#and then i went to college. so it became more like a storage room when i was away ... and i also have hoarding tendencies
lonely
father figure!Miguel O'Hara & reader
summary: You're his dead fiancé's daughter. You just lost your mother and now Miguel's drifting away.
Contains: Mentions of death, bad parenting(kinda?), neglect, mental illness, angst. not proof read.
WC: 942
part 2
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾
Five years ago, your mother fell in love.
When your mother first told you about Miguel, you had already decided you didn’t like him.
"Hola, chiqui. I’m Miguel.” You had to crane your neck to look up at him.
"I'm not chiqui," you spat with narrowed eyes, not bothering to hide your disdain with his existence. It wasn’t like he was mean or anything. In fact, he was quite the opposite.
No, it was the way he was looking at your mother like she hung the moon and how comfortable he was in her space - it was all wrong. He was trying to settle in a place that was already taken.
Your place.
A little voice told you that he was trying to steal her away from you. That if she started to love him more, she would forget about you. And then you’d be alone. Your mother was the only family you had, and it was supposed to stay that way. Just you and her.
For the first few months, you would glare daggers at him if he tried to talk or stand too close to you.
But he was persistent in getting you to like him, and eventually he succeeded.
"Oye, princesa," Miguel greeted after picking you up from school and got hit with the silent treatment. Again.
Miguel let out a sigh. "Vale, vale," he muttered to himself before pulling into the parking lot of the ice cream parlor.
He tried again when you were sitting down with your ice cream.
"You know... I love your mamá and you, sí? I'd never take her away from you. Never." He ran a hand through his hair. "I want to take care of both of you. I'm going to get a nice, big house for us. Gonna make sure you go to a nice college..."
In the midst of his rambling, you looked up from your ice cream, studying him. And you found sincerity. It was the first time you considered the possibility that maybe, just maybe there was enough room for your mom and Miguel in your heart.
And overtime, he had carved a place for himself in your life. He became family, in every sense except blood. Miguel wasn't your father, but he acted like one during the five years you've known him. Doing all the things you wished your biological father had done.
You never had a father growing up, but you imagined this is what other kids must have felt like. Loved.
—-
And one year ago you lost your mother.
When your mother died, that's when he started to become absent. At first it was subtle. During your conversations, his eyes would glaze over and he would give one word answers, like his mind was somewhere else. He would leave and you wouldn't see him for days. So you learned to wake up from a dead sleep at the quiet click of the front door unlocking. You were desperate.
Days stretched into weeks. Weeks into months.
Grief and loneliness followed you around like a storm cloud. Your friends slowly drifted away from your dark and gloomy aura until no one was left. It's been six months since you've had any sort of contact.
Six months ago you lost Miguel.
In a fit of desperation to know he isn’t just laying dead in a gutter, you dig for answers. You find it in your phone, in the cloud storage that you both shared. That’s when you find the pictures, and videos. The proof that he was alive tasted like ash on your tongue.
Your hands shake as you uncover the hundreds of pictures and videos of Miguel with a woman who looks just like your mother and a little girl who isn’t you. The first one is dated seven months ago.
"What the fuck."
As you scroll through all the pictures of them smiling, you feel like you're suffocating. Tears blur your vision and roll down your cheeks, but you force yourself to scroll through them. That little girl is his daughter in another universe. His and your mother’s.
So this is where he went.
"Good job, princesa," he says in one of the clips as he helps her with her math homework. Just like he used to with you.
You sink to the floor and retch up the meager contents of your stomach. Your mind is a maelstrom of anguish, betrayal, hurt, and most of all - loneliness.
"It's not fair," you croak, pulling yourself up. It's not fair that you get to play house while I'm stuck here with no one.
And you were nowhere to be found in any of those clips. Your mother was family, this random child was family and yet... he could care less if you were in this universe or that one.. Maybe you weren’t in that universe. Maybe it didn’t matter.
Maybe you never mattered. You're not blood - that means you’re not family, right?
You sense yourself straying into dangerous territory. The isolation, betrayal, grief - they're all festering in your head, telling you to give up. That no one would even notice. In a moment of clarity, you realize just how unwell you are. Physically, you're malnourished after barely feeding yourself. Your skin is waxy and your hair is limp.
"I can’t do this," you whimper, over and over as you pack a suitcase. You leave the house in a daze and the sun blinds you at first after rotting in that lifeless house for so long. Your feet take you to the train station.
You don’t know where you’re going, you just know you can’t stay another second in that dead home.
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You know, how you want someone to write about Jon and witchcraft...so I kinda did that, but first you need to know that 1. english is not my first language, so if it's shit I'm blaming that (I actually think it's pretty okay, but you know, maybe you don't) and 2. I haven't done a deep dive on witchcraft yet, I only know a little bit here and there, so I kind of wrote more about his relationship with witchcraft.
Anyway, here it is, one witchcraft!Jon snippet:
The thing with wirchcraft, that most people didn't know, was, that it wasn't as magical as fiction made it seem. Most of the practices involving witchcraft were more en route with psychology, only with an extra kick to it.
Jon grew up with witchcraft. The memory of his grandmother, merhodically preparing ingridients a comforting one. How she blended herbs and heated oils that smelled strong and earthy, embalmbing candles and her workstation, humming a tune under her breath, that seemed odly familiar, even when Jon heard it for the first time.
His grandmother didn't worship any god or gods, never had the mind or desire for it, but she kept a glass of water and a plate of cookies on the window sill, for the house spirits.
Jon loved to sit with her when she worked, loved the incense that she lid to ward against negative spirits (the smell fresh and floral with lavender - it took a few years for Jon to discover that he liked the stronger scent of opium much more) loved to watch the candles burn for her spells, loved to hear the crackle of the herbs she coated them in. He loved the simmer pots, the smell of lemons and cinnamon heavy in the air, and loved how his grandmother patiently explained what all the ingridients were used for. It was the only time, where his grandmother didn't mind his many questions, his insistent need to know.
When Jon was eight and Mr.Spider an ever looming threat behind doors and in his nightmares, she gave him a tarot deck for christmas. It was a battered old thing, well used and well loved and when she told him that it had been his fathers, Jon hugged it to his chest, as if afraid that she would take it back again. It became his most priced possession.
When she died (right after Jon left for college, as if she waited for him to finally stand on his own feet, so she could go) he packed all of it away and shoved it into a storage room, angry tears swimming in his eyes, making the world wobbly and hazy, his heart heavy with grief. What good was witchcraft, when the people you love leave you anyway?
(He kept the tarot deck, of course, he couldn't bear to be parted with it)
And so it went for a few years, Jon lived his life, pretended not to miss the scent of herbs and fire, but kept a glass of water on his window sill and layed tarot, sometimes with questions, sometimes for fun. He did read his grandmothers grimoire sometimes, stroking his thumb over her small and neat handwriting, but he didn't lit incense, didn't prepare herbs like he watched her do so often. He didn't do any spells and pretended it didn't hurt, pretended that nothing in him longed for it. He pretended he was fine. Funny, how he, even with this much practice, had never really been good at that.
When Jon walked down the stairs to the Archives for the first time, he stopped, his hand nervously drumming against the tarot deck in his pocket. The Magnus Insitute never had the best vibes, so to speak, but the Archives practically hummed with...something. Something malicious, something that left the taste of ash and rot in his mouth, the air clogged with the scent of old paper.
Jon shook his head, willing himself to ignore it and fully stepped into his new workplace. But he did lit some incense after the others were gone, the heavy smell as comforting and strong as he remembered.
(He pretended that it was fine that the first tarot card he turned was the tower - everytime he asked his tarot deck anything)
Years later, after worms, strangers, betrayal and hurt it was Jon's tarot deck that burned first, the explosion so loud and deep that Jon could feel it in his bones. Jon died with the taste of ash in his mouth.
The taste was still there, when he woke up again and only left him, when he read the rotten monologue of a man that had played with his life like it was his right.
When he blinked at the sky (the new sky in the new world, oh god what had he done-) and it blinked back, Jon collapsed laughing and crying, wishing with everything he had, that witchcraft was as magical as some people thought.
But witchcraft couldn't help him now. Nothing could.
OH MY GOD?????? IM OBSESSED WITH THIS I MEAN OBSESSED THIS IS GORGEOUS THANK YOU SO MUCH IM SCREAKING I LOVE IT
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Okay so after that "didn't die when they should have died" post earlier I just rambled for several paragraphs into a semi-coherent fic about Gavin's PTSD in Detroit Reawakening and Detroit Evolution, with some mention of Detroit Absolution/D3. This is a fair amount of headcanon as well as my interpretation of certain scenes.
So here is some musing on Gavin's presentation of PTSD and how healing isn't linear and doesn't end but sometimes the people we love make it a little bit easier to live with it, and that sometimes healing means leaving situations we didn't realize were hurting us because it was better than where we started.
-----------
Gavin startles easily and violently. One time a rookie who didn't know any better tapped him on the shoulder and he spun around and decked them in the middle of the bullpen before his brain kicked in to follow his fist. He wears a heavy jacket because it muffles the world around him into a dull ache rather than a constant prickling on his skin down to his bones.
It's easy to tell when he's pulled an all-nighter from the pile of disposable coffee cups on his desk - he didn't have time to clean out a mug every time he went back for more. He's even less patient and understanding than usual. On particularly bad days, people watch him roll his shoulders and touch the back of his head to chase away bruises that healed on the surface years ago.
He's made a name for himself handling drug cases, but he can see Fowler wishes he'd take anything else. It makes him bristle and dive even further into his cases, because fuck Fowler if he doesn't trust Gavin, Gavin earned this. As the faces become less and less familiar, Fowler stops giving him that look whenever he goes in for supervision, and Gavin doesn't know if that means he finally proved himself or if Fowler was just waiting for Gavin to run out of options to run.
He keeps just about everyone at arm's length, except Chen and Miller. He's known Tina for years, since he was still an intern and she was working three jobs to pay for college. It's easy to like Chris, who is one of the most genuine guys Gavin's ever met. He jokes to himself that he doesn't know why Chris became a cop of all things, but he doesn't know why he's a cop either, so he lets it sit. Neither of them complain when he smokes, they don't push beers or shots into his hands at the bar, and push back when he's being a shit. For about a week he has a crush on Chris and his big cheesy smile that lights up the room and holy fucking shit he's got it bad, but he pushes it back because he only has two friends at thirty years old and he knows he's not exactly fun to be around.
Sometimes kids come through the station in his cases and it fucks him up for days. He stares at their records, a mess of foster homes, charges written in and then crossed off if they didn't stick, and notes from the overloaded caseworkers who can't even spell the kids' names. He thinks about his apartment and how it feels so big but so small at the same time, there's a spare bedroom he just uses for storage that he could clean out, he has enough savings to get furniture and shit. He keeps a tab open with the sign-up to get certified to foster. He thinks about making the system better from the inside.
He knows that's not how it works, not in the real world. The kids move on to the next house or their parents, and Gavin closes the tab and tries not to look at his badge. The next time he sees their names he pretends he never thought about them and that arresting them actually means something.
He doesn't sleep much, maybe three to four hours a night. It's impossible to fall asleep when you know it's not going to last long before your own brain betrays you. He wakes up from another nightmare, body stiff and covered in sweat, and just curls in on himself until he can force his body back into submission. It's a battle of wills more than something he needs to stay alive.
Nines helps. God, Nines makes everything feel lighter, and he stops sinking from the weight around his neck. It's still heavy and he can't help but bite whatever hand is held out to him, but it's more than bearable, he's alive.
His second near-death experience, lying on the floor of the precinct clinging onto consciousness through the numbing mess of pain and nerves at their breaking point, he nearly fades out just to make it finally stop. He wakes up in the hospital hours later terrified at how easy it was to just slip away.
He won't let it happen again. He's nearly died twice - really, truly close to death, not just in danger - and it didn't take. He's too stubborn to go out, not when he finally gives a shit about his own life and the people around him do more than just tolerate him and his friends are all moving forward and... he wants to move forward too.
So he quits his job alongside his partner. He doesn't push down how he feels about it, how as grateful as he'll always be he feels used by the system that kicked him down in the first place. He works with the kids at the shelter and talks them off the ledge. He doesn't foster, he's still adjusting to living with Nines and both of them love their privacy too much, but sometimes the kids stay the night with permission if they're struggling at the shelter. A few stop by their apartment first before even approaching the shelter.
He doesn't always know what to do or say, how to help, but he tries. He tries, and he tells them he better not read their name in the news unless it's for some kind of award. Newspaper clippings aren't a thing anymore, but he prints them out whenever he sees them, kids taking time to hang out at one of the senior centers or work in one of the urban gardens or a mentoring program with some androids, anything good. He tacks them up on the wall of his small, shitty office that never gets warm enough or cold enough but Nines brought in a couple of his plants and there's some art on the walls from Tayla and a bunch of framed photos around the place so it feels more like home.
He wakes up from a nightmare, body stiff and covered in sweat, to Nines pressed against his back holding his hand and massaging gentle circles into the tender skin where his prosthetic meets his hand. He clenches his jaw and tries to focus on the way Nines' fingers feel, the gentle glow from the edge of his skin overlay, his simulated heartbeat and breathing that Gavin knows he's amping up so Gavin can feel it.
After a few minutes, he closes his eyes and drifts back to sleep to the sound of the cat scratching at the door frame, and breathes.
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°˖✿˚⋆ 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆 ⋆˚✿˖°
CHAPTER THREE
— Don't Bother —
third person pov
Walking into English, it was clear that all of the students were confused. Supposedly, the ancient teacher from last year and all the years before got replaced. At least that's what everyone was assuming. The teacher had a reputation for closing the door right when the late bell rang and taping a sign on the outside saying 'Don't Bother'. Clearly, no late students were accepted. But that wouldn't make sense because, ten minutes after the bell and she wasn't there. Many students were complaining and talking about leaving class. The rest just made small talk and pulled their phones out.
Osano and Y/N sat a desk apart with a girl named Raibaru Fumetsu in between them. She was nice and had a bubbly personality. Her shoulder length orange pigtails were held up by two pink polka-dotted hair ties and a bright purple headband.
While the two were waiting for the 'old as time' teacher to show up, Raibaru and Y/N got acquainted with each other. It turns out that the ginger had used to live in America as a child before moving to Japan and transferring into Akademi a year before the h/c-ette left. Right before Osano was about to butt into the conversation, the door to the classroom opened.
In walked a slightly disheveled man in his early twenties, at the most, wearing a black blazer and a white button-up underneath. His burgundy pants suited his maroon eyes and black loafers. In his hands was a black messenger bag and his hair was slightly messed up. He rushed to the front desk and fixed his hair in the small mirror on the smart board before turning around curtly with a sheepish smile on his face.
"I am so terribly sorry for being late, class. This didn't happen any other time today. I got stuck in one of the many storage closets after last period. Moving onto more important topics, as you all may know, the teacher that taught here previously, Ms Nabatame, has recently come down with a serious illness. So I am here to fill her position. While I am only a substitute, I promise I know what I'm doing."
"But you're like, our age?" Hana Daidaiyama, one of Musume's friends, piped up from her front row seat, her tone light and teasing. Somewhat flirtatious if you looked into it.
"Right, if you're eighteen then I am three years older than you. I'm twenty-one. I skipped a few grades and I'm still in college. Which I do recommend you all go to, by the way. I was cleared by the school, and my school, to work here as a substitute for as long as it takes for your teacher to get better. Now, I am Mr Rana. Pleased to meet all of you. I can already tell there are some bright minds in this room." His reassuring smile slightly shook as he realized what he just said. "Oh, that makes me sound old."
A chorus of laughs came out from the students at Mr Rana's deflated attitude. Most of the girls in the room (and a lot of the guys) were checking him out and honestly, Y/N couldn't really blame them. 'I mean, of course it isn't appropriate to be looking at your teacher like that, but I'm just saying...'
As the lesson went on, Mr Rana continued to draw out laughs from a good portion of the class just from his charm and unwillingness to risk sounding 'old'. He would constantly mutter things like 'I'm not that wise, I swear,' or the ever-famous, 'I sound like my father.'
When he passed out a worksheet for all of them to do in the last twenty minutes of class, Raibaru helped Osano and Y/N as much as she could while also finishing the questions lightning fast. But the h/c-ette happened to notice Raibaru's happy face fall into a glare when the notorious delinquent passed by her desk to sharpen his pencil. Osoro Shidesu.
Of course, Y/N did research on Akademi before she transferred. Who would she be if she didn't? In the past few months, she had started talking to a hacker who just so happened to work with Saikou Corp. The two called each other often and became fast friends, despite how flirty and off-putting he was. For the most part, Y/N spoke to him for the information he handed to her. He told her all about the students who attended Akademi, since he dropped out right before the new school year started.
After speaking to the man who she called 'Info', how could she not know about Osoro Shidesu? He was the least favorite student of all the teachers by far. He even made the nurse quit her job, and she was replaced with a clumsy male college student just as fast. His legacy would live on through Akademi even after he graduates from the delinquents that follow after him like lost puppies and the injuries and trauma he's given to so many people. Because of that, of course, he's in Y/N's English class.
As he walked by her desk for the seven millionth time, she held her arm out, blocking him from walking. He scowled at her menacingly, and as a response, Y/N faked a convincing scared expression. 'If I were anyone else, I would be pretty scared. So of course, I pretend to be.'
"Yes, sorry, uhm, I was just wondering what you got for number eighteen? I am not having a great time with this worksheet." The h/c-ette played dumb and innocent, her arm springing back to her desk as he looked between her, Raibaru, and the paper in her hand before he leaned closer to her.
"Listen bitch, I don't really care what you need help with." He said in a hushed voice, striding right past her, his jacket almost hitting her in the face.
Raibaru instantly whipped her head to watch him march to the back of the room as he flung himself into his desk and huffed. Y/N quickly lost interest and turned back around and studied Raibaru as she continued to look at him.
"You good, Rai?"
"What? Oh, yeah, sorry. He keeps glancing at you. Probably thinking 'who does this gorgeous chick think she is to interrupt me, can't she see I'm busy hunching my shoulders?'"
"I don't like the way he's looking at you, Y/N." Raibaru and Y/N turned to look at Osano, whose face flushed a bright pink as he scoffed and tried to hide it. "Well, I just mean that he's glaring. Which, you know, isn't very nice. Ok, alright, Raibaru, Y/N, stop laughing. Shut up, you guys."
The ginger girl and the h/c-ette both quietly laughed at Osano's words, before noticing the teacher approaching them. The trio tried to pay attention to their worksheet as Mr Rana walked by.
"Oh, you already finished your questions! In five minutes, my goodness. You are Ms Fumetsu, correct?" Mr Rana looked shocked at her fully bubbled-in paper. Osano's head popped up beside the teacher's chest, his face gawking at the sight in front of him. "You also did, Ms L/N. Good job, both of you. I'm proud to know that I really do have such smart people in my class. I'll take the papers if you want to turn them in early." Raibaru and Y/N both nodded quickly before handing their papers to the well dressed man. He smiled professionally and turned to walk towards his desk.
"How come I didn't get complimented? I swear I'm getting them all right. You two are cheating or something." Osano slumped in his desk, a puff of air moving his bangs while he glared at the two girls.
"You know we didn't cheat, don't be childish. Also you aren't getting them all right. You got numbers twenty-two, seventeen, twelve, nine, four, and two wrong." Raibaru glanced at Y/N with a smug smile before returning her gaze back to Osano.
"How?!"
⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹
No one (besides Nemesis) in Y/N's English class was in her next period - Study Hall. Lucky for the girl, Study Hall took place farther away in the library, but Nemesis didn't seem to be in the mood to talk at all. 'Great, thanks for making me start the conversation, buddy.'
"Soooooooo, what's been your favorite class so far?" She looked at him while he marched on, glaring at the tiles beneath him.
"World History."
"And why's that?"
"Nobody tried to talk to me then." He pointedly looked away from the tiles and his harsh red eyes stared into hers. Y/N gladly took the chance to ditch him when they arrived at the library doors, rushing forward to look for anyone that she knew. As if on cue, she heard an energetic boy's footsteps.
"Y/N! We share two classes together, I can't believe it!" Aso Rito wrapped an arm around her shoulders and began to steer her in the direction of a random table. "Looks like fate has decided we'll be friends." 'Yes, that's great and all, but could you be quieter about it?'
"It does seem like it, huh?" The h/c-ette smiled playfully. She didn't notice who was sitting at the table Aso was bringing her to since she was too busy focusing on the people staring at them. Thank goodness that familiar ravenette had her nose buried in a book.
"Taeko, I didn't realize that we could share classes if we're from different years." Hearing her best friend's voice, her head shot up and her lips instantly contorted into a bright smile.
"I'll be honest, I didn't either. I also didn't know that you make friends so quickly." She laughed sheepishly to herself and her eyes drew from Aso back to her book. "Guess it's just another amazing trait of yours."
There was something in her voice that Y/N couldn't quite place. Normally she would have been good at that kind of thing, but the stress of moving must have made her rusty. 'What a shame, one of the only good things I inherited from my parents and it's disappearing.' If Y/N was to be what they wanted, then she would need to bring back her skills of a ruthless businesswoman like her mother. Cunning, manipulative, and able to read someone with a single glance. The manipulative part seemed to still be intact, unlike the other two.
She had no idea why her parents would have wanted her to grow up and be like them if they were just going to hand her off as a trophy wife to someone she barely knew. It made slight sense - a relationship between the future heir of Saikou and the daughter of Saikou America's CEO would signify unity across countries.
A buzz from her phone brought her back to the present, a text from Info.
Info My Beloved
Well, well, well. You might need my services soon. So many people seem to like you and it's only your first day! ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ̀ˋ
You don't need to pay anything, not yet at least. I am happy just talking to you, you're such a sweetheart!!
Of course, there are many people planning to confess to you under the cherry blossom tree, your beauty seems to have swayed them. I can't say I blame them ('-'*).
BUT do you want me to get rid of them for you?
Y/N
Get rid of them, how, exactly?
Info My Beloved
However you want, my dear. (-‿◦☀)
Y/N
Can you just like, I don't know, make them like someone else? Message them and tell them who has a crush on them, hate to say this, but maybe even lie about it??
Info My Beloved
That's eviel :0
*evile
**EVIL
snjkdhsjkdhsjkdhkshdka
On it!
"Y/N? Are you alright?" Aso's words rang quietly through her ears.
"Yes, I'm alright. Sorry, my parents are texting me." She quickly sat down and sighed, her arms folding in front of her chest. Aso took a seat next to her, casually leaning his arms on the table.
"Taeko?" A meek voice sounded behind the ravenette, all three of them turning to look. "Sorry if I was interrupting anything."
There was a boy, clearly a second-year, holding about three dark books. His hair was long and slightly curled at the ends. His eyebrows furrowed together, the light purple of his eyes shining against his pale skin that was quickly reddening at the attention.
"No, you're fine, Oko." Taeko shot him a soft smile, taking on a sisterly role towards him. "What did you need?"
"Oh, well, I was just, uhm, going to ask if you saw my gloves. I seemed to have left them yesterday." Y/N's eyes darted over to Taeko with an eyebrow raised. She shook her head knowingly.
"I did. I'll bring them to you tomorrow." Taeko cleared her throat and stood up, taking a place next to the navy-haired boy. "This is Oko Ruto. He tutors Hanako, my little brother, every Sunday. He is very nice, but a bit shy, so don't feel offended if he doesn't talk to you." All of her words seemed to be aimed toward the h/c-ette, despite looking at Oko for reassurance on what she said, earning a nod in return. "And you already know Aso. But this is Y/N. She and I have been friends since we were tiny and she moved to America about ten years ago and she is back, thankfully." Taeko playfully glared and wagged a finger at her. "She had us all worried that she was gone for good, but here she is when we need her the most!"
"You're welcome." Y/N put a bright smile on her face and elbowed Aso lightly as he laughed. "It's great to meet you, Oko. What do you tutor Hanako in?"
"Well, it's mostly history, but we do talk about math occasionally." His hands fiddled with the fingers of his fully black gloves.
"Oh, I might need you to tutor me!" That statement, while untrue, made Aso and Taeko laugh quietly, Oko sheepishly smiling and hiding his face behind one of his humongous books. His hands moved to adjust his hold and the girl caught a glance of a gold engraved pentagram on a maroon cover.
'So he's into the occult. Good to know.'
During the remainder of Study Hall, the four students all sat around the table and just chatted quietly, a random outburst from the table next to them interrupting their conversations about every five minutes. At around the sixth time, Y/N glared over at the group, noticing a man with a side ponytail holding what looked like a script.
"That's the drama club. They're probably arguing over what play to perform. Last year it was The Phantom of the Opera. I have to admit, it was an amazing performance. Kizano Sunobu, the one standing up, had the starring role as the phantom. Even though I don't particularly like the guy, his voice is gorgeous." Aso looked around at the drama club with an indifferent expression.
"They'll probably choose Romeo and Juliet. I've heard that's the club leader's favorite." Taeko calmly raised her head from her book and rested her chin on her fist. "Not a bad choice, but there's definitely better options out there."
Y/N continued glancing at the drama club until the club leader made eye contact with her. He smirked and waved slightly while she looked away as fast as she could. About ten minutes later, the bell rang and everyone was off to take a fifteen minute break between classes.
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"Finally, the last class of the day. I hate the start of new semesters. Don't you?" Raibaru took a second and paused at her seat, setting her bag down slowly. "Well, I suppose it's worse for you. Being at a new school and all that." She smiled and shook her head slightly, sitting down.
Y/N glanced around the room, taking note of the occult person she met earlier sitting in front of her. "It isn't all that bad. At least I know some people, so I'm not entirely new." Raibaru tilted her head at the thought and hummed in agreement. "Anyways, I'm excited for psychology. What do you know about the teacher?"
"Well, this is the only psychology period, so Akademi hired a nurse in training to teach it for a quarter of the semester, while they work in the actual nurse's office the rest of the day. Don't we all love a promising college student?" She beamed at the idea and giggled softly.
"Yes, we do." A moment later, the room fell silent at the sight of a pink-haired man walking into the room. He looked winded, his cheeks flushed.
He took a moment to calm himself, clearly doing a breathing exercise while his fingers tapped rhythmically on the table. "So sorry, everyone. I had to run across campus. The time in the nurse's office is wrong - it's, like, seven minutes behind. Sorry, again. First days are hard." He continued to mumble about the clock in the office and began to prepare for class, laying his things on his desk.
"Keep in mind that this is the first class I have ever taught. For those of you who don't know, I'm Mujo Kina. I am majoring in psychology at the college here and was chosen to help you all learn about the study of the brain and why it reacts and functions the way it does. I hope you all enjoy hearing about it at least as half as much as I do, considering it is one of my special interests." He huffed, clearly losing his breath again. Mr. Kina began to search for something in his bag, fumbling with it once he found it. He took two puffs out of a bright red inhaler and slumped into his desk chair.
"Since it's the first day, I had planned a series of icebreakers. And I know that no one likes doing those, but we all need to warm up a bit. Be social, no matter how much we don't want to." The class, Y/N included, sighed and looked at the respective people they knew. Raibaru glanced at her, amused. She rolled her eyes playfully and scoffed. "So, I can tell you all are excited. I want you to turn to the person behind you and pair up to discuss your favorite class so far and why it's your favorite. Have fun!"
Since there were two people behind Y/N pairing up, she was left with Oko. He turned his head shyly and waved. "What a coincidence seeing you here. It's been ages since I last saw you. How have you been?"
He laughed slightly and hid his face in his hands. "Well, you know, I've been alright in the years that I haven't seen you. Uhm, I guess we actually have to talk about our classes. So far, mine has been World History, which is mostly just anthropology. I like learning about people and different cultures, so that's definitely why it's my favorite. What's your favorite class?"
"Alright. My favorite has been Chemistry." Oko cut her off by asking if the lab had been destroyed, quickly apologizing after. "Yes, the lab is sealed off for now, so we have to spend our classes in the library. I love the study of chemistry in itself, but I also like the people in it too. I also love your explanation for the history thing. I, too, love the study of people. Plus one of my friend's favorite classes is history." She paused briefly to look at the teacher at the front. "I have it second period, what about you?"
"Oh, I have it first. Great way to wake up, considering I am always tired." He chuckled and Y/N faked a small laugh with him. A minute later, he followed where she was looking to see Mr. Kina scribbling something on a sheet of paper. "He seems... a bit nervous." The girl looked over Oko's shoulder to see him picking at his fingernails.
She laughed, laying her head on her desk. "Definitely more than a bit." She propped her chin on her hand and looked up at Oko. "Can't blame him, though. Teenagers are ruthless." Oko looked somewhat melancholic as he mumbled an agreement.
The first icebreaker took about twenty minutes before Mr. Kina prompted them with another question. Oko and Y/N chose to ignore the questions and sat in silence, occasionally interrupted with comments on classmates or the teacher himself.
Observers bond with other observers.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
finally the previously existing chapters are merged and edited, now onto actually writing new material!! (forgive me if it takes a bit longer to upload now)
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. . . dependent original character for nightrestrp : ZHOU MEI \
more links : pinterest. connections. playlist.
[ esther yu, cis woman, she/her ] - was that ZHOU MEI i saw by the lighthouse today? i heard that the TWENTY-EIGHT year old who has been in nightrest for TWENTY-TWO YEARS and works as a/an OWNER & ATTENDENT OF TURBO has a reputation of being CHEERFUL, but also DITZY they reside in FOG GATE & people in town usually associate them with at MISMATCHED SHOES, THE SCENT OF DAWN LAUNDRY DETERGENT, COLORFUL CLOTHING, A BRIGHT SMILE, AND AN ELECTRIC SCOOTER WITH A FEW DENTS. let’s hope the killer doesn’t go after them next.
BASIC INFORMATION:
FULL NAME: Zhou Mei
NICKNAMES: Mei (pronounced May)
DATE OF BIRTH: July 30th, 1994 (28)
ETHNICITY: Chinese
FACE CLAIM: Esther Yu
HAIR & EYE COLOR: Dark Brown & Varying Hair Colors
HEIGHT: 5’5”
TATTOOS & PIERCINGS: Multiple tattoos and piercings
SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual
OCCUPATION: Owner & Attendant of Turbo
LANGUAGES SPOKEN: English, Mandarin
BACKGROUND:
Born in Guangzhou, China to a middle-class family, Mei only spent the first six years of her life in her home country before her family immigrated to the US, settling in the small town of Nightrest and her parents opening up the local laundromat in town. Coming here at a young age, Mei grew up largely westernized, but spoke Mandarin at home with her parents for the majority of her life, often the one to translate for them from a young age. Other than the occasional childlike annoyance she has towards her traditional parents, Mei feels like she grew up in a loving family. Her mother wasn’t entirely pleased to see her daughter didn’t grow up to become something more, but both of her parents still loved her unconditionally.
She attended the local high school in town, but was seen as a little weird by her peers, and was bullied in high school due to her never following the norm or fitting in. Mei was viewed as eccentric, always showing up to school in some kind of costume or flashy handmade outfit that she’d put together herself. She’d never been the kind of girl to think too much of what people thought about her, but up until she grew older, she was a bit shy at times despite her bold appearance. Fashion was big interest of hers, dreaming of becoming a fashion designer since she was young and cherishing the small sewing machine her father had gotten her as a kid.
When she went off to Salem State University for college, there wasn’t any fashion programs, and her parents didn’t have the money to send her to any technical schools further away. So she majored in Peace and Conflict Studies because she figured it would get her out of her shell more and understand people better, though besides being a good conversation maker, Mei never used her degree for any monetary purposes.
Never having left Nightrest as she went to school a short drive away, Mei spent a lot of free time at her parent’s laundromat, working there as the sole attendant before her parents eventually gave the business to her. There wasn’t exactly that much to do besides count the money made at the end of the week, but having worked there since she was in her teens, Mei felt comfortable at Turbo, spending more time there than in her own home. After she became owner, she set up a sewing station in the back, using her free time to learn how to make clothes. Over time, she developed a habit of working on any clothes people would leave behind on accident, racks of upcycled clothes filling the storage room.
HEADCANONS
Unironically says the word pookie. Will call pretty much anyone in it very endearingly but finds it a little funny to use it as a nickname for the scarier people in town. Mei likes to address people with a bright smile, so she hopes no one takes it personally
Has a very impulsive nature. Tends to say and do the wrong thing pretty often and finds serious emotions uncomfortable.
Super cheerful and happy all the time!! With all the death happening around town, it feels a little harder to stay upbeat, but Mei tries her best to be there for her, and even tries to resolve fights with her four years of educational experience
Is in love with the girly/fairy aesthetic. Still continues to wear outfits that get her side eyes from other people in town, and is often wearing her favorite color pink.
Also enjoys baking, mostly because she can’t bake. Mei has recently been getting into making savory baked goods, but learning new things has always been a little hard so her first attempts have all been inedible
A bit of a puppy dog in nature. Often trails behind her friends and gets distracted easily. If something is shiny she pretty much has to stop and look, getting excited over anything fun and new. Mei also cannot plan things to save her life, always finding herself sidetracked.
Owns a car and an Vespa but she often prefers to ride her scooter around in Nightrest since the town is fairly small. It's light pink and has been dented from the number of times she's accidentally dropped it.
Has a grandmaster red belt in mixed martial arts. Her parents signed her up for classes when they moved to America, and it just happened to stick. For most of her youth, she took classes at a rundown down dojo in Salem, but continues to practice every now and then, offering free weekend classes at Trident Fitness.
Has made her fair share of mistakes in her life, especially when she was in high school. Friends with Sawyer and Grey, the three of them dared one of their friends to jump off one of the beach's cliffs, leading to their death. It’s something Mei thinks about from time to time, regretful that she’d encouraged it and thought it was no big deal.
WANTED CONNECTIONS
best friends/ride or die
exes (m/f/nb)
flings/hookups
people for her to annoy <3
bad/good influences on her
idk anything everything pls
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Servers, Servers Everywhere
https://notalwaysright.com/?p=259668
After we had the Bad Boss, who reduced our college’s IT team and budget to nothing, we had the Good Boss, who was great. He wanted to improve things instead of just desperately duct taping them together. Very hands-on, he even went out in the field sometimes to see what we were doing. When he arrived, the greater University was just gearing up to transition from Windows XP to 7. The discussion over how to do this got a little delayed, so then it became XP to 10 (much to our great relief). Our boss suggested we make an image for our college’s computers following University standards to push out to all the machines. When we stopped laughing, we pointed out that this wasn’t going to happen. Our college’s computers weren’t networked in any real sense of the word beyond “most of them connect to the internet, somehow”. Our servers certainly didn’t talk to the University servers. Most of our servers didn’t talk to OUR servers. The best we could possibly do was use this upgrade to bring everything into cohesion. Our new boss asked us, cradling his head in his hands: Boss: “Wait a minute. Help me understand the scope of the problem. How many of our servers don’t talk to our other servers? How many servers do we actually have?” We all looked at each other. There were several servers in the room we were in; those were easy enough. There was an email server and a server for the printers on this floor. We also had— Boss: “Wait. The print server is just for this floor? We have ten buildings and probably thirty floors between them all.” Oh, no, we reassured him, some of the buildings had just one print server, and some even shared them. But some had a different print server per lab because the labs used to be owned by a different college and we inherited them, and in some cases, a professor had gotten a grant and bought their own print server. Boss: “What? Why?” Shrug. Who are we to question the wisdom of the faculty? But back to the count. Everyone knew about the server next door because it was part of an international grant and the US government contacted us occasionally to ask why it was transmitting to Iran. (Answer: the professor was in Iran… hopefully doing normal things.) But no one knew what the server sitting on top of that one was for. Actually, as we took our impromptu meeting into that room to poke around, we found four more servers that were definitely running and doing something. So that was seven, and those were just the ones in immediate proximity to us. Our network guy, aka the one tech who knew something about networks, said that he had about thirty-six of them that he monitored. He could tell from traffic that there were definitely more, but he didn’t know where they were, exactly. Were any of these servers backed up? Onto what, exactly? More servers? Our new boss, looking older by the minute, gave us orders: any time we weren’t on a ticket, we were to go room by room in every building, looking for servers. It was the Easter egg hunt from Hell. We found servers running under desks in storage closets, behind other servers, above ceiling tiles. One had been installed in a Facilities closet against a hot water intake pipe and had partially melted. I remember that one in particular because the tech who found it had to fill out an injury report after getting burned by the server/pipe hybrid. After that, the boss made sure we all learned what hot water pipes looked like, just in case. Our boss also ventured out himself to help. One time, he found three servers just stacked on the floor. While ranting to the tech with him about the ideal closet he would have installed them in if HE had put them in the room, he opened the next door and found exactly the model of wiring closet he had just described, standing empty. He had to go have a lie-down. Our end total? One hundred sixty-eight servers. I never got into networking, so I’m uninformed in this area, but they assured me this was not the correct number of servers for a workforce of about 1,000. I don’t know. Maybe it works better if everyone has their own print server. Source: https://notalwaysright.com/?p=259668
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dev patel,non-binary,bisexual, he/they ― hey look, it’s dhruv acharya! they’re 32 years old, they’ve lived in shrike heights their entire life and they’re currently working at shrike heights radio. i heard they’re pretty indecisive, but i think they’re so kind at the same time. can they make it out alive? || ariluz, 27, they/them, est + n/a
Hello friends!! Man, it has been a minute since I’ve written an intro or joined a group rp. I will be honest in saying I’m a little nervous but you will come to know that I am always down to clown. Which brings me to this Sagittarius, kind of a mess, warm hearted person that is Dhruv.
They’re a new new character for me so there’s a lot of space for background and plots, especially if your character has lived in Shrike Heights for as long as he has. Highkey a Shrike Heights lifer...if the killers ever let him get that far (lol). But here’s what I know about Dhruv so far:
Dhruv is the eldest sibling to two younger sisters (names tbd) and the son of a very loving and dedicated couple who still have dreams of Dhruv one day becoming a doctor and taking their entire family out of Shrike Heights.
They use he/him and they/them pronouns, have been pretty secure in their sexuality for a long time and as such has ruined many a relationship with various people.
Their first name means “polar star or constant,” which is something they take to heart and being Hindu is extremely important to them. As is their family. As a non Hindu person myself and non southeast asian poc, I am very dedicated to honoring this background and also very open to being called in if I ever do anything that doesn’t align or isn’t well researched/thought out.
They are very much that dude who lives in their parents basement. As an aspiring musician, Dhruv grew up with the idea that they would one day make it out of Shrike Heights based on their musical talent and one day be touring the world like all of their favorite artists. They’re that friend who always had the latest musical gadget (even though they often bought it second hand) and ever since the walkman came out in the late 70s, they can always be seen walking through the mall or town with a pair of headphones on.
After high school Dhruv did go to college but found it hard to find a passion in the sciences when his real heart was in music. It was then that they started interning at Shrike Heights radio and have been there ever since, eventually making his way to having an hour long show during the 2pm time slot. Not the most ideal but he makes the most of this.
Dhruv did move out temporarily when he went to college and one of his sisters moved into their room so when they graduated and had no plans, they ended up living in the basement of their childhood home. It started as a mattress on the floor between all their storage until they found the motivation to turn it into their own little apartment, fridge & separate entrance included. Though they still have to go upstairs to use a stove or microwave..or shower.
But after the killings started, Dhruv’s parents became increasingly worried about his job at the mall so it became more of a peace of mind for them to have Dhruv home. And he wasn’t going to argue with that. If anything it made him settle even more and he does his fair share to help them out (aka buying groceries and not complaining about driving his sisters to school.)
When they’re not working they’re either attending someone’s gig at julio’s, playing their guitar on the sidewalk for change or fixing their bike for the millionth time because they refuse to get a car.
Also very much a Leafwell fan+customer. Stoner bbs welcome <3 (posts will always be tagged with drugs tw and or smoking tw)
Also will make a mixtape for anyone and everyone. :))
That’s it for now I think??? Will add more as I think of more. Neighbors, co workers, mall workers, exes, besties, flings, high school classmates, random person who always gives them change, julio regulars, musicians, etc, all possible plots welcome!!
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Thursday, 29 February 2024:
The Unsustainable Library Library Project Part 6:
The Complete Last Waltz The Band (Cool Daddy) (released in 1995)
I'm quite astonished at the amount of bootlegs that get donated to the library's sale room. This was another boot hidden away in the storage room that I save from it's dreary existence inside a box. I almost let this go because Disc 1 isn't in the best of shape. I prefer the backs of my CDs to look like mirrors not as if someone took a Brillo pad to them. This isn't as bad as that and the rests of the discs are very nice in comparison, so, home it came with me. I'm a sucker for bootlegs, of course, depending on the artist or the subject and this subject is one I'm interested in. The head librarian has expressed concern about bootlegs being sold, wondering if we could be prosecuted for the sale of them (he's a music guy and he decided, like me, we will be fine) while another volunteer believes they are abhorrent and should be disposed of. He's not a music guy. (An aside, last Tuesday a guy bought a two disc McCartney bootleg for a dollar and was so shocked at what he found that he requested any more Fab Four boots, please keep them aside for him. He has no idea that I've sold two box sets of Fabs boots including this set which I sold for $60.)
Anyhow, this four disc bootleg is of the Band's complete four hour performance of a show billed as The Last Waltz, their final live performance. I discovered this film in college and became a huge fan of the Band thanks to it. Above you see the front and the back of this set. It is a burlap cover. Below you can see the front piece that reveals it is numbered and limited to 3000 copies.
This box doesn't have a tracklist anywhere that is easily observable other than spread throughout the 36 pages inside this book. I've shot a photo of all the pages revealing the tracklist. There are nine pages in all. The first three concern Disc 1.
Next up are the pages for Disc 2.
The tracklist for Disc 3 follows.
The pages for Disc 4 can be seen below.
The next shot reveals a random selection of the essay that is also included.
You can find photos of the CDs in the next four shots.
This set was obviously bought in Chicago in 2002 by the previous owner. How do I make such a broad assumption? This ticket was stuck inside this set. I'd venture to guess the person went to see a ballgame, went to a nearby record store and discovered this set and bought it, shoving their ballgame ticket inside to preserve the entire memory.
As I was shooting and cropping all these photos, it dawned on me, I'm pretty sure I actually own an official copy of the entirety of The Last Waltz. I went into my movie room which contains the bulk of my boxed sets and yes, I do own a copy of this. Rhino released a four CD set of this in a long box in 2002, the same year this person bought this set (if that Cubs ticket is any proof at all). They then reissued this set (because Rhino loves to reissue reissues) in 2008 when I bought it. You can see the front and the back of the Rhino set (which includes the studio versions of songs that were included back when this triple album came out back in 1978 which this bootleg does not contain).
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time to continue my room project ^_^ i'm getting rid of so much and it WILL be great
tl;dr i havent been in or slept in my room for just over a year for a lot of different reasons, and built up over the years. but im finally taking control and im happy:)
bc i kinda feel like oversharing rest is in the rest of the tags LMAO
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The Love Among Us
Chapter 1-- I’d Never Snitch On Daddy
so i haven’t seen many corpse husband x reader stories on here, so i decided to upload one myself. i’ve been watching jacksepticeye’s among us videos and when i heard corpse talk for the first time, i was like, “hol up” and now i’ve been obsessed with him. also, go stream his music on spotify, it’s amazing. enjoy! x.
corpse husband x female!reader
summary: while playing among us, y/n watches corpse kill felix in o2. when his body is reported, however, she doesn’t tell who killed him.
word count: ~3.6k
warnings: swearing, mentions of death (not real death), mentions of murder (not real murder)
EDIT: before i wrote this and after i published it, i did not know that corpse did not like to be referred to as “daddy”. had i known this, i would have not even thought of posting this. and since i know now, i won’t refer to him as such in the future. thank you. (10/19/2020)
EDIT 2: this is the first part to my corpse x reader series. i will be adding chapters as we go!
next>
4 rounds before the incident
“I was in coms with PJ!” Sean exclaims.
“He is doing the liar voice!” Felix shouts with a laugh.
“I’m not,” Sean tries to say, but everyone talks over him and the voting time ends. Everyone left alive, though it was only four people, had all voted for him and he yells at them as he gets ejected.
stinky was not the imposter
2 imposters remain
The round ends and everyone unmutes themselves.
“Lizzie, you saw Felix kill me and you did nothing!” Roomie yells as soon as the round ends and the imposters are revealed.
“Yeah, because I was the other imposter.”
“Oh. Okay, well that makes sense.”
Everyone laughs and Ken starts the round again.
“Wait, can I invite y/n to play? She’s doing her twenty-four-hour stream and she just finished playing Monopoly with Mark, Bob, and Wade,” says Lizzie, looking down at her phone as they all appear back in the waiting room.
“Yes,” Corpse blurts out and there are a few laughs and chuckles.
“You were quick to answer, Corpse,” Sean teases.
“Shut up,” Corpse mumbles and there are even more laughs.
Lizzie smiles and taps into her phone. “I’m gonna invite her.”
~
“I can’t believe that you actually made that deal, y/n,” Wade is telling you after ending the second round of Monopoly that you’ve played with them.
You smile and cross your legs on your chair. “Look, I was going bankrupt and it seemed good at the time. Besides, Mark was going to win anyway, he owned half of the board.” Your phone buzzes beside you on your desk and you pick it up. “Lizzie texted me.” There’s a sound effect that plays in your headset and you look up at your screen and smile. “Thanks to _lorieplays _for donating a hundred dollars, that means a lot. Thank you so much.”
“Do you want to play another round?” Marks asks.
You shake your head, reading the text from your friend in England. “No, I don’t want to lose to you again.” You laugh. “Nah, Lizzie wants me to play Among Us with her and a few others. It was fun playing with you guys.”
“It was even though you took all of my money,” Bob snaps.
You laugh. “Yeah, yeah. See you guys later.”
“Bye,” says Mark.
“See y--” Wade begins but you cut him off when you disconnect from the call.
“Oops.” You put a hand over your mouth and laugh. “Sorry, Wade. Okay.” You straighten up and glance over everything, making sure it’s all working properly. “I have to pee and I think my roommate ordered pizza, so we’ll be back after this short break. Enjoy this live feed of my pet rats.” You giggle and switch the stream over to a view of your two rats in their cage where you have a camera set up. You take your headset off and head out of your recording room.
Every two months, you have a twenty-four-hour livestream where you play games with your friends from all around the world. Despite being only twenty-five, your Youtube channel had grown exponentially in the past three years and you’ve had the chance to meet lots of other Youtubers like Markiplier, PewDiePie, and your close friend, LDShadowLady.
Currently, you’re on hour twenty of twenty-four and you’re beginning to feel the effects of not sleeping for a whole day. You had been drinking coffee and energy drinks for the past four hours and that seemed to perk you up for two hours max. But your roommate had ordered pizza and that would hopefully wake you up.
After going to the bathroom and grabbing an entire box of pizza, you return to your recording room and sit down. You put your headset back on and eat a slice of pizza before switching the views back to you. “And we’re back. I hope you guys enjoyed my rats because I don’t. They keep me up at night.”
You read a comment while loading up Among Us and laugh. “No, they’re not dead. They’re sleeping. They do that a lot when they’re not fighting.”
When you finally get into the game and entire the code, you spawn in. You also quickly join the Discord chat and wince when nearly ten voices hit you at once.
“y/n!” exclaims Lizzie and the other voices die down for a moment before rising to greet you.
You wince again but laugh. “Jesus, you guys are loud. Hey, Lizzie.” You move your character to the customize tab and go to try and switch your color. But then you frown and realize that you’re stuck with being dark blue. “Damn, I wanted to be white.”
“Do you want to switch?” Corpse asks.
Your eyes widen you your stomach flips. You hadn’t noticed Corpse was in this game. Immediately, your chat became flooded with keyboard smashing and lots of “omg my shipp” and “y/n rlly said ‘anna oop-’”
“Uh, yeah, if you don’t mind,” you manage to stutter out and take a bite of pizza as Corpse’s player comes over and the white option becomes available. You select it and also select the goggles in the hats menu.
“How’s your stream going?” asks Sean.
You shrug. “Pretty good. I’m super tired, though. I literally almost fell asleep while playing Monopoly with Mark, Wade, and Bob.”
“You went to college, right?” You’re pretty sure that’s Roomie.
“Yep,” you affirm with a nod even though they can’t see you. “You’d think that those all-nighters writing papers and studying for finals would make me able to do this.”
There’s a laugh in the group and the round starts.
3 rounds before the incident
You scratch your eyebrow and sigh in relief when you’re the crewmate. You mute yourself and slide up in your chair.
“I like being the crewmate,” you say, heading towards admin as a habit. “It’s a lot less stressful than being imposter.”
After doing your tasks in admin and fueling the engines, you stumble across a dead body in the lower engine and a vent closing.
“Oh,” you say, and press the report button. You unmute yourself and begin with, “So I saw a vent close but I didn’t see who went in.”
“Who died?” asks Lizzie.
“Felix,” says Sean.
You smirk. “It’s always yellow that dies first.”
“Where was the body?” Ken asks.
“Lower engine,” you reply.
“I was in medbay with Corpse doing the scan so it wasn’t him,” PJ says and Corpse makes a noise of confirmation.
This makes your cheeks heat up and you smack a hand over your mouth. Your chat explodes again but you decide to ignore it.
“And I was doing wires in cafeteria,” Lizzie says.
“Sean, where were you?”
“I was in reactor doing the simon says thing,” he answers.
You sigh. “I hate that one. What about you, Ken?”
“I was with Roomie in electrical doing the power thing. You know, the one where you have to divert it somewhere else.”
“So do we skip then?” asks Lizzie.
“No one is super sus, so I’m going to skip,” you answer.
When no one is ejected, you mute yourself again. “I dunno why, but Sean seems pretty sus. Because I didn’t see him on the way down from upper engine. But I guess he could have gotten there in time.” You shrug and run over to the trash chute in the cafeteria. “RIP to Felix, though.”
After doing the trash there, you head down to storage, running into Corpse doing the wires in there. You wait there to clear him and once you do, you run a few circles around him to get his attention and he follows you over to the trash in storage and watches you do that. After that, the two of you head over to electric together and do wires there.
Suddenly, there’s a body reported and you unmute yourself.
“Sean just killed Lizzie in front of me!” exclaims PJ.
“PJ killed Lizzie,” Sean retorts, flipping the blame. “I watched it, he didn’t realize I was there and murdered her.”
“I watched PJ do the scan in medbay, he’s cleared,” Corpse says and you find yourself smiling for no reason. “Sean, you killed Lizzie.”
“I knew he was sus,” you say, grabbing another piece of pizza. You look at the box and your eyes widen. Had you really already eaten half of it?
“Wait wait, how am I sus?” Sean asks.
You take a moment to swallow. “Because when I was doing fuel earlier, I was running down from upper engine and didn’t see you in reactor. Sure, maybe you could have gotten there earlier, but it was super weird.”
The discussion time ends and PJ immediately goes to vote for Sean as well as you, Corpse, and everyone else still alive. Sean ends up getting ejected.
stinky was an imposter
1 imposter remains
“You’re such a detective, y/n,” Sean says when he gets ejected.
You laugh. “I just play this game too much.” You then mute yourself and smile. “I am a genius.”
You end up finishing your tasks quickly after that and then stand in the cafeteria and eat another piece of pizza and read some of the chat.
“’ What am I going to do after this?’ I don’t know. I might play some Minecraft. Should I have a poll on Twitter? I’m stuck between public Among Us games, Minecraft, and taking random quizzes on Buzzfeed.” You smile and hear another sound effect and something pops up on the screen. “Thank you to coochie man for donating a hundred dollars, that means a lot.” You laugh at their name. “I love your name, by the way.”
There’s some rattling in the cage behind you and you turn around to see one of your rats drinking water. You turn back to the chat and read another comment. “’ Do you have a crush on Corpse?’” You blush and smile, biting your lip. “I mean, his voice is hot. I’ve never met him since he lives in San Diego and I live in h/t, but yeah, I guess I do. I’ve been listening to his music for the past few days and it’s really good, you guys should go check it out.”
You look up and unmute yourself when a body is reported. “Who died?” you ask. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Are you already done with your tasks, y/n?” Corpse asks.
God, even the way he says your name is making you blush. “Yeah, I get them done quick.”
“She does that,” says Lizzie, “She always gets her tasks done quick.”
“Ken is dead by the way,” says Roomie and your snort, smacking a hand over your mouth. “I found him in the hallway by navigation. Where was everyone else?”
“I was in cafeteria doing nothing,” you say, leaning back in your chair and spinning around just a little. “I think I saw PJ downloading while I was in there, but I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Yeah, I was downloading,” says Ken.
After more discussion, Corpse points out that Jaiden had been following him and it looked like she had been faking tasks.
“No I haven’t,” she says.
“That sounds like something the imposter would say,” you hum with a smirk. “That’s pretty sus, Jaiden.”
Everyone else agrees and you all end up voting Jaiden out.
jaiden was the imposter
0 imposters remain
You cheer as the round ends and a blue victory screen pops up for the crewmates. “Good game, guys,” you say and play again, waiting for the host.
~
1 round before the incident
“Oh my god, I’m imposter again?” you groan and sigh when you spawn back in. “I was just imposter, I don’t want to be it again. I’m so bad at it,”
After another short round of you and Felix losing to the crewmates, you all agreed to play two more rounds before Sean had to leave. So you move your character to admin where PJ is and fake the card swipe before moving over to the admin security thing where you could see who was around where. Luckily, no one appeared to be near admin, so you quickly kill PJ and escape through the vent and come out through medbay.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” you whisper over and over, running down to storage. “That was clean.” You fake getting fuel and go back up to the upper engine.
When PJ’s body is reported, you see that your fellow imposter, Sean, had reported it. You stay silent for most of the round and only say that you were in the fuel area when it was reported.
“Yeah, I saw her run past electrical earlier,” Corpse says. You blush and glance at your exploding chat and shake your head.
After everyone skips the round, you mute yourself once more and head towards navigation. “I hate this.” You drag the last syllable and watch Lizzie enter the room. You wait a moment before walking towards her and killing her, jumping into one of the vents. You let out a sigh and flex your fingers. “I’m so stressed.” You exit out of the vent into shields and your heart stops when you see someone else in there but you realize that it’s the other imposter, Sean, and you relax.
You run past him and go to the trash compartments and pretend to unload those. And that’s how the rest of the round goes. You kill someone, someone reports it and you vote someone off. Eventually, you and Sean do a double kill and end up winning the round.
You unmute yourself.
“Let’s go!” Sean exclaims and you smile.
“I can’t believe you killed me, y/n!” shouts Lizzie. “I thought we were friends.”
You laugh. “There are no friends in this game. I’m not loyal to anyone in this game. You could be my best friend and I would fucking murder you.”
“That’s cold,” says Roomie as everyone else spawns back in.
“Yeah,” you nod.
“Wait, PJ disconnected,” says Sean, and you all end up waiting for him to rejoin.
In that time, you look at your chat and say, “Hey, do you guys have any questions for who I’m playing with. I’m asking you, chat.”
“I swear if someone asks about my hands, I’m leaving,” Corpse says and everyone laughs.
You laugh louder when you read a comment and read it aloud, “_Ironlady��_says that you should be a hand model, Corpse.”
“Okay, I’m leaving,” you hear Corpse say over everyone laughing.
“No, stay!” you exclaim, trying not to laugh. “C’mon, don’t leave.”
He sighs deeply and your brain goes fuzzy. “Fine. I’ll stay for you.”
You beam and your tummy turns. You ignore the whistles and remarks from everyone else and stand beside Corpse. You suddenly wish that the little bean characters could hold hands.
When PJ joins the server again, Ken starts the round and you cross your fingers, hoping to get crewmate.
0 rounds before the incident
You mute yourself and sigh when you’re a crewmate. “Thank god.” You let out a breath and go over to admin with everyone else. You swipe your card and go to the cafeteria to do some wires there.
The game turns out to be rather uneventful. A few people die and two people are voted off before the game gets truly interesting. And that happens when you walk in on Corpse and Felix.
“I’ve had this song stuck in my head for days,” you’re saying, walking from electrical over to O2. “And I can’t get it out of my head. Maybe singing it will help.” You hum the first part. “Don't go in there, you'll become one. Freaky creatures, monster party. Eyes of yellow, scales and feathers, tails in tethers. Turn the lights off. Bend the nightmare, you control it. Artful dodger, easy does it. Shut the closet, get under the covers. Snakes and lovers. Turn the lights off.” You do a little dance for a moment and continue hum the song, glancing at the chat as you go towards O2 after doing wires in storage.
“Like, I know the song, it’s just been stuck in my head,” you explain. “And it kind of annoys me--”
But you stop as you enter O2 and watch Corpse murder Felix. Neither one of you move and you don’t know what to do. “Uhhh.”
Then, without thinking, you turn straight around and make your way away from the scene of the murder. “I didn’t see anything!” you shout to no one. “I suddenly can’t see who murdered Felix.” You smack a hand over your mouth and stand in the middle of a hallway. “Oh my god, what do I do? I don’t want to snitch on Corpse, he’s hot.” You scratch the back of your neck and shrug, continuing on to reactor. “I didn’t see anything.”
You’re in the middle of doing the simon says in reactor when Felix’s body is reported. You unmute yourself and fidget with the sleeve of your hoodie. You know exactly who killed Felix.
“--was in O2,” says Jaiden and you focus back into the conversation. “And I didn’t see anyone around.”
“I saw you heading that way, y/n, but I know it wasn’t you because I saw you do the trash in storage.”
You look at the screen when Sean talks to you and you chew your lip. “I know who killed Felix.”
“Who?” asks almost everyone at the same time.
You close your eyes and swallow. It’s just a game, why are you taking this so seriously? Suddenly, a song lyric pops into your head and your stomach flips. You imagine yourself saying it and no one knows who you mean except for him.
You open your eyes. “I’d never snitch on daddy.”
There’s a laugh in the chat and you blush fiercely, your livestream chat blowing up once again.
“I think we know who it is, then,” says Sean, laughing.
“Yeah,” agrees Lizzie and your eyes widen.
“Wait, what?” you ask, watching everyone vote almost as soon as the discussion time ends. “Wait, hang on, who--”
“We know who you’re talking about, y/n,” PJ tells you.
You vote for yourself and your brain goes blank as you see that everyone voted for Corpse. He even voted for himself. They knew. They all _knew _about your feelings for Corpse.
The round ends with Corpse being voted out and the crewmates win. There’s some talking, but you stay on the victory screen. You’re trying to decide if your mad or embarrassed or both.
“I didn’t know you’d say that, y/n,” Corpse says, effectively breaking you out of your trance. “I thought you were gonna snitch on me.”
“You heard her,” teases Lizzie and you can tell she’s grinning. “She’d never snitch on you, Corpse.”
He laughs and you feel something in a certain place. “Oh my god, I’m gonna die of embarrassment.” You put your face in your hands, listening to your friends tease you in the chat. You suddenly want to jump out your window and run into traffic.
“Don’t die,” comes Corpse’s voice through the onslaught of teasing. “I’ll be sad.”
“Fuck!” you shout and slam your hand on your desk, shaking your equipment and scaring your rats. “I’m so sorry, Corpse, that was really weird, I--”
“Stop.” He interrupts you and the chat goes silent and you look up at the screen even though you can’t see him. “It’s okay. It was funny.”
Your eyes widen and then narrow. Funny? He thought what you said was funny? How could he think it was funny?
But then he speaks again and he sounds oddly flustered. “Uh, I gotta go. Um, it was fun playing with you guys. Bye, y/n.”
“Bye Cor--” but then he disconnects and you’re left talking to no one. “--pse.”
There’s a long moment of silence until Felix breaks it. “I can’t believe you just watched me die and didn’t do anything about it.”
There are some laughs and you smile faintly, rejoining the game. “Yeah, uh, sorry about that.”
“Are you okay, y/n?” asks Lizzie.
You blush and swallow. “I don’t know. God, I’m so weird.” You run a hand through your hair and adjust your headphones
“No, you’re not,” Roomie assures you. “He has a crush on you, too.”
Your eyes widen and you scoot up in your chair. “He does?”
“I mean, he called you pretty once during a game and said that he watches your videos a lot, so maybe.”
You groan and sink in your chair. “I’m gonna go, I need to run into traffic now.”
A few people laugh or chuckle and Lizzie asks you if you’re actually going to leave.
“Yeah,” you tell her. “But not to run into traffic. I’m going to go play Minecraft to soothe myself.”
“Aw.” You can practically hear her frown. “Okay. Bye, y/n.”
“Good luck with your stream,” Ken tells you.
You grin. “Okay, thanks, bye.”
When you exit the game and leave the chat, you scream. You actually scream and it’s loud. Your roommate even knocks on your door, asking if you’re okay.
You look at them and nod. “Yeah, totally fine. Probably about to have a mental breakdown, but I’m fine.”
“Okay,” they say and lean on the doorframe. “But I’m not cutting bangs for you again.”
You laugh and nod. “Yeah, okay, fine.” They leave and you turn back to your stream, feeling like you’re about to cry. Corpse knows you have a crush on him. And it seems like he has one on you as well, but now you’re embarrassed because you called him ‘daddy’ on stream.
You rub your eyes. “Well, now I know what’ll be streaming on Twitter tonight,” you tell the chat.
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Merry Christmas to all who celebrate!
I finally got my Secret Santa done! And my secret Santa was…
✨@melissa-s23✨
I absolutely adore her writing and art and I really hope she enjoys this 😊💖
@mcyt-gt-events
tw: none, just fluff
Coming home for the holidays was supposed to be a relaxing time, especially getting a break from the utter hell that college could be. But something felt…of this year. Like there was something being kept from him.
Quackity sighed as he looked out the window of his old bedroom, which Sam had been kind enough to leave relatively unbothered once he left for college. The little kid things had been moved into a storage bin, but all his old furniture, posters, and pictures remained, usually bringing him a sense of comfort after so long away from home. But now they just reminded him of what he used to have.
Sam and Quackity had always been close. They had clicked the moment they had met, when he was 6 years old and Sam first fostered him. It had only been a month when Sam had decided to adopt Quackity, at only 19 years old. And Sam worked hard to make it work, and Quackity couldn’t have been happier. But that had all changed a few months into his freshman year of college. He tried to call Sam as often as he could, but there was just so much to do. Eventually calling became nearly impossible, and it broke his heart every time he had to decline a call from his best friend/dad.
Until one day, something weird happened. Quackity finally, finally, had the opportunity to call, and no one answered. He called again. Nothing. He must’ve called 50 times, and nothing until an hour later. A text that read “Sorry, I was busy. I’ll try to call again soon.”
That was the start of their relationship growing farther and farther apart. Quackity was now a sophomore in college, and he hadn’t even seen Sam in almost a year. He tried to come over for the holidays during break his freshman year, but there were apparently problems at the construction company he ran, and they’d “try to meet up over the summer.” It never happened. But finally, fucking finally, Sam said that Quackity should come over for the holidays to catch up. And they had. The conversation when Sam had first opened the door to let Quackity in that morning had started off a bit awkward (ok, maybe more than a bit), but had quickly resolved into their old way of talking to each other. And after hours on an airplane and then hours of conversation with the man he had missed more than anyone, he went to his room to try and fall asleep. Which he should probably try to do, instead of staring out a window and feeling sorry for himself. He pushed himself off the windowsill and went to go put on his pjs, but his mind kept drifting back to Sam. Why hadn’t they talked in so long? What had Sam been doing? He had assumed that the sudden radio silence had been because Sam wanted to distance himself, but the joy on his face at having seen Quackity walk through the front door for the first time in so long disproved that theory. So what had happened? And as Quackity desperately tried to figure out what was going on, his brain decided to be more focused on sleep than the possible problems with his father. So he fell asleep, hoping that those answers would work themselves out soon enough.
*********
Quackity shot awake at the sound of glass shattering. He frantically switched on a light switch as he tried to figure out where the noise came from, until his eyes landed on a certain shelf in his room where he noticed a picture frame missing. That was until his eyes trailed to the floor and saw it face down with glass pieces scattered around it. Quackity sighed, to tired to deal with any of this, and just used the frame to swipe most of the big glass pieces into a pile and set the photo back on the shelf, when he felt something warm brush against his fingers, which he would have just assumed was his tired mind playing tricks on him had it not yelped at the contact.
Quackity pulled back his hand and frantically moved the other frames over, expecting to see a mouse or possibly even a rat. What he had not been expecting were two very small boys, both frozen in terror. They stared at each other for a few seconds before one of the boys grabbed the other and tried to make a run for it. But Quackity was faster, grabbing both of them and pulling them closer to his face, ignoring the heavy breathing and whimpers coming from them. They looked almost human, except for the pointed ears and tails they had. Besides that, one of the boys wore a red sweatshirt and had blonde hair pulled back into a short ponytail. The second slightly smaller one was a brunette who was wearing a green t-shirt. Could he be dreaming right now? Maybe. He hadn’t heard of anything like them before. Maybe, if they looked so human, they could talk? It was worth a shot.
“What the fuck are you?” He mumbled, making both of the tiny kids flinch. Ok, maybe that could have been more tactful, but he was tired, alright? Just when it seemed like the blonde one was going to speak up, the brunette slapped a hand over his mouth. Ok, so that meant that they probably could talk. They just didn’t want to. So Quackity, not having any better ideas for the time being, just set the two in his now emptied smaller suitcase, not registering the scared and frantic pleas from both of them to be let go, and zipped it shut, setting it next to his bed before falling back asleep.
****
The next morning was a train wreck, to say the least. As soon as Quackity woke up and remembered what had happened the night before, he went to check his suitcase. And sure enough, there were still two miniature people (to small to immediately notice the tear tracks down their face) in it, asleep. He was ecstatic. After all, he hadn’t heard of anything like these before. What could they do? What were they capable of? Where they alone or were they part of a bigger community of little people? What was their society like? Did he just discover a new species? After calming down a bit after his revelations, he raced down the stairs, suitcase in hand, to find Sam, only to find him on his knees with his phone flashlight out and some of the floorboards pulled up. What the actual fuck.
“Uh, Sam?” Quackity stated, walking farther from the steps to alert the man of his presence. “Whatcha doin there, buddy?” Sam whirled around, surprised at seeing Quackity, and god did he look tired. His hair was unkept, his eyes looked red, and the eye bags spoke for themselves. The only thing that kept him from looking completely dead were the bright green creeper pajamas that he insisted on wearing every night since Quackity bought them for him as a joke. Seriously, it looked pretty ridiculous, but that wasn’t the main problem here. How long was he up last night? But Sam seemingly refused to acknowledge how exhausted he clearly was, because he responded as if nothing was wrong. “Oh, Quackity! Uh..hey! Just, uh..looking for someo- something.” He said, clearly trying to look innocent but hiding something. Quackity wasn’t buying a word of what he said. He was in law school, he could pick out a liar. Sam would have to do better than that. “Ok, what are you looking for? Do you need help? Did you get any sleep looking for it or were you up all night, because honestly? You look like shit.” Sam’s face fell a little, whether that be because his act of being not tired hadn’t held up or because Quackity rightfully said he looked like shit, he didn’t know. But at least he was now being forced to talk about what he’d been avoiding. Sam sighed.
“No, I didn’t get much sleep last night. I’m worried.” Sam looked away and Quackity couldn’t help but feel like whatever Sam was so worried about was his fault. What did he do? Could he fix it? He set down the suitcase and moved closer to his father figure, kneeling down to be at eye level with him. “Sam, whatever you’re worried about, you can tell me.” He laid a hand on his shoulder. “You trust me, right?” Sam sighed, a soft smile across his lips as he laid a hand over Quackity’s, holding it and bringing down. “Of course I do. It’s just…I don’t know how you’ll react to this.” Quackity responded by holding Sam’s hand tighter. “Try me.” Sam sighed and let go of Quackity’s hand, instead wringing his hands together. A nervous habit Q had taken note of years ago. “Ok, so what if I told you I had adopted two more little boys after you went to college?” Sam said, looking down and growing quieter as he finished the sentence.
Quackity’s heart stopped. Holy shit. He had brothers. Little brothers. Two of them. Holy fuck. “Wait- wait I think I misunderstood something here I…” Quackity laughed in disbelief. “You have brothers.” Sam smiled, seemingly relieved that Quackity didn’t look too upset. “Im sorry, I should’ve told you sooner but I was so busy with the boys and I didn’t know how they would react to you and how you would react to them so I just…didn’t tell you.” He rambled. “I didn’t even mean to tell them about you but they broke into your old room a few days ago and said they wanted to meet you. That’s why I invited you over this year, but I can’t find them and I’ll be honest, I’m worried. Knowing those two they could be in actual danger right now.” “Wait, why would you be looking for them under the floorbo-“ Quackity cut himself off. Oh. Oh no.
“Well, you see, they’re…” Sam sighed. “They’re not entirely…human.” Quackity froze, and it felt like his heart stopped beating. He didn’t even need to hear the rest of what Sam said, but his brain forced him to listen to what he unfortunately already knew. “They’re only about as tall as my middle finger. They’re called borrowers. So them getting lost in the walls or attacked by a wild animal are actual concerns.” Q stood silent, shocked, the suitcase his apparently very literally little brothers were trapped in barely visible out of the corner of his eyes.
“Uh, actually, Sam, I think they’re fine.” Quackity mumbled, backing up towards the bag. Sam raised an eyebrow. “How do you know.” ‘Shit, how am I supposed to say this?’ Quackity thought. And finding no answer, he relented to simply grab the suitcase and hand it to Sam, who looked somehow more confused until he unzipped it. Quackity couldn’t stand to hear the boys cry in relief as they were lifted out of the bag by his- their father. He looked away as Sam turned his attention to calming the sobbing boys down, and tuned out whatever Sam was saying. He didn’t want to see the look of disappointment and disdain on his face. He didn’t want to hear how Sam would tell the borrowers that they’d never have to see Quackity again, that he would never be welcome here again. However, neither happened. Quackity was brought back into reality by a gentle tap on the shoulder. He turned around to see Sam, a hand cupped to his chest containing the two little boys who had stopped crying and who looked at him with a slight fear, but a stronger curiosity. “Quackity,” Sam spoke gently, his voice not holding the anger Quackity thought it would, “Care to explain what happened?”
Quackity didn’t know when he started to cry while explaining what had happened the previous night. Whether it was from watching Sam’s clear face of understanding when it should have been rage, the fear that he would be abandoned by the only person who ever cared about him, or just plain guilt, he didn’t know. But what he didn’t expect was for one of the little boys to speak up, followed by the other, both speaking to their dad in his defense. Telling Sam how they had broken into Quackity’s room again when they knew they shouldn’t have, and Sam carefully explaining why that was a bad idea. Then the one in the red sweater spoke to him. “We’re sorry, Big Q.” The blonde said, “We shouldn’t have been in your room.” Quackity felt his heart swell at the nickname as he held out his hand to the boys, both looking up to Sam for approval. He nodded at them, and Quackity watched in utter amazement as the two climbed on his hand with little hesitation. “You don’t have to apologize for anything.” He said, holding them up higher to his face and trying to ignore the instinct to aw at them. That wouldn’t help anybody, and who knew if they would find that insulting. “I shouldn’t have grabbed you, I shouldn’t have trapped you, I- I’m sorry. I want to know you better, I want to be part of your family. If you want me to be of course, and it’s ok if you don’t, but I want to be the best big brother I can.” He smiled at them. And he could have cried again from pure joy when the brunette spoke up this time. “Of course! Dad’s told us all about you, it’s really nice to finally meet you, first impressions be damned. Oh, and I’m Tubbo, by the way.” He said, elbowing the other. “Right, I’m Tommy!” The other, Tommy, spoke up. “And same with what Tubbo said. And I hope you know what you’re getting into, you’re stuck as our big brother now, you can’t go back.” He smirked, just making Quackity smile wider. “Oh of course, don’t expect me to ever go back on it.”
***
The rest of the day was spent on the couch, some shitty Christmas movie on in the background as the two borrowers used Quackity as a jungle gym, sharing stories that Sam had told about him, embarrassing Quackity and making Sam laugh. And Quackity hadn’t been this happy in a long time. With his dad and his new little brothers, his family, he felt truly happy. And he couldn’t be happier that despite what he had done, they had forgiven him. And he swore to be the best big brother for them that he could be.
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Jon & Sasha Arson fic
Little fragment of an idea that never went anywhere. No reason for it. Just thought it would be funny. I was right. Rest under the cut.
Most people who were unlucky enough to meet Jonathan Sims assumed he had no friends.
This was true, up to a point two weeks after Jon became a researcher at the Magnus Institute: afterwards Jon had no friends, except for Sasha James.
Sasha James was attributable to arson.
Most people who were unlucky enough to meet Jonathan Sims assumed he had no friends.
This was true, up to a point two weeks after Jon became a researcher at the Magnus Institute: afterwards Jon had no friends, except for Sasha James.
*******
Sasha James was attributable to arson.
Arson was attributable to a bookshelf of Leitners, humming strange songs and spewing toxic energy into the air in rhythmic hissing motions. The Leitners were attributable to Artifact Storage, a testament to mankind’s hubris and a modern-day tower of Babel where a group of underpaid academics found themselves stress testing kevlar and fire suppression systems each day. Artifact Storage was attributable to the Magnus Institute, where Jon had managed to land a job after three months of desolate post-graduate unemployment. And the Magnus Institute was attributable to - well, probably Jonah Magnus, but Jon found that it was likely a bit of a reach to blame a long dead Regency gentleman for all of his problems.
Jon needed this job. London was expensive and so were funerals, and he couldn’t keep living on life insurance forever. It was even a good job, with decent pay and the exact kind of limp, half-hearted academia that the private sector promised disillusioned English mastery holders. His coworkers were nice - well, Tim was nice, everybody else seemed to hate him for the same reason that everybody else hated him, likely intimidated by how smart he was - and the commute was short. He couldn’t afford to lose this job. Spiritually, metaphysically, and literally.
Which was why he should stop staring at this piece of paper. The follow-up research to a statement given by some idiot unlucky enough to cross paths with what was certainly a Leitner.
‘ORIGINATION OF PHENOMENA ISOLATED’, the page read out professionally, yet chipperly, like a young woman in a new office job. ‘ITEM QUARANTINED WITHIN ARTIFACT STORAGE (46B.1)’.
Hm.
Jon pushed down on the floor, rolling himself a meter to the left.
“Say, er, Mr. Stoker.”
Tim “I’m only four years older than you, please call me Tim” Stoker, who had been thumping away on his cheap plastic keyboard either writing up a report or messaging someone on one of those infernal casual sex websites, pulled down his headphones and blinked at Jon owlishly, before splitting his face into a grin. Jon could practically hear the David Attenborough-style narration within his mind: ‘After long weeks leaving out food for the wild Simothan, the feral yet gentle animal approaches the researcher of his own volition. A win for scientists everywhere.’
“Yes, Jon?” Tim asked, in an uncanny yet hopefully unintentional RP drawl.
“What’s Artifact Storage?”
“God, I wish I was you,” Tim said feelingly. But he nodded sagely anyway, milking his ‘wise senpai’ thing for all it was worth. Jon could practically feel Tim calling himself a senpai. It was kind of embarrassing. “You know the shady room locked deep within the basement that exudes a terrible aura of malice and hatred towards you specifically?”
“The gender neutral bathroom?” Jon asked, confused.
“No, the one that always smells somewhat of blood. You hear screams sometimes?”
“The Archives!”
“Yes, but no! It’s Artifact Storage. If the researchers dig up any creepy shit from a statement, or if a statement giver brings in something that melts the metal detector, then we dump it in Artifact Storage and let those miserable fucks take care of it.”
“Is it more of a containment facility, or would you say that they conduct experiments?”
But Tim just shrugged. “My source down there tells me that they do some experiments to justify their budget, but it’s mostly unscientific. Poke this and I’ll give you twenty quid, that kind of thing. They say that if you really want a sick day, all you have to do is touch a mysterious rock and whisper your mother’s name -”
“Fantastic, thank you for your help, must go back to filling now,” Jon said quickly, skittering back to his own desk. He tried to distract himself from the terrifying thought of the basement full of supernatural nuclear bombs underneath his feet by trying to remember his mother’s name, but he was stuck on if it was Marjorie or Margaret. Mary Anne?
Maybe Tim’s personal Meerkat Manor series of Jon’s life had paid off - Sims Shack? - more than Jon would like, because Tim squinted at Jon in an unsettlingly familiar way. As if he knew exactly what Jon was thinking about the literature of mass destruction, and he really wanted Jon to be thinking literally anything else.
“I wouldn’t go down there if I were you, Jon,” Tim warned, sounding a little like a horror movie trailer. “Bushy tailed college grads who go down there don’t come out the same as they went in.”
“I’ll take that under advisement, Mr. Stoker.”
“For the love of christ call me Tim!”
It really was a pity - Jon had actually liked this job.
*******
It was remarkably easy to commit arson in central London.
Jon had done it once or twice. Three times, actually, although when you think about it arson was a criminal charge and only truly existed so long as someone was charged with it, so technically you could say that Jon had done arson zero times. In his defense, you try making it through Oxford without doing anything embarrassing. 90% of your time was in class or schoolwork and 10% of it was being hazed. At least Jon hadn’t fucked any pigs.
Jon hit up the usual stores, and stashed the usual implements in his rucksack. It was a careful week after his conversation with Tim, as he couldn’t afford for the older man to connect the dots. He made a show of going home at a timely five pm, startling everybody around him, and paced in a tight circle around his flat until he gave up and watched mindless telly until the clock struck midnight.
He took a cab to the park a few blocks down from the Institute, and walked the rest of the way. It was a cool, dim night in London, and the foot-traffic had slowed down to a steady trickle of young people in tight clothing. Jon pulled down his baseball cap on his head, fished a key out from his pocket given to him by a helpful and friendly janitor, and took a back entrance into the Institute.
Said helpful and friendly janitor, whose allegiance had been won because Jon was a “nice young lad” and “I always wanted to burn down the place myself, I’m happy to see the next generation give it a go” had helpfully told Jon that there were no security cameras inside the Institute. A grievous oversight, but good luck for Jon tonight. He took the stairs down to the basement, zipping his jacket up tight against the inescapable chill, and pushed his hat further down his head as he navigated his way towards Artifact Storage.
He unlocked the door with the janitor’s key, hands shaking, and slipped inside into the dusky and unlit room.
It was pitch-black, and Jon quickly fished a torch out of his backpack. He flipped it on, letting it slowly scan the room. It was the lobby into Artifact Storage, familiar from his stake-out missions: you walked in, met the bored woman behind the desk, checked in or checked out what you wanted, and if you needed to go inside she would press the button that unlocked the heavy climate-controlled door and let you into the hallway inside. The only other door in the lobby was to the office of the Director of Artifact Storage, a terrifying short and squat woman with silver hair pulled into a bun.
Jon leaned over the counter and jammed the button, holding his breath until he heard the door click open. He quickly twisted the handle, swung the heavy door out, and slipped inside, taking care to grab one of the chairs in the lobby and prop it open. Quick escapes were necessary.
He was in.
The torch lit up a map taped up to the wall, and Jon squinted at it. Section A, Section B, Section C...he remembered the classification from the document he read a week ago, and slowly walked down the hallway until he found the heavy climate controlled door marked ‘SECTION B’. He carefully wrenched it open, taking care to grab a rolling cart and using it to prop the door open, before stepping inside. He fished the canister of gasoline and the lighter out of his backpack, giving the gasoline a good shake.
It was a library. Small, and instead of shelves there were long metal racks with filing boxes stretching long into the darkness, but Jon knew a library when he saw one. Each box had a clipboard attached to it, and most boxes had very large and terrifying stickers on them painted sickly yellow or dangerous red.
The only thing in the library that wasn’t a filing rack was a battered and beat couch. And the only person in the room besides Jon was a woman, blinking up at Jon blearily from where she had been passed out on the couch.
“Er,” Jon said.
The woman sat up, squinting at Jon’s torchlight until he guiltily aimed it just to her left. She had a wild mane of curly brown hair, and was wearing a pencil skirt and ruffled burgundy blouse. A blazer was folded at one end of the couch, clearly being used as a pillow, and she looked strongly as if Jon had just woken her up from a very nice nap.
“Whuh,” the sleepy woman said.
“My mistake,” Jon said, “this isn’t the loo. Go back to bed, this is - er, a very bad dream, goodnight.”
“Whutuhiseet,” the woman slurred.
“It’s - very late, go back to bed.”
“Alright,” the woman said, falling back on the couch. After a second, her snores echoed through the room again.
Jon very slowly crept backwards. Actually, on second thought, his mission could wait for tomorrow. Bit of a cock block, this, but that was alright -
“Hey! Who are you!”
Jon, hand on the handle of the door, squeaked and turned around.
The woman was back up again, and this time she seemed actually awake. She was frowning mightily at Jon, and was already sliding off the couch in stocking feet to glare at him. Jon was aware that he did not look like an innocent person in these events. The gasoline did not help.
The woman’s eyes trailed to the gasoline, then widened. Jon ineffectually tried to hide it behind his back.
“You’re trying to burn down Artifact Storage!” the woman accused, somewhat fairly.
“Not all of Artifact Storage,” Jon said guiltily, “just the Leitners.”
The woman stared at him further, as if she was a special guest on Tim’s Sims Shack nature documentary.
“Why,” the woman said slowly, “would you want to do that?”
Despite himself, Jon found himself puffing up in indignation. “They’re evil, nasty little books that shouldn’t exist. Forget studying and - and containing them, we should be making sure no more of them ever disgrace the world again. We should be burning every one we see. They’re pure evil given literary form, they are a disgrace to books and libraries, and if I ever met Leitner myself I would beat him to death with a rusty pipe for subjecting me to his fucked up books.”
The woman stared at him.
Finally, she said, “I’m Sasha James. Want some help?”
“I - er, wouldn’t that get you in trouble, Ms. James?”
“I like this job but I hate Leitner and his fucked up books more,” Sasha said gravely.
Jon, having found a kindred spirit, held out the lighter.
Sasha James took it, a wide grin splitting her face.
*********
Jon didn’t remember much else of that night.
There was definitely arson involved - or, seeing as they hadn’t gotten caught, just some good old-fashioned fire starting. He had the sense that they had both been so giddy with adrenaline that they had immediately joined the raging uni students in the late night bars, toasting their success in toasting. There had probably been quite a bit of alcohol.
When he woke up the next morning, it was in his narrow and uncomfortable bed, face to face with an unfamiliar snoring woman. For a second, two, Jon was briefly convinced that he had done something so drastically out of character it meant that a fucked up book had body swapped him with Tim. Bodyswapping was more likely than him having casual sex.
Then Jon remembered the arson, and he exhaled in relief as his life made sense again.
“Ms. James,” Jon whispered, poking her in the arm. She snuffled and muttered something. Jon poked her harder. “Ms. James, we have work.”
Sasha turned around, turning her back to him and pulling up the blankets. “Go back to bed, Tim.”
Ti - oh god. Jon felt like he was in a CW drama. This was why he didn’t interact with people, far too much likelihood that he would accidentally end up interacting with somebody who had sex.
“Ms. James,” Jon hissed, extremely embarrassed, “you have to get up!”
“Mergh mergh fuck off,” Sasha James said.
Jon, like a true gentleman and hero, got up and made them both strong tea. He squinted at Sasha, recalling everything he knew about her (slept a lot, liked arson, hated Jurgen Leitner) before digging out some instant coffee and making some of that too. Finally, after shoving a hot cup of sludgey black liquid at the woman, she grabbed the cup and chugged it until she was able to sit up and open her eyes.
She blinked at Jon, who was already picking his hair in an attempt to get ready for work. He could clearly see the thoughts ‘you aren’t Tim’ run through her brain. Hah! He could be the narrator of the nature documentary for once!
“Uh,” Sasha James said, “I’m sorry, did we…?”
“Commit arson? Yes.” Jon paused a beat. “But as I don’t believe we were caught, call it an indoor campfire.”
Sasha James drank more of her coffee. Jon grabbed his clothing and disappeared into the loo to get changed.
When he re-entered his bedroom, she snapped her fingers at him. “Right! We got pissed after! Good times, mate!”
“I have to assume,” Jon said politely. He was doing his very best to be very polite, because Jon knew he was rude and didn’t want his new coworkers to know that until his probation period was over. Maybe he should have waited until after his probation period for the arson? Would it look bad on his annual review? “Do you need to borrow some clothing? I think we’re about the same size.” Oh, no, was that rude to say to a woman?
Sasha James squinted at him. “It’s like you’re not hungover at all. How old are you?”
“Twenty five?” Be polite, Jon! “And you’re...thirty seven?”
“I’m thirty one, asshole!”
Oh no. Women hated it when you called them old. “You don’t look a day over twenty seven!” Jon cried, panicked.
“Have you met a woman?”
“I had a grandmother?”
“I’m going back to bed,” Sasha James said.
Unfortunately, Jon knew that it would be very suspicious if they both skipped, so he forced Sasha into one of his suits that...looked much nicer on her than him, but whatever, and hustled them both to work. Now that the adrenaline had worn away and the sense of purpose in his holy mission had burned up with the cleansing flames, Jon found himself biting his nails in agony in the Underground.
They had to know. Someone must have caught them. Maybe there were secret CCTVs in the Institute. Maybe Sasha was going to rat him out - but she had helped, so wouldn’t she just be ratting out herself? Was she a double agent? Mr. Bouchard was never going to forgive him, no matter how nice he was and how much he seemed to like Jon to the point where he rather wished someone had given him the ‘Stranger Danger’ speech as a child so he would know what to do. Jon was going to go to jail, or worse - get fired.
Sasha, cooly sipping her coffee and looking somewhat fly in sunglasses and his suit, did not seem disturbed by any of this. Jon’s rapidly spiralling panic attack must have been obvious, because she casually flicked a finger on his forehead. Jon yelped with pain.
“Take it easy, mate. If they catch us, I’ll just say that the books made us do it.”
Jon scowled at her, rubbing his smarting forehead. “The books?”
“Sure.” She waved her fingers spookily as the Underground rattled forward into the heart of London. “Brainwashed us to do their evil bidding of -”
“Destroying them?”
“There’s a lot of arson Leitners,” Sasha James said sagely. “Trust me, this is just a normal day in Artifact Storage.” She clapped him reassuringly on the shoulder, and Jon fought a blush. “Don’t worry. We performed a public service, kiddo. St. Peter’s gonna give us a medal when we get to the pearly gates.”
“I’m an adult,” Jon said, scandalized. He had gray hair!
“Well, I guess, but I don’t know your name, so…”
Jon squinted at her. She squinted at him back.
“You’re thinking that if you don’t give me your name I can’t rat you out to the feds,” Sasha said flatly.
Jon pursed his lips.
Finally, he settled on, “You don’t rat me out to the feds and I won’t tell them that you’re in an illicit relationship with Mr. Stoker.”
“Mr. - how did - what!”
“It’s Jonathan Sims,” Jon said gruffly, crossing his arms. He was slightly hungover and his nerve were jittery and he had set fire to his workplace the previous night, but somehow Jon thought that his heart was jackrabbiting in his chest for a different reason. Somehow Jon felt as if his heart couldn’t stop thumping behind his sternum because Sasha James was staring at him, head cocked, as if he was a mystery she was interested in finding out. “That’s my name.”
Sasha James stared at him, as if surprised, before her face broke into a wide and happy smile. Jon hunched his shoulders up, embarrassed, faintly aware he was blushing. “It’s nice to meet you, Jonathan!” Then she grabbed him by the collar, shaking him slightly. “And there is nothing illicit about me and Tim, and there is nothing between me and Tim at all, we are just friends, so get that out of your little head -”
The train rattled on towards the Magnus Institute, and towards the slight smell of smoke in the air.
*******
Sasha: are you coming 2 the pub w/us 2nite?
Sasha: come onnn you should comeee don’t feel awkwardddd
Sasha: I know you hate a) group settings b) drunk people c) Tim in a group d) drunk Tim and e) Tim drunk in a group but that’s no reason not to come!
Sasha: Tim is physiologically incapable of not adopting men 3-5 years younger than him it’s in his blood you can’t escape his affection
Sasha: or at least I find it funny so I’m not letting you
Sasha: Jonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
Jon: Yes I’ll come, I need to talk to both of you.
Sasha: WAHOO
Sasha: wait
Sasha: really?
Sasha: did you commit ars*on again
Sasha: wait if you did don’t tell me the courts can request text transcripts
Jon: No, I just need your advice on an urgent matter.
Sasha: do you need to be drunk to do it
Jon: ...maybe.
Jon: ....Mr. Bouchard offered me the Head Archivist Job?
Jon: Which is stupid because I’ve worked here for barely four years and you’ve worked here for about ten years I think. And you’ve published five papers in parapsychological research. I know I helped you figure out that this place is a weird trauma mill but it was really mostly you. It’s completely ridiculous to promote me and I’m afraid it’s favoritism. For potentially heinous ends? This feels awful because it’s such an honor but I would never stop feeling stressed and guilty because I know so many more people (like you) are so much more qualified. Or qualified at all.
Sasha: holy shit
Sasha: ...do you remember the speech I gave you on stranger danger?
Jon: I’m afraid to mention this to Tim because he might beat up Mr. Bouchard for both my honor and yours.
Sasha: Jesus at this point I don’t even want a fucking job anymore. What bullshit. I’m never going to get promoted and I just need to accept that. This isn’t your fault, Jon, seriously, thank you for telling me.
Sasha: we can talk about this at the pub
Sasha: in private. Off the radar.
Jon: Looking forward to it :)
Jon: did I use the emoticon right?
Sasha: Yes, Jon, you did everything right.
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Academy Blues
sometimes you punch the bag, sometimes to bag punches you
word count: 4.5k
warnings: none. heavy handed use of italics
ship: Dousy (Daniel Sousa/Daisy Johnson), background Fitzsimmons and Philinda
ahaha.. and the fun begins (the cryptic-ness is for a reason i promise)
“Ow!!” Daisy exclaimed. This was the second time today she had gotten distracted and let the punching bag swing into her. Sans Bobbi or Mack, her usual workout partners, there was no one to hold the bag still while she was pummeling it. Her side of the gym was entirely void of people, most opting to use the treadmills or other cardio machines lining the wall of large windows that faced the forest to the south, or stick to circuits on the resistance machines throughout the middle of the gym. The universe seemed to be telling her to get in some boxing, so she walked over to the bag with the intention of punching until her arms hurt.
Now her nose hurts, too.
“You need a spot?” May asked, silently crossing the padded floor to Daisy.
She nodded. Waiting for May to get into position, Daisy stretched out her arms over her head and across her body, twisting her torso to feel her abs stretch. When May gave her a thumbs up, Daisy started to punch the heavy bag again, this time with a little more force now that she knew it wouldn’t fly back and hit her in the face.
“Something on your mind?”
“No,” Daisy grunted. “Just slacked off the last few weeks. With everyone gone on break there wasn’t as much of... everything, I guess, to keep me in a routine.”
May nodded. “Breaks can be tough. No classes, schedule disrupted, more free time than you know what to do with. I get it. If you ever want a time-filler, text and I’ll be there.”
Daisy nodded, going back to silently punching. The breaks weren’t all bad. They only happened eight times a year, five two-week breaks and three three-week breaks. Enough time that those with families and lives outside of SHIELD could visit and vacation, but not fall behind. Plus, it gave Daisy the campus pretty much to herself. Only about forty students stayed at The Academy over breaks, and it seemed to decrease every time.
Another good thing about breaks was that Daisy got to know more people personally. Whether it was how the tall, fifth-year red head took her morning coffee or that the new group of first-years liked to run the same trails through the forest as she did. So, when an entirely new face had cropped up out of nowhere, Daisy was intrigued. He walked with a limp, had nice hair and kind eyes. She didn’t recognize him, and despite the fact that he had arrived the same day as the rest of the first-years, he was definitely the oldest of the pack. That was unusual, Daisy had thought, SHIELD almost always recruits directly out of high school or college. The last time anyone over the age of twenty-five had been accepted to the Academy was when Daisy herself had started. However, that was a bit of a… special situation.
Every morning, New Guy crossed through the computer lab and waved, smiling confidently at Daisy. His sudden appearance and amicable interactions confused her. Classes weren’t in session, but he always had a backpack with him. Maybe he had tutoring with one of the professors? A new student trying to catch up before the term even began — an enigma.
Once classes had started, he still came by everyday. Daisy liked to think it was because he wanted to see her. They had never spoken more than tired greetings to each other, and yet Daisy felt herself pulled towards him. She shook off the thought. It made her skin crawl, thinking about the last time she felt such a magnetic attraction to someone.
She realized May was studying her through the mirrors lining the wall next to the row of punching bags. She cleared her throat and asked, “Is my form okay?”
May gave her a long look that clearly said, ‘You know that your form is fine.’
Daisy pulled her eyes away from May’s stare, announcing, “I’m going to fill up my water, do you need any?”
May shook her head, pulling out her phone.
Daisy bent down to grab her water and headed to the back of the gym, towards the locker rooms. A couple of reusable bottle-filler stations were stuck into the wall, right next to the PT rooms. Daisy couldn’t help but peer into the closest one as she listened to the sound of water streaming into her bottle. It was filled with floor ladders, yoga balls, sports med supplies... New Guy. Huh.
Wondering why he would be sitting in a dark PT room by himself, Daisy took a swig of her water before continuing to fill it up. He hopped off the table as the lights came on, a young doctor-type walking in a smiling. She was reminded of his limp when he walked towards her, shaking her hand and flashing a large smile. Cute, Daisy noticed. Wait, no, what?
Daisy promptly turned and headed back to the wall of mirrors, choosing to ignore the smirk on May’s face.
“Ready?” Daisy asked.
“Actually,” May began, “Why don’t we get in some sparring? You’ve been at this for over an hour.”
Daisy caught the glance May threw at the half-assed wraps on her hands and nodded. With only a few jitters, Daisy quickly helped May unroll the sparring mats onto the floor. Daisy had only sparred with Yo-Yo since she got back from Columbia visiting her cousin. Sparring with May was an entirely different level.
After some warm-up drills, May silently took charge and got into a fighting stance. Daisy rose up on her tip-toes, then rocked backwards. The grey padding beneath her looked a lot softer than it felt while being slammed onto it. A quick lunge from Daisy and a swift deflection by May, and the two women were off.
Across the gym, Daniel Sousa and the doctor were chatting, watching Daisy and May.
“They look like they’re barely breaking a sweat,” Daniel commented after May leaped off Daisy’s leg, flipping forwards and attempting to grab Daisy around the shoulders. Daisy rolled backward, throwing May over her and getting to her feet as the shorter woman jumped up into a wide stance.
“You’ll get back to that level,” The physical therapist assured him.
Daniel shook his head. “Maybe. I hope so. If not, I’m a damn good shot, anyway.”
The doctor chuckled before motioning back to the PT room. “C’mon, you still have thirty minutes stuck with me before I release you from daily therapy.”
“It’s only been three weeks?” Daniel questioned, confused. They walked through a black door to a small room. Grey cabinets on one side, a black table on the other, physical therapy tools lined up in organized sections.
“Most of which was just assessing you. You already know the exercises and stretches, and you completed the physical therapy recommended by your primary care physician before you came to us. You have the strength mostly back in your residual limb, at least to the point where sparring shouldn’t do any damage. I still expect you to show up at least twice a week. Especially since you’re starting field training with May.”
He smiled. “How do you know about that?”
“I have access to your file, Sousa,” She reminded him, “I also know you were late to her class on the first day. Not a smart move, in my opinion.”
Daniel cringed at the memory of heads turning his way, watching him limp to the only open seat in the very front. May’s comment— “Thoughtful of you to join us, Agent Sousa,” —still turned his face a slightly embarrassing shade of red when he thought about it.
Noticing his uncomfortable silence, the physical therapist put on a sympathetic face. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. I was late to my first class, too. Professor Martin, advanced physiology. Granted, I was seventeen...”
Daniel playfully glared at her.
“...but I suppose that’s no excuse. Let’s get started.”
The rest of the day went by without Daisy or Daniel seeing much of each other besides a fleeting glimpse while changing classes. Not that they were looking for the other, or anything.
A few hours later, before dinner, Daisy was sitting on the counter in the girls’ dorm bathroom, watching Jemma curl her hair.
Jemma Simmons was one of the only people she immediately loved at SHIELD, and the first person she had trusted on Coulson’s team. Over the course of a couple months, they became closer than Daisy had ever been with anyone, spending almost every waking moment together. Over time, Daisy had grown to love the rest of the team, too, learning that they had also been hand picked by Coulson. Though, technically, Daisy hadn’t been chosen for the team. She was picked up as a consultant. But it didn’t matter, as the ragtag team had quickly been disbanded.
Knives shoved into your back can have that effect.
After the end of the team, Code-named Bus Kids, Daisy, Fitzsimmons, Tripp, and May and Coulson had come to the Academy to continue working with SHIELD. Daisy and Tripp were assigned as partners in their ops training, Fitzsimmons were partners in the lab, and May and Coulson still checked on them as if nothing had changed.
But people get busy, and it had been awhile since Jemma and Daisy had properly talked to each other.
“Does the bruise on my nose look like it’ll go away any time soon?”
Jemma glanced up through the mirror, shrugging. “It should. What did you do to it?”
Daisy fiddled with her hands, only answering when Jemma turned to face her fully.
“I kinda, uhm, got punched...”
The stern look Jemma gave Daisy quickly melted into laughter as the brunette added, “...by a punching bag.”
Reaching up to turn Daisy’s face towards the fluorescent bathroom lighting, Jemma gently ran a finger along the angry red splotch on the top of Daisy’s nose. She jerked her head a bit, wincing at the contact.
“You should be fine, I’ll grab some of the good anti-inflammatory meds from the medical storage.”
Daisy thanked her, hopping off the counter to grab an eyeliner pen. “So, how is Fitz? Is this a real date night or are you guys ‘just hanging out’?”
Jemma smiled at his name and rubbed her neck. Daisy smiled back at the subconscious reaction.
“You two are so meant for each other,” She teased.
Jemma tilted her face up towards Daisy, allowing her to start applying eyeliner.
“He hasn’t really defined it. We’re ‘going out’, but we aren’t dating.”
Daisy finished the subtle cat eye, shaking her head. When would he learn that Jemma would only believe they were together if he said, ‘Hey, Jems, I’m completely and totally in love with you and I want you and I to live happily ever after!’
Daisy watched Jemma inspect herself in the mirror, touching up her mascara.
“You look amazing. He’s a fool if he doesn’t see it,” Daisy assured.
Jemma smiled. Her Sheffield accent had gotten thicker over break, Daisy noticed, as Jemma responded, “He does, I know he does. We both just have trouble, you know? Voicing our thoughts and feelings.”
Daisy definitely knew…
“Well, he could do with a good reminder sometimes. If y’all are going to keep going on these not-dates, you might as well show him what he’s missing by staying just friends!”
Jemma laughed, smiling gratefully. She took one final look in the mirror, swishing her knee-length royal blue dress and fluffing her hair. “Okay, well, off I go. Have a good night, Daisy.”
Daisy gave her a thumbs up and went to watch out her window as Fitz handed Jemma a hand-picked bouquet of (slightly squished) wildflowers and took her arm to lead her to the parking lot.
Daisy sighed and turned away from the gold and pink sunset. She opened her personal laptop, immediately bombarded by three windows running programs. One was running an innocent algorithm to clean all the useless, unused files from her computer, one was a simulation that could (hypothetically, no harm no foul) hack the Pentagon, and another was trying to find video and audio feed from Los Angeles, four months ago.
Daisy’s gaze lingered on the last one, not expecting anything new. She sighed and picked up her laptop, deciding to go visit Mack in the garage. It was only seven on a Friday, he’d probably be there working on the run-down, close to falling apart Harley he had bought off an old friend for $200. Mack had been working on it for months. Daisy wasn’t even sure it had half its original parts.
A short trip across the grounds and a trek over a winding path cut through a field of thick tallgrass later, Daisy arrived at the garage.
The monstrous steel and concrete building was like a plane hangar and mechanics lab forged into one. Workstations around the edge were strewn with tools, motors, and half-finished pieces of tech. Shining black SHIELD vehicles and even two quinjets sat in the middle, outlined by rectangular blocks of tape and paint. Catwalks crossed the upper level so that mechanics could reach the tops of planes when necessary, though SHIELD planes hardly ever came to The Academy unless they were being used for a lesson.
Daisy followed the sounds of tinkering and the quietly moving shadows to Mack’s workstation. She carefully leaned against a nearby SHIELD van, not wanting to interrupt his work.
Now, to say that Mack wasn’t easily frightened was an understatement. Daisy had hardly ever seen the muscled giant of a man so much as jump. Ever since discovering this, Daisy had taken every opportunity to try to scare Mack. It was not going great.
Daisy pulled out her phone, silently thumbing through emails and checking Instagram. She was about to walk over and tap him on the shoulder when Mack turned around and screamed.
Clutching his chest, Mack exclaimed, “Tremors, what the hell?!”
“I just wanted to come check in,” Daisy giggled, happy that she had finally snuck up on Mack.
Mack stood with his hands on his hips, smiling wide, before cocking one thick eyebrow and gesturing at her face.
“What happened to your nose?”
“Punching bag won this morning,” She shrugged.
Mack shook his head, laughing in a deep rumble. “You wanna help me with this?” He asked, pointing to the small device on his desk.
She didn’t answer, just reached out to take a small screwdriver from Mack’s very large hand. He showed her how to twist it to create leverage without it slipping while he messed with some wires, and eventually he seemed satisfied.
“Have you eaten dinner?” Mack asked casually.
Daisy nodded, her grumbling stomach betraying her.
Mack eyed her up and down. “Sure. Well, I’m hungry, so let's get something to eat and then we can take the bikes out.”
Daisy liked the feeling of being on a bike, the wind in her hair and steady vibrations from the engine soothing her ever-present headache. Ever since this revelation, if Mack went out on his motorcycle, he invited Daisy to ride with him.
At first, Daisy had been skeptical. What was so great about a two-wheel speeding death trap? One of her best friends had driven a gleaming 1969 Dodge Charger, and she had enjoyed riding with the windows down, but it still wasn’t the absolute best experience of her life, like most motorcyclists claimed a ride could be. However, once Daisy had finally taken Mack up on his offer, she was never hesitant to accept another invitation.
In the canteen, Mack piled a plate high with salad ingredients and baked spaghetti, scooping some off into a bowl for Daisy once he got back to the table. She took a fork and picked at it, chewing the crisp lettuce slowly.
Once they were both finished, Mack put his plate and utensils on the circling dish belt. He let Daisy lead the way back to the garage. She immediately grabbed two helmets and Mack’s gloves.
“That leather jacket gonna be enough to keep you warm? I have a couple old flannels in my bag if you want one.” Mack offered.
Daisy picked at a loose thread on the worn black jacket, nodding and throwing a ‘Thanks’ over her shoulder. She quickly rifled through his duffel bag, pulling out a faded black and blue flannel and shrugging it on under her jacket.
Mack mounted his black and silver bike, Daisy choosing a smaller SHIELD one. She kicked the kickstand back with her foot, finding her balance. She followed Mack as he revved the engine and took off out of the garage. Daisy heard him speak into the helmet’s mic.
“I upgraded the bikes, bigger tires and a better visor. It’s more efficient. Plus, when I’m out on the highway, cars don’t push me around.”
Daisy gave him a thumbs up, focusing on the feeling of air flowing around her. She sped up as she reached the road. She felt as if she was flying high into the air, fighting the laws of physics. On the back roads surrounding the Academy, as familiar as the back of her hand, Daisy relaxed and let herself fall into autopilot.
She heard Mack in her ear, still talking about the bike. She had heard it all before, but there was something centering about listening to Mack retell the evolution of his bike for the hundredth time, like a kid who begged to hear the same bedtime story every night.
It was freeing, speeding down a deserted road on the bike, stars above and pavement below. Pine trees reached for the sky on each side of her. Shrubbery and grass waved to Mack and Daisy as they raced forward.
A slight burn pricked her eyes that she knew wasn’t from the wind. Daisy needed this after a stressful first couple weeks back in class. To be honest, it was what she needed all the time. Daisy was exhausted. Her powers may not be visible, but they were always on, always bouncing around her body. Times like these, though, Daisy felt free. Releasing the constant grip she had on her self-control, she let the vibrations of the engine flow through her. Slowly, surely, Daisy let her guard down. A whispering warble crept into her ears over the wind. She could feel the way the pavement below and the humid late-August air around her absorbed the miniscule quakes, bouncing lightly off the tall trees like a quiet laugh reflecting off the walls of an echo-chamber.
About an hour later, Daisy and Mack were rolling back into the garage. Daisy couldn’t hide the slight redness in her eyes, but the smile on her face told Mack he didn’t need to worry. The pair silently did maintenance on the motorcycles, re-fueling them for later use and checking for any loose parts on Daisy’s.
Daisy headed back to campus, refusing Mack’s offer to walk her back to the dorms. She would be fine on her own. Besides, Jems might be back by now, she could ask about Fitzsimmons’ date. Or she could wait until breakfast tomorrow and tease them both.
Daisy stopped in her tracks. Out of the corner of her eye, a shadow slipped behind a building. Daisy felt her back tense, her hands curling into fists.
Any remainder of twilight light had faded while Mack and Daisy maintenanced the bikes. Daisy couldn’t imagine that any of the trainees that went to parties at the nearby universities were back yet, but no student in their right mind would want to simply walk around the dark campus of the Academy.
She kept walking, more alert. No sounds apart from her steady breathing and the rustle of grass beneath her feet reached her ears. She walked slowly toward where the shadow had disappeared. It looked as if it was headed to the biochem building. Daisy raised her hands, quietly running towards the white building, slightly crouched. She circled it once, twice, before deciding she had been imagining things, the shadow was only a trick of the light. It seemed so real though, so solid…
Daisy shook her head and crossed the courtyard, heading towards the dorms. It was late, and she had important things to do tomorrow. She was probably just tired from her ride with Mack.
Behind her, unnoticed by Daisy, the shadow quickly crossed the field behind the biochem building, slinking into the tallgrass.
The next day, Daisy woke to the sound of her alarm blaring 90’s RnB at six thirty AM, sharp. She quickly shut it off and stared at the ceiling for a moment before groaning and dragging herself out of bed. She hadn’t gotten much sleep last night after her encounter with the shadow.
The sun was slowly ascending in the sky, golden light filtering into her windows. It was early, but she didn’t have the energy to go workout. Instead, Daisy stretched on her bed and sent a quick text to Jemma asking to meet up later to gossip about her date.
She grabbed shorts and a cropped sweatshirt, quickly dressing and making her way to the bathroom. She clipped her hair back, brushed her teeth, washed her face and headed back to her room. Trying her best to cover the bruise that had turned from red-violet to a blue-ish tinted black, she did minimal makeup. It’s not like it could get any worse, she thought bitterly. The concealer wasn’t much use.
Deciding to ignore the bruise, Daisy stood up, grabbed her backpack with her personal laptop and journal and headed to the canteen.
There weren’t many students around campus this early in the morning. Most were either asleep or nursing a hangover in their dorms. A few dedicated trainees were scattered amongst the different buildings, either in the gym or studying on their favourite bench. Daisy made a beeline for the canteen, hoping that no one had drank all the fresh coffee yet.
She slipped through the doors, sending small smiles to the students she made eye-contact with, faltering when her roving gaze reached a set of twinkling eyes the color of coffee. Maybe, she thought, I should go over and talk to him. What’s the worst that can happen?
She quickly poured herself a cup of coffee and grabbed a cinnamon raisin bagel from the pastry cart. Checking to be sure he wasn’t sitting with anyone (she wouldn’t want to intrude), Daisy walked around to the back of the large room, sitting in a spot diagonal from him.
After a few minutes of silence where Daisy ate her bagel and pretended not to feel his eyes on her, she turned and faced him.
“Good morning,” she said.
He dipped his head and raised his paper cup of coffee at the same time in response.
Does he not want to talk to me? Daisy questioned herself. She tried again. “So, is the coffee good?” He glanced at her cup that she had been sipping. Daisy recovered, “You know, in your opinion. I love the coffee here, the slightly burned aftertaste goes well with cream and sugar.΅
To her relief, he smiled. “Yeah, it’s good. I don’t usually use cream or sugar.”
Daisy raised her eyebrows, impressed. “Ah, more of a bare necessities, no-nonsense guy?”
His nose scrunched a little in thought, as if he was assessing his entire personality to see if it aligned with Daisy’s coffee psychology. He nodded finally, elaborating, “I was in the army. Most of us drank it black while deployed. I never got out of the habit. But, to answer your question, I like to think of myself as low maintenance.”
He sent her a small smile that had her insides melting just a bit. Daisy hid behind the rim of her coffee cup, trying to think of a response. Luckily, New Guy saved her.
“How do you drink your coffee?”
Daisy lowered her own paper cup, clearing her throat. “One half and half, just a bit of sugar. If I’m super tired I’ll add more.”
“So you probably adapt easily and have a deep hunger for answers to all your questions?”
Daisy’s eyes quickly flicked down to her coffee, wondering if her coffee order really exposed that much about her. Daniel laughed, his shoulders shaking with mirth. “I’m kidding. I noticed how you’re always in the computer lab before class, and Yo-Yo told me that you use that time to research.”
Daisy felt a blush creep up her neck. Yo-Yo knew New Guy? And gave him information about her schedule?
Daniel quickly explained, “We see each other in the halls a lot. And we have a class together. She noticed me in the lab and thought I knew you.”
Daisy relaxed. Yo-Yo had become increasingly more friendly to strangers the longer she spent at the Academy.
“I remember the first time I met her. She was so angry that SHIELD had stopped her from exposing the police in her city as corrupt. Our team was sent in to help her finish what she had started, destroy weapons and take down the corrupt members of the department. It was fun,” She chuckled.
Daniel watched her through his thin clear-frame glasses. She winced a little as her nose scrunched with laughter, recalling another story about a mission gone awry that Yo-Yo saved.
“How did you get that bruise?”
“What?”
He pointed to the spot on his face that mirrored the position of the bruise on hers. “The bruise. It looks like it hurts.”
Daisy shrugged, “Not as badly as getting shot. But you know, sometimes you punch the bag, sometimes the bag punches you.”
Despite the playful nature of the statement, Daniel couldn’t help but hear alarm bells in the back of his mind. She had been shot?!
Daisy noticed the change in Daniel’s demeanor and switched tactics, “It’s just a bruise. I wasn’t paying attention and the punching bag flew back and hit me in the face.”
Daniel laughed, becoming more and more intrigued with the enigma sitting across from him. Well, at least this enigma was beautiful, even if she had lost a fight to a punching bag.
A look of pure confusion overtook Daisy’s features. “Excuse me?”
Daniel’s face flushed bright red. He said that out loud. Daisy was still smiling though, Daniel let out a nervous chuckle. The two lapsed into an awkward silence. Daisy was finishing her bagel when he spoke up again.
“It was good talking to you,” he said softly.
Daisy’s eyes wandered his face with an unreadable expression. “Yeah, it was.”
He resisted the urge to offer to walk Daisy to wherever she was going as she headed out of the doors of the canteen, coffee with one half and half and pinch of sugar in hand.
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hi hellooo! whatd you think? comments and notes are appreciated! (will go back and edit this later, for now i sleep)
tag list: @jaanulore
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Respite (The Magnus Archives)
Whumptober 2020 Day Twenty Three: Exhaustion
Fandom: The Magnus Archives
Characters: Jonathan Sims, Sasha James, Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood, Elias Bouchard, Rosie
Summary: Archiving is hard work, but someone’s got to do it.
Or, five people who caught Jonathan Sims sleeping on the job.
“Alright Jon, I think I’m going to head out-oh.”
Sasha had been gone for five minutes, tops. And yet here was Jonathan Sims, fast asleep in his chair and using her messenger bag as a pillow. And snoring.
They worked late into the night on some hunch Jon had - once he got on a research kick, there was no stopping him. Sasha wasn’t much better. They encouraged the worst in each other sometimes, but that’s how they got their sterling reputations as researchers. So this was not an unfamiliar scene.
But it was ten at night and Sasha had been looking forward to finally getting home, putting her feet up and knocking back a glass of wine or two. They had hit a dead end and wouldn’t be able to continue until tomorrow, anyway. Jon had begrudgingly agreed and she popped over to the bathroom only to return to...this.
It couldn’t be comfortable. Her bag was covered in buttons and pins, some particularly pointy. It wasn’t exactly clean either; it had been thrown on one too many questionable surfaces in the past few months. But Jon seemed comfortable, if his open mouth and the tiny bit of drool currently on the front pouch were anything to go by. Gross.
She contemplated waking him up. He would want to head home soon as well, the trains became entirely unpredictable the later it got and they boarded at the same station. But something stopped her. Maybe it was the dark shadows under his eyes, the small, wheezing breaths. The way his brow slightly furrowed even in sleep. The crankiness that increased as the week went on. If anyone deserved a quick rest, it was him.
Sasha had been in the job for three years before Jon came on. She cut her teeth in Artefact Storage for the first six months- initially she’d been excited to delve into the dangerous and mysterious objects they had on site, but that excitement quickly faded into dread after a week on the job. She got the first transfer out into research, much more her speed. She was steadily making her way up the ladder and was now trusted to train new hires and interns. Ergo, Jon.
When she first met him, she honestly thought he wouldn’t make it far. He was fresh out of college, twitchy and short-tempered with an intermittent stutter. She didn’t fault him for that of course, but that didn’t save him from the judgment of others. No one wanted to get within a mile of him until Sasha volunteered her services in a rare moment of pity. His hand was dry and shook in hers when they were introduced; he was clearly not used to touch, though surely he must have shaken many a hand by now.
Sasha was good at teaching, though she wasn’t very interested in it. “You should teach!” so many of her friends and family members said. Sasha hated being told what to do even more than she hated teaching.
Jon was a difficult student. He had constant questions that Sasha patiently answered. He did not take criticism well, once getting up and walking away for an hour after Sasha fixed his grammar. He couldn’t seem to focus, which was not at all promising in a career that demanded it. Still, she worked with him as a sort of pet project. If she could make a functioning researcher out of Jon, she could prove herself worthy of respect and perhaps a promotion or two herself. So she figured out how Jon ticked- what worked for him and what didn’t. It took some hard work but Jon opened up bit by bit, giving her more insight into the person he was. And he wasn’t all that bad, once you got past the prickly exterior. He was whip-smart with a dry, clever humor that Sasha could appreciate. When he got on the trail of something interesting, he followed it to the end with a dogged determination. Sasha found herself opening up in turn, talking to him about her past jobs in academia and her frustrations with the Institute. They had a lot in common, it turned out. Both were academics at their core, finding debate and discussion endlessly entertaining. They both had a soft spot for nice wine and greasy pub food. And they were both constantly underestimated and overlooked- Sasha, as a woman in her field with a tendency towards “aggressive behavior” which in any man would just be called confidence and expertise, Jon with his inability to read social situations, the stutter in his voice that undermined his points, and the painful earnestness in every word he said, no matter how pointed. So yes, they got on. He made her laugh. That was hard to do these days.
Five more minutes, she promised, sitting back down at the table with a fond look to her companion. Thirty minutes later she woke him up, smiling at his panicked embarrassment and laughing in exhilaration as they ran to the station, just barely making the last train.
___________
What does Elias think he’s playing at, putting this poor young man in charge of the Archives?
Rosie had worked at the Magnus Institute for two decades and had seen many a manager come and go. She was Elias’s first and only secretary, coming in a bright-eyed young girl and now a tired, disillusioned woman firmly in middle age. You see a lot of things at the Institute. Sometimes you have to turn a blind eye.
When Gertrude Robinson went missing, Elias handled the situation with a bizarre aloofness that Rosie felt no need to question. Questioning things got you in trouble around here. But when he told Rosie of his plans for Jonathan Sims, she had to stop herself from scoffing. She had seen the way Elias spoke to him, mentoring him in a way he never had with any other employee. Perhaps he just had a fondness for the boy, though she wasn’t sure what he had done to earn it. Jon never got used to Elias’s presence, constantly jumping at a hand on his shoulder and laughing nervously through any of their conversations. It would be endearing if it wasn’t so pitiful.
But to make him Head Archivist? The man had only been here four years, there were plenty of other researchers and staff members who had not only seniority but the credentials to match. Jonathan Sims had an Oxford pedigree, impressive to be sure, but in Literature and History. It didn’t help that he seemed one missing file away from a nervous breakdown at all times. And they were going to give him an entire department to manage? A department that was in shambles and hadn’t been properly handled in the last fifty or so years? Good luck, kiddo.
She had been a little short with him the day he took the position- she had a monster of a headache and he wasn’t exactly making it easy on her, what with his questions about Gertrude and his ridiculous little proclamations of “I don’t believe in ghosts!” But the sincere gratitude in his voice as he told her to thank Elias for the opportunity came back to her hours later. You have no idea what you’re in for. It seemed almost sadistic to put a man like that in charge of the Archives.
The situation never seemed to improve. From what little she saw of him in the hallways, he always looked haggard and on edge. When he stood in front of Elias’s door waiting to be let in for another meeting (Elias had been scheduling a lot of them as of late), his hands fidgeted and his feet shuffled. She felt bad for him, when she remembered to. She had twenty years to get used to Elias, but he seemed to get worse with every visit to his office.
It was with a reluctant sigh that she took the paperwork from Elias and headed down to the Archives. Just a few things that slipped my mind on the last visit, so sorry Rosie. It was the end of the day and she was punctual to a fault, meaning she very rarely stayed past five unless Elias requested it. Even the Archives were empty- the assistants had all filtered out earlier and her footsteps echoed in silence as she made her way to the Head Archivist’s office.
“Mr. Sims?” she called, immediately regretting the choice of name. It sounded unnatural coming out of her mouth. “Jon, are you in there?” There was no one in his desk chair, though his bag and coat were still accounted for. She was not about to do a scavenger hunt through the Archives, the place gave her the creeps and it got worse with each passing minute. She contemplated just leaving them on his desk when she saw a half-opened door labeled “Document Storage.” I’ll just peek in, can’t hurt.
“Jon?” she called again, creaking open the door and peering inside. It was not very well-lit; half of the lights were flickering like something out of a horror film. No one answered her. “Jon, if you’re here I have a few papers for you to sign. I’ll just leave them on your desk-” It was then she noticed a cot in the corner. That’s not allowed, she thought testily. It was rumpled- somebody had used it recently, she deduced. And then she looked down to the floor to find one leg sticking out from under the cot. She shrieked, grabbing at her chest as she slowly made her way over, unsure of whether she was about to die or if she had to call an ambulance.
She kneeled down gingerly, her legs trembling as she found one Jonathan Sims entangled with a small, tattered blanket and snoring softly, completely lost to the world. She sighed in relief and no small amount of irritation- the man had just taken about three years off her life, at least. And what was he doing under the cot? Such a strange thing, that Jonathan Sims.
She reached out and grabbed his arm, giving it a good shake. “Jon!” He kept right on sleeping, completely ignorant to her entreaties. She gave him another, harder shake- nothing. This is ridiculous. She leaned in closer and opened her mouth to give one last deafening shriek of his name. “Jon!”
That did the trick. Too well, one might say.
Jon immediately sat up, which wasn’t a good idea- he only had a few inches of room left under the bed and ended up slamming his head against the metal rungs and leaning back down with a cry. “Agh!” he squeezed his eyes shut as she reached out her hand in apology.
“God, I’m so sorry,” she babbled, patting his arm. “It’s just, you weren’t waking up and- are you alright?” His silence was worrying. Oh god, Elias is going to murder me if I’ve killed his Archivist.
“Yes,” he hissed, awkwardly sliding out from under the bed in a sort of shimmying motion and rubbing at his forehead. Luckily he hadn’t broken any skin, it was just red at the point of impact. “What on earth- ah, Rosie!” The instant switch in tone as his eyes focused on her form would be amusing in any other situation. “So sorry, d-did Elias need anything from me?”
She paused, considering the man in front of her. He looked bad, really bad, like call-the-doctor-bad. Thinner than ever with dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn’t had a good nights’ sleep in weeks, if ever. And that look in his eyes, the change in his voice as soon as he noticed her- Elias had sway even through proxy. Suddenly Mr. Sims was all eager-to-please, as if he hadn’t just been caught collapsed under a bed in sheer exhaustion.
“What are you doing under there?” is what she asked, though she did not mean to. She wasn’t really supposed to care about anyone in the institute and she’d done a good job of it thus far. But something about this situation felt off, even to her.
He ran a hand through messy hair (he’s going gray so young) and gave her a self-deprecating smile. “Ah, just a- I’m just a bit tired, that’s all.” He made no attempt to explain his odd choice of napping area. “If you could please not tell Elias-”
“Of course,” she assured, again strangely protective of the silly little man in front of her. “Think nothing of it- just need you to sign a few papers, is all.” She got up to allow him room to move, ignoring the creaking of limbs far too young to sound so bad. “Should probably use the bed next time, dear. That floor’s got to be horrible on your back.”
Jon blushed, grabbing at the papers and looking anywhere but her eyes. “Yes, well,” he shifted his feet, gesturing at the tattered blanket he had extracted himself from. “I’ve got that, so it’s fine.”
She fixed him with a dubious stare, but let him have this one. He headed back to his office to grab a pen, limping in obvious pain. The papers were signed and they said their goodbyes, Rosie heading home and Jon heading back to Document Storage, whether to sleep or work she couldn’t tell.
In her next round of discretionary spending, she ordered a few pillows and a nice knitted throw for the Archives. The break room had been looking a bit drab, it deserved a little sprucing up.
______________
“Mr. Stoker, if you could come get your Archivist I’d be much obliged.”
“I’m on it, Janice.”
Tim sighed. Just another Wednesday night at the Magnus Institute.
Jon was running them ragged with investigations, following up on every statement he deemed ‘unsatisfactory’ in terms of research. So far, he had deemed almost every statement as so. It was not very fun.
Tim had taken pains to finish his research bright and early, wanting to get home as quickly as possible and finish up the series he’d been binging. This plan included the added plus of avoiding the worms that had been showing up outside the institute over the past couple of days. But then Jon had come out of his office, looking sad and lost as he handed over another statement for Tim to work on. “Tomorrow is fine, Tim,” Jon said, in an uncharacteristic show of generosity. “No need to worry.” Tim was worried now, for an entirely different reason.
He promised himself he would only stay an extra hour, just to make sure Jon got home alright. That was two hours ago. Jon had apparently snuck out to the library without him noticing, and now needed to be fetched for reasons Tim was pretty sure he could guess at.
Jon was never really on good terms with the librarians. What he lacked in charm, he did not make up for in well, anything really. He got upset when a book was in the wrong place; he was very short whenever something would take longer than a few minutes. He constantly hid from the librarians when it was time to close- one night he was quite literally chased out by Janice, and another night he was locked in (also by Janice) and didn’t even notice.
So finding him tucked in between two bookshelves fast asleep was not surprising in the least. It didn’t look comfortable but Jon seemed fairly relaxed, crammed as he was. This had happened more than a few times back in research but never recently. And never was he quite so hidden away, not even a limb giving away his position. He knew Jon liked his small spaces, but even this was pushing it. Janice hadn’t attempted to wake him, knowing what a fools errand it would be. “That boy could sleep through the end of days, I reckon,” she said as she opened the door for Tim and ushered him down the aisles. “I don’t know how he does it.”
“That makes two of us,” Tim mumbled as he crouched down in front of the man he previously called a friend and now a boss. “Jon? You up, mate?”
No response. Typical. Tim could keep this going for the rest of the night, or he could take matters into his own hands.
Let it never be said that Tim wasn’t hands-on.
He managed to maneuver Jon into his arms without waking the man, a feat he’d perfected over the years. Jon, for his part, just slumped into his chest and muttered some nonsense under his breath that Tim couldn’t make out. Jon was a fairly vocal sleep-talker, something he found endlessly amusing. This situation was anything but amusing, however, and he could barely summon up a smile to give Janice as he carted his boss back down to the Archives.
Jon was falling back into old habits. He was becoming distant and moody, snapping at any inquiry about his health or well-being. It took all of Tim’s strength not to snap back at times. Sasha helped keep him in check, giving him warning glances whenever she believed he went too far, which was happening more and more often. He was afraid for the frail man in his arms. He had a strange sense of impending calamity that woke him up in the middle of the night, heart racing like it did after his encounter with the circus. It awoke a strange, primal fear inside of him that Tim couldn’t control and it crept in more and more by the day.
Even when Jon was safe and comfortable, tucked neatly into the cot in Document Storage, the fear didn’t ease. He wanted to stay and keep watch, though that didn’t make much sense. The Archives were probably the safest place to be. Nothing could reach them in this dank, dusty prison cell of a workplace. Not even Prentiss. But he was tired, so he decided to leave Jon to his dreams and chew him out tomorrow morning. Now wasn’t the time.
He took a quick detour to his desk and back to Document Storage before he left, throwing one of his cardigans over Jon’s sleeping form. Just in case he gets cold, he reasoned. In reality, he didn’t know who it was actually for- Jon or himself. Maybe both.
_________
This is ridiculous.
Initially, he had been happy and slightly proud to see his Archivist stumbling back into work, bleeding and freshly marked by the Corruption. He of course told him the opposite, encouraging him to take all the time available to him to recover. But his Archivist was nothing if not stubborn, and watching him limp about the Archives, paranoid and afraid, was a wonder to behold.
Today, however, might not have been the best time to come back.
The Magnus Institute, on paper, had a fully functioning HR department. That this HR department only included one incredibly overworked woman who was willing to let many things slide in order to collect a paycheck was no matter. They still had to observe the basic requirements that came along with it, and that included having mandatory yearly training in things such as workplace harassment. The modern workplace truly was a marvel - as if anyone willing to commit these acts would be cowed by one seminar.
But here they were on a Thursday afternoon, every supervisor gathered in the conference room to undergo ‘mandatory training’ in sensitive subject matters. The training wasn’t actually training at all but an instructional video of about thirty minutes. It was quite literally the least they could do- Elias wasn’t about to go wasting precious money on hiring more professionals to help them avoid inappropriate conduct. That’s what lawyers were for, after all.
Jon had stumbled in once the video had already begun, looking bedraggled and worse for wear. The only seat left was in the back, conveniently located right next to Elias. He gave his Archivist a short nod and glanced back at the screen with a bored detachment, watching from another pair of judging eyes as Jon stumbled and struggled his way around his colleagues, murmuring apologies.
He didn’t acknowledge Jon’s greeting, preferring instead to keep him at a distance. He didn’t want him to get too comfortable with him, not at this early stage. But he still noted the exhaustion in his features with some concern- he did need him semi-functioning, how else would they get any statements recorded?
Jon managed valiantly to stay awake for the first ten minutes before he started to nod off, his head jerking backwards in a sad attempt at consciousness. Elias rolled his eyes, clearing his throat several times in an effort to keep him awake. He didn’t much care for Jon’s dignity, but it was rather embarrassing for him to have an Archivist who couldn’t stay awake for a mere thirty minutes once the lights were down.
But then it started to veer into dangerous territory. Jon was slumping down further and further in his seat, each jerk awake more distracting than the last. Elias would ask him to leave if he didn’t think he would collapse on his way out the door and cause even more of a commotion. No, it would be fine to let him sleep if his head wasn’t constantly listing to the left, further and further and- Christ.
Jon’s head found purchase on his shoulder and there he remained, finally content to doze in peace.
They were tucked far enough in the corner that nobody could really see unless they strained their eyes. Everyone else was either watching the video or falling asleep themselves. Elias considered his options- he could wake the man, knowing the force required to do so would only cause a scene, or he could let him sleep until the end credits rolled- credits he knew were incredibly loud, and thus would cover up any yelp the Archivist emitted upon waking.
Both were terrible choices. If Elias had his way Jon would have collapsed back in the Archives and avoided this mess entirely. He would also have the added bonus of being able to scold him later- a win-win, certainly. But alas, it was not meant to be. He sacrificed his pride and let the man continue to sleep on his shoulder, tensing as much as he could to keep Jon from slipping further down into a more embarrassing position. The added irony of the subject on the screen- Unwanted Workplace Advances- was not lost on him.
At least the man was having unpleasant dreams. He contented himself with watching the Archivist flit across his nightmares, running from worms and spiders and whatever other horrors his mind conjured. It was much more entertaining than the video on the screen.
And then the credits rolled. A few seconds before they began, Elias placed a firm hand on Jon’s shoulder and shook him once, hard. Just in time, the outdated, cheesy music blasted from the speakers and nicely covered his Archivist's shriek of terror and subsequent heavy breathing as his eyes shot open, panicked. No one was the wiser to that little display.
His hand turned light, friendly. Just a boss showing concern for an unwell employee. “Jon, are you alright?” he asked, schooling his face into a parental sort of worry. That always seemed to work well with Jon- he was much more apt to be agreeable when the authority figure in question made it personal. “Do you need to go home?”
His eyes could barely focus as everyone else in the room stood up, yawning and stretching and milling about. “I-yes, I think I just need a lie down.” Elias nodded in faux-concern, helping the man to his feet.
Jon didn’t say a word as he walked him past the front door and into the Archives. He knew he had work to do.
________
Jon was in the way.
This was not a sentence Martin Blackwood had ever thought before. Even when Jon was technically in the way, he wasn’t, not really. Wherever Jon was, was wherever Jon needed to be. Whether it was standing in front of Martin when he needed to get to the break room, or blocking the water cooler as he lectured Tim about ‘workplace standards,’ Martin wasn’t going to ask him to move. Fighting with the man was absolutely exhausting and a lesson in futility.
But Jon was literally in his way. As in if he didn’t move, Martin would not be able to do his job for the rest of the day.
The man was curled on top of a box of files, the exact box of files that Martin needed to access. He wasn’t moving- Martin had thought at first that he was dead, but his slow, even breaths disproved that. Why would he choose this spot to take a nap? It couldn’t be comfortable- his back was hunched and his bad leg stuck out at an awkward angle. His arms were sprawled over the box as if guarding it. Sasha had told him a few stories from their research days, but he had never seen the man asleep over anything but his desk. Jon was looking far too vulnerable these days, and Martin didn’t know what to do with that.
“Jon?” he tried quietly. The man didn’t stir. Figures. He wanted to reach out and shake him awake, but his wounds were barely healed and kept opening up, probably from his nighttime escapades. He didn’t want to be the cause of more of Jon’s pain. So he stood there awkwardly, shifting from side to side as his boss continued his slumber.
“Something wrong?” Martin jumped at the sound of Tim’s voice- Jon did not. He was leaning in the doorway, looking almost as tired as Jon and definitely in need of a nap as well. He recovered a bit better, having taken every day allotted to him. But that didn’t mean he was back at peak performance. Tim followed his gaze to the floor and rolled his eyes upon seeing Jon asleep. ‘Really?” Tim was very irritated these days. Martin didn’t blame him.
“I didn’t know what to do!” he whispered back, though he probably didn’t need to keep his voice down. “I don’t want to hurt him, but I need that box-”
“Just move him,” Tim replied unkindly, making his way over. “He won’t wake up, he’s a very heavy sleeper, honest.” He reached out a hand to grab Jon’s shoulder but Martin stopped him.
“N-No!” he stuttered forcefully, well aware of Tim’s attitude towards Jon these days. “I’ll just, I can wait, I guess-”
“You said he was in your way.” With a wince Tim crouched down, placing an arm around Jon’s waist and hoisting him over his shoulder in one smooth, practiced move. “See?” he said, also whispering. “Not a peep.” It was true, Jon hadn’t stirred one bit. It was also very concerning. He watched as Tim slowly made his way across the room to the cot, placing Jon in bed with an infinite care he didn’t think the man capable of. Like hands at a piano remembering a well-practiced tune, Tim’s body played out a gentleness he no longer felt, not anymore. He even placed a blanket over Jon, pausing for a moment to look down at him. Martin couldn’t see the look on his face and couldn’t guess at what it was.
“There.” He turned around and abruptly exited the room, not sparing another glance at either of them. When Martin looks back at this moment, he’ll wonder if that’s the last kindness Tim ever offered Jon, and how sad it was that he wasn’t even awake to see it.
________________
A year later and Martin finds himself standing over Jon, watching him sleep. He is curled around a tape recorder. The light is on, it’s recording. For what end, Martin does not know.
He slips an arm around Jon’s waist like he saw Tim once do. Jon shivers- Martin is very cold these days, so he doesn’t fault him. He deposits him in the cot he knows so well- he will be safe here. Warm. Basira is here, and Melanie- they’ll look out for him, in their own way. He pauses, looking down at the man in the bed. He is alive, but Martin couldn’t tell you if he is breathing.
He does not visit the Archives again.
ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27162460
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I am Marco Diaz
Introduction
My kidlet discovered SVTFOE in 2020. In an attempt to spend some quality time together I started watching the show with them. It was early in season two when I started and after two episodes each night before bed we finished the series in about a month. I then went back to see what I missed. Between episodes we’d talk about what we liked with the animation and story, what we thought could have been better, and tried to guess what would happen next.
Realization
My mother has a habit of sending old photos from when I was a kid. You would think it’s because she wants to brighten my day but really my parents are trying to purge my childhood home of anything they no longer need. In one of these pictures I'm around 13 years old and sitting on the floor of my room. I'm making a weird face but look like a generally happy kid in my signature deep red sweatshirt, dark blue jeans, and styling a haircut that was pretty standard for back-in-the-day. If you look close you can even see a mole on one of my cheeks.
Overall this is the Marco look other than I don't share the character's Mexican heritage. Instead I have the type of skin that can get a sunburn in a rainstorm.
Growing up I kept my room very clean. True to form, the photo shows everything on my bookshelf well organized and in its right place. I'm kind of proud looking back at this. My mom likes to tell stories like how I once put notes on my laundry piles so I could tell which one was clean and which one was dirty. Very Marco.
Thinking back to what I did as an early teenager, it was everything Marco did pre-Star, just swap out strip-mall karate for Boy Scouts & backyard sports (we didn't have any dojo's nearby back then). I cooked for myself, watched karate movies, helped my mother with housework, and for the most part I took on any responsibilities that came my way. Like Marco, I even had two friends like Alfonzo and Ferguson who I played DnD with.
More important than all this, I had many of the same qualities. Am I working hard enough to be the best I can be? Should I do more than nod at that girl and risk embarrassing myself? All the issues he had at the beginning of the series (more than I have time to mention here), I had them too. If it wasn't for a classmate telling me we were going out in middle school and the same girl telling me we were going out again senior year of high school I likely never would have even dated back then. I was selfless to the point of making myself miserable, always playing it safe, and locking up my own feelings (even ones about who I liked) to avoid making anyone else feel uncomfortable.
This continued into sophomore year of college. It wasn’t until I met the teacher who became a role-model for how I wanted to live my life that I changed. Instead of talking about grades, a few times a week we talked about family, dreams, feelings. He was a loving, compassionate man who was confident just being himself. I wouldn’t say he was a best friend, more like an Eclipsa who helping me figure out who I wanted to be.
After college my family expected that I would keep living at home, maybe find a crappy job, stay safe. However my mentor gave me one last gift when school ended. He set me on a path that led me to NYC. Although scared of failure, like Marco I was organized and planned for every contingency. What got me through the change, knowing that if I pull this off I could do anything.
Looking back I wonder what would have been different if I had met my best friend when I was 14 like Marco did. How much farther could I have gone if I had someone to help me figure myself out with at a younger age?
My Star
I was 23 years old and I found myself in the basement of a Brooklyn storage building that hosted a LARPing group. It might have been weird but after a few events I was certain that I had finally found people I could be myself around. Also exciting for me, a few weeks earlier I got into a potentially awesome relationship. I had met a young brunette who was falling hard for me. She wasn’t exactly Jackie but she did have some Jackie like qualities. I was broke, worked a crappy job, but after a few failed relationships in and after college it looked like having someone meaningful in my life was finally possible.
There in that basement I waited for the next game to start. Looking out into the crowd I noticed that a young woman had entered the room and was being introduced to people. She wore a wide smile, loose fitting blouse & skirt, and on her feet Birkenstocks. Her extremely long blonde hair flowed like a halo with a glow that lit up the room. Yes she was beautiful but her most appealing feature, she looked truly happy just being there in the moment meeting people. It was at that instant, that first time I saw my Star, that I knew she was the one I would marry.
Shortly after, her boyfriend introduced me to her. (Yes, the boyfriend played a character in the LARP with horns. And YES he used fire magic. Total Tom. 100% not joking.) Smiling at each other, my Star and I instantly became friends. Over time I found that we shared a ton of interests, she was my intellectual equal, was incredibly easy for me to talk to, and she had the ability to spread an infectious happiness whenever she was surrounded by friends.
I don't remember when exactly she became my best friend but it didn't take long. Eventually we would talk about our current relationships and what was not right since there was a lot missing for both of us. Like in SVTFOE, I learned that trying to help someone you like find happiness in a relationship with someone else can be VERY uncomfortable. In the end it took exactly one year to the day from when we met to when we had our photo booth moment. It was then that we talked each other into, in the nicest ways possible, ending our Jackie and Tom relationships. Within a few months of those breakups we nervously admitted that we had to be a couple and we’ve been together since. Also like Star, my Star was from a different kingdom (we’ll call it Boston) so I too picked up my life and moved out there to be with her.
For those that don't know what LARPing is, it involves running around in the woods, fighting "monsters", and saving the world. Together we were aces at it. She played a spell caster while I was a warrior and we became well known for working as a team and always having each other's backs. We did this for over a decade only stopping when both of us had reached as far in the game as we could go, effectively running virtual kingdoms, and ruling courts of knights & squires that were friends of ours both in and out of game. Part of our fun was also always working to make sure everyone involved had the opportunity to enjoy themselves. In all ways we had won.
At the end of SVTFOE, Marco admits that he fell for Star right from the beginning. I've seen fans complain about how this didn't make any sense but I completely disagree. Love at first sight happens but it can be a long confusing path from awkward introductions to togetherness much like it was for Star and Marco. I waited until the day we were married before I told my Star of the prophesy I came up with that first instant I saw her.
Art
I took a few art classes back in high school and accidentally ended up an art major. It is a long story but basically I didn't get into my first major choice. Rolling with the punches I gave it a try and the weird part, I liked it.
In college I fully embraced my Marco-like organization and focus qualities. Other students were into parties, weed, and other young adult activities. I just painted and focused on making myself better. Sophomore year I transferred to a traditional art school and finished with a BFA, the school’s painting prize, and several scholastic accolades.
What school did not prepare me for was making a living. I was in NYC, trying to connect to the art community but no matter what I tried I did not like any of the people I met. Looking back I did not have enough drama in my life to be interesting to them and their unnecessary drama did not interest me. On top of that NYC can be fantastic but being in the city with no money is depressing! After about two years I gave up on making art as my profession. My Star and I spent a long time talking about ideas and I eventually ended up with an IT help desk job at a museum.
Fast forward to 2020, I’m managing a software development team. A lot of what I do is helping people use IT to make their jobs easier. Very different from where I started but those Marco-like organization and focus skills made it work. Looking back it was the right decision and I'm happy knowing how many people & businesses I've helped during my career but there is some truth that my personality type would likely be much happier doing something else.
On top of my own art experience, I have a budding young artist at home. My youngest started drawing at two and it just comes naturally to them. As soon as they could write the drawings turned into stories and short comics. For fun we would draw together in my old sketchbooks, each taking one side of the same page. Now a teenager, we talk about animation software and the best outfits for their crew of characters. As I’m getting older I’m thinking, how can I help them be prepared for following their dream as well as make a living?
Beach Day
I remember the day I introduced my Star to my grandmother. By this point my grandma was frail and forgetting words was common. She came up to my Star carrying a picture of herself from when she was maybe in her 30s. Holding up the black and white photo all my grandmother could only get out a few words, "This is when I was."
The scary part of growing as a person, we don't stay the same. I am not the same Marco I was 20, 10, even 2 years ago. Neither is my Star. What used to make us happy has changed. On top of that our own bodies are forcing changes on us whether we like it or not.
Near the end of the series Star needs to know why the future isn't as perfect as she thought it would be. Looking for an answer she visits Father Time and asks him why. As Star leaves, too far away for her to hear, he says to himself, "Too bad the hardest times are still ahead." This line sticks with me. I keep thinking that he wasn’t just talking about the climatic end of the show, he was talking about the rest of their lives. This applies to our lives as well.
The episode ends with Star and Marco having a conversation about making their own happiness no matter what happens. My Star and I talk about this too. With everything changing all the time it’s not always perfect but we try.
Ever After
My 12 year old (now 13) didn't get it. Having never been in love they don't understand why at the very end of SVTFOE I get upset. In the last scene the two main characters are together and about to start their ever after. We should be happy for them but all I want to do is warn them about how hard the rest of their lives are going to be together.
You'll experience the happiness of laying in the grass with your love, warmed by the midday sun. You'll know what it’s like holding your newborn, watching them discover life. You'll make holiday dinners for friends and family not just to show them how much you care but to fill your own heart knowing you've made them happy.
You'll have someone to debate all the big decisions, someone you can trust with anything. You are going to be told that you both have made a difference in someone else's world. You'll know that you are a shining example of true love to others.
But even with all that, nothing prepares you for that job that tries to steal your soul. The exhaustion of babies that keep you both up every night for months. The despair when your young child screams and thrashes at you until all you can do is put them down and walk away. The fear when mysterious pains send the two of you to the emergency room at 2 AM. The heartbreak that comes from holding a baby the size of your palm as they take their only breaths. All the times where there is nothing you do can break your best friend out of their crippling depression. Listening to your own kids tell you that they don't want to be your friend. Knowing that you've both spent years so deep in the rat race that you've sure you have missed something, you just don't know what.
Worse yet, you are going to have friends who just laid down to take a nap and never wake up. You'll lose parents because they refused help fighting their own demons. Worst of all, some day you are going to lose each other. Not only do you have to think about it, you have to be a responsible adult and plan for it.
Those are the big things. In ever after even the little issues will drive you crazy. I still try to keep my living space organized while my Star would rather live in Star’s closet full of secrets. That alone continues to causes soooo much stress.
Thank You
2020 was a rough year. Our country was politically imploding, we were living in a pandemic lockdown, and I hit a certain birthday that officially qualifies me as old. After my youngest and I finished the series I went online to see if more seasons were planned. This brought me to the beautiful concept artwork on Daron Nefcy's personal web page. From there I listened to interviews where she spoke about storytelling and her experiences as an artist. Eventually I found this whole community who also loved this show.
Where I find happiness in all this is knowing that a group of ordinary people, who all have their own hopes, fears, and dreams, got together and created something extraordinary. In the end they have inspired not just a legion of fans, they have inspired me and for this I say thank you. Thank you for giving me a story about a magical teenage princess and her best friend that somehow I feel that I can relate too. Fighting monsters, done that. Falling in love with my best friend, check. Save the world and cleave dimensions? If dong it in a LARP counts, done that too.
My Star is still my best friend. If you are looking for your own Star or Marco, whether you're 14 or 24 or 34, I hope that my personal story with this show helps you with your journey.
One final word on Art, during the lockdown I started painting again. It didn’t stick so instead I tried doing some writing as a creative outlet. So far that one seems to be scratching that creative itch that I’ve ignored for far too long.
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This is my entry for the r/StarVStheForcesofEvil, June 2021 Writing Contest. The subject for this contest was Reflection and the suggestion was writing about what made the show special to you. Hopefully you all have a story like this too.
Before you ask, yes. That is the photo my mom sent of me on the left. On the right is one of the few pictures I have of my Star from back when we used to LARP.
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One final note, unlike Marco I do not wear a fanny pack because that is totally dorky...except when I go running...or when I have no pockets. And I only have my phone in it...and maybe some money...and a snack. But totally nothing else...maybe.
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Fifth Floor Ghost
The hospital is a brick building only five stories tall, known only as Cassell College Health and Wellness Clinic. Even though it was a small facility, it could have been ranked among the top hospitals in the world for its access to expertise. Some of the most prestigious doctors were Cassell alum and with a single phone call, they could be summoned in an emergency.
Each of the five floors was dedicated to a certain practice. The bottom floor was the emergency and ICU department and pharmacy and general medicine. The second floor was rehabilitation, physical therapy and sports medicine. The third floor was an area for surgeries. The fourth floor was the lab. The fifth floor and the basement were for the more exclusive patients.
There is a rumor that the basement and the Fifth floor of Cassell College clinic were actually haunted. It’s said that at night, if you stare at the upper floor of the clinic, you’ll see the shadow of a person staring out at you from the windows. If you come close, you can hear doors opening and shutting. Or you can hear the sounds of voices floating to your ears from inside.
Some of the professors encourage such rumors, saying that wandering in will provoke the spirits there and that no one should even attempt to enter these forbidden zones for fear of being cursed. Others laugh it off and say that these floors are storage or empty and there is no such thing as ghosts.
Only a few of the oldest members of the college can remember the real dirty history of these floors. Before there were reliable ways to determine the stability of the bloodline, this is where unstable students were taken to be euthanized. The walls were reinforced with concrete and steel. The windows were rigged with traps and explosive devices to keep from being opened.
If the students were members of Hydra or the former Devil Clan, they would immediately recognize this sort of building. It was the same sort of building that was built in the remote mountains of Japan -- The Black prison that held the White King Hybrid Ghosts. The sort of facility that Lu Mingfei found so familiar and had housed Erii Uesugi when she was alive, had originated in Cassell College. They would understand that the people held on those floors were something far worse than any vengeful spirit, and wouldn’t wish to speak of it ever again.
Early every morning, someone stirred at the top floor of this building. Tigre didn’t understand himself to have migrated from one cage in Mexico to another cage at the top of Cassell College clinic. To him, this was heaven to see the light of the sun rise through the small dingy window and hear the song of the birds chirping outside to greet it.
His room is white all around to reflect the light, as though he were in a sea of clouds. He stretched and turned into it, letting the sun warm his face. His calm innocent smile was offset by the horrific scarring on his bare arms, chest and back. It was no wonder he was called, “Tigre” or ‘tiger’. Not only was he strong and deadly, the dark scars resembled stripes.
One had to wonder how someone like him survived to his age. It was frightening to think how he could sustain this many wounds and still be alive and walking.
He reaches over and presses play on a small cellphone. On the phone is the voice of Masashi Toyama. “Tigre, today be sure to shower, brush your teeth for two minutes after you shower and comb your hair well, fold your clothes into the drawer neatly like I showed you…”
These are simple life habits, but habits that Tigre had never had a chance to cultivate. Something as simple as showering and brushing teeth was something he would forget to do or only do half way before he got distracted by something simple, like flushing the toilet or trying to figure out how the light switch actually worked.
He was strong enough and had enough time to take apart everything in his room. It wasn’t unusual for the nursing staff to come and find that he had partially dismantled the furniture or undone the door. How he figured out how to remove the exhaust fan in the bathroom was another mystery. Eventually the maintenance crew went and bolted down everything they could to keep him from pulling it apart again.
He was a strange patient. He was calm and compliant as a child, but his curiosity and strength tore everything around him apart and those around him had to acknowledge that he was not a child but a grown man. Like a child, he didn’t understand that the sudden ratcheting down of everything in the room meant that he wasn’t supposed to touch those things again. He took it as a puzzle. As though he had won the game and now entered ‘Challenge mode.’ He did understand however, when he broke the door completely that maybe he had done something wrong.
It was almost time for Toyama to arrive for his lesson. He listened for his steps in the hall, standing in the middle of the room, still. When he was right at the door, he waited until the door was about to open and then leaped up from a standing start and braced his arms against the corner of the wall just inside the door. He can only maintain this position a short time, his arms and feet pushed against the texture. Toyama walked in and didn’t see him. He looked left and right. His eyes widened in a panic and called out. “Tigre? Tigre!” He hurried forward towards the bathroom to look inside. Tigre leaped from the wall and pushed him into the bathroom and shut the door!
“Tigre! Tigre! No! Bad!” Toyama scolded him.
He opened the door to an empty room again. There were only a few places Tigre could hide. Under the bed was one, but more often, Tigre would just hide in Toyama’s blind spots. He turned to his right and Tigre was standing there. He was so close, Toyama was surprised he didn’t smell him. Toyama staggered backwards with a yelp.
“Tigre! No!” Tigre said, imitating his voice and speaking at the same time as him.
Toyama adjusted his glasses. Normally, such behavior was intolerable from any patient. But Toyama was an expert in Hybrid psychology and high ranking Hybrids were all little maniacs, whether they admitted it or not. If Tigre didn’t torment him a little, he would be more concerned than not. In all frankness, given his 24 hour confinement, these little pranks spoke to his mental stability.
Toyama sighed as he looked at his patient’s sturdy muscular frame in his simple shirt and slacks and bare feet. Those golden eyes shined above his dark glasses with a certain animal intensity, the pupils wide as marbles. He was in a playful mood, but anyone looking at him right now would be absolutely terrified at the eyes of this monster.
Elsewhere in the college, students were waking up to hurry to classes and study for midterms. He was dealing with students who were stressing over dissertations and exams most of the day, so these little moments of wild madness were more welcome than before. He tried to imagine Tigre behind a desk, quietly reading or behind a keyboard typing a report and the thought was so ridiculous that he couldn’t do it.
However, weeks ago, his report to Schneider said that Tigre was starting to pace, and rub his sides against his cage. He was reaching the point where he would start to earnestly try to escape and they needed to release his pent up energy in a meaningful controlled way before they lost all control of the situation.
He expected a rejection. After all, Tigre’s blood was far over the acceptable limit to the point that he should have been considered for euthanasia. To Toyama, this was a pointless and cruel exercise, keeping him confined here, but letting him outside was madness.
He didn’t expect Schneider to respond back with a letter approving nightly outings with Tigre supervised by the Executive Board. The letter expressed that Tigre’s progress has been pleasing so far and they look forward to his continued improvement.
Toyama was speechless at this message. Schneider understood more than anyone the terrible power of unstable hybrids and that they were in a war against dragons. Dragons were the enemies of humans, like the wolf was a natural enemy to the deer. It wasn’t something that could be changed by treaties or by talks.
Some might point to some small examples, such as a lioness that had adopted a baby antelope as its cub. Even though this lioness protected the poor calf as best as it could, one day, the lioness turned her back at the wrong time, and a male lion devoured her pet. Even though the lioness might have felt some negative emotions, there was nothing she could do and in the end, she forgot about her little ‘pet baby antelope’ and didn’t mourn for it.
This was the opposite. They were adopting a lion into a herd of antelope. This young man was more dragon than he was human. Tigre was fond of Toyama now, but when his true nature took over, would he feel any remorse in killing anyone?
Schneider wasn’t a complete fool and promised him that precautions would be put in place for the outings. On the first night he went out, the area was cleared of all human presence, snipers were placed on roofs and a Predator drone hummed threateningly in the air. Tigre was none the wiser as he explored the college, his face wreathed in a smile. He looked up and leaped into the tree to pluck off a leaf and admire it in the dark.
In that unnatural quiet, Toyama walked with him alone. They passed by the statuesque architecture, worn by a hundred years of weather, looking at the stars between the branches of the trees, faint from the city lights, the moon seeming to hang low between the buildings. If one wasn’t aware of the situation, they could be excused for thinking that Toyama was walking with a close relative, like a son.
But after some time, the differences between them became more apparent, Tigre would get distracted by a sound, and his muscles and senses would key up, and he would stop, on high alert. Toyama would allow him to follow the sound, occasionally taking them both into drainage ditches and patches of landscaping, until he found what he was looking for -- a stray cat, opossum or raccoon. Soon, Toyama was getting well acquainted with Cassell College’s wildlife.
Tigre wouldn’t harass them though, he would just sit and watch their behavior, which was always growling and snarling. Tigre didn’t understand that his aura was the intimidating aura of a predator that had cornered its prey.
It was this aura that Toyama aimed to tame. He couldn’t remove that nature from him. He could only redirect it to innocent pursuits. Rather than hunting animals around the college, he took to ‘studying’ them. Rather than cornering them, he shadowed them and made observations. Then he finally taught him to make reports and turn them in to him as homework. These reports he also turned into Schneider for his analysis.
Schneider would send them back with notes, asking questions which he would return to Tigre for a response. In this way, Schneider and Tigre got acquainted with each other.
Finally, after several days, Schneider met with Principal Anjou and Vice Principal Franco at a trendy night club. Toyama wasn’t sure what was said, but the next morning it was announced that Tigre was going to be inducted as an official student at Cassell College and Toyama should preside over his 3E exam. Toyama had hoped that Tigre would be matriculated privately and quietly but in this case, it was decided that he would be enrolled normally, as though he were no different.
Toyama felt that he could argue with Schneider, but he couldn’t argue with him and the two Principals. His continued training would have to happen outside his jurisdiction.
“Tigre…” Toyama looked at him with kind and sad eyes. “Today you have a very special test. This test will take you to be one of Cassell’s official students.”
“Really?” Tigre’s eyes widened.
“I will tell you a bit about it, so that you are not surprised. You will hear music and then you will hear a voice in the speakers. This voice will speak to your heart in a way no other voice has spoken to you before. There will be a series of questions and you will write down the answers to the best of your ability. Understand?”
Tigre nodded. “Yes.”
“No matter what. Please remember… you mustn’t hurt anyone. Even if you really want to. Understand?”
Tigre tilted his head. “I understand.”
“Okay…” Toyama considered for a few more seconds and pulled Tigre into an awkward hug. “You’ve done very well. Keep doing well.”
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