beginnings.

what are your writing weaknesses?

Everything that isn’t a beginning. Especially endings, or rather: finishing something, but also just... keeping momentum.

I think my dialogue is somewhat samey and not distinct enough between characters. (Also my witty banter is... let’s just say it doesn’t come to me naturally...)

And I also struggle with keeping things brief and to the point. I can write you 30k of whump covering a span of three hours, but fitting a whole story in the same space? Much more difficult!

I have also avoided writing full-on action so far, but where it has crept in it has always been a struggle and been workshopped a lot with the indefatigable beta.

Otherwise, I don’t know. My self-perception is always a little warped, so I’m not sure what other people would say my weaknesses are.

what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Oof. Well. I have used Spanish sentences in my fic and done the thing where they’re translated in the end note, but I’ve mostly done it sparingly. I’ve also done the ‘“What do you want?” he said in Spanish.’ It’s tricky. But I will likely keep doing it in some instances, even if it’s a bit annoying.

(It also really helps to have a native speaker of Spanish as a beta, even if it’s Spanish from a different region than you’re character.)

Speaking of regional: I’m also torn about the whole “phonetically writing out accents” issue. Some people love it, some people hate it, I’m really unsure because I’m not a native speaker of English, so I’m not even sure I’m consistent in my narrative voice’s regional quirks. So far, I’ve mostly gone with describing that an accent is happening, and only writing out when phrasing actually differs from standard English. Like Ian (Scottish) saying “dinnae” but not writing “I” as “ah” as you’d see on, say, Scottish twitter.

Though it can be a very useful tool if, for instance, you want to indicate a characters accent getting stronger as they get tired or upset. 🧐

Anyway, I don’t think there is one right or wrong answer here and everyones milage will vary.

what was the first fandom you wrote for?

Published? ST:PIC

Actually first? Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter. Pretty much simultaneously, though I did write more for LotR. On graph paper, mind, with my fountain pen turned upside down so I could write smaller. I still have folders worth of those stories that I urgently need to digitize before they fade and I lose them forever...

what’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

I’m going to quote @thelaithlyworm here: I Love All My Children Equally! I honestly couldn’t say. They are different and I love them for different reasons but I love them all.

Thank you for the tag! ❤ I’ve kinda lost track of who all has done this already or has already been tagged, so feel free to ignore me! But I tink I’m tagging @curator-on-ao3, @aini-nufire, @29-pieces, @flowers-creativity, @highfunctioningflailgirl, @cristobalrios and @the-goofball. And anyone else whom I forgot or who feels inspired to do this!

#ask meme #writing #lili's writing adventures #this was fun!

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scullydubois · 3 years

Text

Only the Light Ch. 18

Scully, Mulder, and Missy travel to California to meet Emily and wrestle with the future.

------------------

The echo of Scully’s heels against the linoleum is almost enough to drown out her racing heart. Mulder’s thumping steps and her sister’s daintier ones help too, but their collective power does nothing to ease Scully’s awareness that the Earth circles the sun at a thousand miles per hour. Today, she’s feeling every bit of it.

The three of them round a corner, and a broad-shouldered man and tiny-waisted woman come into view. Agent Feniston and the lawyer, this must be. Outside of conference room C--as planned.

Straightening every disc in her spine, Scully extends a hand and exchanges a firm shake with each of them. Mulder and Melissa hang back.

“Dana Scully,” she declares. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“That decision rested with the foster parents,” the male agent insists. “As does any from this point forward.”

“Yes, and I’ll be sure to thank them as well,” Scully acquiesces.

“Hello, Ms. Scully.” The lawyer uncrosses her ankles. “I’m Tanya Joyce, you can call me Tanya. As a representative of the state of California, my priority is guarding the child’s wellbeing and ensuring that any choice made is what’s best for her.”

“Of course,” Scully murmurs. “Thank you for being here.”

Tanya thumbs toward the closed door of the conference room. “Brian and Cecily are eager to meet you. The foster system has extremely limited information on little Emily. Your testimony will help us all fill in some blanks.”

Scully nods. “Me as well...this is as much a surprise for me as all of you.”

“Are we to understand that you were not aware you bore a child, Ms. Scully?” Agent Feniston asks.

“Yes, sir. I know it’s quite hard to believe, I feel the same. I was missing for a period of time last year and was comatose when I returned.”

“Yes, and how long was that period of time, Ms. Scully?”

The edges of her lips fall. “Approximately five weeks.”

“So is it safe to assume that though the child shares your DNA, you did not carry her?”

“No sir, not that I know of. I believe that my eggs were harvested, and she was...well, she comes from one of those.”

The agent hums a note of acknowledgement. “As I told you over the phone, the federal database contained no viable DNA match of a father.”

Scully nods. “Yes sir, and I have no knowledge of what sperm may have been used.”

“Noted.” He rubs his neck. “We were lucky, we only found you because you were in the missing persons database.”

“I had no idea I was still listed there,” Scully says. “I’ve asked the FBI to remove it.”

“Well, it was a stroke of luck for us,” the agent tells her. “This little girl’s foster parents encouraged the state to pursue child abandonment charges against whoever left her. She was found outside a local care center at two weeks old, as I’ve told you.”

“Yes.” Scully purses her lips. She imagines a baby with her eyes, nose, toes, chromosomes crying on a nondescript doorstep...she and Mulder did not know what they were doing when they said they wanted the truth.

“We’ve already confirmed your story with the FBI,” Feniston continues, “and we have proof that you were working on cases in the east at the time of Emily’s delivery to the foster center, so you are free of any child abandonment charges.”

“Wonderful,” Scully replies, but really, those were the least of her concerns. “May I see my daughter now?”

That’s the first time she’s ever said that sentence, and she didn’t expect terror to shoot up her spine. Is this what it is, having an extension of your life outside your body?

The lawyer steps forward. “I’ll introduce you to Brian and Cecily, they’d like to speak with you first.”

Scully does not like the way that sits in the air. Still, she musters a smile. “It would be my pleasure.”

---------------------------

Mulder and Melissa make themselves at home on a pair of leather chairs outside the conference room. They have been the pall-bearers keeping Scully aloft as her crushed dreams reinvent themselves as high hopes. They don’t understand how it happened any more than Scully herself: one phone call turned into multiple consultations with Agent Feniston, then Tanya and California Social Services and finally, DC social workers who performed background checks and prepared forms so that Scully could come here today to meet her baby and, God-willing, bring her home.

It doesn’t happen this fast, it never does--different voices said these same words to them a dozen times. And yet, barely two weeks after Agent Feniston’s fated voicemail, here they are. On All Hallow’s Eve, no less. Just in time for Emily to complete her first rotation around the sun.

They both play contrasting yet crucial roles in Operation Miracle Baby, as Mulder dubbed it. Dana has sobbed into Missy’s shoulder every night for the past two weeks; happy tears (her baby! she has a baby!), sad tears (she has a baby…and she didn’t even know...), scared tears (a baby! a baby, Missy! probably already walking, and maybe even talking if she’s exceptional...). The situation--and its implications--are impossible to reconcile in such a short time, if at all. Scully’s petite frame could not physically contain it.

Mulder’s the comic relief, the distraction, the reminder that nothing can be so grave if there's still breath left in your body. He bought a CD of nursery rhymes and stuck in it his beat-up office radio, playing it through the day while Scully labored over this form or that and he pretended to alphabetize the case file drawer. Now, he hums himself to sleep every night with one of those rhymes; he’s hoping this new skill will come in handy.

He would’ve bought toys and baby clothes too, but Melissa made him swear not to in case the adoption falls through. And she’s right, he can’t bear to imagine the pain Scully would feel packing those away. For sale: baby shoes, never worn hits you no matter who you are. Still, he has a stuffed UFO and a Build-a-Bear fox (yes, he went in and filled it himself) hidden in his closet, and he hopes they won’t go to waste.

Operation Miracle Baby has been as covert as anything Mulder’s ever been involved in. He, Melissa, and Mrs. Scully are the only ones in his partner’s circle with any knowledge of what’s going on. No one else, in Scully’s words, matters. Trinity too has received a full briefing from Missy and is ecstatic about her girlfriend potentially becoming an auntie. Skinner was told it was a family emergency--and well, it is--though surely he’s suspicious about both of his agents requesting time off. Bill Jr. has no idea they’re in San Diego, though they may seek “refuge” (the air quotes are Missy’s) at his place if the proceedings drag on.

This is a triumph or failure to be shared only with those most beloved, that’s what Scully said to them the night before they boarded the plane. Mulder has never been included in anyone’s most beloved before. It feels pretty damn good.

----------------------

The perky lawyer raps on the conference room door, opening it in response to a voice on the other side. Scully’s breath catches….a strawberry-haired infant rests in her mother’s arms (Scully hates to think it, but surely this woman is more Emily’s mother than she is), pulling at a lock of the woman’s blonde hair.

The woman turns her way, and Scully gets her first glimpse at Emily’s face. Emily. Her baby. She wondered the whole flight here whether she would feel a connection….a sense of recognition...upon laying eyes on her daughter. And my god, it’s like some chained section of her heart has burst open, flooded with all the good feelings of the world. Icy blue eyes and cherub cheeks...that’s her baby. That’s her baby.

She watches as her baby is passed to a woman in a CA Social Services button-up who slides past Scully in the doorway like she’s not even there. Scully has a split-second to notice the dimples on her daughter’s cheeks, but that’s it. Emily’s gaze misses her entirely.

Tanya strides toward the couple in the room, Scully following behind.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lace, this is Dana Scully, Emily’s biological mother.”

“We’re so glad to meet you,” the man says, shaking Scully’s hand with a firm grip. “I’m Brian, and this is my wife Cecily.”

“Thank you for speaking with me,” Scully tells them, shaking Cecily’s hand in kind. “I understand you’ve cared for Emily since shortly after she arrived at social services.”

“Yes,” Cecily confirms. “She came to us when she was a month old. Raising her has been an absolute joy.”

Brian nods. “She’s the second infant we’ve fostered. We adopted our first one, Andrew, when he was a year and a half.”

“I didn’t realize you had another child,” Scully converses, feeling out of her depth. “It must have been quite a transition, taking Emily in.”

“It sure was, but she’s an angel, truly,” Brian says. “We couldn't fathom that someone could abandon her and get away with it, that’s why we contacted Agent Feniston.”

Cecily chimes in--”We were told the chances of finding a DNA match in the federal database was slim. We didn’t expect to learn that you were unaware of Emily’s existence!”

“Yes, I’m still coming to terms with it all,” Scully replies. “I’m grateful that you’ve given me the opportunity to see her, at the very least.”

“When we heard your story, we knew it would be heinous of us to say no,” Cecily says, offering a sympathetic smile.

“You’re an FBI agent, did we hear that right?” Brain asks.

“Yes sir, I’ve been with the Bureau five years now.”

“You live in DC?”

Scully nods. “Around the corner from the National Mall.”

“That’s exciting!” Cecily pipes up. “How did you find yourself having Emily in San Diego?”

“I actually have no idea, Mrs. Lace,” Scully murmurs. “My family lived here when I was young, but I haven’t been back since. Coincidentally, my brother lives not too far off.”

“Wow,” Cecily gasps. “They weren’t kidding about you being a missing person.”

“No ma’am.” She went from a missing person to missing a person. No wonder she’s spent the past year feeling so empty.

-----------------------------

Mulder and Melissa get only the slightest moment to catch their breath before a child that is unmistakably the progeny of Dana Scully is carried into the lobby. Her hair curls around her ears in a cute mushroom top, her tongue dancing in her mouth like it has a mind of its own. They stare; they know better, but fuck it, if any baby is worth staring at, it’s this one.

“Is that--?” Mulder whispers.

“Yeah,” Missy breathes.

They’ve both seen the pictures, they are well aware that it’s her. They say these things for the awe of it.

“She’s…” Mulder’s eyes are wide. “She’s bigger than I thought she would be. Not fat, I mean. Just...a whole tiny human.”

“She is, isn’t she?” Melissa smiles at her niece, who is now seated on her caretaker’s lap across the hallway. Emily’s big eyes blink at her, containing silent judgements. How like her mother she is.

Missy elbows Mulder. “I bet she orders mushroom pizza and then picks the mushrooms off because apparently ‘the cheese tastes better than on the regular cheese pizza,’” she muses, naming one of her sister’s quirks.

Mulder likes this game. “I bet she vehemently denies the existence of extraterrestrials only to secretly believe that her dashing partner is right,” he offers.

Missy smirks. “I bet she would find this game very stupid if she understood it.”

“I’m all in on that one.” Mulder mimes pushing a pile of poker chips into the center of a table.

Missy laughs, looks toward her seat partner with soft eyes. “She’s gonna be a great mom, isn’t she? Dana, I mean?”

“Oh yeah.” Mulder clasps his hands in his lap. “We should be so lucky to have a little Scully in the world.”

“Mm-hm.” Missy focuses on his face, watching for the slightest move that might give his thoughts away. “And she’ll be able to do it alone, do you think?”

“Well, I’m sure she’ll need some help from Mrs. Scully, and you, and…” he trails off before adding his own name, but Missy’s mind fills it in reflexively. “She’ll need help,” Mulder finishes, “but yeah, she’ll be incredible.”

The details have already been parsed out. As a single mother, Scully is required to list a guardian who would take custody of Emily if something were to happen to her. She listed her mother as the primary one--the social worker told her it’s best if it’s someone who has child-rearing experience--and Missy as the secondary guardian. She would, after all, already live in the child’s household.

Then there was the matter of the job--its extensive time requirements, travelling, and danger level were all of concern to the agency. This came as no surprise to Scully; a single female FBI agent does not make the ideal adoption candidate. And though she hasn’t yet spoken to the Bureau, Mulder has promised her they’ll work something out. It can be like your leave of absence, he assured her. You tackle the paper trail and I’ll focus on following the suspect’s trail. Easy-peasy.

That’s what he says to her, though he’s terrified of losing her as his partner...Of her being reassigned to something simpler or leaving the Bureau entirely. She could teach at Quantico, that schedule would be a hell of a lot easier than running on Mulder time. Agent Scully can pack for hastily-booked flights at midnight then catch them at 7am, but Emily’s mother couldn’t. He will have to reckon with this if all the pieces fall into their graceful place. He’ll have to figure out how to rearrange their partnership for her, or even worse, how to live without her as his partner. Or maybe even at all.

---------------------------

Scully glances at her shoes, then summons the courage to meet Mrs. Lace’s hazel eyes. “I hope you will consider my request. I know it’s not up to you entirely--the court will have the final say--but my abduction experience has left me unable to have a biological child, so learning of Emily was truly a miracle of the highest order.”

Her voice clips as she takes a breath. “I understand that it would be a huge sacrifice on the part of your family, and that you’ve developed a bond with Emily over the past eleven months. I just ask you both to please...think about it.” Tears twinkle in her eyes. She made it, thank god, she made it without breaking down! She’s rehearsed that speech ten times over.

Cecily lays a hand on her husband’s arm. “Of course, Dana. It would be a painful sacrifice to us, you’re correct, but we understand that you’ve flown across the country to be here, and that you’ve brought witnesses to testify to your character, so your commitment is clear. We’ll listen and make as compassionate a decision as possible.”

Scully’s lips creep into a smile. “Thank you. I appreciate that.” She steps back, the weight of imminent sobs settling over her chest.

“Ms. Scully has already undergone most of the requirements needed for adoption,” the lawyer tells Mr. and Mrs. Lace. “Medical clearance, psychiatric clearance, criminal background check, and home study. In the spirit of her unique circumstances, California and the District of Columbia have agreed to cooperate to make the process as smooth and expedient as possible, if you should choose to surrender Emily to her. I don’t mean to sway your decision in any way, just to give you all the available information.”

The couple nods. “Thank you, Tanya,” Cecily answers. “We’d like to speak with the first witness now.”

Scully balks. She expected more questions, a barrage of them, as intense and prying as if she were testifying in front of Congress. And she was ready for that--she was prepared to do whatever they asked of her, to show that there are no lengths she wouldn’t go for Emily. She’s already documented every detail of her life for social services and given over the necessary specimens to prove that no, she’s not a drug user, and yes, her thyroid is hyperactive, but she takes medication for that and her doctor will confirm that it’s under control.

And if they wanted to know more, she’d tell them. She’d tell it all. Her deepest, darkest secret (telling Daniel that yes, he should leave his wife & kids...all for her, to be with her), the most petty thing that haunts her (stolen cigarettes, smoked on the family porch at 1am), what she wants to say most but can’t (I love you)...a part of her was taken to create Emily. She would give the rest away to keep her.

There was a moment, in one of the drab little interrogation rooms at DC social services, where Scully was met with a question that lunged toward her like a time-bomb. Pull the fuse, pull the fuse it taunted her. See what happens. Instead, she played it off. Pretended she didn’t hear its doomed tick. Feigned none the wiser. No, she isn’t aware of any potential medical condition that would inhibit her life expectancy or ability to care for a child, she told the nice woman. Thank god they got the chip out of her neck before it showed up on any x-rays.

She snaps back to reality, watching as the conference door opens, and her sister enters the room.

“Thank you, Dana,” Tanya says, and she assumes that’s the lawyer’s way of telling her to get out, so she does. Outside the room, she settles next to Mulder in a seat that’s still warm.

“How’d it go in there, champ?” he chatters. “You need some water or anything?”

Scully’s not listening. Her eyes are trained on the baby girl across the way with hair too auburn to be brunette that’ll require a smattering of box dye every two weeks to qualify her as a soulless ginger.

Emily’s eyes land on the woman she does not know is her mother, studying this new face with an infant’s usual curiosity. Mulder has realized by now that the little girl is of much more interest to his partner than he is, and he watches as mother and daughter wave to each other.

Scully lets out a laugh so strangled that for a moment Mulder thinks it’s a cry and jumps to comfort her. He relaxes back into his seat once he sees the joy on her face.

“She’s a sweetheart, huh?” Mulder wisecracks as the young girl jams her fingers into her mouth.

Scully beams. “She’s a baby, that’s her way of learning the world!”

“Hey, I’m not knocking it. That’s my personal preference as well,” he says with a lop-sided smile.

“Yeah, well, she’s not licking evidence,” Scully quips.

Mulder shrugs. “A man can’t help his oral fixation. Haven’t you ever heard of Freud…?” he lets it slide off his tongue.

Scully rolls her eyes. His inability to maintain an appropriate manner is nothing if not inspiring.

She gestures toward Emily. “You’re already encouraging bad behavior. Tsk-tsk,” she teases.

“That’s my job as--hey, wait. What’s she gonna call me?” If you get custody, of course passes silently between them.

“I don’t know, Mulder,” Scully says, watching her daughter out of the corner of her eye. “I hadn’t really thought about it.” That’s a lie. She’s sat up during the night trying to decipher Mulder’s relation to Emily. He would certainly be the male authority in her life, but that doesn’t make him a father figure. Right?

Scully adored her father because he was the head of the family, and he embraced the responsibility, always making sure they had what they needed. While her mother was often the one doing the grunt work of caring for them, her father provided for them. His long deployments with the Navy protected them. Scully understood his sacrifice and loved him for it

That’s not how it would go with Emily. If she were so lucky as to get the child, Scully would be the caretaker and the provider. A two-in-one deal with a high price. What would that mean, for Emily? Scully could do it, she believes that. Not that it would be anything less than utterly exhausting, but with a little help from her mother and her sister, she could make do, and they say it takes a village to raise a child anyway, so what’s so bad about that?

Since she’s filling those roles herself, that leaves...well, Mulder could be the fun uncle, that fits him. Bill Jr. isn’t gonna cut it, and neither is Charlie, considering that he’s god knows where. Besides, it’s unlikely that Mulder will get a chance to know a biological niece or nephew. He and Emily could fill missing pieces in each other’s lives.

Scully’s eyes trace the contours of her partner’s face. “Do you have a preference about what she calls you?”

“I was hoping for His Royal Highness Fox Mulder of Martha’s Vineyard--is that too much?”

Scully lets a strand of hair fall over her face. “It might take her awhile to get her tongue around that.”

“Or it’ll speed up her speech acquisition,” Mulder replies.

“Oh, you’re a child-rearing connoisseur now?”

Mulder twiddles his thumbs. “It is my goal to raise the first kid to transcribe canine language into English.”

“Really? I wasn’t aware of that,” Scully tells him, a smile flitting on her lips. It’s this kind of banter that keeps her sane. A few minutes out here with him, and she’s forgotten that what happens in that conference room will dictate the rest of her life.

Across the hallway, Emily giggles at the air, and it fits, doesn’t it? Here she is, already laughing at Mulder’s jokes like the Scully girl she is.

------------------------------

It feels like a prisoner exchange when witness number one in their civil-that-sure-feels-like-a-criminal case joins Scully back in the hallway, and Mulder is called forward “to the stand.” He swears he found a penny in the parking lot this morning & promises to bring back good news. Scully’s pretty sure he made that story up, but she’s no less hopeful that it’ll come true.

Returned from her brief stint in captivity, Missy dives right into a discussion of her niece: “Look at her, Dana, she looks just like you!”

“Well, she does have fifty percent of my DNA,” Scully concedes with an admiring glance at the little girl.

“Have you gone over to see her?”

Scully shakes her head. “I didn’t think that would be proper.”

“Are you kidding me?” Missy retorts. “First of all, Brian and Cecily are very nice people, and I’m not supposed to say this, but I think there’s a chance that Emily will be yours. Secondly, this could be your only opportunity to interact with your daughter and you’re not gonna take it?”

Scully bites her lip. Her sister knows how to craft an argument. “Alright, but you have to back me up.”

“Trust me, I wanna see her just as badly as you.”

Scully steels herself, then approaches the woman in the polo shirt. “Hello.” She does a polite half-wave, which she’s never done before and which makes her feel ridiculous. “I’m the potential adoptee, and I was wondering if I could say hello to this precious little girl.” It all feels completely out of character, like she’s reading lines from a script. But this is it, this is her reality.

The woman’s face offers little in the way of recognition. “You can have a supervised visit with her, yes,” she recites, as rehearsed as Scully.

“Great.” Scully claps her hands together. “May I take her to my sister right over there?”

The woman nods. Scully lays her hands on Emily’s waist and lifts the girl gently from the woman’s lap. She is heavier than Scully imagined, or maybe just heavier than she hoped. Every ounce is a reminder of unseen existence and unwitnessed growth.

Emily does not balk, just stares up at her mother with those probing eyes.

“Hi baby girl,” Scully coos to her daughter as she settles her against her hip. “Can you say hi? Have you got that one yet?”

The girl blinks. “Ma-ma.”

Scully crooks her neck, tries to reign in her racing imagination. All babies do this at this age, don’t they? Calling every woman mama and every man dada. Emily’s no exception. And yet...for that to be the first word her daughter has ever said to her. God winked at her, and she’s glad to have caught it.

The pair makes it to Missy, who blows a kiss in Emily’s direction. “Hey there little one.” She extends her index finger, and the girl latches onto it.

Scully cradles her baby’s head, Emily’s fine hair soft beneath her fingers.

“She’s even-keeled for a baby,” Missy remarks, wiggling her finger and watching Emily crack a smile.

“Yes,” Scully gurgles out of the sheer joy. She settles into her chair with Emily in her lap. “Do you know what she said to me?”

Missy looks up. “What?”

“Mama.” Scully dons a triumphant grin. “She called me mama.”

“Oh, no way!” Missy squeals. It’s a bit too loud and sudden, making Emily jump. The ladies laugh, and Scully pulls her daughter in closer, kissing the crown of her head. She still has that baby smell; the freshness of new life and all its purity. Scully sighs. It must have been even stronger when she was born.

Scully closes her eyes. If she had one chance to pause life somewhere along the way, to linger in a perfect moment longer, she would do it right now and she would never regret it.

“My baby…” she breathes into Emily’s ear, hoping it will stick. That one day she’ll remember and find her way home, should she need to.

A warm tear slides down Scully’s cheek and lands in Emily’s lap, a dark drop on the girl’s corduroy pants. “Mama loves you, Emily.” She tightens her embrace. “That’s me,” she sniffs. “I love you, Emily.”

Observing this, Missy feels that she is an interloper and slips off to the bathroom, leaving mother and baby to have their moment.

Scully strokes the girl’s tiny palm with her thumb. She has missed so much already, and my god, she could miss so much more. What is love, if not sacrifice? Hadn’t that been the takeaway from each week of Sunday school?

The conference door opens, and Scully finds herself irritated that life has failed to pause. Oh, what wouldn’t she do to take the reins from God, even for a moment? She looks up at Mulder, doe-eyed as he processes the optical illusion that is Emily and her mother. Said mother sees the tenderness on Mulder’s face as he comes to terms with this sight, and something in both of them breaks, and something else opens.

Mulder approaches quietly, apprehensive about ruining the moment. Little does he know, he’s not ruining it; he’s completing it.

“Hey,” Scully swoons. “How was it?”

He’s too earnest to crack a joke right now. “Less nerve-wracking than I expected,” he murmurs. “Brain and Cecily are good people.”

Scully can’t help but wonder if they’re hammering this point about Brian and Cecily to make her feel better when the gavel falls in their direction. Mulder directs her train of thought away from this when he kneels in front of Emily. His eyes are as soupy as ever, Scully notices; she could sink right into them.

“May I?”

Scully chuckles under her breath, like a stranger has just asked if they could pet her dog. “Of course, Mulder. Say hi.”

Over the past weeks, Mulder spent considerable time anticipating this initial interaction. First impressions are important, after all, and there is no one he has wanted to impress more than this sweet girl. Ultimately, he decided that he didn’t care what their meeting was, as long as it would be. And now that he’s here, knelt in front of his two favorite girls, he’s ready to make a promise.

He envelops Emily’s closed fist with one hand and uses the other to caress Scully’s palm. “I want you to know,” he begins, shifting his gaze between mother and daughter, “that I’ll always be here for you.”

He looks to Scully, realizing that Emily is unable to comprehend what he is saying. “Regardless of Brian and Cecily’s choice, I am prepared to make every sacrifice so that you two can be a family. The family you deserve to be. I know what it’s like to not have that, and christ, Scully, I’m not letting you go through that. You’ve had enough for one lifetime.”

Scully’s face puckers. She is moved on a dimension that transcends the spiritual, if such a thing is possible. She closes her eyes, lets the tears slip out, then softens her focus on him.

“Thank you, Mulder...Fox,” she effuses, needing to heighten the intimacy. “Emily and I…” she kisses her daughter’s temple again. “Well, you know. You already know.” Her voice is somber almost, reminiscent of a wedding vow’s binding utterance.

Mulder smiles up at them, pats Scully’s hand. “I know. Me too.”

There are many phrases that could fill her blank, but he chose his favorite, and he’s got an inkling that he’s right.

Scully sucks in a breath, and it’s the first one that has ever counted. Earth is new to her, again.

The door opens a second time, and the lawyer approaches with Brian and Cecily behind her.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lace would like to take some time to think about their decision,” Tanya announces. “You will understand, they hope…?”

Scully nods, swallowing back a lump in her throat. She would like to break into a tantrum, throwing chairs and screeching every obscenity she knows. Begging please, please, don’t let me miss another heartbeat. Let me live in this Heaven I’ve found. But no answer is better than an immediate rejection, so she screws her lips into a smile and gives away two more handshakes.

“Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Lace. I’m grateful for this opportunity.”

#you guysss i have been excited for this chapter since day one!!!#it only gets more emotional from here ahhhh #hope you enjoy <3 #i am hugging anyone who reads this #only the light fic #missy and scully fic #the x-files #txf fic #txf #fox mulder #dana scully #melissa scully #mine

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hope-to-hell · 3 years

Text

A Possession, part three: Dissolution. August Walker x Henry Cavill. Warnings for the entire fic: possession, dubcon (possession-related; our hero never asked for this), mentions of past torture (prior to story events), some degradation, praise kink. Roughly 6k words altogether. Section heading titles largely pulled from whatever music I was listening to at the time. This is it: the last chapter. A little smut, a little angst. Nothing lasts. Part one is here, part two is here

—-

Shake, shake

—-

Somehow, impossibly, you make it more than a week without touching him. And somehow, you figure out a way to exist in the same space. Thank god for quarantine, at least, so you have an excuse to stay at home, to keep this weirdness out of the public eye.

Walker turns out to be a surprisingly competent cook, but hesitates when you ask what his favorite foods are. And despite everything, it’s so hard to shake the feeling of being a host, of providing for your guest, however uninvited he might be. So you make a grocery order and start in on the best dishes you know: pies and roast lamb, hamburgers, risotto, whatever comes to mind when you think of meals you’ve enjoyed. He eats them all dutifully, but it’s not until you hit upon rainbow trout in parchment that you get your first real sigh of pleasure. Huh. You would’ve pegged him for a red meat kind of guy.

And everything you do, everywhere you go, he’s there, watching. Considering. Ten feet away.

It’s like this. One evening he braces one hand against the wall of the shower and drops his head in a pose you know so well. You don’t mean to look, but Christ, he must want you to. Must, because he draws open the shower door to stare straight at you from under his sopping curls as he fists his cock. Must, because he kicks his legs apart to press hard behind his balls with his other hand. Must, because he hisses your name like a curse when he paints the bathroom floor white. And the whole time his eyes are locked on yours.

“I wouldn’t mind,” he says again, and somehow you find the voice to answer.

“Wouldn’t mind isn’t good enough. You’ve got to tell me you want it.” And you have the satisfaction of seeing August Walker poleaxed, however briefly. He hmms a little, thoughtfully, and brushes past you into the bedroom, water droplets shining on the curve of his ass. His gait hitches as he approaches the limits of separation, and you hurry to follow, clean enough to get by for another night but feeling filthier than you have any right to. And when you slide carefully under the covers, he inhales deeply, like he’s scenting you. He smiles, victorious, in the half-dark as you lie there with both hands fisted in the sheets just like you have for days, but now you know exactly what he looks like when he comes.

Fuck.

He escalates, because of course he does. He waits until you’re soaking up sunshine in the kitchen window, then presses in close to cage your body against the counter. He brushes scarred fingertips down the side of your face, and it’s like your mind has been ripped straight out of your body. You feel him touching you, and fuck. You feel him touching you. It’s the strangest sensation, touches doubling and echoing. Licking into his mouth and tasting your own tongue, pulling him in by the hips and feeling matching bruises rise on your own body. And from the way he surges against you, he must feel it too.

Remember. Your nerves are my nerves. You want me to say it? Here it is, directly from my mind to yours. I. Want. This.

This is the part of the movie where it fades to black, where the last thing the audience sees is the lovers, entwined, maybe a flash of light on a naked thigh. This is the part where the music swells, climaxes, spills into silence.

This is the part where the next scene is either a soft, affectionate embrace or a hasty exit from the bed, a quick redressing and an angsty downtempo tune, maybe a walk in the rain.

This is the part where he starts to rise, where you wrap your hand around his wrist and whisper, “stay.”

—-

Untethering

—-

It isn’t clear, at first, what’s happening. A little extra hair in the drain is easy to explain away; you’ve got two people sharing the shower now. Same with the bruising that appears on his arms, his back, his ribs, because for all he grips at you, you give back in equal measure. And if he takes a little longer in the shower than before, if he seems to spend an awfully long time just leaning back and letting the spray hit him, well, maybe he’s finally relaxing a little.

It’s days and days of rutting against one another, of watching in the mirror as he takes you apart. And he loves it, that grinding ache in his fingers as he presses them inside you. He loves it, and you know because you feel it; you feel an answering ache in your own hands and a twinge in your cock that’s almost but not quite unlike anything you’ve felt before (it’s close, so close, to the first time, when he was still just a voice in your head).

Somehow, it’s still a surprise when he shakes you awake and hisses, “Get inside me. Now.” And when you reach for him, a little hesitant because you’ve had each other in nearly every way except this, you taste something strange and metallic, chilly on your tongue. He’s anxious, desperate. The metallic taste increases in its intensity as he surges at your mouth, licking into you with savage competency.

“Are you—“ are you sure is what you want to say, but he’s pressing lube at you with one hand while trying to tear your sleep pants off with the other, and it feels like he’s got half a dozen hands roaming all around you, and it’s unfair because he knows exactly what this does to you, exactly how you respond to every touch. It’s overwhelming, and soon you lose that peculiar metallic taste in the static that sparks hot down your spine and right into where you swell and pulse with the sudden desperate need of him.

And you want to watch his face, watch those eyes shine in the darkness, want to rub your face against his as you open him but he’s turning away, over, hitching a knee under himself and reaching blindly back for your hand. “Now,” he grits out in a voice like the bottom of a dry well. And it’s too soon, has to be, before he’s demanding two and then three fingers and then “godfuckingdammit, that’s enough. Get in me already.”

And when you press into him it’s, fuck, for a moment your vision whites out and you are nowhere, hurling aimlessly through a great expense of nothing, and it’s simultaneously the most terrifying and exhilarating thing you’ve ever felt. Is it like this for him? Can’t be, he’s always so controlled, so precise. It’s impossible even to think like this,

I’ll think for you. Don’t worry, just act.

so you don’t think, and when you return to your body it’s to find yourself draped over him, clinging, rolling your hips like a ship in a storm. Desperation doubles back and builds on itself until you feel as though if you don’t come right now you will die. And you don’t want to die, but you also aren’t sure what the rules are, so you try to withdraw and that’s when his hand closes around your wrist, hard and tight and don’t you fucking dare.

And that’s it, that’s all it takes, his touch and his blessing, before you’re spilling inside him in long shivering pulses. And even then, even when he clenches so tight around you it’s like he’s pulling all the blood from your body, he doesn’t let you go.

You stay with him, in him, until you soften and slip free, and when you wrap an arm over his belly he lets you. He feels warm, as relaxed as he ever gets, and most of all relieved. “Better?” you ask, and in return he twists his neck, rolling his shoulders back till he can reach to kiss you. It’s soft, but almost mathematical in its precision. And he still tastes like metal.

—-

Waves and light (how bold I was)

—-

He’s stopped sleeping. In the night you reach for him and find the bed cold. He’s there, of course, ten feet away, staring out the window. He’s all hard muscle, luminous in the moonlight, a demigod or an avenging angel. He turns and tilts his head, and you can see his breath hang frosty in the air. You wake in the morning to find him still standing at the window, and for a split second you could swear the light passes right through him.

He’s stopped sleeping, and he hovers a little closer than he used to but he doesn’t touch, not until you sigh and tell him to “get over here. C’mon. I don’t have to touch you to know you’re worried about something.”

So you enclose him in the circle of your arms, bump your face against his scars to feel that little spark, that staticky sensation from nerve damage, to feed him the pleasure that touching him brings. You breathe softly, saying nothing, until he relaxes by degrees.

He smells like blood, but then again he always does. Chaos and death are embedded into every fiber of his being. If he were to shed his skin, to slither pink and naked into the world as a man reborn, maybe it would be different. But he is who he is, and you are who you are, although tangled like this it’s sometimes hard to tell the difference. One of you sparks a slow-burning arousal, the kind that takes hours to come to a head if it does at all, a slow soft yearning. You sigh into it, nuzzling at him a bit, feeling your stubble scrape across his cheek. Like this, you can almost forget who and what he is.

And he hears you, huffs a little. What I am doesn’t matter anymore, not outside these walls. And I—

He sucks in a breath, harsh and wet, sucking air up from your lungs. It burns, scraping bloody up your throat.

Metal again. And pressed against him like this, you can catch the echoes of fear, of a strange sort of dissolution. Light through greasepaper, snow drifting through broken windows. Shoulders straining against his jacket. Blood and bone and a lonely valley. Trying to breathe but the shards of his ribs dig into his lungs—

Oh.

Oh fuck. You realize, then, that he’s dying, pulled back to that moment. None of this mattered in the end; all it did was delay the inexorable march of fate. You can almost see it happening, scars brightening and blooming into wounds, bruises rising where he hit the ground. And you hear it too, the slow scrape of metal across the floor, the heavy tread of boots and a soft susurration of fabric. She’s here.

And it’s strange: you’d expect her to revel in this, finally capturing this soul that’s eluded her for so long. But it’s almost like she’s trying to be comforting. Things fall apart. Entropy comes for us all, in the end. And you got more time than most.

Listen, I don’t want to you have to go. His fingers tremble against yours, coppery fear blooming heavy on your tongue.

I’m not unkind, you know. It’s just the way it has to be. Think of this as a gift. Better than falling apart piece by piece, isn’t that right?

Is it? Maybe, with more time, you could figure something out, maybe if he took just a little more, a few of your years, you don’t need that much time, you could spare him that—

No. Hey. We. We had a good run, didn’t we? Just, remember me. Please.

He’s terrified, pulse rabbiting in his chest, fingers clutching yours as the scythe descends. And you feel it when the connection breaks, tension dissolving as he fades, the cruel hard core of him pulling free from your chest. Your hand is your hand again, grasping at nothing. He manages a smile, almost, shimmering through a film of tears. Hey, listen. I—

And then he’s gone, nothing more than motes of dust in the air, as you blink hard, trying to pull him back into your sight.

—-

Epilogue (the last thing inside the box was)

—-

You see him sometimes, a flash of cold eyes in the crowd or a particular way someone has of standing. You listen to the wind, and watch frost crawling up the windows in winter, and you miss him.

You return to the world, you smile and wave and show your teeth. It’s not a real smile, not quite, but you’ll get there. You always have.

You bake trout in parchment, and American biscuits, and you eat alone.

On a wintery afternoon you climb aboard a packed train, mercifully anonymous in the crowd. Your bare hand brushes against a stranger’s. You feel a spark, pins and needles, like a waking limb.

#henry cavill #august walker #my fic #mission impossible #mission impossible fallout #Henry cavill fic #august walker fic #Henry cavill smut #august walker smut #august walker x henry cavill smut #august walker x henry cavill #mission: impossible fallout fic #mission: impossible smut

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dangermousie · 3 years

Note

Heelo mousie! Love your blog! Do you mind recommending some of your favourite Chinese BL novels or shows?

I've seen the untamed and read it. I'm currently reading heaven's official blessing and I saw the donghua. Anything other than these two?

Awww, thank you!

Novels: I am gonna be lazy and literally copy/paste the entire danmei section of my top 10 web novels post (except MXTX’s stuff since you are already reading it.) Let me know if you need help finding any of these.

Lord Seventh - I am only partway through this so far, but it’s already on the list because it’s smart and somehow intense AND laid-back (not sure how this works, but it does) and is honestly just a really really solid and smart period novel, with the OTP a cherry on top of a narrative sundae. Plus, I love the concept of MC deciding he is not going for his supposedly fated love - he’s tried for six lifetimes, always with disaster, and he’s just plain done and tired. When he opens his life in his seventh reincarnation and sees the person he would have given up the world for, he genuinely feels nothing at all. (Spoiler - his OTP is actually a barbarian shaman this time around, thank you Lord!)

Golden Stage - my perfect comfort novel. Probably the least angsty of any danmei novel on this list (which still means plenty angsty :P) It also has a dedicated, smart OTP that is an OTP for the bulk of the book - I think you will notice that in most of the novels in this list, I go for “OTP against the world” trope - I can’t stand love triangles and the same. Anyway, Fu Shen, is a famous general whose fame is making the emperor antsy. When he gets injured and can’t walk any more, the emperor gladly recalls him and marries him off to his most faithful court lackey, the head of sort of secret police, Yan Xiaohan. The emperor intends it both as a check on the general and a general spite move since the two men always clash in court whenever they meet. But not all is at is seems. They used to be friends a long time ago, had a falling out, and one of the loveliest parts of the novel is them finding their way to each other, but there is also finding the middle path between their two very different philosophies and ways of being, not to mention solving a conspiracy or dozen, and putting a new dynasty on the throne, among other things. It always makes me think, a little, of “if Mei Changsu x Jingyan were canon.”

Sha Po Lang - if you like a lot of fantasy politics and world-building and steampunk with your novels, this one is for you. This one is VERY plot-heavy with smart, dedicated characters and a deconstruction of many traditional virtues - our protagonist Chang Geng, a long-lost son of the Emperor, is someone who wants to modernize the country but also take down the current emperor his brother for progress’ sake and the person he’s in love with is the general who saved him when he was a kid who is nominally his foster father. Anyway, the romance is mainly a garnish in this one, not even a big side dish, but the relationship between two smart, dedicated, deadly individuals with very different concepts of duty is fascinating long before it turns romantic. And if you like angst, while overall it’s not as angsty as e.g., Meatbun stuff, Chang Geng’s childhood is the stuff of nightmares and probably freaks me out more than anything else in any novel on this list, 2ha included.

To Rule In a Turbulent World (LSWW) - gay Minglan. No seriously. This is how I think of it. it’s a slice of life period novel with fascinating characters and setting that happens to have a gay OTP, not a romance in a period setting per se and I always prefer stories where the romance is not the only thing that is going on. It’s meticulously written and smart and deals with character development and somehow makes daily minutia fascinating. Our protagonist, You Miao, is the son of a fabulously wealthy merchant, sent to the capital to make connections and study. As the story starts, he sees his friend’s servants beating someone to death, feels bad, and buys him because, as we discover gradually and organically, You Miao may be wealthy and occasionally immature but he is a genuinely good person. The person he buys is a barbarian from beyond the wall, named Li Zhifeng. It’s touch and go if the man will survive but eventually he does and You Miao, who by then has to return home, gives him his papers and lets him go. However, LZF decides to stick with You Miao instead, both out of sense of debt for YM saving his life and because he genuinely likes him (and yet, there is no instalove on either of their parts, their bodies have fun a lot quicker than their souls.) Anyway, the two take up farming, get involved in the imperial exams and it’s the life of prosperity and peace, until an invasion happens and things go rapidly to hell. This is so nuanced, so smart (smart people in this actually ARE!) and has secondary characters who are just as complex as the mains (for example, I ended up adoring YM’s friend, the one who starts the plot by almost beating LZF to death for no reason) because the novel never forgets that few people are all villain. There is a lovely character arc or two - watching YM grow up and LZF thaw - there is the fact that You Miao is a unicorn in web novels being laid back and calm. This whole thing is a masterpiece.

Stains of Filth (Yuwu) - want the emotional hit of 2ha but want to read something half its length? Well, the author of 2ha is here to eviscerate you in a shorter amount of time. This has the beautiful world-building, plot twists that all make sense and, at the center of it all, an intense and all-consuming and gloriously painful relationship between two generals - one aristocratic loner Mo Xi, and the other gregarious former slave general Gu Mang. Once they were best friends and lovers, but when the novel starts, Gu Mang has long turned traitor and went to serve the enemy kingdom and has now been returned and Mo Xi, who now commands the remnants of his slave army, has to cope with the fact that he has never been able to get over the man who stabbed him through the heart. Literally. This novel has a gorgeously looping structure, with flashbacks interwoven into present storyline. There is so much love and longing and sacrifice in this that I am tearing up a bit just thinking of it. If you don’t love Mo Xi and Gu Mang, separately and together, by the end of it, you have no soul.

The Dumb Husky and His White Cat Shizun (2ha/erha) - if you’ve been following my tumblr for more than a hot second, you know my obsession with this novel. Honestly, even if I were to make a list of my top 10 novels of any kind, not just webnovels, this would be on the list. It has everything I want - a complicated, intricate plot with an insane amount of plot twists, all of which are both unexpected and make total sense, a rich and large cast of characters, a truly epic OTP that makes me bawl, emotional intensity that sometimes maxes even me out and so much character nuance and growth. Also, Moran is my favorite web novel character ever, hands down.

Anyway, the plot (or at least the way it first appears) is that the evil emperor of the cultivation world, Taxian Jun, kills himself at 32 and wakes up in the body of his 16 year old self, birth name Moran. Excited to get a redo, Moran wants to save his supposed true love Shimei, whose death the last go-around pushed him towards evil. He also wants to avoid entanglement with Chu Wanning, his shizun and sworn enemy in past life. And that’s all you are best off knowing, trust me. The only hint I am going to give is oooh boy the mother of all unreliable narrators has arrived!

The novel starts light and funny on boil the frog principle - if someone told me I would be full bawling multiple times with this novel, I’d have thought they were insane, but i swear my eyes hurt by the end of it. I started out being amused and/or disliking the mains and by the end I would die for either of them.

The Wife is First - OK, this one did not make my top 10 web novels but it’s a sweet, fun gay cottagecore fest. Our ML, a royal prince, and his spouse, a smart if delicate aristocrat, keep house, eat noodles, play with their pet tiger, make out and spoil each other rotten, while occasionally fighting battles and outwitting their court enemies. It’s so very mellow. That couple redefines low drama - they are both nice and functional and use their brains. It’s as if a nice jock and a nice nerd got together and then proceeded to be wholesome all over the place.

I mean, the set up could be dramatic - our ML the prince, lost his fight for the throne and is about to be killed. The only person who stayed loyal to him is his arranged husband the aristocrat guy who ML never treated nicely since he resented marrying him (marrying a man in that world is done to remove someone from the ability to inherit the throne.) And yet the husband stood by him not out of love but beliefs in loyalty blah blah. Anyway, he transmigrates back into the past right after their wedding night and is all “I got a second chance OMG! I don’t want the throne what is even the point? I want to live a good long life and treat the only person who stood by me really well!” And he proceeds to do so to the shock of the aristocrat who had a very unpleasant wedding night and generally can tell the man he just married would rather eat nails than be married to him. But soon enough (no seriously, it’s not many chapters at all) he believes the prince is sincere blah blah and then they get together and they pretty much become cottagecore goals.

In terms of dramas, I only do period dramas (or novels) so I am not the person to be able to recommend any modern BLs. There is a flood of upcoming (hopefully) period BL dramas but it’s relatively thin on the ground now. The two I will recommend is Word of Honor (which is AMAZING) and Winter Begonia (which I just started watching but which owns me already.) I have a tag for both - the one for the former is huge and I cannot recommend either strongly enough. I’ve heard good things about The Sleuth of the Ming Dynasty, but I am not big on mysteries so haven’t watched it for myself.

In terms of the upcoming BLs, the ones I am most looking forward to are Immortality and Winner Is King, but The Society of the Four Leaves also looks promising.

#asks #cdrama #cnovel

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headcanonsandmore · 3 years

Text

“Fell In Love With A Girl”, Chapter Three

Summary: As Ginny and Luna touch down in Brazil, they discover the thrills of Rio itself, but also the dangers awaiting them as the investigation deepens.

Tagging: @cheeseanonioncrisps @lytefoot

~~~~~~~~~~~

Read on FFN. Read on AO3.

~~~~~~~~~~~

‘Ladies and gentlemen, we will be touching down in approximately half an hour. The local time is…’

Ginny dimly opened her eyes. Luna was still dozing softly on her shoulder, and the blonde woman’s weight was gentle and warm.

Yawning, Ginny blinked repeatedly, and wiped the sleepy-dust out of her eyes. She took care not to disturb Luna, but her girlfriend began to rouse herself nonetheless.

‘Morning,’ Ginny whispered, smiling. ‘Slept okay, Lu?’

Luna nodded, smiling shyly back.

‘You have a very comfortable shoulder.’

Ginny chuckled, and intertwined their fingers together.

‘Thanks,’ she said, pressing a quick kiss to Luna’s forehead. The blonde woman’s cheeks dimpled and flushed. ‘You ready for Rio, then?’

‘With you with me,’ Luna replied. ‘I could take on the whole world, Ginny.’

Tonks insisted that they all get to the hotel as soon as possible. MI6 agents had already scoured the place for bugs, and had agreed that the place was safe. However, Remus and Tonks did a precautionary sweep around the rooms before they let Ginny and Luna inside.

After unpacking, Luna and Ginny were escorted by Tonks to a room in the hotel cellar that had been made the base for operations.

Two security guards stood inside, and only let them pass after Tonks nodded at them.

The room was dominated by a large round table, upon which was the paraphernalia of paper, telephones, mobile phones, and even a few computer monitors that Ginny presumed was common for such a mission.

‘So… any developments?’ Tonks asked.

A man stepped forward. He was short, with a scar running over one of his eyes. Unlike the other people around him, he was wearing a bullet-proof vest and seemed unconcerned about his appearance as long as it was protected. A strange tattoo was on his right hand, almost like an eye with a long forked tail.

‘Ha!’ His voice was gruff. ‘We haven’t been just sat around waiting for you lot to turn up. The local indigenous groups have been in contact with us; they’ve been reporting strange activities across the entire Amazon delta for several months, but no-one took them seriously until these burglaries started happening. Typical upper-crust attitude.’

‘Thank you, Sam,’ Remus said, with a long-suffering tone. ‘Have we any idea where the activities are originating from?’

The short man nodded, and slammed his finger down on a point on the map spread across a section of table. It was deep in the rainforest, and seemed only accessible by dirt tracks.

‘A testing facility?’

‘Probably,’ Tonks said. ‘It would certainly explain why all those plants and research were being taken.’

‘Speaking of the plants,’ Remus said, turning to Luna. ‘Ms Lovegood, you said that the Amazonian Octarine-Flame was the species of plant you were being asked about, just before the break-in?’

Luna nodded.

‘Yes,’ she said, taking a step towards the table. ‘I thought it was very strange, since the plant isn’t normally kept domestically in the UK.’

‘Now, that’s a name that keeps cropping up,’ the agent called Sam grunted. ‘The locals we’ve been talking to have mentioned it about three dozen times.’

He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a cigar. He put it in his mouth and was about to light it when Remus gave him a look. From where Ginny was stood, it was clearly a look Remus had gotten used to showing.

‘Sam, please do that outside. You know the fire hazard.’

Sam rolled his eyes, and made for the door.

‘Ginny, Luna; you two should head back upstairs,’ Remus said. ‘We’ll let you know if anything else crops up; you both need some rest before you can think properly.’

‘I’ll take them up,’ Sam muttered. ‘I need to head up that way anyway.’

Ginny shot a look at Tonks, who nodded in approval. Apparently, Sam was trustworthy.

Luna slipped her fingers around Ginny’s, and the two women followed the older policeman out of the room.

‘Er… nice tattoo,’ Ginny offered, pointing at the man’s hand as he struck a match to light his cigar.

Sam smiled. The effect wasn’t much better than when he was frowning, but it was nice to know that even a grizzled man like him could smile.

‘Not a tattoo, but thanks, kid,’ he said, breathing out a large amount of foul-smelling smoke. ‘Got it on the job.’

‘Oh.’

‘These things happen in my line of work,’ he replied, conversationally as they headed up the stairs. ‘Truth be told, I needed to get out of that room.’

‘It is a bit dank, isn’t it.’

‘I’m used to dank, but yeah. Also, it’s almost six and I need to give the family a call. I’ll just see you to your room.’

He did a quick sweep of the room, and then closed the door behind them. Ginny could hear him punching numbers into a phone.

‘Hello Sybil.’ Sam’s voice drifted through the door, sounding far softer than it had done previously. ‘How is everyone back home? Good. Yes, it’s that time… can you put young Sam on?...’

Ginny and Luna had passed out from jetlag more-or-less instantaneously after their heads hit the pillow. Just before she completely lost consciousness, though, Ginny was vaguely aware of… a song about cows? Maybe it was just the jet-lag playing tricks on her. Weird.

When she eventually woke up about… how many hours later? It was the next morning, anyway.

After rousing Luna, the two (plus Tonks) grabbed a quick breakfast in the hotel restaurant, before heading to the cellar planning room.

The planning was less fun than Ginny had been expecting. James Bond certainly didn’t need to deal with stuff this dreary, she was certain. Eventually, after struggling through several hours of it, Ginny had to stifle a yawn.

‘Er, sorry,’ Tonks said, shooting her a sympathetic look. ‘I know this is a bit stuffy.’

‘No, it’s fuu-fuuu-fiiiine,’ Ginny replied, trying to disguise another yawn behind her hand. ‘I’m just…’

Luna interlaced their fingers together.

‘You don’t need me for a while, so how about me and Ginny go back to our room?’

Remus nodded.

‘I’ll escort you both back upstairs,’ Tonks said. ‘Sam, let us know if anything happens.’

Sam nodded, the scar on his hand seeming to glow in the half-light. But Ginny blinked, and it was just a normal scar again. Strange.

Still holding Ginny’s hand, Luna pulled her girlfriend out of the room. Tonks followed, at a distance.

‘You’re too much of a trooper,’ Luna said, smiling. ‘Ginny, just tell me if you’re getting bored.’

‘Didn’t want to be rude,’ Ginny mumbled. ‘It’s important stuff.’

‘So is you not feeling bored out of your mind,’ replied Luna. ‘How about we get some fresh air?’

Luna pulled Ginny out of the front lobby, and onto the streets. Ginny shot a nervous look back at Tonks; surely this was a security issue?

But Tonks instead smiled and gave a small, almost imperceptible, wink. Taking strength from this, Ginny looked back at Luna.

‘Come on, we’re in Rio!’ Luna said, squeezing her girlfriends hand. The blonde woman was giggling, happily, as the two of them set off.

The streets around them were vibrant and full of people. Stalls bustled with all manner of sounds and smells. People were laughing, yelling, and chatting to each-other all around them. There was the sound of traffic nearby, as Luna had led them down what seemed to be a pedestrianised street. Or, at least, a street where there were too many people to let cars and motorbikes through. Looking around, Ginny couldn’t see Tonks anyway, but there were so many nationalities and ethnicities present that no-one took much notice of the two women. The phrase “hiding in plain sight” was apt. She guessed they would be okay like this, at least for a little while.

‘Drink?’ Luna asked, as they approached a cafe. ‘My treat?’

The two of them ordered two coffees and sat down at a table. From what Ginny could gather, the radio was playing a Brazilian band called Fresno.

Luna lounged back in her seat, and Ginny couldn’t help her heart beating faster as she looked at the blonde. Man, her girlfriend was so lovely. It still blew Ginny’s mind that, of all people, Luna had wanted to be with a plain redhead from the country like her.

‘Ginny, you’re making me blush,’ Luna giggled, her cheeks flushing.

‘Can’t help it,’ Ginny said, stroking her hand. ‘You’re really cute. Your girlfriend must be really lucky.’

Luna nodded.

‘As must be yours.’

It was Ginny’s turn to blush.

‘I… I’m really glad you’re here, Ginny,’ Luna said, intertwining their fingers together. ‘This has been really wonderful.’

Ginny felt her heart ache with love for the blonde.

‘You two didn’t half give us the run-around.’

Ginny felt her stomach squirm with guilt. Turning, she saw that Tonks had sat down on a table nearby. Out of the corner of her eye, she could also see Remus stood a few metres further away, somehow managing to blend into the crowd despite himself.

‘Er… sorry, Tonks,’ Ginny said. ‘Honestly, it was my fault, I shouldn’t have gotten so bored earlier…’

‘As long as you’re both safe,’ Tonks replied. ‘Besides, you’re young and in love. I… I guess I can understand that.’

Tonks’s eyes drifted over to wear Remus was stood. His mousy brown hair was reflecting the sunlight.

Sounds about right, Ginny thought.

The three of them left the café. They were about to return to the hotel, when Ginny heard a very familiar noise.

Turning, she saw that a basketball had rolled over the pavement towards her. She stopped it with her foot, and picked it up.

A group of young Brazilian children and teenagers were stood a few feet away, a court behind them.

Basketball!

‘Oh, I know that look.’

Ginny turned. Luna was smiling at her, a very knowing look in her large grey eyes.

‘Sorry, I know we can’t-’

‘Ginny Weasley, since when do you avoid stuff you want to do?’

Ginny stared at her.

‘Come on,’ Luna said, encouragingly. ‘Tonks, she can; right?’

‘I… oh, alright,’ Tonks said, sounding a little exasperated. ‘But try not to stand out, okay?’

Ginny nodded, and walked over to the court, bouncing the ball on the ground as she did.

The kids stared at her, raising their eyebrows. Ginny imagined that seeing some random British tourist using the ball like a pro was a bit perplexing. Especially a tourist who had bright red hair and was barely five and a half feet tall.

Ginny grinned, and performed one of her little tricks, sending the ball up round her shoulders and back down on the ground again, before passing it between her hands.

The kids giggled, now smiling.

Darting forward, Ginny dodged several of them, and headed towards the hoop at one end of the court. Onlookers were starting to grin and clap. The kids were laughing as they tried to keep up with her.

Ginny looked over to wear Luna was stood. She winked at the blonde.

Ginny then jumped, latching onto the hoop and dropping the ball through it in a slam dunk. The crowd cheered.

As Ginny landed, the teenagers surrounded her, cheering and slapping her companionably on the back. She couldn’t understand what most of them were saying, but a couple of older kids exclaimed ‘bravo!’.

After the group had disbursed, Ginny returned to where Luna was stood with Tonks.

‘What was that about “not standing out”?’

‘Er…’

‘Don’t worry, it was good to see you having fun,’ Luna said. ‘Not to mention looking very attractive while you do it.’

Ginny blushed. She smiled around at the kids.

But something caught her eye. Or.. someone.

A figure was stood in a small alleyway between two buildings. They were dressed in black, with large sunglasses obscuring most of their face.

‘Tonks, do you…’

But the figure had disappeared before Ginny could point them out.

They returned to the hotel. Tonks took up her usual spot outside Ginny and Luna’s room, and the blonde florist closed the door, turning to face her girlfriend.

‘Well, that was… fun.’ Ginny said, stood by the bed.

‘Oh, definitely,’ Luna said, crossing the room and putting her arms around Ginny’s waist. ‘Have I mentioned you look great when you’re all sweaty from basketball?’

‘Y-you may have mentioned it once or twice…’ Ginny breathed, as Luna began to place kisses on her neck. ‘But my memory isn’t the best…’

‘Well, maybe I should remind you, in that case…’

Luna placed a kiss against Ginny’s lips, and the two of them fell backwards onto the bed.

Ginny smiled against Luna’s lips. It was a good afternoon.

‘Your hair is so pretty.’

Ginny giggled, as Luna played with a strand of her hair.

‘It’s just red hair, Lu.’

‘Correction; it’s your red hair. Therefore, it’s very pretty.’

‘Oh, stop it,’ Ginny giggled, sitting up and pulling her t-shirt over her head. ‘You’re got a bit of a crush.’

‘You say that like I’m the only one.’

Ginny felt herself blush, and smiled to herself as she did up the belt on her shorts.

‘I’m just gonna talk to Tonks about something; be back in a mo.’

‘Okay, but hurry back,’ Luna said, putting her own t-shirt and shorts on. ‘We need to go downstairs and talk to Remus about any updates they’re received.’

‘Course,’ Ginny replied, pressing a quick kiss to Luna’s forehead. The blonde smiled.

Ginny closed the door behind her, and walked over to Tonks, who was stood a couple of feet away.

‘Are you absolutely sure that we weren’t followed?’ Ginny asked, after Tonks had finished talking into her ear-piece. ‘I could have sworn I saw someone looking at us in the café.’

Tonks frowned.

‘I don’t think so, but it’s always good to be cautious. Get Luna and we’ll head downstairs to-’

CRASH!

Ginny’s blood suddenly turned to ice, as she turned round. The door of the room she had just vacated had shaken on its hinges.

There was a cry of alarm from inside. It sounded like-

‘Luna!’ Ginny screamed, barging through the door. Tonks was a step behind, yelling into her own earpiece.

The room was a mess. The window had been smashed, and the chest of drawers had been knocked over.

Luna was gone.

Ginny stumbled forward, through the debris.

As she reached the bed, she saw that a piece of paper had been left on the pillow. It was written in English.

If you want the Lovegood woman alive, leave South America immediately, and stop the investigation into the rare plant thefts. Stay out of our business. This is your only warning.

There was a symbol scrawled at the bottom, of a skull with a snake intertwined through the eyes.

Ginny fell to her knees, as MI6 agents swarmed into the room. Sam was cursing angrily, while Remus and Tonks were scrambling to figure out what was going on. There was yelling and loud noises around her, but Ginny found that they appeared to be reaching her as if from a great distance. The world around her turned into a blur of muddled voices and sounds.

For the first time in a very long time, tears began to fall from the redheads eyes, and her body was racked with sobs.

She’d broken her promise. She hadn’t been able to protect Luna. And how Luna was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading, everyone; hope you enjoyed the chapter!

And eagle-eyed viewers may have been able to spot the cameo from a certain character not normally seen on our roundworld. I couldn't resist putting old Stoneface into this fic. 😁

#'fell in love with a girl'#linny au #alternative universe #linny #linny fanfiction #linny fanfic #florist!luna #florist au #basketball player!ginny #luna/ginny #luna x ginny #ginny/luna #ginny x luna #not sure how but this turned into a sort-of-crossover with discworld #sam vimes cameo

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sevensided · 3 years

Note

how did you get into writing fic? i'd love to start but idk even where to begin! I loved adats so I was wondering do you have any advice?

Oh my goodness! I am so flattered you’ve asked me this. Yes, I can absolutely help. I’ll throw a bunch of rambling under the cut.

I started writing fic probably when I was... sixteen years old? A lot of my early works were oneshots. I couldn’t figure out how to do anything plot heavy for the life of me, so I just stuck to AUs or whatever I felt like. I wasn’t in any particular fandom -- I really wrote whatever I had ideas for. I remember I tried once to do a plot-heavy story and I received a review absolutely ripping it to shreds. Like, it was so cruel I cried lol. I ended up deleting the fic. Years later, I get what they were trying to say (basically, more substance, less style), but at the time it cut to the quick. Really, it was only when I was in my twenties that I started writing work that was longer and/or better.

The fandom that helped me actually write plot heavy work was a historical-based fandom. As I’m a historian, it was perfect. I got to use my research skills and knowledge to create works that, above all, aimed to feel authentic. I mainly read historical fiction, so I was familiar with how that genre worked. Miraculously, people loved my work. I think I wrote about ~200k in the period of a year? These were several short stories (20-40k) and a few oneshot filler fics. While I was part of this fandom I also helped organise a Big Bang which was a lot of hard work but was extremely rewarding. Along with that, I interacted mainly with other fic writers, so I spent a lot of time chatting to people about ideas and encouraging other writers, and it just created a lovely medley where no concept was impossible or any line of dialogue too difficult. We supported each other and it was truly like a little commune. I gradually stepped away from the fandom mainly because it was just a part of my life at a very specific time, and almost as soon as that time was over, my love for that story/ship faded, but I firmly believe I figured out a lot of how/what I do now purely through that experience.

Regarding ADATS

With ADATS, it stemmed entirely from wanting to “explain” three months in canon (at the end of season three). I was interested in the idea of season four setting up Will/Mike in canon, and I wanted to test the source material to see if I could draw from what already existed to create something authentic. I began with that simple idea: what happened from July to October in 1985? Then I thought about the major themes I wanted to hit -- family, friendship, coming of age, sexuality -- and I nested them around the bigger concept: how do I get Mike from being ostensibly straight to realising he is gay? That meant thinking of two steps: Mike discovering his attraction to guys; Mike discovering his attraction to Will. Those two concepts were separate “arcs” that needed addressing in different ways. Balance was key to weaving them together and making the reader feel like they knew what was coming (and that they felt smart for putting the pieces together) without just rushing through and going “now kiss!” That’s partly why ADATS needs a sequel, lol: because it’s not finished!

Writing process

The first thing I do when I start to get an idea is I write it down. Sounds obvious. But when you have a killer line of dialogue come to you in the shower and you think “I’ll remember that” -- reader, you will not remember it. You gotta get it down ASAP! I do that the whole way through, as generally I’ll be thinking of scenes I’m stuck on and then it’ll just come to me and I’ll quickly jot it down.

The next thing -- or what I do in the meantime -- is start structuring. I plan. I try to plan a lot. Sometimes it’s okay to write “and something happens here to get them here”, because you’ll figure it out later, but for the most part I’ve discovered that planning is like gold and you can’t get enough of it. I break my work up into generally 3-4 parts/sections, and I treat each section like a mini story. So each part needs a conflict and resolution, and it needs to flow into the next section. You need to have a feeling of things evolving and maturing. Once I’ve planned those little bits, I start thinking about the bigger plot arc and how I can drop in hints along the way. I’m probably not a subtle or skilled enough writer to yet pull off that sort of gasping twist you get in really excellent books, but I’m trying to get there. It’s hard, is what I’m trying to say, but that’s okay, because we’re all learning.

Then I generally do aesthetic stuff. Sounds stupid, probably. But nothing helps me get more into a mood than doing a Pinterest board or -- most of all -- making a Spotify mix. I start thinking about the vibe and the general atmosphere, and then I almost exclusively listen to that mix when I’m working. Sort of like muscle memory? Just to get the creative juices associated with that particular selection of songs.

Another thing I’ll do along with plot structure is character structure. This is a biggie. I mean, a story is nothing without characters. So I’ll just jot down a bunch of bullet points of characters and particular aspects that I want to highlight or remember. I hate continuity errors in fiction. Like, if someone says they work on Maple Street but later in the fic they’re working on Pine Street. I hate that. So I keep note of specific things that my main character might notice at repeated points in the story (colours, places, smells, names, sounds -- so they’re all consistent even as the narrative evolves). That’s another thing -- your characters’ motivations. Not everyone is going to be a huge player, but they all do serve a purpose. The most important character is obviously your main character. I personally think it’s important to let your M.C. be an arse at times. They’re going to be mean, they’re going to misinterpret things or fly off the handle... just let ‘em. Let them be wretched humans, and then bring them back and make them realise what they’ve done. Let them learn! I love consequences in fiction, lol.

At the same time, I’ll probably start writing. We’ve already written down some snippets of neat dialogue or descriptions, but now we should start the actual process. For me, I used to start at the beginning. Usually this was the most fleshed out anyway: I’ll have a clear idea of the beginning and the end, but nothing in the middle. These days, if I have a scene in mind that I can’t forget, I’ll just write it. It will possibly get scrapped or rewritten, but that’s okay, because at least you’ve got it down and now you can devote your brain power to something useful (like figuring out what the middle is supposed to be). I’ll have half a dozen of totally out of context scenes just littered in my Word document that I’ll add to as I go along. Eventually, though, you’re going to start writing properly, and that’s when you write your opening scene.

Opening scenes: super important. Every time I write a scene I think: what is the point of this? What do I want the reader to learn or takeaway? Sometimes you do have filler scenes, but they also serve a different purpose (perhaps to establish a group dynamic or to explore/describe a character’s surroundings). Mainly, though, every scene should push something forward in some way, whether it’s character development or a plot point. So, with an opening scene, I always think you have to establish: where you are; who you are; what they are doing; where they’ve come from (in a philosophical and practical sense); and where they’re going (ditto). That doesn’t have to happen in the first paragraph -- that would be silly. But if you sprinkle that information in over time it’ll gradually build up a picture of your character and that way the reader can get an idea of who they are. You basically need to give a snapshot of what your story is about. This also goes back to the character creator stuff: where they are at the start should be different to where they end up. How that happens is, of course, because of plot, and because you’ve structured everything to the nth degree, we’ve got a very clear progression of that character’s growth (/s easier said than done lol).

General advice

Write down everything: every idea, a bit of dialogue, a description, whatever. Write it down. Doesn’t have to be neat. Just has to be on paper. You can’t remember everything, so if you’re spending time trying to hold those things in your head, it’s taking up space for new ideas to come along.

Structure, plan, structure, plan. Sometimes it’s boring and I hate it. Other times, when I’ve not written in a few days and I open the Word doc and think wtf is this supposed to be, I am very grateful for Past Me for leaving such detailed notes. Seriously, it helps so much. Oneshots don’t really need planning, in my experience. You just get those out there. But multi-chaptered stories really do, even ones that “just” focus on a relationship.

Whatever you want to write, commit to it. Space goblins invade Hawkins? Do it. Eleven and Max find themselves in a cult akin to Midsommar (2019) and must escape? Yes. Just... whatever you want to do, remember that you’re writing it for you. Write what most interests you, what makes you when you reread it go AHHHHH I LOVE THIS!! Because that makes it a thousand times easier to actually get on with the writing when you enjoy what you’re doing.

Write a lot. Every day, if you can, or at least at designated times. Occasionally I have a very specific headspace/vibe I have to be in, but sometimes it just hits me and I’ll say to my partner “I need to write now” and just disappear, lol. The more you write the more you write. It’s so, so, so true. Cannot emphasise this enough. When I wrote that ~200k in twelve months? It was because I literally wrote every. day. Or near enough. Remember that some days you’ll write 200 words, and other days you’ll write 20k (this happened to me with ADATS -- part of the reason I finished it so quickly was because I had sprints of writing 10k+ at a time that only happened because I was in the rhythm of it). Write, write, write. Who cares if it’s crap! No one will see it until you are ready. In the meantime, just write!

Probably last of all (although I could go on and on) is connect with other writers. If you’re struggling to start, sometimes just talking about it can help a huge amount. I hope it goes without saying that you can message me whenever you want, anon or not, and I will talk to you. We can talk about ideas or I can beta stuff, whatever you want! Find like-minded people and talk to them about what you want to do. Another thing this helps is in advertising your work when you do publish. I see a lot of first time fic writers get super down because they publish their magnum opus on AO3 but no one comments. Honestly, it’s because no one knows you’ve published! You don’t have to be tooting your own horn every which way, but just actively talking about your work and even collaborating with other content creators with get you hyped and other people too (and the input and encouragement other fandom members give is just... out of this world. Anon messages helped me finish ADATS when I was really worried I wouldn’t [that’s the truth]. Seriously, support is everything). When you have people excited about your work, you get excited. It’s really as simple as that.

I could go on but this is already horrendously long. I hope even a bit of this helps! If you want to chat or have any more questions, just hit me up any time.

#writing tips #writing help #writing advice #answered #i really hope this helps/answers your question!#i can do something more structured if you want #otherwise here are just my initial thoughts #Anonymous

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hyperpsychomaniac · 3 years

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The Woodchuck Leader Assessment - Chapter 4

DT17 Fanfiction

Summary: When Launchpad’s ability to supervise children is called into question, Dewey tags along on a Junior Woodchuck trip to support his best friend.

Chapter 1

Also cross-posted on fanfiction.net.

***

Dewey slipped into his and Huey’s tent. And found not only Huey, but Violet and at least a half dozen of the other Woodchucks.

“What…”

“Shh!” said Huey.

“Oh yes, I am claiming running through camp in my underpants,” said Doofus as he rubbed his hands together. “Back off; it’s mine!”

No one argued.

“Am I interrupting something?” Dewey snatched his pillow back from one of the other kids.

“We were discussing the implementation of stage 2 Competent Leader Protocols,” said Violet.

Dewey raised an eyebrow. “So what was stage 1?”

“Behaving for Launchpad.”

“And stage 2?”

The faintest smile touched Violet’s beak. “Only behaving for Launchpad.”

“Yeah.” Huey hugged his knees to his chest. “I’m not sure stage 2 is going to be enough, all by itself. I mean, LP’s great, but I don’t know if we can depend on him. If he can’t supervise us… it was like Mr Russell said, there’s nobody else. What am I going to do without my Woodchucks?!” He lunged at Dewey and dragged him towards him.

Dewey extricated his brother’s fingers from his shirt. “Calm down. I don’t care about your Woodchucks. But if what we’re talking about is going to help Launchpad…” Dewey chewed his lip. On the bus, Launchpad had just been, off. What the heck had happened between him and Mr Russell? It had to be something to do with the kid who drowned, but Launchpad didn’t want to talk to him. He was his best friend and Dewey knew if it was something important he’d want to share it with him. The fact he hadn’t… yeah, really off. “So, only behaving for Launchpad…?”

“A combination of multiple children needing walking to the bathroom, Doofus running around in nothing but his underwear…”

“Or, I could ditch the underwear.”

“No. … toilet paper, someone crying for their teddy bear, at least one item of Mr Russell’s clothing hung off a tree, and we make every attempt to respond to his orders with…?”

“Okay, Boomer,” said all the Woodchucks at once.

“Of course, the whole point is if Launchpad comes back we all immediately behave to prove he can control us,” said Huey, “or NO MORE WOODCHUCKS.”

“Boo,” said Dewey. “Huey may actually be right: it’s not enough. Launchpad needs better than that. You don’t just want to behave for him. You’ve got to prove he’s the sort of leader who would do anything to protect you. Here’s what we do: we set up a scenario in which some poor helpless child needs rescuing, because although we know Launchpad sometimes needs help with things, he’d never let anyone he cares about get hurt.”

“Yeah, who…” said Huey.

Dewey stood up and stabbed a finger into the canvas. “And I shall be your damsel in dew-stress!”

***

Launchpad flung the bus door open. “Aw man, LP. What are you doing?” He’d fallen asleep. Outside, the rain had lifted and the morning was wet and cold. “You can’t tell your Woodchucks they gotta sleep out in nature when you spend the night on the nice warm bus.”

He crammed his hat back on his head and jogged back down to the campsite. He slipped in the wet leaves and slid down a short section of the path, which resulted in a rather painful stop courtesy of a medium sized boulder, but at least it bought him a couple extra seconds.

Launchpad skidded into the campsite. It was quiet, too quiet. In his absence, Violet and Huey should have been awake and setting up a campfire for breakfast. But, maybe, he’d avoided the embarrassment of getting caught.

A tent flap opened and Jack emerged, rubbing blearily at his eyes.

Launchpad grabbed up a piece of firewood, then just pulled himself up short of pegging it into the firepit. He didn’t need to pretend to set up the fire.

“Well, there you are,” Jack grumbled. “When you said you wanted me to help I didn’t realise you were going to dump the kids on me for the entire night!”

Even with the realisation he didn’t need to look busy for Jack the man’s words made Launchpad’s heart sink. He’d messed up. He’d ditched his Woodchucks and even though an adult had been there to look after them… he’d left them alone with Jack Russell.

“Where are the kids anyway?” Launchpad lifted the flap to Huey and Dewey’s tent. Empty. Great. At least they knew how to take care of themselves. Nothing would be wrong. This was just something else for Jack to put in his report.

“Hey, don’t look at me,” said Jack. “I was up half the night telling kids to walk themselves to the toilet. And… where is my hat?”

Launchpad spotted it, swinging high up on a tree branch above Jack’s tent. “I think it fell into a tree.”

Huey exploded into the camp. “Launchpad! We went to get firewood… Dewey’s stuck on the bridge over the river!”

Launchpad’s heart caught. “Oh no, Dewey!”

“Wait, stuck on a bridge how?” said Jack. “Shouldn’t you just… go and unstick him?”

“He’s… really stuck,” said Huey, “Launchpad needs to come pull him out because, you know, he’s strong and a good Woodchuck leader, so…”

The other Woodchucks emerged from their tents, rubbing blearily at eyes, wondering what all the ruckus was about. Launchpad gulped. This was all he needed with Jack here. And then he felt bad, because this was about Dewey, not his assessment. He hadn’t been very nice to him on the bus last night. If he’d got hurt or got himself in trouble after how Launchpad had treated him, he’d feel terrible. At least being stuck on a bridge didn’t sound that bad. In fact, he did wonder why Huey hadn’t just pulled his brother off himself.

“Because he’s a good…” Jack slapped a hand to his forehead. “Launchpad, your damn kids are setting you up.”

“Just be quiet, my best friend needs me. Come on Woodchucks, to the river!”

Usually, it took a bit of coaxing to get them moving but they responded immediately. They all followed Huey, Jack trailing behind them and grumbling all the way.

The river was flowing fast after the rain last night and the roar made Launchpad’s guts tighten. This far down from the swimming hole the river cut through a gully with a rope bridge strung across, the water surging and gurgling beneath. Dewey was halfway across the bridge, his leg tangled in a loose rope, his top half hanging upside down from the bridge with his hands swinging. “Oh, help. I have fallen and my foot is stuck. I cannot get up.” At least he didn’t sound particularly panicked.

“This is ridiculous,” said Jack.

“Hang on, Dewey. I’m coming to get you.” Launchpad put a hand on the wooden stake that anchored the bridge.

“Wait.” Jack grabbed Launchpad’s sleeve.

Launchpad yanked his arm back, but slowed.

“Send these two out after them. They’re half your weight put together and their two pairs of hands will probably get that… classic example of a Woodchuck knot around that poor kid’s ankle undone a lot quicker.”

“That’s… a good idea,” said Launchpad, although the rope bridge looked sturdy and wouldn’t be in any danger of snapping under his weight.

Violet and Huey both exchanged glances. “It would be better if Launchpad did it,” said Huey, rubbing at the back of his head.

“Yeah, just as I thought. You cannot control these kids, Launchpad. You should’ve seen the antics they were getting up to last night. Pretty sure they’ve set this whole thing up to try and make you look good.”

“But I’m really stuck… urgh, forget it!” Dewey rolled himself back onto the bridge and tugged at the knot around his ankle.

Wait, he wasn’t really stuck? Oh. It finally sunk in. Launchpad turned to Violet and Huey as his chest tightened. “You two… set me up?”

“Stage 2 Competent Leader Protocols weren’t enough. We went to stage 3. Dewey’s idea… but yes,” Violet mumbled into her chest.

Launchpad squeezed his eyes shut briefly. “Dewey, come on, get off the bridge, its dangerous out there.”

“I’m fine. I just need to get this knot off… hang on…”

“And you two…” His two most senior Woodchucks looked at their feet. And though it hurt they’d pulled one over on him, Launchpad knew they’d only been trying to help. He swallowed, and lowered his voice. “You don’t have to set up something like this to help me, okay? I really thought Dewey was in trouble.”

“But it wasn’t just for you!” Huey burst out. “It was for all the Woodchucks. If they make you quit then no one will want us and we’ll have no more Woodchucks, and I… I can’t live without Woodchucks!” He fell to his knees and put his face in his hands.

“I too would find it quite devastating,” said Violet.

“Wait, who told you that?”

“I did, genius,” Jack snorted. “Along with a few other truths while you were pouting on the bus.”

Launchpad’s fists bunched at his sides. He’d left his Woodchucks alone with Jack. What had he been thinking? “Like what?”

“I explained how failure badges are supposed to work. Apparently you’ve been flashing yours around like some kind of trophy and giving these kids the wrong idea. Just like you did as a kid. It didn’t matter how hard I tried to get you to understand, I never could get the concept through your thick head.”

“Don’t speak to me like that. And how dare you make these kids feel like they should be ashamed of…”

“It’s not about shame! It’s about reality, and realistic expectations, and not setting these kids up for failure. I don’t know how you fluked your way through to a leadership role Launchpad, but when the cards come down you’re just going to get somebody killed! You know, like you did Calvin. At least then you were a kid; you had an excuse. Not anymore.”

Launchpad’s chest heaved, but this time he didn’t feel like running. “You have no idea, do you? We only went down to the river that night because we had something to prove. If you’d encouraged us instead of bullying us in front of the other kids, just because we failed a couple times, we would’ve waited until we had a chance to try for the badge again. We were kids, it was the only way we thought we could get you to stop. But it was never what were were good at or not, it was always you. You were in charge, Jack. You had the power. And you just used it to make us fell like we were never good enough no matter what we did!”

“Wait, Calvin… he was the kid who drowned?” said Huey tentatively.

Launchpad swallowed hard. “Yeah. He jumped in trying to save me.”

“Oh, Launchpad,” said Dewey. “That’s not your fault.”

“Yeah, I know that now.”

“I’m… I’m going to give you a hug.” Dewey picked himself up and rushed back, but tripped as the still tied knot brought him up short. He smacked face first onto the bridge, sending it swinging wildly, then rolled right off the edge.

Launchpad’s heart caught. “Dewey!”

The rope jerked taut and Dewey swung by his ankle above the roaring water below. “Oh, um, now I really do need help?”

Launchpad rushed out onto the bridge. He grabbed at the rope and started hauling it up arm over arm.

“LP, I’m really sorry,” said Dewey as he was slowly raised. “We didn’t think this out at all. I should’ve got stuck up a tree or something.”

Launchpad gritted his teeth and hauled on the rope faster. “Heh. Don’t worry about that, buddy. No harm done.” Come on. Come on. Because despite Dewey’s calm, Launchpad could see the knot he’d been picking at slowly start to unravel.

“Woah, maybe slow down? I’m getting dizzy.”

Huey and Violet must have seen it too. They rushed out onto the bridge and leaned through the ropes, reaching out for Dewey as he neared.

A frown creased Dewey’s beak. “Seriously guys, I’m fine…”

Launchpad yanked up another loop of rope and swiped at Dewey’s ankle. The bridge bucked, and the rope slipped free. Dewey’s eyes widened, arm outstretched, then his back smashed into the water beneath and he disappeared. He was gone for a split second, then he resurfaced. “It’s okay… can… swim…” He choked off as a slosh of water slapped in the face and went down his throat, and then the current pulled him away.

Launchpad’s hands tightened on the bridge. No. Not this time. He slid under the rope.

“Launchpad, you idiot!” Jack yelled. “You’re not going to be able to…”

The rest of his words were lost as Launchpad slammed into the water below. The shock of cold bit at him. The current snatched at him. Yeah. Far stronger than it looked. There was no way he was letting Dewey brave this alone. He spluttered, and surfaced.

“Launchpad! Violet and I are going to get a rope down steam. You got to get out before the waterfall.”

Of course there was a waterfall. Launchpad saw a flash of blue ahead and struck out with strong strokes, not so much moving himself through the water, but keeping his head above it as the current propelled him along.

Jack was right; there wasn’t a swimming badge on Launchpad’s sash. But that didn’t mean he didn’t know how to swim. Six months after everything had happened with Calvin, and after he’d convinced his parents he did in fact want to return to Woodchucks now Mr Russell was gone, he’d earned it. He could still remember Ms H, who was much nicer than Mr Russell, congratulating him and pressing the badge into his palm.

He’d stared at the embroidered circled as tears filled his eyes. “I… I don’t deserve this.”

She’d got down on her knees and put her hands on his trembling shoulders. “Sweetheart, its okay. I get it. You don’t have to put it on if you don’t want to. The badge isn’t the important bit. You’ve still got the skill, and as long as you know that’s there whenever you might need it you don’t have to prove that to anyone else.”

Launchpad choked as a wash of water slapped into his face. Keeping his head above water became harder and harder as the current picked up. He spotted his friend ahead, clinging desperately to a rock. This close to the waterfall, roaring clearly ahead of them now, the water snatched at Dewey and he whimpered as his fingers slipped across the rough surface. Launchpad let a really vicious snarl of water grab him and hurl him towards the rock. He grunted as his shoulder slammed into it and pulled Dewey into his chest just as the boy’s numb fingers lost their grip.

“LP…” Dewey immediately grappled for Launchpad, his fingers digging like claws into his neck.

Launchpad spluttered as he was shoved under. He heaved himself up out of the water with one arm on the rock, and clutched Dewey to his chest with the other. He hauled them both up high enough they were no longer in danger of getting dunked and the force of the water wasn’t strong enough to pull him away. “It’s… it’s okay… I got ya.”

Dewey’s breath came in spluttering gasps. “Sorry… I… trying to make you look good…”

“I know.”

“It’s cold.”

Launchpad started to shiver as the ice water bit into his skin. “Hey, Violet and Huey are working on it. They’re going to get us out. Probably use maths or something. They seem to be good at that.”

“LP, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do this to you… I didn’t know about your friend…” Dewey sniffed, and pressed his face against Launchpad’s neck.

“Right now I’m only thinking about you.”

A rope, attached to a short fat log, sailed out over them and hit Launchpad in the back. He grabbed it.

“Tie it to Dewey!” Huey yelled from the bank.

Launchpad untied the rope and looped it about Dewey’s waist. “You’re not going to drown,” he said, looking his friend right in the eye as his fingers automatically tied the knots he’d done a million times. “I won’t let that happen.”

“LP, look out!” Huey shouted.

A log spun down the river towards them. Launchpad jerked the knot tight about Dewey’s waist, then shoved him off towards the bank. He pushed his friend clear of the log, but it collected Launchpad across the middle, swept him off the rock, and dragged him under. The quickening torrent grabbed him, and suddenly Launchpad was back in the hell of breathless tumbling terror he’d found himself in as a child.

But at least he’d got Dewey out.

***

A long way below the waterfall, Launchpad pulled himself up onto the bank and heaved out a stomach-full of water. Clear of the torrent he gulped deep breaths, his head resting against his forearms, too heavy to lift.

It had taken every ounce of his strength to reach the bank. His body trembled with cold and exertion. He’d been tossed at the whim of the current, slammed into anything and everything. Even as an adult, as strong as he was, it had been terrifying. He’d thought there was no way he’d be able to save himself, right up until he’d felt the pebbles of the shore beneath his feet. He hadn’t drowned. But all he could think was how much scarier that ordeal would be for a child. How scary had it been for Calvin to fight to save himself in the darkness, and fail? Launchpad shuddered, and as he finally caught his breath his gulps for air became sobs.

“LP!” Huey skidded to his knees at his side. “Thank goodness, you scared us. Are you okay?”

“Dewey?” Was all he had the breath to say.

“It’s okay. We got him out.”

Launchpad whimpered and let his head drop back against his arms.

The pebbles crunched around him as the rest of his Woodchucks caught up with Huey. Launchpad felt small hands squeeze his arms and press against his back.

“Don’t worry, buddy,” said Huey. “Violet and I have everything under control. She’s called for help, and… all you gotta do is catch your breath.”

Chapter 5

#ducktales fanfiction #ducktales #dt17 #ducktales 2017 #launchpad #launchpad mcquack #dt17 launchpad #dewey duck #huey duck #violet saberwing #disney ducks

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intubatedangel · 3 years

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Cold Snap: Chapter 1

I’m back, again, hopefully a bit more consistently. This time returning to the world of Anna Swift with a story that’s been an idea for almost 2 years but couldn’t quite come together. No resus in this part, just setting up the scene, but I hope you enjoy.

----------

Shona dragged her large suitcase up the ramp and onto the lower deck of the old water taxi. It had become almost like an old friend to her over the last few years, the point of seperation between home and college. She turned and waved to her parents, who stood back on the quay, watching thier daughter leave for the last semester of her college life. In truth she wasn't going all that far. Only a dozen or so miles as the crow flies, and within the limits of the same greater city area. But while the city had grown and expanded to absorb her old home town as a mere suburb, the city's transport links had not kept pace. While the rail network ran along each side of the river, it didn't cross at this end of the city. There were plans for new bridges, but they never materialised. And so, instead of taking a 3 hour trip on the city metro, Shona would take the trusty water taxi that had been crossing the river back and forth for as long as her mother remembered, and be at her dorm within 40 minutes.

A good idea really, she thought, pulling on the suitcase behind her, trying to get it rolling again. She cursed internally at her professors for giving them so much work over the spring break, the suitcase weighed down with what felt like half a library. A gust of cold wind blasted her face, and she thought of another curse, this one at the northern climate. To many, spring break was about running around on beaches nearly naked having parties and getting tanned. To say it would not be advisable here was an understatement. This far north, winter was still clinging on, to the point where snow lay on the ground just a few weeks ago.

Shona pulled her scarf up a little further as she dragged the suitcase toward the door at the rear of the cabin, where luggage could be stowed out of the way. She pushed it open then spun to grip the suitcase handle with both hands and haul it over the small threshold, staggering back a little as the wheels finally rocked over. A gust of wind sucked the door closed with a loud bang and shone flinched, glancing around to see if anyone noticed. Like public transport in most cities, no one so much as glanced at her.

She ducked into the luggage area, and her heart sank. All the lower shelves were full. She walked over, wondering just how she was going to stow the case. She vaguely heard the door behind her, then the sound of rolling wheels that approached and stopped beside her.

"Erm, would you like a hand?" A male voice said. Shone turned to him. He was young, maybe a similar age to herself, with black hair in that intentionally messy style. He raised his hands in a surrendering gesture. "Not infering anything about the strength of your gender...You just looked... and I need to..." He glanced at his own case, similar sized to hers.

Shona shook her head "Sorry, yes that would be great." She smiled. "We can each lift half." She commented, prompting a grin from the young man. Together they lifted her bag. Well, Shona steadied it at least.

"Student?" The young man asked, with a slight pant from the effort. Shona nodded, and opened her mouth to reply. "Wait, let me try and guess. Your on this taxi, so you must be studying at Central. That amount of books, over spring break no less, narrows it down. Medical students are already back, my roomate's doing Chem and says all the natural sciences work is based on their own labs now. And, I haven't seen you in any of my classes or on my floor of the library, so by process of elimination I'm going to say... History."

"Impressive." Shona told him with a grin. "You must be studying literature." She grinned at his shocked face. "My roommate is in that course. She can almost quote the entire works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle at this point, and she told me that almost everyone goes through a Sherlock phase in that course."

He chuckles. "Well played. I must know the name of the lady who bested me." He said, with a mock bow.

Shona couldn't help but chuckle too, though it was drowned out by the horn of the water taxi, as it gave it's last call. Shona felt the familiar rumble as the engine got into gear and began to ramp up in power. "Shona. Shona Smith-Carlson. Yes it's double barrelled. Ardent Feminist of a mother refused to give up her maiden name."

"Well theres nothing wrong with that. Though by the look on your face you aren't too happy it."

"It's not that," Shona shrugs. "She just never shuts up about it. Still loves dad though." She trails off, the silence starting to become awkward. "What about you?" She re-directs. "I'm guessing your name isn't actually Sherlock."

He smiles. "Jack Davidson. Not literally, My dad's actually called Mark."

"You must have practiced that line." Shona said, trying not to laugh at the perfect delivery.

"Maybe once or twice, but it's a good ice breaker, don't you think?" He replied with another dazzling smile.

It was a nice smile. The boat jerked slightly as it left the quay and started its journey across the river. Shona rocked a little, Jacks arm moved, lifting a little, not quite reaching out, but ready to steady her if she had stumbled, and Shona suddenly realised he was flirting. Why did this always happen? She fought to not roll her eyes. Her girlfriend was going to rib her again. She would have to let him down gently. She took off her scarf, wrapping it and putting it into one pocket, and then unzipped her coat. She caught his eyes flick down as all men’s do, then slightly to one side, catching sight of the rainbow badge.

He blew out a breath, then nodded with a wry grin. "That's a good move. I am out played once again. Though I suppose we aren't quite playing the same game are we."

Shona shrugged. "Sorry." She mumbled.

Jack waved his hand. "Don't be. Not like you can change who you are. How about we get my bag stowed and then we grab a coffee on the upper deck?" Shona looked at him, puzzled. "Your roommate. From what you were saying she's a year ahead of me. A bit of early information is always good."

Shona considered it for a moment. He wasn't being pushy or angry like one of those guys. And she was planning on getting a coffee. So she shrugged. "Why not, company is always nice."

Together they lifted Jack's case, a little lighter than her own, and placed it in the rack. But as he was checking it was secure, Shona felt a rumble. A different rumble, one that she had never felt before on over two dozen journeys. If she'd been outside, she would have seen a plume of black smoke rise out the tall exhaust stack. If she'd been in the cabin that qualified as the bridge of the boat, she'd have heard voices filled with panic as alarms squarked.

Shona and Jack started up the stairs in front of the luggage compartment, when there was another rumble, and a strange noise filled the passenger cabin as the whole ship vibrated. Shona stopped halfway up the stairs, looking behind her. Jack turned to her, three steps higher up.

"What is it?" He asked

Shona shook her head "The boat. Somethings wr..."

Her voice was totally drowned out by the noise of the engine exploding.

**********

Officer Matt Jones sat on the small river patrol boat, bobbing slightly against it's mooring. He glanced at his watch. Just another 7 hours and 50 minutes of his 8 hour shift. He sighed, feeling that boiling anger as he rembered getting busted down to river patrol. Not even standard beat cop, river patrol. In March, in this city, where even the foolish wouldn't think of getting in the river. Only the desperate. But this section of the river didn't even have any bridges, ruling that out too.

"So..." The old timer, Winston, who was now his partner muttered. "Who did you piss off to land yourself here?"

Jones breathed out slowly, sending the anger with it. "You know Dean Campbell?"

"The head of HR Dean Campbell?" Jones nodded, Winston whistled. "What did you do?"

"I may have pointed out that he was... inadequate for the position. In somewhat more forceful terms. To his face..."

Winston spat into the river. "That would do it. Not that you are wrong of course, that little weasel has done nothing but damage to the department, but, not exactly the wisest decision.

Jones nodded. "What about you?"

"I asked to be here." Winston replied, prompting a look from Jones. "Coming up on retirement. The last thing I wanted was to be that stereotype. Always liked fishing, figured I'd get some boat time and avoid anything likely to finish me off before my service is done."

"That's fair enough I guess." Jones told him, sipping at the coffee, watching the old water taxi make it's way across the river. He noticed the black smoke, but thought nothing of it. "Does anything interesting happen here?"

"Wouldn't have picked this spot if it did." Winston replied. "Occasionally that floating wreck needs a hand when it breaks, but that's about it." He says turning to look. "Speking of which, that exhaust don't look too healthy." He said a moment before the radio squarked, lighting up an indicator on the emergency channel.

"This is the Beetle, may-day, may-day, our engine is...." The radio cut off as a gout of thick black smoke burst from the exhaust tube, and the distant boat seemed to lurch. A split second later the sound wave of the explosion reached them.

"Get us moving!" Jones shouted to Winston, as he grabbed at his own radio. "This is officer Jones, Badge number 4582. We have a major incident in progress on the river between....between..."

"Between North Inglebank and Trippers point!" Winston shouted.

"Between North Inglebank and Trippers point. Explosion on a water taxi, we are en-route, unknown casualties, unknown situation, requesting additional backup for evacuation and medical assistance!"

"Acknowledged Officer Jones. Relaying now."

Winston had gotten the speed boat unmoored, tossing a high-vis life jacket to Jones, before he gunned the motor and they began to cut through the waves, heading for the vessel that was now smoking from more than just the exhaust.

(Edit: Fixed some errors and details. A little out of practice.)

#medical drama #cpr #defib #resus writing #Anna Swift

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jenleigh1 · 3 years

Note

💜☕️🎲 (hit us with the self love!)

Ha! I will do my best. Thanks for the very kind ask. :)

💜- top 3 favorite lines

I also answered this one here, but honestly, there are so many little snippets I could pull out for a special mention that I could probably answer it half a dozen more times and still not run out of "favorites." 🤣

So here are three more! These are all from Birds, By The Snow:

He's also perfectly capable of turning on the tap and running his own damn bathwater, but he knows that isn't the point. There are so few things Hal can do, now. No more tests or doctor's visits, no more miracle cures to research. He doesn't hover, even though he wants to.

*****

"God, this is terrible," says Hal, swirling the mug in his hands, and Snake huffs out a snort. "I know, I know. You don't have to say it. But even when it's mostly milk and sugar, it's not exactly Starbucks."

"Not even fucking 7-Eleven, and that's saying something."

*****

A light tug at the back of his head, like he's teasing. Stroking over his temple with the side of one thumb, careful, where the hair had first gone gray.

☕️- favorite passage

Also very hard to pick an actual favorite, for this one! But here's a little section I've always really liked, from Taught By Thirst:

The bag on the pavement sits collecting frost, and Otacon regards it warily - black and shapeless, its vaguely elongated outline betraying only the barest hint of what it contains. Like the burial shroud of an arctic mummy. Of all the things they've recovered from various mission sites over the past two years, this takes the cake for being the absolute strangest.

Seized with a kind of morbid curiosity in spite of himself, he crouches awkwardly on the ground, tugs at the zipper, and peeks inside.

God. The form in the body bag is nearly unrecognizable, frozen in an advanced state of decomposition. He wrinkles his nose involuntarily, even though there's no odor - at least, not yet. The next few hours on the road should be a delight.

"Huh," is all he can think to say. He stares. "Is it the right one, do you think? I mean - is it him?"

"How many arms does it have?" Snake asks darkly.

"Okay, okay. Yeah. Point taken."

Between the two of them, they manage to wrestle their prize through the rear cargo doors. It's an awkward fit, but with a hasty rearrangement of Otacon's makeshift command center and a few hard shoves, everything is in. Doors latched and shut on the whole mess; out of sight, out of mind. They'll sort the details out later.

🎲- your favorite chapter/part from a multipart series

Mmm... that's a tough one! Possibly, it could be a tie between chapter 5 of Everything That Rises (in which Otacon makes an ill-advised decision that could have gotten him killed, and Snake, um... reacts poorly), and chapter 3 of Birds, By the Snow (in which there is one of my very favorite almost-h/c scenes, and some naked snuggling and not-quite-sex in bed after a nightmare).

Honorable mention to chapter 4 of Taught By Thirst, which includes a bit of mission fic action and ends with a quiet little scene back at the safehouse that I really, really like. ❤

#ask game #nerdy writing stuff

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opbackgrounds · 4 years

Text

FAQ

This is long overdue, which is 100% on me and after much dragging of feet I’ve finally gotten around to making a faq. Hopefully this will help those new to the blog going forward, but if there’s anything I missed or you feel should be added let me know and I can can make an addition

Who are you?

I go by Sarcasticles but most people call me Sarc. I’m a woman so she/her pronouns are fine, and also write fanfic and have a twitter under that name. My main is @creative-type and I post my half-assed art at @sarcs-art. No, I haven’t taken any literature classes since high school. Yes, I’m making this up as I go.

How did you get into One Piece

To be honest I almost didn’t. I remember watching the 4kids! dub of the Pearl fight, and even as a wee babu thought the idea of a man spontaneously setting himself on fire was the stupidest thing I’d ever seen. I wrote the series off and only watched because it was on the Toonami block with Naruto, and even then thought that every Devil Fruit user had a unique weakness and only Luffy was unlucky enough not to be able to swim.

That changed when I happened to see the episode Croc said Robin’s name for the first time. From there I was hooked but didn’t know how to access it after it was taken off the air. I caught up with the manga in high school, and have been reading weekly since about the time of the Duval identity reveal

Favorite character?

Robin, 100%. If not for her, I never would have gotten into the series. She’s one of my favorites in all media, not just One Piece

Where do you get your manga caps?

I use mangasee for opbackgrounds—which uses the official English translation, at least for the early chapters—and read weekly using the Viz app

How do you make your posts?/How do you notice all this stuff?

Repetition, mostly. You read a thing once to enjoy it, twice to ponder it, and three times to understand it. I’ve read all pre-timeskip material at least twice and there are some sections I have gone over dozens of times while doing research for fanfic.

I firmly believe anyone can do what I am doing here, but like everything else it’s a learned skill that needs to be practiced. There’s a reason why your high school English teacher wanted you to analyze the use of the color green in the Great Gatsby. Meta posts are nothing but literary analysis after an aggressive rebranding campaign.

What’s Your Opinion on (fill in the blank)?

While I love getting questions and writing meta, before sending a question like this I ask that you please keep in mind the following:

1) My focus for this blog is to comb through manga sequentially. I’m not going to analyze or speculate on current events because, to me, that isn’t fun. We’ll get there when we get there (I say while acknowledging the fact it might take us awhile to get there)

2) Please check the archive before sending an ask. I use the #sarc talks for all asks and have a pretty robust tagging system overall. I’ve hit just about every major talking point within the fandom, and chances are my opinions haven’t changed

3) No spoilers, please. I follow the official English release for the manga, but this also includes other media like movies or the live action series. Also, I don’t follow the anime at all, so if an ask is regarding something adaptation-wise I probably haven’t seen it

4) My policy is ship and let ship, and I have a very Luffyarian view on romance overall--I’m only here for the adventure, so please don’t ask me about specific pairings because I could not care less

5) Please make sure your question is meant for me and not @kaizokuou-ni-naru. While she has some pretty great meta posts and can probably answer any questions sent to her that are meant for me, I know absolutely nothing about Japanese and will only be able to shrug helplessly in your general direction

6) While I enjoy doing analysis and answering questions, it’s not my job to understand the manga for you. If the answer to your question is plainly found in the text I’m probably going to ignore it

7) I feel like this should go without saying, but be courteous. I am infinitely more tolerant of a simple question asked nicely than a meaty question said with hostility. This extends to the comment section as well. Play nice, and we’ll all be able to get along

#long post #sarc talks #not one pice related #faq

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syms-things-5 · 3 years

Text

Clear The Area - Chapter Seventeen

Previous Chapter Here

Warnings: Strong language and an air of discomfort.

Notes: I hope this reads OK as it’s quite dialogue-heavy.

Tags: @kelbabyblue @jennmurawski13

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The night shifts weren’t all bad. From time to time, they were even as good as “pretty straight forward”. They proved especially useful when trying to finish patient notes and random admin that always got left to the very end of the shift. Perhaps they’d endure a tidy-out of the stock cupboards if the crew was feeling generous. Since O’Brien had taken up his post at the hospital years earlier, he had insisted upon mandatory training updates for the ER units every three to four months (the national average was about once a year) so the team were regularly reminded not to set fire to their computers and not to leave boxes in places people could trip over. You’d be surprised how often both those things happened in an emerging crisis.

“I swear he thinks we’re idiots half the time.” Complained Jack, his head now glued to the palm of his hand. Jack was hurtling towards an early retirement thanks to an ever-increasing distrust of the corporate environment ER departments found themselves in. We trained to save lives, he’d say, not file stat reports. He was so right, it hurt.

The crew was sat round the reception desk. The ER was empty except for a local homeless man the team allowed in from time to time to sleep off his latest drunken adventures.

“Who doesn’t know how to bend their knees when lifting something heavy?” Jack asked again.

“Ryan for one.” Sarah joked, pointing her cold cup of tea towards the fellow nurse in question. Ryan was a tall and skinny guy, not dissimilar to Alexander Skarsgard in the right light but with less charm although he had left a few of the interns swooning of late. Shanna quite liked him, too.

“One time, Sarah. One time and I suffered for it greatly.” Ryan remarked, spinning a full 360 in his swivel chair. “Did you tick ‘agree’ or ‘strongly agree’ for question eleven?”

“Oh, if you don’t tick ‘strongly agree’ even if you only ‘agree’, they mark you down a couple of percentage points.” Entered Audrey, slamming down a pile of files on the desk beside Sarah. Their nightly routine just got more interesting. “Just get it over with. It’s not worth the effort. It’s just O’Brien being obsessed with stats again. He turns everything into a competition. I swear it’s unhealthy.”

Ryan looked momentarily confused before returning to face his computer screen. He re-read the question for the fifth time and rubbed his eyes in resignation. Something about 3am made this far too complicated.

“When did you even find time to do this, Aud?” Jack asked, turning back to Sarah and Audrey in time to witness their shared look self-satisfaction. “I’ve been sat here for half an hour and am still only part way through the first section.”

“I logged in at home earlier.” she responded before catching Sarah’s quizzical look. “Well, Michael did most of it for me.”

“Fucking hell!” exclaimed Jack, chucking his pen on the table, giving up. “Got no chance then, have I? Michael’s a bloody genius. Hey, how much for him to do mine?”

“Normally I’d say $100 but he’s pretty cheap these days.” shrugged Audrey. “Probably a fancy cigar would do.”

“He still grumpy about the you-know-what?” whispered Sarah to her friend when the guys started joshing between themselves.

Audrey leaned back on the desk beside her and took the mug from Sarah’s hands to take a sip, grimacing slightly at the sweetness. For some reason, Sarah had to have at least three sugars in her tea if she was drinking it post-midnight. It helped to keep her more alert apparently. She didn’t drink it like that at any other time of the day. “No more than usual. Seems like we’re both unlucky in that department at the moment.”

Sarah smiled at her in acknowledgement, lips thin before biting the inside of her cheek.

Following their last meet-up, Chris had been decidedly quiet. Too quiet almost. It was weird. He hadn’t messaged her. He hadn’t called or visited their apartment except to collect a parcel he had left. Sarah has been out for a run at the time and had felt silently glad to have missed him. He hadn’t updated his twitter and there had been multiple sports events occurring that would have guaranteed a humblebrag or five. Shanna had pledged to buy rib-eye steaks for a Saturday night meal during a Celtics game and he had cancelled at the last minute citing an interview he had conveniently forgotten. Even Audrey thought it was weird. If anything was guaranteed to get his attention and bring him out of whatever funk he was in, it was the promise of sports and a ‘Grade A’ barbeque.

Shanna merely put it down to his laziness or him having something better turn up. Scott had started replacing Chris around their apartment, wanting to get some of his own distance from the tricky Zach situation and it helped her feel better knowing he was at least in touch with him if Shanna wasn’t. He was evidently still alive.

Sarah decided to swap a couple of daytime stints to partner up with Audrey for the nights. She needed the comfort of working with a good friend to calm her down from whatever ledge her anxiety had placed her on.

“You know that he’ll come back, right?” Audrey interrupted her thoughts. Maybe Sarah spoke too soon. “Haven’t you got that birthday thing for Lisa coming up?”

That trip was a couple of weeks away yet. She was trying to bank some reasonable excuses but everything sounded lame in the cold light of day and Lisa was never going to accept her not coming as well. Surely things would have smoothed themselves out by then?

“This won’t just fix itself, hun, you’ll need to speak to him eventually. And the sooner the better.”

It was like Audrey had a hotline straight into Sarah’s psyche. It was unnerving at the best of times. Sarah knew she was right of course. It’s just, a little bit of distance would be a good thing, right? Even Chris himself had offered that advice from time to time, and stressing herself out at this point almost seemed counterintuitive.

“I reckon you could go in an hour or so if you wanted.” Audrey offered, nudging her friend with her elbow to bring her back into the room. “It’s dead out there.”

“I hope not.” Sarah joked, trying to lighten the mood. ��We’d be shit at our jobs if that was the case.”

Audrey laughed for the first time since Sarah could remember that day. It was moments like this that reminded her of why she enjoyed working alongside her so much, and why she didn’t mind if it resulted in overtime.

“You wanna take patient referrals while I take the EPRs?”

“How can I refuse an offer like that?” Sarah picked up the dozen or so documents sat in front of her and grabbed the nearest chair. Audrey told her she’d put the kettle on and nudged the guys still glued to their screens. Ryan had pretty much given up logical thinking and was now ticking random boxes. Jack was cursing under his breath. O’Brien was going to be in for a real treat when he could finally tabulate the responses.

It was nearing 6.20am when Sarah and Audrey finally packed up to go. Matt and Stephanie had just arrived to take over for the morning, bringing a fresh perspective for the day. There wasn’t much for them to catch up on so it should be a smooth few hours at least. Sarah even ran a mop through the staff locker room as an added gift – Steph was a notorious clean freak – nearly tripping Greg up in the process.

He’d been on leave for the past fortnight and his hair was a little longer than she remembered. A five o’clock shadow graced the lower part of his face and it suited him more than she thought it would. He had kept up with the informal tie-less attire and he seemed to be, dare she it, enjoying himself.

“God, I’m so sorry.” She held her hands up in a mock mea culpa. “I was just gonna put it away before heading out. It was a stupid place to leave it.”

“Did you not take the Health and Safety refresher?” he joked, rebalancing himself and trying to play down the redness creeping into his cheeks from the embarrassment of temporarily losing his footing in front of her.

“You gonna rat me out to O’Brien? ‘Cos you know as well as I do that he doesn’t need yet another reason to know he’s right.” She shifted the mop and bucket and placed them back in the supply closet before reaching for her bag again.

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” He moved passed her before turning to face her again. “Tell you the truth, I ghosted the last couple of tabs myself. Who knew there were so many ways to ask questions about standing in elevators?”

Sarah rolled her eyes in acknowledgement. “Yeh. I can’t wait to have the team meeting when he realises we’ve all pretty much done the same thing. That’s gonna be fun. I might finally take some of my holiday.”

“Yeh, good plan. Hey listen,” His words stopped her in her tracks, feet from the exit. “Um, I know it’s been a while but I was wondering if you might want to reschedule that tennis match some time? Or if not, we could get some dinner or something? There’s that new sushi place on Reagan Street. It’s meant to be really good if you fancy it?”

She was indeed familiar with that very restaurant thanks to the glowing reviews she had been unable to avoid since it opened. Audrey had only mentioned it a mere thousand times in her presence. Word was that bookings were now months in advance so she wasn’t sure how Greg was hoping to find a table unless he wanted to make plans with her in November. Given the number of commitments he always appeared to have going on, it wouldn’t be completely outside the realm of possibility.

“Wow, I thought that place was fully booked?”

“Yeh, it is, but I went to college with one of the investors and he’s promised me a one-off.”

Of course he did. Sarah bit her bottom lip to stop herself from chuckling out loud, imagining Audrey’s face when she would inevitably find out. To be honest, she was genuinely surprised he was still showing a minor interest in her. When she finally made eye contact with him, his earnestness was practically shining. Had he always had perfect skin?

“Um…” That was a good start, she thought.

“Honestly, it’s not a big deal if you’d rather not.” He helpfully pre-empted her awkward rejection but she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. “I’ve been meaning to go is all and I knew you liked sushi and figured it might be fun? They have live Jazz on Sunday nights.”

When did he find out she liked sushi? And live Jazz? Just how much had Audrey told him about her?

Realising she probably looked perplexed, she shuffled her shoulder strap back up onto her shoulder and tried to relax the awkwardness setting in between them. It was still quiet and no one was within earshot that she could figure out of her peripheral vision.

“It’s not you, Greg, I promise. It’s just, I’m not really looking to get into anything right now. With anyone. Plus, we work together and…I’m sorry. I hope that’s OK?”

“Hey, look, I promise it won’t be awkward. There’s absolutely no expectations from me and if you change your mind, just let me know, yeh? I literally know no one else who likes Sashimi so I can’t waste my only chance to get a table.” He chuckled and she felt more at ease.

“If it’s any consolation, I’m a pretty crap date.” She smiled at him as she edged herself down the hall, putting space between them both literally and figuratively. “You wouldn’t be missing out.”

“Oh, I doubt that somehow.” He returned her smile. “I’m serious, though. Just let me know. Anytime. No expiration date.”

And with that, she had been left dumbfounded by two men in the space of a single week.

It would have been easier to get the early morning bus home at this time, as tired as she was starting to feel. She hadn’t slept well in the last few days and she had a creeping nausea from the lack of proper rest. The walk and crisp, fresh air might do her some good. It was practically full daylight even at this hour, and it was sometimes fun to watch people on their own way to work, huffing along, trying not to drop their coffees.

The out-of-town school bus passed her a few minutes out from her apartment and as she rounded the corner, she got this weird sense that someone was watching her. Another corner turned and she could see her building in the near distance. Still, she couldn’t shake it. She stopped, pretending to fumble for her phone in her pocket and turned around swiftly to see a sweaty Chris stop a few steps behind her.

It took her a moment to register it was in fact him, his beard fuller and a Red Sox cap pulled down low over his eyes. He had sweats and sneakers on and looked like he was on a run. Honestly, if someone else had spotted him from this distance, they would have worried he was going to attack her.

“Hey,” she said, turning to fully face him. “What are you doing out at this time?”

He didn’t respond at first. He shuffled from one foot to the other before grounding himself and taking a couple of steps towards her. Again, he shuffled back a step like he was rethinking his move. She didn’t appreciate seeing him like this, so unsure of himself.

“Five months out from filming some pre-shoots so figured I’d make a start.” He finally spoke. Not a really a smile but he at least sounded OK.

“Cool.” She said, nodding back at him. “Um, I’m not sure if Shanna is awake yet but do you want to come inside for some water or coffee?”

“Yeh, that’d be great. Thanks.”

She turned to continue walking on. For a few long moments, he stayed walking slightly behind her. A couple more strides and he had decided to catch up. The last time it had taken this long to walk this same street, she had been so drunk she had narrowly avoided falling into her neighbour’s front garden.

“Five months? You’re not that out of shape.” She tried to make a joke. It was the only thing she could think of. Audrey would be eye-rolling like a champ if she could see them now.

Chris knew she was trying to make small talk now so he decided to indulge her. It was a fair response, he thought - he was doing OK - as he followed her up the stairs deliberately keeping two or three behind her in an effort to keep it casual.

“Oh, y’know. I fluctuate pretty easily. A few pizzas here and there and it’s game over.”

They walked into her kitchen and she had been right in assuming Shanna was still asleep. Unless she had awoken really early but that was highly unlikely, unless there was a sale at Ted Baker she didn’t know about.

He lingered in the doorway while she searched the fridge for a bottle of water. Grabbing one from the back, she turned to hand it to him expecting him to be within an arm’s reach from her but he had been distracted by something down the hall before turning back to her. Gratefully, he accepted it and walked into the kitchen to take up his usual spot leaning against the counter.

“Sorry, did you say you wanted a coffee?” She offered.

“Nah, I’m good. Can’t really take caffeine until this afternoon.”

“Sorry. I always forget how strict it is.” She apologised, offering him a sympathetic smile.

He took a long swig from the bottle, not breaking eye contact from her. “No need to apologise. You OK? Night shift?”

“Yeh. Pretty quiet, thankfully.”

“I’ve always meant to ask but what is it like, a night shift? I can’t work out if it would be worse or not.”

She understood what he meant and laughed. “It can go either way to be honest but it’s been quiet the last few nights. Nothing crazy. I caught up with some paperwork, so…” She shrugged again, acutely aware of how boring she must sound.

He nodded at her. “Aren’t people supposed to be crazier in the summertime?”

“Well, kids are around more and families tend to spend more time together, so…”

The apartment was unnervingly quiet now which was weird. She could hear the uptake in traffic outside which provided some relief that perhaps he couldn’t hear her heart beating out of her chest. She could make out some small sweat patches on his hoodie and it did something to her that she wasn’t expecting. Shaking the thought from her head, she turned to switch the kettle off.

“What?” He asked.

She jerked her head back around to face him. “Huh?”

“You were thinking of something. Your neck just went red.” He smiled, tilting his head at her and relishing the look of surprise making its way over her features, knowing he’d caught her out.

That was news to her. She knew she had “tells” but a red neck was not usually one of them. How come no one had ever told her about this?

“I can’t tell if you’re joking with me or not.” She inquired, playfully narrowing her eyes at him in an effort to lighten the mood.

He shrugged a shoulder at her, a smirk starting to cross his fine features. Joshing with her was good. She’d take that. A small step in the right direction.

“Sometimes, it’s really obvious. You get it when you’re embarrassed about something, or when you try to lie. I’d never really noticed it before, but...” He paused. His expression started to turn more thoughtful and she wished he’d just continue to make fun of her instead.

“Guess I won’t be playing poker anytime soon.” She finished the thought for him.

“Yeh, no, you’d be rubbish at that. Just terrible.” He took another swig from his bottle and waited for her to throw something at him.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

The room went quiet again. She stirred her mug of coffee and offered him another chance at one which he politely refused although his discipline was waning slightly now he could smell it.

“So this is fine.” He said after a couple of minutes, nodding in a slightly exaggerated manner. He looked out of the kitchen window. “We can do this, right? No awkwardness. No embarrassment. Just normal, everyday conversation.”

“’Course,” she nodded in agreement.

“Start as we mean to go on, right?”

She nodded again. This felt like a trap and she couldn’t put her finger on why. Chris had a knack for saying and doing two different things at the same time, an intimidating ability that often put people on edge if he thought it would serve his purpose, whatever that may be. Probably the actor in him. When you called him out, he would aggressively defend himself which only served to prove the point you were making in the first place.

Scott was the only one, truly, who knew when it was happening. It had taken Sarah years to get to a similar position but now, she wasn’t sure she was remotely close to it.

“It’s as good a starting point as any, I guess.” She shrugged again, sipping from her cup.

“So there’s no need to ignore me then.”

“I haven’t been ignoring you, have I?”

“You tell me. I’m just pre-empting it is all. I’m just saying we can still interact, you and me, if we need to. Like, it doesn’t always have to be in social settings with other people around.” He took a final drink from his bottle and turned to locate the recycling pot stashed away in the corner. Even with a mundane task, he always looked cool doing it.

“So don’t worry about it.”

“Alright then. That’s good to know.” She shot him a raised eyebrow which he caught and returned with a sly smirk. “I’m just trying to be sensible. We have to get this right or else there’s no point.”

“I know, I get that, too.” If he wasn’t attempting to be serious before, he was now. He had a hand on his hip and seemed to have grown a few inches in height. “What do you think I’m trying to say?”

“I…think I’m on the backfoot again and it’s weird.” She held a hand up in defence.

“Hey, I’m just doing what we agreed, OK? I’m just following your rules.”

“They’re not rules.” She struggled to regulate the volume in her voice in case she disturbed Shanna. “And you’re making it sound like I’m controlling the situation when I’m not. We both agreed on this. There’s no point being difficult about it.”

Was he being difficult? Yes. Obviously, he was. He wasn’t happy. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling but happy definitely wasn’t it. Things were out of sorts and he hadn’t been able to eat carbs or sugar for four days so the withdrawal symptoms certainly weren’t helping. He should go easier on her. She was doing the thinking for the both of them. He should learn to be more grateful for that.

He scratched the back of his head and let out an audible sigh in frustration. “I’ll try harder, I promise. We’ve got that cabin thing coming up with Mom, so…I promise I’ll be good.”

He imitated the scout salute and she smiled at him, a smile not quite reaching her eyes.

Another night shift and Audrey and was starting to get suspicious. No one willingly switched for a night shift. For one thing, there was a disproportionate amount of recovery time. A couple of night shifts often took in excess of a week to recover from; a week that a nurse definitely did not have to spare.

“He been buggin’ you?” she asked, finally growing tired of the silence.

“Who?” Sarah looked up from the cabinet. “No, not really. We haven’t really spoken.”

“So why are you ignoring him?”

“I’m not ignoring him! Why does everyone think that?”

“Who’s everyone?”

Crap. Audrey had her there. Sarah open and closed her mouth without a sound coming out. She took a breath. “He’s not bugging me. He’s not. I’m just trying to limit the times we’re in the same place at the same time.”

“Huh, you’d think he would at least allow you to have peace in your own home.”

“Well, to be fair, he hasn’t been around all that much, but…at least I don’t have to worry about him showing up unannounced. It’s stupid but I feel way more awkward about him than I thought I would. It’s like I can’t even stand to be under his gaze.”

Audrey glanced at her friend, wishing she could offer some words of comfort. Even for someone as verbose as she normally was, she was finding it a struggle. Sarah wasn’t much looking for words of comfort at the given time either. She was all too aware of the predicament she was in and how much responsibility laid at her feet. In her mind, waiting it out was the only logical solution she could come up with. The only logical solution that didn’t require more conversations with someone who could feasibly run rings around her “theory” that if they just stayed apart for a little while, they would suddenly and magically forget about the past couple of months.

They stayed filing documents in silence again, the air seemingly getting thicker.

“You ever spoken with someone and it’s like they’re thinking the complete opposite of what’s coming out of their mouth?” Sarah huffed while shoving the cabinet drawer closed.

“Not really. That person’s usually me.”

“But why?” she asked. “Why can’t you just be normal?”

“I mean, it’s not my go-to response of course. It’s normally reserved for occasions when I am trying to indulge someone because I know they’re talking bullshit. Like, when I know Mike has been gambling but he tries to deny it? It’s just easier to figure him out that way.”

Sarah froze to the spot, looking at her friend. She breathed a heavy sigh and turned to lean back on the table behind her and crossed her arms. She stared at her shoes for a second.

“Chris is a smart guy. I’ll give him that.” Audrey muttered loudly so she was sure Sarah could hear.

“Give me something! I’m your friend here.” She implored her before chuckling to herself at Audrey’s face and her own apparent lack of self-awareness.

“You know what I think? You’ve probably got withdrawal symptoms from the all the amazing sex you’ve had and now you’re sulking. I think you should get back on that horse and let him fuck you again. That’s what this is.”

Sarah eyed her friend again. For once, she would love to hear someone tell her that she was right. “That’s really not helping, y’know.”

“And this is?!” Audrey’s shriller tone cut through the dry air, smacking Sarah right in the face. “Honey, this isn’t healthy. You hiding out in the hospital and treating it like your own solace is not healthy at all. I love you but you are your own worst enemy.”

“Alright, thank you. Thank you very much. Thank you for your unswerving efforts to be honest with me at all times and not, like a normal pal, be comforting in any way.” Sarah comically bowed to her friend before considering leaving the office. She would have followed through with the idea as well if it wasn’t for the cosy warmth of O’Brien’s office versus the coldness of the ER department thanks to a leaking pipe. “It’s difficult. I’m sorry. I don’t wanna fall out with you, Audrey.”

Audrey just smiled at her. “I don’t know why you think you have to be the beacon of morality all the time, Sarah. Take a look around. No one else is. We all out here just trying to live our lives as best we can and a part of that is taking advantage of moments of happiness when we find them.”

Something about what Audrey was saying did resonate with her but comparing two months of happiness with Chris to ten years with Shanna was not something she could in good conscience do. Shanna was her security blanket. She provided a comfort of living with someone with shared life experience, of knowing how little you thought about yourself because you were given up as a baby. Honestly, from the very first day they had met, Sarah felt lucky to know her.

Yes, Shanna could be immature at times. Maybe a little selfish. She would often get carried away with trivial things and wasn’t the most reliable person, but what Sarah got in return was worth that and more. Her family enjoyed highlighting the maternal care Sarah would have to provide to someone who was seven months older than she was, but honestly it didn’t matter.

Maybe this was one of the rare occasions where Audrey was wrong.

Chris was a fling at best, Sarah told herself, when she was lying in bed struggling to fall asleep. When she was cold and missing his arms around her. They were both having shitty times and they both got something out of it. That was what Chris had said himself at the very beginning.

Chris 08.15am: You home? Shanna said you were working late again

It was like he knew she would be thinking about him.

Chris 08.17am: I really dont want u ignoring me all the time. This is hard for me right now as well

Fuck.

Sarah 08.21am: I kno. I’m so sorry I made you feel like that :(

He didn’t respond. She thought she saw the tell-tale three dots of him writing something but nothing appeared. Giving up on sleep, she got up and headed into the kitchen. Shanna had left her some bacon in the fridge and a fresh bread bun on the side so she turned on the grill and set about making some coffee.

She felt strangely awake for this time and the apartment was nice and warm from the bright sunshine streaming in from all corners. Maybe a run would help. Or a cold shower.

Chris 08.44am: I wanna be honest with u but I dont think u want that

Chris 08.45am: so what do i do??

Fuck knows.

Chris 08.51am: Can I come over?

Sarah 08.54am: that’s not a good idea

Chris 08.55am: cos you know what will happen?

Chris 08.56am: what does that tell you??

She was sure he was nursing some kind of hangover or, quite possibly, he was still a little bit drunk. There were two responses she could give, she figured. The first would be her usual denial and perhaps an excuse that she was busy or working later than planned. The second, and ultimately the one she opted for, was to agree with him.

Sarah 09.05am: I know what it tells me. That’s why I’m saying you shouldn’t come over

Another three dots followed. There was only so many times they could go around and around in circles and as much as Audrey’s words made sense to her, it felt like she had to make the effort to regain some normality.

He didn’t respond. She stared at her phone for an age but nothing came through. Maybe he got the message? Maybe he had fallen asleep. She was both relieved and suspicious; Chris wasn’t someone who backed down from an argument when he thought he was right. He had said as much himself.

She turned the grill off, having lost her appetite. A run might make more sense and could help clear her head.

She couldn’t sit around waiting for Chris to make his next move.

#Chris evans #chris evans fic #evans fic #fanfiction #clear the area #sarah bernette #chris evans x original female character

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stefciastark · 3 years

Text

Vines

Rating: T

Characters/Themes: Tony & Peter (Irondad), Steve Rogers, Clint Barton, Nick Fury

Genre: H/C

Words: ~1600 and counting

A/N: Originally made for Day 11 of Webpril (a little late, whoops), I have also published this into a separate fic. If you'd like to stay up to date with how this pans out for chapter 2-3, you'll find that on my AO3 or FFN on the 'Standalone Fic' links below :) x

~Read it on AO3 | Webpril | Standalone Fic

~Read it on FFN | Webpril | Standalone Fic

Peter had never thought he’d be afraid of plants. Alright, maybe poison ivy and rhubarb, but not vines of all things. He also never thought he’d see the day when plants came to life...well okay, plants were already alive, but sentient was a whole other can of worms that Peter wished was never opened.

“Remind me to add a herbicide feature to the suits next time,” Tony chimed in over the comms. Peter couldn’t see his whereabouts, a cloud of smoke barring his view. It seemed like no matter how many explosives or sheer blunt force they sunk into these things, they were getting nowhere.

“New York is struggling with the trees as is, Tony, I don’t think we need you nuking the last patch of grass in Central Park,” Clint fired back.

“Look, can we talk about saving the forests later? I could use some more hands on deck here.” Steve was about a block and a half away from the rest of the team, having appointed himself to ‘perimeter’ duty but had soon been confronted with a writhing mass of vines that sprouted from the ground like heads sprouted from a Hydra.

Steve’s request was met by an enthusiastic “coming!” from Peter, who promptly proceeded to assume the role of a modern George of the Jungle, but instead the jungle was made of concrete, and the vines were...well the vines were vines.

Peter locked on to the small speck of blue weaving in between a forest of green, and proceeded to deploy the four mechanical arms that erupted from the back of the Iron Spider. Each arm seemed to operate on Karen’s schedule, but Peter couldn’t complain; the AI had faster reactions than Peter ever would, and if he thought about that too much it scared him.

As each metal appendage slashed and carved its way through the thick stems, thick sap oozed out like blood, but as soon as the incisions appeared, they were gone, replaced by cell membranes that were multiplying way too fast.

“Uh, guys? This isn’t working…”

“You’re telling me,” Clint grumbled, feeling more useless than ever. It didn’t matter if his arrows were covered in acid, produced flames, or were laced with electricity - the outcome was still the same. As soon as Clint came to that realisation, he had perched himself on the balcony of a nearby highrise, not wanting to risk being caught amongst the chaos. There was many a time he wished he weren’t as human. Moreso, he wished he weren’t as fragile.

“Hold on, I’ve got this.” Tony rounded the corner of the sidestreet nearest to Peter and moments later as the suit brushed past Steve, a long thin pike that exploded out from a Tylenol sized capsule dug into the ground right next to one of the vines besides Peter.

Within less than a second, Peter felt a shudder beneath the ground, followed by a geyser of dirt. The vine writhed for a moment before falling limp with a heavy thud. It suddenly looked so much smaller, no longer resembling a gigantic green tube man from outside the local car dealership.

“Well that wasn’t so bad.”

Peter groaned internally, not needing his Spidey Sense to tell him that those would be Tony’s famous last words.

The vine began convulsing, and Peter was reminded of the nurses from Silent Hill. For a moment he wished they were; then he wouldn’t have to deal with something at least half the size of his apartment building.

Rising once more to its full stature, half a dozen smaller vines broke out from the soil beneath it. Now it really resembled a Hydra.

Tony registered simultaneously the resurrection-including-birth and his position that put him at the epicentre of it all. Firing all repulsors at maximum capacity, he took off aiming vaguely for Hawkeye’s vantage point on the balcony.

That would’ve been the plan.

One of the smaller vines had snaked its way around the suit’s foot, up the ankle, and began to relentlessly squeeze. Sparks were beginning to fly out of Tony’s right foot repulsor before sputtering and going dark, and in that brief window where full-flight momentum had been compromised, the vine arched back.

Peter watched with mild panic as Tony whipped into the ground with the vine still stubbornly attached. He knew the suit could handle a lot, but what he never knew - and he was fairly sure Tony didn’t really know either - was if the suit was going to be able to come back to the workshop in one piece, preferably with Tony in one piece in it. And speaking of the workshop, after the dust cleared Peter’s heart sunk as he took in the scuffs and the scattered uneven plates that normally fit together like a puzzle. Of course, with all of their recent calls to action over the last few days and most of the other suits undergoing major upgrades and testing during an almost two month long quiet period - which turns out was a major oversight - the only suitable suit candidate was already semi out of commission.

Tony’s communications stuttered back online, jarred momentarily by the impact, and a low groan filtered over the comms.

“Tony, you alright?” Steve was almost 300-feet away, jumping back in after spending an frustratingly inordinate amount of time trying to pull an answer out of S.H.I.E.L.D who had sent a few airborne vehicles to try and scan and triangulate.

“Just. Peachy.” Each word was punctuated by a forceful attempt to remove the vine’s grip from the suit. Tony didn’t want to admit it out loud, but the strength at which it was constricting was starting to hurt. A lot. He really didn’t want to think about how much pressure the baby vine had to be exerting for him to feel it beneath the suit. He was suddenly a lot more alarmed about the larger vines.

S.H.I.E.L.D used that moment to broadcast, Nick Fury’s voice filtering over the present team’s radios. “I see we might have a bit of a weed problem. I would’ve thought gardening was a bit below the Avengers’ paygrade.”

“Just tell us how to get rid of these things, they’re giving me the creeps.” Clint broke his silence, his time surveying the convulsing vines of chaos in Central Park not bringing him any answers.

Fury was all business now. “This thing’s set up camp over by the boat house to your north. Scans picked up a large form that looks like a bulb about 32-feet below the surface. Find it, kill it, and we can all go home.”

“Roger that,” Steve replied, shifting his shield to sit more securely. “Tony, are you rea -”

“I’m gonna need a bit. As kinky as being tied up would be in any other situation…” Tony never quite finished his thought, turning off his radio as the vine constricted once more and he gritted his teeth against the crushing pressure. More of the baby vines had seemed to smell the nearby prey and had turned their attention to his figure lying supine on the ground.

Peter winced, hearing the (almost) disguised strain in Tony’s voice. The parent vine didn’t seem to care about his mentor anymore, and if it had eyes, Peter was sure they’d be twinkling in a lazy kind of sadistic pleasure. It had minions to do its dirty work now.

“Alright Queens, you and I have got this.” Steve looked at Peter and nodded. Clint had one arrow left and that method of attack had so far proven incredibly useless. Except…

Peter swung his way up to the balcony Clint was occupying near the East Green section of Central Park. “Hey, can I have your last boom arrow? Maybe it’ll work, but I’ve got a plan.”

Clint raised an eyebrow, loathe to give over his last projectile and cementing how inessential he had begun to feel. Pressing his lips together, he reached behind him and pulled out his last arrow. “Just press this bit in the middle of the arrowhead, okay? After that you’ve got about five seconds before you need to get the hell out.”

“Cool, got it. Arrowhead, five seconds, run. Thanks!” And as soon as Peter had appeared, he had started his commute back towards Steve.

Tony was lying incredibly still. He discovered that if he barely twitched a muscle - which these abominations could somehow tell beneath a layer of armour - the rate at which the squeezing increased slowed down.

“Today would be great.” Tony turned his head towards Steve, who had just shifted his attention to Peter who had arrived with an arrow in hand. Steve at once understood the plan.

“Hold tight, Tony.” Steve’s voice dripped with an authority that Tony found profoundly irritating but Peter found comforting.

“Not going anywhere, Cap.”

Steve took off at a sprint next to Peter, who was using the surrounding trees and lamp posts as targets for his webs. The closer they got to the epicentre of it all, the more concentrated the vines were. What started as sporadically placed vegetation now looked more like a dense jungle.

Peter landed softly on the grass as Steve slowed to a jog. Looking up, they were confronted with a writhing mass that looked more like a Kraken than it did a plant.

As they deliberated their next course of action, Peter’s blood ran cold as over the radio he heard Tony’s agonised scream.

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