#(( News flash asshole: HUMANS HAVE BRAINS AND CREATIVITY ))

[machinesandman]

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#OOC #out of codes #COMMS;; Mun Speaking #(( hey anon in my inbox this is the third message you have sent. )) #(( Saying the same shit over and over and i havent answered the others. )) #(( You're not doing shit and I'm going to break your nico nico kneecaps. )) #(( I've been having a hell time IRL as of late )) #(( And I'm a madlad on the edge )) #(( I've had these muses for years and years fucko )) #(( People can end up having similar ideas before they ever even meet. )) #(( News flash asshole: HUMANS HAVE BRAINS AND CREATIVITY )) #(( I'm so fucking tired. )) #(( Were it not for the laws of this god forsaken website I would have ended you. )) #(( Cowardly hiding like this and trying to ruin my time while my brain is already hanging on my a fucking thread )) #(( LISTEN. I've put work into this and its insignifigant little gnats like you that make it harder for people to actually have fun. )) #(( Don't you have anything else better to do? like grow up? )) #(( GO TOUCH GRASS FOR THE LOVE OF FUCK ))

[aellynera]

An Off Day (Nathan Bateman x Reader)

AN OFF DAY

(okay, look. my husband thought he was being funny and said “give me a character and i’ll give you a scenario” and then i snorted laughing and then...well. this happened. set sometime before the events of the movie.)

((shoutout to @anetteaneta for an important bit of info and @tinygaydemonbby​ for the random chat and another key bit.))

Word Count: 2100(ish)

Summary: It’s your day off and you’re just trying to enjoy it. Nathan is working and he’s trying to enjoy it. It doesn’t at all go the way you imagined.

Warnings: Cursing. Banter. Robot sex (not graphic). Personal injury. Innuendo. Propositions. Nudity. Complete and utterly ridiculous trash. Possible typos. Nathan Bateman.

The absolute magnificence of the Alaskan landscape was something that, quite frankly, you were never going to get used to. The trees, tall and majestic, towering over the lush green grass. The river, crisp and pristine, bubbling its way to the immense waterfall that cascaded down the cliff face and eventually made its way into the ever-vast ocean. The bald eagles that would soar from treetop to treetop, even the occasional moose that would make itself known at the edges of the compound and then disappear like ghosts into the forest beyond.

It was otherworldly.

The occasional twig snapped and leaf crunched under your boots as you hiked along your usual trail along the north side of the property. Today’s air felt cool on your cheeks despite the sun overhead; at least it was summer - technically, even if the temperature wasn’t getting much above 60 degrees Fahrenheit these past few weeks - so you had twenty hours of daylight instead of the twenty hours of darkness in winter.

You found your favorite spot on a nearby rock and perched on the smooth surface, tilting your face up to that glorious, shining orb. This really was what you needed right now.

*ding!*

...And that was really what you didn’t need. Definitely not right now, and probably not later either. Speaking of otherworldly.

Your boss was a difficult man, and you had a strange rapport with him that was irritating on a daily professional basis, and to your dismay, increasingly so on a personal level. To be fair, you were the only two humans out here. To also be fair, your boss was kind of annoyingly hot.

You sighed and reached into your pocket, pulling out your phone and glancing at the screen.

God: Where the fuck are you?

God? What the… You were annoyed by the text, but more annoyed by the name. When the hell did that bastard changed his name in your phone? He was insufferable on the best of days, but this was a new low. A new high? You weren’t really sure. Sighing, you shot a text back.

You: It’s my day off.

God: You know that’s not really a thing here right?

You: It is when I need a break from you.

God: I’ll make it up to you.

You: Unless you’re asking me to dinner, I don’t want to hear it.

You groaned. You really didn’t mean to say that.

The little ellipses that showed he was typing back flashed across the screen several times, then stopped. Then popped back up, and stopped again. And just because your boss was your boss, it did it four more times, but still no response.

You shoved your phone back in your jacket pocket and returned your attention to the river, breathing deeply and watching the water swirl around a pile of rocks on the opposite bank.

*ding!*

Dammit.

God: I need you to come back like right now.

You: I’m not gonna sit around and be your Eliza Doolittle today, Nathan.

You weren’t just saying that. Last week, the man had dragged you, literally, into the lab by your elbow and had you repeat vowel sounds and random words extremely phonetically while holding a pulsing orb of glowing blue goo. He claimed it was some kind of brain training. You’d said it wasn’t part of your job description, but honestly, it probably was. You were there to assist, you were there to manage, you were there to occasionally have a satisfyingly intelligent and non-arrogant conversation, and you were mostly there to make sure Nathan Bateman didn’t blow anything up or burn anything down.

That didn’t necessarily mean you liked any of it. Okay, fine, you kind of liked the assisting part and definitely the intelligent conversation part. But it was your day off, and all you wanted to do was not be in the house.

God: What? No, it’s...I just need your help with something.

You: Nathan. It. Is. My. Day. Off. No assistance today. Bother me tomorrow.

God: ...Please?

That gave you pause. Since when did he actually ask for anything politely?

You: Fine. I’m halfway up summit trail, give me like 20.

God: Make it 10.

You:  Asshole.

God: And bring a bag of frozen peas.

What the actual hell.

You blinked at the screen twice, turned your phone off completely, and started back towards the house.

*****

You didn’t know why you paid the slightest bit of attention to Nathan’s request, but once in the house, you found yourself in the kitchen, pulling a bag of frosty legumes out of the freezer. With it in hand, you made your way to the lab.

Nathan hadn’t told you where he was, but you knew where to find him. He was always in the lab.

“Okay, I’m back,” you called out as you pushed through the door to Nathan’s inner sanctum. “Now what is so damn important that…”

“Oh thank fuck,” Nathan’s voice called out. “Do you have the stuff?”

You glanced around suspiciously. You couldn’t see him. Until you came around the side of the long table in the middle of the room and found him. Your eyes widened at the sight of Nathan, curled up on the floor in a fetal position, sweating and vaguely shaking.

And totally naked.

He glanced up as he saw your shoes approached and weakly raised his arm and made a grabby hand. “Gimme.”

Tossing the frozen vegetables to him, your mouth opened and closed several times, trying to process the scene. Before you could really take it all in, you watched as Nathan reached over his shoulder, grabbed his discarded t-shirt, and wrapping the icy bag in the shirt, placed it directly on his crotch.

“All right,” you finally got out, “what the actual hell is going on?!”

“Ohhhhh,” Nathan moaned as the cold compress made contact with his skin. “I thought I was gonna die.”

“Why are you naked?” you yelled at him.

“There was a malfunction,” he replied, nonchalant as if you were simply discussing the weather.

You just gaped at him. This was definitely not in your job description.

“A malfunction,” you repeated.

Nathan made a feeble gesture at the table. It was covered in metal parts and wires, screwdrivers and other things you assumed were robotic but couldn’t recognize. He had been working a new body build for the past few days, that much you knew. But now there were metal bits everywhere and Nathan was bare as the day he was born, sprawled in the middle of the floor. Your eyes scanned the table again; the biggest object, in the middle of the mess, looked sort of like...oh, you did not like where this was going. You pinched the bridge of your nose.

“I may have miscalculated the required tension,” Nathan said, still curled up on the floor.

The required...oh hell no.

“Nathan...you know you’re the literally the smartest person I know, and you know I think you’re brilliantly creative and inventive and all that important stuff, but please, please tell me you were not actually doing what I think you were doing,” you muttered.

“I was working!”

“You know I can just check the security footage, right?” you stared him down.

Nathan looked at you over the top of his glasses. “I had to test it and make sure it worked.”

You buried your face in your hands.

“Why does a robot have to have working...parts?!” As soon as you asked, you wished you hadn’t. This idiot genius actually had the nerve to blush. Slightly. He would never admit it, but his ears definitely got pinker than they’d been a few seconds ago.

Nathan sat up suddenly and glared at you, adjusting the ice pack again - thank the heavens - to keep himself covered. “First of all, it’s not a robot, it’s an AI. There’s a big difference. And second of all, we talked about this. The point is to make it as human as possible, so this particular part was necessary.”

The glare you shot back at him could have melted his current loincloth. It was your day off and Nathan couldn’t even leave you be for one whole day without his compulsion to cater to whatever whim was in his head and get under your skin. You dropped into one of the lab chairs.

“So...let me get this straight,” you sighed. God help you. But not the God in your cell phone, because he could go fuck himself. Or get fucked. Whichever.

Suddenly, through your haze of utter exasperation, what you’d just thought clicked into place and you snorted a laugh. Your eyes flashed over to the thing in the middle of the table. It was definitely shaped like a pelvis.

Nathan’s eyes became daggers. “What’s so fuckin’ funny?”

Your eyes went to the thing on the table and to his hands, and then back again. You shook your head, cleared your throat, and tried not to laugh again. It didn’t work. “Sorry. Um. So...what you’re saying is...you got injured because you were...fucking a robot pelvis.”

“I should fire you,” Nathan grumbled.

“And you got injured - from fucking a disembodied robot pelvis -”

“I am so going to fire you.”

“...because it was too...tight?”

“I shouldn’t have asked for your help. I should have just let myself die here, naked and unsatisfied.” He flopped back down.

You couldn’t help yourself any longer. Your laughter rang through the lab, a mixture of actual amusement and horrified reality. You snorted again and that made you laugh harder. Nathan had always joked about making a sex robot. Well, you thought he had been joking, but now, clearly not - and he’d hurt himself in the actual process of trying to make sure it worked. You weren’t a monster, you hoped he wasn’t truly actually injured, but you also took a little satisfaction in knowing karma existed.

After a few minutes, you wiped your eyes and looked down at him. Nathan stared back, but you could see the start of a sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I told you I miscalculated the tension. It was fine--”

“Until it wasn’t?” you wheezed.

“--until it cut off all the circulation to my dick.”

You bit your lip. “Nathan Bateman. You literally cockblocked yourself.”

He didn’t respond right away. But then he spoke, at the same moment you noticed the smirk on his face fully bloom and what you’d come to call his “up to some bullshit” look glimmer in his eyes.

“Are you gonna come help me or not?”

“Excuse me?” You were fairly certain your eyebrows could not go any farther up your forehead.

“Well, I’m not in excruciating, unimaginable pain now, and I’d like to make sure my dick isn’t going to fall off. And I didn’t finish. Need a little help here.”

“You want me to--” you stuttered.

“Un-cockblock me,” his wolfish smile broke out fully now.

You hurled a pen at his head. “You really are an asshole.”

“I admit,” he continued, easily dodging your projectile, “this wasn’t what I was expecting for the first time you saw me naked, but I’ll work with what I got.” He started to remove the ice pack.

Another pen went flying his way. “You know, I’m just going to pretend that you’re not about to flash me with your mechanically impaired penis, and that you didn’t just proposition me, and I’m leaving this room now,” you said, standing up and shaking your head.

“Baby, you’re just gonna leave me hanging here?” he grinned, stretching back out on the floor. He folded his hands behind his head. The t-shirt wrapped bag of frozen peas remained - now perched rather proudly, you noted - on his groin.

A vexed growl left your lips as you walked towards the lab door. “Leaving now!”

“Well could you at least toss me my pants?”

You glanced down. Nathan’s sweatpants were balled up behind the lab door. How they’d gotten all the way over here...nope. Nope. You decided that information was entirely unnecessary.

You threw his pants at him and they hit him in the face with a satisfying whump.

“You sure I can’t convince you to help me out here?” Nathan asked serenely from under the fabric.

He couldn’t see the small smile on your face as you walked out the door. Thank god. Or...God. Whatever. The man was a menace.

“Ask me to dinner,” you called over your shoulder.

“I’ll text you,” he called back.

God.

~end~

taglist: @anetteaneta @autumnleaves1991-blog @damerondjarin @deeandbobbymcgee @rosemarysbaby13 @iamthe-shadow-on-the-wall @itspdameronthings @poedjarin @spider-starry @tinygaydemonbby @writefightandflightclub @woakiees @veuliee2 @yourbucky084​

(taglist open, click here to join if you’d like)

#nathan bateman #nathan bateman x reader #fanfic #oscar isaac characters #my writing

[forasecondtherewedwon]

21st Century Friction

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: T Word count: 10,817 @spideychelleweek​

Spideychelle Week Day 6: Enemies to Lovers

Summary: Peter needs an arts credit to graduate, but he didn't mean to pick the course that even the English majors avoid! Luckily, he has the help of Michelle Jones, the tutor Tony hired for him. Unluckily, she just overheard him insulting her entire academic discipline. They're not breaking off the arrangement―Peter's determined to do well in this stupid English course to keep his average up and Michelle won't let his bad attitude stand in the way of a cheque from Tony Stark.

With one tempestuous meeting down, they only have two semesters and twenty-five books to go.

Peter’s in big trouble―huge―and Mr. Stark did tell him that if he’s ever in trouble he should ask for help, so he calls, looking for help, and gets nobody, so he calls again and gets Happy, who hangs up once Peter makes him understand that, no, this isn’t about somebody trying to kick his Spidey-suit ass but about him trying to pick a new class (Happy’s next to some freaky machine at the time and it makes the cell reception wonky), but who finally listens all the way to the end on the seventeenth time Peter manages to get through to him without having his call dropped, and then Mr. Stark is told about it and though Peter isn’t immediately apprised of the solution to his own problem for some reason, he’s informed that cash has been flashed and that the solution will, inevitably, be attained.

Until then, Peter begins the first week of his third year of college and shows up to the labs and lectures of every class on his schedule, including English 1034: 21st Century Literature from A to Z.

AGUALUSA, José Eduardo ― A General Theory of Oblivion

“A tutor?” Peter hisses into his phone, pacing the tight corridor of the library’s fourth-floor stacks. “How is his solution to get me a tutor? I don’t need a tutor! I’m smart, Happy, remember? What did I want instead? Well, I don’t know! I have to keep all my core classes for my major, but maybe he could’ve made them give me credit for taking something online from another college? I’m not screwing up my schedule for English lit. I don’t even know why I gotta take this! I know how to read, you know? I’m just―”

Oh sure, he heard the other person enter the aisle, but he assumed it was to grab a book, so the noise of annoyance that leaves his mouth when his phone is snatched from his hand and his call ended is absolutely genuine.

“’Sup,” says the person, who’s a woman his age, who’s handing his phone back with a lazy gesture, who’s apparently entirely cool, casual, and unapologetic about unceremoniously hanging up on Happy for him. “You gotta take English lit because it sounds as though your vocabulary needs it and, hi, I’m Michelle. Your tutor.”

She mumbles an indelicate string of words after that as she turns and walks away from him out of the stacks and Peter picks up ‘entitled asshole’ even though he isn’t trying to listen, just follow her and set this thing straight.

“Uh, no, you’re not,” he assures her, alarmed when the place he’s trailing her to turns out to be a table where her stuff is waiting―open notebook, two different coloured pens, a copy of the syllabus for English 1034. No, no, no!

“Well, I can’t guarantee you’ll actually learn anything since you seem to have a combination of a pretty thick skull and an overinflated ego, but I’ll hold up my end of the deal. Let me guess, Business major?”

“Bio,” Peter grits out, grasping the back of the chair intended for him as this Michelle person slides neatly into hers, like the library’s her living room because she lives here. Fine. He’s happy for it to stay that way. He has access to all the books he needs in the sciences library on the other side of campus.

“Well, my condolences to the parts of your brain which, in most people, would produce non-literal comprehension and creative thought. But I’m sure you know the names for those, don’t you, Science Guy? Ok, quit making that face and let’s go over your syllabus.”

She doesn’t look up the entire time she speaks and Peter has never heard a person sound so pretentious in real life.

“Are you kidding me? No. Even if I wanted or needed to be tutored, it wouldn’t be by you. You grabbed my phone out of my hand!”

“Yeah,” Michelle agrees, meeting his eye with something firm in her own, “and you were talking on it in one of the library’s Quiet Zones. I’m not here to give you a lesson on Comparative Ignorance.”

“What makes you think you can just do that?” Peter demands. He feels sort of ridiculous and like he’s simultaneously taking the argument a step too far and a step not-far-enough; he’s not usually like this, but then, other people aren’t usually like that.

“The fact that I was paid in advance.”

She nods towards the chair and Peter doesn’t know why he does it, but he sits, still mad.

“Stark paid you to tutor me,” he states.

“Boy, are you struggling with the concept of exchanging currency for services too? Maybe there’s a basic Econ class you could still get into.”

“Why you?”

“Why you?” Michelle counters. “Why can’t smarty-pants, Stark-patroned Peter Parker just suck it up and get through a single English credit? Seriously, why not, since you seem to think it’s just reading and therefore easy. Why not just bribe the college to hand you the credit? You want me to tell you where the Financial Office is? I could show you because, ok, about me now, I’m here on scholarship because I couldn’t find a benevolent billionaire to smooth my path for me.” She straightens up in her chair, eyes practically volcanic with heat. “And here’s another why me for you: because I love what I study, I think literature has worth and beauty, and, oh right, I have the highest grade point average in the entire School of Arts and Humanities.”

Peter’s so floored for a minute that he forgets why he’s angry.

“It wouldn’t be right,” he finally says, trying to at least regain the moral high ground after her offhand suggestion of bribery. “Buying a credit. It wouldn’t be right.”

“So… instead you demean the entire discipline, like that’s going to help you.”

He scoffs.

“It’d help me more than you would.”

“Helping you is why I’m here.”

“You sound thrilled about it.”

“Hard not to be when I have the honour of tutoring the Spider-Man,” she says, matching his sarcasm.

Ugh, he hates that she brought that up. By his third year, he’s become less of a novelty in the halls―these days, people get more excited about a sighting of the local gopher who lives in a hole near the Astronomy building―and having it thrown in his face like this is even more uncomfortable than requests for selfies. Or the few mortifying pleas for his autograph. They’re locked in a mutually-irritated glare, which Peter breaks with a groan and a roll of his eyes.

“I didn’t want to be in this class,” he admits.

“And yet the online course selection process is so very hard to fuck up. Thus, you did in fact choose this class. Unless… does Tony Stark pick your classes for you?”

Peter ignores that. He can’t both fume and be cooperative enough to get her help, which he’s starting to think he might need. Maybe she can give him some kind of insider English department knowledge that will rid him of English 1034.

“It is an interesting choice,” Michelle continues carefully. Is she smirking at him? He can’t quite tell.

“I didn’t read the description.”

“What did you expect ‘20th Century Literature from A to Z’ to be?”

She’s mocking him, but Peter feels like his mistake in taking this particular class is an easy one to make. He has plenty of reasons to back him up.

“It’s a first-year level English course, it’s non-essay, and ‘A to Z’ made it sound like an overview,” he lists confidently.

“In case you don’t already know or suspect this, nobody who’s actually in the English program takes it.”

Michelle’s tone is extraordinarily smug.

“I thought you guys loved to read,” Peter says accusingly, leaning back and crossing his arms.

“Not a novel every week for two semesters! Dude, you picked a course with twenty-six required texts. ‘A to Z’ is for the alphabetical order of the authors’ last names.”

“I know that now,” he grumbles, eyeing the booklist Michelle has neatly aligned next to the syllabus on their study table. “And now all the other full-year non-essay English classes are full, so I can’t drop this one because there’s nothing to pick up in its place.”

“That’s an insanely stupid mistake.”

“Noted.”

“Ok, if you’re ready to move on, what were your thoughts on Agualusa?”

“You still want to tutor me?”

She looks at him like he’s truly the uncomprehending, unimaginative Bio-dunce she described.

“There are few things I want less than I want this. The only possible enjoyment here is getting to meet one of the unsuspecting idiots who signed up for that class, and even that doesn’t cancel out the way you belittled my area of study and those who study it. So.” Michelle extends a hand and, when Peter realizes what she wants, accepts his panic-purchased copy of A General Theory of Oblivion. “Time to prove you can read.”

BEATTY, Paul ― The Sellout

“I see you found the place,” Michelle greets without looking up from what she’s reading (which is the book for his course).

Peter attempts to glance around without being obvious about it.

“It’s the same table we sat at last time,” he says, mostly certain.

“I know.” She looks up. “I just thought you might get lost in unfamiliar territory. Had you ever been in here before last week?”

He laughs bitterly as he slings his backpack off and lets it slam into the leg of the table, making Michelle frown.

“Yeah, I had.” Once. When he toured the college with May before applying to undergrad. “Don’t be so gatekeeper-y. These books aren’t just for English majors.”

“Oh, so you avail yourself of them often for pleasure reading? Sorry, sorry,” she adds quickly and something inside Peter eases at the hope of an apology, “I forgot I was talking to the guy who signed up for the most reading-heavy class the English department offers. Of course you must love to read.”

“I just want to get my mandatory arts credit to graduate.”

The motive should be obvious, Peter thinks, but maybe she’ll take pity on him because he’s offering an explanation.

“You’ve already successfully postponed it your first two years. Why not push it to next year when you can take a lighter class?”

“There are a lot of required fourth-year courses for my major. I don’t have room for anything that isn’t impor―”

He cuts himself off, but Michelle looks pissed. What? It’s the truth! If he thought English was more important than Biology, he would’ve studied English!

“You’re trying to get me to wait for an easier class and you told me I shouldn’t assume English was easy,” he accuses.

“It’s not! I didn’t say an easier class, I said a lighter one. You know, with fewer books to read. English ten-thirty-four is an easy class.”

“Yeah right!”

“Really, Peter?” He’s startled to hear his name leave her mouth. “Exactly how deep were you expecting the analysis to go when you only spend a week on each book? That’s a Monday and Wednesday course, right? So you’re only actually discussing the book for three hours. A bunch of your assigned texts are over four hundred pages, which means covering around one hundred and thirty-three pages every hour of discussion, or a little over two pages every minute. And that’s just content. If you were actually digging into any of these books, you’d discuss themes, historical context of the subject matter, intertextual influence…”

“You’re pretty good at math,” he says wryly. “I bet you could have majored in that instead.”

“I could’ve majored in anything, but I chose a subject that actually has a soul.”

“It’s cute that you’re so noble about it,” Peter says, feeling like an honest-to-Thor asshole because he’s never disparaged anyone or anything by calling them or it ‘cute’ before, “considering the current arrangement.”

She gives him a harsh look before finally asking, “What do you mean?”

“You’re studying something so intellectual and culturally important or whatever and looking down at people in Business and the sciences. Lots of us love what we’re majoring in and some of us are in it for a career with a good salary. I’m just worried you’re being a bit of a hypocrite. How superior can you feel when you’re peddling your English-major wisdom for a paycheque from Tony Stark?”

Michelle can’t really murder him―his reflexes are too fast, his body too durable, and the most dangerous thing she appears to have at her disposal is a blue ballpoint pen―but she kinda looks like she might give it a try. Ok, so undercutting her integrity in a vengeful rant was probably beneath him. She was being such a snob though!

Finally, her expression relaxes and she uncaps her pen (Peter flinches), poising it over the page where, last week, she composed him a strong set of notes as they attempted a rocky discussion of the book.

“How much did you get read?”

CHOI, Mary H.K. ― Permanent Record

Peter sits and nods at Michelle when she looks up.

“We’re past the add/drop date,” he announces. “Guess I’m officially in English ten-thirty-four for the rest of the year.”

“And when you graduate, it’ll be right there on your transcript, smuggled through in between the important courses. Even if you can’t hack it and fail the class,” she concludes with a small, scornful smile.

“As far as I know, you’re being paid too much to let me fail.”

It feels like a gross powerplay the second he’s said it. If they’re really going to do this, he needs to start taking the meanspirited way that she roots against him in stride. Does he think about finding a different tutor every time she makes a sly comment like that? Sure, but he’s stubborn enough about maintaining a strong average to recognize the value of learning from the best student in the program.

“So…” he says after a minute, watching Michelle flip through his book to find where he’s marked the passages examined in class. “We never really agreed to it out loud, but I guess this is our standing place and time to do this?”

“Yeah, there’s a clipboard where you sign up to reserve a specific table. I put our names down for every Thursday for the rest of the year.”

“Really?”

“No, numbskull,” Michelle informs him lightly. “You can’t reserve a table, only the study rooms. I knew you didn’t know how the library worked.”

“How ‘bout, instead of that, we talk about the demands of fame.”

“Oh? Are you trying to open up to me?” She taps the end of her pen hard and fast against the table as though to emphasize this is something she doesn’t have time for.

“No. I did my assigned reading.”

He reaches out and grabs his book, dragging it back across the table.

DAY, Kate Hope ― If, Then

“I kept waiting for it to get good. Why didn’t it get good?” he asks, spinning the book on their table, then trapping it under his palm.

“Patience, spider-brain,” Michelle instructs. “It is good. It’s suspenseful and subtle and atmospheric and it’s no wonder those things went right over your head. Weren’t you at least interested in Ginny? She’s a surgeon.”

“So?”

“So, you’re in Biology. Don’t you want to be a doctor or something?”

“I don’t know yet,” Peter says with a shrug. Man, is she going to start bugging him about figuring out his career path? He has May for that. “Do you know what you want to be?”

“A tutor,” she responds flatly.

He’d smile if they were friends because she’s apparently hilarious.

“It takes some time to build if the part you’re most interested in is the sci-fi stuff,” Michelle concedes. “Did you read it to the end?”

“I didn’t have time. I had to start the next book early because I have a big lab assignment next week.” He sighs and lets his head fall into his hand just thinking about it.

She frowns and looks down, so he can only assume she disapproves of his priorities or his poor time management or something.

But then she mumbles, “You should try audiobooks.”

“Thanks,” Peter says, because that’s actually a great idea. He can listen on his way to campus in the mornings and he won’t have to carry the book on the days he doesn’t have that class. It’ll mean buying an audio copy of everything he already purchased, but he’ll still use the hard copies most of the time, and it’s not like Mr. Stark’s going to begrudge him another hundred bucks. Plus, almost all of the books for this course are novels, so it won’t even feel like doing homework!

In the midst of excitedly thinking over how much time he’ll have if he takes her advice, he glances at Michelle. She’s ignoring him.

ENDICOTT, Marina ― Good to a Fault

It’s the first week of October and Peter thinks he has the hang of this being-an-English-student thing. He read-slash-listened-to the whole book this week and even though the next two weeks’ novels are a couple of the longest in the entire course, he’s undaunted. When he gets to the library and finds Michelle―the classes they have right before this tutoring session end at the same time, but she always beats him here―he brags about being totally on top of his reading. She’s possibly starting to smile at him when he says, “I’m getting good at this. You want any tips?”

“God, Peter!” she blurts. “This is the third year of my major! Try to have some fucking respect!”

He holds up his hands placatingly. Once his books are out, Peter starts watching her and notices a syllabus at her elbow that isn’t for English 1034. Aggressively highlighted in green is tomorrow’s date and ‘MIDTERM.’ His don’t start for another week. He never consciously realized that Humanities students had midterm stress too. Michelle must be taking more than one English class right now, plus whatever else fills up her schedule. Jeeze, that’s a lot of reading, and she’s reading enough of his books to help him on top of doing her own shit. Peter winces and keeps his mouth shut until she’s ready to begin.

FLYNN, Gillian ― Gone Girl

They’re in the thick of midterms and having a particularly grouchy (on both sides) tutoring session.

“Quit writing a bunch of nothing,” Michelle criticizes, like that’s somehow useful feedback.

“I’m getting to my point!” Peter complains.

“They’re long answer questions, not essays. You won’t get any pity marks for filler like you do in a Bio exam.”

“They don’t give marks for filler in Bio exams!”

“Well then where did you learn to answer questions like this?” she snaps. “Do you want to start this one over or try another one?”

They glare at each other for several sluggish moments.

“I’ll start over,” Peter decides, meeting her challenging look with his own.

“Fine.”

This time, Michelle not only passes him the question she came up with but also rips a piece of paper out of her notebook, tears it into thirds, and hands him one of those as well.

“One-sided,” she instructs.

“Yeah, I get it.”

“Be concise.”

“If you took your own advice, I’d be able to write in silence right now instead of being distracted by the sound of you talking!”

In what seems like a blink as Peter looks up from his paper and tightly-gripped pencil in confusion, Michelle has her bag packed and shoves back from the table.

“Help me study!” he yells after her in desperation.

“Earn it with something more than money,” she calls back, flipping him off over her shoulder.

GO, Justin ― The Steady Running of the Hour

Groveling wouldn’t be well-received, Peter thinks. Instead, he brings Michelle an iced coffee as an apology for being a dick last week when he was freaking out over midterms. They’re experiencing a final flare of summer weather and it seems like a practical offering as well as a symbolic gesture. Unfortunately, the man at the front desk makes Peter toss the coffee before he’s allowed in because of a No Food and Drink policy. He feels really awkward about it and distinctly emptyhanded when he approaches Michelle at their usual table.

When it’s clear that she’s not focused on anything else, Peter spills the story and does end up saying, “I’m sorry” out loud. She likes one of those things enough to smile at him―not a big one, but not a sarcastic one either―and he exhales in relief.

“I really appreciate that you’re doing this,” he adds during a lull when they’re looking over the notes he made in class, trying to decipher his professor’s analysis of a certain passage.

He studies Michelle’s downturned face until she looks up and meets his eye.

“When do you get your midterm results?”

“Not for a couple of weeks. The prof doesn’t seem like he’s in any rush.”

“Are you worried about how you did?” she asks, propping her chin up with her fist. It makes her mouth slope into a playful pout and he follows the line of it with his eye for a second.

“Kinda.”

Michelle shakes her head.

“You shouldn’t be. You’re working hard. I know you passed.”

It’s the first session that they don’t fight. Feels good.

HAM, Rosalie ― The Dressmaker

“Holy shit,” he breathes when Michelle enters. “What is that?”

The day has finally come that he beats her to the library, which is the first shock, but this is an entirely separate and far less expected thing.

“It’s Halloween,” she states. As though it’s no big deal that she just walked in here wearing a silky-looking, floor-length, emerald green gown. Well, he assumes it’s a gown and not a skirt that sits really high on her waist, but he can’t see the entire thing; she’s wearing a cropped hoodie over top. The juxtaposition makes him grin.

“Where did you get that?”

“I made it.” Just as Peter’s mouth is dropping open, she huffs a laugh and says, “Of course I didn’t. It was my grandma’s. The style’s not totally right, but I thought the colour was a pretty good match.”

“Right,” he agrees as she swishes over and sits, cautiously smoothing the dress as she does so. “Because you’re obviously supposed to be…”

Michelle rolls her eyes as she takes the opportunity for illuminating him.

“Cecilia Tallis. From Atonement,” she prompts. “Keira Knightley played her.”

“Oh, ok, yeah. I think I saw part of that one time when my aunt May was watching it.”

“It was a book first,” Michelle teasingly informs him.

“I know you’ll be amazed to hear that I haven’t read it.”

“So amazed.”

“You look good in green,” Peter throws out there while she’s still looking at him.

“Don’t be weird about it, Parker.”

He totally sees her smiling to herself when they turn to their books and wonders if they’re friends yet.

ISRAEL, Lee ― Can You Ever Forgive Me?

Nope, nope, nope, they’re definitely not friends yet! After their revision session last week, Peter thought more about his and Michelle’s potential friendship, then started to feel weird about the fact that he’s paying her―or that Mr. Stark is, on his behalf. It’s been rare lately that both he and Mr. Stark aren’t busy at the same time, but with Peter’s midterms over and a new month beginning, Tony worked out a time for them to speak in person. Peter might have got rambling a little under the heady influence of his mentor’s full attention and maybe some things came across incorrectly. It wasn’t a meeting though, and he definitely didn’t know that decisions were being made!

“I thought you were finding this helpful!” Michelle says.

“I am,” he insists. “I left Mr. Stark a message. I’m gonna set it straight!”

“Oh, like you set it straight over the weekend? He fired me as your tutor!”

“I didn’t know he was doing that!”

“What did you say to him?” she demands.

Fuck, this is going to be embarrassing to say face-to-face. Peter glances at their table―where they didn’t sit down, due to this accidental termination―and feels himself get all overheated and shifty.

“That I felt weird about paying you.”

“Because English is so worthless you should be able to learn about it for free? Yeah, I guess you could’ve made the internet your tutor, but it’s a full two months too late for that!”

“Dammit!” Peter says, frustrated. “No! Because I thought maybe you and I were friends now because it seemed like maybe we were and I’d definitely like us to be friends, but I didn’t want you to feel obligated to be nice to me as a friend or anything more than a tutor just because you’re being paid. Do you want to be friends with me?” he summarizes bluntly.

“Yes.”

He frowns in confusion.

“Really?”

Michelle’s eyes dart to the side, then zip back to his face.

“…Isn’t that what you want? I think that’s literally what you just told me you want.”

“And the money thing?”

“Yeah, you’re definitely going to fix that as soon as we’re done today. My time and expertise are valuable as hell and I’m super willing to take Tony Stark’s money.” She gives him a weird look. “My friendship is not for sale.”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to assume―”

“I mean, I don’t know how people make friends over there in Biology, but―”

“Ok, that’s far enough,” he says, laughing when she smirks to admit she was kidding.

“I guess you better start calling me MJ too,” she says, taking her usual seat.

“If I had any extra names you didn’t know, I’d totally let you use one in exchange.”

She shrugs easily and picks up this week’s novel when he places it on the table within her reach.

“Speaking of people using other names…” MJ says as she taps the cover. “Ready to talk about a famous forger?”

“Smooth transition.”

“Thanks… pal?”

“No,” Peter says to ‘pal,’ making a face.

“No,” she agrees. “I’ll just have to remember that we’re friends now without a new name to remind me.”

“You’re officially my meanest friend,” he jokes.

MJ snorts.

“Peter, with all the time we’re spending together this year, I’m gonna be your best friend.”

JOHNSON, Adam ― Fortune Smiles

“Seventy-three!” Peter cries out when he strides into the library that Thursday. Desk Man shoots him a look and Peter mouths, “Sorry.” But if that guy’s annoyance with Peter is on the rise, so is the strength of his friendship with MJ.

“Seventy-three?” she repeats excitedly, then pauses, seemingly waiting for him to say more.

He understands. For her, getting a 73 on an English exam would probably be a blow to her average and something she’d struggle to course correct from on the final. He’d feel the same about receiving that grade in one of the classes that make up his major. But for his first college English exam? A discipline that’s forcing him to learn a completely different type of material and regurgitate that knowledge on an exam that’s neither practical nor multiple choice? It’s huge. He beams to let MJ know he hasn’t come to complain about her ineffective tutoring. Totally the opposite.

“That’s great,” MJ says. She rises from her chair because Peter’s too hyper―even a full day after getting his mark―to sit down yet.

“Yeah?”

“I told you you’d do fine,” she reminds him.

Then she goes to shove his arm and Peter misinterprets it, pulling her in to finish what he thought was the beginning of a hug. Just as he’s realizing and loosening his arms from around her, MJ’s hands come up and squeeze his back once, ending in a few reassuring pats. They break out of it, holding each other at arm’s length and she gives him a firm nod in conclusion. Peter laughs awkwardly. After that, they re-establish their usual rhythm.

“So, the first short story collection on your booklist,” she says as she sits. Rather than taking his regular spot across from her, he drags the chair around the circular table so they’re side by side. MJ watches him without protest.

“These are the first short stories I’ve read,” he tells her.

“What did you think?”

“I like it. It’s nice how it breaks the book into chunks. Makes it seem shorter maybe?”

“Definitely.”

Weirdly, their opinions about the book and what his prof wants him to learn from it continue to closely align. Of course, they don’t get through everything because, after about 15 minutes, MJ asks if he brought his midterm with him. He yanks it free of his backpack and they spend the rest of their time going over it. With a 73, Peter expects a lot of the review to be criticism (of the constructive variety) and notes on what he should’ve done better or different. Instead, it’s MJ gasping (quietly but happily) every time she finds a place where he mentioned something they went over together. He watches her eyes scan over where he described If, Then as ‘suspenseful, subtle, and atmospheric’ before going further into his comparison between that novel and Gone Girl. She catches his eye, her expressions changing like a shuffling card deck. Peter sees impressed come up, then pleased, then a third, unfamiliar thing that’s gone when MJ flips his exam to the next page.

KOCH, Herman ― The Dinner

“How is this book so horrific and so good?” Peter asks wonderingly.

They were going over his class notes until the notes referred to a page number of the novel. When he couldn’t remember what happened there, they looked it up. It was just supposed to be a refresher, but it turned into them reading nine pages―waiting for each other before flipping when their reading speeds raced, constantly slipping out of and regaining first place.

“It’s giving me rage-hunger,” MJ said.

“Rage-hunger?”

“Yeah, you know, when you’re incensed about something to the point that you start getting really hungry? Happens to me at protests.”

“Listen,” Peter says, dropping his voice to a compelling whisper. “I have pretzels.”

“Here?”

He nods.

“Do we risk it?”

“Yes,” she insists.

While she keeps watch, glancing around, Peter grasps the edge of the pretzel bag in his backpack. His expression feels pretty constipated as he struggles to open the bag soundlessly, but it’s worth the effort when he feels it give. Furtively, they sneak pretzels from his bag―balanced between their legs under the table―up to their mouths, attempting to chew as silently as possible and speaking in a soft slur with pretzels distending their cheeks.

LINK, Kelly ― Get in Trouble

Yeah, so, after being caught with mouths full of pretzels, they’re slightly afraid to immediately return to the library. Instead of meeting there on Thursday to go over all of Peter’s notes at once, he and MJ snatch time all week long. It’s another collection of short stories this week, so they go over the first one before he even attends his Monday English 1034 lecture, meaning he’s super prepared to participate for once, after running his thoughts by his tutor in advance. The next time, they do story number two, plus his class notes, then continue meeting when they can.

Peter hesitates before asking if she still wants to get together at their regular hour on Thursday. What if she feels like she’s given him enough of her time this week? What if she made other plans? But when he does ask, she’s surprised that he ever considered them not having their scheduled session. He’s not entirely sure why he was so scared she’d say no. That was silly. Although they both acknowledged that they’re friends, he thinks they’re finally starting to act like it.

So they meet on Thursday. And then they meet on Friday too. They say it’s for tutoring and keep Peter’s copy of Get in Trouble between them on the table of the student community centre, but they don’t open it. MJ trades him a bite of her pizza slice for some of his fries. He laughs hard when she gets ketchup on her lip, then swallows the sound down as she licks it off.

“Did I get it?”

“Um, yeah,” Peter replies, stupefied.

MOYES, Jojo ― Me Before You

“Well,” he says, retyping his notes to add MJ’s insights, “here’s another one where I can count watching a movie as part of studying.” Peter keeps typing for a minute, but she doesn’t respond, so while his eyes remain on the screen he asks, “Are you judging me? I promise I’m still going to read the rest of the book.”

Finished, he looks over to see MJ staring intently at the open novel. Peter concentrates on the book first―she’s right near the end―then on his friend’s face. Is she…?

“Are you crying?” he asks softly, leaning towards her.

He thought she might hide her reaction, but she raises her head and sniffs as tears pour down her cheeks. She’s so naked with emotion that Peter shudders.

“Maybe,” she says, making them both laugh, hers a bubbling noise from the wetness in her throat. “But ignore this. I said I wouldn’t spoil the ending for you.”

“Obviously, nothing dramatic happens,” Peter sarcastically infers. “You cry all the time. I have zero reason to think it has anything to do with Me Before You.”

Smiling, she finally wipes the last of her tears away with the sleeve of her cardigan.

“I still have a little bit left to read.”

“Borrow it,” he says.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I can listen to the audiobook for a while, or you can just keep it overnight and we’ll hang out tomorrow and I’ll get it back from you. Unless you think you’d need longer.”

MJ rolls her eyes at him.

“Please. I eat Jojo Moyeses for breakfast. I’ll probably finish it during the break in my next class.”

“So, you wouldn’t even need it overnight then,” he says, trying to be sly. She lets out a laugh.

“You want to read it so badly, don’t you?”

“Maybe I just don’t like lending out my books.”

“Liar. I bet you’re going to read the rest all in one sitting.” MJ smirks and stands the book on the table like both she and it are taunting him. “Don’t you need to prioritize your other courses, Peter? What about Biology?”

“Offer revoked,” he tells her, making to take the book back. She doesn’t let him, holding it up and away from him.

“Are you going to spend all night reading for pleasure instead of doing your science homework? Shame on you, Peter. What about your future?”

He stands too quickly in his attempt to grab the book, startling MJ, who rocks back in her chair a little too far. But it can’t tip faster than his reflexes can react; Peter instinctively grabs her around the waist and pulls her against him as the chair topples and the paperback hits the ground with a soft thump. They haven’t been this close since they hugged after his midterm results. He opens and closes his mouth without saying anything, fingers shifting against MJ’s back as she gets her balance. Seems to take her longer than it should, but he won’t let go before she’s ready. Which’ll be any second now, he’s sure. She’s flushed, eyes roaming his face. Probably about to tell him she can stand all on her fucking own.

Any second now.

NG, Celeste ― Everything I Never Told You

It’s the second week in December and their final tutoring session of the semester. Exams start tomorrow, though the one for English 1034 isn’t until the 21st. Peter should be psyched―after this exam, he’s halfway done the course―and yet his shoulders carry some heaviness into the library, along with big, wet snowflakes. He perks up at the sight of MJ, then grows subdued just as fast. They’ve become the kind of friends who meet during the week, always at school, usually with at least the pretense of studying. She’s never been to the apartment he shares with three roommates; he has no idea where she lives. Their most secure connection is a list of 26 books and after today’s session, 14 of those will already be behind them. Theoretically, they’re committed to spending another semester together (unless the world ends via hostile alien takeover, or Mr. Stark fires MJ again and she agrees to it for some reason). What happens after that?

Peter doesn’t like the way winter break looks like a preview for the end of the school year in April. He’s sure that’ll come up quick after the new year because second semester always feels shorter than first. Will they be close enough by then to make plans for hanging out over the summer? He knows MJ’s from here, but not if she’ll be around. And what about next year? He won’t be studying English. Are they gonna see each other on campus or both be too busy with their final year of undergrad―keeping up grades and searching for their first job opportunities right out of college? And then? Will one or both of them move away for work or grad school, or just to find a cheaper place to live while they’re starting out? Seriously, they could be faint memories to each other in under five years.

He's weighed down with all of this as he flops into his seat at their table.

“Do you think you’re ready?” MJ asks just before she glances up.

“What?” Peter replies, devastated.

“For your exam.” She meets his eye and her expression collapses inward a little as she assesses his mood. “What’s wrong?”

He looks at her face. It’s easy to admit to himself that her eyes are more trusting than they used to be when they stared back into his, and he has to allow that she’s more trusting too. Same with him. They’ve smoothed each other out, rounded off each other’s bluntest angles. Peter has no desire for them to ever have another shouting match like they did during the early weeks of this arrangement. In fact, his ideal dynamic for them would be the complete opposite.

“I guess I’m… worried.”

“We should get together next week.”

“That would be great,” he tells her with eager relief.

Wow, what would they do? Grab lunch? Dinner? Hot chocolates and ice skating at Rockefeller Center? A movie at his place? All of his roommates have early or no exams (lucky bastards) and plans to head home for the holidays right after, leaving him alone in the apartment.

“This is a late exam,” MJ says, doublechecking the date in her planner, which includes all of his deadlines (in red ink) alongside hers (in blue), “but the library’s open practically every day but Christmas.”

Oh. She means get together here. Of course. He didn’t really make it clear that the exam isn’t what he’s worried about, or at least it’s not the main thing.

“Well,” Peter says, “consistency.”

“What’s up with you?” she asks, narrowing her eyes are him, apparently not satisfied since he does still sound kinda bereft.

Retrieving his novel and his laptop, he says, “Nothing,” and thinks, I was just wishing we were more than friends.

OZEKI, Ruth ― A Tale for the Time Being

They hang out once before his exam, when MJ helps Peter with prep, and once after, when he’s getting a jump on his reading for semester two. The second time, totally by accident, she meets May.

MJ’s at his apartment for the first time and the two out of three of his roommates who’ve already returned are being loud enough that Peter can’t forget their existence the way he wants to (just for right now) and ignore everything in the world that isn’t his tutor/friend/person he’s been pining for every spare second since they’ve been apart. Two weeks is too long. They’re finally taking an honest crack at the novel he’s been assigned for next week, the first week back at school, when there’s a knock at the door, followed by cheerful hollering from his roommates. Peter knows who it is even before he rises and sheepishly lets his aunt hand him everything he forgot at home when he packed; his roommates love May.

Though he told MJ she didn’t have to get up, she’s suddenly next to him at the door―he’s startled to feel her briefly lean against him―then being pulled into a hug by his aunt. When she leaves for a minute to go to the washroom, May drags Peter away from his roommates.

“Who was that?” she wonders, face lighting up with curiosity and premature excitement.

He feels himself turn red and itches at his cheek like he can scratch the flush out.

“Just a friend.”

His aunt raises her eyebrows doubtfully.

PALAHNIUK, Chuck ― Choke

After spending last Thursday giving A Tale for the Time Being the attention they should’ve the week before, they’re back on schedule with a new book. Sort of back on schedule. They start off discussing the novel, but when Peter runs one of his prof’s assertions about it past Google, he finds out Choke has a movie version. He and MJ glance at each other. Yeah, why not? It’s only their second week back on campus and they don’t have their full studying stamina back yet. They trek down to the film library in the basement to see if they have a copy.

Soon, they’re wearing bulky borrowed headphones, hunkered down at the corner computer in the viewing lab that’s kept in the dark, watching a film about a sex addict. They’re awkward at first, or maybe it’s just Peter, but eventually he relaxes, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. MJ shifts around next to him. She kicks her shoes off and brings her feet up off the floor. They’re tightly side by side to watch the same computer screen, so when she crosses her legs, her knee lands on his thigh. Peter stares at it for a minute in the screen’s glow, missing the movie. He lays his palm on top of the rough, cool denim, and MJ turns her head to see what’s up. Immediately, he moves to withdraw his hand from her knee, but she pats the back of it, giving him permission.

Heart thumping, Peter eases the headphones off one ear. The room’s completely quiet, apart from the way MJ exhales heavily through her nose as she settles into position for the rest of the film. He swallows. He should tell her, right now.

“Hey, MJ…” he starts.

But she doesn’t look, doesn’t turn. Can’t hear anything outside those fucking headphones. Weirdly, she does glance at him a few minutes later, unprompted. She reaches out and pauses the movie. He lifts his headphones off when she does, eyes drawn to how they mess up her hair.

“Did you say something?” MJ asks.

Now, now, now, Peter tells himself.

“Uh, no.” He gives her a tight smile and unpauses Choke.

QUICK, Matthew ― The Good Luck of Right Now

“You have other friends, right?” Peter wonders aloud as MJ reads over the short responses he’s composed for an online participation thing that his prof made worth a truly stupid 4% of his grade.

“A couple.”

She says it straight, unembarrassed. He understands her well enough to know she has no interest in tricking people into believing she’s more social or at all inclined towards networking. Those people, whoever they are, were lucky to have her let them in. Abruptly, Peter realizes he’s probably being counted among them. He grins to himself.

“Plus, like, class friends.”

“Sure,” he agrees.

He does the same thing―always attempts to figure out who seems nice so he can try to be paired with them for group projects or have someone to sit with if they have another class together in the future.

“Any other kind of friends?” Peter asks tentatively. MJ quits reading his laptop screen and side-eyes him. “Like a… like maybe a boyfriend?”

It’s probably a no. It has to be a no. Even with the length of time it took for them to talk about their personal lives, she would’ve mentioned a boyfriend by now. Wouldn’t she?

“I… a boyfriend? No, I… Why would I have…? Do you?”

Well, this is a surprise. He expected her to either answer straightforwardly or question if he ever listens to what she says. But she’s oddly flustered and inarticulate. And blushing, Peter notices, though she won’t let him hold her gaze.

“No,” he says, settling for the single syllable that’ll do the job.

MJ sort of nods, then directs his attention to the screen.

“Just a question, but has anyone ever taught you how to use basic punctuation? Jesus, Parker.”

As much as that comment’s much more in character, every one of his senses screams, ‘MISDIRECTION!’

ROWELL, Rainbow ― Fangirl

“Say nothing,” MJ instructs when they run into each other in front of the library, coming from opposite directions.

About what? Peter wants to ask, but he doesn’t say even that much because the look on her face is intense and because the wind is icy, slicing their faces with snow that’s more like sharp daggers. He bounds up the stairs next to her and straight inside when she jerks the door open with her mittened hand. All the way upstairs and to their table, he keeps wary eyes on her. He only looks away for a minute to set his backpack down and shrug out of his outer layers; the library’s kept almost stiflingly warm and dry. They pile their wet outerwear on one of the extra chairs, then MJ glares at him before he can sit. He stares back, baffled.

“Nothing,” she reminds him, and unzips her hoodie.

Does he look silly with the way his jaw drops? He can’t even care. She’s wearing a Spider-Man t-shirt.

“I―”

“No words. No sounds of any kind.”

So Peter grins in silence and retrieves the usual studying accessories from his backpack. Eventually, MJ groans out her admission.

“I forgot to do laundry.”

He continues to say nothing about the shirt, even when he is permitted to speak so they can discuss his reading. What he wants to say isn’t something she’d like―that he’s deduced from the laundry comment that this is an old shirt, not a recent buy. Meaning she’s had it since who knows how long before she ever met him. Meaning she’s a fan.

SENNA, Danzy ― New People

“How are you liking the course?” MJ asks him out of the blue. She’s tracing the curving shapes and purple letters on the cover of this week’s book with her fingertip.

Peter laughs.

“My prof’s never even asked us that.”

“That’s because profs don’t want honest answers. Only in essays, and even then, you have to pad them with all the shit the prof said in class in order to stroke their ego into giving you a good mark.”

“Cynical.”

She smiles dryly.

“Thank you. But really, how are you finding it?” She looks nervous about how he might answer.

“A lot of work,” he says honestly, “but it also feels like less work than my other courses.”

“Because it’s a fluff discipline compared to Biology?”

“Stop it, no, because you’re helping me. It feels like something I’m doing for fun.”

“Who are you?” MJ shakes her head, wearing a smug smile. “If the you from September could see you now. Oh, actually, that reminds me. Put your number in.”

She hands him the new phone she mentioned she’d be getting last weekend.

“What did you have me saved as in your old one?” he asks, adding his number to a new contact page. MJ takes the phone back before he can input his name.

“Oh, you don’t want to know.” He’s fairly certain she’s joking.

“Did it contain the word ‘dickhead’?”

She shrugs and slouches in her chair, phone held low and close. She finishes entering his information out of his line of sight.

“You’ll never know.”

Maybe not, Peter thinks, when MJ gets up a while later to refill her water bottle, but he can at least check what she has him under now. She left her phone out on the table, screen up, so he texts her an innocuous ‘testing, testing’ and watches for the new message to pop up.

Evidently, he’s in her phone as his normal name. His name, plus a heart. His real one’s suddenly beating very fast.

THIEN, Madeleine ― Do Not Say We Have Nothing

It’s almost Valentine’s Day and their college’s week-long study week, two compelling reasons for Peter to tell Michelle Jones―tutor, friend, precariously deepening crush―how he feels about her.

Before their tutoring session, he psyches himself up in the bathroom mirror, until other people walk in and he has to pretend to be coughing. He doesn’t really feel ready and their time together ends up being sort of a flurry anyway because part of the library’s being painted and there are fewer tables. With a ton of people on the cusp of more exams and big assignments due before the break, it takes Peter and MJ a while to find a table. Even after that, the paint smell gradually fills the air, forcing them to stop early.

God, and he didn’t say anything!

“We should meet up later,” he asserts firmly, at the same moment MJ says, “Try again tonight?”

“Yeah,” they say together.

Peter grins and she smiles back before quickly ducking her head. He bites his lip, restraining himself from catching her chin with his fingers and tilting it up.

“Ok then,” he says. “Ok. The library’ll probably still stink, so… my apartment?”

“Or my place,” MJ offers, slightly wide-eyed.

“Oh, yeah. That would be, that’d be good.”

“You can walk back with me, if you don’t mind waiting for my class.”

He doesn’t, and they do that, and as MJ’s unlocking the door to her apartment, he finds out two things: that she has a roommate and that her roommate’s staying the night at her boyfriend’s. Whatever, that doesn’t mean it’s going to be romantic or anything. They’re discussing art and politics during China’s calamitous Cultural Revolution. There’s no way MJ would even be thinking about… but then she leads him to the couch instead of the kitchen table. And she sits down next to him, letting their thighs touch. And his breathing just isn’t steady for the hangout that goes two hours before they even think to check the time. So many times, he has the feeling they’re one brush of their legs, one bump of their shoulders, one tuck of her hair with his fingers away from something more, but every chance seems to come and go while the tension stays.

Eventually, Peter gathers his stuff and lingers with her in the open doorway of her apartment. She’s leaning into the frame, smiling at him as he says a bunch of nothing, just to make the night last longer. He takes a breath. Ok, he’s gonna do it. He’ll tell her.

The next second, MJ’s pressing her mouth to his. Then, while he’s still dazed from the kiss, she pushes him out the door and says, “Um, see you after study week, Peter.”

URQUHART, Jane ― The Night Stages

What’s this mean? Peter wants to ask her, right after the kiss and for the whole study break. Except he’s in the city, doing Spidey-patrol and finishing the nearly-500 pages of Do Not Say We Have Nothing, and she’s in New Orleans, building affordable housing with a charity. When he texts her because he can’t resist asking how she is and what she’s working on that day, she always gets back to him, but there’s nothing flirtatious in her words, nothing to assure him she shares his preoccupation over the kiss. So startling, so make-the-hair-stand-up-on-the-back-of-his-neck. And it was supposed to make everything clear, when one of them made a move (in his head over the weeks before it happened, it was him), not confuse the hell out of him.

It's awkward when they meet on campus on Monday. Neither of them goes in for a hug and they carry on a stilted conversation about how each of their breaks went, Peter twisting his fingers around in his sleeves. At least they didn’t postpone this until Thursday. He senses that they’re both thankful for the length of this week’s novel and how many times it guarantees they’ll meet (their productivity per session definitely took a nosedive when they became friends). He assumes the relief comes from wanting to push past this awkward stage by getting used to each other again. Then, when they meet in the library the next day, MJ picks a different table. Actually, a completely different floor. It’s basically dead, no other students or staff in sight, and, with his face flushed with desire and anticipation, she braces a hand on his thigh, leans in, and kisses him for the second time.

On Wednesday, it’s the same spot (but later because Peter has an evening lab) and he initiates, hand on the back of her neck as they kiss slow and deep, never even unpacking their bags.

Thursday, they meet at their old table, like normal, and do some actual work. But that night, he walks MJ home and tries to give her a goodbye kiss that turns into them making out with her pressed up against the closed door of her apartment.

They agree, on Friday morning, that Peter really needs to devote some concentration to this novel, so they study at his place that evening. Because all of his roommates are home, they’re camped out in his room, on his bed, but with his door wide open. The most they attempt is holding hands, anxiously separating when one of his buddies pokes a head in to ask if Peter’s seen his phone charger.

By Saturday, at her apartment, they abandon pretenses, though they haven’t exactly said in words what it is they’re doing without those pretenses. Are they friends who kiss? Are they dating? Is MJ his girlfriend? None of that is as pressing as pulling her onto his lap and kissing her until they’re tired and she checks her phone to see that it’s almost two in the morning. Reluctantly, MJ climbs off his lap and Peter watches her disappear into her bedroom. He strips off his jeans and falls asleep on her couch wrapped in a blanket and his school hoodie.

The next morning, they look over his notes because he’s here and they might as well. Their socked feet overlap beneath her kitchen table. She refills his glass of orange juice before he notices it’s almost empty.

VÁSQUEZ, Juan Gabriel ― The Sound of Things Falling

He’s in love with her. It’s the beginning of March, the air has quit biting, MJ’s blushing when he uses his high school Spanish to correctly pronounce the characters’ names, and he’s in love with her.

WALKER, Karen Thompson ― The Dreamers

Peter falls asleep at her place again. This time, MJ’s tucked into him when he wakes up. Gradually, he drags up a fuzzy memory of her padding into the living room during the night, putting him on alert until she nudged him over to make room on the couch. Her roommate’s home. They don’t care, don’t flinch apart when she walks into the room. He hangs around most of Saturday, only leaving because he really needs to do some work on his other courses. MJ kisses him when he goes, gently stroking his earlobe with her thumb.

X ― N/A

“No X?” she checks. “Are you sure?”

“It’s on the syllabus,” Peter points out, pulling MJ’s feet across his thighs as he eats an apple. They found an alternate study spot that allows food.

“Yeah, I know, I have the copy from the beginning of the year, but I figured your prof would update it to add something.”

“I think he told us one time that he was going to,” he says, trying to remember exactly. “Now, he says he was always planning on leaving this week free for us to ask questions in class before the exam.”

“But there are still two full weeks of classes before exams,” MJ says skeptically. “If this break was intentional, he’d do it the last week of classes instead.”

“I don’t know. I mean, I know there are two weeks left, but I don’t know what else to say. No X.”

“Semi-related,” she prefaces, giving him a serious look that makes Peter pay attention, “is it ok with you if I consider you my boyfriend?”

He laughs until he realizes she looks genuinely unsure of what his answer will be.

“Please.”

Peter holds his apple out of the way when MJ wiggles forward to hug him.

YAZDANIAN, Showey ― Loopholes

“You wanna go somewhere with me?” MJ asks.

Peter knows she’s been watching him rearrange the digital copy of his notes―simplifying and streamlining so they’ll be easy to study from between now and the date of his final exam. It’s very comforting, her undemanding gaze, and he feels himself emotionally stretching into it, like a cat. He loves to be near her. His girlfriend.

“Yes,” he says. “I mean, where?”

She laughs gently at him and props her elbow on the table, right next to his.

“The English Department scheduled a year-end trip to see a play.”

“That sounds very… high schoolish,” he decides, grinning.

“Hey, some of us aren’t too up our own asses to understand the thrill of a field trip. Maybe in Biology―”

“Ugh,” Peter groans jokingly at her relentless, unserious digs at his chosen discipline.

“―you’ve lost your sense of childlike wonder.”

“But I might be able to get it back if I go to this play? What’s the play?”

“Romeo and Juliet,” she mumbles.

“You want to see that? It’s depressing and, and overdramatic,” he states, though he’s never seen it performed, and definitely never read the play.

“I don’t really care about seeing the play,” MJ says as she gives him a meaningful look.

“Oh. Aw.” He smiles at the thought that she just wants to spend time with him. “Do I have to sign up or something?”

“I… might have already signed you up.” Peter raises his eyebrows at her and it’s enough to push her to continue. “It’s supposed to be an internal thing, just English majors, but the turnout for anything with any significant cultural value’s always really low―” MJ rolls her eyes. “���especially right at the end of the year, when people are starting to focus on exams, even though it’s a great opportunity to see a high-quality production with cheap student-group-discount tickets. Anyway, I talked to the prof because he knows me from teaching me last year and asked if you could come because you are taking an English class even if you’re not majoring.”

“He agreed?”

She nods.

“As I suspected, there were a bunch of tickets left over because they always reserve too many. They’re great seats.”

“Why are you trying to convince me to come?” Peter teases. “Apparently, I already signed up.”

Despite the dozens of times they’ve met this year, comprising probably a hundred hours, and the affectionate admissions, and the kissing that’s been driving him insane for more, this is their first date date. He’s excited to be at the theatre because he’s never gone before, and he purposely didn’t tell Mr. Stark about this so he wouldn’t try to pay for it; Peter bought his own ticket. They’re deep into the second part of the play, intermission behind them, and before things can get gruesome on stage with the stars meeting their violent ends, he leans in so close to MJ that his nose brushes her ear.

“You’re my best friend,” he whispers.

She turns her head, smile clamped together by the way she’s biting her bottom lip. There’s joy in her eyes that makes his heart drop and flip and soar back up, too high, into his throat. He’s still looking at her when she turns her face back to the performance.

“Also, I love you,” Peter says, almost choking on his heart.

Swiftly, he kisses her cheek and settles back into his seat, but MJ tugs the hand that’s been entwined with hers since they sat down. She leans across the armrest between their seats and he’s happy to move the rest of the way. Something hot courses through him when she not only kisses him more roughly than he anticipated but grabs the tie he wore with his button-up, blazer, and good jeans. When she releases him with a smirk and a pat on his chest, Peter practically collapses back into place, stunned.

“Oh,” MJ adds, glancing at him again in a quick flick, “I love you too.”

ZOBOI, Ibi ― Pride

There are three stacks of books on the surprisingly nice hardwood floor of MJ’s bedroom. It’s small compared to the size of his sense of accomplishment for seeing this demanding course through to the end. Although this is the first time Peter’s assembled all 25 books at once, they aren’t organized alphabetically; there’s a pile each for books he remembers well, those he wants to reread sections of, and ones where, logically, he knows he read them, and yet he can barely recall the plot. He feels pretty goddamn good about the fact that, out of 25, only 2 made the third pile. Actually, one’s unaccounted for, because it’s the last book on his syllabus and it’s currently dangling from his hand while he takes a break from reading it.

“Hey,” he hisses at MJ.

Lying on her back on her soft, thick rug while she studies for one of her exams, his girlfriend angles her head to look at Peter, hanging over the side of her bed.

“What?”

He grins.

“Nothing. Just wanted to say, ‘hey.’” He’s so used to her rolling her eyes. “How’s the floor?”

“Not bad.”

“You wanna come up here?”

MJ eyes him suspiciously.

“I need to study,” she reminds him. “Everything I know about your books got mixed up with everything I’m supposed to know about my books and I’m still mentally untangling.”

Peter keeps staring down at her, trying to make his eyes wide and pleading. It takes her seconds to give in. She groans as she starts to sit up, appearing to lead with her knees and elbows as she rearranges her limbs, collapsing and unfolding like a portable lawn chair. MJ steps gingerly over his book stacks, then he’s grabbing her waist and pulling her to the bed, where she flops down beside him. Her head’s facing the wrong way though, so Peter shuffles around, getting her socks out of his face. They take turns sighing tiredly―the extreme burdens of another year of lectures over and another round of exams about to begin―then Peter tilts his forehead to touch hers.

“Happy you’re almost at the end?” MJ asks softly.

“Yeah, but I also kinda wish I could take another English class next year. I think I actually did better in Bio this year because I got to take a break from it with something that was totally different. Does that sound possible?”

“Mhmm.”

She lets her eyes close―probably resting them after concentrating for so long.

“I’ll miss reading this much.”

“And?”

With her eyes shut, only her eyebrows prompt him to go on.

“And I’ll miss talking about what I read with you,” he says.

“Maybe you don’t need to worry about that,” she suggests.

“Why not?”

MJ smiles.

“Because I’ve been working on a new list of books I think you’ll like since October. We can meet in the library and talk about them.”

“Every week?” Peter checks. “What about Biology?”

“If you have time,” she clarifies.

“No, I mean I’ve spent a year studying English lit, learning about your discipline.” With a grin, he trails his fingers down MJ’s throat, stopping at the neck of her long-sleeved shirt. “So, I was just wondering, if you’d be interested in studying Biology.”

He kisses her neck where he stroked, then up beneath her jaw, making MJ laugh until she gasps instead, gripping his hair.

“I don’t think we should wait for September.”

“Well, you’re still the tutor for another week,” Peter reminds her. “I’ll follow your lead.”

#my writing #spideychelleweek2k20 #spideychelle #spideychelle fic #spideychelle fanfiction #peter parker #peter x mj #peter x michelle #peter parker x michelle jones #michelle jones

[harcourtholmesii]

Hidden Depth

(SUMMARY:  The five times Remus Sanders proved he was more than just Intrusive Thoughts, and the one time it was acknowledged.)

(AUTHOR’S NOTE: Hey, I know it has been a while, but I recently discovered 'Sanders Sides' (I know it has been around for ages but it is new to me), and fell in love. Much more specifically, Remus 'the Duke' Sanders (also known as 'Dark Creativity') stole my heart the second he knocked Roman out with a morningstar to the head. I have dreamed of doing that many times to many people, but still... Ignoring my macabre thoughts, I love this character and I wanted to show him some appreciation (in the form of angst).Cruel to be Kind.)

#1 (UNDER PRESSURE)

 Pressure.

 That was the first thing to register through Virgil’s mind; a solid weight resting upon his chest, crushing his lungs. Every exhale threatened the succeeding inhale; the breathing sounded loud through his ears like a haunting wind tunnel.

 Opening his eyes, Virgil was greeted with a great abyss; he felt weightless, unable to discern which way was up. All around him the universe was a black pit; no light, colour or sound. His clothes splayed out all around him as if he was in a vast ocean, but he felt his skin taut and dry. He couldn’t see anything to determine his location. Or anyone to cry out to. It didn’t stop him from trying.

 “…”

 Opening his lips, like water, the inky world around him flooded into his mouth and throat; it was tangible, slimy and cold. He mutely coughed it down, clamping his pale lips shut around the intrusive substance. His teeth severed a connection, and as quickly as he started to drown he had swallowed down the offending mass. It clung along his raw throat, until it fell heavily into his stomach. Similar to his chest, it felt like a ton had been rested in his gut. It made him nauseous; he could almost feel his skin change to an icky green. He didn’t dare open his mouth again.

 His movements were slow, lazy and exhausting with each inch he turned and twisted. He could barely turn his head without feeling hundreds of sticky hands forcing him to remain in place. The pressure was too much. It hurt. The thing in his gut caused his whole body to churn in discomfort, his eyes beginning to brim with tears.

 Why was he here?

 What had happened?

 “Virge.”

 A voice, clear as day, sounded somewhere in his surroundings. He couldn’t move his body around to see whoever it was, but he felt something wrap around his fingers and a gentle tug pulled him down and backwards.

 The figure rounded him, almost cautiously, until they stood before him. It was a figure familiar to him. He knew them from somewhere. But for the life of him, he couldn’t place it. Hell, he couldn’t place how this person seemed to know him.

 “Hey, Emo. Good to see you’re back in the land of the living. Well… Almost.”

 The voice was a higher pitch than he was expecting, and whilst this figure was familiar, something about the man before him was off-putting. Really off-putting.

 “Guess you can’t talk yet. No matter! Makes my job easier. I don’t have to listen to every single question you probably have in that itty-bitty brain of yours!” He emphasised his point with a painful poke to Virgil’s forehead. The point of pressure was enough to start Virgil drifting again, but that hand in his prevented him from drifting too far.

 My God, those eyes…

 They were crazed. Grey eyes with flecks of emerald through them. If it had been anyone else staring him down, he would arguably think that gaze was beautiful. Instead, the dark, sunken eyes and the twinkle of manic glee had him thinking perhaps this place, as horrid as it was, may be safer than the man before him.

 “Welcome, my dear Virgil…” He spun him around, pulling him tight, shoulder-to-shoulder, one hand out in presentation, “… to the Subconscious!” The man’s voice echoed in the deep, spreading out and around them forever and onwards in all dimensions. “Not many peeps come here, you know.”

 He turned Virgil around, holding him out at arm’s length, like the weightless being he was. The man bore a wide grin on his face; a sinister appearance with canines just a couple millimetres too long and lips pulled back just a little too far.

 “And for good reason! Sides can’t survive out here, after all. Well, not for long, anyway.” He leaned forward, Virgil attempting to move himself away from this claustrophobic space between them. “But you didn’t come here, did you? Not intentionally. Or… yes intentionally. No… Yes! No. I don’t really know what you would count it as, but you sure as Hell didn’t walk here!” He let Virgil’s shoulders go, leaning down and out of sight of Virgil’s gaze.

 Not seeing this lunatic was worse; knowing he was still there but doing something out of sight was beginning to cause Virgil’s breaths to pick up from stress. Where was he?! What was he doing?! He felt hands on his left leg, trying to pull away from the unwanted touch. What he felt next caught him by surprise. A solid surface beneath his sneaker. Then those hands reached up to his right leg and pulled it down to mirror the left.

 Once more, the man reappeared in sight, pulling Virgil’s jacket down forcefully and, just like magic, Virgil could feel his weight on his feet. He stumbled, falling into the man… Remus’ arms. How did he know his name? What about him did Virgil know? Surely they weren’t friends.

 “Ah! Much better!” Remus flicked the few floating locks from Virgil’s violet fringe back down and just over his eyes. He snickered. “Can you walk, little storm cloud?” He asked, helping Virgil to stand properly on his own two feet.

 Everything seemed as if in slow motion. Virgil raised one leg, feeling as if he was weighed down by iron shoes, and took a single step. He was like an infant. Almost as quickly as he had taken that first step, he was falling back into Remus’ embrace. Laughter trickled its way from the man’s mouth, but Virgil was a little distracted. There was no laughter from within Remus’ chest. There was no deep seated laughter. There was something missing beyond that though. It was… strange. Like the man himself.

 “I’ll give you a wittle hand den, storm cloud.” He teased, wrapping one arm around over his broad shoulders and beginning the walk along what was an invisible platform. Virgil’s eyes darted downwards, watching how the ‘floor’ clung tightly to the bottom of his sneakers and Remus’ boots, sticking tight like mud.

 “Now then… I know how much you hate us, Virge, but maybe don’t scare Dee-Dee like that again, yeah?” Dee-Dee? Who was that supposed to be? “He does actually worry, you know. He’s such a sap. It’s like watching the Titanic sink. Why cry for the lives lost and not celebrate all the shark food and the ruins at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean?!” He laughed, harsh and blaringly loud in Virgil’s ear. He took a sharp breath in. “Wait! That was a bad metaphor…”

 Virgil ignored the ramblings from Remus, focussing instead on what he had done to cause this ‘Dee-Dee’ to worry. Flashes, bright and sudden blinded him as he caught sight of a white porcelain tub and tile, stained a brilliant, royal red. He felt Remus round on him suddenly, taking a hold of either side of Virgil’s head. The thoughts of a blade slipping through his skin like it was warm butter sunk away and out of his grasp.

 Opening his eyes, there was a dazed look in Remus’ eyes, before the taller man spoke. It was unlike his ramblings and much more like his first word to Virgil. Softer. Cautious.

 “Virgil… No matter what anyone says, you cannot do that to yourself. Again.”

 “B-But…” His own voice was a croak; exhausted and dry. “I… I hurt-”

 “Who? Thomas? Shit happens, storm cloud. But you are a necessity. Maybe… One day, Thomas will see that. Otherwise, you have me. And Dee-Dee.” He returned to his original place, supporting Virgil’s unsteady movements. “I might be an asshole, but we… Care.” He seemed almost disgusted saying it.

 “No. You… You don’t care… ‘bout me…”

 “I’m not Dee-Dee. I don’t lie.”

 Who knows how long it took, but soon, a tiny white speck on the ‘horizon’, grew in size, almost the shape of a door frame. White light poured inside, blindingly bright. By this point, Virgil could feel Remus sinking under his weight. He was tired, it seemed. Before crossing the threshold, once more, Remus turned Virgil around so he could look him in the eye. That malicious glint was still there.

 “You won’t remember much of this place. Of what I have said. And, honestly, I’m too lazy to tell you when we’re back home, so…” He raised one hand up to Virgil’s brow, resting a warm palm there. A heat bloomed outwards from the touch, spreading through Virgil’s skull and following his spine, blossoming into his muscles and the rest of his body.

 Images flashed through his head, too fast for him to comprehend. But whatever they were, Virgil felt sick. Disgusted. He felt molested, assaulted and terrified of whatever had just transpired. He pulled back in shock, adrenaline shooting through him as he tumbled out and through the white rectangle.

 He landed on his ass in a corridor, not nearly as blinding as the light had seemed. Instead, it was a dim glow, with low hanging bulbs, sparking with electricity. Five doors lined the corridor behind him, and before the dark, rotting wood door closed, he caught sight of where he had come from. An all-consuming abyss; a cosmos as dark as ink with not a hint of life within. The giant, black maw roared, the door slamming shut of its own volition, leaving Virgil there, trembling.

 “Virgil!” A voice, one normally filled with such dignity and a tone of superiority echoed from further down the hall. Looking behind him, all Virgil could catch was a flash of bright yellow and a black suit, as a figure came up to kneel behind him. The reptilian half of his face was emotionless as ever, but his human eye was wide with concern and a raw horror at seeing Virgil appear.

 “D-Deceit?”

 “No! I-I mean… yes! It’s me.” He helped Virgil to stand, immediately latching on with a vice-like grip to Virgil’s left wrist. He roughly pulled the sleeve up to the crook of the elbow, those shoulders sinking in relief as a breath escaped him. As quickly as he had pulled up the sleeve, he had wrapped his hands around Virgil’s head, pulling him tight to his chest.

 A heartbeat, soothing and constant caught his attention. He burrowed his head into Deceit’s chest, unashamed as he felt tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. Deceit led him down the corridor and towards the bathroom that they all shared. Once inside, he settled Virgil into the corner, before pouring a glass of water and wetting a hand towel. He offered both to Virgil who accepted them quietly. He sipped at the glass whilst Deceit began gently dabbing at his sweating skin.

 “What happened?”

 Deceit stiffened from his crouched position, before offering him an uncomfortable smile. “Please, Virgil don’t- Clean yourself up. Take your time. I’ll go and not- I’ll get you something to eat. I won’t be long. We can talk once you’ve eaten.” With a flourish of his cape, Deceit had disappeared from the bathroom.

 Virgil picked himself up from the floor, contemplating. Why? What had he done to earn such worry from Deceit of all people? Why did he cause him to worry? Without thinking, his hands brushed over the vanity drawers, opening them almost without realising. What was he searching for?

 He finally found it. There was a sting in his fore and middle fingertips. He wrapped his hand around a wooden handle, pulling out the Duke’s straight razor. He flicked it open, noting with an almost sick fascination how it was one of the few items the Duke kept in pristine condition. There was a desperate need to sate something deep within him.

 The sleeve was once again moved up to the crook of his elbow.

 He rested the fine edge against the skin of his forearm.

 He stopped.

 His fingers leaked a few drops of royal red onto his paper skin, Virgil’s head tilting in confusion. And then he gasped. Images ran through his head like a blur, the blade slipping from his fingers.

 The room’s stunning white was painted over with buckets of blood. On the floor beneath him there was the obstruction of heavy legs and feet. Virgil turned, almost throwing up at the sight. He let out a cry.

 Deceit slammed the door open suddenly, looking down at Virgil as he sat there hugging his knees tight to his body. He was sobbing, muting the loudest cries in the torn jeans. On the floor of the sparkling white bathroom was the straight razor.

 No blood.

 Deceit sat beside Virgil, taking him into his arms, as those brown eyes looked up at him in horror. “I… I was…”

 “Yes.”

“I did it.”

 “You did.”

 “How am I…?”

 “How are you what?”

 “A-Alive…?”

 “I…”

 Silence passed between them.

 “I don’t know.”

  ~X~

#2 (LEGACIES) 

 How vast was the universe? Was there sentient life apart from humans? An infinitesimal chance that you would exist, and yet you were here. Why? Why you? What would you provide that the world had not seen a hundred times before? What hadn’t the world seen a thousand times before? A million times before?

 Thoughts cascaded in a blinding rush through Logan’s pounding skull; the Side in question having to remove his glasses, pinching the corners of his eyes to clear his head of the imagery. The flashes of colour and questions playing on loop like a broken record; they had been running marathons through his head all night. Whilst Thomas slept, the brain was supposed to be quiet so that it might allow for Roman to work his figurative ‘magic’.

 Logan’s own room proved to be less of a sanctuary from his thoughts, his bedroom walls covered from top to bottom in mind maps, pie charts and graphs. All his work to determine how best for Thomas to live his life, but even now, he had no clue. A healthy life was optimal, but just as Roman had once questioned, ‘what comes after?’ What was Thomas to do once he had the time or made the sacrifices?

 The common room provided a quiet place for him to sit, removed from his thoughts on paper, and with everyone else fast asleep, he had the space he needed. He had to keep his mind in the game. Keep his thoughts straight (to an extent) and just calm down.

 How his mind had turned to all of these questions so quickly, he had no idea. Perhaps it had been Virgil’s earlier outburst, or the movie selected by the others to watch that evening. He hated that question. ‘What are we here for?’ He had heard it too many times and still he did not have the answer. Sure, Thomas was not Albert Einstein or Stephen Hawking, but Logan’s whole existence was to answer Thomas’ questions and provide him with every piece of knowledge that would help him with his way in life. But even now, even though Logan’s own existence as a figment of Thomas’ psyche was certain, the living, breathing human that was his host still had no answer to that question. No one did.

 He leaned forward in his seat on the couch, running his hands through his hair, pushing the locks away from his pale, exhausted face. He was being driven up the metaphorical wall! The stress was getting to him. It shouldn’t! He knew how to avoid it and all the steps you could take to relieve it. His dark blue eyes peered down at the blurred carpet, attempting to piece together a picture from the blurred particles. He could almost make out a few crumbs on the floor, replacing his glasses and swiping them up with a huff. Roman and Patton always left a mess after eating in the lounge, it was a wonder they didn’t have any imaginary ants running around.

 That was it.

 The answer.

 “Insignificant.”

 “What was that?”

 Logan nearly leapt three feet in the air, hopping off the couch at the muted but still recognisable voice of the Duke. He peered around, expecting to see the second half of creativity peeking his dark eyes over the end of the lounge, or sitting on the bench in the kitchen. Instead, thankfully, the Duke was not present in the kitchen or behind the lounge. Stepping around the couch and peering up the stairs, Logan failed to see him sitting on the top stair or underneath the dining room table.

 “Remus?”

 “You said ‘insignificant’. Something got you down, dork?”

 Still, there was nothing. Where could he be? His voice was still muffled ever so slightly, but was otherwise as loud as ever. Logan was starting to feel just a little uncomfortable now.

 “Where are you?”

 A shift in the lounge cushions, the one at the farthest end, just beside where Logan had been sitting, was pushed out of place, revealing the Duke in all his glory. Au naturale. A shiver ran its way up Logan’s spine as Remus chuckled.

 “How long have you been there?”

 “Eh, not long. Was hoping to scare Ro-Bro at breakfast, but I guess I’m a little early.”

 “It is 2:36 in the morning. Roman does not normally get up until about 8:00 am.”

 “So?”

 Logan rolled his eyes, taking his seat at the opposite end of the couch.

 “So, you are about five hours and twenty-four minutes early.”

 “And I am dedicated to my role!” Remus seemed so offended (well, as offended as he could be), beginning to manoeuvre his way out from under the cushions, revealing more of his pale torso and body. It was only now that Logan hurriedly averted his eyes, cracking his jaw to distract himself.

 “Must you be naked?”

 “Well, if I want to scar Princey, I need to take it up a notch from just bludgeoning him.”

 “We’re figments of Thomas’ psyche. We can’t get scarred.”

 “Ah! Not physically!” The duke practically purred, pulling himself free at last and replacing the pillows. He turned around and took a seat, one leg cocked up so he rested casually, Logan trying not to grimace. “But mental scars can last forever!”

 “T-True.”

 “So? What were you saying about being ‘insignificant’? It seemed like you hit a breakthrough. What’s going on in that itty-bitty brain of yours?” He cooed. The Duke just cooed at him like Patton when Roman first gifted him an imaginary puppy.

 “Well, I was just thinking about how insignificant the human race- Thomas’ life is. I mean… We’re like ants.”

 “In a matriarchal dictatorship, communicating through smell and touch whilst being crushed under the boot of the less than one percent?”

 Logan cocked his head over to the Duke, unfazed by the other’s lack of clothing, but still stunned by the other’s apparent comment. The absurdity of its comparison or the surprise Logan felt at the other’s knowledge; he didn’t know what had left him so speechless. Probably both. When Remus grinned, his expression dividing his face near in half, Logan felt heat beginning to enter his cheeks.

 “N-No. Not quite what I meant- How do you-?”

 “I know things, Loogie! Can’t be accurate without knowledge, after all.” He said, leaning forward in his seat, resting his chin in the palms of his hands. Well, that was not a revelation Logan was expecting to have this evening. Out of the twins, he did not expect Roman to attempt accuracy, but he certainly was not expecting Remus to openly admit he aimed for accurate representation in his… art.

 “W-Well… Anyway, what I actually meant was humans as a species are insignificant.” Remus tilted his head, uncharacteristically quiet, waiting for Logan to elaborate. “The human race has only been around for about three hundred, thousand years, out of a near fourteen billion that the universe has existed. We are dust. Doomed to die out just as the dinosaurs before us and who knows what else.”

 “What does this have to do with ants?”

 “Insignificance!” Logan’s voice rose against his wishes, feeling rather sheepish when he heard a muffled ‘shut up’ from upstairs. “Insignificance. At the end of it all, we can’t promise that Thomas will do anything memorable. Just as you questioned whether he will ever have a legacy, I can’t determine that Thomas will ever be remembered or make an impact. In the end, he will go through the same cycle that all humans do: breathe, eat, defecate, sleep and repeat until he eventually dies and us along with him.”

 “Hm… I see what you’re saying…” Remus hummed, pouting his lips in a way that tilted his moustache ever so slightly. A thoughtful look on Remus’ face was a strange appearance to behold. “And I disagree.”

 “What? You just said so yourself, ‘you can’t be accurate without knowledge’. So, if you are aware of all of this, how can you say that this is incorrect? We both know it isn’t. At the end of it all, if there is a higher deity, which I sincerely doubt, he will get judged and then some day, trillions of years down the line, the universe will cease to be.”

 “Yep!”

 “Are you just ignoring me or are you truly ignorant to what that means?”

 “Nah, just don’t see the point of worrying your pretty little head off.” He leaned back in the couch cushions, head held high, staring Logan down like the personification of Logic had once done to him. “After all, if we are so insignificant, what is the point of worrying? We can do anything we set our minds to!”

 “How optimistic.”

 “How practical, I think you mean.” Logan furrowed his brow. Was this naked idiot really trying to argue against him? “After all, that’s life! An experience that we lucky few get to live, and guess what? If it wasn’t for the lucky few before us, where would we be now?”

 Logan cocked a brow, not quite catching onto the Duke’s reasoning.

 “Nikola Tesla was a brilliant nutcase that played with electricity, giving us the stepping stones to modern inventions that all require electricity! But…” He wagged a finger in Logan’s direction, tutting. “Without him, who’s to say no one else down the line wouldn’t have discovered it? Without Pythagoras, we might not have Pythagoras theorem, we might instead have the Florian theorem or we might not have anything!”

 “You’re just ruining your point.”

 “Let me finish.” Remus scooted himself across the couch cushions until he was sitting right beside Logan, the Logical side grimacing. He would have to wash those cushions come tomorrow. "Yes, anyone could have done it or no one at all, but guess what? They did it!”

 What?

 “I don’t-”

 “We, the human race, any one of them, can put their minds to it and do something new! Something exciting! Tesla, Percy Julian, Einstein, Marie Curie, Pythagoras, Aristotle… They were the ones that discovered all of those amazing things. That invented all of those awesome contraptions!”

 “But-”

 “Let me go further! If it wasn’t for Jordan Peele, we wouldn’t have ‘Get Out’! If it wasn’t for Francisco Goya, we wouldn’t have that awesome painting! You know the one, um… The one where big boy Cronus is eating his son…?”

 “I think you mean ‘Saturn’.”

 “Yep! That’s the one! And it’s a fucking masterpiece! All creepy and bloody… God, he makes that arm look so fucking tasty.” Logan tried to ignore the sight of Remus’ tongue sliding over his teeth and lips. But still…

 “I… I will concede…” Remus leaned forward, grinning down at Logan. “T-That you have a point.”

 “And Thomas the fucking dankest engine that there ever has been? What has he done?”

 “Um… I don’t-”

 “He’s entertained millions with his stupid little Vines!” Logan shrugged. “He’s been releasing his own songs and covers of other awesome bops on Youtube and Spotify! Hell, he’s let us make our own playlists!” Logan cringed, recalling some of the rather… unusual and grating pieces Remus had handpicked. “He’s been in several musicals and theatrical productions, posing and bounding about for those asshole critics and doing bloody amazing!”

 “I guess…”

 “And! And he has been introducing us to the world! That’s a fucking first!”

 “Well, I mean, the Disney Pixar film Inside Out did it first.”

 “They just did emotions. We’re the fucking mechanics, Logie Awards! We’re more than just a kid flic, no matter how heart wrenching it was.” Was it just an illusion of some kind, or did he actually see the Duke nearly shed a tear? “Fucking Hell, Bing-Bong. How dare you be so selfless… You were supposed to just rocket your fat-ass out of there and leave that yellow bitch behind! Sadness deserved better!”

 …

 They were getting off topic now.

 “Anyway! We are now known to the world and that is all thanks to Thomathy! Isn’t that a fucking achievement?!”

 “I mean…” Logan thought it over. His mind was in a whirl. After all, Remus wasn’t wrong. People knew about them. Thomas had achieved more than the average person. He had done far more than was expected of him in his youth. He had done so much and Logan… Logan felt his chest swell with pride.

 The heat of Remus’ presence was fading, Logan looking up to then blush a bright red as he caught the almost amusing sight of the Duke attempting to shuffle his way back under the lounge cushions. He stood up, holding the pillow up and out of the way, the Dark Side grinning up at him as he scooted himself under all the pillows. Before Logan replaced the final one over Remus’ head and shoulders, he took a moment to gather his words.

 “T-… Thank you, Remus. I didn’t… I didn’t know how much I needed that.”

 “Eh, not a problem! You better go to bed. You look like you’re going to pass out and you don’t want to know what I’ll do with your unconscious body if you do.” Logan obliged, hurriedly and roughly slamming the pillow down and over Remus’ face, forcing the embarrassed flush to his cheeks to cool down.

 He returned to his room, laying down, mind calm and focussed on only one thing; his exhaustion clawing at his eyes and audibly pleading him to sleep. Or that could just be Remus downstairs, demanding he sleep. Either way, Logan obliged, even allowing himself an extra hour of blissful calm before the alarm call of Roman’s horrified shriek reverberated up the stairs. Today was going to be a good day.

  ~X~

#3 (A HISTORY, FORGOTTEN) 

 The Imagination was laid out before him; a vast landscape with a variety of unique worlds to explore. Patton had never realised just what Roman had meant when he said that the Imagination was enormous. He had been expecting a room perhaps a little larger than a gymnasium at most, but instead, there was a horizon, and a wide range of places to explore.

 He had been so excited when Roman had invited him to explore, but since he had been called away by his villagers to plan an upcoming festival for Christmas, Patton had been left to wander the streets. This was just one of Roman’s many medieval-inspired towns; small with crooked stone lining the roads, a large well at its centre and a church up a winding hill path. The people were bright, with wide eyes and large smiles that would politely offer a flower or baked bread if they weren’t busy with decorating.

 The town was an explosion of red and white, ribbons connecting building rooftops and fir trees growing on every street corner. It was beautiful, truly. Patton just wished he could spend his time fawning over the festive spirit with Roman. Without him, the townsfolk seemed to enter into a different setting, still participating in conversations with each other and seeking out Roman like the celebrity he seemed to be. The further away Patton had walked, the more the townsfolk came to ignore him and go about their days like he was an invisible entity.

 He didn’t mean to walk so far, but he had been distracted. He felt like a Disney princess when the first white bunny came up to sniff at his hand. Then another, this time a dark brown. A fawn and its mother leapt through the tall grass outside of the village limits, and Patton was head over heels. He had always loved animals (spiders being the exception), but to have them not be so skittish was a dream come true. He looked back at the village behind him, hearing the commotion faintly from within, but turned his baby blue eyes back over the sight before him.

 Roman didn’t have to worry. He could surely just wander and explore a little more without the other getting distracted from his duties. He knew it wasn’t a particularly smart idea to walk off, but he wasn’t a child. He knew what to look for, and besides, he wouldn’t go far. With one last, hesitant glance over his shoulder, Patton stepped off the road and bounded after the deer, the bunnies hot on his heels.

 They led him deep into a nearby forest, filled with wild oak trees and emerald grass, lines of white and red mushrooms and the faint trickle of a natural spring somewhere deep in the woods. Birds had come to join him as he ran; sparrows, finches and bluebirds, each singing their little tunes. It was harmonic and joyous. He felt like he could fly. His cardigan’s sleeves flew into his face a couple of times, but it only helped to stir his laughter. He felt like a kid all over again.

 He didn’t know how far he had gone, but by the time he tripped over a high root, he could feel a deep-seated burn in his muscles. The ache from his fall caused him to shake his head, trying to get those little birds to stop twittering so loud in his ear. He sat up in the dirt, looking all about, noting how the birds had fluttered away as quickly as they had joined him. There was no sight of the deer and its baby, and the rabbits, it seemed, had scampered off or had been left behind in Patton’s rush to explore.

 He sat at the base of a gnarled tree, looking up to see how the leaves and branches all came together to make an emerald roof above his head. Faint, golden glimmers of the setting sun shone down onto him, the forest around him growing darker, but no less beautiful as the sun sank in the sky.

 ‘Over here~’

 Patton’s ears picked up on the sound. It was almost a click in his paternal instincts. A child’s voice, faint and distant spoke to him, from somewhere in the surrounding foliage.

 “Hello?” He called, standing up and glancing about, hoping to see someone. Instead, he saw nothing. The forest was quiet; no birds, no footsteps, and no wind. It was a little strange, but Patton was much too focussed on finding the owner of that voice.

 ‘Hello~’

 There it was again. Patton glanced back over his shoulder, the sound of childish laughter ringing in his ears. He released a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, watching as there was a flash of a small figure darting between the trees behind him. He turned, jogging over with a smile on his face, chuckling as he tried to stealthily approach the tree. He whipped around the corner.

 “Gotcha-!” Only, he didn’t. No one was there. But… He was certain he had seen them dart over that way…

 ‘I’m over here~’

 Patton’s eyes turned up, noting the bright eyes peeking around the side of a tree, a mischievous grin on the chubby face. Those little hands held on tightly to its bark, the child’s laughter sounding again. How did Patton know this little one? He seemed so familiar.

 That mop of dark hair darted behind the tree once more, Patton catching the wisp of silver strands in the fringe before the head disappeared. He felt his heart leap into his throat. No way… It couldn’t be… He darted forward, once more rounding the tree but greeted with only a patch of grass and dirt. More laughter.

 ‘Silly-Billy, Papa-Patton~’

 ‘I have run away again~’

 He knew these words. He hadn’t heard them in years. Not since... He spotted the child running away through ferns and bramble bushes, avoiding the thorns and every root with such adventurous grace. There was laughter again, wild and familiar.

 ‘I want to play some tricks and run~’

 ‘Away from home and have some fun~’

 This nursery rhyme was something Patton had not heard in at least two decades. Though it was something to help find the tot when he and Roman were still young, now it felt so much more haunting. He was running at full speed after the child, noticing he was closing the distance.

 “Remus?!”

 ‘In the forest, I do not worry~’

 ‘Cause Papa-Patton will be in a hurry~’

 ‘To catch me and take me home~’

 ‘Into danger I will not roam~’

 He reached out with one hand, watching how his hand was almost at Remus’ shoulder. He almost had him. But as his hand stretched and made to halt the running figure, he watched as his fingers fell through, Patton tripping forward and into the dirt. He looked up, in time to see the child vanish like a puff of smoke. Remus…

 ‘When I trip and fall, he’ll be there to catch me~’

 ‘Or the monsters will come, and away they’ll take me~’

 Patton felt tears rolling down his face, helping to glue dirt to his cheeks. His glasses were gone, having fallen free from the crook of his nose. His hands searched the ground, feeling nothing but sharp rocks and dead grass. That… That was not what Roman’s forest was like.

 There was the crunch of heavy footsteps, larger than anything Patton had been chasing. He felt his chest rise and fall, attempting to take in deep breaths and calm down. He was beginning to panic. He turned around so he was on his back, eyes wide. The world around him was dark. He would barely be able to see a few feet in front of him if he wasn’t blind already. However, he did see movement. Something dark shuffled closer; Patton could hear heavy breaths and bellows of a giant creature as it moved closer.

 Then came the smell. Something decaying and rotten washed over him with the hot breath of the animal. It was putrid. Sickening. What was it?! Patton attempted to scramble back, but one large paw pressed him into the dirt, sharp claws tearing his shirt but not yet flaying his skin. He couldn’t breathe.

 “Help…”

 The thing just huffed in response, turning its apparently massive head back and forth as if to eye him closer. To understand what he was. Patton could feel the saliva dripping down onto his cheek, burning hot to the touch and just emphasizing the smell of something deceased.

 “Help.”

 It tilted its head. Then, Patton felt his heart nearly stop, watching with a blurred mix of colour as the beast opened its jaws, a red tongue lashing out to lick up his face. Patton then felt another tongue, and then a third. He felt sick. He breathed again.

 “HELP!”

 “Heel!” Patton heard a familiar voice command, the creature releasing Patton from beneath its weight and backing up. Patton scrambled away, feeling for his glasses in desperation. He heard footsteps, nothing like the beast that had nearly eaten him, and then felt someone’s fingers gently place something over his nose and eyes. He could see!

 “Hey, little grey, cardigan hood~.” Now that was a purr that Patton recognised. From where he lay, he lifted his gaze from the black, calf high boots, up the green and black striped pants to the over the top sash and suit that Duke wore. The man was smiling down at him, offering him a hand up. Patton graciously took it, backing hurriedly away and behind Remus as the beast came closer.

 “Cerberus, heel.” It did so. Now that Patton had his glasses, he could see that it was a three headed dog, with fur as dark as Remus’ own fashion sense, moss and vines threaded through fur, with a tail more akin to a donkey’s that was lashing about excitedly. It had taken a seat at Remus’ command, the Side moving over and wrapping his hands around the middle head’s snout, rubbing the muzzle affectionately. “It’s okay, Cerby~. Pattoncake was just a little scared.” He turned around to look back at Patton, grey eyes wide and wild.

 “You should give him a pet, Patty.”

 “N-No, thank you. He’s… Um…”

 “Oh, Cerby was just wondering who you were.” The left head opened its mouth as if to yawn, but then a tongue whipped out, far longer than Patton had ever seen, taking the opportunity to roughly lap up the side of his cheek again. Remus guffawed, grinning at Patton. “He likes you.”

 Patton bit his lip, looking up at the dog’s three heads, all of them stooped down so Remus could share his affection between them. Even at this position, the dog was about eight feet tall. He nervously stepped closer, raising a shaking hand up to the left head, Remus turning his attentions to the right most head. The panting beast tilted its skull one way, offering Patton an open space to scratch and rub. He took it with relief.

 He felt himself beginning to relax, and though he had been disgusted and terrified (and still was), watching this great, lumbering creature kick its leg at his chin scratches had him giggling with glee.

 “So, what are you doing here? I don’t often get visitors.”

 “Visitors?”

 “Well, yeah. I mean, you passed onto my territory about an hour ago.”

 “Oh…” He had the decency to look as embarrassed as he sounded. “I didn’t realise.”

 “Nah, that’s okay. You just got to be careful. I love all my creations, but not all of them love you. Trust me. You’re lucky you didn’t run into Grendel, or my zombies. Those undead bitches could run you down faster than a machine gun could mow you down.” He grinned, though it slipped at the sight of Patton’s grimace.

 “W-Well, I just was following what sounded like a child.” He didn’t feel it necessary to give all the details. “They were calling out to me, and I thought they looked familiar. They disappeared when I got close enough though.”

 “Oh, that.” Remus rolled his eyes. “Those are just wisps.”

 “Wisps?”

 “You know… Will-O-Wisps?”

 “I heard you, but I thought they carried lanterns or fire or something…”

 “Oh, they do. But sometimes they employ other tricks. Sometimes, their little lamps are not enough, so they use other methods.”

 “So, that child…”

 “Is dead. Whatever you saw, that child is dead.”

 Patton felt his heart go ice cold, constricting in his chest at the thought. No… That wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. After all, Remus was standing before him right now. Wasn’t he?

 “And what if I know for a fact that the child is alive?”

 Remus gave him a crooked look, confused as to why the other seemed to press this issue. He whistled up at Cerberus who took to standing, Remus moving around to hoist himself up onto the back of his mighty… hound. He held a hand out, offering Patton a comforting look. Well, that was something Patton hadn’t seen in years.

 “Then you must be wrong.” He hoisted Patton up and onto Cerberus’ back with ease, and gave a light kick to Cerberus’ ribs so that the three headed dog started off charging into the trees. Patton yelped, clinging on for dear life whilst Remus’ maniacal laughter sounded through the air.

 They reached the border in no time at all, Cerberus bounding to a final stop, crouching low to allow Patton to slip onto his feet. Having seen the transition from Remus’ land to Roman’s, it was a wonder how Patton didn’t notice the difference the first time. Where the dark forest with thorny brambles ended, the lush meadows began. Patton could see the sky now, dark, but filled with stars.

 “Thanks Remus.”

 “Don’t mention it. Seriously.” His looked turned dark, leaning forward from where he sat to glare down at Morality. “Don’t fucking mention this to anyone.” Patton felt a heavy stone in his throat, making it hard to swallow. His worries were washed away with Remus’ eyes glinting and his smile returning.

 “You know. Don’t need my reputation as a ‘bad guy’ going down the fucking toilet. Otherwise, I’ll have no excuse to invade Roman.” He laughed aloud, Patton joining him. It had been so long since Patton had spent any real time with Remus, and now, even with his potty-mouth and rather dark sense of… well, anything… Patton could still see the faintest traces of the boy he raised.

 The boy he left behind.

 “Remus, I know you said otherwise, but I know what I saw…” The Duke’s head tilted, curious as to where Patton was going with his words. “That wisp… It showed me a child that I know is alive and well. I’ve seen him.”

 “You’re wro-”

 “I’m not. Remus… Who I saw was-”

 “Patton!” Roman’s voice, clear as crystal, cut through their conversation, Patton peering back over his shoulder. Roman approached on his white steed, looking rather frazzled but no less relieved. “I was wondering where you had been. I had half the kingdom searching for you.”

 “Ro-Bro!” Roman shot a glare Remus’ way, turning his attention back to Patton and offering him a hand to climb atop the horse’s back.

 “Remus.”

 “Is that all you have to say, cityscape?” Roman’s glare turned back up to Remus. There was tension in the air, Patton could feel heat from both of their looks; one angered and the other taunting.

 “Stay on your side.”

 “Ah, well, of course. Good to know you are just as straight to the point as ever.” That didn’t sound like Roman. “Welp, this was fun, Moron-ality.” That stung a bit. Looking over at Remus, his wide baby-blue eyes connected with Remus’ glaring grey eyes. He could see the flecks of emerald within flashing, but it was not with malice. “Try not to get lost again.”

 With a gentle kick to Cerberus’ ribs, the hound picked up its haunches, all six dark eyes wide in much the same way of a pleading puppy. With a whine from Cerberus and a pet down each of his dark necks, the two of them disappeared back into the woods. Roman, in turn, pulled his horse around gently, and started at a slow trot back towards his castle, and inevitably his bedroom door.

 “Roman?”

 “Yes, Patton?”

 “What can you tell me about wisps?”

 “Why?”

 “Please…”

 Roman took a moment, glancing back at Patton with confusion, but no frustration. He sighed softly, taking a moment to think.

 “They’re spirits. Ones that lead travellers off the path so they may too be lost forever and become one of them.”

 “So, they’re… really dead?”

 “Well… Yes and no. Some are exactly that. Poor, unfortunate souls passing through that became malevolent spirits. But, there are some that are a little… different.”

 “How?”

 “One’s physical form does not technically have to… pass. Sometimes, all that is needed is the trauma of being lost or left behind. It is like an astral projection as Logan called it-…” Patton had stopped listening, eyes brimming with tears. He shed them quietly, hiding his shame by nuzzling his face into Roman’s back.

 Oh Remus…

 He never meant to leave.

  ~X~

#4 (DON’T STOP ME NOW) 

 After everything they had done. After all of this. Why now? What had changed? He just didn’t understand. Why would they do this to him? He trusted them. Was it misplaced? Had he done something foolish by trusting them to have their best interests at heart? Surely those two villains had done enough, poisoning their minds against him. That was why he was in here and everyone else was downstairs. Those… creatures had ruined everything.

 Roman’s room had never been in such a state. He couldn’t bear to look at the destruction he had caused. The walls, with their golden trim, had been stained a bright and sick wash of colour. The rainbow of paints were beautiful to start, but then they had started leaking down the wall, mixing together in an amalgamation of browns, sick greens and greys. His mirrors were shattered, arcs of glass lining the floors like a minefield of hideous broken smiles and crooked glares.

 His bed was a mess, the swan feather pillows torn to shreds and the draperies that normally hid his sleeping form from sight were ripped off and shredded across the glass shards. His room was a disaster zone of canvases, broken pencils and crushed roses. It would have made quite the dramatic sight, and he had no doubt that if Logan were to see what he had done, he would be chastised for his childish behaviour. Patton would probably be on the brink of breaking down and Virgil would probably just roll his eyes at Roman’s anguish.

 Those two, however… He grit his teeth, grinding down to prevent himself from letting a sound undignified of a prince. He wanted to roar, take his sword out and charge down the stairs. Strike out, clash weapons and then turn up victorious to shouts of his fellow Sides praising him for saving them from Deceit’s lies and Remus’ threats.

 There was a knock at his door. He bit back the urge to hiss at the one disrupting his thoughts, and felt his voice come through without his permission.

 “Leave.”

 There was silence from the doorway. No one tried to turn the knob, but he couldn’t hear anyone make the walk of shame back down the corridor. Good for them. There wasn’t anything to entertain them here. Roman was done entertaining. He was done with this and how everyone seemed to turn against him.

 He finally heard whomever was outside stepping away. It seemed slow, hesitant, but Roman cared little for them and their feelings. He had enough of being selfless. His opinions were shot down continuously, and with Logan and Patton constantly giving their input, Thomas seemed unable to put another’s words on the same pedestal. He held those two in such high regards that there never seemed much point in arguing.

 Another series of knocks. He hadn’t noticed the Side’s return, but just felt a low growl sound deep within his chest when he opened his mouth to answer. He shut himself down, not wanting to give the others more of a reason to ignore him. He wasn’t his brother. He wasn’t an animal.

 There was an explosion of sound, Roman shocked to his feet as his door caved in with a powerful swing of an all too familiar Morningstar. Splinters of wood cascaded across the room, Roman’s hand whipping to his left hip and pulling his katana free from its place. Through the hole where his door once stood, the familiar form of him entered, head tilted at an uncomfortable angle, eyes wide and crazed, bearing a toothy grin. He reminded Roman of a wolf or shark with how he appeared; a predator hunting.

 “Oh, brother~!” Remus lunged forward, swinging his weapon high. Roman had little time to dodge, just managing to dart to the side. The Morningstar’s head came down where Roman had been standing, leaving a crater in his bedroom floor. He whipped his head around, eyes flashing dangerously as he darted ahead, keeping up with Roman’s every move. From the door, Roman could hear Patton’s cries of horror.

 He brought his sword up, in time to prevent the Morningstar from connecting to his jaw. It would have broken it, probably his entire neck if he hadn’t been fast enough. Their weapons clashed, a glint of silver and sparks, Roman holding his brother back with what strength that remained. After the destruction of his room by his own hand, he was exhausted. And it showed. Remus’ strength was pressing down on Roman’s, his katana screeching.

 “REMUS! Get a hold of yourself!”

 “No.” Remus pushed him back, sending Roman onto the mattress, the prince having to scramble back to avoid a blow to the family jewels. “Nein.” Another swing down in the same location, caving the bed in with a crunch. “Non.” He swung just over Roman’s head. It would have been like one of those dramatic fight scenes where a blade would just barely cut his hair. It was too close for comfort. “Nyet.” His brother had gotten slower in their time apart, it seemed.

 “What has gotten into you?!” He dodged back, Remus tackling him across the bed, pinning him to the floor with his weight. He lifted his Morningstar high, but with a strong hit of the katana’s hilt, Remus lowered his weapon, one hand clutching his ribs. Roman kicked him off, scrambling back over glass and paint, wincing as the shrapnel sliced the skin of his hands.

 “Me? What has gotten into you?!” He recovered quickly, following Roman quickly across the bedroom. Roman had stood and was immediately kicked back into the vanity, feeling the wind rush out of his lungs. Remus stepped forth, arm arcing high above his head, bringing it down just as Roman crouched. What was left of the mirror was obliterated.

 “Remus! Stop this!” Logan’s voice, unusually loud and panicked, carried over the sounds of their battle.

 “That’s enough! You’re hurting him!” Patton cried, Virgil keeping him from running into the room to get between them.

 “I want to.” Their weapons clashed again, Roman pressing back against his brother. All of his swinging and wild motions had caused him exhaustion. He was weakening. “I want to hurt him.”

 Roman could recall how often the two of them had practised their fighting skills when they were young. Just as they were now, they were enemies; Roman constantly being invaded by Remus who just sang about how much he wanted to ‘play’. Well, it became almost a weekly practise. They exchanged blows and Remus would return to his respective side of the imagination. Remus had always lost every battle. Every fight Roman would be the victor. It would be no different now. They played their roles well as children, and it certainly wouldn’t change now.

 There was an ear-splitting shriek of steel and a loud crack. Roman and Remus shared a look of shock, watching how half of Roman’s blade crumbled under the pressure. It flew out of sight beneath the bed, Roman letting out a pained wretch as the shaft of the Morningstar slammed down over his throat. He couldn’t breathe. His arms flung out wildly, attempting to push back against Remus’ grip. Remus, despite his efforts against him, still seemed just as stunned by the turn of events.

 “Remus, enough!” The words of that snake cut through Patton’s cries and Roman and Remus’ heavy breathing. Remus turned his head ever so slightly, the smile beginning to etch its way back onto his face. It was slow. Malicious.

 “Ani.”

 “Remus…”

 “Ochi.”

 “Remus, this has gone far enough!”

 “NO, IT HASN’T!” With a forceful push onto Roman’s throat, cutting off his oxygen supply completely for a brief moment, Remus took to standing. He stalked towards Deceit, arm swinging lazily. Roman watched with wide eyes as the human half of Janus’ face morphed from one of anger to horror. Deceit had never been afraid of Remus.

 “It has never been enough.” Remus said, Roman forcing himself to turn over and pick himself up. He was coughing. Trying to regain his thoughts through his swimming vision. He saw a glint beneath his bed. Something sharp.

 “Remus, please…”

 “It is not enough! I need… I need more…” Remus glanced back at Roman, and for a moment Roman feared Remus was aware of what he was doing. For a moment, Remus’ eyes followed his brother’s arm, up and under the bed, with his hand out of sight. He turned his attention back to Deceit.

 He didn’t notice.

 “I want him gone. I want him dead!” He raised his Morningstar, Deceit backing up under that frightful gaze. “He stifles me! He keeps me locked away!” Roman could make out how Deceit’s cape opened further, all of his hidden hands peeking out from under the cloak, ready to fend off his friend. “I am DONE!”

 Roman lunged forward, his hand having gripped tightly around the broken blade, feeling the edge cut deep into his fist. He aimed downward, watching as the point enter into Remus’ calf, slicing down through his pants and flesh. Blood spurted free, blinding Roman as it entered his eyes. A roar erupted from deep within his brother’s chest, the Morningstar falling to the floor behind him. Deceit ran forward, attempting to grab Remus and prevent his descent. Instead, Remus slapped his hands away as he collapsed.

 Roman pulled himself up from where he was on the floor, wiping his face free of blood. Remus let out a sound similar to a whine, hands trying to staunch the bleeding. Roman quickly pushed the Morningstar away and out of Remus’ now reaching hand. A look of fury passed over Remus’ tired features.

 “You’re done, Remus.”

 “I-…” Remus attempted to stand, immediately falling back into his crouched position, his teeth grit tight. He turned his dark eyes up at Roman, the prince noting how he could see the faintest traces of tears in the other’s eyes. Never had Roman seen that before. Every time Remus and he had fought, it didn’t matter the injuries, Remus never cried. He had never cried from pain before. “I’m not done.”

 “Leave.” Roman stared him down, the Duke growling between bared teeth, attempting to stand once more. It was a pitiful sight. “It’s over. You’ve lost. Again.”

 Roman took a breath when he watched Remus sink into the floor, his body becoming near transparent to allow for Remus to return to his hovel. Their eyes never parted, Roman’s warm brown eyes, filled with pity and a rage slowly simmering down, meeting eyes filled with fury, upset, embarrassment and… what was that?

 “Roman.”

 “Quiet.” He turned back to the reptilian side, Deceit holding his head high despite Roman’s tone. “I… Thank you, Dec-… Janus.” A look of confusion through Deceit’s features, Roman biting back the urge to say something demeaning. “You really helped me there.”

 “That’s my job.”

 “I mean it. Thank you.”

 Patton, Logan and Virgil entered, each of them beginning to fuss and express their concerns as to what had just occurred. Remus was unpredictable but never had he lashed out in such a way before. Patton immediately started worry about Roman’s throat and the bruising that was beginning to form. Logan headed downstairs and out of sight to collect the first aid kit, not wanting Roman to receive an infection from the glass. Virgil offered to help clear his room of the debris whilst Janus sunk out of sight. As he disappeared in much the same fashion as Remus, he told them he would speak to Remus, and determine what had set him off.

 Even now as the Light Sides continued their ministrations and fussing, Roman’s thoughts played back their fight and how they played their roles. How Remus had seemed so slow compared to his usual manic behaviour. How he could have killed Roman then and there but turned his attention to Deceit. The unshed tears in his eyes and the look he gave Roman as he sunk out and back to the Dark.

 He knew that look. It was the same look Patton gave Virgil when he agreed to talk about his problems. It was the same look Logan had when Thomas came to the necessary conclusion. It was the same look Virgil had when Logan had complimented his train of thought. It was the same look that Janus had when the Sides had agreed to accept him into the Light. But it couldn’t be…

 In those last moments before Remus had sunk out… The villain had given the hero a look of pride.

 Remus was proud of him…

  ~X~

#5 (EVERYBODY SINS) 

 Deceit had sunk back down into the Dark Side corridor, looking back and forth down the hall. Where there was once six doors, including the one that opened into the Subconscious, now there was only four. The one that opened to the shared bathroom was open, with a long trail of blood leading into it. There was the sound of running water in a porcelain tub, Janus taking a moment to steel himself for what he was about to see.

 He had never been scared of Remus before. When he had found him as a child wandering about in the Imagination, he had been surprised. He had heard about Romulus’ split, but he didn’t expect the divide to revert the brothers into children. Still, he had offered his hand and led the crying and screaming child back into the Dark. Remus had grown quickly to accommodate Thomas’ age, and during this time, Remus mind went manic. Thousands of thoughts ran through his head, all of them building up into a painful migraine that couldn’t be relieved. Even then, Janus had never been scared of him or his episodes.

 He had been so caught up in the moment, the adrenaline pounding through his head and drums beating loudly in his ears, he couldn’t decipher lies from truth. How Remus had shouted and roared about his desires to kill and maim. To get out of the cage he was trapped within. Now that Deceit had the time to calm down, his mind caught onto the lies.

 “Remus?” He stepped into the bathroom after Remus, looking down as the other lay deep in the water, his left leg propped up on the rim of the tub. The cut was deep, the water already a sickly colour. He held a thin line of thread and needle in his fingers, paying Janus no mind when he entered. He grimaced as the needle was pushed through skin and muscle, piercing it and then pulling the thread through it with a wince. Remus was biting down hard on the leather of his belt, eyes fixed and concentrated.

 Janus stooped low, picking up the Duke’s uniform and tossing it away in the hamper, before moving and taking an uncomfortable seat on the tile. For a moment, Remus’ eyes looked up at him but they seemed tired. Ashamed.

 “Do you not need help?”

 Remus took a moment, eyes turned down to the water. He seemed to think on it for a moment before nodding his head bashfully. Janus took the needle from him, Remus laying back and trying to relax his body, the tension in his calf loosening. It was a sickening sight, as if Remus’ calf was a raw piece of pork, sliced open with a meat cleaver. The muscle hung off the bone. Sewing it together would take some time, as would the healing process. He got to work.

 Every stitch was slow and calculated. He needed to be sure he did it right lest the wound fall apart and open again. Every prick of the needle caused Remus to wince, the grinding of his teeth became especially prominent however when Janus had to pull the muscle together. Even though they were metaphysical human beings, with the power to conjure and create within the Mindscape, injuries still caused them a lot of pain and strife. And if left untreated… Janus tried not to think about the last time he was sitting on the rim of the bathtub, watching as someone bled out in the water.

 It was a long and excruciating process, the water now cold from how long the two of them sat there. Remus appeared paler than usual. It was not surprising, considering how it seemed he had all but stained the bathwater red. Janus stood, beginning to rummage his way through the drawers until he found some bandages. Since that time, he always kept them in there, and since Remus’ exploits often left him bleeding and bruised, it meant they would be used. Just as they were now. The belt was discarded onto the floor, Janus clearing his throat as he began to wrap up the wound.

 “Remus…”

 No answer.

 “What happened up there?”

 Remus let his head loll lazily to one side, exhausted features and his dark eyes half-lidded were enough to tell Janus that this was a conversation best saved for later. But he couldn’t let this get swept under the rug like so many things before. This was not something they should be quiet about.

 “Don’t tell me.”

 “Are you still accepted?”

 Janus furrowed his brow in confusion, watching as Remus’ lips stretched to accommodate a tired smile.

 “Yes. Just as you are.”

 “No.”

 “W-What do you mean ‘no’? Just because of what happened, they’re not going to-”

 “I’m not going up there.” He pulled himself up to sit higher, and then into a standing position. Almost immediately Janus was there to catch him as he half tumbled out of the tub and into Deceit’s six waiting arms. “I don’t deserve it.”

 “Well, after that-”

 “I don’t just mean that. Everything… Everything I have done… I don’t-” Remus’ breath caught in his throat, and Janus was shocked to feel Remus’ shoulders wrack with sobs. He collapsed completely in Janus’ arms, the Side having to hold up both their weight, and beginning to drag Remus out the door and down the long corridor towards his room.

 They passed by the door to the Subconscious. The dark and rotting wood, the sound of whipping wind and crashing waves from within causing them to quick their pace. They passed by his door, leaving it far behind them, the fiery, orange door glaring at them in the dark. The words ‘KEEP OUT’ were carved sharply and sloppily into the wood, something that they all kept in mind. Even Remus never bothered him.

 They finally reached Remus’ room, the door painted a deep green, chipped and with all kinds of scars and stains across it. Not all of them were Remus’ work. They entered the room beyond, dark and with a mess of papers strewn across the carpet. He helped Remus to the side of his bed, a nest of pillows and blankets, helping him reach the foot of the mattress and then using all six hands to clear it of the many pillows and excess blankets. Remus didn’t need his movement impaired.

 He laid him down, tucking his shivering body under the blankets. As he pulled his hands away, for a moment, he could see the tear tracks on Remus’ chubby cheeks, how his small hands clutched at the blankets, terrified in his new home. He shook that thought free when the real, adult Remus turned over in the sheets, offering him a thankful smile.

 “Why didn’t you do it?”

 “Because… Dee-Dee-…”

 “Don’t you-!” He caught himself from shouting as Remus’ smile dropped. “Please, Remus… Be serious. Just answer me this: Why?” The Side bit his lip, trying to well up the courage to answer.

 “Because Dee-… Janus… I knew his thoughts…”

 “And?”

 “He was angry. Scared… And he felt… Unwanted. He felt like he had no place. He had nowhere to go. I… I know how that feels.”

 “So-?”

 “So, I gave him what he needed. I played my part, and I think I did a pretty good job.” He tried to sit up, to produce a grin on his face, but it morphed into a wince. “And you are definitely accepted now, since they saw what you did, standing up to me, and…”

 “You didn’t need to do that, Remus!” He regretted raising his voice, at how Remus had sunk deep into the blankets, looking rather sheepish and embarrassed. He sighed, taking a moment to calm down. Remus was intelligent, but the man had always had a round-about way of thinking. It wasn’t a perfect train of thought that went from destination to destination. It was more like a puppy or child’s; rushing from topic to topic, from idea to idea, until something finally caught on.

 His methods had never been perfect. He had always been a little twisted, but that is what happened when you split your necessary mechanics into an overly complicated machine. Without the Ego to boost him, and without the thoughts of love and care, all that left Remus with were the thoughts no one wanted. Imagery of gross wounds and terrified souls, the feeling of fear and hatred that stemmed deep within, and the brutal honesty of this world. The reality of it all meant that Remus had no choice but to shoulder the heavy burden of all of Thomas’ unwanted thoughts and fears. Virgil was more than Fear and Anxiety, but Remus was the sum of his unfortunate parts.

 “Remus.” He got the other to raise his gaze up to meet his again, feeling his heart constrict at the sight. Despite his wounds, the Duke would always bounce back faster than any other Side. His morbid curiosity and playful habits caused him to be a non-stop machine of excitement and manic glee, but now… This was wrong.

 “What you did was a truly noble thing.” Remus’ eyes lit up. “I’m… I’m proud of you. Everything you have never done.” Remus mouth twisted into a grin, the look one much more suited to his face, but even now it looked strange. “Thank you.”

 “It’s nothing, Janus.”

 “No! It is not nothing.” He moved to sit on the bed beside him. Remus sat up and shifted, allowing Janus space to sit beside him. A pair of hands wrapped around Remus’ shoulders, a second pair lifting the blankets back up to cover Remus. Remus lifted himself up to remove his bowler hat, tossing it onto a nearby bedside table. He smirked up at Janus.

 “Your hair is a fucking mess.”

 “As eloquent as ever, Remus.”

 “Least I don’t look like Edward Scissorhands came at me.”

 “He wasn’t canonically good at cutting hair.”

 “Oh…” It took Remus a minute to think. “Well, then you look terrible.”

 “Oh, my cold, shrivelled heart~!” Remus began laughing, a pained sound but no less delighted at Janus playing along. “You wound me with your sharp tongue!”

 “I can do more than just that with my tongue~.” They both began laughing together, loud and unashamed. Truly it was a few minutes of careless delight, as if what had happened within the last two hours had never happened at all. Even now, it seemed as though Remus was the one caring for him and making him feel better, despite having a slice in his leg a little over half a foot long.

 After they had calmed down, they sat together in peace, Remus resting his dark head of hair against Janus’ collar, the silver fringe tickling the deceitful Side’s chin and neck. One hand rose to pet down Remus’ hair, a sound akin to purring coming from deep within the Side’s chest in response. He was just like Virgil in how they both loved their hair being stroked and played with.

 “Remus…”

 “Mhm?”

 “Are-… Are you going to be okay down here?” There was a shrug in Remus’ shoulders, Janus hoping for something more but rolling his eyes when he heard nothing. “Will you not be alright on your own here?”

 “I’ll be fine. Besides, it’s not like I’m really alone. You know-”

 “I know he still lives here, but you know as well as I that his presence here does little to stave off boredom.” Remus cringed at that. Yeah, he was one that was much more prone to boredom and loneliness. When Deceit had left him behind the first time so he could go and see Thomas in person, when he returned he had been barrelled over by a bored ball of energy that had wrapped him up in a hug so tight he could barely breathe.

 “I’ll be fine, Janus. I just… I’m just tired. Can we just go to sleep?”

 “You can. I have to go upstairs and tell the others you’re fine-”

 “Don’t!” Remus had shoot up, eyes wide with what seemed to be fear and mania. “You can’t! Roman can’t know!”

 “Remus.”

 “No! You can’t tell them! If they find out, they’ll kick you out and back down here, and I know you have wanted to be accepted forever but they-”

 “Remus.”

 “- Will probably think you were working with me to do it and Roman… He needed it, Janus! We can’t take that away from him-”

 “Remus!” That shut him up. “For the love of everything bad in the world will you let me finish?” The other remained silent, Janus taking the moment to conclude he was letting him speak.

 “I won’t tell the others about that if you really want. I won’t take it away from Roman. But I’ll see to it that my room will return so I can stay here.”

 “No.”

 “Remus-”

 “I won’t lie to you, Janus.” Well, he couldn’t anyway. Both of them knew that Deceit could determine any lie, especially when it was said to his face. “I don’t want you here.”

 His heart broke.

 “What?”

 “I don’t want you here. I want you to go to the Light side. I want you to leave.” There was no string pulling on Janus’ mind. No feeling of a fly trapped in a spider’s web. No tug on his heart letting him know what he heard was false. He felt his heart clench in his chest.

 “I don’t want you here with me, anymore.” It was the truth. “I don’t want you here and worrying about me anymore.” The truth. “I want you to be with the Light Sides, because that’s where you belong.”

 Truth.

 “You’ve finally been accepted and I don’t want to take away from that. If I have to be the villain, then so be it. If I have to be on my own, I need to learn to deal with it.” Janus felt the ice in his heart melting. “I care about you, Janus. A lot. I can’t bear the knowledge that you won’t be with them because of me. It is what you have always wanted and I refuse to take away from that.”

 “Remus, I won’t leave you here.”

 “Let me be selfless, just this once.” The other’s look was a serious one; it told him there was no room for arguments and as much as he wished to ignore him and wish his door to return, he couldn’t do that to Remus. The second half of creativity had always hated it when others ignored him or his ideas; how they spoke over him and altered his words. It broke Remus a little every time and Janus… Janus was not about to do that to him again.

 “I’ll visit.”

 “When?”

 “Every day if I have to.”

 “God, you’re such a sap.” But the smile on Remus’ face was genuine, the light in his eyes brighter than ever. He turned himself over so he laid back against Janus’ chest, shutting his eyes and beginning to drift away. Janus would tell the Light Sides in the morning about Remus’ condition. Now was not the time.

 Now was the time to sleep.

  ~X~

#6 (BROKEN THINGS) 

 ‘We’re done listening to you.’

 ‘You have nothing of valuable measure to contribute.’

 ‘P-Please, just go.’

 ‘Return to your little lair, brother dear.’

 The words rang through his head, pounding like a school bell on crack or a fire alarm on acid, wailing like mad through his skull. His hands clasped at the side of his skull, trying to relieve the pressure with more pressure. He didn’t get how it worked, but it always did somehow. Now though… Now it didn’t do anything but cause the voices to cry louder.

 He laughed at the irony of it all, feeling the hollow sound in his chest reverberate through the cavity between his ribs, where his heart should be. His apparent lack of heart had been brought up many a times, but he didn’t believe it. It might be small, insignificant or disgusting but it existed. Now though, he wasn’t so sure.

 ‘We’re done listening to you.’

 When did you ever listen to him, Emo? The only time Virgil actually paid attention to what he had to say, he couldn’t even remember it in the fucking first place! The Subconscious ate up his memories as it was prone to do. After he had thrown him through the doorway and into the corridor, he had sunk faster than ever out of sight, tired but still fighting back the Subconscious death grip on his waist and arms. He had pulled himself free in time to see Virgil and Janus sat in the bathroom together, arms wrapped tightly around each other and in near tears.

 His method had worked. Implanting that trigger in Virgil’s mind had kept his wrists clear of further scars, but after that experience, Virgil had put further distance between them. It was clear he didn’t remember Remus’ efforts, but he could still tell that part of his anguish was the fault of the big, bad villain.

 ‘You have nothing of valuable measure to contribute.’

 That is not what he said that night when it was just the two of them. Despite the other’s obvious discomfort, something Remus still delighted in, Logan had listened to what he had to say. He had been sat on the lounge for some time, contemplating and stressing all on his own until Remus had revealed himself.

 Despite his admittance and the many times the two had taken part in private, intelligent conversations, it seemed that Remus had barely left an impact. Logan was right. When Remus had first entered the picture and introduced himself to Thomas, Logan was right when he said he didn’t leave an impact. He couldn’t do fucking anything of note. Nothing to certainly be remembered.

 ‘P-Please, just go.’

 As polite as ever, Patton. As polite as fucking ever! Remus had stood to kick over the coffee table in the Dark sitting room, growling aloud like a wild animal. ‘Oh, won’t you stay here for just moment, kiddo?’ Oh, why yes, Patton! He could stand there as long as was needed! Apparently you needed eighteen years to actually return and come to see him again. That was fine!

 No… It wasn’t fucking fine! He didn’t even last eighteen minutes. He had messed up as he was prone to do. He had wandered after him, calling for Patton up until the edge of the thick, overgrown forest. He could see Patton walking away, hand-in-hand with his brother. Roman. The perfect child. Patton never held his hand. It was always too sticky, covered in mud, glue or blood. Even at a young age, Remus couldn’t help himself from sticking his fingers into what he found, including dead squirrels and birds. He always found them fascinating.

 ‘Return to your little lair, brother dear.’

 Well, was he happy now?! He had done exactly as Roman wanted. He had returned to the Dark side common room. Was that enough? Or did he mean for him to go further? His bedroom? His side of the Imagination? Or did he mean to the bloody Subconscious? He could get rid of himself if that was what Roman wanted, but then how would that affect Thomas?

 Thomas would probably be delighted. Now he would have only thoughts of butterflies, magic and rainbows, but then without Remus, he wouldn’t want to be honest. He couldn’t be. Without Remus, where was the confidence to talk about mature topics? Believe it or not, Thomathy, mental health was a fucking mature topic. Without Remus, he would be too scared to talk about it. Without him…

 Without him, Thomas wouldn’t have those nightmares that kept him up at night. Scenes of murder, executions, horrible acts of violence, disgusting scenes and visions of R-Rated topics would never occur. Without him, the others could keep him in line without trouble and without fear. Without him, Roman could have the entirety of the Imagination to himself, so he could create any and all things Thomas would ever want or need.

 He stormed about, tearing at the wallpaper and lounge cushions, leaving behind him a trail of ruin wherever he went. He had such pent up anger at them all. He had hid it all behind a smile and his insane laughter, and it was enough. Instead of seeing the pathetic shell that was left, they saw exactly what they expected; a Side on his home stretch. Remus turned his eyes over to the corridor. The one that once led to six rooms; the bathroom, Virgil’s room, Janus’ room, both of which had disappeared, his room and Remus’ room. And the Subconscious.

 His eyes held their gaze on that rotting door a little longer than he meant to, the thought louder than ever in his ears. Blood was pumping, muting him to anything other than the shrieks that echoed across his brain.

 ‘Do it’

 He stepped past the mess he had made, shards of glass and wood splinters crunching under his feet. He cared little for what he left behind, eyes focussed straight ahead.

 ‘Coward. Fucking do it’

 His hand reached out to the brass knob, twisting it in the socket and opening the door out and wide. The abyss stretched out before him; as dark and as foreboding as ever. Unlike the other times he had stared or entered the monster’s maw, now he felt something else deep within him; a heat that blossomed out through his chest that filled him from head to toe. He felt… welcome.

 Tendrils, as black as the abyss they came from, licked up the sides of his legs, being gingerly soft and gentle, taking care to avoid the still healing scar on his leg. More of the Subconscious’ form reached out towards him like long, prehensile tongues, soft and wet, yet cold. One licked up the side of his cheek, one across his neck, and an innumerable amount over his arms, hands and shoulders. It offered him a gentle tug.

 He accepted it.

 He stepped forth, letting the many limbs guide him along towards the threshold of the door. He felt a great weight being removed from his spine and brain. He blinked away the images of Roman’s disgusted face, the sound of Patton’s crying, the frustrated looks Logan shot his way and the angered hisses from Virgil at his mere presence. The walls of the Dark side of the Mindscape crumbled ever so slightly. He breathed in a fresh gulp of air, cold and intrusive. Perfect for him.

 His thoughts turned to Janus, and how the other would feel. After everything that happened, it seemed that only the deceitful side was the one to care. Not that he was surprised. It was his own fault for building himself up as the villain everybody needed. But how would he react? Would he appreciate not having to worry about him any longer? Or would he be as heartbroken as he had been when they had found Virgil?

 The tugs on his torso and legs pulled tight as Remus pressed his heels into the rug. No. Not yet. He wasn’t going just yet. Those impatient tendrils lashed at him, attempting once more to rip him from his place in the corridor and pull him in, but he stood his ground. There was the sound of someone landing on the floor of the common room, and a familiar hiss from the only Side that cared to see him.

 Realising their prey was immovable, those limbs pulled away, gently this time, gently licking his cheek on their return. Remus watched as the door quietly shut of its own accord, a deep rumbling coming from within. It was hungry. But it would wait.

 “Remus?!” Janus appeared in the corridor beside him, catching sight of Intrusive Thoughts standing before the door, but looking pleased. Pleased to see him. Remus skipped his way over, picking Janus up in his arms and swinging him around in delight, the Side trying not to let a laugh escape his lips at Remus’ actions. He finally placed him down on his feet, grinning wide at Deceit.

 “Sorry for the mess, Scales. Had to let off some steam.”

 “Don’t worry about it. I have some news.”

 “What?” He questioned, tilting his head to one side in confusion.

 “You’ve been accepted.”

 There was stunned silence that for a moment Janus held a look of concern that he may have broken Remus. He held up a hand, snapping gloved fingers in his face. Remus shook his head, blinking his wide eyes as he came back to.

 “You must be lying.”

 “I’m not. You’ve been accepted, and I can’t prove it.” He led Remus by the hand down into the corridor. Remus counted the doors. One door to the Subconscious. One door to the shared bathroom. One door to his room. They were missing one.

 “H-How?”

 “Thomas spoke to them without a little help from yours truly. The others want you to join the Light side. You can come with me.”

 “But I… I am the villain. I have to play my part.”

 “No, you don’t. You only have to play yourself, Remus. The eccentric idiot with a love of all things bloody and sexual; you have a place in the Light side.”

 “I can’t believe it.”

 “You don’t have to. But you trust me, don’t you?”

 It was a few minutes of silence whilst Remus processed this and everything else that had led up to this moment. Surely not. He couldn’t have been accepted just like that. No way. But Janus was being so sincere… But he wasn’t lying.

 With a great heave, Remus had once more lifted Janus into the air, spinning him around despite the other’s yelp and struggles. Laughter bellowed out from Remus, hugging Janus tight at last, trying not to throw up from the spins. The two of them sunk out together, away from the place that held so many twisted memories, good and bad.

 Behind them, the door to the Subconscious groaned and rumbled, like a stomach growling. Starved of its sustenance, the deep beast within the Mindscape waited. It would continue waiting. It could be patient.

 And Remus could not say ‘no’ forever.

 He knew that.

 It knew that.

 So hungry…

 As long as it needed to…

 It would wait…

(AUTHOR’S FOOTNOTE:  I hope you enjoyed this story, or it made you feel some things.

Sincerely,

Harcourt Holmes II.)

#sanders sides #sander fic #remus sanders #roman sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #logan sander #virgil sanders #thomas sanders #fanfic #angst #implied/referenced self harm #suicide attempt #suicide #violence #blood #gore #swearing #remus being remus #nudity #self esteem issues #I be rambling #harcourtholmesii

[halfgclden]

Catch You on the Flip Side | Jordan&Devin

date: May 8th

summary: fight night, hot chip, weird bosses, big apples

Jordan opened his laptop, tucked his hair behind his ears, and then mussed his hair up again so it looked shaggy. He sent a quick confirmation message and clicked the call button on the Discord chat. He smiled as the call was answered, and rested his chin in his hand. “Hey. What’s going on?”

Devin flopped back on her bed and held the phone over her face as she answered the call. “Hey!” She grinned back at him and rolled onto her stomach. “What’s up? How’s your freaky delinquent camp?”

Jordan gave a small wave and raised his eyebrows at her. “I mean, same old, same old, I guess.” He wasn’t really sure what he could tell her that would interest her of the affairs at camp. “There’s this fight night thing going on in a few.”

“Fight night? The fuck is that?” Devin’s interest was peaked. “Say more right now.”

Jordan rolled his eyes but looked more amused than annoyed. “Man, it’s some shit you’d be really into, honestly. People are just going to some place called the ‘Rat Cage’ which is some creepy, unlit basement, and they’re just totally brawling it out.” He sighed. “My roommate’s going, and he’s this jacked dude, but I’m still kinda scared he’s gonna get brained and I’ll have to inherit two tiny birds and a giant raccoon.”

“Ugh, I want your life. The Rat Cage? The fucking Rat Cage? I’d kill for a good murder basement right now.” Devin turned her phone to show the sunlight streaming in through her bedroom window. “Literally kill, look at this shit. The walls are painted yellow like I’m a genderless baby and the only food Gene buys is like, fucking carrots and protein shakes.” She shook her head and turned the camera back to her. “Roll it back though. Giant raccoon?”

Jordan clasped his hands below his chin and looked at the room that seemed very warm and appealing. “And here I was thinking I was talking to a genderless baby this whole time. You’re telling me I’m wrong? False advertisement.” He exhaled a small laugh and nodded. “Big Spenca,” he said in his best mock-Australian accent. “He’s this big raccoon statue that my roommate got… somewhere? I dunno, I like to keep the mystery going. I think Tai’s working on a whole hat collection for him now. I’ll take a pic for you once I’m his father.”

Devin snorted. “RIP to your roommate and all but when he bites it can we take joint custody of this fuckin’, uhh, Aussie raccoon?”

Jordan raised an eyebrow. “Are you seriously asking if you can help raise a big ass raccoon statue with me, A) without seeing him, and B) without even being here? You don’t even have to go out to get cigarettes, you can just stop answering my calls.”

“Yeah? Duh?” Devin grinned at him. “You trying to tell me I’d be a shit raccoon mom? Asshole.”

“Um, yeah, duh?” Jordan made the Gavin Face™️. “For one, you’re a human.”

“Bigot.” Devin rolled onto her side. “I can be whatever I put my mind to.”

Jordan snorted and shook his head, covering his mouth with his hand as he smiled. “Fuck you. What’s up there? Just had your protein shake-and-carrot soup for lunch?”

Devin groaned. “Fuck, literally. There were so many peas in it. And kale, Gene’s trying to kill me.”

“Peas and kale, damn, dude.” He shook his head and grinned impishly at her. “You guys are like modern Popeyes.”

Devin shifted the phone to just one hand so she could flip him off. Immediately afterwards, she slapped her forehead and groaned again. “We are. I need to go get a burger the second this convo is over. Chop chop, let’s get it moving.”

“Damn, alright, asshole. I’ll hang up then?” Jordan raised his eyebrows but didn’t move to hang up the call.

“Do it.” Devin didn’t move to hang up either. “Been up to much lately or do people think you’re too weird?”

“You already asked that.” Jordan leaned back on his hands and watched his screen. “I went looking for shit in some tide pools recently. I found a crab and dangled it it from my sweater sleeve. It was pretty cool.” He tilted his head back and forth. “I went chasing rabbits the other day too.”

“Okay, fuck off, you gave me new answers this time.” Devin blew a piece of hair out of her face. “Sweet, I’d kill for crabs. Not the STD, shut up, I heard it when I said it. Chasing rabbits? They don’t feed you anymore?”

Jordan had already been opening his mouth for a retort when he was told to fuck off, so her just grinned at her. “Nah, they never did. I’m withering away to dust.” He pat his stomach and shrugged one shoulder. “We don’t kill the rabbits, we just chase them, but not too much, so we don’t ’anger the spirits’.” He did air quotes at the last words.

“They say the camera adds ten pounds but you’re still a twig on video.” Devin pointed her finger at the screen. “Hippie man.”

Jordan flipped off the camera pointedly and then shrugged. “You never answered what you’ve been up to. Your life that boring?”

“Ugh, literally.” Devin climbed off her bed and stuck her head out of her room to double check the coast was clear before starting towards the kitchen. “All I do is work out, fight with Gene, eat hot chip and lie.” She opened the fridge. “Got a job working at the mall. The fucking mall, I shit you not. What should I eat?”

“Oh my god, does he have you on lockdown or something? Not allowed out of your bedroom for a snack? Since when do you let people control you, Dev?” Jordan flashed a teasing smile as his eyebrows shot up. “The fucking mall? What do you do? Please tell me it involves a dorky hat.” He smirked at her. “Eat hot chip.”

Devin rolled her eyes and put her phone face down on the counter. “Whatever, asshole, I didn’t want him to try and argue with you.” She pulled out the ingredients to start making a sandwich, then propped her phone up so she was visible on the screen again. She pointed the knife she was buttering the bread with towards him. “Selling sunglasses. I have to wear a polo shirt.”

Jordan watched the screen go dark with his cheek leant against his fist. “With me? Don’t you mean you don’t want him to argue with you while I put my computer on mute and watch you tackle your brother?” He snorted and shook his head at her. “Sunglasses? Desgostang. What colour polo?”

“Exactly.” Devin snapped at the screen and went back to making her sandwich. “Pink and blue. Like, both colours at once. I want to eat it it’s so gross.”

Jordan snorted. “Why would you eat it if it was gross, freak?”

“Fuck you, that’s why. Creative license.” Devin put the sandwich in her mouth to carry back to her room and picked the phone back up. “Mmf mm hmm mmf.”

Jordan rested his hand on his stomach as he laughed at her and shook his head. “Come again?"

"Devin, are you up for a game of screw your neighbor?” Gene’s voice came before he did, and he gave her a smile. “Oh, who’re you talking to?”

Devin stopped before her brother. She took the sandwich out of her mouth and held up her hand until she stopped chewing. “Jordan.”

Jordan sighed and got ready to mute his computer as Gene tensed. Why didn’t you just lie, Dev, Jordan thought with an eye roll.

“Oh.” Gene frowned. “Why? Isn’t it, like, Friday night for him? Doesn’t he have some camp stuff?”

Devin shrugged. “I dunno, I’m not his mom.”

“Yeah, that’d be weird, since you have such a big crush on him.” Gene rolled his eyes at Devin, then stepped back to avoid getting slapped. “So no cards?"

Jordan laid back in his bed and willed himself to die.

"Oh my god, Gene, fuck!” Devin hurled her phone at him. “Fuck off, no, leave me alone!”

Gene sidestepped out of the way of the phone and braced himself for if she came barreling after it. “Fine, whatever. Don’t be so dramatic. And maybe give Eli a call while you’re at it.” He turned and disappeared back into his room.

Jordan heard a crash on screen and then yelling, and propped himself up so that he could see. The call hadn’t yet disconnected, and he heard a door closing, so he thought the call might continue, and gave Devin a few minutes to decide.

“Jesus Christ,” Devin muttered to herself as she picked her phone back up. “He’s a fucking dick, sorry for yeeting you. I was aiming for the face. Fuck his fucking reflexes.” Her cheeks were red, so she scowled and flipped the camera so it was showing the hallway instead of her.

Jordan shook his head, smirking a bit as he sat up fully. “I’m really hurt, being yote. The bruises are gonna last for weeks now.”

“Shut up,” Devin laughed, slamming her door behind her so Gene would be able to hear it. “How’s school?”

Jordan shrugged. “I mean, dope, obviously, but also, I have so many fucking assignments. My profs are just like 'oh yeah, you totally have enough time to write thousands of words in this language, also watch this soap opera that’s mind numbingly boring’.” He rolled his eyes. “Also, have you ever watched Spanish shit? It’s literally all soft porn.”

Devin turned the camera back on herself once she had gotten her blush under control. “Nah, never have, but that’s a convincing argument for me to start.”

Jordan rolled his eyes in an exaggerated way. “God, I should have never brought that up. Actually, can you watch it all for me and then tell me what it’s about so I don’t have to sit through it? Then I can get through my assignments twice as fast.”

“Do I have to comprender el español? 'Cause Duolingo’s only taking me so far, dude.”

Jordan snorted. “Um, subtitles? Can you read, or is that past your level of education?”

Devin laughed. “I swear I’m gonna hang up on you. Sorry I didn’t realize your Spanish prof holds your hand and gives you the translations so you don’t have to learn.”

Jordan flipped off the camera. “Do it, you won’t.” He grinned. “Look, you watch one movie, I send you the questions, you answer them, I translate. Then I can watch another movie and do the same shit myself at the same time. Sounds like a great plan to me.”

“Fine, fuck. Only ‘cause you’re begging me on hands and knees.” Devin pressed her cheek into her shoulder. “Desperation is a sad look for you.”

“Thanks, I borrowed it from a friend in Victoria.” He smirked at her.

Before she could reply, the Discord call was interrupted by an incoming phone call. She pressed the decline button immediately and scowled at the screen as Jordan’s video returned. “My creepy fucking boss won’t leave me alone.”

Jordan snorted and shook his head. “They’re that taken with you? I bet you’re saying this and they’re just calling you like 'hey… so your shift started four hours ago’ and you’re like 'fuck off, Meg’.”

“Maybe I’m just that good at selling polo shirts. Fuck, I mean sunglasses.” Devin shook her head. “Nah, it’s like, weird shit. Saying I smell good and staring like she wants to eat me. I swear she licked her lips the other day, like, full cannibal.”

“Oh? Tell me more about how you’re great at selling…” Jordan trailed off, furrowing his eyebrows at her. “Your boss said she wanted to eat you? And you’re still working there? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“She didn’t say that, she’s just a fucking freak. She could grow six more eyes and a tail and I wouldn’t be surprised for a fucking second.”

Jordan hummed in thought. “Weird. Maybe you guys are like, meant to be.”

Devin gagged. “I fucking hate you.” She rolled her eyes and flopped onto her back. “But I miss you or whatever at the same time.”

Jordan shrugged, looking away from the screen as she got sentimental, however faintly. “Eh, we’ve been apart longer than we’ve been together.”

“You’re a dick.” Devin frowned at the screen. “I’m just saying I miss you.”

“Okay.” Jordan shrugged, not really sure why she brought it up at all. “And that you hate me, which evens it out.”

Devin ran her tongue over her teeth and considered throwing her phone again. “You don’t miss me?”

“What?” Jordan made a face. “I didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t say you did either.”

Jordan rolled his eyes. “Oh my god. Are you serious?”

“Am I– fuck you.” Devin tossed her phone to the side on her bed. “Sorry your new friends are so much better than me. Whatever.”

“Oh my god, Devin.” Jordan ran a hand down his face as he looked at her ceiling. “Are you being this annoying on purpose?”

Devin glared at a spot on her wall as she talked herself out of just hanging up on the call. “Fine, whatever, I take it back. Thanks for the reminder, it’s great you’re gone, I don’t miss you at all. Since that’s so fucking embarrassing.”

“Fuck off.” Jordan was still looking at her ceiling, but he could tell what her expression was. “Whatever. Obviously I miss you. Who the fuck else is gonna annoy me this much? Self flagellation, bitch.”

Devin pressed her lips together and, after a few seconds, picked the phone back up. “You’re so weird. Did you just call me a bitch?”

Jordan raised his eyebrows at her. “Bitch is inflection used at the end of a sentence. But also, you are kind of a bitch, so it’s up to you.”

“Bitch is an inflection,” she mimicked back to him and rolled her eyes, slumping back against the wall beside her bed. “Fucker. I’m a ray of sunshine. ”

“And I’m the goddamn Queen of England.” Jordan snorted and pursed his lips. “So, like, are you ever coming to New York, since you miss me so much?”

“Buy me a plane ticket and I’ll think about it.” Devin brushed some hair off her face, focusing on the smaller video of herself. “Or say please. Maybe even please, Devin, I miss you so much I’m drowning in my own emotions or something.”

“Ew. Like I have money for a plane ticket. Okay, alright. Devin, please come here so that I have someone else to make fun of. Please come so that I’m surrounded not only by the freaks at this camp, but the special kind of freakazoid you are. Come here and break my stupid bones so I don’t have to listen to another fucking campfire song.”

Devin threw back her head as she laughed and whacked it against the wall. “Fuck, ow, fuck.” She pressed a hand to the back of her head. “I’m gonna sue. Also fucking rude, I only broke like, two of your ribs. By accident. Or was it?” She paused and raised an eyebrow, then laughed again. “You’re so skinny your ribs are like little chicken bones. They seriously make you do campfire songs? Are you twelve? Do you get badges to sew onto your scout uniform if you sing real good?”

“You’re gonna sue yourself for being a dumbass and losing more braincells?” Jordan laughed as Devin banged her head against the wall. “Fuck off, asshole, maybe I’ll hang up on you. I didn’t call to get bullied.”

“You expected anything else? That makes you the dumbass here.” Devin grinned. “Fine, hang up. I gotta go meet Eli in like five minutes anyway for– get this– pilates. I’m my own worst nightmare.”

“You know, you’re right. I call you so much, you’re rubbing off on me.” Jordan snorted. “Desgostang. You’re into that shit?”

“You rubbing off on me, or pilates?” Devin snorted. “It wasn’t my idea, I’ll tell you that.”

Jordan rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and shrugged. “You’re gonna end up living in one of the yoga studios there next I hear.”

“Maybe I’ll move to New York so I can bother you 24/7. Should I bring a tent or do you have buildings there?”

“Ew, no, leave me alone.” Jordan was grinning at the camera. “Buildings? In New York? Nah, that’s a myth.”

“Yeah, thought so, all this fucking media propaganda.” Devin’s phone buzzed and she swiped the notification away. “Fuck, 'kay, I gotta dip. I’ll look up flight info, yeah? I’ll gut my boss with a shovel to get the time off.”

"Yeah, you know, there’s not a single fucking apple here? Let alone a big one. Fucking waste of time if you ask me.” He ran a hand through his hair and smiled at the mention of her actually looking into flight information. “Nice job admitting that to the NSA, bro. Catch ya on the flip side.”

“Hey, they gotta catch me first. Talk to you later, bro.” Devin flashed a peace sign at the camera and hung up.

Jordan closed his laptop, threw himself back on the bed, and pressed his hands into his face. “Okay, cool,” he said to nobody at all. “Fucking... awesome.” He sighed and got up, sat at his desk, and opened a book.

#c: jordan #c: jordandevin

[sanjuno]

SI prompt: Sailor Moon?

(2/32 SI Promptfest)

One of the things that Security always mentions when you start a new job and they hand over your accessbadge is that you need to completely close the doors behind you after passingthrough. A small piece of very important,very good advice that is sadly ignored more often than not once people settleinto their positions. Unfortunately, I failed to realize my coworker’s hubrisuntil the first shots were fired.

‘Oh shit.’ Thethought formed independent of the gibbering panic and pain as the horrificallyloud set of gunshots tore me out of my chair and flung me to the ground. ‘This is a brand new suit.’

I finished bleeding out about three minutes later.

/…/

Standing naked in the void, skin glowing like a star, myshocked mind could only offer up yet another inane thought. “Telling my motherthat I wanted my ashes turned into a diamond and mounted on a sword for my heirto wield as they avenge my death because I only intended to die when I waskilled was supposed to be a joke not aprophecy!”

“Too bad. Find comfort in the fact that your last wishes will be carriedout as you intended.” The human-shaped figure stepping out of theaether was a familiar stranger, their expression both sympathetic and uncaring.

“… Honored Janus.” Was I supposed to bow? Offer a handshake?How exactly were the dead supposed to greet a Roman God of duality and change?“I gotta say you’re not who I wasexpecting to run into roundabout now.”

“Who better than I to meet with one who so accepted the necessity ofchange, of growth and balance? Yours may not have been a grand story, but itwas a true one, and in the telling of it you have encouraged many changes.”The god of beginnings and endings grinned at me with one side of his face andfrowned with the other. No wonder the sculptors always put two faces on hisstatues. I would not want to be thecarver responsible for recreating that expression. Complicated was a bit of anunderstatement. “I find this useful for my purpose. Enjoy your new beginning, child ofthe Eclipse, Warrior of Dawn and Dusk.”

“… Eh?” I was the mostconfused. Was there supposed to be an explanation somewhere in there? “Wait,what the heeeee-olyshitwhatthefuck!”

Glitter. Glitter everywhere.Mixed with glowing bubbles and fireworks and no, really, what the fuck?

/…/

So.

Reincarnation was a thing. That actually happened to people.To me, specifically, in this case. If anyone was wondering.

It took awhile for my memories to come back, after I wasreborn. Which was actually a good thing because I needed those first few yearsto absorb a new first language. The confusion generated when I was six and myEnglish resurfaced was only funny in retrospect. At the time it was justfrustrating and slightly embarrassing.

Although once the initial assimilation was over with it wasnice to be able to code switch between English and Japanese. Almost like aconsolation prize for my new lease on life. Whee.

Oh, also I was a boy now. My eyes were still grayish-blue,my hair was still a dark ashy blond, but I was also Japanese and male. It wasan interesting mix of old and newfeatures coming together to make ‘me’.

… Probably Janus’ fault, now that I think of it. Good thingI never put any stock in gender or sex. Yay for the unexpected benefits ofbeing Ace-spectrum!

Nah, the gender reassignment was nothing. What reallybothered me was that I was the youngersibling. It was odd and wrong and upset the universal balance of what Iknew to be true. I could handle the educational pressure of being a ‘childgenius’. I could handle the overbearing social reinforcement of gender roles. Icould even handle the loss of everything I had once known and everyone I onceloved. (Granted, I did this by compartmentalizing and being slightlyemotionally stunted, but what works, works.)

I could not handle someone trying to ‘big sister’ me.

Thankfully, my new sister was… a flake. A ditz. A completeand total dunce. I loved her dearly and I would tear out the tongues of anyonewho spoke badly of her, but she had almost no academic intelligence at all.

I had expected it, really. After all, just because I wasreborn was never going to change such a fundamental part of her character. Heremotional and interpersonal intelligence was still off the charts, and hercharisma was frankly ludicrous. I still had a hard time accepting anyone who had proof positive of theirown ignorance not taking steps tocorrect it.

It was not like I wanted perfect grades from her. I justwanted enough effort put in to achieve competence.There was a difference between ‘I cannotdo this’ and ‘I will not do this’.Saying no once you have proved that you cando something is fine, but saying no without even trying sticks in my craw something fierce.

Knowing that a failed test paper plays a big part in Fate’sfuture machinations for my sister was also upsetting. Would pushing my sisterto study ruin the future? Would she still meet the people she needed to, stillmake the connections that allowed her to survive and win, even after all mymeddling?

I had no way of knowing. I could only trust that her Destinywould come for her. No matter what I did, or how many random first encounters Ineeded to contrive to bring it about.

“Shingo! Are you ready to go yet?” A voice I had beenfamiliar with long before my reincarnation called for me before my sister pokedher head into my room. “Come on,Shingo! I didn’t melt my brain studying all month just for you to flake out! I earned this shopping trip and youpromised to come with me!”

“Ehh, don’t pull out your hairbuns, Usagi.” Grabbing mysatchel off the back of my desk chair, I grinned at the future Queen of theWorld and winked. “Being this perfect takes work, you know?”

“Shingooo.” The eleven-year-old girl who was going to savethe world rolled her eyes at me and pouted. “Why are you like this?”

“Because not being me would be boring.” I stuck my nose up in the air with as much pomp as I wascapable of in a seven-year-old body. “Now let’s go! If we play this right Mamawill finally cave and get us the bedazzling gun so we can ‘enhance ourcreativity and encourage mental flexibility’.”

“Okay!” Usagi giggled, happily taking my offered hand andswinging our joined arms as we headed down the stairs. “Do you think we canconvince Mama to let me get my ears pierced too?”

“Eh, maybe.” I thought about the refractive properties ofcrystals and energy resonance as I glanced at my sister. The Imperium SilverCrystal, the Shintennou’s stones, Hearts Crystals, Star Seeds… crystals weregame changers in this world. Powerful ones. Tagging Usagi with a set that mostenemies would overlook… yeah. That was a good idea. Good job, self, excellentplan. I nodded. “I want my ears pierced too. We have an undeniable right tofreedom of self expression so long as we do so in a safe and healthy manner.”

Usagi stared blankly at me for a moment, nose scrunched upabove pursed lips. “You know I don’t understand you when you talk like that.”

“As long as you know what the words mean you’ll figure outhow they go together eventually, Bun-bun.” Cheerfully unrepentant, I hauled mysister down the last stair. “Onwards! To victory and glory everlasting!”

/…/

Ignoring the dull throb in my earlobes, I admired the hoopsI had chosen. Simple, elegant, unlikely to fall out unnoticed, and large enoughto hold three gemstone beads. For myself I had convinced my mother to buy blacktourmaline, lepidolite, and lapis lazuli. For Usagi I had picked outlabradorite, selenite, and rose quartz. Not expensive stones, but powerful onesfor the way their energies intersected and channeled power. Especially once Iwas done priming them as foci.

Abalone shell bowls with small, upwards facing mirrors atthe bottom. A little water in the bowls, add some salt, and then four undyedcandles in a circle, burning on the windowsill under the full moon. I watchedthe moonlight slowly gather in the stones, the smoke from the candles pulleddown into the water. Within moments of moonrise, each bead started to glitterand shine more brightly than nature intended.

Satisfied that it was working, I turned back to the blade inmy hand. It had appeared on my bed soon after my memories finished returning.It was ferociously sharp, and lighter in my hand than anything that size andmade of metal should be. The hilt was too big for my seven-year-old self to wieldeffectively, but the sword was perfectly proportioned for my old adult height. Carvedinto the blade was ancient Latin that named the sword VERITAS.

“Beware the truth, for it is a double-edged sword, whichcuts both ways.” I smiled, wiping the blade down to remove the excess oil. Itwas a magical blade, and probably did not need sharpening, but… better safethan brainwashed. “I do love a good pun.”

The milky diamond in the hilt flashed in the light, glowinglike a lantern in my dim bedroom. It was hard to look at the sword sometimes,especially since I knew what it meant. I was magic, the sword was magic, mysister was the fucking Queen of magicfor the entire damn solar system. It was still hard to look at my funeral stone,knowing that the diamond was formedfrom my ashes, and not feel cheated.

Violent deaths always leave something unfinished. I wondersometimes, now that I have experienced that incompleteness for myself, how muchof this resentment the Senshi felt after they knew of their past lives… and ofthe way the Moon Kingdom fell. At least, when the time came, I would be able tohelp Usagi deal with Serenity’s unfinished business.

“Sing, o muse! Of love everlasting!” I saluted the moonsolemnly before I fed the blade and sheathed it, shrinking it down to a pen andtucking it away. “Sing, o muse! As the old tale is told anew!”

Nothing and nobody would be allowed to stand in my way. Mysister was going to get her happy ending this time, and any assholes who triedto interfere with that were getting a death-sword to the face.

#Sanjuno's ficwork #sailor moon fanfic #the sharp knife of a short life #Tsukino Usagi #Tsukino Shingo #si promptfest #si oc #Sanjuno may or may not be a witch #if men find out we can shape shift they'll tell the church #SI!Shingo has attachment issues #pick your battles #pick... pick fewer battles than that #put a few battles back #Shingo no - Shingo YES

[chibinightowl]

Programming Errors

I wrote this forever ago and totally blanked on posting it, probably because I knew even then that this would become something longer if I let it. Which I’m not. Unless random inspiration strikes for something that would be perfect in this AU, it’s staying as a series of short, interconnected fics. ...famous last words...

~*~

Tim stares in horror at the absolute mess in front of him. His quarters are usually a disaster area, but this is crossing the line into a possible biohazard.  He wonders how on earth this happened, but he then saw the red mask icon flashing on his holoscreen.

JASON.

It has to be.

His eyes dart down to the floor again, to the happily burbling little housebot dripping coffee (precious coffee) and coffee grinds everywhere, tracking it back and forth across his floor and smearing dirt, dust, and who knows what else everywhere. For such a cute looking robot, it is currently a pain in his ass.

Tim stalks into the room and places a foot in front of the droid, stopping it long enough to hit the emergency override switch on the back. The lights on the droid fade as it turns off.

Standing straight, he glares at the screen. The mask has disappeared.

Not for the first time, Tim wonders what the station’s AI has against him. Ever since he arrived on site as the new program manager and systems director, JASON has more than gone out of his way to make his life miserable. He’s never gone beyond the limits of his programming, no, but he’s shown a level of creativity in petty vindictiveness that far exceeds any other AI Tim has ever worked with.

When he downloaded JASON’s program onto a private computer to review after the first few incidents, he didn’t find anything too out of the norm. A few deviations in code, but nothing to raise any alarms. If anything, they seemed more like some creative license by his original designer, Dick Grayson, something to give the AI a bit of personality.

“JASON,” Tim calls out, waiting and resisting the urge to tap his foot. The AI will wait as long as his programming allows to answer.

“Tim,” the synthesized voice finally replies. Seriously, the man who designed JASON and gave him his voice ought to be shot. The low baritone with the slight rasp is borderline pornographic as far as Tim is concerned.

“Why was Little Red running outside his normal cleaning cycle? And where did he get the coffee from?” Both are questions the AI should answer. JASON knows everything that goes on in this station; his sensors are everywhere.

Instead of replying directly, a systems diagnostic of the housebot appears on the screen. The view splits in half a moment later and a picture of a coffeepot is posted next to the diagnostics.

Tim resists the urge to growl because these are technically answers within the scope of JASON’s programming. No one else has these problems with the AI. He knows. He’s asked. The station commander, Bruce Wayne, even says JASON is the most intuitive AI he’s ever worked with. This is why he snatched Tim out of the Academy as soon as he became eligible for active duty. Commander Wayne flat out told him that it was his work with AIs that caught his attention in the first place.

He came on board the Dark Knight with all the enthusiasm of a green noob.

JASON smacked that out of him faster than he could blink.

So here they are, three months in and Tim already wishing a transfer was possible.

“JASON, I want you to tell me verbally why Little Red is running outside his cycle and how he got into my coffee stash. Nowhere in his programming are there instructions for him to brew coffee.” Tim should know. He designed the little housebot after all. He handles his coffee himself.

The red mask icon flashes a few times before JASON finally replies. Perhaps Tim is reading too much into this, but the AI sounds sulky. “Little Red’s programing was changed at 0327 this morning. At 1830, the new program started. Part of that program included instructions to make coffee.”

Now he’s getting somewhere. “I was asleep at the time Little Red’s programing was changed. Who did it?”

JASON sounds downright petulant as he replies. “I did.”

“Why?”

Silence.

Tim’s eyes narrow. “JASON. Why did you change Little Red’s programming?”

More silence.

“Don’t make me use my override.”

“You’re here to replace me,” the AI finally replies.

Tim can’t help but gape at the blunt response. “What? No! Why would you think that?”

“You replaced Dick. He designed me. Made me what I am. When he left to go to the Titan, he left me here. Why else would Bruce bring you here other than to replace me?”

Okay. Okay, Tim can handle this. He can. Just…he needs to get over his mind being blown because he’s never worked with an AI that has developed its own sense of self-preservation before. And he can’t forget the abandonment issues. Wow.

“JASON, Commander Wayne brought me here to keep you running as you are. Perhaps to make my own enhancements as I see fit, but I’m mostly here because he likes you so much that he wants you to have the best care possible if Captain Grayson isn’t here to do it himself.”

The AI is silent for a time as he ponders this. Tim’s fingers itch to get into JASON’s program right now to see what areas are firing off, just like in a human brain.  

“You’re not here to replace me?”

“No,” Tim replies in what he hopes is a reassuring voice. “You’re an asshole, but you’re the most incredible AI I’ve ever seen. I only want to make you better.”

“Fine. But if your idea of better is that brainless little bot, then you and I are gonna have words.” With that, the red mask disappears from the console.

Tim heaves a massive sigh of relief. He’s finally gotten through to JASON. Sort of. Perhaps things will get better between them going forward.

As he starts cleaning up the mess Little Red left (he’ll need to take the bot apart and clean it too), he mentally composes a message to send to Dick Grayson. Namely, he wants to know what the hell he did to make the AI such a, well, such a dick.  

#chibinightowl writes #Tim Drake #Jason Todd #Space!AU #Not the epic one I am also planning #But still a Space!AU

[fabianavolpato-blog]

The Eye Collector

The clock on the bloodstained wall marks exactly two o’clock in the morning, the cold breeze coming in through the broken window freezes my private operating room. The rusty surgical instruments, the aluminum stretcher and the flashing lights on the moldy ceiling complement a dark and grotesque environment, reminiscing nostalgically my days as a coroner at the morgue in São Paulo.

Seeing the bodies exposed at work exalted my creative mind. The left side of my brain has always been highlighted over the right side, I confess that it’s not easy to feed the aggressive, impulsive and fearless beast that lives inside me. The unbridled psychopathy that I carry like a two-ton weight, has grown over the past few years, due to the lack of capacity and professionalism of my late psychiatrist Dr. Eduardo Monister.

The monster that I am today is the result of a reflection of a life filled with hate, evil and abandonment, but that don’t dissolve the guilt that I don’t have, but I know that I would have it if I felt something, a single feeling.

Within the world that I created, I only seek to demonstrate my potential. It’s not a mere whim, I subtract from the rotten streets of Campinas the sum of the society, that harm the fate of good people. Being a police investigator in my spare time, makes it easier to search for future victims, whom I choose by hand.

Right now, as I introduce myself to you, I scalp a 40-year-old man. Fat, bald and filled with stretch marks, his legs, arms, torso and limbs are separated one by one on the table orderly, satisfying my desire for now. In less than a minute, I will shred your remains so there are no clues or suspicions, being cautious never hurts.

This mediocre rapist will never use his dick again. Ending the ritual as usual, I will keep one of his cornea in my solid wooden box. Blessed souvenir addiction.

The art of annihilating with the revenge flame made me the most feared serial killer in the country. I have several names spread on social media, like crazy, vigilante, abominable, devil, tramp, but by the local news and criminal investigations in my PD, I am titled as case 346 “The Eye Collector”. The status of the investigation remains open.

— Júlio Fonseca, you bastard! What can I do for you?

— Rafael, my friend. How are you? I want to ask you a huge favor, and you’re the best.

— Don’t come here and drool my egg! Tell me right now, I’m leaving for lunch.

– I want to analyze some files from last week’s convicts. I need to include the final reports and send it to Isadora, so she can file it. – Asked Júlio with a smile on his face.

— Didn’t you know? She was stabbed and is in the hospital. Her jealous husband sent a warning, just in case she proceeds with the divorce.

— Really? Robson Azevedo? From the new year party?

— Yes, that bastard! He paid the bail laughing behind our backs and went out using the front door.

— Mother#@*$%&! I hope justice can be done in a way or another. About the paperwork, I hand over to the intern. Thank you for letting me know.

It’s a pity that woman still suffer from domestic violence, we are in the 21st century and not in the stone age. There are so many laws to protect them and none of them has any effect. I get angry when I witness such coward attitude without punishment. The habeas corpus granted by the crap judge last week, will be his death sentence. This early morning, I will give him an unpleasant gift. Did I mention that I’m bored? Another “ham” about to visit my magic cocoon, where you enter alive and leaves ground. I’m getting more and more hilarious.

I’m following him in my blue Beetle at midnight on 08/08/2019. A good date to rip off the devil’s carcass. I watch his steps at least a thousand miles away. There’s nothing unusual, the idiot enters at the market to buy beer and bread, he didn’t use his card. As I track his calls from the past few days, I notice a quick change of route. The good looking, tall and bad tasting blond walks slowly. He wears a black sweatshirt, dark jeans and white sneakers, but what I’m questioning in an uninterrupted way is the strange acquisition at Manoel’s pharmacy. Why tampons?

I keep my modern 1945 vehicle in a clandestine parking lot, I don’t want anyone to know about my favorite hobby. I walk between posts and isolated streets to avoid further complications. The athlete continues to walk to his mansion in the Cambuí neighborhood.

I’m sweating like a pig, the dryness I feel in my mouth transforms my mood. I swear, I’m going to kill this bastard eagerly.

I enter through the open window of the room, jumping over the wall gave me a rip in my leg, I focus my attention on the private security guards, at least eight of them are setting am ambush. The enhance protection sounds ominous to a simple dentist. His family is rich, but he doesn’t suffer constant threats. What the fuck is happening here? What this bastard is hiding?

I continue to crawl between the rooms, passing by the entrance hall, living room, bathroom, theater, game room, gym, library, sauna, kitchen, maid’s room. Holy Mother of God! I’m in a resort.

I stay down, waiting for a signal to attack. It will not be easy to take him with the gorillas on the loose. I need a different, clean and safe strategy. I feel his vulgar presence coming on my way. My fingers firmly grasp a sharp knife that I stole from the barbecue kit. Weird, right? Want to know something? I’m out of ideas. I’m going to activate the “who cares” mode and put this metal beauty in this lamb’s jugular. In three, two, one…

— Help! Robson get me out of here! Let me go…I won’t tell anyone about what happened. I can’t take it anymore. – Screams of pain and despair echoed from Veronica, Robson new victim.

— Shut up, Veronica! You’re going to die like the others and don’t miss me, I’m coming back to put a bullet in your head. I will get rid of you as soon as possible. Stop crying! – The masochistic dentist laughed as he walked into the kitchen. What he didn’t count on was the illustrious presence of our dear Júlio.

— Hello asshole! Let’s play?

— Let me go!

The pool of blood that formed like a red river soothed my inert heart. Symbolic, but real, my momentary pleasure merged with the feeling of accomplishment. The deceased dying on the floor, sharpened the macabre side that was numb inside me. I was savoring every second of his pain. Do you know why? Because I’m a freak!

Since childhood, I have been fascinated by human expression. Have you notice it? The frown on the forehead signaling emotions, the elastic cheeks against the mouth. The nose with its varied shapes is essential for our survival. Curly ears bringing the sound of the universe. The mouth full with teeth, savoring foods from the most diverse cultures. And, of course, my weak point is the eyes, two dazzling beings that reveal the naked truth. Now you know the reason for my private collection. By the way, I don’t sell it. And in my pocket, I have a brand new one.

Anyway, while I was talking to you, reflecting about my peculiar taste, I took the opportunity to shoot the accomplices. Clear shoots in the brain to avoiding wasting time. I hooded my ugly face and saved the kidnapped maiden. Who knew I would discover an organ trafficking lair? This palace of horror really surprised me.

So, that’s it guys, I’m going back to my shack. I need my bed and black coffee and tomorrow morning, eating a delicious bread with cheese, I’m going to laugh in a sarcastic way with the urgent news reporting a new attack from the Eye Collector.

— Good evening, Isadora. How are you?

— Olá, Rafael. Much better now, thanks. Did you heard about my ex?

— Yes. Is everything okay? How did you react?

— I am relieved. Here’s the report you asked for from the crime scene. It contains the fingerprints of those involved and the videos from the hidden cameras.

— Who saw the evidences?

— No one. It is confidential and due to your recent promotion, only you have access. Do you need anything else?

— Yes, please, can you give me Júlio’s number? And you can go, it’s getting dark and I don’t want you in danger. See you on Monday, bye.

— Here it is, bye. See ya!

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

— Hello, Júlio? Can you speak?

— Yes, I heard that you received a salary increase.

— Oops! An anonymous call revealed a hot scheme. Do you wanna hang out?

— Is the Greek gift in hand?

— That’s right! Let’s go drink? And burn some papers?

— For sure. I meet you in an hour.

Autor: Fabiana Volpato

#nacional #books #story #short film #the terror #horror #history #author #screenwriting #policial #suspense #english #collector

[presumenothing]

kaffeeklatsch

[ marvel au ]

– it always ends in a fight.

Miyano is staring at him again.

Shinichi tries to ignore it, until the tingling between his shoulders of being watched from behind builds to an unbearable itch. He's fairly certain that he can't actually get a stress headache, but it's not a theory he's really bothered to test.

He returns the documents on the table back to the file Toyama gave him, but doesn't turn around. "Either come in and say your piece, Miyano, or go stare at someone else."

Miracles of miracles, she actually does as he asks – or halfway, at least, since she doesn't budge from the doorway. "You're actually doing it, aren't you."

"If by 'it' you mean looking for Ran, then yes. I am." Shinichi still doesn't look over at her. It's petty of him, probably, but given where he's fairly certain this conversation is going Miyano can afford to take a walk if she'd prefer not talking to his back. "Got a problem with that?"

Miyano's voice is sharp enough to cut even as she stalks over to the table in quick strides. "Would you like the itemised list?"

"Not particularly. As far as I'm concerned, me looking for my friend is none of your business."

"None of my busin– don't you understand?" He thinks Miyano would've been shouting by this point, if she was the kind to do that. "The Winter Soldier is everyone's business, Kudo-kun, outside of whatever idealist utopia you're apparently living in. She's had – "

"At least three dozen confirmed hits over the past seventy years, yes." Shinichi feels a further spike of irritation at the quick flash of surprise across Miyano's face – he's perfectly capable of reading the files Widow put online, contrary to what everyone seems to think, even if it'd taken him a while to find the right ones. "And like I said, I'm looking for Ran. Not the Soldier."

Miyano crosses her arms, lips a thin line. "What makes you think that she's even there to be found?"

"The fact that I'm sitting here alive right now," Shinichi answers shortly, not bothering to elaborate. "And either way, last I checked, there's one person in this room who can fight her on even ground and it's not you. So again, none of your business."

They glare at each other for a long moment.

"You really think it's that simple," Miyano says finally, her words gone oddly flat. "I didn't take you for a fool, Kudo-kun. Guess I was wrong."

"If it was Momiji-san out there, wouldn't you be looking too?" Shinichi shoves his chair back, the file clenched tightly in one hand. "Or do you just not care about anyone enough, Miyano?"

Then Shinichi strides out of the room before either of them can say anything worse. They're probably going to regret their words later – at least, he certainly is – and usually he'd never walk out on an argument halfway through but this is Ran, and, well.

That says it all, really, doesn't it?

.

He wakes up the next morning to find a new app installed on his handphone, and the voice password now changed to I solemnly swear I am up to no good for reasons Shinichi hasn't quite managed to ascertain yet.

The app opens to a bunch of maps with red and blue and green pins: reported sightings of the Winter Soldier and remaining known or suspected hubs of Org activity.

Of course, the interface is over-exaggeratedly simple, and the font big enough to read from an arm's length away (or twice that, with his eyesight), because Miyano either doesn't know how not to be an asshole even while trying not to be, or is doing a damn good job of pretending so anyway.

(In either case, he's not so stubborn as to deny the olive branch for what it is, so he sends quick texts to Momiji and Aoko asking if they have any sorry-we-quarrelled-over-my-childhood-friend gift ideas.

Shinichi briefly considers making something, except that culinary skills have always been more Ran's forte than his, he doesn't want to burn down modern Japan by trying anything too ambitious, and he's not quite sure what he can get that the supreme leader of Miyano Industries can't already afford on her own yen.

Two text alerts arrive in close succession. They're probably having breakfast together, he guesses, as he scrolls through the replies.

Shinichi boots up his laptop to google "cat cafe tokyo", and –

...huh, okay. Not what he was expecting.

He scrolls through the results to find the most offensively cute cafe, because two can play at this game, and makes a note of the blueberry jam brand Momiji specifies in her text.

Cat cafe gift vouchers, plus peanut butter and jam sandwiches. Apparently Miyano might actually be human somewhere deep inside, after all.)

.

Later, after AGASA – or the Professor, as Shinichi still calls it (him?) out of habit – helps him to find the toggle creatively labelled "Captain Grandpa" buried deep in the app's display settings, he finds that it also comes with a function to superimpose percentages on the map, figures that increase and decrease with the appearance of more data and pins.

Estimated probability of the Winter Soldier's next appearance at each location based on past history, Shinichi-kun, the AI explains helpfully when he asks.

Shinichi barely considers that for a moment before turning it back off. He already has all the history he needs, thank you, he can make his own damn deductions.

And anyway, he's fairly sure Miyano's only accounted for the Soldier, because she has a ridiculous case of tunnel vision for someone who built a flying robot suit out of a box of scraps.

Shinichi, though? He hadn't been lying last night. He's willing to bet his newly-returned fresh-out-of-museum Holmes collection that whoever's out there is more Ran than the Soldier, and no one knows Mouri Ran better than he does.

Certainly no one alive in this century, anyway, his brain supplies – and wow, the thought is so depressing that Shinichi is almost tempted to dump his morning coffee over his own head.

Except then Hattori bounds into the kitchen with loud cheers of "Field trip! Field trip!" while Toyama trails in behind him looking just a hair less than runway-ready for once.

They share a deeply commiserating look, and Shinichi wordlessly fills a fresh mug of coffee and pushes it across the table before she can ask.

Because say what you like about the future, but at least it's got loads more vehemently not-morning people in it. Not that he's ever really out of it, thanks to the serum's effects, but there's a big difference between being able to function before oh-nine-hundred hours and actually wanting to. The flesh is willing but the spirit is weak and so on.

Maybe after they find Ran, Hattori can go race the sun with her and leave him and Toyama to sleep in peace.

("Kazuha," mumbles Toyama as she inhales the coffee black, so either she's reading his mind or he accidentally said that out loud. "If I'm getting stuck on a indefinitely long roadtrip with Heiji, it's not gonna be with someone who still addresses me by my last name. Especially considering that you're apparently on first-name basis with the Winter Soldier, of all people."

Shinichi opens his mouth to reply, but T- Kazuha bulldozes through before he can even speak.

"Besides, I did kiss ya that once, so I think we're quite acquainted enough already, don'tcha think?"

The resulting outburst from Hattori is loud enough to wake the dead, even as Kazuha flutters her eyelashes and says something that's probably more insulting if you're from Osaka, judging from the subsequent increase in volume.

Shinichi sighs into his coffee and thinks, wistfully, about how things were more peaceful during the war.)

.

.

(AO3)

#detective conan #kudo shinichi #miyano shiho #fanfiction #mine #marvel au #tIMESKIP LIKA WHOA #what is continuity anyway #pre-civil war obvs #idk im..... not the happiest about this part but #trying to work on not editing the stuffing out of everything before i post so #there u go

[inevertookwriterscraft]

Frankie

“Come in!”

I opened the door from the bathroom that connected our rooms. Large boxes occupied most of the floor, and textbooks sprawled open on top of the bed’s brown comforter. An assortment of tools and papers were haphazardly scattered across the desk’s surface, making way only for a widescreen monitor, a keyboard, and a desktop tower. A girl sitting in front of the desk spun to face me from her office chair.

“Hi.”

“I, um - I’m Alyssa,” I said. “Just thought I’d introduce myself. I’m just next door. Is this a bad time?”

“Oh no, no problem. I’m Frankie, nice to meet you -- sorry about the mess in here.”

“It’s okay. I’ve seen a lot worse,” I laughed. “I don’t think my sister even knows what a closet is.”

Frankie smiled. “Do you want to sit down? One sec, let me clear off the bed. There’s too much stuff I need to read” - she waved her hand at the bed - “but not enough time to read it.”

“You’re doing your readings already? It’s only the first day! What program are you in?”

“Biomedical science.” She lifted herself from her chair to reach the bed. She grabbed each book and stacked them on her desk. “But they’re not really for school. They’re all mine, mostly on human enhancement - technology interfacing, augmentation, bionics, that kind of thing. What are you in for?”

“That’s pretty intense,” I said. “I’m just in business, nothing special. Trying to keep my options open.” Frankie motioned for me to sit down on her bed, and I did. This became my usual spot in later forays to Frankie-land.

“I understand,” Frankie said. She sat back down in her chair. “It was an easier decision for me, though. My dad’s a surgeon, and the internet taught me about electronics. It was only natural.”

Frankie was a surprisingly good listener. She was also quite open about her own life. She was a loner in high school, and found solace in interacting with academia on-line. Talking to researchers, reading papers, tinkering on electronic projects on her own time. The boxes around her room were filled with prototypes and experiments in various states of completion.

“I spend a lot of time reading new research. You wouldn’t believe what people try,” she said, nodding at her computer screen. I leaned forward to peer at it.

Developing the brain prosthesis: assessing viability of brain-computer interfaces in data processing. Written by some Lee and McArthur. The abstract was filled with too much jargon for me to understand.

“I’m not entirely sure what I’m looking at,” I said.

“You know how if people lose their arm, they can get a prosthetic limb? It’s like that - but for your brain. Your computer would become your brain.”

“Wow. That’s... crazy.” I didn’t know technology even remotely close to this existed yet.

“It’s only theoretical right now. They haven’t actually gotten it to work yet. But realizing something like this is the entire reason I wanted to go into medicine.”

I tried to tell Frankie that I wished I had lofty goals like her, but somehow, I ended up telling her I chose to come to this school last minute to avoid my asshole ex-boyfriend instead. That I was already starting to regret going to the lesser business school because of such a dumb reason. I told her I wasn’t sure how I would be motivated knowing that.

“My projects help me with that,” she said. “Hope that my name will be on a few papers one day. Maybe one of these boxes will be my foot in the door.”

“I don’t know if research is for me…”

“You’ll figure something out,” she shrugged. “Once you find something that interests you, that’s all the motivation you’ll need.”

We chatted a lot the rest of the year. I always had a new problem to vent about. Frankie, on the other hand, seemed to make progress on a new prototype every few weeks, and was always eager to show it off. There was a table that could pour you a drink of your choice. A hand extension that had three times the grip strength of a grown man. Mostly innocuous, sometimes exciting. But there was one in particular that made me uncomfortable.

“Hey Frankie,” I said, as I entered her room.

“Ah-li-ssa,” a robotic voice said. It enunciated my name strangely, reading out each syllable one at a time. Frankie sat unmoving, glued to her computer screen. She had crowned herself with a nest of wires.

“Frankie? What is this?” I walked over to her desk in hopes of an answer, but Frankie remained concentrated on the text scrolling feverishly across the screen. Looking closer, there were thin metal probes in the wires that were embedded into her scalp.

“Oh my god. Are those in your head?”

“Read words. I’m thinking,” the voice continued. “Could help. Mute. People.”

“Frankie, can you hear me?” I shook her shoulder, and Frankie let out a gasp. The text stopped scrolling, and she faced me. She looked a little pale.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” she said, herself. She closed her eyes and drooped slightly in her chair. “I just have to focus to use it. I think it’ll get easier the more I practice.”

I pointed at the mesh and the probes. “Are those… in your head?”

“Yeah. Helps receive the signal better. Only hurts a little bit,” she said, smiling.

“That’s… pretty gross, girl.”

“Why? It’s cool! Think about all the people it’ll help! This is my best work yet.” She beamed, obviously proud. I couldn’t help but feel a little disgusted.

“It’s not you, Frankie. I don’t want to come to your room just to talk to some robot. I want to talk to you.”

Frankie didn’t see it the way I did. She still insisted on practicing with the brain mesh on occasion. It unnerved me every time.

I knocked on the door on Frankie’s side of the bathroom. There was no answer. I went in, anyway.

“Hey, Frankie,” I said. I opened the door, but Frankie’s lights were off. The curtains were drawn shut.

Frankie’s monitor faced the wall today, illuminating the plain paint job behind the desk. A metallic smell had settled in the room. Frankie herself, was however, in her normal position, hunched over in her office chair. She stared intently at the back of the monitor. I flicked the light switch beside the door to no avail.

Monotonous words came from the monitor.  “Lee and McArthur were right.”

She must’ve been using that mesh again. I sighed.

“Who? About what? And what happened to the lights?”

“Showed you paper long ago. The brain prosthesis.” Frankie continued to stare at the back of the monitor.

“The one about hooking a person into a computer? I thought you said that was just a theory. That they weren’t able to do it.” I gave up fiddling with the lights, and shuffled my way over to my regular spot on the bed.

“They weren’t. But I did.”

“Frankie, what do you mean?”

“I did it.”

“Frankie, what does that mean?”

I reached out and put my hand on her shoulder. Frankie sat up straight, and the monitor lifted off the desk along with her. Cords pushed some tools and spare circuitry off the desk.

She swung to face me, bringing the monitor with her. The glow from the screen blinded my eyes, and the pungent metallic smell, my nose.

We came face to face. Her features were embedded into the glass. Her neck supported the weight of the monitor through a web of zip ties and cabling. Her face was emotionless, and her skin stretched over the glass, hiding the edges of the cavity she must have opened up in it. Her eyes were open but unfocused, her jaw slack, and saliva oozed slowly over her lips. The corner of her mouth twitched incessantly, the only movement on her face. Text scrolled erratically around her head.

I scrambled backward on the bed, and my shoulder hit the wall behind me. I pressed myself flat against it.

“Jesus, fuck, Frankie! Holy shit, what have you done?”

The robotic voice continued. Frankie’s own lips were motionless.

“It is possible. They underestimated importance of vision in human processing. Fed monitor output directly into my brain.”

“This is-this is insane. How could you do this? This is fucking insane!”

“Ah-li-ssa. Calm down. Revolution in human. Enhancement.”

“C-calm down?” I sputtered. “Have you seen yourself? Do you realize what you’ve done?”

“Need your help, Ah-li-ssa. Tied. To operating system.”

“What does that mean? Should-should I call an ambulance? The police? I-I can’t believe this.” I struggled to get my breathing under control.

“Made some. Mistakes. In the surgery,” the voice continued. “Destroyed some motor. Functions. Need you to call some. Friends. Before it gets worse. Hardware was. Not meant for this.”

“Okay, okay, okay. Shit.” I breathed out, and then back in, deeply. “How do I contact them?”

“Look at me, Ah-li-ssa. One of their numbers. Is on the screen.”

I desperately dug into my pockets for my phone, and jabbed at the touch screen to open up the number pad. I looked to the sides of Frankie’s face, but the text scrolled too quickly to grasp anything.

“Frankie, it’s going too fast! I don’t see a number.”

“Look at me, Ah-li-ssa. One of their. Numbers on the s-screen,” the voice repeated.

“Frankie, I can’t see. I can’t see their number.”

“Look at me, Ah-li-ssa. One of-one of their numbers. On the s-screen-screen,” it said for the third time.

“Frankie!” I yelled. “Frankie, something’s wrong!”

“Look at me, Ah-li-ssa. L-Look at me. Look at me. Ah-li-ah-li-ssa. Look at me-me. Look at me. Look at me. Look-look at me.”

Frankie’s face scrunched into a pained expression, and her screen began to flash violently.

Her legs spasmed, knocking her out of her chair. The side of the monitor hit the floor, and glass ejected from the monitor. She twisted awkwardly, and her body lay on its side, spasming. The screen filled itself with two words, repeated over and over. The voice changed its monotonous chant to match.

“Kernel panic. Kernel-kernel p-panic. Ah-li-ssa. Kernel panic-p-panic.”

In my final year of university, I actually managed to fit in a single creative writing course. It was a wonderful experience. The pieces I wrote for this class will be recorded here for posterity. And so I can cringe at them at a later date.

I can’t say I’m particularly happy with this one. I wrote this one specifically for the sake of the one scare at the end, so Alyssa turns out to be a pretty flat character whose sole purpose is to drive the plot.