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thenovelartist · 3 years

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Mistaken Drink; Drunk Mistake - Tears of Themis

Up next in the "Drunk Wedding" series, we have Artem. Enjoy ;D

When Artem woke up that morning, he was in a shocking amount of pain. He didn’t want to move despite the fact he knew he needed to get up for work.

Regrettably, he forced himself up into a sitting position, only to instantly feel nauseous. He was going to have to call in sick wasn’t he?

“Artem? Are you okay?”

The sweet voice rung in his ears. Before he could even place where he’d heard that voice before, he felt a cool hand on his back. It took him far too long to realize that said hand was touching his skin, making him realize he wasn’t in a shirt.

Why wasn’t he in a shirt? He always slept in a shirt.

However, before he could think too much about it, a new wave of nausea hit him. He braced himself against the headboard of his bed, leaning his forehead on his arms in hopes that the feeling would pass.

“Do you need water?” the voice asked. A lovely, sweet, feminine voice.

“No,” he muttered weakly.

There was a pause, in which time the intense symptoms faded to manageable levels

“Are you dizzy?” the feminine voice asked. “Do you want medicine?”

“No,” he replied.

However, now he was very curious as to who the owner of that voice was. He couldn’t stand it anymore; he had to know. So, pushing past the pain, he slowly lifted his head up to get a look at the person who was next to him.

Oh, it was his work partner.

That was the only thought he had before he felt sick again and buried his face back in his arms, blocking the light from seeping in.

And then the nausea hit him like a truck.

“Artem? Are you sure you’re okay?”

He couldn’t answer. But he most certainly was not.

…

Fifteen minutes later, after a bathroom break that turned into him emptying the contents of his stomach and feeling all the better for it, he was laying back on his bed, eyes closed and arms draped over his face to keep the light out. He was still shirtless at the moment, but that was less because of choice and more because he could barely move from his spot to the closet to grab one.

As for work, he was fortunate enough to have realized it was a weekend. He had time to recover.

He heard a set of footsteps enter his room, and despite knowing better, he opened his eyes to watch Rosa enter, glass of water in one hand and something else in the other.

With his headache, he draped his arms over his face again. While it was originally to keep the light out of his eyes, it also doubled to cover his blush. The question of “why she was in his house” had yet to be answered.

So did the question of “why she was in his shirt”. But he could only think on everything for so long before his headache warned him to calm down.

“I brought you some medicine,” Rosa said. The space beside him on the bed sank under her weight. And while he wanted to warn her that her being here in a bedroom with him, he wasn’t particularly in a position to speak at the moment, figuratively and literally. “Are you feeling better?”

He paused to think on it. “Possibly.”

“Possibly,” she whispered to herself. Despite being out of it, he could hear the resigned smile in her tone. “Do you need anything? Or just rest?”

Honestly, he needed a lot of things. Answers, specifically.

Slowly, he removed his arms from his head so he could open his eyes and see Rosa. The light still seemed over-bright, but it wasn’t as bad as before.

She gave him a smile, and suddenly, he felt warm all over again. “Good morning.”

His heart gave a funny leap in his chest. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Her expression fell to a concerned one. “For what?”

He wasn’t fully sure. Everything, maybe.

Yes, everything.

But before he could say it, she reached forward to brush his bangs back from his eyes, and words died in his throat. “You don’t have to be sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry, too.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “For what?”

“For last night,” she said.

He pursed his lips together, trying to think of anything she had to be sorry about, but his memories seemed too hazy to recall anything. “To be frank,” he said, voice hoarse. “I can’t remember last night.”

When her eyes widened in surprise, it took him a long moment to realize it wasn’t the good kind. And when she smiled, it was tense, which caused his own stomach to tighten up again. “Well…” she began. “Um… you really can’t remember anything at all?”

He paused, trying long and hard to think back to last night. “We were at a party,” he answered. “For the firm.”

“Yes,” she confirmed with a nod. “There was that.”

The more he thought on it, the more he could recall the scene. Themis Law Firm had decided to hold a party for its associates to celebrate a major court win for a big client. It had taken months of research and many staff members, but in the end, it had come out in their favor. It had been Celestine’s idea to throw a party for the sake of the employees, congratulating them and allowing them to have a moment to enjoy themselves.

Artem had been there, of course, enjoying the atmosphere and the company of Rosa, who had sat next to him at the bar while the others grew roudy around them.

But that was all he could recall.

“What happened after?” he asked, giving up his futile mission of recalling anything further.

“I think… my best guess is the bartender mixed up someone’s double-shot mixed drinks with your mocktails,” she answered.

Ahh, that would explain it. He grimaced, letting his eyes shut again as he dragged a tired hand over his face. How did he not catch that?

“Are you here because you helped me home?” he asked, already knowing what her answer would be.

“Well… I mean… yes,” she answered, hesitantly.

He opened his eyes again to look back up at her. “Why didn’t you go home?”

She turned bright red.

Oh no, that wasn’t his intention. He felt bashful just looking at her.

“I… kinda… was drunk myself,” she said, her blush not dying down as she turned her gaze away from him. “So, I fell asleep beside you.”

His face began to burn. Wait, she was beside him all night?

“Oh,” she said, looking down at her shirt which was actually his shirt which caused a second wave of embarrassment to crash down on him. “Sorry, I stole one of your shirts because my dress was stained from when someone fell and dumped a Bloody Mary on us. That’s why you’re shirtless, too. So you wouldn’t ruin your sheets. Which reminds me, are you cold? Do you want me to get you something?”

His mind had already come to a screeching halt hearing her explain, so starting it back up again so he could answer was a challenge. “I-I…”

Why was talking so hard?

“Yes.”

She gave him a nod. “Okay. I’ll grab one for you.”

With that, she turned her back to him, and he covered his face with his hands, silently wishing he could die and save him from this mortification.

When she returned, she helped him sit up again, and he slid on the plain shirt she’d given him.

“Thank you, for caring for me,” he eventually said, trying his very best to pull himself together. “If you give me a moment, I can give you a jacket to cover your dress and call a cab for you.”

She froze. “Uh…” She seemed to struggle to find words before turning a strained smile on him. “Well… there’s… actually another reason I hadn’t left yet.”

Artem’s brow knit together in confusion., but his gut sank like a stone with worry.

“Because…” The smile she gave him was overly-exaggerated, which worried him deeply. “We should really talk about what to do about our wedding certificate.”

Artem froze, the words somehow eluding him for a moment before registering in his mind all at once.

“I’m sorry. Our what?”

…

It seemed drinking wasn’t the only thing he did last night.

It was mid-morning now, and he was sitting at the table holding his second cup of coffee while he stared at the document in front of him. And he still couldn’t believe it. Because not only had he and Rosa had decided to get married while they were drunk.

But Celestine witnessed.

This had to be the most embarrassing thing he’d ever done and likely the most embarrassing thing he would do in his entire life.

“I’m pretty sure it’s legal,” Rosa said, taking a seat beside him. She was still in his shirt, slowly killing him at the sight of her in it, sipping on her own mug of coffee.

“It is,” he lamented. “Unfortunately.”

“You say that like being married to me is a bad thing.”

His heartrate skyrocketed as he struggled for words. “No! That’s not what I—”

Before he could finish, he took in the sight of her sniggering over her coffee mug. “I was just teasing.”

Despite that, he wasn’t fully able to relax. Because if given the opportunity, he’d love to be married to the woman beside him. However, that wasn’t likely, considering he couldn’t even so much as confess his feelings to this woman.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll start on the annulment, then. It should be granted easily seeing as we were both intoxicated at the time.”

“Do we have to, though?”

He froze, shocked, then confused. “What?”

She sighed. “Celestine warned me you were this dense,” she whispered under her breath.

While Artem was still processing those words, Rosa turned in her seat to face him head on, looking him straight in the eyes. “I love you.”

Whatever Rosa proceeded to say was lost on Artem. He was frozen, completely caught off guard by such a confession. He… he’d thought she wasn’t interested. She never seemed to respond to his advances the way he’d anticipated she would. So why…

How…

He was so confused.

“And I know you try hard to get my attention,” she said, her words finally registering in his mind. “I thought we were getting closer, too. But…” She looked down, disappointment written all over her face. “I must have been wrong.”

“You love me?”

She turned her wide eyes back on him, and suddenly, she was smiling again. “You really are dense, aren’t you?”

…

Back at work, Artem was working on the annulment.

It was… disappointing, in a way. He and Rosa had had a long talk about a relationship between them and where they each saw it going, and what they landed on was marriage in the future. She’d suggested keeping the marriage certificate just in case. However, Artem was adamant that this would notbe how they married. So, annulment it was until they saw fit to come together, sober, as husband and wife.

Which, Artem hoped wouldn’t be too far off in the future.

“So, how’s married life?”

Artem looked up to see Celestine grinning down at him. He fixed her with a stern glare as he picked up the wedding certificate. “You actually witnessed this sham of a marriage?”

“I did!” she cried, grin never leaving her face. “It was a sight to behold. I’m so proud of you for making the first move and asking her to marry you, even if you were drunk when you did. Maybe you and alcohol do get along after all.”

Artem sighed, suddenly feeling quite tired. “And how sober were you for the thought of stopping us to not occur to you?”

“Oh, I was perfectly sober.”

Artem nearly dropped the document. “What?”

With a laugh, she winked at him. “By the way, Rosa istaking on your last name, right? So that I know to give her the proper change of name paperwork.”

Leaning back in his chair with a heavy sigh, Artem wondered if a hangover could reappear days after drinking. Because his head was sure spinning right about now.

#tears of themis #tears of themis fanfic #artem wing

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mammonshuman92 · 3 years

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- Watched - Pt.4

(Mammon x GN!MC)

** TW: swearing, kidnapping, religion, abuse, blood, death (if I missed any I do apologize!)

He smiled wickedly as he turned around, going back to the table he’d been at earlier and picked up the same knife he’d held to you when he kidnapped you. The only other weapons you could see on the table were a baton and a taser. There was also a thick book you could only assume was a bible and a large jar of water. The most concerning however, was the gas can, thick work gloves, and what looked a lot like a body bag.

“This may call for a more extensive purification.”

Your heartbeat quickened, breathing becoming slightly erratic. Your eyes widened at the scene laid out before you, but you tried your best to hold your resolve.

Whatever he plans to do, even if this is where your time on this Earth comes to an end, you didn’t plan to give him the satisfaction of conforming to his insane, backwoods ideologies. For your most beloved demons, and the love of your life, you were ready to fight until the bitter end.

After leaving the coffee shop, Mammon made his way back to your house to come up with a plan. As he rushed back, he got a brilliant idea and immediately made a phone call.

Given their status and connections, he was sure that at least a few of his brothers would be able to dig up info on this Alex dude and the ATA, however he couldn’t risk any of them finding out what was going on, for fear it’d get back to Lucifer, so he had to be extremely careful.

“Ugh, what do you want, Mammon? I’m in the middle of a raid right now.”

Levi seemed like the least likely to get too curious and ask questions, especially since Mammon was the one asking. No way would Levi want to end up being part of one of his usual schemes. And since he rarely comes out of his room or socializes with others, Levi was definitely the best one for the job.

“I need a favor.” Mammon could hear the slight clacking sound of Levi’s controller in the background.

“Nope. No way. Your “favors” always end badly; for everyone involved. Goodbye.” He declined immediately, wanting to hang up and get back to his raid.

“Wait, Levi! It’s real important!” The second born begged. Levi could hear the desperation; the emotion in his brothers voice. His interest was piqued now, along with an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

“What is it?” He asked with a sigh, casting his controller aside.

“I need ya to dig into a group called the ATA.”

“ATA?”

“Yeah, it’s the “Anti Treaty Association”, they’re in the human world. And see if ya can find anythin’ on a guy named Alex who might be associated with ‘em.”

“Anti Treaty..? As in the peace treaty? Mammon, what did you-”

“I’ll explain everythin’ later, okay? Just.. please, Levi? I need ya to look into it.” The level of sheer desperation in Mammon’s voice was concerning, but he didn’t push the issue.

“Okay, okay. Hang on..”

The sound of Levi’s fingers rapidly clicking across his keyboard flooded Mammon’s ears for the next few minutes.

“Okay, so the group was founded not long after the Devildom exchange program was formally announced. They started small but grew in number quickly; looks like mostly religious extremists. They hold protests at any event involving relations between our world and the human world. Let’s see..” Levi went quiet for a few seconds as he scanned his monitor.

“It looks like some of the members have a clean record, aside from a couple parking tickets, but there are a few bad apples. Most of the charges consist of harassment, disorderly conduct and destruction of property, all of the incidents taking place at protests. All of them were first time offenders, and have stayed out of trouble since then.”

“Anythin’ about an Alex?”

“Hmm, nope. Do you have a last name maybe? Or literally any other info? I can’t do much with just a first name, especially a common one.”

“Umm, he drives a really old car and he works at a take out place as a delivery driver.” Mammon proceeded to give him the name of the restaurant.

Levi began tapping away on his keyboard again, scanning all the social medias and websites associated with the group and the take out place, looking for anything related to the clues Mammon gave him. Without much to go on, he wasn’t very hopeful and began to lose courage, then he finally got something.

“I got a hit on a few social media accounts related to the ATA. I was able to find some pictures with a crappy older model car in them that were taken at some of their protests a few months back, one of the pictures had a shot of the license plate. After doing a quick search of public record, the car came back as registered to a John A. Smith, who actually died a few years back..”

Mammon sighed, feeling dejected. That information was all he had, and it may not have even been enough to be helpful.

“Wait..” Levi suddenly said, pulling Mammon from his thoughts.

“His obituary says he had one child; a son named John Smith Jr. I can’t find him on social media under that name, but if we assume the middle initial “A” stands for say, Alexander, then I may have something. I found an Alex Smith, and it’s honestly gotta be him. He’s a member of the official ATA group page, and several others like it. His profile picture has a crappy looking car in it, granted it’s mostly cropped out, but it looks a lot like the one I ran the license plate number on. I’m confident that this is your guy.”

Mammon felt like he could breathe a little easier. Another piece of the puzzle had, hopefully, come together.

“Where do I find him?”

“Not sure. His last location was near the middle of nowhere, but it hasn’t pinged anything for quite some time. I’ll send you the coordinates.”

“Thanks, Levi. I owe ya big time.”

“Yeah. Uh, Mammon? I know you said you’d tell me later, but is everything alright? You’ve never asked me to do something like this before. It kinda feels like you’re looking for someone..”

He waited for his brother to stutter out some kind of excuse to explain it away like he always did when he got himself into some kind of trouble, but he didn’t. Which only made more red flags pop up for Levi.

“If anyone asks, especially Lucifer, this never happened and ya haven’t heard from me, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay, Mammon..”

He didn’t like the feeling he had, the gut instinct and the hair that stood up on the back of his neck that told him something was seriously wrong.

After he hung up with his brother, he decided to dig a little deeper. He traced Mammon’s phone and found him at a location nearby the restaurant he’d had him research. His awful, suspicious feeling was confirmed when his brother’s location came back as one in the human world. A little extra digging of public land records and it pinged as your house. His heart sank as he thought about the urgency and desperation in his brother’s voice.

He traced your phone, but it just showed the same location as Mammon. But, if you were there, why would he be so frantic? His stomach churned when he realized that there were only a few things that would cause Mammon such distress, and seeing as how he was apparently in the human world, at your house, desperate to find some random dude, it couldn’t be good. Whatever was going on definitely involved you. That thought alone made him sick to his stomach.

“I hope I’m wrong. Please be okay, MC.”

*bzzz* *bzzz*

Mammon opened the new text message from Levi, which contained the coordinates to Alex’s last known location.

“MC has gotta be somewhere near this location. If not, maybe I’ll be able to pick up their trail.”

He was pacing around the living room, going over possible plans for his next move. Thankfully it would be dark soon and there was also a pretty big storm rolling in, which would provide the perfect cover for him to scout from the skies. Heavy wind and rain would make it nearly impossible to pick up your scent though.

He went into your bedroom to retrieve something of yours that would be heavy with your scent, like your favorite jacket or maybe a pillowcase. As he looked around the room, he spotted a strip of pictures shoved in the frame of the mirror on your dresser. A warm smile spread across his face.

It was of the two of you, not too long after you’d officially started dating. He remembered that particular day very well. You’d decided to walk the cobblestone streets of the Devildom, much like you often did together, but this was different. There wasn’t anymore of that “trying to pretend neither one of you had feelings for the other” junk. It was just..real. You were actually his. He reminisced about how warm your hand felt in his, the way his stomach erupted in butterflies when you looked at him with pure excitement after you’d stumbled upon the photo booth. The way you threw yourself at him, locking your lips onto his for the last picture; the shade of red your cheeks turned when you pulled apart.

That day was one of his favorite memories of you. You were so happy and full of life; looking at him with such excitement and love.

The haunting reality came creeping back in on him, sending his beautiful trip down memory lane, spiraling into despair. There he stood, alone in your bedroom, while you were gone. Taken, by some psychopath. His whole world, snatched right from underneath him as he sat down the hall.

The more he thought about it, the worse he felt. How could he? He should’ve been there. He shouldn’t have let you answer the door. He should’ve done something, anything.

“I knew somethin’ didn’t feel right, and I should’ve listened to what my gut was tryin’ to tell me. This is all my fault..” He ran his finger over the pictures on the mirror, letting a few tears escape before aggressively wiping them away.

“I will find ya, MC. And I promise that I’ll make ya safe again, I swear it.”

He felt a sudden vibration in the floor followed quickly by a deep rumble from outside.

The storm’s comin’. It’s time to move.

He grabbed the shirt you had worn the day before from the hamper and quickly smelled it to make sure your scent was strong enough. From the way it made his heart twist in agony, he was sure it would do just fine.

He shifted into demon form and headed straight for the door. With the approaching storm, it was dark enough now that he could fly and remain unseen. Since he was by himself and up against the unknown, having the element of surprise would come in handy.

“When I find that piece of shit, he’ll understand why I hold the rank of the second strongest of the Avatars.” He growled into the dark of the night as he stepped out onto the front porch.

With that, he shot up into the night sky, stealthy and silent.

“Extensive purification? Is that what the body bag is for?” You asked audaciously.

Naturally, you were scared. This mad man kidnapped you at your own damn house in broad daylight and drug you to what you could only assume was the middle of nowhere to tie you up and torture you. So yeah, you were pretty fucking wigged out to say the least.

But, did that mean you would back down? Let him know you were scared so he had the extra control over you? Make him feel like he was winning?

Absolutely not. You’d never give him the satisfaction. On the inside you were shaking, writhing in terror; begging for Mammon to come and save you. But on the outside? You were taking none of his shit, and playing zero games. If you were going to die here, you planned on going out as uncooperative as you could. Fuck him.

“Hopefully it won’t come to that.” He turned around to face you from where he’d been at his make shift work table, with the taser in his hand. He closed the gap between you, keeping his eyes locked on yours, and leaned down until he was just inches from your face. “The night is still young though.”

“Then why not just kill me now? Get it over with.”

“I want to cleanse you; save your soul.” He said, as if you were crazy for not grasping that concept.

“But why? Why are you so worried about my soul? You prodded.

“Because you have chosen to lay with demons and abandon your humanity.”

“And? Who I choose to love and spend time with isn’t yours, or anyone else’s business.” You snapped back.

“You see, that’s where you’re wrong. Your part in all this; the exchange program, being close with a bunch of high ranking demons; you as a human are committing the highest level of treason by aiding in the progression of uniting the realms. You are opening the door for corruption, chaos and sin to pollute our world.”

You laughed lightly in disbelief.

“When has our world ever been free of any of those things? Do you honestly think the Celestial Realm would be part of the treaty if He wasn’t on board with it? Stop blaming others because you’re close minded. Your blatant hatred for others is your fault, your sin. No one else’s.”

His face turned red and his expression changed into one of anger at the mention of Him. He stormed off toward the work table.

“And by the way, none of this-” You wiggled your fingers around as best as you could in an attempt to gesture around you, “is free of sin. Pretty sure He would frown upon this. Maybe even more so than my relationship with his sons.” You couldn’t help but smirk at your own jab.

He turned back to face you, bible in hand and quickly walked back to where you were hanging, and knelt down into your face again.

“It’s time to begin.” He said with sick, sadistic smile on his face; ignoring what you’d said.

With one quick movement, he lifted you off the giant hook your hand restraints hung from; letting go of you when you were a few feet from the ground, slightly knocking the wind out of you. Although you were being a little mouthy, you still felt pretty weak from being trapped inside that trunk. Not to mention that your shoulders were killing you from being suspended for so long.

He pulled you across the concrete floor by the hand restraint, stopping once he reached the stock tank. He opened up his bible and laid it on a little table near the side of the tank. He picked you up easily and climbed into the water. Even with as hot as it is, the water was frigid. It was only about four feet deep, but being restrained and unable to move freely, you would easily drown if Alex didn’t keep hold of you.

He stood at your side, facing you with his hands firmly grasping your arms right below your shoulders. He started reciting scripture from memory, glancing back at the open bible a few times for reference. He began to repeatedly dunk your head below the surface of the icy water. He recited the same passages over and over again, making it easier for you to figure out when to hold your breath. Although, a few times he seemed to hold you under a little too long, leaving you gasping for air when you returned to the surface.

When the never-ending baptizing finally did come to an end, he plucked from the water and returned you back to where you had been suspended. You were shivering uncontrollably and your head was pounding. No doubt from lack of oxygen after having to hold your breath, then gasp for air more times than you could possibly count. The added weight of your dripping wet clothes added to the searing pain in your shoulders.

He went over to the work table and grabbed the big jar of water you’d seen earlier. He dipped his fingers in it and flicked it at you whole reciting scripture. You assumed that it was holy water.

As you listened to him drone on and on, you found it hard to stay conscious. You haven’t really felt right since getting out of that scorching trunk; you most likely had heat exhaustion.

“Does being saved from eternal damnation bore you?”

“No, just you.” You replied weakly, looking up at him and trying to muster a smirk.

“Is that so?” He challenged.

He abruptly turned around and went back to the work table, returning a moment later sporting the thick work gloves you’d seen earlier, carrying the taser in his hand.

“Then I suppose we need to take it up a notch.”

Mammon went straight to the coordinates Levi sent him, but found nothing except dirt roads and cow pastures. Even from an aerial point of view there wasn’t much to see. After circling the area several times, he landed atop a tree in a densely wooded area. Although it was pretty dark out here in the middle of nowhere, far from civilization, he still couldn’t risk being seen as Alex could be watching; waiting for him to come for you.

“Where are ya, MC?” He quietly asked aloud, eyes continuing to scan the darkness that enveloped his surroundings.

With every passing minute his heart grew heavier, his chest tighter. It felt as if he couldn’t breathe properly. As cliche as it sounded, you were his literal heart; his entire world.

Before you came to the Devildom, he thought he had it all figured out. Stealing and gambling, partying every night, spending money like there was no tomorrow, making shady deals with witches. He was living what he considered the luxurious life of a high roller and he couldn’t get enough of it.

Then you came along, and he was forced to be your guardian or sorts and look after you. It was such a pain. You made it harder for him to give Lucifer the slip so he could go on gambling binges and live up to his title. But, being the weak, magic-less human you were, you needed constant protection.

It didn’t take long before being your protector became something more than what he was ordered to do. He needed to be the one to watch over you, the poor helpless human. His human. As soon as he got a taste of what it felt like to be around you, he couldn’t get enough. He was hooked.

Your smile and the sound of your laughter, the face you make when you’re concentrating or how you pooch your lips out when you’re getting irritated. The never ending kindness you showed him, especially when he was less than friendly at first. Even during those early days, just simply being near you brought him a sense of peace and warmth. The energy you radiated was intoxicating. Before he realized what was happening, he was a lost cause; completely wrapped around your finger.

If someone were to have told him he’d end up completely smitten with a human, he would’ve called them crazy. The Great Mammon would never waste his precious time on something that didn’t involve Grimm and how to obtain and/or spend it, much less a human. Smitten is precisely what he was though, to say the least. Not that it bothered him in the slightest.

He’s been around for thousands of years, and never once has his heart beat the way it does now. He’d always known love because of his siblings, and even the great loss of a loved one when Lilith died. While he would move mountains and do anything for his family, and even lay his life down for them, the way he felt about you was completely different. He would do all those things for you as well, and so much more. You knew him on a different level, a way no one else ever had in all his existence.

Relationships were never really his thing. Sure, he’d had plenty of flings, but most of them only cared about what they could get out of being with the Avatar of Greed, not that it really bothered him. He pretty much only got involved with people when the bitter loneliness became too much to bear. Love isn’t typically something that happens for demons, not that he was looking for it anyway. But, sometimes it was nice to have someone to hold, to feel the warmth of another. Even if he didn’t remember their name. Not that they, or he for that matter, really cared.

Which is why he was so perplexed by the feelings you stirred up inside him. He was one of the strongest rulers of the underworld, who could probably have any succubus he wanted, so why was he becoming increasingly enthralled by you? A completely ordinary human. Or so he thought, anyway. No ordinary human would’ve been able to knock him off his feet the way you had. You were special. You made him feel.

You were kind, warm, headstrong and funny. You’d even put your own life in danger to save those who were much stronger than you, like that time with Beel and Luke in the underground tomb; not because you thought you would win the fight, but because it was the right thing to do. He’d never witnessed such bravery, such selflessness in a human. Especially not when it came to protecting a demon, someone who would be deemed unworthy of such an act simply because of what he was. This once weak, irrelevant human, was now one of the people he respected most. You’re undying love and kindness for others was one of the infinite things that made him fall for you.

He clutched your shirt tightly in his hand, bringing it up to his face and burying his nose into the fabric. He breathed in your scent, filling his lungs as much as he could. He needed to keep the smell fresh in his mind, in hopes of picking up your trail. Tears began to prick his eyes. All the memories of you were nearly too much to handle. He couldn’t lose you. He wouldn’t.

He had no idea what this freak had planned, but he knew it couldn’t be good. The clock was ticking. The more time that passed, the harder it would be to find you. He looked out into the night again, hoping to see anything that might point him in your direction, but there was nothing. The only sounds came from the cows in all the pastures around the area, and a very faint humming noise off in the distance. He couldn’t see any signs of the car or any other clues, but he refused to give up.

“Alright, MC. C’mon, talk to me. Where are ya?” He said, getting ready to take to the skies once more to scan the area. Then it hit him, sending a shiver down his spine. He whipped his head to the right, and breathed in deeply.

MC!!

He took another long breath in, to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. It was definitely your scent. It was very faint, and muddled with something else, iron maybe? But there was no doubt it was yours. Like a shot, he flew in the direction your scent was coming from. The incoming storm was making it hard to stay on the trail, but he was not going to lose it now. He was almost there. Almost to you. There’s no way he was backing down.

A minute or so later he could see the faint glow of a light in the distance. It looked like it was coming from a barn or something. Your scent was getting stronger and stronger as he closed in on the building.

That’s gotta be it!

He landed on top of the building with a thud; coming in a little faster than he intended thanks to the increasing intensity of the storm. He paused a moment, waiting to see if his brilliant entrance had caused any kind of movement. When he didn’t hear anything, he moved to the edge of the roof to have a look around. There was a lot of overgrowth around most of the building, and some spots in the roof seemed to give a little. If he wasn’t careful he might end up crashing through the ceiling. It wasn’t a barn, but more like a warehouse or something.

He walked the perimeter of the roof, looking over the side for any kind of clues. There was nothing out front, and the sides of the building were all overgrown with vines and other greenery. He peaked over the side of the roof near the back of the building and tensed. He could see the car that matched the description of Alex’s, hidden underneath loose foliage in what looked like a poor attempt to conceal it.

I knew it He thought, his heart beginning to race.

He remembered seeing an industrial ventilation fan on the side of the building before he landed, and quietly rushed over to it, crouching down slightly on the maintenance access platform.

By now, the storm was raging full force. The rain was coming down in sheets, the thunder booming as lightning lit up the night sky. The fan was pretty rusted but thanks to the thunder, he was able to crack open the slats slightly without being heard. The sight he was met with made his blood boil, prompting him to let out a guttural animalistic growl that rumbled deep in his chest. The iron smell mixed with your scent he’d smelled earlier, was blood.

Anger like he’d never felt before burned deep inside his very being worse than the raging storm around him, truly making his demon side come out. He never had any intentions of letting this psycho walk away from this, but now it was going to be a lot less humane. The witch’s words came rushing back to him.

‘Bring me the heart of a mammal, not of our world, that thrives on malice and sadism. If you cannot fulfill your end of the deal, I will place a curse on you until the ends of eternity that will make everything of value you come in contact with turn to ash.’

Mammon smiled viciously. Looks like he’d be able to fulfill his end of the bargain with the witch after all.

The “cleansing” quickly shifted from that of something considered somewhat normal, to something very far from it. Nothing about it could be considered holy anymore.

“Are you going to denounce your demonic pacts and sinful ways and conform?”

You lifted your head weakly to glare at him, “Never.” You snarled between staggered breaths. His face twisted in anger.

Blow after blow landed on your weak, fragile body. You spit out yet another mouthful of blood, the wet sounds echoing in the large room as it splattered onto the floor. Needless to say, you were in pretty bad shape.

Blood ran down your face from a laceration on your brow bone. Your lip was busted pretty bad and you had at least a few cuts inside your mouth from your teeth puncturing the skin on your cheeks and lips. You assumed you had some ribs that were at least cracked seeing as it had become pretty painful to breathe. All the spots he tased you in burned like fire, no doubt blistering up badly. He’d held it in the same spot for so long that you could smell your own hair and flesh burning.

There wasn’t much you could do in the way of fighting back, but you sure tried like hell in the beginning. But now you were way too weak, barely even able to scream out in pain. You’d already come to terms with the fact that you probably wouldn’t make it out of here. The reality of never seeing Mammon again swarmed you, tearing away the last bit of resolve you had left. You forced yourself to remember all the time you’d spent with him, making sure he was the only thing you thought of as you began to slowly depart from this world.

You would forever be grateful for the time you had with him and all the amazing memories you were able to make. Movie nights, staying up too late talking and laughing, trying and failing to hide from Lucifer after pranking him.

The way his too big of a hand completely engulfed yours, the way he looked at you when you were both all dressed up for some fancy party at the Demon Lord’s castle and how much he tried to hide his face so you couldn’t see his blush while he held you close on the dance floor.

Sneaking into each other’s beds when one of you had a nightmare, the way his body felt against yours when he cuddled you; his warmth and smell. The way he tried to hide his enormous smile and pink cheeks when you’d gush like a groupie over his newest spread in a magazine.

The time he was a flustered, stuttering mess for three entire days in the beginning of your relationship, unable to hear your name or see you without turning various shades of red because every time he did, flashbacks of loving you for the first time just days before came rushing back to him.

Those intimate moments were your favorite, for more reasons than the obvious. You got to see him in a different light. He was still his usual goofy, lighthearted, prankster self, but he was so much more than that too. He was so sweet it could make your teeth rot. He was gentle, slow. You could feel the love leave him, his heart pouring over into yours. There were always stars in his eyes; pure adoration. Something you could never quite grasp; how someone who had seen the literal heavens could look at a normal human like you in such a way; with such breathtaking awe.

You always felt like you didn’t deserve to be loved by someone as amazing as Mammon, but you would always be eternally thankful. In such a short time he’d brought so much happiness and light to your life. As happy as those memories were, you wished more than anything that you’d get the chance to make more, but sadly it didn’t look that way.

As Alex was coming in to land another blow, a loud thump could be heard from above you; his fist stopped in the air a few feet from your face.

“What was that?” He questioned to himself quietly. He stayed silent for a moment as he listened for more noise, but there was nothing. “Must’ve been thunder.” He shrugged his shoulders and turned his attention back to you, pulling the taser from his pocket.

“It really is a shame that you refuse to comply.” He said as he jabbed it into your ribs, causing you to use what little fire was left in you to cry out in pain. “You really were a fine specimen, until you wasted yourself on demons.” Another jab of the taser, this time on your thigh.

You choked out a weak, raspy laugh. “And I’d do it again, a million times over you sadistic, psychotic freak.” You spat, voice breaking. He reared his hand back to hit you, but was interrupted by another loud noise, this time near the entrance.

He turned toward the sound and decided to check it out this time, picking the knife up from the table on his way. He was only gone for a few minutes, but you were grateful for the break. As much as you didn’t want to give up, your body just couldn’t take much more.

He slithered back through the entrance, soaked from the down pouring rain and complaining about hearing things.

“If you didn’t have a guilty conscience, you wouldn’t be so paranoid.” You said between several pained breaths. Your voice was small and frail, but you still managed to lace some venom in your words. He snarled, storming toward you and sticking the knife under your chin, lifting your head up to look at him. You used what energy you had left to glare at him.

“It’s too bad really, that even in your darkest moments, your last moments, what’s-his-name wasn’t here to save you.” He snickered, tracing the knife from your chin to your jugular, applying just enough pressure along the way to coax out a small line of blood.

“That’d be The Great Mammon to you, human.”

Alex whipped around toward the entrance at the sudden voice, the color draining from his face as a look of sheer terror washed over him.

“M-Mammon?” You choked out, a massive lump forming in your throat. You looked around Alex, the most beautiful yet terrifying thing coming into your field of vision.

It really was him.

Seeing him in demon form was nothing new to you by now. However, the look on his face was something you’d definitely never seen before. It almost looked as if there was an aura around him; a definite shift in atmosphere at his presence. His natural sin was Greed, but right now he embodied Wrath.

It was so easy for you to forget that he really was a demon, as you’d never seen him in such a state before. The sight of him now; raw, malevolent power seeping from him, the low guttural growl, emitting such a heavy, nightmarish presence. He was scary. Even to you.

“MC..” There was pain in his voice; his face distorting in agony when he looked at you.

He charged forward, only making it a few steps before Alex swooped in. He got behind you, reaching around and keeping the knife at your throat; Mammon froze.

“Not another step.” Alex warned. “I have no qualms with spilling the blood of a traitorous demon whore that turned their back on the human race.”

Mammon stared at him blankly for a moment, then burst into laughter. It wasn’t his normal, happy laugh. It was dark, and oozed ill intent. He turned his attention to you once more, his expression softening just enough to not utterly terrify you.

“MC, do you trust me?”

“Since my first day in the Devildom.” You smiled fragilely, noticing the way his mouth briefly tugged up at the corner when your words reached him. He locked his eyes on Alex once again, dark expression returning.

“Close your eyes. No matter what you hear, don’t open them.” He instructed as he slightly crouched, getting into an attack stance; you nodded in agreement, doing as he said.

You could hear Alex huff behind you. “I will slit their throat, or did you hear what I said you filthy, abomina-”

He was silenced mid sentence by a sudden impact that jostled you slightly where you hung. You could hear gasping breaths and Mammon’s same sadistic laughter as earlier, followed by several ear splitting cracks and tearing sounds as Alex screamed out in pain; wet, squelching noises and heavy thuds rang through the room as several things hit the floor. It went on like this for several minutes, until the screams finally ceased.

You pretty well knew just by the sounds, that you were finally free; that psycho would never be able to hurt you again.

Moments later, you were lifted off the large hook and being cradled gently in arms that you knew all too well. Mammon sank to the floor, his wings wrapping around you protectively, shielding you from the gore you didn’t need to see.

“MC..” He whispered, tears running down his cheeks as his eyes scanned over your frail, broken body.

As much as you wanted to savor the moment of finally being safe, once again in the arms of your demon, the reunion would have to wait. You had been through so much and your body couldn’t take any more. You began to fade in and out of consciousness, no longer able to hold on.

“MC..? MC! Stay with me! Please, please hold on just a little longer.” He begged, his voice cracking as he patted his hand against your cheek gently. You tired to put a hand on his cheek to soothe him, but your arm fell limp halfway to his face as you lost the fight to stay awake. You heard him yell your name a few times as you drifted, his voice fading away slowly.

What is that infernal noise?

You had suddenly become hyper aware of an out-of-the-ordinary noise somewhere close by. An alarm clock perhaps? No, it was more of a beeping sound than a shrill ringing.

You lazily opened your eyes, immediately regretting it and squinting them shut because of a blinding white light that was shining in your face. You blinked several times as you tried to adjust.

As you scanned the room slowly, it started to look as if you were in one of the rooms in the Demon Lord’s castle, but it appeared to be set up as a hospital room of sorts. The blinding light was coming from one of the big lights they use at the dentist office. You soon discovered that the beeping noise you’d been hearing was actually one of several monitors you were hooked up to.

Everything started to fall into place and make sense, memories coming back of the events that brought you here. The monitor closest to you started to sound an alarm, indicating your heart rate had picked up and your blood pressure was rising. Seconds later the door flew open, a figure rushing into the room.

“MC.” He said, breathing a sigh of relief.

Barbatos moved to your bedside and silenced the alarms, opting to check your vitals himself.

“How do you feel?” He asked, pressing his index and middle fingers to the underside of your wrist, checking your heart rate.

“Fine, I guess?”

“You guess?” He repeated, taking a small light from his pocket and shining it in your eyes, checking the dilation of your pupils.

If you remembered correctly, which you’re very sure you did, your injuries were extensive. There’s no way you could forget that level of pain. You felt tired, kind of groggy from sleep, but there was no pain.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“About three days.”

Three days?! You thought to yourself, a little shocked.

That’s still not nearly enough time for your wounds to heal. You must have looked as confused as you felt, prompting and explanation from Barbatos.

“Your injuries were rather extensive, so Mammon brought you here after rescuing you. Lord Diavolo had the best doctors in the Devildom tend to you with magic. Although they healed you perfectly, you weren’t showing any signs of waking up just yet, so we decided to keep you here to monitor your condition.” You nodded along in understanding as he spoke.

He placed the light back in his pocket and moved away from the bed. “I shall notify Lord Diavolo and the others that you have awakened. Please excuse me.” He said as he bowed, then left the room.

You sat up in the bed and criss crossed your legs, careful not pull out your IV or tangle any of the wires to the other monitors. You let out a long, heavy sigh. Before you could be consumed by your thoughts of all the memories of the last few days, the door to your room flung open once more. This time, it was the one person you wanted to see most.

“MC!” He shouted, voice cracking with emotion. Mammon crossed the room in an instant and sat in front of you on the bed.

“Are you okay? Do ya feel any pain?” He asked frantically, his eyes scanning your face then darting to the monitors, hands hovering over you as if he wanted to help but was unsure how. You grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers in his. It seemed to calm him a little.

“I’m okay.” You assured him. Although you’d been put through the wringer, you felt so at peace. Not only were you in the safest place in the entire Devildom, but the one thing that threatened your peace of mind, was now no longer a problem.

“I-I uh, I was scared.. that I was too late. That ya weren’t gonna wake up, that I’d...that I’d lost ya..” He confessed, voice catching in his throat as tears fell from his eyes. He carefully scooped you up and held you in his lap, holding you as close as he was able to with all the wires and such. You sat up a little and snaked your arms around his neck, pressing your lips firmly to his.

While you were held captive, you had been so sure that you’d never get a moment like this with Mammon ever again. You were happy beyond words to be back in his embrace once again with his lips on yours. Smelling his wonderful scent, and feeling his warmth on your skin.

After a few minutes of your lips moving in synchronization, he broke the kiss, and pulled back to look you in the eye. A serious expression washing over his face. “MC, I’m sorry I didn’t-”

You held up your hand to stop him, “No, Mammon. You’re not going to blame yourself. I won’t let you. Everything that happened was his fault, not yours or anyone else’s. He was sick in the head, with a twisted ideology.”

He nodded, “I know, I know. It’s just..” He shook his head as he tried to choke back more tears that threatened to spill. You knew exactly what was running through his mind.

“Mammon, there is no one else in the three realms I’d rather trust with my protection, than you. As a matter of fact, there’s no else that can even compare to you in my eyes. As I already said, none of this, none of it, is your fault and I’ve never once thought it was. I love you, Mammon and there’s no one else I’d rather entrust my life with, or spend it with for that matter.” You placed your hand on his cheek and smiled at him, tears now streaking your cheeks. He leaned into your touch, his hand resting lightly on top of yours for a moment before pulling your hand away and placing several light kisses on your palm.

Barbatos returned soon after, with a doctor in tow. Once they unhooked you from all the monitors and removed your IV, Mammon took you back to the House of Lamentation where everyone was awaiting your return.

It felt so good to be back. The HOL was technically your second home, but nowhere has ever felt more like home than here in the Devildom, surrounded by all your favorite people. And thanks to Lord Diavolo extending your stay until further notice, you were on cloud nine.

Although all your physical wounds were gone, the mental ones were sure to stick around for awhile. You expected as much though, having gone though quite a traumatic experience. Although, it made it a little easier knowing that Alex would never again be an issue.

It was clear that his soul wouldn’t be fit for the Celestial Realm, and you had fears of him being reincarnated in the Devildom and finding you once again. But, Mammon quickly laid those fears to rest, informing you of what he’d done that night after getting you safely to the Demon Lord’s castle.

He said he preformed some kind of ritual that ensured Alex wouldn’t be reincarnated anywhere; his soul having been wiped from the worlds. As if he’d never existed. He also mentioned something about Alex helping him to fulfill his end of a bargain with a witch. He didn’t really go into detail about the whole thing, but assured you that everything would be fine, so you didn’t push the issue. He’s a high ranking demon, after all. This surely isn’t his first rodeo. You were just ready to start the healing process and put an end to this awful chapter in life.

And with Mammon by your side; loving you, protecting you, helping you heal; you couldn’t think of a better way to begin such a beautiful new chapter.

~ fin ~

#obey me #obey me shall we date #mammon x mc #gn!mc #obey me angst #trigger warning #potentially triggering #gender neutral mc #angst #finale #mammon #obey me mammon

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parkers-gal · 3 years

Note

Hi! May I request an imagine where Tom meets an Indian who’s sort of on the path to be a paediatrician?? But she’s like, 3-4 years younger than him?? And like, both of them are attracted to each other n they sort of start dating??

Love your blog! I’ve read pretty much everything you write! Lots of love to you!! 💛💛

requests are open

wc: 1.5k

—

Growing up, you were always lost on what you would do with your life. You’d seen friends and family discover their passions, the very reason they live and exist.. Time and time again, you thought you came close to finding out your own, but each path was a dead end, each lead and false tip.

That was, until you volunteered at a children’s hospital that one winter break your parents were away on business. A light flicker inside you, and you knew that was what you were meant to do. Leaving the hospital that day, you pulled up your browsers and stayed up in bed until three A.M., researching and reading about all the doctors that helped children. Perhaps it was your fire, burning so bright and passionately, that granted you access, that paved your path to college and a career for life. Or perhaps it was your heart, loving and nurturing and relentless. It never gave up when something it loved came into view. You knew deep down, in your gut, that it was a bit of both.

But to you, this wasn’t a career. This wasn’t merely just a passion. It was your life for theirs. Your privilege, through the hardships and the struggles and the heaviest tears, it was your brain that was your privilege. But your heart held just as much responsibility as your mind did.

Tom was no different, at that. Acting started as a job, it started as continuing his love for dance and theater. But as he grew, so did his heart. Acting wasn’t just a task of learning how to control one’s emotions. To him, it was a creative expression. It was perspective on life. It was living a life someone dreamed they could’ve had. And no, not as a celebrity, but as the characters. He often thought about how Peter Parker could have been a figment of Stan Lee’s imagination. That the small, nerdy Parker boy was a life Stan Lee wanted but never truly got. Tom pondered a lot of things, but he never once wished he could have another life.

College is harsh. Relentless. It’s a true reality of life, and with the pressure of your parents to do well, you could only pray you would do well. You had been studying for weeks now, finals coming closer with every passing day. You were due for a break, and mind release. You had signed up for your yearly volunteer during winter break. Your roommate rolled her eyes when you told her; she was unsurprised.

Apparently this year, there would be a few special guests. You were happy to share the children, happy the hospital could bring in more people for the kids that deserved the world but could only get a fraction of it. You swore on your life, on your grave, that you’d give them as much of the world as you could.

You were giving the world to them today. Dressing in thick leggings and a sweater, you grabbed your puffer coat as you left campus. The drive to the hospital was short and speedy. You greeted Katherine as you came in, hooking your coat on the coat hanger in the back room.

“Hey, Y/N. It’s good to see you. How’s college?”

“Stressful,” you chuckled.

“But worth it?” “Always worth it,” you smiled.

“The ‘guest stars’ will be here soon,” she moved a few clipboards, taking the papers attached to them. “I think they’re bringing things.”

“Oh that’s awesome,” you exhaled. “We need more presents.”

“More?” Katherine chuckled. “You’ve practically emptied your bank account for them.”

“Because my parents would totally allow that,” you eyed her. The two of you chuckled together, setting up a few things.

Katherine was five and a half years older than you. She’d worked at the hospital for awhile though, replacing a nurse who retired. She was young when she started, but the retired nurse had requested her, recommended her, and the hospital didn’t want to waste time on looking for someone else. You’d practically grown up with her; she’d been a volunteer in college while you were finishing high school.

“They’re here,” Nate popped his head in through the door. You and Katherine exchanged looks before going up front to greet them.

“Hi, I’m Kevin Fiege, I’m here with the cast of Spider-man Homecoming. We’re here for the meets I emailed about?”

“Yes hi,” Katherine stepped forward while you shied away from a brunette’s glances. His jeans and sweater were on loosely, and you assumed he probably had a costume on under. He was holding a mask. “I’m Katherine, the one you emailed.” They shook hands and smiled politely, the boy’s eyes never leaving sight of your figure. “Shall we get started then?” the man, Kevin as he addressed himself, suggested.

“Yes, of course,” she rushed out, glancing at you with wide eyes before the two of you chuckled.

A lighter skinned, tall girl stepped forward. You recognized her. “Hi, I’m Zendaya. I play MJ.”

The two of you shook hands, and she did the same thing with Nate and Katherine and a few other nurses. One by one, each cast member introduced themselves before eventually, the brunette came forward.

“Hi, I’m Tom,” he shook your hand, his fingers lingering against yours. “You are… ?”

“Y/N,” you filled in, biting your bottom lip.

“That’s really pretty,” he blushed slightly despite being the one who gave the compliment.

“Thank you,” you breathed a laugh, stepping back and in your rightful spot next to Katherine.

Throughout the day, you noticed Tom through the corner of your eyes, lingering and watching quietly, gazing as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how, or what. You enjoyed the cast’s company; they were great for the kids. By the end of it, it was nearly eight o’clock, time for ritual medications before bedtime.

The cast stood in the lobby, Tom in his suit talking to Jacob, Zendaya talking to Nate while Katherine finished up with Kevin. You emerged from the elevator, having just said your goodnights and goodbyes to the children.

“You gonna head out, Y/N/N?” Katherine stopped talking to Kevin to ask you the query over all the chatter.

You nodded with a smile, removing the Division 1 Volunteer lanyard from around your neck. “Yeah, I told my mom I’d call her before it gets too late.”

“You and your parents,” she sighed, handing another clipboard over for Kevin to read. “Are you ever gonna let them go?”

You chuckled, “I think the real question is are they ever gonna let me go?”

“Touche,” she laughed. “Say goodbye on your way out,” she motioned her head towards the cast. You glanced at them, they smiled, and you nodded towards her, grabbing your coat from its hook.

“It was really nice having you all here,” you smiled. “Thank you so much for coming; it meant a lot to the kids and to me.”

You saw Tom glancing outside, and without thinking, he stepped forward with a smile. “Let me walk you to your car.”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” you laughed lightly.

“Please, it’s dark out. It’ll only be a few minutes,” he smiled. “It’s no trouble, really.”

“Tom’s always doing that,” Zendaya rolls her eyes. “He’s that one in a million gentlemen.” Her arms crossed as she laughed. “Just let him take you; he won’t take no for an answer.”

You had a feeling they were talking about something else, but nonetheless, you let him accompany you. You waved to Kath one last time before walking through the doors with Tom by your side.

“How long have you been volunteering?”

“Since the summer before my junior year of highschool.”

He hummed. “How old are you?”

“I just turned nineteen,” you walked over a puddle. “How old are you?”

“I’m 21.”

You hummed just as he had. You saw your car near, and you were almost sad your encounter with Tom would end soon. You doubted you’d ever see him again after this, even if he did remember today.

“Listen I was wondering,” he spoke as you placed your bag into the backseat of your car — it wasn’t actually your car. It was your mom’s old one, she’d gotten it when she first moved to your childhood home. Convincing her you should have it was a nightmare. You focused on Tom. “If maybe… we could go out sometime? Sorry if this is totally unprofessional and if I’m completely reading this wrong or somethi-”

“No no-!” you cut him off before stopping shortly. “You didn’t. I’d- I’d love to go out with you sometime.”

“Great,” he said softly before repeating it more confidently. He handed you his cell phone gingerly, and you typed away in the bitter cold, smiling as you handed it back.

“I’ll- I’ll call you tonight. Af- after your parents.” You giggled. “Goodnight Y/N.”

“Goodnight,” you whispered just as he stepped away. You smiled to yourself, opening the car door.

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witchcraft-in-wonderland · 3 years

Text

Strangers (Pt.6)

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

As usual, Virgil hadnt slept very well, he'd been plagued throughout the night by memories that werent his, and this only worsened when he walked into the living room to see six silver necklaces on the table, each shaped as a different animal.

"JANUS- PATTON-" Virgil stood as far from the table as he could manage, backing against the wall.

"Virgil? What's wrong?-" Patton was the first to speak, rushing to Virgil's side.

"What are- what are those doing here-" Virgil whispered, pointing a shakey hand toward the necklaces.

"Relax Virgil- we're just researching them, you're still wearing the spider necklace are you not?" Janus said as he entered the room.

"I cant take it off. . ." Virgil said softly.

"We'll find a way, eventually, for now we need to research," Patton said, before walking over to the table, followed by Janus. Virgil waited a few seconds before sitting down as well.

"So what do you know so far?" Virgil said, scanning the necklaces.

Aside from the purple-eyed spider around his neck, and the red-eyed wolf Romulus possessed, he counted six other colors on the table in front of him.

A blue-eyed frog, an indigo-eyed unicorn, a yellow-eyed snake, a green-eyed kraken, a pink-eyed dear, and a black-eyed fox.

"Other than the fact that the color schemes bare a frightening resemblance to the color-coded friend group we maintain, not much," said Janus.

"So you brought more potentially cursed necklaces into the house without any idea of their relation to us." Virgil said monotonously.

"Well- we cant be sure all of them are cursed- I mean Roman's the only one acting different-" said Patton.

"That thing isnt Roman. I refuse to associate the two." Virgil growled. Patton flinched slightly and Virgil felt a guilt well up in his chest.

"Well- they all involve specific animals and colors obviously, and Romulus keeps calling me. . . Princess. . . And the girl in my dreams was slated to be royalty last I checked, so. . ." Virgil said, trying not to vomit as the word princess swam in his head in that condescending tone of Romulus'.

"The could be part of a royal court or guard! Virgil you genius!" Patton said excitedly. Virgil blushed slightly and moved to cover his face.

"I think this would be better resolved at the library," said Janus.

After an hour or two of deliberation and subsequent preparation for leaving the house, the trio found themselves huddled up in separate corners of the library.

Which, reflecting back, wasnt the best decision.

"Princess! I didnt see you home last night! I thought you promised you'd be back for dinner. . ." Virgil froze as he heard Romulus speak, he could move or think or breath or talk. All he could do was stare ahead of him and feel the tears running down his face as Romulus pulled him closer, as he felt Romulus' breath on his neck.

"You're breaking my heart again princess, I thought you loved me," Romulus whispered, he didnt sound upset.

"Let's get home, you obviously havent taken your meds," and Romulus was pulling him away from the library. It took several steps and almost reaching the door for Virgil to find his voice.

"How dare you touch me. How dare you try to act as though you missed anything more than a pretty little toy you can mock and stare at to make yourself feel better." That got the libraries attention, and, to Virgil's satisfaction, a frightened expression on Romulus' face. But something in his gut told him he hadnt been the only one speaking those words.

Soon enough Janus and Patton had emerged from their corners of the library, Patton almost toppling from the amount of books he was carrying, and Janus yet again brandishing his cane as though it were a great sword.

"I believe I told you that you werent to approach Virgil again. Was I not clear enough the first time." Janus snarled as he pulled Romulus back by the shirt.

"How many times must I tell you you have no right to keep me from my husband." Romulus snarled back.

"I am no spouse of yours." Virgil said, before storming out of the library.

He wasnt really sure where he was going, only that he was angry and tired of hiding.

And lucky for him, his affinity for shiny objects had managed to lead him to a different kind of bookshop, and a book with eight different colored gems built into the front.

"How much for this?" Virgil said, pointing to the book.

The girl behind the counter turned to look at him, white hair falling over her face.

"$250 and a free visit from the excorcist," she said, eyes slightly wide despite the vague expression of apathy.

Virgil stared for a moment before finally handing over the money. He took the book out of its case, bid the cashier goodbye, and walked away.

Now his only problem was finding a decent place to read.

"Virgil! What are you doing out here!" Virgil heard a call from none other than Remus.

"Reading-" Virgil said, he wasnt necessarily lying in that case.

"Jan! Pat! I found him!" Remus called inside before motioning for Virgil to follow. So Virgil did, and sat between Logan and Patton on the couch.

"What'd you find?" Said Janus, motioning to the book Virgil had placed on the table.

"Call Em and Remy, I think I just found our solution," Virgil said.

"Pat- you have the necklaces right?" He continued. Patton noddes and placed each on the table.

Soon enough they were joined by Emile and Remy, and they could begin to dissect the book itself.

"The Order of Terra, an elite squad originally compromised of six members, later joined by the Prince and Princess of Eirthanas, and disbanded when the Prince betrayed them all for power," Virgil started, tracing over the photo accompanying the description, though he couldnt quite make out the details.

"The leader of the order was Lord Larion Terraval, who's last name gifted the order its official title, Larion took up the unicorn necklace, which gave control of the stars, and the ability to communicate across any barrier," Virgil continued, the rest of the group gave a quick glance in Logan's direction. Which was expected, given the striking resemblance between the two, from deep blue eyes to the slight quirk of their eyebrows, it was almost as if they were twins.

"The second to join was the sister of the Prince, Duchess Remona Octavia, who took up the octopus necklace, granting control of the oceans and all their creatures," the girl shown in this picture had the same red-eyed manic expression as Remus, and even a streak of white through her hair, the only thing missing seemed to be the mustache.

"The third was a local mage, Remington Insolia, who took up the fox necklace, which granted control over sleep and disease," this man was identical to Remy in everything except the gray and white robes.

"The fourth was Jamillan Serpentes, who took up the snake necklace, and gained the abilities of hypnosis," this description was attached to a photo of a gaunt man, who looked much to stuffy to be Janus, but bared an all to familiar resemblance.

"The fifth was Emalei Primrose, a faun who took up the necklace of the deer, and gained the ability to cause mania, as well as psychic capabilities," the faun in the photo had the same pink and white heterochromia as Emile, the same broad smile, and the same curly brown and pink hair, albeit much longer.

"The sixth was Pamela Adbentes, who took up the frog necklace, and a variety of healing abilities," this was connected to a picture of a woman who looked as though she'd quite like to reach through the paper and pinch Virgil's cheek while asking if he wanted homemade cookies, which told him all he needed to know about her similarities to Patton.

Virgil felt his breath hitch as his eyes trailed over the next two entries.

"The Prince, Romulus, was meant to be the last to join, and had attempted to take up the spider necklace, only to be denied, and gifted the wolf necklace, as well as a vast knowledge of potions, poisons, and flattery," Virgil's hand went to his throat, he felt tears in his eyes as they ran over the all to familiar, all be it much less muscular, and much less huggable frame of the real Romulus.

"The final member of the Order of Terra was the most unwilling, Princess Viviana, the true bearer of the spider necklace, enforcer of nightmares, controller of the afterlife, she disappeared mere weeks before the Order of Terra was disbanded," and there she was. The lilac eyes, the long black hair. Nearly identical to the form Virgil had long since left behind.

Virgil had gotten the book to find answers, but now, now all he had was questions.

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

Tag list:

@lazyboneslover

@lovelivingmydreams

@baka-monarch

@that-peach-anon

@thefivecalls

@willowaudreykeyes

@pricklyfish777

@the-sad-strawberry

@itsnithbabey

@private-snippers

@0exterc0

@rich-flower-17

@theonetruebeepboop

@mycatshuman

@teamplutoforlife

@melodiread

@meowthefluffy

@frawkeye

@cemmy

@nerosdayinhell

@thecolorfulolive

@frog-candy-bee

#cori writes #strangers au #ts patton #ts remus #ts virgil #ts sides #ts logan #ts janus #ts emile #ts remy #ts romulus #ts pride roman #tw toxic relationship #tw abuse #tw murder mention #tw implied murder #tw panic attack #tw manipulation

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suituuup · 4 years

Note

Could you do a follow up to the amputee Beca story where she and Chloe talk about Beca’s time in the military and Beca opens up about how she really feels about being a double amputee? And how Chloe felt seeing Beca’s residual limbs for the first time. Love what you did with the prompt.

Thank you! Here you go :)

home is wherever I’m with you

rating: T

word count: 2k

ao3 link

The knock on the door jolts Beca out of her thoughts, her heart doing a happy flutter.

Chloe’s here.

After graduation, Chloe moved to California to attend Davis’ vet school, and Beca’s dad finally agreed with Beca’s plan to go to LA and to support her financially until she found herself a job in the music industry.

Fast forward to after the summer, Beca’s now an intern in one of the country’s most praised labels. Sure, she’s not making any money yet, but at least she’s got a foot in the door.

(well, figuratively speaking.)

She and Chloe have been doing long distance for four months now, and they were able to see each other twice, Chloe flying down to LA every eight weeks or so. Past the fact that it’s easier for Chloe to travel, she lives in a dorm while Beca has her own studio, which grants them more privacy.

Rolling away from her desk, Beca heads to the door, unlatching it and pulling it open. Chloe is straddling her a second later, Beca’s squeak swallowed by the searing kiss she’s pulled in.

“Jesus,” she croaks out when they part, her hands drifting down to Chloe’s ass as she rests her forehead against hers. “Miss me?”

Chloe answers by kissing her again, and Beca can only respond in kind, her own body throbbing with want. She’s thankful Chloe chose to wear sweatpants as she slides her hand down them minutes later to give Chloe what she needs.

“Wanna order a pizza?” Beca asks as they lie in bed an hour later, spent and hungry from their earlier activity.

“You mean you didn’t whip up a romantic dinner for your girlfriend?” Chloe teases, knowing damn well Beca can’t cook to save her life. She pushes a kiss to Beca’s lips. “Pizza sounds great, babe.”

Beca reaches for her phone off the bedside table, wincing as another pang of pain shoots through her leg. A leg that’s no longer there. She’s been experiencing those a lot lately, and upon visiting a physical therapist, was told they’re called phantom pains.

“What’s wrong?” Chloe asks as Beca dials the number of the pizza place on her phone.

“Nothing.” She hasn’t told Chloe about it, finding it difficult still to address anything related to her amputation. But the look Chloe gives her tells Beca she won’t let it rest, and Beca heaves a sigh. “I-I sometimes have pain like-- it feels as though my legs are still there and they’re burning.”

“Phantom pains?”

Beca blinks, putting her phone aside. “You’ve heard of it?”

Chloe nods. “When we started dating, I… did some research about all of it.”

Beca’s heart does a funny thing at that. “Oh, right.”

“What did the doctor say?”

“He suggested the mirror therapy where I should stand in front of one so my brain can integrate the fact that I no longer have legs, and also massaging my residual limbs.”

“I can do that,” Chloe murmurs. “Give you massages, if-- if you’re comfortable with that.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t.” Chloe’s hand drifts to cover hers. “I want to help, if I can.”

Beca purses her lips, hesitantly glancing at her girlfriend. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Let’s have dinner and then do that?”

“Yeah, okay.”

After dinner, Beca tells Chloe where she keeps her oil and settles back on the bed, over a towel to protect the sheets. “You’ll tell me if you feel uncomfortable, right?” She asks just to make sure as Chloe settles down beside her.

“Yes,” Chloe says with a smile, brushing a kiss to Beca’s lips. “And likewise for you.”

“Yeah.”

Chloe rubs some oil between her palms and starts kneading Beca’s left thigh, a groan flitting past Beca’s lips as the relief is near instant. She closes her eyes and tilts her head back against the headboard, exhaling deeply.

“That helps a lot,” she murmurs, brushing her fingers over Chloe’s upper arm in an affectionate gesture as she looks at her. “Thank you. I’ve always… been self conscious about how I look, ever since the procedure, and I was convinced you’d find it gross or something.”

“Seeing it for the first time at your PT appointment was a bit unsettling, yeah, because I couldn’t help but think about the trauma that triggered it. But did I think it was gross?” Chloe shakes her head. “Never. I promise. I know it’s easier said than done and your feelings are entirely valid, but your body is beautiful the way it is, baby. I hope you learn to accept it someday.”

Beca is silent for a little while, letting Chloe’s words wash over her and settle the anxiety swirling in her guts. “We drove over a landmine in Afghanistan,” she croaks out after a minute or two, the memory still fresh in her brain even though it’s been two years. She feels Chloe’s movements pause but doesn’t look up. She can still smell it. The tires burning, the oil leaking, the blood. “The back of the truck blew up. It’s still blurry and I’m not sure what happened next but I got stuck under the side of it and my legs got crushed,” she takes a pause, emotions rising as she’s never told the story aloud except to her therapist. “Help arrived pretty quickly and they managed to free me. I was choppered to the nearest trauma center.” Beca inhales sharply as tears burn behind her eyes. She can still hear the whines and cries of her comrades before they drew their last breath. “My two best friends… they didn’t make it.”

Chloe shuffles up to sit by Beca’s side, draping an arm around her waist as she rests her forehead against the side of Beca’s head. Beca leans against her, her hand resting on Chloe’s forearm. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

Beca swallows, licking her lips. “I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you what happened. It’s still… hard to talk about.”

“Thank you for trusting me,” Chloe murmurs and presses a kiss to Beca’s jaw.

“Thank you for being you,” Beca replies, twisting her head to look at Chloe. Her hand drifts up to cradle her cheek. She’s still in awe of how lucky she is to have found such a beautiful person who loves her as much as Chloe does despite everything; being a double amputee, the nightmares, the PTSD episodes. “I love you so much.”

Chloe nuzzles Beca’s nose, then brushes a kiss to her lips. “I love you, too.”

They experience some ups and downs over the next two years as sometimes long distance is hard to handle, but their relationship only comes out of it stronger. Beca lands a job as assistant producer in the same label. Chloe finds a job in LA after graduating, and they move in together in a cute one bedroom apartment in Pasadena.

“What do you mean that last scene was ridiculous?” Chloe asks, seemingly affronted. They’ve just come out of the theater after watching a romcom Chloe dragged Beca to. “I thought it was cute.”

Beca rolls her eyes as she walks beside her girlfriend. “It was cheesy as f—”

A loud BANG! cuts Beca off and she visibly shrinks, her mind and body going into shock so quickly she can’t stop it. She leans against the nearby street post, her legs feeling like jelly.

“Babe?” Chloe’s hand comes to rest on her shoulder but Beca recoils from it as her breathing turns labored. “It was a car backfiring, Becs. We’re safe.”

Beca shakes her head, panic having already gripped her insides and shut out any kind of rationality. Flashbacks jump her mind and sounds that still haunt her in her dreams weave themselves in a continuous loop.

“You’re okay baby,” Chloe soothes. “You’re okay. You’re in LA, with me, not at war. You’re safe. ”

Beca hears Chloe’s words without really registering them; they get lost in the cloud surrounding her brain and keeping her from going back to reality.

She doesn’t know how long it takes, but she eventually snaps back into the present. Street chatter replaces the cries of her friends, cars passing by are quieter than the crawlers of tanks crunching the dry ground, and Chloe is here.

Beca leans against her, clutching on for dear life as she tries to bring her heart rate back to normal.

“It’s okay,” she soothes, brushing a kiss to Beca’s temple. “You’re home.”

A year later, Beca proposes. There’s no big speech or romantic meal planned; she asks Chloe as they lie in bed one lazy Sunday morning after making love. The sun is shining over them through the window, and Chloe is pressed snugly against her, laughing at one of her lame jokes, and it’s just… perfect.

They get married six months later at a resort in Northern California, surrounded by their close friends and families. The next few years are a blur of domestic bliss, before their lives get a whole new meaning with the arrival of their baby.

Beca’s not quite used to being woken up in the middle of the night, and she jolts at the shrill cry coming through the baby monitor.

“I’ve got her,” she rasps when she feels Chloe shift next to her, and uses her arms’ strength to transfer herself in the wheelchair set next to her side of the bed.

They moved into a larger place when Chloe found out she was pregnant, a house with a garden on the outskirts of LA. It has no stairs and large rooms, ideal for Beca to manœuvre her chair around as she tends not to wear her prosthetics at home. They got a custom made crib which slides open on the side so Beca can easily pick their baby up from her chair, and their changing table can also be lowered to her height.

“What’s up, sweet pea?” She coos as she undoes the latch and slides the side of the crib open, leaning forward to lift the three month old. She knows it’s her hungry cry, and with Emma on her lap, rolls towards the kitchen to heat up a pouch of breast milk. Much like the stroller, the wheelchair movements momentarily sooth Emma.

“Here we are,” Beca murmurs minutes later, cradling Emma in the crook of her elbow and presenting her with the bottle. She’s still completely in awe of this tiny human being who’s captured her heart the moment Beca held her in her arms for the first time. It’s like she felt her heart double in size to be able to accomodate all the love she held for her wife and daughter. Yeah. Motherhood has turned her into a real softie. She smiles as Emma’s big blue eyes lock on her while she feeds. “You had to have your mommy’s eyes, huh? How am I going to be able to ever say no to you?”

Once Emma finishes, Beca heads back to the nursery to change her and sings her back to sleep, carefully setting her in her crib.

“Mama loves you, my sweet girl.”

She rolls back to the master and parks her wheelchair next to her side of the bed, locking the brakes before transferring herself back into bed. After years of practice, it doesn’t take Beca as long as it used to.

Chloe snuggles into her side as soon as Beca’s settled down. “All good?”

“Mhm,” Beca hums, brushing a kiss to her wife’s hair. “Everything’s perfect.”

#bechloe #bechloe fanfic #beca mitchell #chloe beale

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ghostofnibelheim · 3 years

Text

azure-steel:

It had all happened so fast, so fast that his head was still reeling, so fast that he could still feel the inferno of Nibelheim torching his skin, could still see the smoke rising and filling his lungs. A blanket against the sky, blocking out the sun, choking the life out of everything.

Everything around him was dying.

The world was tilting, everything Cloud ever knew and loved was crashing into the corners of reality itself, and even as he came to in the midst of the chaos, he is unable to determine the screams he could hear in the near distance were actually his own.

Even as he makes his way to the reactor, as he’s brandishing that broadsword, even as he plunges it into the yielding flesh of the man who’d taken everything from him in this unfathomable moment of sheer madness, there was no power to be salvaged when staring into the shimmering face of grief.

“How could you?! I worshipped you! How could you do this?! Sephiroth!!”

How is Cloud hoping to reason with this lunatic, did he honestly believe he’d be garnered any answers?

“You’ve taken everything! My home! My mother! Give them back!!”

Holding fast against the hilt of Zack’s blade does he demand knowledge, of which he knows he’ll never truly be granted. All he knows for certain is that it hurts, and that agony birthed from crippling loss and white-hot unadulterated rage, it was all he knew; in this moment there was nothing else.

Nothing but anger.

“Give them back to me, you bastard!!”

Cloud would attempt to twist that blade now protruding through Sephiroth’s gut, but again time gets away from him and already is he skewered along the formidable edge of the Masamune. The pain is enough to have him cry out; hot, unbearable, fracturing. And he’s laying there so suddenly on his back, the buster sword so far out of reach though Cloud still attempts to make a grab for it, feebly as the strength slowly drains from his body. All the man had to do was lift and he’d cleave Cloud in half, though it seems the wound inflicted upon the former war hero is taking it’s toll. So visibly does Sephiroth falter in that moment, unable to even lift Cloud’s slighter frame and dropping the prize he’s retrieved from the bowels of the reactor.

He’s so cold now, so very cold, hands grasping the steel of Sephiroth’s blade sunk into his belly, and he shivers against the hard freezing reactor floor, watching with an air of glee as Sephiroth collapses next to him. Cloud is struggling to breath, slowly drowning in the blood rising into his throat as it puffles out of his mouth in hot slimy bubbles, but he’s determined not to die before that bastard. He wants to watch as the life drains out of his eyes, wants to see him suffering as he was.

Even as the darkness creeps in around the edges of his eyes, he will not die before him, but he’s so tired.

He’s so tired…

Fighting the black, all consuming, it was a battle Cloud lost so very quickly.

At least it didn’t hurt anymore.

“- here soon.”

“We’re almost done-”

Muffled noises rang in his ears, slowly stirring his senses. Broken shreds of conversations.

“-all the bodies. He said we should take his too.”

“No. He’s not dead, and we still need him to-”

Who was speaking…? He tried to open his eyes, but a blinding light forced them shut. Weakly, he moved his head away in avoidance.

“But the President-”

“You can tell the President, I said so.” A sinister, more familiar voice reached him, sharpening his senses into alert. His body jolted.

“Professor? H-He’s waking up…!”

“Hmmmm? What, oh, you stitched him up?”

“It was to stop the bleeding…”

“…Alright, well. Don’t overdo it.” The familiar voice was just above him now. A shadow cast before him, shielding him from the blinding light. “If he recovers too much, there’s no stopping him. Stick to the bare minimum treatment, for the harvest to stay fresh. Heeheeheehee…”

That laugh. Sephiroth’s eyes opened, quickly. Squinting at the pale face who observed him behind round, glinting glasses.

“Hojo…?”

“Rise and shine, my boy.” The doctor leered down at him. “Congratulations on your early retirement. I’m sorry, but we’ll have to skip on the farewell party.”

He hated to be called that way. The man always had, ever since his childhood. It hadn’t stopped Sephiroth from growing up with a sheer spite for the researcher.

The SOLDIER tried to rise, at least move away. But he couldn’t. His body wasn’t responding. Everything down the neckline was paralyzed. He could sense his torso was bare, but he could do little more than just wander with his eyes. His mouth still tasted like blood. “What…?”

“Such a shame you won’t be able to enjoy your pension. I heard it’s pretty high.” Hojo had moved to a station of surgery tools beside him. Sephiroth finally recognized the room… it was the underground laboratory underneath Shinra Manor.

When he didn’t respond, Hojo flicked him an entertained look, preparing a syringe with great care.

“Fallen in action, they said.” He continued, seemingly amused by the subject enough to explain unprompted. “You should be happy. Your moment of stardom has ended in a flash. You’ll still be a hero, to the eyes of many.”

Now he was starting to remember. The fog in his mind was clearing, if only in part. Genesis’ words. All his studying, in this very room. He had uncovered the truth. He was no hero…

He was the chosen one.

“…Where is my Mother….?”

“Yes, I saw what you did back in there. But rest assured, Sephiroth: your mother is dead, just as I told you.”

“…No. No, you lied to me. I am….”

“We’re monsters.” Genesis’ voice reverberated in his mind.

“I am Cetra.”

“My boy, my boy….!” Hojo singsonged, returning by his side. His head shook as he addressed him in a condescending manner. “You are no Cetra. You can’t speak to the Planet, remember? We’ve tried a lot when you were a child, didn’t we? It didn’t work.”

Slitted pupils shrunk, transfixed in shock on the researcher. Just like that, doubt was seeded. Freshly built certainties were cracking and crumbling. No… he refused to believe him. This man, he had lied all his life to him. He knew where he came from, and yet never said anything. Let him fester in doubt and countless questions for two whole decades without the slightest concern. And now, he laughed in his face.

“You’ve got time to let that sink in.” Hojo seemed to read his thoughts, shrugging lightly with a sneer, before moving to push the large needle into his side. “Of course, you’re still pretty special. A failed experiment, but you did pretty great as our poster child, didn’t you? And don’t worry… You’ve still got some purpose here.”

Sephiroth’s eyes narrowed, mouth pressing into a thin line at the sharp pain. The bastard was doing something to him without the slightest amount of anaesthetic, taking advantage of his paralysis.

“Look at these pretty liver cells.” The old man chuckled that irritating laugh under his nose, tapping the syringe with a satisfied look. Handing it over to a nearby assistant. “Start with these.”

A failed experiment. A perfect monster. Of all the things he had been told of being, he couldn’t understand nor like either. Had this truly been the reason of his existence all along? He was just the whim of a pathetic human being. A product of greed and playing God.

All so far from the grandiose role he had convinced himself of being. Could he really accept that?

His mind was miles away, eyes autonomously following the movements in the room. The assistant of Hojo who had his cells, was he going to be giving that to Genesis? Had Hojo been in cahoots with him too, after all?

He watched him move across the room, and only then he noticed the large tanks shining with mako light within. More of those pods to produce abominations, like Angeal’s and Genesis’?

Sephiroth’s eyes opened slightly, recognizing Zack’s reflection into one of them. And the other was….?

His vision was obstacled again. Hojo had returned. Another syringe, this one to be injected into his bicep.

“That will be enough for today, my boy.” His smile was sinister, in the shape of a crescent moon, the reflection of the bright light beside him whitening the surface of his round glasses.

The fallen hero felt the burning torpor of the sleeping potion run through his veins, and for once, he welcomed the embrace of sleep. Anything, to escape the nightmare of his existence.

#01B || This goes on your permanent record. [IC: Sephiroth]#12A || You belong to me. [Cloud Strife]#04 || Four Seasons [Divergent Megaverse]#04t3 || Fall of Angels [Thread]#azuresteel #azure-steel #tw: blood

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floatingbook · 4 years

Text

On existing (I am my body)

- long overdue, and written in part in light of these posts.

Descartes said “Je pense donc je suis” and from a pragmatic point of view, I think it’s stupid. Or more accurately, irrelevant. Yes, as human being, we think. But that’s not enough to action existence. If you are only your thoughts, then what actions, what interactions do you have with the world? Your thoughts are not enough to act on anything, to create anything, to change anything. Left in the state of thoughts, all the ideas, all the innovations, all the insights you might have might as well not exist in a way, because no one beyond you is aware of it. Yes there is value in knowing something for yourself, but there is also a reason the best kept secrets are the ones nobody knows about, because then functionally they might as well not exist. Practically, we exist because we enact change of the world — in that we alter the current state of the world every moment.

My existence is my body, but I am not the one putting limitations on it. Being my body, my body being me, simply means that if my body was different, I would be a different person. I would not be alive without a body, without my body. It grows with me; time imprints its passage on my body as it does on what would be described as “my mind”, but “the mind” is just another part of the body. It’s a whole. I can’t be separated from my body because I am my body. You don’t have to separate the mind/consciousness/soul or whichever you want to call it from the body. It’s a part of your body, just like your heart is one, and your blood is one, and your immune system. Does science only have limited answers thus far as to how our thoughts, our consciousness, our sense of existence, our intuition, work? Yes. That doesn’t mean that we have to invent something separate from our body to explain it. Being your body doesn’t mean that spirituality is an illusion or that there is no such thing as experiences that can’t quite be explained by science yet.

There’s nothing dehumanising about being our bodies. We are defined as human, as opposed to other animals, because of our bodies; not because we laugh or because of any other behaviours that we can exhibit; our bodies are what make us human and allow us to be classified as such. We are different from machines because of these bodies; we are more than the sum of our parts, especially because that particular assemblage makes it possible for thoughts and reflections and a sense of time and space and morals to exist. I am the source of my creativity, of my motivations, of my intuition, or more accurately, they are part of me, they arise from the body and without it would not exist.

When people state that we have to have a soul, that we are not just a body, I find it very limiting. Who taught you to hate your body? Who taught you that your body makes you nothing more than a machine? Who taught you that having a body, being your body was limiting? Who taught you that the body was not enough? Thinking that you need to have a soul that is distinct from your body, otherwise you are “just a piece of meat to be used”, is a sad representation of your body. As if the body was not worthy. As if you needed a soul to save the body from its lowliness. Why do you believe that being your body is a reduction?

All the hypotheticals where people try to bait each other with “and what if you were born in a different body?” or “what if we put your brain in a different body?” or “i feel like i was born in the wrong body” leave me confused. If I was born in a different body, I would be a different person. I can’t be separated from my body; there is no way that you can take the “floatingbook mind/soul/consciousness” (or whatever you want to call it) and leave just the physical enveloppe behind. If you could put my brain in another person’s body and somehow that could wake up, it would no longer be me nor would it be that other person. Because what makes me me is my whole body; just look at recent research on the brain-gut connection and its potential impacts on depression or autism to see that we don’t have a “mind” that can be separated from the rest of the body. Society and its paradigms can make you feel like there is a disconnect between you and your body, but that’s precisely because you believe that there’s a difference between your “soul” and your body. If you are your body, there’s no need for a disconnect. The self-hatred fostered by patriarchal society becomes evident (tho it’s not easy to get rid of).

The apparent disagreements that I have with some of the posts I linked at the beginning seem to be due with a difference of perception, of point of view. I don’t think that being my body is a limitation. I don’t think that being my body means that I don’t have thoughts or a purpose or creativity or that science already has all the responses.

For centuries, the catholic religion claimed that women had no souls; it’s been less than a century since women have been granted them. I don’t find it revolutionary to pretend, as a woman, that I have a soul. I don’t believe in life after death. The concept of a soul has been used against women and against homosexuals to promise us an eternity of damnation. It is much more comforting to accept that who you are is intimately tied to your body, and that once you die, you do not exist as you once did.

Down the line, the dichotomy body/soul is dangerous, because it often puts the body in the second place. The concept of soul put our existence solely in the abstract mind and posits that the body is just an extension of that, simply the mean by which we interact with the world. That opens the door to all sorts of abuses, like mistreating your body, punishing yourself physically, thinking that your body is just a vessel that you can wantonly alter to serve your soul’s purpose. It allows men to threaten you with religion and say that your soul will burn in hell if you do not behave and stay meek and silent. It implies that something is handing out souls — because if they don’t arise from the body, they have to come from somewhere. Belief in a separate soul means in practise that you consider the body lesser. Pretending that there is a dichotomy makes it easy to disregard the body, and who does that serve? Men. It’s way easier to push women into diets, into impractical clothing, into self-hatred, if they view their body with contempt.

I have found nothing more healing than realising that I am my body, that there need to be no separation between the “mind” and the “body”. Settling in your own bones, breathing, acknowledging that you have a physical form, that it is how you experience the world. That there need be no disconnect between you and your body, because you and your body are the same thing. I am my body, and this is why, and how, I exist.

#on existing #i am my body #a lesbian perspective #there's nothing reductive in it #the concept of soul and mind/body dichotomy reeks of religion and patriarchal control to me #i'm pretty sure deep down we agree on a lot #we just don't put the same words on it #your body is not the enemy #women's liberation

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3.

Chapter 35: Sasha

“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Jon asks anxiously.

“I’m fine, Jon,” Sasha says for what feels like the tenth time in the last three minutes. “Phone’s fully charged, so is my laptop. The trapdoor is unlocked and I can get there from my desk in fifteen seconds flat, I’ve timed it. And if all else fails”—she waves her tape recorder at him—“I’ve got this, so there will at least be a record of whatever happens to me.”

Jon frowns. “That’s not funny.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.” Sasha sighs.

It’s not that she doesn’t appreciate that her boss has her best interests at heart. She does. And they’re all friends, and that helps too. But Jon’s paranoia has been back in full force since his encounter with Nikola Orsinov. Tim and Martin are fairly good at tempering it, from what she’s noticed, but he still jumps at small noises and insists they stay together in pairs whenever possible. She doesn’t blame him, especially after they tell the Primes what happened and Jon Prime nearly has a panic attack before he manages to pull himself together. The situation feels like it’s balanced on the edge of a razor blade separating a lake of fire on one side and a bottomless pit on the other—like their choices are to maintain the balance and risk bleeding out before they can get to the other side, or fall to one side or the other and trust in a rescue.

Sasha can admit, if only to herself, that she’s curious about what a lake of fire might feel like to swim in, or if a bottomless hole is truly bottomless, but she’s not going to doom the whole world just to see what happens if she does.

“Jon. It’s okay,” she repeats. “It’s ten in the morning. The building is full of people. I’ll be as safe as I can be. Besides, someone’s got to be here in case someone wants to see what we do in the basement or Elias decides to stop lurking in the shadows and come down to cause havoc. You three have had this planned for weeks.” Raising her voice a little, she adds, “And someone’s got to stop Tim from attempting to fistfight the waxworks because he thinks they’re going to attack.”

“Shut up, Sasha,” Tim calls from the other side of the Archives, where he’s reshelving his files.

Jon smiles, if a bit reluctantly. “And we do both need to be there, if he’s serious about…all right. Just promise you’ll be careful.”

“Cross my heart.” Sasha returns the smile. “You three be careful, too. If I hear about any of you on the twelve o’clock news, I’ll—”

“Disavow any knowledge of us and refuse our phone calls from jail?” Martin supplies as he returns from wherever he’s been and picks up his jacket.

Sasha snorts. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m going to milk my association with you for all it’s worth. Can you imagine how much the media would pay for an exclusive interview with a close friend of the Waxwork Assassins?”

Jon’s laugh sounds a little unwilling, but from the slight easing in the tension in his shoulders, Sasha guesses she hit the right note. She can’t make him smile as easily as Martin or Tim can, but every once in a while she manages it.

“Don’t work too hard,” Tim says, clapping her on the shoulder as he passes.

“I intend to break out the champagne as soon as you leave,” Sasha shoots back. “Go. Have fun. Try not to punch anything.”

“See you tomorrow, Sasha,” Martin says.

Sasha walks them to the door of the Archives and waves as they set off, Tim on one side and Martin on the other. It’s one of those arbitrary Saturdays Elias has once a quarter where he declares the Institute open to anyone, not just academics, which means they’re all supposed to be in until noon. He always declares them less than a week in advance, though, and Sasha’s fellow team members have already made plans to spend a few hours at Madame Tussauds; partly it’s that they want to see if they can figure out what the Not-Sasha was doing there in the Primes’ time, partly it’s that none of them ever really go off and do anything fun outside their house and they frankly deserve it. Sasha also knows that Tim is going to practice what he’s been learning, about targeting his vision. She’s not sure if that’s knowledge granted to her by the Eye or if she just knows Tim well enough to have figured it out; either way, she wonders if Jon and Martin are aware of it and if she should have warned them. Then she recalls Jon’s half-finished sentence and mentally kicks herself. Of course Jon and Martin are aware of what Tim’s planning. He’s trying to be better about communicating—they all are—so of course he would have told them, probably when he booked their tickets for today. He probably just forgot she hadn’t been part of the conversation.

She heads back to her desk and tells herself not to worry. They’ll be fine.

Settling in at her computer, she goes back to the research she’s doing on this current statement. Martin’s new cross-indexing system pulled up several potential matches, and she’s digging to see if any of it pans out. (Although, considering the nature of the statement, maybe she shouldn’t use phrases like that.) It’s definitely a Flesh statement; unlike the others, which can be more subtle, the Flesh is blatantly obvious when it turns up.

After a few minutes, though, she gives up. She does not have the stomach for this, not today. Instead, she clicks through a few layers of security until she’s in her private, hidden part of her laptop and her private research project. She’s got a few notes to dictate, and she doesn’t like taking work home with her, so she scoops up her laptop and the new tape recorder that matches her nails and retreats to the depths of Document Storage. They prefer doing their unofficial tapes…not on the main floor. It makes them feel a little better, she supposes.

It’s Martin who carved out the space in the boxes, carefully shuffling them around until there’s a little niche just wide enough for a comfortable chair, with an extra box missing from the layer so there’s somewhere to set drinks or notes as the case may be. It’s Tim who found the worn but sturdy armchair at a charity shop, and, surprisingly, it’s Jon who bought what is possibly the world’s tackiest slipcover, what Sasha can only class as “electric paisley”. Tim claims it looks exactly like what he sees when he looks at the shelves in the Archives, but only to Sasha and Martin; he doesn’t even joke about it in front of Jon. Sasha can’t decide if it’s sweet or something she should be concerned about.

She settles into the armchair, legs folded into the lotus position beneath her, and sets her laptop on the note box, then clicks on her tape recorder.

“Research of Sasha James, Archival assistant at the Magnus Institute, regarding the heads of the Institute, past and present,” she says. “Recorded eleventh February, 2017. Notes on Director Thomas Fitzwalter, fourth Head of the Institute, tenure 1940 to 1941.”

At least she doesn’t have a lot of people to look into. In some ways, her self-appointed task is easier than Tim’s or Martin’s, just because the scope is so much tighter. In other ways, of course, it’s harder. Tim only needs to work with himself, and Martin’s index is entirely self-contained within the Archives and their ongoing research. Sasha may only have a total of seven people to actually look into, but they’re hard to pin down. Partly it’s their age; records that predate digital record-keeping are trickier to search, as she has to hope they’ve been indexed online or find a library that might have the resources she needs. Partly it’s the fact that, well, they’re men who were only nominally themselves and were actually Jonah Magnus. Naturally he wouldn’t want people looking too closely at them.

But she’s struck, as she describes the details she’s been able to pull up about the man who had the shortest tenure as Institute Head due to what was either a poorly-timed or well-timed German bomb, by just how unremarkable all of the people she’s looked into were. None of them were standouts in their field, students from prestigious universities, or the scions of powerful families—which has to be a first in academia. She’s working her way backwards, so maybe she’ll find something different with the two men between Jonah Magnus and Thomas Fitzwalter, but so far, not a single one of them has been remotely distinguished, and in any other institute it would be a shock for them to ascend to head it up. Especially so quickly.

“I’m kind of curious as to why the Eye didn’t warn Fitzwalter about the attack in time to get under cover,” she muses. “I’m still doing research into him, so it’s possible he just wasn’t very likable or intelligent, but—”

“Hello?”

“Shit,” Sasha hisses. It’s not one of her boys—or Elias, which is a plus—but that means it’s someone she needs to deal with. “End recording.”

She snaps off the tape, pockets the recorder, closes her laptop, and hastens out to the main Archives with a smile plastered on her face. It falters when she sees who’s standing there—none other than P.C. Basira Hussain, arms folded tightly across her chest. Sasha is ready to get defensive, but then she takes a closer look at her face. She looks…grim is one word for it. Haunted is another. Gutted might come closest.

“Officer Hussain?” she says cautiously.

Basira makes a good effort at glaring at her, but it’s not particularly intimidating. “Was looking for J—Sims.”

“He’s out today,” Sasha answers. “It’s just me, I’m afraid. Can I help you?”

Basira makes a noncommittal noise. “That happen often? Them leaving you to hold down the fort on your own?”

“No, usually there are at least two of us around at all times, especially these days. But we’re also not usually here on Saturdays,” Sasha says. “Open house. Director Bouchard”—she says his name in the clipped, precise, tight-lipped manner of a woman in a male-dominated industry speaking of a superior who would like to keep it that way—“scheduled it somewhat last-minute, and the others already had plans for the afternoon.”

“And they made you stay, did they? Typical men.”

“Actually, I offered. I’ve taken more days off in the last year than all three of them put together, not counting when Martin was out on medical leave after his stint as a colander.”

Basira almost smiles. Sasha sets her laptop on her desk and comes closer. “Okay, I’ve got to ask—is this a professional visit or a personal one? Not like that,” she adds quickly when Basira stiffens. “I know you’re not—Jon doesn’t seem like your type. I just meant—are you here as a cop or…?”

“No, it’s…” Basira sighs heavily. “Just needed to talk to him, I guess. I called yesterday and—”

Sasha remembers now. Jon came out of his office and had Martin pull up all the cases they’ve come across involving the name Maxwell Rayner. “Yeah, I—he mentioned that.”

“He did,” Basira says flatly.

Shit, they’re not supposed to know Basira is feeding him those tapes…but then Sasha thinks, to hell with it. “Yeah. It’s hard to keep secrets around here, you know? Turns out we’re all developing spooky supernatural powers, and mine is that sometimes I know things without knowing how I know them. I mean, sometimes I can Know things on purpose, but mostly it’s just passing by someone and accidentally plucking a secret out of their brain without meaning to. Let me tell you, I did not need to know that the man behind the counter at my favorite coffee shop has a foot fetish.”

“I dunno, that might be useful in the summer if you’re the type to wear sandals.” Basira relaxes, just a fraction, which surprises Sasha more than a little. “What did he say?”

“Just that you’d called and asked about Maxwell Rayner. Look, have a seat, you look like you’re about to fall over. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? There’s some peppermint hot cocoa, too, if that strikes your fancy.” Sasha means it—Basira does look like she needs some fortification, and maybe to talk and get something off her chest—but if she’s being honest, she’s also burning with curiosity about what happened. She’s got to be careful about bringing that up, though. “Sorry we don’t have anything stronger, but, you know, we’re pretending to be professional.”

“Actually, that cocoa doesn’t sound too bad,” Basira mutters. She drops into Tim’s chair and leans her folded arms on his desk, staring at the surface like it holds the secrets of the universe.

Sasha hurries over to their tea station and pulls out one of the spare mugs they rarely use, along with the mug that long ago became hers. Cocoa sounds good, actually. It was grey and overcast when she came in, and she Knows without meaning to that it’s just barely warm enough that it’s raining instead of snowing, so it’s a good day for cocoa. She gives a fleeting thought to wondering if the Primes are warm enough in the stone tunnels, then goes back to making the cocoa.

“Here,” she says, handing the guest mug to Basira. “Made with water, not milk, but I mix a little bit of creamer into it. Works a treat.”

“Thanks,” Basira mutters.

As Sasha takes her seat, she notices her tape recorder sitting on her desk. It was definitely in her pocket a minute ago, and she definitely didn’t take it out, but there it is, innocuously resting next to her laptop. And, she notices, it’s running.

It’s not really a surprise, in some ways. Obviously Basira has a statement, and obviously it’s the real McCoy. It just startles Sasha that the tape recorder turned itself on…and for her. She sort of figured that only happens for Jon. It’s honestly a bit of a thrill, knowing that whatever is behind these tapes recognizes her.

She collects herself. “I take it that…whatever you were asking about Rayner for didn’t go well?”

Basira takes a long drink of her cocoa. “We lost Altman. Just…wasn’t paying attention. Don’t know what they’re going to tell his family. Guess it could have been worse, though, if I hadn’t talked to your boss first, so…tell him I said thanks.”

Sasha reaches over and squeezes Basira’s free hand as comfortingly as she can. Surprisingly, Basira grips it back. “Do you want to talk about it? I mean…I know you’re probably bound by all kinds of confidential agreements and all that, but you can ask any of the others, I’m really good at keeping secrets. We’re trying not to keep secrets from each other, but if you tell me not to say anything to them, I won’t. Just between you and me and whatever’s at the other end of the tape recorder that I absolutely did not turn on myself, by the way. Did you?”

Basira stares at it. “Fuck. Didn’t even notice it was on.” She takes a deep breath. “You know, I—I think I do want to talk about it. Don’t even care if you tell the others, or play them the tape or whatever, just…I need to talk to someone, I think. And with all those Section Thirty-One forms, this is probably the only place I can talk about it. Sure the only place I can talk about it and not feel crazy.”

Sasha nods. “Be glad you didn’t come in a year, year and a half ago. Jon’s skeptic act was legendary.”

“I’ll bet. He looks like a skeptic who got thrown in the deep end.” Basira makes an attempt at a smile. “Where do you want me to start?”

“As the King of Hearts said to the White Rabbit, ‘Begin at the beginning, and go on until you reach the end: then stop.’”

“Alice in Wonderland. Fitting. That’s about what it felt like.” Basira sets down the mug on the table. “Well then. I guess the beginning is with the disappearance of Callum Brodie.”

Sasha keeps her eyes on Basira’s face as she describes the events at the Outer Bay Shipping industrial complex in Harringay. There’s just a little bit of static in her ears as she listens, but mostly it’s just Basira’s voice and the story she’s telling. It is…objectively terrifying, to be honest. Sasha’s always been just a little bit afraid of the dark, or at least of what might be hiding in the dark, and although she never says anything to the others, the Dark statements get to her. She’s never heard one live, though. Never sat with someone and felt their terror coursing through the loop of the shared space between them as they describe coming face to face with one of the two entities Sasha is willing to admit she genuinely fears (the other, obviously, being the Stranger, and she’s still not sure if that’s because of what it did to her Prime counterpart or because of what it did to Tim or just because it’s the natural enemy of the entity she’s bound to). It’s compelling, and the air seems charged with something, but she can’t say what.

“I think they were connected to that cult group from way back, the Church of the Divine whatever,” Basira says at last. She sounds drained.

“The People’s Church of the Divine Host,” Sasha supplies. “Rayner was their leader back in the nineties. We’ve had—God, how many statements about them? I can probably pull them for you if you want.”

“I don’t,” Basira says firmly. “Not even a little. I’ve been thinking a lot over the last few days, and…I’m done. With the police, with Section Thirty-One, all of it. Was going to tell Jon in person, but if he’s not here, this is the best I can do. Anyway, you all have my statement. I felt like I owed it to you.”

Sasha tilts her head to one side. “You’re really quitting?”

“Yeah. And you should, too. All of you. This place…it’s not right.”

Sasha can’t help the soft snort of laughter. “No kidding. I can’t, though.”

Basira raises an eyebrow. “Have to see it through? Or is it loyalty to your coworkers?”

She sounds bitter—like she’s talking from personal experience. Sasha wants to probe at that, but throttles it back. First of all, Basira is a lot pricklier than the rest of Team Archives, she won’t respond to her the same way. And second of all, she is actively trying to be less of an arse about that sort of thing. Instead, she decides for complete honesty. “No, it’s the sort of thing you’re done with. I’m being literal when I say I can’t quit. We’re bound to the Institute—to the Archives. If any of us try to leave, we’ll die.”

“I’ll keep that in mind if I ever get offered a job here,” Basira says dryly. She squeezes Sasha’s hand—it’s only then Sasha realizes they’ve maintained that physical contact throughout the entirety of her statement—then stands up. “Tell Jon I said to stay safe.”

Sasha stands, too, and watches her head to the door. Before she gets there, though, she calls out, “Basira.”

Basira stops and looks back over her shoulder. “What?”

Sasha should ask about the tapes—Jon’s going to want to know, they all want to know, and if Basira quits the force they might have to ask Daisy to bring them and nobody wants that—but what comes out of her mouth is, “Keep a light on for a while. It—I don’t want it to come after you, too.”

Basira studies her for a moment, then gives a small half-smile. “I will. Thanks, Sasha.” With that, she leaves the Archives.

Click! The tape recorder shuts itself off. Sasha stares at it for a moment, then swears. Unlike the others, she didn’t grow up functionally bilingual, so her profanity is limited to English and the smattering of dirty words she and her classmates looked up in French class, but she makes good use of them. She hits the button to rewind the tape with one hand and fishes out her phone with the other. Calling up the obnoxiously-named group chat, she hastily thumbs a message: [Let me know when you’re done.]

That done, she opens her laptop again and sets into some serious research.

Nobody ever visits the Archives on Open House days; the only people who ever come down here anyway are students doing dissertations who need firsthand accounts, especially older ones, and no self-respecting student works on a Saturday morning. So there’s no one to interrupt her as she clicks through Martin’s index, then switches her focus to the onerous task of following the twists and threads of corporate ownership. They haven’t done much research into Maxwell Rayner, either, or at least not as much as they should, so Sasha broadens her search for the name. What she comes up with nearly steals the breath from her lungs. It’s a coincidence, it has to be…

“Sasha?”

Sasha jumps, nearly flipping her laptop across the desk, and whips her head around to see Jon, Martin, and Tim coming towards her, looking worried. “Jesus, you three scared the hell out of me. What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering. We got worried,” Martin says, pointing at her phone.

Sasha looks and sees that she’s missed fifteen texts in the group chat, starting with [We’re done. What’s up?] and devolving from there into mild panic. She flushes. “Sorry. I guess I got a bit wrapped up in my research…didn’t expect you to be done so quickly. Um, how did it go?”

“Fine. Stranger-free,” Tim answers. “One of the staff members has something, though. Jon smelled the statement on her—”

“That makes it sound worse, somehow,” Jon mutters.

“—and I’m pretty sure it’s a Desolation,” Tim continues. “Hopefully she stops by at some point so we can confirm that. What are you still doing here?”

Martin looks over her shoulder at the page called up on her screen. “Max—? Basira. She called back?”

“She was here,” Sasha tells him. She points at her recorder. “The operation she was on went sideways. It’s all on there, but if you’re going to listen, I need to be somewhere else.”

“No, it’s—some other time, maybe.” Jon rubs his forehead. “Summarize for us?”

“Rayner and his…cult, or what’s left of it, kidnapped a boy named Callum Brodie about three weeks ago,” Sasha answers. “The police apparently got a tip-off as to where they’d taken him—a place up in Harringay registered to Outer Bay Shipping. They had a raid yesterday and it was pretty much entirely sectioned officers. Basira called you as soon as she realized that, and by the way, she says thank you for the tip about the lights, because it’s probably the only reason they didn’t all end up dead.” She pauses, wondering how to wrap it all into a neat package, then finally says, “Details are on the tape, but the long and the short of it is that some…really dark stuff came pouring out of Rayner’s mouth and tried to go into Callum Brodie. The officer who shot him probably stopped that from happening, and from the sound of it, the kid’s going to be okay. Rayner is dead. So are three other cult members and one officer. And Basira’s quitting the force. I get the feeling this was kind of the straw that broke the camel’s back for her.”

Jon exhales, hard. “Christ.”

Martin is still studying the screen over her shoulder. “Sasha, this is—does that say what I think it does?”

“Yep. It doesn’t look like Mr. Rayner was particularly subtle.” Sasha looks up at Martin and can see in his eyes that he’s reached the same conclusion she has. Turning to Jon and Tim, who both look confused, she elaborates, “Maxwell Rayner, and the People’s Church of the Divine Host, are associated with the Dark, right? And darkness was flowing out of him into Callum Brodie.”

Jon’s face goes ashen. “Are you saying they were trying to initiate him into their cult? To—to mark him? Christ, how old is he?”

“Twelve, but…no, not exactly. Worse.” Sasha taps one fingernail on the edge of her laptop. “I widened my search for Rayner to before the nineties, especially in conjunction with…weird stuff, and I found this buried in a site about Edmund Halley. The description tallies pretty damn closely with the description of the man in the nineties, so either it’s a family line that doesn’t use suffixes—”

“Or,” Tim says, his eyes going wide with horror, “Maxwell Rayner has been extending his life by taking over new bodies as he ages out of the old one.”

“Or,” Martin adds softly, “stealing the life force of other people. Christ, I’d think that’d be more a Terminus power, but…I guess it’s possible?”

“Darkness. Like—” Jon breaks off the rest of the sentence, but he doesn’t need to say it. They all know what he’s thinking of. Sasha just hopes Elias isn’t paying attention to them right now. “I suppose that’s something we’ll have to…run down.”

“Good idea.” Sasha closes her laptop and stands up, palming the recorder. “Let’s go do that right now.”

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#tma #the magnus archives #time travel fix it au #sasha james #basira hussain

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lickingyellowpaint · 3 years

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Alright, because at least one anon was curious, here are some thoughts based on, admittedly, a very brief foray into the world of sales. I'll speak only to what made my gut instinct do a confused puppy head-tilt, and obviously this is opinion, from someone on tumblr, and therefore not the end-all, be-all of advice on this...

Red Flags of Possible Scam Employers and/or Services

1) The first red flag was that the company threw me into the internal chats - chock full of pep and others' successes - before I was actually physically at work and able to understand their utility. Perhaps it’s easier from a tech perspective to fling new employees into every digital system at once. And sure, there was useful information and good insight into how the company uses those chats - lots of newbies asking questions and getting relevant good answers whilst on the floor, which IS nice - and if you're like me and unfamiliar with the tech or apps being used, it's great practice.

For the most part, though, two of the main chats were just hyping up their salespeople as they met their goals. I suspect they want you to see how much money everyone's making, how they're meeting their goals, and make you want to succeed similarly. There was already a little too much constant enthusiasm bouncing around the place for my goth ass, but hey, can't say the culture was negative! Still somewhat a nefarious psychological move, though, imho. The intent is likely to boast, dazzle, entice, overwhelm and make you envious enough to be competitive, as much as it is to inspire and inform. Just a guess.

2) The second red flag was similar in nature. In a lot of the e-meeting training sessions, there was a LOT of time spent on praising the success of those present in video meetings, a LOT of time spent on explaining the tier system of salespeople, the incentives, the commission system, cool trips you can earn... and I get that, to a degree, okay, you have a job, you wanna know how much money you can really make. Fine!

But if as much or more time is spent on those types of things than the actual training on what you need to learn to do the job... hm. Hm! I suspect more headgaming. (And no, this wasn't an MLM targeting suburban moms to employ and get all their friends onboard. This is a big company with good stock and trusted affiliates.) Anyway, this is about when my gut started to do that quiet hrrrr-uff dogs do when they wanna bark but aren't sure about it yet.

3) Language and words are key. Obviously, most people are sharp enough to know that phrases like "no out-of-pocket upfront cost" is a codeword for We Can't Legally Say It's Free But Want You To Feel Like It Is, and means there'll be payment involved at some point. It's one thing to know that, and quite another to parrot the phrase at an elderly potential customer, or one whose grasp of English isn't quite perfect. Could you, in good conscience, do that for a commission and feel good about it? Turns out I couldn't.

And that's not necessarily indicative of a scam company altogether - sales is sales, and sales language has probably been a little deceptive by nature for as long as it's been around. But could you do that for a paycheck, while being new to the job, thus not being entirely sure what it's gonna cost that little old lady or that immigrant family down the line? Could you? You may not really know for sure until you hear yourself say it, and your gut starts barking in earnest, because you don't know what their next step - that you just convinced them to take - will be.

4) I didn't know, so I tried to find out. While my followers here know I was pretty diligent with my required training stuff, you can see from points 1 and 2 that those materials weren't really meaty and informative enough for me. I tried to seek further clarification not just on my tasks, but the next steps - could someone explain them to me better, in a way that assured me I wasn't pitching a scam? Could someone send me videos or content relevant to the next step in the process, just so I understand it better for my own edification and peace of mind?

Well... maybe they tried to. I was sent a link to a video of one of the next-step-in-the-process sales guys at work... only to be denied access to that video, and though I requested access, nothing in the system ever granted it to me. A glitch? Perhaps. But when I mentioned wanting access, wanting a few more questions answered until I felt right with things, most of what I heard was:

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that."

"Don't overcomplicate things for yourself."

"That's a little above your role. Keep things simple, say you don't know, and it'll add value to the expertise of the next-step sales guy!"

"We tend to save that for more advanced training, since not all of our new people have your emotional intelligence, and might not have as good a brain-to-mouth filter, and say more to the customer than they need to."

Well... I wasn't asking in order to answer a customer's questions, I was asking to answer mine. I won't speak to what I don't know to be true, and I won't sell what I'm not sure is legit, no matter how much I'm paid to do so. And that gut-dog? Now it's a pack of dogs, and at least one of them is starting to howl.

5) It's howling kind of loudly, actually, and my (delightful, friendly, funny) managers aren't helping me quiet it down. So if they can't answer my questions to my satisfaction, I have to seek answers elsewhere.

Arguably, obviously, I should have done this from the start, but - that's when I sought out customer reviews.

And I don't mean clicking Google Reviews and just reading those.

I mean spending most of an afternoon on a deep dive into the following search terms:

"[Company Name] reviews" "[CN] scam" "[CN] Better Business Bureau reviews" "[CN] reddit" "[CN] class action/lawsuit" "[CN] Yelp/any other well-known review site you can think of”/Twitter tag/FB search

You get the idea.

Now, of course some bad actors (rival companies, annoyed ex-employees) can write bad reviews to make the company look bad. Equally, anyone who felt like it could write good reviews to make the company look good. (I wasn't about to search every good reviewer's name in our email database to see if any matched up. But a couple did include words or phrases that might be included in customer-facing marketing and mission statements and thus parroted naturally, but were definitely included in internal training vids. Just a very slight few, but they popped out at me.) Another thing to keep in mind when wanting to take all reviews into account equally is that when people are happy with a product, they don't always remember to leave reviews, so most reviews are written by the vaguely-to-deeply dissatisfied to begin with, and may not be an accurate representation of what's really going on.

Let's be fair here. As a thought experiment, look up the reviews for a company/service/product you truly love, and see if the bad ones reflect a concern you can understand, or one you'd brush off, or one that just doesn't reflect your experience at all. What works for one person/locale/reason for another, might not for someone else, and that’s understandable.

Also ponder:

Out of, let's say, 200 reviews, how many would need to be positive to get you to buy something, especially if it was something you wanted? Would a lot of negative ones make you second-guess the product or service?

How would you gauge the seriousness of the problems presented in the negative ones?

Would a company responding to the bad reviews with apologies and customer service numbers, on that same forum where all could read their empathy and solutions, be enough to convince you that the company had handled the issue by the time you're reading them?

Ponder, ponder, ponder...

aaaand, moving on.

Let's say that out of 200 reviews from a plethora of sources, 40-50 are five-star happy with the company.

Another, eh, 30 or so are two- or three-star, because something went wrong, wrong enough to leave an iffy or downright bad taste in the reviewers' mouths.

The last 110-120? One-star reviews. With at least 10-20 of those saying they'd have left zero stars if the review forum allowed it.

Some of those one-stars may be several years old. Some may have since had their issue truly resolved, and never bothered to update their review or add to it. Some have issues that boil down to, "Okay, the customer clearly didn't understand the terms", or, "That's a crazy problem but I can't relate to caring about it because [insert personal preference/reason] here."

But if a whole load of those one-star reviews tend to speak up about the same types of problems, serious ones, ones you'd find bothersome or downright tragic, ones that would cost you money in some way or another, ones that make you further doubt the integrity of the company altogether, and many of them are as recent as the last few months...

Do I need to finish that sentence?

Hold up, BRB, I have to let the gut-dogs out, they're going absolutely batshit crazy. Must be a full moon!

Or just a disorganized, neglectful, or possibly purposely deceitful company.

The old saying says there’s a sucker born every minute.

Would your conscience be cool with being paid to be one, or to prey on them?

Advice:

My advice is pretty basic: before joining, signing, buying important things, do your diligent research and trust. your. gut.

I hope the above list of experiences helps guide you in doing both.

#if you wanna play it super-safe just ignore salespeople and don't go into sales to begin with lol

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nitewrighter · 3 years

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Ah okay!! How about Samir & Aedan being a bunch of sleuths trying to discover and dispatch the Talon scientists responsible for the creation of Andrea. Or basically Aedan asking Samir and maybe to an extent Sombra to find a way to completely trash all the cloning-related research that Moira got from his conception so that no more clones would be made to go through what he's gone through(the existential dread) or wind up becoming another killing machine like Andrea!

I really love this prompt! Though I think Aedan’s relationship to Talon’s cloning projects would probably be more complex than “TALON ONLY MAKES MONSTROSITIES AND OUR EXISTENCE IS ONLY SUFFERING.”

...okay did this fic turn into a “Mountains of Madness/The Thing” knock-off? Maybe. Do I still like it? Yes.

----

The four of them stood huddled together in front of a massive, ice-slicked steel door dug into the side of Monte Sarmiento. All of them were bundled up, virtually indistinguishable from each other save by the colors of their windbreakers layered over thick down jackets, and Marti’s black braid speckled by snowflakes. Their faces were mostly obscured by goggles and scarves, and what skin did show was chapped by wind.

“Secret South American lab?” Jaime had pulled one glove off and was picking bits of protein bar out of his teeth with his pinky nail, “Even for Talon, that’s... nnnot a good look.”

“Overwatch had them too,” said Samir with a shrug, “Though, granted, it was for Crisis-era prosthetics research.”

“I’m just saying!” said Jaime, he shuddered as an icy wind blew through and looked over his shoulder back at the snow-capped peaks of the Cordillera Darwin before pulling a glove back on, “At least we’re not in Argentina.”

“Overwatch’s was in Argentina, actually,” said Samir, and Jaime snorted.

“Focus,” said Marti, her goggles down over her eyes as she and Samir decrypted the code on the door.

“We’re sure this site’s abandoned?” said Jaime, “We won’t be activating any... ‘nuke from orbit’ failsafes, right?”

“Best intel Auntie and Lynx could get, and Winston’s satellite should intercept any signal it might send out,” said Marti, numerous lines of code running across the lenses of her goggles, “And the decryption should be complete... right... about... now.”

There was a deep whirring sound and the ice on the door fractured. The four of them flinched back as it fell down in sheets and shattered against the icy and rocky ground, opening into a dark, steel-lined corridor.

“Scout it out, Ebo,” said Marti, taking the small spider-like drone off of her back harness and setting it on the ground. The little robot scuttled into the darkness and one lens of Marti’s goggles lit up with a feed from what Ebo’s camera could pick up.

“...so when do we all get the cute little drone sidekicks?” said Jaime as the four of them lit up their flashlights and walked into the corridor.

“You’re welcome to build your own,” said Marti, shining her flashlight around the massive heptagonal hallway. There was a loud ‘thunk-CHUNK’ and the hallway suddenly lit up in unnerving red lights. It mostly eliminated the need for flashlights, but all of them hesitated to turn them off. There came a loud whirring and all of them flinched with alertness.

“Stay calm,” said Marti, holding up a hand to make them pause in their steps. she brought a hand to her temple, apparently focusing on Ebo’s feed in her goggles, “Security drones incoming,” she said. Jaime swung his rifle off of his shoulder and Samir materialized his rifle from hard-light, “Aedan, stay low. If they get your head the mission is scrubbed. Samir. Take drones at two o’clock to eight o’ clock. Jaime. Eight to two.”

Jaime audibly cocked his rifle. The drones came flying out of the darkness, unnerving things, radially symmetrical, somewhere between squid and jellyfish in their design, bearing some resemblance to the gwishin omnic but even more unnervingly reminding Aedan of the construction of his own mother’s combat suit with a strange tightness to their chassises. Aedan could already feel dread chilling his blood but both Samir and Jaime quickly and efficiently dispatched the drones. A few loud shots echoing off the metallic walls of the corridor and the drones spun and crashed to the ground next to them. About 7 or 8, virtual target practice.

“Not to jinx it but... seems a little underwhelming, right?” said Jaime, “As far as secret labs go?”

Both Marti and Samir gave Jaime a wary glance as if he might very well jinx it, but there was a sound overhead and all of them flinched, Jaime and Samir bringing their rifles to the ready, but only a few nonfunctioning drone chassis tumbled out of a duct. They glanced up at the duct, noting even more nonfunctioning drones jamming it. There was a scuttling sound and Aedan tensed, only to see Ebo scuttling back to Marti.

“...I guess at one point they were supposed to overwhelm any intruders with numbers,” said Marti, picking up Ebo, folding its legs back in, and tucking the robot back into a slot on the harness on her back. She glanced over at Aedan, stooping over one of the dispatched drones.

“Aedan, if you want to study it further, we can grab it on the way out---” Marti started but Aedan was folding and unfolding one of the wing-like appendages on the drones.

“Pseudo-organic...” murmured Aedan.

“Come again?” said Marti.

“Nothing just...” Aedan pulled himself up to his full height, “Technically they’re living things.”

“What?” Jaime tilted his head.

“Well... insomuch as a nanite is a living thing,” said Aedan, rejoining the group.

“...Are you good?” said Marti, as Aedan closed the distance between them.

“You need someone with experience in Talon’s science division,” Aedan answered with a level of obviousness.

“But are you good?” said Marti, “This mission is already hitting close to home with you---”

“Look, it’s just a practical exploration of one branch of the capabilities of nanite design,” said Aedan, irritated, “I’ve already gone through my whole stupid clone angst well before I even defected, I’m here to make sure something good actually comes of it. Which I can’t do if everyone is treating me like a Fabergé egg.”

“I’ll take your word for it...” said Marti, glancing off.

Aedan did his best to ignore the implications of her words as they continued walking forward. “I’ll take your word for it,” didn’t simply imply that she believed his words, there was another layer to it. “I’ll take your word for it,” easily translated to, “I believe that you believe that---and of course, just because you believe this about yourself or your situation doesn’t make it true.” But no, despite everything he strived for as a person, Aedan knew his very existence represented probably the ugliest side of Talon’s unfettered scientific ambition.

It’s why they brought me, thought Aedan as they reached another massive steel door and the three of them looked to him expectantly. There was a retinal scan terminal next to the door.

“Your time to shine,” said Marti, as Aedan stepped up to it.

“...couldn’t you have tried to decrypt it? Or blow it open?” said Aedan, stepping up to the terminal.

“We don’t know if that would have activated some self-destruct failsafe,” said Samir, “We want to see the lab how Talon would have seen it.”

“Of course,” said Aedan, bringing his eye to the scanner.

Two blue lines of light crisscrossed over his mahogany brown eye.

“O’Deorain, Moira,” an automated voice sounded from the computer, “Vocally confirm any guests with you for biometrics.”

A bit of panic flared up in Aedan’s chest, but he glanced back t his three compatriots and looked back at the terminal. Pitching his voice in the best approximation of his mother’s, he spoke, “O’Deorain, Moira, reporting. And three guests.”

“Accepted,” said the terminal, “Enter passcode.”

“What?” said Aedan.

“Verbally state your passcode,” said the terminal.

“Let me decrypt it,” said Marti, bringing her goggles back down over her eyes.

“Please enter passcode in the next... 40 seconds,” said the terminal.

“Will it decrypt that fast?” said Aedan, quickly.

“No,” said Marti, looking at him.

Aedan brought in a sharp breath through his teeth. His mother never had very good passcodes for anything, largely because she was dealing with Talon passcodes around every corner with Talon putting pressure on her to come up with new ideas all the time. What would she pick for here? What would she pick for now? Something obvious. Something reflecting her sensibilities.

“Please enter passcode in the next... 20 seconds,” droned the terminal.

“Uh, Aedan?” said Jaime.

“Darwin!” Aedan flinched at how loudly the word came out of him.

“Passcode expired. Please enter current passcode in the next...9 seconds,” said the terminal.

“Aedan--” Samir started.

“Beagle!” blurted out Aedan.

There was a pause of a few seconds, then another ‘thunk-CHUNK’ as the gears behind the door shifted, and the massive steel doors pulled away revealing a large lift.

“...How did you know that?” said Marti.

“Well,” Aedan shrugged, “Some side effects to Mum supplementing my memories with hers, I suppose, but mostly? We’re both lazy in our way. I mean, I supposed there would come a point where you get so exasperated with passcodes that you just defer to the passcode being the location the passcode is in so...” He trailed off and scanned the faces of his team members.

“Let’s just... get on the lift,” said Marti.

The four of them moved onto the lift. There were only two other floors. A main level, and what seemed to be a ship bay for evacuation or Talon drop ships. They opted for the main level. The lift hummed and all of them felt a distinct gut-sinking feeling as it plummeted.

All of them tensed as the doors opened to a massive chamber hewn into the mountain itself and supported by steel beams like the ribs of a massive beast. There were more ‘thunks’ and ‘whirrs’ as the auxiliary power lit up the lab, cold little white lights on footpaths thrummed up from the floor, creating an eerie lighting from below, and there were a few industrial lights shining down on a central lab table. Lining the lab walls however, were what appeared to be massive cylinders of tight bands of metal, each equipped with its own terminal and what appeared to be a generator.

“Full scan, Ebo,” said Marti, once again taking the little robot off of her back and sending it scuttling off into the dark recesses of the lab. Scalloping around the tanks, the little spider drone bustled around a corner into a corridor which Aedan assumed might lead to the generators for this lab.

“What are we looking at here?” said Jaime.

“I’d guess maybe cryogenic research?” said Samir, walking up to one of the metal cylinders and putting his hand on it, “Feels like it would be appropriate, given the location...”

“So we might just end up thawing out Talon agents if we touch the wrong thing,” said Jaime. He snorted. “Can you imagine just... being forgotten in a freezer for years?”

“...Overwatch actually had that happen with Doctor Zhou,” said Samir.

“Speculating gets us nowhere,” said Marti as she walked up to the first cylinder’s terminal. She brought her goggles down and activated the holographic screens of the terminal, her fingers racing across them to decrypt.

“It’s too warm in here for cryogenics,” Aedan said, mostly to himself as he headed to another cylinder He rapped a knuckle on the cylinder. The reverberation of the metal wasn’t quite hollow. He frowned and turned to the terminal, typing a few old Talon access codes. The holographic interface lit up, displaying flatlined vitals. Samir might be right, thought Aedan, It could be cryo... but another possibility was itching at the back of his mind. Aedan selected a button that said, ‘Open exterior shell,’ just as an excited huff came out of Marti.

“Got it--!” Marti started as the metal bands slid to the side but that tone of victory in her voice quickly shrank in her throat. Aedan glanced at his own cylinder and saw the bands sliding away from it, revealing glass and… yellow. His gut seized. All four of them stumbled away from the cylinders, shrinking in close to Marti in horror as the metal bands slid away to reveal two yellowish glass tanks, each with a naked man floating in it with dozens of wires stuck into his skin and a particularly unnerving wire ported at his temple. Mnemosyne, Aedan thought, mindlessly feeling at the side of his own head. It took a second to make out their hair in the yellowness of the tank, it was a bit long for amnio-tank regulations. How long had they been abandoned? How much did the biotics slow the keratinization process of the growth of hair?

“Blonde clones in tubes...” Jaime said, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice but somewhat blindly fumbling for Samir’s hand, “Like I said before: Not a good look.”

“Look at their faces,” said Marti, squinting.

The truth was their faces had that strange, anonymizing shadow of death upon them. The way death makes anything look so very remote from anything it looked like in life. They were in tanks of biotics, but all Aedan could think about were embryos and reptiles in jars of formaldehyde. But they could still pick up a sharp nose, a strong jaw, and thin lips.

“…Jack Morrison,” Samir said hollowly. Even without the scars, everyone could recognize that nose and that jawline from the posters that had colored their world since well before any of them were born.

“You’re telling me Talon devoted an entire lab to cloning Jack Morrison?” Jaime said, his face twisted up.

“It might not be just Jack Morrison,” said Marti, quickly heading to the lab’s central terminal, and Samir paled slightly.

“With all data on the SEP serum destroyed, it was their most logical bet,” said Aedan, “Short of grave-robbing other subjects from the Omnic crisis, but I doubt any samples there would be viable if they couldn’t scry the compound from genetic information.”

He felt Jaime’s eyes on him, shrewd and disturbed. Aedan pressed his own lips together, hating how much he still knew about how Talon thought. Hating how much he still thought like Talon.

Marti still had her goggles down, streams of data going over the lenses as she typed at the central terminal, “I’m getting the next one open.”

They all tried to keep steady, but the loud whirrs and ‘thunks’ which issued from Marti’s hacking efforts while all their eyes were fixed on the other clones in the amnio-tanks made all of them flinch.

A nervous laugh fell out of Jaime. “Keep expecting their eyes to open...” he said, his voice a little strained.

The metal bands slid away on the next cylinder, revealing not a blonde man but a floating amorphous pulp of black.

“Nanite amalgam?” said Aedan, tilting his head.

“What’s a nanite amalgam, again?” whispered Jaime.

“Baby reaper,” whispered Marti.

“They’re not ‘Baby Reapers,’” said Samir, “More like... Reaper goo coral colonies.”

“But we don’t--I mean Talon doesn’t usually let them get this big...” murmured Aedan, “It’s easier to observe cellular anomalies when they’re...” he trailed off and tapped at the monitor next to the tank with the black pulp. Aedan put a hand over his mouth.

“What?” said Marti.

“...it’s not a nanite amalgam. This... was an attempt at cloning Reyes,” said Aedan, his shoulders dropping, “Couldn’t maintain cellular cohesion. He...” Aedan took a steadying inhale, “In the most scientific terms... ate himself.”

Jaime’s lips pulled back from his teeth in some combination of repulsion and that odd scrambling need to use humor to try and maintain some mental grip on the situation but also knowing he shouldn’t do that for Aedan’s sake.

“Aedan, do you need to--?” Marti started.

“Open the next tank,” said Aedan, stiffly. Marti gave him a look and Aedan cleared his throat. “Please. If it’s... in your best judgment, team leader.”

Marti tapped away at the monitor again. The next tank was a similar black pulp but now in a roughly human shape, like a shadow.

“This one managed to maintain its hox genes...” murmured Aedan.

“I’ve found the ‘Emergency access’ channel--I’m opening the rest of them,” said Marti.

There was a series of clanks and whirring then and the rest of the tanks were revealed. These weren’t all identical clones. If Aedan had to make a comparison, he would say it was like An artist’s body of work as defined by a particular phase. There was Picasso’s Blue Period, and here was his mother’s “Try and create a supersoldier that combines the most terrifying aspects of both Morrison and Reyes with varying but all uniquely disgusting results” period.

“Subjects seven through eighteen,” Aedan said quietly, pressing one hand to the glass of an amnio-tank. He remembered McCree interrogating him shortly after his defection. Why does everyone always assume clones are made in bulk?

They weren’t made in bulk, thought Aedan, This is trial and error. This is throwing everything at a wall and seeing what sticks.

There was a man in the tank with a ruddier skin tone than Jack’s but hair too light to be Reyes’s--or at least most of him--his arms and legs tapered off into cloudy black points, like a piece of wood that had only half of it burned.

“Couldn’t maintain cellular cohesion at the extremities. Organs were probably in a state of peril from the start and failed as it moved inward,” Aedan muttered.

“Uh--Aedan?” said Marti, but Aedan moved across the next tank, featuring a man with similar features midway between Reyes and Morrison, in somewhat complete form, but with the entire back of his head dissolved and trailing up

“Could reconstruct most of his body but not the arbor vitae. Probably killed himself at the first attempt at a fade, yet the nanites still responded to the peripheral nerves. Very unusual,” he murmured.

“Aedan,” Samir’s voice was troubled but Aedan was too caught up in his observations, moving to the next tank.

The clone in this one was... unfortunate. Really more of just a brain and spine surrounded by a black cloud of nanites. “The previous couldn’t maintain the integrity of the central nervous system, this one couldn’t maintain the integrity of the periphera--”

“AEDAN!” Jaime bellowed and Aedan glanced up. Jaime pointed to the end of the row of tanks. The last tank was empty--or at least, what was left of it was empty. What remained of the tank was jagged glass rendered virtually white from all its fissures. They had all been so busy looking at the tanks and monitors they didn’t catch the shards of glass sparkling in those cold floor lights at the base of the final tank. The glass definitely showed that something had burst out of the tank, rather than a force shattering it inward.

“...do we know... why Talon abandoned this lab?” the words came out of Aedan squeakier than he wanted.

“Well, mostly our prerogative is to secure any Talon site that’s tactically viable,” said Samir.

Marti pressed a button on the side of her goggles and a clear tension overcame her, “And you know what?” she said, her voice pitching higher than usual, “Let’s consider this one secured! Let’s go to the lift, everyone!”

“What?” said Samir.

“But there’s still so much to--” Aedan started.

“We are going to the lift,” said Marti through clenched teeth, “Now.”

There was a scuttling and Aedan, Samir, and Jaime all instinctively clustered close, only to see Marti’s drone Ebo scuttling out of a dark corridor of the lab. Marti un slung her shockcaster off her back and fired off several tether lines behind the little spider robot.

“Uh, Marti--?” Jaime started.

“I said get to the li--” Marti shoved her goggles up off of her eyes as a horrible creaking, sloshing sound came out of the corridor behind Ebo, “NOW!” she shouted, “GO NOW!”

What lurched out of the corridor, Aedan couldn’t really compare to the nanite amalgams he had sent swarming over Urdr when he had defected with Rei. Too much of it was flesh-toned. But the black of nanites spiraled all over the whorls of skin and muscle making it up. Aedan didn’t try to make out how many eyes or hands were throbbing and blinking and clenching in it. Somehow, despite having far more eyes than any organism had any business having, all of those eyes fixed on them. Four dumb kids in brightly colored windbreakers standing smack dab in the center of the lab. Some of the eyes that looked at them were blue. Some were brown. Some had entirely too much pupil. Too much tapetum lucidum. Some were runny with tears and yellow gunk. The mass of nanite-spiraled muscles and flesh pressed out at Aedan like some creature trying to burst out of an amniotic sack. Aedan was frozen in place mouth hanging open, staring at this creature. This thing that came from a tank and was made of only a few smatterings of DNA and nanites, just like he did. He stood there, dumbly, until he felt felt Jaime grab his arm and he felt his own legs pumping as all four of them sprinted for the lift.

Marti fired out a tether at Ebo, caught the little robot, then yanked back hard, whisking the drone into her arms. She hugged it close to her chest as she ran. It wasn’t clear if she was protecting it or she thought it might protect her. Jaime just kept running, gripping Aedan’s arm so hard it hurt as Aedan flailed behind him, unable to pull his eyes away from the crawling, clawing mass that pursued them. Samir tossed out a few turrets to slow it down but soon surrendered to the dead sprint to the lift as the pulsing mass of flesh and nanites and muscles and sinew and limbs that didn’t know if they were hands or feet but were still reaching out, feeling out, followed after them. The four of them scrambled into the lift and Marti feverishly slammed the ‘close door’ button as the mass sloshed and crawled and reached for them. Samir brought up a hard light shield and the fleshy mass pressed against it, not-quite-hands pressing white against the bluish light before the doors of the lift finally closed and the lift shot upward.

“Guh--” some repulsed noise throbbed out of Jaime’s throat. Jaime, who never knew how to shut up for anything, was at a horrified loss of words. He suppressed a gag.

“Subject Eighteen...” the words left Aedan in a breath, a manic laugh shook him, “You created something with SEP serum toughness, and nanite adaptiveness but it wasn’t--it wasn’t...”

“Aedan--” Marti touched his arm.

“It was adapting,” Aedan was babbling, “It was adapting. It knew not to give itself a mouth or vocal chords because maybe then we could hear it coming--”

Marti suddenly pulled him into a hug.

“Probably converted what labtechs were here into biomass...” Aedan’s voice was breaking.

“Breathe, it’s okay,” said Marti.

“There’s a brain in there--maybe a lot of brains---maybe--” Aedan didn’t know why he kept talking. Maybe talking was all that kept the worst of the horror back. He felt Jaime layer himself around Marti in that same embrace.

“Tell me it’s not me--Tell me that thing isn’t me---” Aedan wasn’t quite sure when his face had gotten so wet with tears but it must have been bad because even Samir was piling into the hug now.

“It’s not you,” Marti’s voice was half-muffled against the bulk of Aedan’s own coat. Aedan just sank to his knees, his breath heaving between hyperventilating and sobs, and the rest of the team sank with him. Their only comfort was the thrum of the lift itself, bringing them up further and further from the horror below.

#moiraspawn #spiderbyte kid #mchanzo kid #symmarah kids

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etinarcadiabayego · 4 years

Note

Can you give us a sneak peek on what is going to happen next on the listening?pls feed us momma

Okay, okay. I give. I haven’t had much time to write and whatnot with my art stuff and everything else, but I did have about 3,000 words written for chapter 27. Again, I’ve been really busy and don’t have a clear indication myself how everything is going to go until I really just sit down and write it out, BUT I’ll post what I’ve got under a “Read More” here for you guys. You all deserve something for this painful wait. :) Keep in mind it’s not completely proof-read and is subjected to change, but here you all go. <3

The Listening - Ch. 27 [Chapter Title Pending] “Feel like getting some food? I’m starving.” To Max, Warren’s voice was muffled and far away, like it had also been dragged under the same waves that overtook her and Nathan. She had to wonder then if she was the same person now that she had surfaced. Max closed her eyes and let the blackness take over. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t the same. She hadn’t surfaced, not completely. She was in a perpetual Dead-Man’s Float, and treading water. None of what happened in the library was any part of her batshit crazy visions or photo ventures. It happened. For real. Whatever real was anymore. She kissed Nathan. And he would never know. ‘Which is for the best, Max,’ she kept telling herself, but felt guiltier and guiltier every time she tried to skew that mantra into an agreeable truth. ‘Why me?’ “Max?” Stella’s concerned chords snapped her back into reality. The feeling was even more intense and sickening as Warren’s flivver of a car rattled into full stereo. The crackle in her ears became a deafening roar. “Yeah?” “What are you craving? We’re heading to the Two Whales.” the bespectacled girl asked once again, her mouth turning downward with more worry. “Craving? Uh. I…I think I’m okay. Sorry.” Max didn’t think she sounded like herself anymore. She had to swallow again and again, attempting to coat her throat with moisture. The heat of the car didn’t help, felt like it was baking the life out of her by the second as it rushed up her neck and magnified in her face with recent memories. “I’m not all that hungry.” Warren chuckled, trying to lift the atmosphere Max knew she was projecting at that point. “Really? If I were researching as much as you – and I have – I’d have a heck of an appetite by now.” When neither Stella nor Max said anything more, he then asked, “How goes the time travel project, anyway? Use any of the info I passed along to you? Did you turn it in to Mrs. Grant? Do you need any more help with this other stuff you’re looking into?” “Jeeze, Warren. Just because you can fire off questions as fast as a supercomputer doesn’t mean she can answer them as fast,” Stella said with a light laugh and a shake of her head. Max saw his sheepish grin as he gave her an apologetic glance in the rear-view mirror. “Right. Sorry.” “Though I do have to say, time travel sounds interesting!” Stella added, trying to coax Max out of the shell she reinforced around herself. “Uh…” Max was at a loss for words, Warren’s flurry of questions turning into flies as they entered and buzzed around her eardrums, and Max couldn’t help but wonder if Stella was trying to make her feel more at ease in order to help or to further churn the waters for her rumor mill later on. Max was too out of it to discern. Their curiosities were only becoming irritations for her then, and she wished they would stop. “It’s, um…Well, it’s going.” With a reserved laugh of her own, she added a quiet thanks to the end of it all. “Are you okay?” Stella asked. That hit another raw nerve. “Stomachache,” Max replied, short and to the point. Of course she wasn’t okay. That damned question only made her remember Nathan all the more—above her, encased in a halo of light, flushed and flustered and… Max clenched her jaw to stop her brain from imploding, but she couldn’t help her repetitious worries from consistently returning. This feeling was awful. Absolutely awful. But rewinding then was her only option. The way he looked at her just wasn’t normal. Not for him. Not that long ago he despised her very existence. Sure, maybe they were some semblance of the definition of friends now, but if she hadn’t rewound, all of that would have been destroyed. All their progress. All the good. Not that his kiss wasn’t good. ‘God…’ It was all like guzzling a heap of concrete that lined and filled her gut. It hardened into a cinderblock, made her sick with its weight. She didn’t want to be reminded that it wasn’t just a peck, or that it wasn’t only once, or that he was so fluid with the way his lips moved against hers. So patient and so gentle. At the start, at least. Max couldn’t help but let a small gasp of disbelief slip out. It mixed with the shadow of an unexpected laugh. She shivered, afraid of herself in that moment. Near the end, he was rougher, more demanding, and she became compliant. She had tried to keep up. What scared her the most was that she wanted to keep up. ‘And he was almost into French territory! I felt his tongue! At least, I think I did. A little. Maybe. Oh my God, Max, you are such a loser! The hell’s wrong with you?!’ They drove over a big bump. Max sighed, unknowingly pulling in her lower lip, thinking of his. Soft, if a little dry. Tentative and needy all at once. ‘And that sound he made. That feral growl…And he was shaking. Did he hate it? I’m definitely not experienced with any of…that. He probably hated it. Uuuugh…’ Another big bump. Max blushed redder and redder as Warren braked for a stop sign that could have been substituted with her head. The lack of movement made her feel more vulnerable, like he and Stella could see into her thoughts with all her dirty little secrets. ‘Good Lord, I don’t even know what to think anymore! Just forget about it! It didn’t happen for him now! It doesn’t matter!’ But even before they were trapped in that closet, there was a moment between them. Like at the Vortex party, there was…something. Something she didn’t want to acknowledge. And another bump. ‘WHY?!’ As Max had another freak-out with herself, Stella piped up, “Well, we’ll think about it when we get there. Get a homemade muffin or some soup and crackers to soak up your stomachache, yeah?” She twisted her body and gave Max a hopeful smile. A sweet gesture, Max thought. Stella was a lot like Warren in a way, despite her gift of gab. Still, Max was hesitant, wanting to get back to Blackwell and… ‘And what exactly?’ She had no idea how to even look at Nathan now let alone speak with him. If she was this bad alone, she could only imagine how much worse she’d be in his vicinity. It was only a matter of time. She hoped she could get over this whenever that time came. In the end, she surrendered. “Okay.” As the familiar sight of the diner came into view, Max noticed that the paparazzi had significantly died down over the past few days. Some reporters were still hanging around, blatant sore thumbs that stuck out among the bay’s fisherman and trucker population. They reminded Max of the day Nathan’s parents paid a visit to Blackwell. Varieties of people that didn’t quite fit within the scene of such a small seaside town. Max wondered if the homeless woman was still out back of the restaurant. If she was, she was no doubt trying to keep herself scarce in the wake of all the unwanted visitors. It was ironic to think that both parties thought of each other as parasites in a way. Ironic and sad. It was for the best that she didn’t sit on those thoughts. For now, space was good. Space was necessary. For all parties. Nathan looked like he needed some as much as her after finding out what they had at the library. So, she’d give it to him. This was a good thing! Procession time! Everything else at the library was stressful and tiresome all on its own with Sean lurking around. Why was he even there? What did he know about all of this? Max exhaled and patted her bag. She felt the outline and crinkle of the tabloid article within, pushing herself further into the fabric of her seat. She wouldn’t have minded if a monster spawned within its filling and pulled her into its plush depths. Stella and Warren talked about the beached whale in light of their new surroundings. Apparently, the poor creature was still there and had died the past night. There wasn’t any word of anyone moving it anytime soon. Max cringed. She hoped Nathan hadn’t heard about it, ever-worried about him and his initial reaction to the sea beast. His precognitive nightmare certainly didn’t help him, was another terrifying thought for Max as well. Max swallowed again and took out her phone as her body became a wisp. The Two Whales? What was she thinking? What about Joyce? Maybe even Chloe? Too many variables, but she just kept going, like she was on autopilot. She followed Warren and Stella, slipping in and out of air currents after they parked and exited the vehicle. Floating along, trembling, her mind wandering back to the library’s events once again. She couldn’t stop it. The diner door shut behind them, and its bell made a loud ding against the frame. Max reentered the atmosphere with a start as Warren and Stella raised their hands in a wave at some familiar faces. Max’s eyes met the grease-stained tiles of the floor as soon as they glimpsed the hues of Kate Marsh. On the topic of space, Kate surely needed more. Max had yet to tell Warren about her budding friendship with Victoria and Nathan, and she didn’t want him to find out like Kate had, didn’t want to disappoint anyone else with the obvious lack of initiative on her part to just tell the fucking truth. How would she ever explain it, though? Regarding Victoria, it was like she treaded a fine line between friend and foe, and regarding Nathan… Max felt the burst of yet another blush take over her rosy complexion. She hated this, this sickening churning in the bowls of her system. How she kept moving forward with balanced steps, she didn’t know, and she refused to question it lest she lose her momentum. “Hey, guys!” Kate greeted. Despite it all, she gave Max another honey-laced smile. Sickly-sweet with the culpability Max carried with her. “Looks like you picked up a stray,” said Luke Parker, another Blackwell student that was part of Warren’s diverse group of friends. “Sorta,” Warren replied. “We met up at the library. Thought we’d extend the offer for food to Max.” He, too, gave Max a sugary smile. The more it happened, the less she felt she deserved them. “Ah.” The noise Luke made in response was short and noncommittal. It reflected his cynical personality. He pushed up the bill of his cap to show off a suspicious glint in his dark, oval eyes. Max could never tell if Luke liked her or not. She didn’t know him that well, but his pessimistic outlook with everyone and everything seemed to just be who he was. It nevertheless made Max all the more wary to join their party for the evening. On one end of a booth, Kate sat with Alyssa, and on the other sate Luke and Brooke. Warren and Stella continued to exchange pleasantries with them, and Max just…hovered. Among Kate’s distance, Luke’s nihilism, Brook’s stink-eye, Alyssa’s indifference, Warren’s unintentional obviousness, and Stella’s lack of knowing much about Max herself, it was hard for Max to blend in with them. In a surprising turn, it was Kate who tried to break the ice. “I like your outfit, Max.” She paused to weave her hands around her mug. “You look really…official.” Her comment made Max genuinely smile, her innards loosening a bit out of their tight knot. It helped. A little. “Thank you.” Stella suggested the three sit across at the counter and continued their conversation from there. While Warren and her swiveled around to talk, Max stayed facing the steaming kitchen. She stared down the dessert case to her right, focusing too hard on a chocolate chip muffin. Every once in a while, she thought she saw them jitter, like dark ants stuck in the gooey, sugary top. Or… Something was moving. Through the glass, on the other side, creeping its way across the jukebox that was situated on the far wall was a lowly cockroach. “Gross,” Max mumbled. She was soon hit with a wave of shock and pain as the jukebox stuttered to life, and then died out in a burst of static. The diner’s patrons were silenced, cut off like the music. Max seethed, her head tightening as she turned to face…no one. Nothing. All of the guests had gone. Only empty seats remained. She realized she was no longer in the bay—her bay. She was somewhere else. This feeling, this pressure, this sensation of being lost, yet found, was the same as the others. It was like her visions, her photo jumps. Ethereal, quiet, and very, very lonely. She was suddenly the last living life form on the planet. And then, like the other times, the voices started. First a bit low, echo-y. Then, they grew. With them came the manifestation of figures in one of the booths. It was her and Chloe. “I pledge allegiance to Max and the power for which she stands.” The sitting, smiling, joyous Chloe’s voice bounced off the walls. “This isn’t a toy, Chloe. I do have to be careful how I use it.” Max found herself mouthing the same words with which her doppelganger replied. Booth Chloe almost launched herself out of the roof. “Screw that! Of course it’s a toy! The best toy ever! You can bang anyone with no strings attached, rewind and boom! It’s like it never happened!” “Grow up.” Max continued to be tied to her other self’s words. “Maybe you made a move on me and I would never know!” “Yes, that’s what I did.” She felt the humor of the situation, slightly smiled as she imagined her other self was doing. It was almost like muscle memory. She thought, ‘Maybe here…wherever here is…is safe.’ “You can rewind time, Max. That’s fucking insane! We have to play!” ‘Oh. So that’s…the whole story…? Huh.’ Max was becoming strangely calm. Warm. Comfortable. ‘Here is…good…’ Her muscles untensed, and she felt as though roots pulled her to the stool. ‘Here I don’t have to worry about much of anything anymore. No powers. No Rachel. No Chloe. No…Nathan…’ A small surge in her chest made her shiver and question her whereabouts for the briefest of seconds. Max turned her head. It was such a heavy weight, a hard effort. The scenery shifted with her. Where was she? Surely not the diner. Yet, it was the diner. That’s where she was. With Warren and the others. The Two Whales… “Or…whatever…” Her concerns quickly lifted, replaced again by the inviting, blanketing warmth this place offered. There were people slipping in and out of her vision, in and out of the layers of red and orange, in and out of things familiar and not. Here she could see them come and go at her leisure. Layers and layers of…realities? An assumption that seemed the most logical. Where was this place? How was this possible? Maybe it was a side effect of her powers? Messing with time, of course, was bound to have repercussions. Worse than measly nosebleeds and headaches. Surely. Still, this place was…nice. Max lazily smiled and closed her eyes, rolled her head to the side… …and was met with the cold blues of Joseph Prescott. Before she could react, the man’s hand was reaching out, his long fingers becoming tentacle-like as they snaked around her tiny neck, cold and harsh. She couldn’t gasp, the pressure too great and too sudden. The serenity melted away and was replaced with instant terror. Joseph looked tired, haggard. His hair from the time on the beach was a faraway fantasy compared to the unruly waves he now had, and the shadow of facial hair was prominent in this light. His eyes were sunken and dark, red-rimmed as if he hadn’t slept in centuries. More than exhaustion, however, the coldness they held visibly prickled with that enraged electricity she knew too well. Choking, Max’s arm came up to meet his. Contact. He wasn’t a vision. He was very much tangible, real. As he sat next to her, his form stiff and straight, his hand at a leveled squeeze around her throat, his breathing rattled. And then, he spoke. “You…” As if realizing what he was doing, he released her. His look morphed into another Max recognized: Despair. His icy glare then melted and fell to the floor, a dam ready to burst. Max coughed, feeling the heat and marks his fingers and nails left behind as they dug into her skin. She scrambled to her feet, backed away as quickly as she could. She stumbled. Gravity felt different here, almost like she was weightless, yet feebler instead of freer. She couldn’t talk. It was too hard to concentrate, and she was too much in shock. Her brain detonated. There was a crater left where words wanted to be. He spoke to her again. “You shouldn’t be here.” He paused, but his head never looked back up. He was raspy. “You’ll only make things worse.” “Wh-Wha-?” “Trying to fix things never works, no matter how many times you try. Some things just…are.” His voice was becoming metallic. And Max could taste it. ‘Wait…’ “Max! Honey, your nose! My God, you’re drippin’ all over the counter!” There was a roar of thunder before it broke to the clanging of silverware and hiss of the fryer. Joyce, whose drawl she’d know anywhere, was trying to help Max soak up the blood flowing down her chin with some tissues straight from her purse’s motherly supply.

#asks #caulscott #fic: the listening #chapter 27 #wip #sneak peek #first 3000 words #a gift for y'all for waiting so damn long for me #etinarcadiabayego #chichiricatsan #fanfiction #fanfic #life is strange #lis

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bitch-i-migth-be · 4 years

Text

Crash Course | Chapter 03: Ready?

Fandoms: Danny Phantom, Batman,

Relationships: Danny Fenton & Jazz Fenton,

Characters: Danny Fenton, Jazz Fenton,

Words: 2′246

Tags: BAMF Danny, BAMF Jazz, Sibling bonding, Shenanigans, Swearing

Summary: He swore his sister was trying to make him go into cardiac arrest - considering his halfa status that was quite the accomplishment-

But there was no other explanation to his sister’s stubbornness, and if he knew her at all there was just no talking her down from interning at goddam Arkham.

A/N: I appreciate the comments, guys. :33 Let me know what u think.

CHAPTERS: 1, 2 , 3 , 4 , 5 , 6 , 7

Danny might not be the smartest person out there but he sure was crafty as fuck.

He had needed to be even before the ghost entered the picture. Then, after the portal was up and running the habit of thinking on his feet and the fine art of rolling with the punches had been added to his skill set.

So, Danny knew from experience that no matter how good you could get at improvisation, it was always better to prepare beforehand if you had the opportunity. Because if you let something to chance, it would probably come back later to fuck you over. Or some annoying ghost would get in the way out of goddamn nowhere. He could deal with them, but it was just a waste of everyone’s time. Better get going before someone interrupted him.

Normally one small thing or another would backfire anyway because of his salted luck, but he preferred not to poke sleeping dragons when he could.

Taking into account all of that, he had decided the first order of business in the Fenton Crash Curse for Suicide Missions: Start packing all the shit they would need to take with them.

Because It’s never too early to pack for the road to hell.

Especially if you are already in a hell all of your own.

-.-.-.-

“What do you mean you are coming with me?” Jazz murmured from the threshold of Danny’s room, eyes wide open, as she watched her little brother try to pack all types of random things into suitcases.

Since she had announced at the Fenton Family Dinner her plans of going to Gotham University and accepting an internship at Arkham, Danny had been behaving like he was possessed, which considering the portal in their basement was not that far fetched; he had started carrying around a book-like-journal and would not stop murmuring about survival-of-the-fittest. Jazz was not going to lie, she appreciated the concern but that part was a little bit concerning. Not the survival in general, they had been playing that game since forever in this house, but they had never really needed to write anything down.

Until now, apparently.

It was kind of weird witnessing all this. Weird as in she wasn’t used to him fusing so much over her. A normal amount, yes. But most of the time it was the other way around, she was the big sister after all. Also, with the ghosts around and him going all hero on their behinds her brother was in dire need of all the support she could dispatch. So, yes, she wasn’t expecting this reaction at all, and she was even less prepared for her brother declaring his intentions of joining her in Gotham.

She hadn’t asked how he was planning on dealing with the ghost problem yet, but considering he was already packing when she, they now, weren’t leaving until the end of the summer Jazz thought her brother must have had something in mind already.

She didn’t even know how they could need some of the things he was putting in there but it appeared like Danny was on a roll and she wasn’t going to be the one stopping such, umh, productivity.

“I said what I said”

Jazz frowned lightly.

“Are mom and dad aware-?”

“I told them I was going to be your assistant with the research; mostly the field part because I don’t think they trust me with the equipment after what happened the last time,” Danny answered while still hunting down for more essential items to put in bags, those things were handy as fuck. “also, get a job or something”

“A job?” jazz raised an eyebrow and leaned against the doorframe.

“It’s on the list,” Danny waved his journal/diary/thing in the air. Huh, so they were survival tips. “considering you are the only one with a scholarship and I´m not going to school anyway it seemed appropriate.”

“excuse me? you are not going to what?”

“May as well-” Seeing his sister’s expression he quickly backtracked, “but I mean, if you are really that opposed there is always online classes”

Danny tried to smile in her sister’s direction, but his nervousness made it come out more like a grimace. He kept trying. Jazz kept staring at him. Danny kept grimacing back.

Then she smiled back. A proper, full toothed smile. Oh fuuck

“I think I can do you one better” And with that, she turned on her heel and left.

Danny blinked two times. one after the other.

“D-Do me one bet-? Jazz, wait!”

But it was already too late, his sister had another ball to start rolling.

-.-.-.-

Her brother was not stupid.

If her brother choice to appease her by taking online classes had been born merely of a strategic need, and hence the best course of action to take, Jazz wouldn’t have rebuked at all, there were, after all, some pretty good online options that her brother could take. But alas, that was not the real motive of his decision.

It pained her and enraged her to see people belittle her little brother without even knowing him. See them think they had any right to decide whether he was worth something.

And it nagged at her than even knowing the basics of what was wrong with her brother’s low grades, she couldn’t help him more than she currently did. Not really. Unless she wanted him to end up in the hands of the G.I.W.

Fat chance of that.

But if there was a thing a Fenton was not it was a settler. And like hell she was going to let these people bring her brother down.

The first order of business would be to scout out the G.S.U. properly, some phone calls could prove useful, after all those who search shall find.

-.-.-.-

When Jazz had retreated to her quarters earlier Dany had been left on his own with an uneasy feeling nagging at his gut. It felt a bit like foreboding.

Like most things in life that inconvenienced him when it came to family issues he decided to ignore it until it came back to bite him, so he continued with his preparations and eventually took a seat among all the clutter that had become his room. After that, he didn’t have to wait long.

His sister had come back strolling decisively into the room, only pausing briefly to warily give the evil eye to the sheer number of things spread all over the room that appeared to have multiplied since she left the place.

She stopped right in front of her brother’s seated form and trusted her phone into the smallest Fenton’s unsuspecting hands.

“Look! There is still time to apply to a full-ride scholarship at Gotham Academy” Danny blinked up at her without a word, and at his sister’s insistence looked down at the phone to start reading, then he did a double-take and started re-reading.

Jazz had got to be kidding him.

“You want me to apply to some posh elite school?” He looked up incredulously at the redhead “Elite, Jazz? Me? With my grades and the amount of time I would get to study for an entrance exam I would be failing this just by applying.” grumbled the boy.

“That’s the best part.” Said the girl smiling like the Cheshire cat. “This particular exam is practical in engineering”

Danny froze. His eyes shot back to the phone.

“Practical you say?”

“Yes, lately there have been more scholarships granted for demonstrating a great gasp in the practical portions. Gotham is a little, umh, hard to handle, I suppose, and there have been situations in which people with the knowledge to accomplish great things have been turned down because of a lack of proper school background or support. So they decided to start implementing this.” She explained while her little brother continued scanning the document up and down.

Eventually, Danny shook himself back together.

“Ok, look, let’s say I had a shot at this.”

“Which you do-”

“Which I might.” The younger interrupted her, “This still requires to prepare at least three proposals for the faculty’s designated table of judges to evaluate and grade to get the green card, and this is like two weeks -two weeks!- from now, it doesn’t even specify what they are gonna have the applicants doing for the final test. How the fuck am I-?!”

The redhead decided to cut in before he could drive himself into a frenzy.

“Well if you are that sure about joining me then you won’t have a problem acing this, will you?” she smirked, then it softened into something more fond. “I know you can do this Danny, and so do you. And if you are that worried about the time, I can help you, we can start tag teaming together for ways to deal with the ghost from the get-go. It may not be permanent, but it will have to do.”

Her brother started biting his own lower lip and still looked somewhat unsure, so she decided to use the final big gun.

“Did I mention that Gotham Academy is right across the road from Arkham?”

Danny’s shoulder slumped.

“Ughh, fine!”

Jazz beamed down at him.

“I will leave you to it then!”

-.-.-.-

“Also, those things are not going to fit anywhere if you don’t organize them”

“Oh, ye of little faith.”

-.-.-.-

So. Jazz did have a good reason to believe her brother could get the G.A. scholarship.

The Fenton thermos technology was not only useful for capturing ghosts but could also store other things. That’s to say, more tangible things.

And her brother was the one who made it happen.

Danny has been tinkering with his parent’s things a lot more than some people would be comfortable with. The truth is, some of the things Jack and Maddie have invented could be fucking useful for everyday life if you took out most of the ghost shit or rearranged them a bit, it could have gained them a pretty penny, but like we all know the Fentons are not interested in anything if it’s not ectoplasmic.

Danny, on the other hand?

As much as he ends up believing all the bullshit others say about his sister being the only genius child of the family, he had never been afraid of dismantling and mounting up again some of his parents’ equipment. For him, it was not a question of whether or not he was qualified to do so, after growing up watching his parents tinker random machines all over the house he had inevitably started to pick up their ways almost as if via osmosis.

His parents, of course, had never fully noticed the fluffy-sweater clad toddler waddling after them from time to time watching them work, at first this happened when Jazz was otherwise occupied in extracurricular activities and couldn’t keep the boy successfully distracted somewhere else.

If at the time, Jazz had realized what was going on, she may have panicked and stopped her sweetly feral summer child of a brother from getting anywhere near their parents in the middle of a craze. As it was, she had not noticed in those first years, and by the time it had come to her attention even she had to concede that if her little brother had managed his recon missions without no one the wiser - Her brother was sneaky like that -, then he deserved the benefit of the doubt.

And, had that not been enough to convince the big sister, that had been the moment the sudden realization than her brother, unlike her, was more of a hands-on learner hit her full force, which would have been enough to make her relent. Learning was always good in her books.

Later, Danny would find most of the classes being imparted in Casper high boring as fuck. Not necessarily for the subject, but the way they were imparted. The youngest Fenton needed a good explanation along with a hands-on approach applied to something he found interesting to fully commit to something. At school, the most he could get were the theory and the occasional practical classes.

If the classes had been related to something interesting, say, rockets, stars, maybe NASA, it would have been easy to pay his full, unconditional attention to the teachers. But not one of the teachers had bothered to try and link the lessons to the interest of the alumni, not surprising, considering public school stuck to basics and had a timeline to complete and the classroom never seemed to learn things at the same rhythm so concessions had to be met.

It was still boring as fuck. But if he wanted to someday make it into NASA he would have to suck it up and force himself to survive with relatively good notes this torment.

Then the ghost fights had entered the picture and his motive to keep up the grades had all but vanished, and the little time left behind to work with was not enough to make, at least, an average grade. He didn’t have enough reasons to strive for more.

For this though? A new chance far from the ghost and he could keep protecting her sister?

He had the brains. He had the passion. And a good damn motive to drive him forward.

Once he was done, the luggage - and Loony town - wouldn’t even know what hit it.

-.-.-.-

NOTES:

Also, the thing about Jack & Maddie not trusting Danny with the equipment was one of Danno’s secret tries at messing around with the things. Needless to say, that one time didn’t stay a secret.

Oh well, it was not like he asked for permission in the first place.

-.-.-.-

“fluffy-sweater clad toddler”

Not gonna lie, I made myself crave some cuddles from toddler danno, so. fucking. cute.

There he goeees just waddling like a little duckling asdfghjkl

-.-.-.-

If someone here is a fan of the Gotham Academy Comic I greatly regret -not really- to inform you I’m only taking hostage the place for my evil fanfic purposes. I don’t know if there is going to be references but that particular comic is not the focus of this story, SO. You have been forewarned.

#fanfic #danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #danny phantom fandom #danny fenton #jazz fenton #BAMF Danny Fenton #BAMF Jazz Fenton #protective siblings #Crossovers #Danny phantom & batman crossover #batman #young justice #swearing #cc #cc03 #crash course #dp crash course

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niqhtlord01 · 4 years

Text

Humans are weird: Sabotage

Holvo’s day had started out much like any other. Woke up, left his family for work, entered the office early, waved hello to his fellow coworkers, and then made his way to the his team’s station. He was walking just outside of his area when he passed the human janitor mopping the floors. The human looked up and smiled to him. “Mornin Mr. Holvo, lovely day isn’t it?” Holvo smiled in return and nodded as he walked past. “You say the same thing every day I see you Patrick. You do realize that we have weather control units around the city that always keep it a perfect day?” Patrick shrugged. “Doesn’t make them any less beautiful now does it?” “No, I guess it doesn’t.” Holvo chuckled as he reached into his pocket and searched for his access card. Patrick stepped over to him as he was searching and swiped his own card to grant access to the lab. “Today the day you build your fancy reactor?” Normally non-scientific staff were not to know the details about high level projects, but Holvo saw no harm in sharing the odd detail with Patrick if not to show off a bit. “Today’s the day we change the universe my friend.” Patrick chuckled and waved goodbye as the doors to his team’s lab opened. Holvo entered and stepped passed other researchers already at work on projects. Some looked up to acknowledge his presence, while others were so focused on their work they didn’t even acknowledge his passing. He took no offense though as that was what he excepted from his team. This research center was the most advanced on the entire planet. His team was working on a new energy source that would revolutionize the galaxy at large. As Holvo set down his belongings and dawned his lab coat he was already picturing the list of clients that had signed up already wishing to purchase their new technology. The profits would not only set up himself and the company for several lifetimes, it would also ensure his peoples eternal place in the history of the universe at large. A knock at the door drew his attention away from visions of glory. An aide was standing in the doorway to his office with a digital readout pad. “We’re ready to begin the final test.” Holvo took the digital readout and gave it a once over. “Everything looks in order. Come, let’s go make history.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The light emanating from the reactor flickered across the gathered group of researchers, their protective goggles giving the group the eerie appearance. They watched from an overhanging balcony as the massive reactor below spun ever onwards generating more and more power. “Reactor power levels at 100%” An automated voice chimed in as displayed data feeds continued to update with ever changing strings of information. “Reactor power levels stable.” “Computer, begin transferring facility power supply from outside sources to this internal generator.” Holvo’s voice cut through the silence as every researcher waited with baited breath. “Power transfer now commencing.” The lights in the room flickered for a moment as the hum of the generator continued to ring in the ears of all those present. “Power transfer now complete. No flags were issued during the handover.” “Computer, how long will this facility now be able to function while hooked up to the generator?” Holvo queried his question calmly, but inwardly he was never more scared. Everything hinged on the reply. “At current consumption, this facility will be able to function for 347 years, 256 days, 19 hours, 6 minutes, and 24 seconds.” The computer rattled off its answer but by then the researchers had broken into a rousing cheer and began hugging each other widely. The generator was a success! Holvo took off his goggles and turned to his team and joined in the festivities. “I take it congratulations are in order?” Holvo turned from his team and saw Patrick entering the control room with his cleaning cart behind him as he began emptying the nearby waste baskets. “Yes, YES! We’ve done it!” Holvo yelped as he grabbed hold of Patrick and gave him a bear hug of joy. “Alright, alright; it’s your big day and all.” Patrick tapped Holvo on the back and he let him go. It was only after that Holvo had let go of Patrick that he felt something strange; as if something was wrong but he couldn’t put his finger in it. But like a rain falling through a drain pipe the wrongness pushed its way forward from the back of his mind. “Patrick, what are you doing here?” Patrick looked at him oddly. “What do you mean? I’m emptying the waste baskets, its my job.” “But how did you get in here?” Patrick smiled and patted him on the shoulder as he emptied another basket into his kart and then replaced it. “All this excitement must’ve boggled your brain a bit. I’ve got access to every room in the facility.” Holvo shook his head. “The security lockout should be in place while we are testing the generator. Even with your key card you should not be able to enter this room.” A shuttering idea then soon followed that the system had somehow been disabled during the power transfer and he made to leave the room immediately to check the security systems when Patrick forestalled him. “Don’t worry, the security system is still in place, nothing got shut down.” Holvo let out a sigh of relief. “Are you sure?” Patrick nodded as he finished emptying the last waste bin. “I made sure to turn it back on myself before coming in.” The sense of wrongness now felt much like a tidal wave. His eyes widened as Patrick’s hand was slowly emerging from the kart’s trash bag holding a gun of some sort and calmly pointed it at him. He tore his gaze away from the gun just long enough to see Patrick smiling the same smile he had done for the last three years every morning before the first shot rung out. Holvo collapsed to the floor clutching his gut, blood coming out in spurts. The rest of the research team turned at the sudden noise only for Patrick to train his gun on them can carefully begin picking them off one by one. None of them were able to utter so much as a gasp of surprise before the bullet pierced their skulls. In mere moments Patrick had gunned down the entire research team of twelve, the silence of the room once again returning. Dragging himself to the nearby wall Holvo was able to prop himself up, though not without difficulty. His hands were still desperately tightly covering his wound, feverishly trying to stop the blood loss. He tore his gaze away from the wound to look up. Across the room Patrick was at the control panels humming some indistinguishable tune while inserting a series of data drives. “Wha......what have you done?” Holvo gasped. “I could say I was taking out the trash but honestly I’m above such humor.” Patrick didn’t even bother to turn around in his response, his focus solely on the control panels. “But since we’re friends I feel as if I can be straight with you.” Pulling the drives one by one as they flashed green before turning around to face Holvo and leaned on the consoles. “You’re probably wondering why I shot you and murdered your entire team, or more likely wondering how you’ll fix that wound before you bleed out; honestly it’s a fifty fifty to me so you just tell me which one is more important.” Holvo felt like this was all some nightmare. The Patrick he had known for several years had suddenly become a monster. He tried to speak but was stopped by a violent fit of coughing up blood. Nodding as he put the drives into his pocket Patrick looked down at Holvo as if he understood something. “Why I went all shootie on you then, good choice.” He began walking over and calmly picking up the spent shell casings and tossing them into the karts trash bag. He saw the confused look on Holvo’s face and shrugged. “Best to leave as little evidence as possible I always say.” As the final casing flew into the bag Patrick crouched down on his hind legs in front of Holvo. “I’ve been undercover here for the last three years to learn and eventually steal your latest generator technology. My employer wished to have said technology for themselves and paid a handsome fee to obtain it, even going so far to offer an additional payment should I eliminate the research team as well.” He smirked. “I guess you could call me a spy, but I make James Bond look like a pansy.” “You won’t get away with this.” Halvo forced the words out with increasing effort. “Oh I won’t need to worry.” Holvo said gesturing back to the control panels. “While I was copying all your files, schematics, logs, and personal databases; I set your fancy reactor to begin cranking the power output up by 100% every thirty minutes. By the time I’m off world this thing will have reached critical mass and detonate leveling half the city.” Holvo’s eyes went wide in horror. “Not only will the destruction eradicate any evidence, but it also ruins this company as their experimental reactor will be seen as the catalyst for the devastation. It’ll go bankrupt and be forced to sell off, which my employer will buy up for nickles and dimes before completing your work again several years down the road.” Patrick’s eyes narrowed for a moment and he looked down at his gun. “Just realized if this place goes nuclear it won’t matter if there are shell casings or not. Oh well, old habits and what not.” “How dare you...steal our dream...of...a paradise.” Holvo coughed. “Me?” Patrick held his hand to his chest and looked surprised. “The fault is not mine, but yours my friend. You were so busy dreaming of the future that you failed to notice that there was a snake in your garden until it was too late.” He stood back up and moved back to his kart. “I’d say it was nice knowing you, or that this is painful for me since you were like a friend, but honestly you were the biggest prick I’ve ever known.” Holvo’s arms fell limply away from his wound as the strength sapped from his body. He watched Patrick leave and felt the rhythmic beating of the reactor growing steadily beneath his feet. His dream of the future had become his nightmare of the present. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The security guard made their routine stroll past the restricted lab just as the human janitor was exiting. “Hey you,” he called out, “that’s a restricted area when they’re testing.” The human janitor looked sheepish and hunched over a bit. ‘I know, but Mr. Holvo asked me to come in and clean all the waste baskets before they start doing more tests. Something about it “distracting him”. Can you believe that guy?” The guard smirked and nodded. “Never really liked the fellow myself either.” “He even told me to tell you that no one is to disturb him for the next few hours while they run more tests. What do I look like, his errand boy?” “You don’t need to convince me friend. Best get moving before he starts having you write his acceptance speech or brag about how he’s made his mark in history.” The human janitor smiled at that last remark. “Right hoe, best get moving. I wouldn’t doubt it though, he’s probably think about his mark in history even as we speak.”

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #scifi #story

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