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bigskydreaming · 3 years

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Okay, so you know “Justice League meets Batman’s kids, who they’d previously been unaware existed” AUs?

So picture that.....but this time, instead of them just having no knowledge of any of these other Gotham vigilantes at all....the Batkids all migrate to various cities as they get older and become known as their protectors - Dick in Bludhaven, Tim in San Francisco, Cass in Hong Kong, etc....

Meaning they’re all established figures, the Justice League are aware of them as solo local heroes who stick to their cities and so they just don’t interact with them much if at all, or else some are members of team lineups but are particularly vague about their histories or life outside of the team’s adventures....

So the big reveal isn’t that they become aware of all these other Gotham vigilantes all at once....its that some big conflict or whatever requires a huge team up of all available heroes, and in the aftermath, they figure out that like.....despite being known as solo heroes who work alone or loners outside of their team settings, 80% of these heroes all not only seem to already know each other, they seem to be related.

And so naturally they all turn to Batman, who has profiles on every known hero and they thus figure had researched these individuals too and just never mentioned this little detail, and they’re like, “Did you know about this?”

And then Nightwing turns to him too, arms crossed and is like, “Yeah Dad, did you know about this?”

And the infamous Red Hood is all: “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have never met any of these people before in my life. Lives? Whatever.”

And then Red Robin moodily grates out “I have no siblings.” Since he’s nursing a grudge since Dick and Jason broke into his apartment the night before and replaced all his custom Red Robin gear with Darkwing Duck merchandise and his vengeance will be swift and also totally disproportionate because things escalate quickly in this family, that’s true in every universe.

Cass meanwhile has deftly skewered Jason’s lie by walking over to him and brazenly patting down the man with many many guns with no fear whatsoever. He squawks and futilely attempts to bat her hands away as she riffles through his many pockets, but he doesn’t seem shocked, just annoyed. Eventually, she pulls away and triumphantly reveals a box of Hello Kitty themed band-aids.

“So these are yours then? Just for you?” Black Bat asks smugly. Red Hood squints at the box.

“What the fuck? How long have those been in my jacket? Why are those in my jacket? Did you freaking plant them in my jacket just on the offchance you could at some point in the distant future use them at my expense?”

Black Bat frowns, puzzled. “Yes?”

“Oh come on, Dead Hood,” Spoiler says with an exaggerated toss of her head meant to convey she’s rolling her eyes beneath her own mask. She skips her way across the room to Black Bat and then drapes herself languidly all over the smaller woman. Who in turn doesn’t so much as twitch beneath the sudden added mass as Spoiler holds out her hand towards the box of band-aids.

“One please. I have a boo-boo,” she says with easy familiarity straight into the intimidating cowl of Black Bat. Only then does she deign to finish her train of thought with Red Hood.

“I mean seriously, are you saying you don’t have potential blackmail set-ups, pre-rigged releases of incriminating material, and a random assortment of traps, pratfalls and mortifying scenarios in place for the express purpose of being able to humiliate any and all of your siblings at any given moment, without any need for additional prep time?”

“Is this true, Little Wing?” Nightwing whirls on the larger Red Hood with a faux-scandalized gasp. The founder and leader of the Titans, formerly the Teen Titans, renowned for his stratagems and calm competence when directing squads of supers in the heat of battle while he keeps pace with nothing more than naturally acquired acrobatics and a utility belt that apparently uses the same technology as Wonder Woman’s invisible jet....now appears to be....staggering with the back of his hand pressed to his forehead, moaning about how he felt....faint?

What is happening right now, several dozen superheroes want to know. Is this a drill? Are they supposed to be checking for signs of a mental ambush from undetected psychic saboteurs? Did they all hit their heads at the exact same time and are now experiencing some kind of shared mass concussion?

Look, that wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to ever happen on the Watchtower.

“Have I failed you so utterly?” The veteran child hero bemoans with a dramatic twirl - that when contrasted with his stern demeanor of a mere ten minutes ago - makes the fears of telepathic infiltration seem less paranoia and more....concerningly probable. “Did you learn nothing from me? Did you learn nothing from B?”

He stops and jabs a finger up at the sky. “Quick, everyone! What is the very first rule of Living While Batty?”

As if by rote, over a half a dozen voices chime in from all over the room, causing various heroes to jump. Spooked by yet more and more vigilantes joining in some kind of mass recitation like they and they alone have some kind of clue what the hell is going on and everyone else just hadn’t been invited to the party. Which is just rude, honestly. Nobody likes feeling like they weren’t invited to the party. Not even superheroes.

“If you’re not going to bother preparing for every possible contingency and at least six impossible ones, you might as well just stay in bed.”

Even the Red Hood joins in the Illuminati chant or Cub Scout pledge or demonic ritual or whatever the fuck that just was, though his slumped and exasperated posture gives away every hint of sulkiness his headgear otherwise would have kept safely hidden. He’s surprisingly more...expressive, than most who’d only known of him by reputation had expected him to be. The day continues to yield surprises.

“Of fucking course I do,” he growls out, snatching the box from Black Bat. She doesn’t even fight to hold onto it, just lets it go with a knowing smirk. “I wasn’t surprised by the idea of it, I was just surprised she bothered with such a weak effort. Like yeah whatever, actually those could be mine. I use those all the time at home. So what?”

He aggressively yanks one of the band-aids out of the box, fumbles with the peel-off strips with one hand and he roughly rolls up the sleeve of his jacket with the other. Then just slaps it on his forearm and raises said appendage high, showing it off this way and that. “See?”

“Oh yeah, for sure,” Signal drawls from the other side of the room, nodding his head approvingly. “Totally convincing. Nice job walking that one back, you really showed them.”

Red Hood’s head snaps in his direction with ominous intent. “Watch it, Day-Glo.”

Signal just snorts.

“Yeah, like I’m gonna take constructive criticism on my name and costume from a dude who’s spent the last several years calling himself Red HOOD while running around in a freaking HELMET.”

“Its not meant to be literal, you fucking pedant.”

“So wait, its not literally a helmet? Huh, does it at least protect your head literally, or just like...symbolically? Like if Bane were to clock you across the head, would your concussion just be a metaphor? What’s the treatment protocol for a metaphorical concussion? Fluids, bedrest and a philosophical prescription of two chapters of Chicken Soup for the Soul as needed?”

“Laugh it up, KC and the Sunshine Band,” Red Hood bats back. “You just got yourself disinvited from Thursday night’s poker game.”

Signal just grins and folds his arms over his chest cockily. “Please. You’ve been looking for an excuse to ban me for weeks, cuz you know until you can prove I’m using my ghost vision to cheat, you can’t actually bring suit against me for it in Family Court.”

“That, and also Family Court isn’t a real thing, you toddler. Stop validating Wing-a-ding-ding’s obsession with Shitty TV Nostalgia and just call it that thing where Oracle traps us all in a room until we settle our latest fight without anyone getting stabbed.”

“Yeah, but like, say that five times fast,” Spoiler pipes up. “Its just not practical. Family Court’s way easier.”

“Says the one who’s not even in our fucking family.”

“And yet I grace you all with my sublime presence anyway,” she blows a kiss at him, beatifically unbothered. “You’re welcome.”

The Red Hood scoffs and rounds on his heel, zeroing in on Batwoman in the far corner.

“Hey Auntie B, my siblings are all dead to me and I just helped stop an alien invasion so I deserve nice things like a fun Saturday night. Can you get me into Dad’s fundraiser so I can crash it? He won’t put me back on the list until I promise not to bring any C-4 with me and I won’t promise not to bring any C-4 because he should just trust me that I won’t when I say I’m not gonna and he won’t trust me that I won’t until I admit I shouldn’t have brought any to that sting last month where three tiny little yachts blew up through barely any fault of my own, and I’m just not gonna do that ever because I have convictions and I feel I shouldn’t have to be punished for that. Y’know?”

Batwoman blinks at him. “Kid, I’m not gonna lie to you. You’re my nephew and I love you, but I stopped listening three seconds into all that.”

“Ugh, fine. Can you help me crash Dad’s event tonight so I can teach him a lesson about why he should just trust me not to make a scene so I don’t have to always make a scene to make a point.”

“Tempting as you make that sound,” she says wryly, “I have a strict policy for dealing with you lot and your......everything. I only worry about tolerating one of you at a time, and there’s seven of you, and seven days in the week. You each get your own. You know perfectly well its Robin’s day today. You get me on Tuesday, just like always.”

“Auntie B, we’re not like other families, are we?” Red Robin’s delivery is sarcastically childish and his question clearly rhetorical. Most of his attention is fixated on whatever it is he’s doing with his wrist-mounted computer.

“No sweetie, we’re all severely fucked in the head and a little bit too comfortable with that.”

“Just checking. Oh hey, Hood, I just emailed you a patch for the hole in your firewall I exploited when replacing all my shit using your accounts just now.”

“You did what?”

“Used your accounts to pay to replace all my stuff that you fucked with last night?” Red Robin says slowly. “Did you not realize that I’ve been sticking within ten feet of you for the past five minutes just so I could clone your devices and do all that while BB and Spoiler kept you distracted? I gotta say, bro, I feel like that’s on you then.”

Red Hood swivels his helmeted head in the direction of the aforementioned two. Black Bat waves. Spoiler shoots him an utterly unrepentant thumbs up.

“You’d side with your ex over me? That’s what its come to?”

“My only allegiance is to chaos,” Spoiler says brightly. Black Bat shrugs.

“Plus he bribes better.”

“Hateful,” Red Hood points at Black Bat, moving on to level the same finger at Spoiler, who curtsies in acknowledgment: “Hateful-er.”

Then the finger rounds the bases to aim judgmentally at Red Robin. “Hateful-est. And that was all Nightwing’s idea anyway, not mine.”

“Oh, I assumed as much,” he says casually. “Your idea of a prank tends to have more of a Carrie vibe. Or be a literal literary reenactment.”

“Its called an homage, 4chan.”

“Whatever, plagiarist. And anyway, I couldn’t go after ‘Wing for payback on this one. He used an Immunity card. If you didn’t want me getting back at you, you should have used one too."

Red Hood looms aggressively. Red Robin ignores willfully. Round and round they go. Superheroes who can survive excessive G-Forces are getting dizzy just watching them have a largely motionless stand-off. That shouldn’t be how that works, but whatever. All the most infamously reclusive and isolated heroes in all hero-dom are apparently part of the same one big reclusive and isolated family of fucked up weirdos and they’re all officially bonkers. Nothing makes sense anymore. Reality broke. Try another stall.

“Okay, but see, in order to have an Immunity card, I would have to participate in one of you losers’ stupid Immunity challenges,” the Red Hood drags out with exaggerated patience. “And I’m just not going to do that, on account of those all being fucking stupid. You see the problem there?”

Red Robin just shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you, bro. You can have principles or you can have an Immunity card. You can’t have both.”

Meanwhile, on another side of....the same room.....look, its like, an octagonal room, probably. It has a lot of sides. Robin fends off questions from an aggrieved looking Superboy.

“You never told me you had a bajillion brothers and sisters!”

“Yes but I never said I didn’t either.”

Superboy rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah, so I should just assume everyone I meet has a bajillion secret brothers and sisters?”

“Well clearly it would have worked out in your favor in this instance if you had, now wouldn’t it?”

“Assuming of course that you can trust what has been said or implied here today and I am actually related to any of those numbskulls. Which I am not actually admitting to,” Robin tacks on hastily.

Superboy eyes him dubiously. “You joined in the same creepy chant all the others did and then got super self-conscious and looked around to see if anyone had noticed. Which uh. I did.”

“First off, your interpretation of body language is abyssmal. I do not get self-conscious,” Robin says with a delivery that probably could have benefited from being a little less self-conscious. “And second....that proves nothing. I guessed what they were going to say.”

“Word for word,” Superboy says super-skeptically.

“I’m very good at guessing things. You know this.”

“Okay. Guess how much I believe you right now then.”

Robin glares and folds his arms grumpily across his chest.

“And what was that anyway? Was that like....you guys’ family motto or something like that?”

“Oh no,” Spoiler pipes up. “That’s much shorter.”

Superboy balks at that. “Wait, you guys actually have one of those for real?”

“Yup,” Steph says, counting out the words with her fingers. “He who laughs last....probably works for the Joker. So tranq him just to be safe. See? Only sixteen words. The first rule of Living While Batty is way longer, and what we said was just the abridged version. You should hear the original, before Black Bat put her foot down and refused to memorize it unless sizable edits were made.”

Superboy hovers between her and Robin now, both in mid-air and on the verge of taking Spoiler’s words as an invitation to hear just that. A low growl arises from Robin’s direction.

“Must you?” He asks the older vigilante, with a most put upon expression.

She looks at him pityingly. “Do you actually need me to answer that? Like, we’ve met, right? Hi, I’m Spoiler.”

“Wait, so Robin said that I just never specifically asked him if he had a bajillion brothers and sisters, and that’s why he didn’t tell me, so that means he wouldn’t have just lied and there’s not some code of secrecy that flat out forbids telling other people stuff, right?” Superboy realizes excitedly.

“Yes, excellent direction. Go on,” Spoiler says, steepling her fingers. Robin buries his face in the palm of one hand.

“Soooo, what other stuff could you tell me about Robin’s super top secret family that I wouldn’t think to ask about but that he would tell me about if I knew what questions to ask?”

She claps once, lightly but with emphasis. “Well done. You’ve passed the first barrier. Untold secrets await you behind just a few more.”

“I’ll get you for this,” Robin vows calmly. She waves a hand at him.

“Yeah, yeah. Just make sure you do it before January 1st, remember? You’ve promised retribution like ten times already this year and those don’t roll over, y’know. Rules are rules.”

“Enough!” Thunders a voice then, from the front of the room. Well one of the fronts anyway. Like sides, it has a lot of them, but this is the one where Batman’s standing. All eyes snap to him. Which is kinda just what eyes do when Batman says stuff like that. Its like his superpower, except he doesn’t actually have superpowers, which is what makes it scary. But where the snapping of the eyes (directional) is usually followed by Batman saying something else besides just “hey look at me,” here he pauses in the wake of his own call to attention’s waning reverberations. Uncharacteristically silent.

Not that, y’know, he’s normally Mr. Talkity Talk, but usually his silences feel like he has the words to fill them, he’s just withholding them. This though, this feels more like he doesn’t have any words at all. And he’s as confused by it as any of them, and most everyone else is confused by Batman being confused, and its this whole trickle down economy of confusion and its wrecking havoc on the value of the golden silence standard.

Of course, not everyone present is rendered spellbound with confusion.

“C’mon B,” Nightwing cajoles, leaning forward and practically radiating delight. “I think you know what you have to do now. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Its not likely to come around again.”

Red Hood snickers beneath his helmet and chimes in. “Yeah Pops, go ahead. You do this and you’ll actually have my respect for a whole twenty four hours. No, wait. Sixteen. No! Eight. Yeah, eight. Still a good deal.”

“Carpe diem, B,” Red Robin grins, leaning back as if to enjoy the show.

“Hey! Infringe on my trademark one more time, dude,” Signal throws a faux-glare at the former. Red Robin just quirks an eyebrow.

“And what, you’ll start saying Yum every time you eat a burger? Oh no. I’m hoist by my own petard.”

Signal flips him off with a grin and then redirects his attention back to Batman. “Yeah seriously though B, you kinda gotta do it now. Because if you don’t do it, then you’ll forever be the guy who didn’t do it, and you don’t want to be that guy, do you?”

“Yeah you really don’t want to be that guy,” Spoiler shouts out. “Nobody likes that guy. He’s the worst.”

“Do it, do it,” Black Bat starts chanting beside her, steadily picking up speed and volume. Several others start joining in. Even Robin appears to be slightly anticipatory, albeit trying very hard to hide it.

Batman sighs, and somehow everyone manages to hear it. Stills. Waits for....something? Nobody but them seems to have any clue what, but the air is thick and heavy with portentiousness. Something is about to happen, and all most of the heroes present could say for sure is it was something they never would have in a million years seen coming.

Finally, Batman straightens with the resigned air of a man about to have oh so many regrets. He crosses his arms, shakes his head, and in an absolute deadpan monotone, says:

“You are awful children. You know you’re killing me. You’re killing your father.”

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daisymydaisy · 3 years

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Elain seer predictions

(This post will include all the visions elain had in acowar)

Idk a lot about seer abilities but based on what we saw of elain’s powers, it shows that:

They’re able to see the future: “Twin ravens are coming, one white and one black.”

They’re able to see the unknown (something that already happened): “I saw a box of black stone. I saw a feather of fire land on snow and melt it.”

All the visions elain talked about might help predict next book’s plot (or just small mentions that might take place)

I will add some of my thoughts with each vision (my thoughts are not always right cuz apparently some people don’t get it)

Vision 1: The sea & heartbeats

“I can see so very far now. All the way to the sea.”

“I can hear your heartbeat—if I listen carefully. I can hear her heartbeat, too.”

Now elain said this while looking at the “sea beyond Sidra” so you might think she’s just trying her fae abilities but feyre knew that was not the case in the next line:

“I can hear the sea. Even at night. Even in my dreams. The crashing sea—and the screams of a bird made of fire.”

“Will I hear the earthworms writhing through the soil? Or the stretching of roots? Will the bird of fire come to sit in the trees and watch me?”

We all thought she went mad but well..it was just her seer abilities and that led the IC to find vassa.

Now with elain having visions about vassa and hearing her heartbeats...are they connected somehow? Because yes vassa helped in the war but I don’t think that was the only reason for the visions.

Vision 2: Through the stone

The very uncomfortable conversation between Lucien and elain led to some visions about a possible journey

While reading the quotes below i want you to notice how when elain is facing Lucien, she talks normally about things that already happened, like how he betrayed them, or how she remembers him from feyre’s stories (in case anyone wants to read it: it’s acowar chapter 24 may god be with you)

But when she faces the windows again she starts talking about all the stuff that doesn’t make sense.

“She looked away—toward the windows. “I can hear your heart,” she said quietly.”

“When I sleep,” she murmured, “I can hear your heart beating through the stone.” She angled her head, as if the city view held some answer. “Can you hear mine?”

I don’t think she was talking to lucien, especially since in the previous chapters she was talking about heatbeats.

Some elucien stans use the quotes above to support their ship, but knowing that previously elain heard vassa’s heartbeat....plus even lucien doubted elain was addressing him:

“He wasn’t sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, “No, lady. I cannot.”

She just stared somewhere far through the window and mentioned how she could hear heartbeats through the stone, which reminds me of ACOSF when nesta was in the prison:

“She stared into the darkness above. “I think they used it to … to trap their enemies and their enemies’ children into the stone itself.”

Again she isn’t trying her new fae abilities, she saw something no one can, and we now know that some people are trapped in stone (honestly i was waiting for nesta to free them but i guess sjm is saving it for later)

Vision 3: He saw me

“No one ever does. No one ever looked—not really.” A bramble of words. Her voice strained to a whisper. “He did. He saw me. He will not now.”

Whenever i read this I’m like elain, honey—you mean to tell me the man who rejected you? the man who didn’t accept your new self? Something you couldn’t control.....He saw you? How in the living hel-

But then i read this post and it made sense, especially since no one guessed the suriel was talking about a different highlord, so why are we sure that elain was talking about graysen?

Considering elain is a seer, she either saw the future or the unknown. Now who is the only character who saw her?

“It made sense, I supposed, that Azriel alone had listened to her. The male who heard things others could not … Perhaps he, too, had suffered as Elain had before he understood what gift he possessed.”

This makes me think elain was shown the future, and saw herself with someone who understood her, but something happened he disappeared / died and he no longer sees her.

Vision 4: cassian dying

“He snapped your wings, broke your bones.” “It’ll take more than that to kill me,” “Elain only said to Cassian, “No, it will not.”

“Not twenty feet away, Cassian was on the ground. Wings—snapped in spots. Blood leaking from them. Bone jutted from his thigh. His Siphons were dull. Empty.”

Looking back, elain’s vision came true. That might’ve been the scene she saw and as a result she saved the day by killing the king.

But i added this just in case it wasn’t the scene she was talking about.....and to give you more anxiety :)

Vision 5: koschei

“They sold her—to … to some darkness, to some … sorcerer-lord …” She shook her head. “I can never see him. What he is. There is an onyx box that he possesses, more vital than anything … save for them. The girls. He keeps other girls—others so like her—but she … By day, she is one form, by night, human again.”

“Mor leaned forward. “Do you know why the other queens cursed her—sold her to him?”

“Elain studied the table. “No. No—that is all mist and shadow.”

Well, there are many theories about koschei (don’t know how you guys do it) and I’m not going to come up with more theories about my dude, but based on my quick research that onyx box contains his soul (or not? Please he’s so complicated) and the fact that elain saw it...

Here are also few questions:

Why was vassa sold and cursed? What did the queens gain from that? And why was this truth unknown to elain?

Vision 6: Vassa and Lucien

Right when Lucien said that he’ll bring vassa back, this happened:

“Elain now watched Lucien warily. Blinking every now and then. She revealed no hint of whatever she might be seeing—sensing. None.”

Elain saw something, and it wasn’t him dying because he came back unharmed. So what did she see?

This whole scene screams “goodbye” to me, because after this scene Lucien found his band of exiles. This was their last chance, and elain saw it all.

Even feyre—our baddest bish—saw it:

“A bird of flame … and a lord of fire. I wondered if they’d found each other yet.”

A bonus vlucien moment cuz why not (this scene was the last Lucien scene in acowar):

“Vassa still remained inside, chatting with Lucien animatedly. I supposed that if she only had until dawn before turning back into that firebird, she wanted to make every minute count. Lucien, surprisingly, was chuckling, his shoulders loose and his head angled while he listened.”

Also how did papa Archeron convince koschei to free vassa (temporary)?

Anyway like miss Morrigan said “There is a reason why Elain is seeing these things.”

#pro elain #elain archeron #acotar #acosf #azriel x elain #elain x azriel #sarah j mass #elriel #lucien x vassa #vassa x lucien #koschei #azriel

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art-gelato · 3 years

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Twice as Shiny

1. a little worse for wear, practically walking on air

Ratchet bit off a curse halfway. “If that young idiot is hanging his hopes on Starscream, of all mechs, I’ll kill him myself.”

Miko supposed that Ratchet was probably the only one around who could get away with calling Optimus Prime either young or idiot. “What hopes?” she asked. [AO3] [prev]

Miko had been given strict orders to stay out of the med bay ("I mean it, Miko," in that commanding Prime voice), so of course she set about getting in as soon as she was left unsupervised. Her timing was perfect—she approached the door to the converted storage unit just as Ratchet was exiting, and she slipped through the door behind him as he headed towards the other end of the hallway. Inside were a few beeping monitors, and a makeshift stretcher-thing that was too high up for her to see onto properly. She craned her neck, but she could only catch glimpses of a few sharp silver angles and the wings that poked out over the sides.

Undeterred, she clambered up the stretcher, which looked like it used to be some heavy-duty machinery that lifted really big stuff—probably aircraft, if its current use was anything to go by. She reached the platform with little difficulty, and found herself at the occupant's pointy feet. He wasn't moving, and his eyes were closed, and plus his wrists were chained to the rails, so she figured it was safe enough. She half-jogged along the platform until she reached his shoulder, and gave the armor plating there a nudge with the toe of her shoe. When that didn't elicit a response, she kicked him.

There was a low hum of activating machinery, and his eyes slowly opened. The creepy red glow of them was unfocused, though, and his gaze drifted aimlessly around the room before finally settling on her. "You," he croaked, and she wondered what was going on with his voice box to make it sound so crackly. It reminded her of the way Raf sounded after he pulled an all-nighter to finish his extra smart-kid homework.

She didn't like that. It made him seem more like a person.

"Me," she said, hands on her hips. "Got a problem?"

He stretched his jaw back and forth, like he was trying to get used to his own face. "Can't even remember your name," he said eventually. "But I suspect you have a problem with me."

"Duh," Miko replied. "Maybe it has something to do with all the times you've tried to kill me and my friends!"

Starscream sighed, a staticky rush of boredom. "Get in line, sparkling."

"My name is Miko," she said, giving his shoulder another kick. She wished it would leave a dent, and then maybe he'd stop looking at her with that cross between mild annoyance and vague amusement and take her seriously.

"You think I care?" Starscream asked, one side of his mouth twisting up in a mocking smile.

"I think you'd better!" Miko snapped. "Because if you do anything else to hurt my friends, I'm coming for you."

Starscream rolled his eyes. "I'm shaking." He sounded more awake now, and his attention shifted to take in the room properly. "Where's the medic? I'm surprised my new benevolent masters saw fit to allow you in here alone."

Miko crossed her arms. "They know not to underestimate me."

He looked her up and down, which didn't take him long at all. "You snuck in," he said, and his grin was almost genuine. "Nice to see a healthy disregard for authority in the youths, at least."

She burned with rage at the thought of Starscream approving of any of her actions, and she opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind when-

"Miko! What are you doing in here?"

"NothingI'mnothere!" Miko yelped automatically, scrambling for the edge of the stretcher. She tripped on Starscream's wing, but before she could fall, Ratchet's hand was there to catch her. His fingers closed carefully around her, and he carried her out the door and deposited her in the hallway.

"We'll talk later," Ratchet said through gritted teeth, and slammed the door shut.

Miko let out a long groan, then pressed her ear to the door. Ratchet was speaking, sounding way grumpier that usual. She hadn't even known that was possible.

"-a day to make sure the transplant takes. Absolutely no transforming before then, or I'll rip that T-cog right back out of you with my bare servos."

"Charming," Starscream drawled.

"If you want a smooth talker, go back to Knock Out. Optimus will be here soon to get those coordinates from you. No," Ratchet added, apparently cutting off Starscream before the former 'Con could object, "we're not waiting until you're cleared for flight. There's too much at stake. The T-cog will take, I just don't want you to strain it. Ready or not, you're giving us-"

"Miko," said a deep voice far above her.

Miko jerked away from the door and looked up. She hadn't even heard Optimus approaching—he might be twenty tons of solid metal, but the guy was stealthy. He was also very, very good at making her feel guilty when she was doing something she wasn't supposed to. Maybe it was because he didn't actually try to make her feel guilty. He just would be disappointed, but he wouldn't say he was disappointed even though it was written all over his face. Sometimes she wished he would just get mad about stuff, because she knew how to deal with angry people, but he was too nice for that.

"I went in while Ratchet wasn't there," she admitted, so it wouldn't all get drawn out.

Optimus made a contemplative sound, then crouched down so they could talk easier. She liked it when he did that, because she really felt like he was paying attention to her. Not many adults gave her the courtesy. "Starscream shouldn't be disturbed too much right now," he said. "I know you're curious, but he did just have surgery."

"I'm not curious," she said, a little too defensively. "I was making a point."

Optimus gave her a bemused look. "And what point is that?"

Miko punched her palm. "I'll scrap him if he even thinks about double-crossing us."

"I see," Optimus said. "Was he suitably intimidated?"

"No," Miko grumbled, scuffing her shoe on the concrete floor. "But I'll show him."

Optimus reached out and placed a gentle finger on her shoulder. "Starscream is our ally, at least for now," he said. "Perhaps showing him some compassion will be a more effective way to keep him so."

"That creep probably doesn't even know what compassion is," Miko said, crossing her arms.

"All the more reason, in that case," Optimus replied with a small smile that quickly faded. "However, I would prefer it if you stayed away from him."

"Aw, c'mon!" Miko whined. "If he's gonna be here, I'm gonna run into him! What, am I supposed to leave the room if he walks in?"

"Starscream is dangerous, intentionally or otherwise," Optimus said. "He's not used to being around humans, and any of you could get hurt if he isn't careful. And if he is planning to betray us, you children would likely be his first target as the most vulnerable among us."

"If?" Miko echoed back at him, hooking air quotes around the word. "OP, he definitely is. This is Starscream!"

And Optimus… hesitated. He was quiet for a moment, clearly trying to decide how to reply. "Under normal circumstances, I would agree," he said at last. "But as it is, I am certain he no longer feels any loyalty to Megatron. He's on his own side now, and I'm hoping…" Here, he trailed off, his usually steady gaze turning inward.

Miko put her hand on his finger, still resting on her shoulder. "Are you okay, Optimus?"

Optimus closed his eyes and took a deep breath (or vent or whatever it was giant robots did). "My apologies," he said. "I don't want to concern you."

"Hey, no, it's okay!" Miko said, grabbing onto him tighter, with both hands, as he began to pull away. She couldn't actually stop him, but the attempt made him pause nonetheless. "If you wanna talk about something, I'll listen. You have a hard time being vulnerable around the bots, cuz they look up to you and stuff. But you're not my boss, you're my friend. I'll listen." The words fell out of her, quickly, desperately, before she could think about them. He always gave off an aura of distant leadership, even when he was being nice to her. Now, she'd caught a glimpse of something more underneath, something small and sad and almost scared, and she needed to know.

"I- believe that would be unwise," Optimus said, and now he did pull away. Miko's hands felt empty and cold. He must have seen the disappointment on her face, because his own softened. "Miko, the strength of your heart is admirable, but this is not a weight I can lay on it."

Miko clenched her fists. "Gimme- gimme something I can do to help, at least." Because she could see it—he needed help, and the problem wasn't something punchable, or shootable, or even medically fixable. It wasn't something any of the Autobots could help him with, she was sure of it. She wasn't certain she could help either, but she wanted to try.

Inside the med bay, Ratchet and Starscream were arguing, their words muffled but the vitriol coming through loud and clear. Optimus' eyes flicked in the direction of the closed door before returning to Miko. "This is not your war," he murmured. "Perhaps you can see things in another way."

With that, he pushed himself back to his full height, and Miko knew the conversation was over.

She threw her arms out and shouted at him anyway. "What the scrap is that supposed to mean?"

Optimus just gave her a faint smile and opened the door.

"-not a prisoner my aft! Take these chains off me right fragging now, Hatchet!"

"Sit still, you insufferable glitch, I told you-"

"I hate to interrupt," Optimus said, and that shut them both up.

That was one of the many things Miko thought was really cool about Optimus—his ability to just stop people right in their tracks, no matter what they were doing. Often just by showing up. She aspired to have that kind of power someday.

But she knew the start of a boring conversation when she saw one (something something keys, something something coordinates), so she skulked off. Bulkhead would certainly be looking for her by now, anyway. It was almost dinner time, and she had to be home in half an hour or her host family would… worry, or something. Who knew.

Besides, she had some stuff to think about.

The next day was a Saturday, which meant normally Miko would have slept in past eleven. But this Saturday, she woke up with a weird knot of anxiety in her gut around eight and couldn't fall back asleep, so she shot a message into the group chat with Jack and Raf.

u guys up?

Almost immediately, Raf responded. Wow, I'm surprised you're awake.

cant sleep, Miko typed back. i wanna head over to base u in?

Yeah why not, Jack said. My shift isn't until later anyway

Is something going on? Raf asked. I mean, besides the stuff with the Omega Keys.

Miko's thumbs hovered over her phone for a minute before she settled on a reply. idk lets talk on the way

After that, she sent a message to Bulkhead, asking him to pick the three of them up. Then she rolled out of bed and got ready as fast as she could. She pulled her hair into its second ponytail as she crept quietly down the stairs, hoping no one from her host family was around. Luck was on her side as she snagged some breakfast from the kitchen—they tended to sleep in on the weekend as well.

"Oh, hey, hun," said a voice behind her. "You're up early."

Miko's groan was muffled behind a piece of toast. So much for luck being on her side. "Morning, Mrs. Jones," she said, not bothering to swallow her mouthful of bread first. She poured coffee into her travel mug and dumped in a few heaping spoonfuls of sugar. Then she added cream, screwed the cap on the mug, and shook it.

"Big plans for the day?" Mrs. Jones asked.

Miko turned around, looked Mrs. Jones in the eye, and took her time washing down the toast with the coffee. "Yup," she said, popping the 'p'—a neat trick to insert attitude into a simple word that she'd picked up from some of the girls in afterschool detention. "I'll probably be back late."

Mrs. Jones had a tense smile. Miko wasn't sure if it was always like that, or just always like that for Miko. "Hanging out with your friends… James and Roger?"

"Close enough," Miko said, and was saved by the honk of a horn outside. "I gotta go. See you, Mrs. Jones." She brushed past the older woman and hurried out the door.

Sure enough, Bulkhead was waiting by the curb. She was usually last to get picked up if one Autobot was getting all three of them, but when it came to Bulkhead, she had automatic dibs on the passenger seat. When she opened the door, she saw Jack behind the wheel and Raf in the back seat. Both boys gave her a wave.

"Morning, guys!" she said, feeling a sudden surge of energy as she hopped in and deposited her travel mug in the center console. "Okay, so, something super weird happened yesterday."

"Seatbelt," Bulkhead reminded her.

"Weird how?" Jack asked, simultaneously.

Miko huffed and buckled herself in, and Bulkhead began to drive. "So I snuck into the med bay after Screamer got his appendix removed or whatever," she said.

"That's where you were?" Bulkhead exclaimed, then added reproachfully, "I was looking everywhere for you."

"And you didn't look in the one place I was told not to go? C'mon, Bulky, you know me better than that."

"I-" Bulkhead paused. "Yeah, that's on me. Wait, Starscream didn't do anything to you, did he?"

"No, he was just, like, kinda rude," Miko said, flapping a dismissive hand. "The weird thing happened with Optimus, actually. I was listening at the door after Ratchet kicked me out, and Optimus came up and gave me one of his dad lectures about compassion and stuff. That's the boring part. But he seems really convinced that Starscream isn't gonna double-cross us. That's weird, right? Like, double-crossing is what Starscream does."

"Mmph," Bulkhead said. He'd never been particularly good at subtlety. All three kids' full attention was immediately on the steering wheel, Raf even leaning forward through the gap between the front seats.

"Do you know something?" Miko asked.

"N-o," Bulkhead replied, drawing the word out into two uncertain syllables.

Miko drummed her hands on the dashboard. "Yes, you do! What's going on?"

If a Jeep could squirm, that's what Bulkhead would be doing. "I don't know!" he insisted. "Not anything specific!"

"But you know something," Raf said.

"Okay, okay," Bulkhead said, able to weather the worst Decepticon interrogations but caving under the pressure of a few determined juveniles. "I was with Prime when we went to negotiate with Starscream for the keys. Then halfway through, just when Starscream's threatening to go to Megatron out of spite or something, Optimus sends me 'n Smokescreen back to base! I don't know what went down, but after that, Optimus brought Starscream right into the base. Now we can't treat him like a prisoner, but we still have to take turns babysitting him just in case he decides to cause problems despite our deal—which! We don't even know the full terms of! We're getting what we want, but there's no way Starscream only wanted his T-cog replaced. Sure, we're not hunting him for sport either, but there's gotta be more, right? I think he and Prime hashed something out, but for some reason Prime ain't telling!"

The end of his rant was met with a few moments of silence.

"You… really needed to get that off your chest, huh," Jack said eventually.

"Maybe!" Then Bulkhead sighed. "Things have just been weird around base, y'know? It's great- beyond great that we've got this shot at bringing back Cybertron. But having Starscream with us for it feels…" He trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Icky?" Miko suggested.

"Icky," Bulkhead agreed.

Miko took a slow sip of her coffee as she thought. She couldn't bring herself to tell Bulkhead the last thing Optimus had said to her, and she wasn't sure why. Maybe because it had felt like it was just for her. Or—no, that wasn't right. It just wasn't for the other Autobots. That was why he'd said it to her. Because he couldn't say it to anyone else. It had been a moment of… weakness, or something that could be easily perceived as weakness.

But she couldn't figure this out on her own, and Jack and Raf had just as much insight into how Optimus' brain worked as she did.

"Would anyone know what OP is thinking?" she mused aloud.

"Ratchet, maybe," Bulkhead said. "He's known Optimus the longest. Since before the war, before the Primacy, before everything. If anyone's got a clue, it's the doc. He won't talk to us about Optimus, but maybe he'll talk to you."

When they got to base, the Autobots were holding a discussion in the main area. They stood around a stack of crates which the four Omega Keys sat atop, fused into a pyramid shape with a holographic blue orb floating above the point.

"-all the good a map does us," Arcee was saying. "We can plot routes through the wastes as much as we like, but that doesn't change the fact we can't even get there."

Bumblebee chirped something.

"Because using Megatron's spacebridge worked out so well for us last time," Ratchet replied wearily. "We've been over that already."

"They've been at this since before I left to pick you guys up," Bulkhead muttered to the kids. "Talking in circles. I was ready to make up my own excuse to get out of here by the time you texted me."

Smokescreen, separate from the rest of the Autobots, was the first to notice them. He was clearly on Starscream duty, since he and the former 'Con were leaning back against the wall to the right of the entrance. Smokescreen seemed unsure if he was disappointed about being left out of the argument or relieved. Starscream just looked bored.

"Hey!" Smokescreen called out, jerking away from the wall and making half a step towards Bulkhead and the kids before remembering his task. He glanced expectantly over his shoulder at Starscream, who made a big show of rolling his eyes and pushing out of his slouch to follow Smokescreen over to the newcomers. "They're all kinda deep in it," Smokescreen said apologetically.

"It's a wonder you lot ever get anything done," Starscream grumbled. "I've spent the last half-joor reorganizing long-term memories just to break up the monotony."

"If you would like to add your wisdom, Starscream, you are welcome to," Optimus said, his voice cutting easily through everything else. Nearly all the bots in the room jumped in surprise, and Starscream's wings flared upwards.

Then he settled them back to their default position, and slowly turned to face the rest of the Autobots. All of them were glaring at him, with the exception of Optimus. "I doubt my insight would be appreciated," Starscream said.

Arcee scoffed.

"Could you think of a way to access the spacebridge without alerting Megatron?" Optimus asked.

Starscream was quiet for a moment. Miko couldn't see his face, but his hands were clenched behind his back, one wrist caught tightly in his clawed fingers. "No," he said. "And whatever trick you used to sneak around him last time won't work again. He's a fast learner. You'd have to defeat him first to get to the bridge safely—but if you had the means to do that, you'd have done so already. Wouldn't you have?" That last bit felt pointed somehow, but the meaning was lost on Miko.

Optimus, as always, was unfazed. "Any other ideas?"

"Oh, I don't know," Starscream snapped. "I don't suppose you picked up any ancient artifacts that can just magically transform your groundbridge into a spacebridge?"

"The Forge!" Smokescreen blurted. "What about the Forge?"

Now everyone's attention was on Smokescreen, and he grew uncertain when no one said anything. "It could do that… right?"

Starscream tilted his head, turning to look at Smokescreen in an exaggerated motion. "Are you referring to the Forge of Solus Prime?" he asked, incredulity dripping from his tone. "It's real? And you have it?"

Smokescreen opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"Well," Bulkhead said. "I wouldn't say we… have it."

"That would work, though," Arcee said. "Wouldn't it?"

"I don't see why not," Ratchet replied.

Bumblebee let out a string of beeps.

"You just have to get it?" Starscream echoed. "Get it from where?"

The room fell silent.

"Ah," Starscream said, putting the pieces together. He straightened his back, suddenly exuding smooth confidence. "Well, that shouldn't be too hard."

"Oh, yes," Arcee said, cold and acidic. "Stealing a powerful artifact from Megatron will be a walk in the park."

Miko had already begun sidling around to where she could watch the full show, and she could see the shift in Starscream, like he was coming to life. Before, he'd been idling, only physically present because he had nowhere else to be. Miko was intimately familiar with the feeling—it was how she passed most of the time in school.

Now, the thin slash of his smile sharpened with purpose, and a low fire blazed through him, burning away any submissiveness in his posture. Even his eyes seemed to glow a little brighter. "Why not?" he said. "I know the Nemesis inside and out. I know where Megatron hoards his treasures. I know all the past guard shift schedules and I can accurately predict possible future ones. Even after going rogue, I was able to sneak aboard and raid the energon stores without getting caught. And with Hot Shot's favorite toy-" He gestured to Smokescreen. "-I could be in and out like a ghost."

"No way," Arcee said, taking a threatening step towards him. "There's no way we're letting you anywhere near the Nemesis. Especially not with the phase shifter."

"My apologies," Starscream said with false sweetness, mirroring her step forward with one of his own. "I wasn't aware you had another flight frame readily available. The Nemesis, in case you've forgotten, is quite high up."

Smokescreen shuddered. "Extremely high up."

"Arcee is right," Optimus said. "We can't trust you on a mission like this. Not alone."

"Not at all!" Arcee exclaimed with a swift chop of her hand, her glower fixed on Starscream.

Optimus laid a hand on her shoulder. "We have no other way to get aboard. Soundwave would detect the energy spike of a groundbridge. But if Starscream could carry someone-"

"Who?" Arcee said. "Bulkhead? You? I'm the only one small and light enough for him to…" Her eyes widened with realization.

"No!" she and Starscream shouted at the same time. They gave each other appalled looks.

Starscream coughed into his fist, struggling to regain his composure. "I could probably carry the yellow one."

Bumblebee jabbed a finger at Starscream as he chirped something distinctly displeased, his eyes narrowing.

"…carry Bumblebee," Starscream corrected himself through gritted teeth.

"You'll need speed and maneuverability on your side," Optimus said. "The less weight you're carrying, the higher the odds of success."

"Then don't make me carry anyone at all!" Starscream snarled.

Arcee's hands curled into fists. She began to move forward, opening her mouth to retort, only to be stopped when Optimus' grip on her tightened.

"Starscream," Optimus said, his voice somehow both soft and warning. "Compromise." It sounded less like an order and more like a reminder.

Starscream's wings flicked one after the other, as if he were physically trying to shake away his agitation. Then he took a shallow breath and straightened his spine, his hands going behind his back again as his stance became more formal. "Very well," he said, tone and expression carefully neutral. "I understand why I cannot be allowed alone on a high-stakes mission. Logically, Arcee is the best choice for infiltrating the Nemesis with me." His gaze shifted from Optimus to Arcee. "It would be foolish, at this point, to allow personal feelings to stand in the way of the restoration of our home planet."

Arcee's face contorted in fury—Miko felt scorched by her glare just by being in vague proximity to Starscream. Then she closed her eyes, breathing deep. When she reopened her eyes after a couple of moments, the harsh boil of her anger had reduced to a simmer. "Fine," she said, and looked up at Optimus. "Can we talk?"

"Of course," Optimus murmured, and followed her out of the main room.

After the two of them were gone, an uncomfortable silence settled over the room. Bulkhead, Smokescreen, Jack, and Raf were still clustered by the entrance, and the rest of the Autobots were by the Omega Keys. Starscream stood alone between the two groups, looking in the direction Arcee and Optimus had left in with a strange, unreadable expression on his face.

Miko decided to take action. She strode over to Starscream. "Hey, birdbrain," she called out. "You'd better not pull any tricks on Arcee."

Starscream didn't so much as twitch, eyes still fixed on the hallway. "What would you do?" he asked, sounding oddly far away.

This threw Miko for a loop. "Huh?"

He blinked, coming back to himself, and looked down at her. "What would you do?" he repeated irritably. "If it was just you and me. If you had no weapons, no powerful friends at your back. What course of action would you take? How would you, alone, damage me?"

Miko opened her mouth, but her mind was blank. Heat rose to her cheeks.

"Back off, Starscream," Bulkhead said.

Starscream's eyes widened, and he swiveled his head towards Bulkhead. "Are you seriously telling me you've allowed these organics to follow you onto the battlefield multiple times, and never gave them the tools to defend themselves?" he asked, his irritation congealing into outraged disbelief.

"Hey!" Miko said, crossing her arms. "I took out an Insecticon, you know!"

"And just how did you do that?" Starscream said, and Miko knew her answer wouldn't hold up under the weight of his condescension.

"Wheeljack's ship," she mumbled anyway.

"So you can use your surroundings, at least," Starscream said, which wasn't exactly the scathing insult she'd been expecting. "But you won't always be so lucky." Then, to her surprise, he dropped to one knee. At the sudden movement, every Autobot in the room started towards him, and he waved a hand. "Relax, I'm just going to show her something." He crooked a claw at her, beckoning her closer. "The other two should know this as well."

Miko exchanged uncertain glances with Jack and Raf, and then the three of them warily approached. Smokescreen and Bulkhead followed, while the rest hung back and watched.

Starscream traced the tip of a claw down a seam on the outside of his ankle. For a Cybertronian, it was too small to easily access, but Miko figured she could probably stick her arm in there. "Cybertronians vary massively in design, but there are always gaps at the joints, to allow for movement," Starscream explained. "Inside those joints, you will find sensitive wiring, especially in complex areas like this. If you find yourself facing an enemy you can't beat, your goal should be to cause enough of a distraction to facilitate an escape. In that regard, ankle joints should be your prime target. Use a tool, something sharp or hooked, and long enough to get to the circuitry. Just don't actually reach inside, since that would be an excellent way to lose those fleshy little servos of yours."

"You mean hands?" Miko asked.

Starscream ignored her, continuing, "The combination of pain and surprise should be enough to buy you time. If you're lucky, you may even impair your enemy's ability to give chase, albeit mildly. However, when you are so much smaller and weaker than your opponent, every advantage counts, no matter how slight." He rested his forearm on his knee. "After that, run. Not in a straight line—our motion algorithms can easily track you. Keep your movements unpredictable and seek cover. Anything that puts objects between you and your pursuer, preferably something that disguises the direction you're headed in. Find somewhere to hide, and wait for backup."

While Starscream was talking, Raf had ventured even closer to peer through the seam Starscream had indicated, trying to get a better look at circuitry. "Cool," he breathed.

"Was nothing like that ever explained to you?" Starscream asked. The annoyance, which had begun to fade during his lecture, was back full force.

"We've gotten the 'hide and wait for backup' talk a few times," Jack said.

"Unbelievable," Starscream said, aghast. "How did I never manage to kill you?" His tone was weirdly impersonal—a little frustrated, but mostly marveling at what he seemed to view as a massive oversight.

"Well, thank you," Miko said, and realized that she meant it despite his last remark. "For telling us all that."

Starscream gave her a hard look, as if trying to assess her sincerity. When he found her guileless, his eyes flicked away, discomfort crossing his face. "It's about time someone did," he muttered, and pushed himself to his feet.

At that moment, Optimus and Arcee returned, and Starscream stepped away from the kids. Miko turned her attention elsewhere, trying to ignore the fact that she hadn't felt threatened at all while being so close to him. He was a creep and a jerk, and he probably had some sinister reason for giving them potentially life-saving advice. Yeah.

Yet she couldn't help thinking about yesterday. Starscream's voice raspy after waking up. Optimus talking about compassion and war.

Miko shoved her hands in her pockets, stepping over to Jack and bumping shoulders with him. He bumped shoulders back, and she felt a little better.

Arcee still looked furious, but also a lot calmer about it. She clapped, a sharp sound that shot across the room and drew all eyes to her. "Alright, everybody," she said. "Let's plan a heist."

While the bots plotted, Miko totally thrashed the boys at Mario Kart. The three of them were, under normal circumstances, pretty evenly matched at video games. Today, though, Jack kept shooting worried glances at Arcee, and Raf's attention faltered every time Bumblebee spoke. Miko couldn't blame them, because she was anxious, too. She just channeled her anxiety differently. That was, directly into kicking ass at Mario Kart.

Eventually, Jack had to leave. His shift started at 4, and by then the planning was over, so Arcee took him. She looked like she was dying to get out of base anyway. Miko couldn't blame her.

Now, Optimus and Ratchet were looking at something on one of the big screens, and Bulkhead and Bumblebee had joined the remaining kids for TV time. As for the last two mechs in the building…

"You don't have to shadow my every step," Starscream snapped.

"You're pacing," Smokescreen said. "It's making me nervous."

"If you don't leave me be," Starscream said, his wings vibrating with tension, "I'll give you something to be truly nervous about."

"Starscream," Optimus said in reprimand, not even looking away from whatever he was working on.

Starscream let out a low growl, flexing his claws like he was aching to sharpen them on something. "Ratchet," he said, his tone cajoling. "Hasn't it been a day already?"

Miko and Raf watched from over the back of the couch, the monster truck rally on TV forgotten. "What's he mean?" Raf whispered to her.

"Docbot's making him wait a day before he can transform again," Miko whispered back. "Overheard it yesterday."

Ratchet was close enough to the couch to hear the hushed exchange, and he gave Miko a taste of his best glare before he turned it on Starscream. "Not quite," he said.

Starscream responded by taking on a pose that could only be described as 'toadying'—bent slightly at the waist, one hand curled over the other in front of his chest, his wings dipped to a nonthreatening angle. "Surely a couple of, er, hours won't make much of a difference. We need to make sure I'm in top condition for this mission, after all. With such a skilled medic as you, I'm sure I'll be-"

"Alright, alright," Ratchet said, holding up a hand. "Just stop doing- that, and we'll head up top."

Starscream straightened up, a smug smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I wanna go," Miko said instantly. The only times she'd seen Starscream or any Decepticon transform was either from far away or while she was worried about her immediate safety. Without the threat of danger, there was no way she was gonna pass up the chance to see a giant robot turn into a fighter jet up close.

"I'd like to, as well," Raf said, apparently having the same thought.

"No," Ratchet said.

To her surprise, Starscream backed them up. "Oh, what's the harm, doctor?" he purred. Miko wondered if he was physically capable of not sounding like he was up to something sneaky at all times.

Ratchet squinted, looking between Starscream and the kids. Miko and Raf smiled at Ratchet, giving him their best puppy dog eyes.

"Fine," Ratchet grumbled, and he extended his hand to the kids. "But I'm gonna hold onto you. Ap-bup-bup!" he added when Miko opened her mouth to complain. "I'm not leaving you anywhere you can get accidentally squished."

Miko groaned, but Raf was already clambering into Ratchet's waiting palm, so she followed.

They took a cargo elevator to the top, which creaked ominously at the weight of two Cybertronians. Ratchet didn't seem worried, though, so Miko tried not to worry either. At one point, she thought she saw Starscream watching her from the corner of his eye.

The ceiling above them opened, and the platform grated to a halt once it was level with the flat rock around it.

"Nice view," Starscream remarked, casting a judgmental eye over the desert expanse. "So this is where your precious base is."

"Don't make us regret letting you in," Ratchet said, and held out a small disc to Starscream. "Optimus tell you about this?"

"Oh. The tracking device." Starscream's lip curled slightly, but he took the disc.

"Put it wherever," Ratchet said. "You can take it off, but we'll know if you do."

Starscream fiddled with it. "And if it gets damaged in the field?"

"Comm us and explain."

"Would you believe me?" Starscream asked.

Ratchet let out a harsh sigh. "Optimus will, at least."

Turning it over one last time in his fingers, Starscream said, "I suppose that's the best I'll get," and slipped it under a ledge in his chest. He cricked his neck, stretched his arms, and walked right up to the cliff's edge.

He inhaled deeply, his wings twitching in anticipation. Then he clicked his heels together and did a neat little about-face, giving the kids a smirk just before he tipped backwards off the edge. He transformed as he fell, and Miko found herself holding her breath as he dropped out of sight.

Engines roared, and Miko couldn't help whooping as he shot straight upwards, so fast the gust of wind he created made her and Raf stumble. Starscream must have heard her, because his wings waggled in what felt like acknowledgement. He kept going up, up, nosecone pointed to the clouds, until she had to shade her eyes to keep watching him. Abruptly, his engines cut out, and he seemed to hang suspended for a moment before toppling backwards again. Miko gripped Ratchet's index finger as Starscream spun around and around, plummeting towards the ground in freefall.

"Relax, kiddo," Ratchet said. "He's just showing off."

Miko couldn't tear her eyes away. How could falling like that be showing off? And then, just when she thought Starscream wasn't going to be able to pull up in time, his engines fired and he righted himself with a quick flick of his wings. He turned freefall into a graceful dive that hooked around the tall mesa that disguised the Autobot base, only half of one wing visible like the fin of a shark as he circled them. Then he was up and away again, doing loops and flips and barrel rolls, all because he could. For the sheer joy of it.

She wondered what that would be like, to have the wind as a friend and gravity as a plaything. She wondered if she could get him to tell her honestly.

"Hey, Ratchet," Miko said, still watching Starscream. "Optimus said something to me yesterday."

"Go on."

"It was after you kicked me out of the med bay. He seemed sad about something, so I asked how I could help, and he said that this isn't my war, and maybe I could see things another way. But then he wouldn't tell me what he meant."

Ratchet bit off a curse halfway. "If that young idiot is hanging his hopes on Starscream, of all mechs, I'll kill him myself."

Miko supposed that Ratchet was probably the only one around who could get away with calling Optimus Prime either young or idiot. "What hopes?" she asked.

Ratchet let out a heavy sigh. "He's got this notion of ending the war without winning or losing. Where both sides come back together to rebuild the world better this time. It's-" He made a frustrated grinding noise. "No one else would think it's possible. I sure don't. But he hopes." His free hand clenched, and he sounded so old and tired as he murmured, "Primus save him, he hopes."

Raf crouched to give Ratchet a comforting pat on the palm, but Miko just kept holding onto his finger, still watching Starscream. She didn't really know what any of that had to do with her or her ability to see things another way, and yet… she had a strange feeling she was starting to kind of understand.

Maybe it was something about the way Starscream cut through the sky. Exuberance radiated off him—there was nothing calculating or scheming in the twirl of his wings, the gunning of his engines. He'd been on the ground for so long, and now he was celebrating flight. She couldn't deny anymore that he was just another person, with his own motives and dreams and history. And if Starscream was a person, what about the rest of the Decepticons? She knew plenty of people did plenty of bad things for plenty of reasons, but she was used to applying that mentality to humans. It required another shift of thinking to apply it to alien robots, especially when she'd been taught by most of the Autobots that Decepticons were just plain bad.

And maybe they were bad people, but Miko was starting to think that maybe it wasn't all that simple. If Optimus thought there was a way to reconcile their differences, maybe… maybe…

Miko didn't know. But she was going to find out.

"Alright, pack it in," Ratchet said into his comm. "That's enough fancy flightwork for today. Save some fuel for your mission."

Starscream veered back towards the mesa, transforming again as he landed. "Killjoy," he said, but he was grinning, exhilarated and sincere. Then he caught himself, and the grin shifted into a haughty sneer.

Miko came to a decision. She wasn't sure if it was the right one, but that had never stopped her before. "Woo!" she crowed, throwing up horns with both hands. "Starscream, that was awesome!"

Starscream gave her a startled look, then quickly composed himself. "Of course," he said, lifting his chin. "I'm the best there is."

But some of the sincerity had returned to his smile, and Miko knew she could do this.

#transformers #transformers prime #starscream #starscream tfp #optimus prime #autobots #writing counts as art

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phanomeheart · 5 years

Note

do u have any recs for good omens blogs or fics?

Anon, I have SO MANY good omens fic recs!

I’m gonna put them under the cut, but this inspired me to finally make a spreadsheet of recs that will autofill from my master spreadsheet of GO fic with fics I’ve finished and recommend.

On to some specific recs, if you’re not wanting over 150 fics to wade through:

First and foremost, I have to rec the first good omens fic I ever read, Salinity (And Other Measurements of Brackish Water) by @drawlight. This fic made me go from adamantly insisting I wasn’t going to get into good omens fic yet cuz I still had to finish my thesis to now having read 245 fics in less than 2 months (send help). I’m going to go ahead and rec all of their fics and can so far personally attest to the brilliance and soul crushing beauty of: Quiet Light, Ad Astra, Alegría, and I Will Get Up Now And Go About The City. I consistently need a minumum of 24 hours to recover after reading something of theirs.

The rest, in no particular order:

small infinities and all that (M, 13.2k) by @billypotts: And there it is, isn’t it? Something they’ve known for a long time, but haven’t named it. Have been too scared to name it. Something that speaks in their bones, in the space between them. Crowley and Aziraphale are turned human. This is the aftermath.

lit in the darkness (M, 40.5k) by ToEdenandBackAgain: Aziraphale returns to Crowley's flat for the night after Armageddon. After all, it's hardly the first time they've shared sleeping arrangements. Or: Times throughout history Crowley and Aziraphale have shared a bed.

Something We Were Withholding Made Us Weak (M 17.1k) by triedunture: "Yes, exactly. Retire." Aziraphale reaches for the last remaining tartlet brimming with summer berries. "Somewhere along the south coast, perhaps." Or: Crowley and Aziraphale learn to move in tandem.

all i need, darling, is a life in your shape (G, 14.2k) by @mortuarybees: After everything, Aziraphale and Crowley, by unspoken agreement, begin sharing their lives.

Something to do with these sacred words (T, 11.k) by Solshine: Crowley confesses early, and Crowley confesses often. Aziraphale never knows quite what to say.

Anywhere You Want to Go (E, 9.9k) by Aria: Aziraphale knew Crowley liked him. He'd known it with a horrible clarity since around 1100, which was at least a thousand years after the first time he'd thought of kissing Crowley, and some eight hundred and odd before it occurred to him that the specific quality of Crowley's regard could be very dangerous for both of them, if they actually admitted their feelings aloud. It was also two weeks since any of that had mattered at all anymore.

Slow (T, 9.4k) by @theirdarkreturning: It started like this: A boy with the ability to warp reality met an angel and a demon and he made assumptions. You might say it started like this: An angel and a demon found a marriage contract hung on the wall of the angel's bookshop. They didn't question it. It also could have started like this: Once upon a time, the angel told the demon he went too fast. The demon took it to heart. Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves somehow married. Crowley fears going too fast. Aziraphale forges ahead. Neither know how to ask questions of each other.

At Least Eleven Second First Times (M, 8.8k) by enjambament: Aziraphale deals with the consequences of having a brand new body after he'd broken the last one in for 6,000 years. Crowley helps. Taking a drunk-on-life Aziraphale on an impromptu road trip through French wine country to the North of Spain for a beach holiday is definitely helping, right?

An Angel who did not so much Fall In Love as Settle Into It Gradually (G, 7.5k) by @theladyzephyr: “Why does it bother you?” Crowley asked. “Even if you can’t get to them in time to wipe their memories, it’s not like anyone’d believe them. Kid goes running to her mum saying Ooh, I’ve just seen a bloke with three heads and a sixteen-foot wingspan, what do you think’s going to happen? Chances are they’ll just pat her on the shoulder and tell her what a vivid imagination she’s got.”“That’s not what worries me,” said Aziraphale.

it's the light (it's the obstacle that casts it) (T, 5.8k) by Handful_of_Silence: It's like having a curtain pulled back on something he wasn't expecting to see. A surprise punch-and-judy at an up-scale restaurant, a lobster thermidor when he's ordered an ale.Crowley's gleefully trying to wrap his head around the fact that Aziraphale is speaking Polari. Because of course he is. Or: The Patron Saint of London's LGBT Community is real, and he lives in Soho.

every angel is terrifying (T, 4.8k) by punkfaery: “Why does it bother you?” Crowley asked. “Even if you can’t get to them in time to wipe their memories, it’s not like anyone’d believe them. Kid goes running to her mum saying Ooh, I’ve just seen a bloke with three heads and a sixteen-foot wingspan, what do you think’s going to happen? Chances are they’ll just pat her on the shoulder and tell her what a vivid imagination she’s got.” “That’s not what worries me,” said Aziraphale.

a city wall and a trampoline (T, 4.7k) by kafkian: In their cottage in the South Downs, when Crowley eventually succeeds in getting Aziraphale to use a laptop, it takes Aziraphale literal hours to get past the default Windows screensavers of picturesque locations because 'oh, look, isn't it lovely, Crowley!' 5 times Crowley knows he’s in love with Aziraphale + 1 time he knows the reverse.

Morning Has Broken (T, 3.9k) by @dwarven-beard-spores: The year is 1972 and the last surviving member of Aziraphale’s gentleman’s club has passed away. (Warning for this one: heavy discussions of death and mourning. These are things I normally avoid for personal reasons, but this fic was gorgeous and just the right kind of painful on this topic for me.)

Love Hath Made Thee a Tame Snake (E, 3.5k) by @thehoyden: He was the bloody Serpent of Eden, and he wasn’t going to stand for this kind of flagrant trespassing.

An Invitation You Can't Decline (E, 2k) by @thehoyden: “I have standards,” Aziraphale huffed.“Don’t I know it,” Crowley sighed. And then, like he’d done it a hundred times before, he covered Aziraphale’s hand with his.

You, Soft and Only (E, 9.4k) by @thehoyden: He hadn’t expected a sudden lapful of angel.“Very sorry about this,” Aziraphale said, and kissed him.

the deft, sweet gesture of your hand (E, 12.1k) by @mortuarybees: Crowley arrives injured at Aziraphale's door. He takes care of him, reads him an awful lot of Mary Oliver, and knits elaborate metaphors for his insecurities (literally).

the technology is neutral (E, 6.9k) by @deputychairman: “Stand up?” he echoed, incredulous but too undone by sensation to express the full force of his disbelief. “I can barely even remember my own name after that, and you want me to stand up?”“Your name is Anthony J Crowley, apparently, although you never did tell me what the J stood for so I can’t help you there,” he said, not hiding his smile. “Do stand up, I promise you’ll like it.”

Sudden and Surprising Moments of Overwhelming Affection (G, 2.7K) by @forineffablereasons: Aziraphale has not shut up in thirty-four minutes. Crowley’s been counting.

get religion quick (cause you're looking divine) (G, 4.3k) by @brinnanza: So it was fine. Even if Crowley couldn’t love him, he clearly liked him well enough, and that was almost the same thing.It no doubt would have continued to be fine, or at least fine-adjacent, were it not for a narrowly averted apocalypse and several bottles of a really quite nice Riesling Aziraphale had found in the back room of his newly restored bookshop.

Wings and How to Hide Them (M, 10.1k) by triedunture: Crowley's been annoyingly in love for six thousand years. What's another lifetime between friends? Or: Aziraphale definitely fucks and isn't that just perfect?

i know i've kissed you before (but i didn't do it right) (G, 4.8k) by @gallantrejoinder: They'd given it a go once. Ages ago. And they'd both agreed it wasn't for them.

I’ll cut myself off there, but the Good Omens fandom is distressingly full of amazing fic, and there are so many more I love too (see the spreadsheet)! All of the above fics have personally ruined me and I cannot rec them highly enough. Don’t forget to leave a comment if you feel up to it!

In terms of blogs, I don’t know that I’m a great source for that, but some blogs I follow: @rafaelafranzen, @forineffablereasons, @drawlight, @thehoyden. I’m realizing that’s really it on the primarily GO focused blogs. I also have a GO sideblog, @sansevieriatri, but I don’t know if I’d rec it, as it’s mostly me reblogging art and fic I love and screaming about it in the tags (so basically like this blog).

Thanks for the ask! I enjoyed this more than I think probably anyone else will, lol. (Also, my constant disclaimer, if I’ve made any mistakes let me know.)

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ckret2 · 5 years

Note

Prompt, eh? Hmm, perhaps try a monologue from a character's perspective as they come to the horrible realization that are falling deeper and deeper in love. Bonus points if it starts over something as simple as thinking the individual has a cute sneeze.

So my first thought was “oh Ghidorah” but then I was like “but I’ve basically already done that with Ghidorah in the form of arguing with themselves about Rodan, what other character that we both know could I do that with” and then I was like “oh Gigan?”

And then I was like “well obviously he’s gotta have somebody to be monologuing to” and then it uh turned into a whole fic with a plot arc and a cliffhanger instead of a simple monologue, and also took me like seven hours to write instead of thirty minutes.

I haven’t proofed it because it’s 5 a.m.! Enjoy!!!

###

The Fissures Between Flesh and Metal

###

“The first time I saw them,” Gigan said, turned to take in both the bartender and the robot on the stool next to him, “they’d just stolen a million credit job out from under me.”

The bartender rapped the sharp tip of one tentacle against the bar disapprovingly, and the robot let out a low whistle.

“Yeah,” Gigan said. “I was ready to kill them on the spot. The apocalyptic mercenary market’s already crowded enough—there’s practically more people running around who can destroy planets than there are people who actually want a planet destroyed, you know? I’ll put up with professional rivalry, fine, but I’m not gonna take this from some edgy new guys in town who don’t have enough respect for their fellow professionals not to horn in on someone else’s job. Gimme another hit?”

The robot obligingly picked up the battery that it and Gigan had been sharing and quickly pressed the terminals to the side of Gigan’s metal beak. Electricity jolted straight into his brain. He tipped his head back, letting the rush wash through his circuits, his thoughts popping and static flashing in his optical band.

As the power boost sizzled out and he came back down, for a moment he saw a blurry golden shape with three heads and enormous wings. Then his vision cleared and it was gone.

Gigan shook his head. “But as I’m standing in a freshly-leveled village on this planet that shoulda been my job, watching these jerks who undercut me walk strut around and trying to decide the best angle to attack them from, one of them bends over and licks up this smear made out of one of the locals. The other two screw up their faces in disgust, the one that licked it is scraping his tongue off on a rock, the middle one’s biting his horn in revenge—and then the head on the other side takes a taste too, and they do it all over again.” He threw back his head, squawking in laughter. The bartender rattled a couple of tentacles in amusement. The robot just shook its head.

“Anyway,” Gigan went on, “I figured then either they were too damn stupid to realize they’d stolen someone’s job—heck, maybe they were just wild animals that had been dropped off to make a mess—or, they were the most fun guys I’d ever seen. So I let ‘em live.”

“Did you talk to them?” the robot asked. It wasn’t looking at Gigan anymore; its optic was off. A dozen different open tabs in glowing squares and rectangles floated in front of the bot, projected from the computer plugged into its wrist. The robot groped around blindly for the battery and took another hit; the floating screens sizzled and wavered.

Gigan waited for the static to die down before he replied. “Nah, not then. Had no idea what language to start with. I figured if they really were mercs and not someone’s pet planet squashers, I’d eventually run into them again somewhere like this.”

“This” being the bar around them: an illicit pop-up stop clinging precariously to the surface of an asteroid under a makeshift canopy tent, with a smattering of round tables and stools screwed directly into the asteroid’s surface and a bar made out of a row of coolers. Places like this were a dime a dozen in this arm of the galaxy, appearing in a matter of hours and disappearing just as fast, lasting anywhere from a week to five years. All you needed to make one was a force field to keep out nearby asteroids and to keep in enough air to prevent customers’ heads from popping—but providing gravity and breathable air was the customers’ responsibility. The bartender wore goggles and an air filter that snaked around her head to an air tank strapped between three larger tentacles; Gigan had enough internal air storage and a good enough filter in his throat that he’d be fine for hours as long as he didn’t get in a fight. He kept his tail and one leg curled beneath his seat to keep himself from floating off it.

Bars like this were the best place to find odd jobs and the odd guys to do them: hired killers, hackers, thugs, dealers in contraband of all kind. Gigan couldn’t count how many bars like this he and the triple threat had hung out in—either because they’d run into each other there between jobs, or because they’d come together.

“We crossed paths a lotta times over the next, uh…” he waved a scythe vaguely, “dunno. Few centuries, I guess? It’s hard to keep track of standard galactic time when you spend all your time bouncing between different planets with different year lengths. Sometimes we got hired by two different employers to hit the same world—I usually, y'know, got hired as muscle to extort a ransom, but the only jobs they ever did were full mass extinctions. I got to see them in action—wow. They’re a moving force of nature. On the right planets—wet ones, mainly—they create storms hundreds of miles across just by flying.” To the bartender, he said, “You’re from an aquatic world, right? You look like it.”

Rapping on the makeshift bar top with the tips of half a dozen tentacles, the bartender said, “My ancestral world? Mostly aquatic. About four fifths of the planet, I’m told.”

“Yeah, they’d tear your planet to shreds.“ He didn’t have enough appendages to speak the bartender’s percussive language properly—like the robot, he was speaking it by synthesizing the right raps and taps through his speaker—but he added a scrape with one scythe on the bar top to underscore the sentiment.

She shrugged.

"Fought them a few times, too,” Gigan said. “They’re vicious in close combat. It's kill or be killed, no in between. I’d usually have to cut and run, heh, just take the financial hit, cuz there’s no beating them without getting damaged so bad the victory isn’t worth it. They’re probably the best warriors I’ve ever met, but the worst mercenaries to share a market with.”

He thought his tone was admiring, but the robot said, “I thought you got along with each other?”

“We did,” Gigan insisted, and immediately corrected himself, “We do. It just took a while to get properly introduced to each other, you know? Every time I met them, they were in the middle of a job—and they had that whole... intense, mysterious, aloof loner schtick going on. For the longest time, I didn’t even know whether they could talk.” He hooked one of his wrist spurs through the handle of his drink, took a sip through the straw—hated straws, but a lid with a straw was the cheapest way to keep a drink from floating out of a mug and bars like this were nothing if not cheap—and grimaced. Either his drink had gone off in the past five minutes or that battery was messing with his taste buds. Probably the latter. "When we finally met each other properly, it was in—you know that cruddy little strip of solar systems that ended up under no one’s jurisdiction after the 'Rog turf war? Buncha little lawless hellholes?“

The bartender said, "My ancestral home world was in that strip.”

“Sucks,” Gigan said. “Hope it wasn’t one of the ones the 'Rogs asked me to clear out. Anyway, I crossed paths with them in one of the space port cities near the edge of the contested territory. They’d gotten in a bar fight. And lost.”

They’d been thrown across the bar onto their back, legs kicking uselessly in the air, hissing and spitting in the worst Suneri that Gigan had ever heard. Someone had been mad at them because they’d finished the job they’d been hired for even after they'd been told the world had paid the ransom their employer had demanded; they were mad that they’d been ordered to stop when they’d said from the start that wasn’t how they worked. They were twice the height of anyone else in the bar besides Gigan; but they were fighting completely naked—weaponless and defenseless—and consequently got their tails handed to them.

He’d learned a little bit more about them by then. Over past few centuries, he’d asked around about a three-headed, golden, scaled, winged warrior that spat lightning. He'd eventually stumbled on some sparse info about the prize weapons of a conquering empire in some far-flung corner of the galaxy, a race rather like the local Garogas. Their three-headed warriors were some sort of genetically engineered killing machines.

So was Gigan.

The warriors he’d seen were very, very far from their home.

So was Gigan.

Over time, he'd found enough info on the empire to download its dominant species’ language, so when he’d crossed paths with the warriors again and confirmed that they could, in fact, speak—

“I offered to buy them drinks.” In their home world’s language. “And they kicked me in the chest.” He laughed.

It was his fault. He should’ve known that anyone who’d flown that far to get away from their masters wouldn’t wanna hear a stranger speaking their masters’ language. Would Gigan have?

“And this is when you started making friends?” the bartender asked dubiously.

“Sure! It was the first time they didn’t try to kill me,” Gigan said. “And they did let me buy them that drink. They were flat broke. Get this—this is why I kept running into them everywhere—they were snapping up half the jobs on the market because they were doing them for free.”

The robot made a painful-sounding buzz low in its abdomen that Gigan took for a laugh.

“Yeah! Yeah. Remember what I said about that edgy loner schtick of theirs?” He drummed emphatically on the bar top. “They just wanted to watch worlds burn. No money. No rewards. They didn’t turn down anyone stupid enough to hire them, but they don’t take any orders, either. Get what you pay for, huh?”

“What is their name?” the robot asked.

Gigan’s good cheer immediately disappeared. “They don’t have one,” he said sharply.

“Of course they do.”

“No, they said they don’t. They weren’t given one. They wanna be nameless, I’ll respect that.”

“I am in the Xiliens’ military personnel database.”

Gigan leaned over, trying to see the screens from the robot’s angle. “Yeah? You’ve got a connection to their empire from here?”

“A really slow one,” the robot shot back, “patched into the network via a Xilien spy two star systems away who is connected to the home world with the worst ansible I have ever had the displeasure of interfacing with, so I would like to spend as little time doing unnecessary searches as possible. It looks like they have got hundreds of files on three-headed monsters like your buddies. Once I have cracked the security encryption on them, I do not want to open them one by one.”

For a moment, Gigan was silent. Then he said, “They said their home world didn’t name them—it numbered them.”

“Sympathies,” the robot said. “I have still got a bar code on my ass with my factory serial number. Do you know theirs?”

“He said they’re Zero.” He felt like a traitor. They'd only trusted him with that information because they'd believed him when he swore that he'd never call them by their homeworld's label—and certainly that he'd never tell anyone else.

The robot froze momentarily, processing that. “Easy to remember.” One of the screens changed as the robot started searching.

“Just one 'he’ now?” the bartender asked. “You were talking about all three together earlier.”

“Yeah, uh, he as in—as in the one on the left,” Gigan said. He didn't think of the information as coming from them, but from him—the one who'd persuaded the other two to share it, the one who'd leaned in to whisper it to him in the dark while the other two watched for eavesdroppers. “You’ve got lefty, righty, and front-and-center. Totally different people. Lefty’s… probably my favorite. I like them all about the same, but he—makes himself easiest to like, you know? Great sense of humor—the murderous kind—the kind of guy that can find anything entertaining. From explosions to head wounds. That’s rare.”

Although sometimes Gigan had gotten the impression that, on some level, lefty was forcing himself to feel entertained. The more Gigan got to know him, to see under the aloof façade they all put on, the more he got the sense that lefty had this... desperate fragility about him, like he was crumbling apart and looking for something to latch onto—a weird taste or a unique view or a good fight—something to hold him together.

All three of them gave off that impression, truth be told, just in different ways. Righty looked for stability in his other two heads, ever turned inward, to the point he was all but oblivious to life outside of them. Front-and-center held himself together through sheer force of will, and held back anything from getting close enough to touch him and break him apart.

They were all three so very brittle. They had fissures deep in their body and minds, fissures traced along the paths of the invisible scars where they’d been stitched together into a three-headed monster. And whenever Gigan glimpsed that brittleness—whenever they withdrew into themselves at a question about their past, whenever they tried to pretend they weren’t nervous around employers who paraded about mind-controlled thralls, whenever they hesitated in front of a door that said “No Pets” like they didn’t think they qualified as people instead of animals—he felt the fissures between his flesh and his metal, too.

He didn’t like to talk about his fissures. But they liked to talk about theirs even less, so it all worked out neatly—except that, sometimes, he wished he could talk to them about how he kept his from cracking open, in hopes that it could help them too. He hated their brittleness. He hated how it hurt them.

“But they’re all fun,” he said. “Fighting them especially, once you get them to a place where they’re trying to beat you instead of kill you. They don’t mind losing a few body parts, even—they just regrow them. I even saw them regrow front-and-center’s whole head, once. I didn’t take him off, just saw it happen. Fighting alongside them, though—sometimes we'd get hired for jobs together—watching the way they can work a hurricane, wow…” To think that they didn’t think they were people. Had they never heard themselves sing before? Had they never seen the way they danced through clouds and lightning? Had they never noticed how they effortlessly conducted both rain and minds alike like they were symphonies? Didn’t they know that they were maestros in the sky? Their sheer visionary genius, their unsurpassed grace, the beauty of golden scales gyrating through the cloudless eye of a storm…

“Hit me again,” he asked the robot, and he wasn’t sure whether it was in hopes of pushing the images out of his RAM or in hopes of summoning up another hallucinatory vision of them. The robot flicked on its optic long enough to pick up the battery and lean over.

When Gigan came back down, the robot said, “I am not finding any monsters named Zero. Have you got another name?”

“No—what do you mean 'named’? They don’t have names besides numbers, do they?”

“They do. The Xiliens gave them all code names. They are things like 'Death’ and 'Hyper’ and 'Kaiser.’”

Gigan shouldn’t have been surprised that they’d lied about their name, after everything else. But he was. And it hurt. “Well—keep looking. You’ve got the picture I sent you, right?”

“I will have to look through every file individually to find a visual match.”

“I’m paying you for your time, aren’t I? Come on.”

The robot made an irritated buzzing noise, but snapped, “Fine.”

“Why do you have to track them down anyway?” the bartender asked. “If you’re so close.”

Gigan shrugged. “They went and disappeared on me ages ago. I’m just trying to figure out where they went. I figured their home world might be looking for their lost planet-flatteners, so…” Although they’d never said so, he’d always got the sense that they were terrified of their home world—and terrified that they were being followed. Not the vague paranoia that any escaped weapon felt, but like they knew.

“So why’d they take off? You have a fight?”

“No. We didn’t. In fact, the last time we spoke was—was the opposite of a fight.”

The last time they spoke, Gigan had asked them to come with him. For good. He thought they should market themselves as a package apocalyptic deal, let Gigan handle finessing the employers and victims while the triple threat handled the razing. Give the three of them the opportunity to experience the cushy things you can only get when you’re getting paid for your jobs—fine dining, luxury hotels, resort planets—because they deserved those things all the time, not just when they happened to cross paths with Gigan between jobs. Take them to symphonies and operas—he heard them singing, constantly, any time things were still and they thought no one was listening, in languages he’d never learned. Travel the galaxy together. Get as far away from their pasts as they could.

They said they’d think about it.

He’d never seen them again.

He snatched up his drink and irritably stirred the straw, trying to suck up the last drops floating around inside. He slammed the mug back down. "Just trying to see if they tripped and fell in a black hole or something,“ he muttered. "Get me another. Less blood this time, it tastes funky.” The bartender took back the empty mug and opened one of the coolers.

The robot turned on its optic. “I think we have a match,” it said. Gigan immediately leaned over, squinting at the screens. Something in him sparked and simmered when he saw the photo. That was them—far younger, with a near-feral bloodthirst in their eyes that he’d only ever seen when they were fighting for their lives.

“The Xiliens have a database of AWOL monsters where they document their efforts to track them down. It was a lot faster to go through than all the files,” the robot said. “You were right—they are numbered, and they were assigned zero. I believe your friends were the prototype for the others.” It pointed at small text at the top of their file, Monster #0, and then dragged its finger down to the far larger text underneath: KING. “That is their name.”

Gigan wondered why they would rather claim they’d been named “Zero” than “King.” They deserved to be called King. “Well? What’s it say? Do they know where they are?”

The robot pulled up a map of the galaxy. It showed a cone stretching away from their general neighborhood—like the maps that came from trying to predict the path of a hurricane crossing an ocean. It curved counterclockwise in an arc, a little more than half the galaxy’s radius out from the supermassive black hole. The path was thousands of lightyears long and, at its widest point, hundreds across.

“They found faint psychic traces of King’s interstellar path almost a hundred thousand years ago heading roughly along that arc, assuming they continued on the same trajectory,” the robot said. “But that is the most recent data the Xiliens have.”

“It’ll do,” Gigan said. At least it was a starting point. Even if they’d long moved on, Gigan might be able to pick up the trail again if he knew where they’d been. “What are these 'psychic traces’ the Xiliens are tracking? Any way I can track that too?”

“I can look it up, but it will cost you more.”

“Yeah yeah yeah. That’s fine.”

“Hold on,” the bartender said, setting down Gigan’s new drink. “A hundred thousand years ago? You’re looking for someone who disappeared a hundred thousand years ago?”

Gigan winced. “Technically, no. It was—longer than that, actually.”

“How long ago?”

Gigan opened his mouth. And stuck the straw in it so he wouldn’t have to answer.

The bartender tapped out disapproval on the bar top. “They could be anywhere in the galaxy by now.”

“Yeah, if they had any idea how to hitch rides,” Gigan said. “They fly everywhere. With their own wings. They spend long flights inside these things.” He stamped a hooked foot on the asteroid. “And I don’t mean a ship disguised to look like an asteroid, they travel in rocks!”

“This is gross,” the robot said. “Organic brains are gross. But here. I got the unique psychic frequency that the Xiliens are using to track King and blueprints to a machine to do it with. I do not know if they are good blueprints. I refuse to think about brains any more than that.”

“It’ll do. Beam it over.”

The robot mentally transferred over its exorbitant invoice. The instant Gigan transferred payment, it followed up with the files. “Pleasure,” it said, unplugging from its computer and beginning to pack up. It pointed at the battery. “Do you want more?”

“Keep the rest. Consider it a tip.”

“Nice.” It carefully wrapped the battery in a napkin and stowed it with the computer.

Gigan sucked down the rest of his drink, pulled some physical cash out of a compartment in his calf, and slapped it down on the bar.

The bartender put a tentacle over the money and carefully slid it to the edge of the bar so it wouldn't float away. Several taps dragging out into wry scrapes, she said, "Must be a more impressive lay than they look like.“

If Gigan hadn’t already finished his drink, he would have choked. "We never—! I mean—we're—colleagues. Colleague-friend-…mercenaries.” He shifted the leg he had anchored around the bar stool uncomfortably. “Does it... seem like something else?”

Several tentacles rippled in a shrug. “I don’t know anything about your species,” she said. “But in most, no one spends that kind of money, obsesses that amount of time, and crosses that amount of space unless it's for an offspring, a hive mind hub, a nearly-extinct food source, or a mate of some kind.”

Gigan turned that over. In his head, he called up the photo in the file that the robot had sent him. They were so young, so furious, so bestial—so much more broken than they had been even when Gigan knew them. It was a damn pity that the Xiliens kept visual instead of audial files. He wondered if they had sang back then, too.

“Honestly?” he said. “I don’t know much about my species, either.”

His flesh felt icy and his metal felt numb during the few seconds after exiting the bar’s force field as he crossed the asteroid to where he’d parked his junk heap of a ship. He was warm again by the time he’d powered it up and gotten off the rock. He turned toward the nearest proper spaceport that accommodated people of his size and profession. He had a very long search ahead of him, and he had no idea when he was next going to cross paths with a proper spacefaring planet. He had to stock up on supplies.

He needed to buy a ship that wasn’t falling apart, too. Something built for deep space exploration.

Careful not to cut it, he peeled the one picture he had of the triple threat off of his windshield and stowed it in his calf compartment, to transfer to his new ship later.

###

If you wanna read my other KOTM fics, link’s in the source below. It’s mostly Rodorah, but this fic is canon to that verse.

#gigan #king ghidorah #ghidorah #godzilla #kotm #my writing #fanfic #('hey puff what do you like about kotm?' 'worldbuilding alien societies')#('but there's no alien societies in kotm—' 'WORLDBUILDING ALIEN SOCIETIES')#(gig and ghid need a ship name)#perishablehomosexual #ask

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the-necessary-unnecessary · 4 years

Note

hi, i read your anon comment about the Arsenal supporters after the WC and the hate on beth. i agree with him about the issue that people need to look at the game it self and not only on stats. there are many players that if you look in their stats it may look like they are avarege players but if you look at them at games you will understand that they are key players for their teams. i think the problem with the supports is that they expected from same players to excellence in every game (1/*)

(cuz they usually does) and from other players just to play good (and even if they were averaged, they hype them as if they were excellent). you can't have double standard with players in your team. as a supporter i double watch the game cuz when you see it live you missing a lot of things, and errors or good move of a players tend to stick even if they played well/ bad and it was the only one during the game. About beth, like anon said we need to take a look on her way of play and not only her stats (she have a lot of assist in Conti against weaker teams when your front line usually rested so it's make sense) she is a great player no doubt on that, she is very important player in the squad but in my opinion she's not consistent in her play, she had a lot of average games this season with bad crosses, wrong decision on the last pass and shoting even when she have better options (she's not the only one but she doing this errors a lot). there is ups and downs with every Player and it's o.k but i think it's important to criticize players and it doesn't means i hate them. I don't know about the hate you mentioned, I didn't come across it but i think that if you say we need to look over the stats of players it's only fair to criticize them when they not in there best and we all saw what beth capable of. P.S sorry for the long ask 😐🙈. (4/4)

----

That’s a good idea to double watch matches, if I find the time I do but usually time eludes me. In the heat of the moment there’s always so much you miss so going back over a match can be really helpful to analyse the game as a whole rather than just the movement of the person who’s on the ball at that moment. Stats are important as they tell you about decisive factors in a game, but its true that they also leave out a lot of important things like buildup, covering for players, blocking passes etc. which also make up a match. The people behind the WSL fantasy league said that they tried to incorporate as many different aspects as possible into their points system and I think a similar situation can be applied here.

I don’t agree with you as much about Beth, stats or not she’s been vital in creating play. I do think a lot of her longer passes still need work but I’d also take into account that in some of these cases its also the fact that there’s been noone in place to receive those crosses. Could she be tidier with her longer passes and crosses? For sure, but I also think that she’s added a lot with her runs down the wing, her skill in small spaces and smart spacial awareness. That being said I get where you’re coming from and agree that its nothing but healthy to give constructive criticism, as long as there’s substance and respect in one’s points then it would be worse to just praise a team the whole time.

#and no worries about the long ask #your views are always very welcome and interesting :)#the asks #arsenal wfc #beth mead

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hookaroo · 5 years

Text

Vocivore, Ltd. (45 of 46)

Also on FFN and AO3 (ListerofTardis)

Tagging @ouatwinterwhump, @killian-whump, @sancocnutclub, @killianjonesownsmyheart1, @courtorderedcake, @facesiousbutton82 <3

***THE MOST WONDERFUL, HEARTBREAKING, and BEAUTIFULLY WHUMPY COVER ART BY @cocohook38 HERE and HERE!!!!!!!!!*************

***Chapter 12 animation and art that will absolutely astound you!!!!!!!!!**********

***LETHAL Chapter 19 art in all of its BLOODSTAINED GLORY!!!!************

**POOR STABBED KILLIAN falling into the sheriff station! Ch. 7 & 23 art!!**

****KILLIAN AND HIS MASTER IN THE GORGEOUS CATHEDRAL!!!!!!!!!!!! CHAPTER 1 ART THAT KILLS ME EVERY TIME I SEE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*********

*CH 34 ART! A DEFEATED KILLIAN, HEAD BOWED BEFORE HIS MASTER!!*

***CH 36 ART! DETECTIVE JONES BOWS BEFORE HIS NEW MASTER!!!!!!***

***AAAAHHHH!!! THANK YOU MY WONDERFUL COCONUT FRIEND!!!!!!***

________________________________________________________________

Present (Thursday)...

Zzzzzzzz…

Shave day.

Killian had only to close his eyes to be transported back there. That dreadful hovel with its table of pain. Those callous hands dragging a dull-edged blade along his jaw. And nothing ahead of him but more suffering. No hope.

Focus on the differences. Warm, soft bed, no splintered, uncomfortable wood. Blankets and a gown instead of cold nudity. The din of automation replacing the scratchy ring of imprecise steel. Similar pungent disinfectant but less decay, less blood and pain and fear. And, most important, gentle touch. No intent to hurt or degrade. Only meticulous, loving care from the one person on Earth he trusted without reservation.

“Holy crap,” teased Emma, “I think we need to get Whale to put a sign on your door warning that there's a handsome pirate inside.”

Knowing that he still looked like a wreck despite a neatly trimmed beard, he played along for her sake. “And what would its purpose be, to entice eligible nurses inside, or warn them away from his jealous bride?”

“I don't mind them looking,” smiled Emma. “What's the point of having a gorgeous husband if a girl doesn't show him off every once in awhile?”

Killian clenched his teeth as a wave of violent shivering overtook him; to a casual observer it would have appeared as if he were suddenly chilled to the bone despite climate-controlled surroundings and the layer of blankets draped atop him. Through nauseating pain, he heard Emma lay aside the razor and felt her grip his elbow in solidarity.

Whale remained hesitant to classify them as seizures, stating that the corresponding brain activity did not match any known convulsive disorder and responded to none of the anticonvulsant drugs they’d tried. Of course, that didn't rule out the possibility of eventual development into actual seizures, as most of the slave fatalities had experienced just before their deaths.

Killian had managed to catch snippets of conversations, grave tones and sobering words that betrayed what they seemed to be trying to hide from him. He would probably have guessed on his own, anyway, with his worsening state mirroring the course of the slaves who had preceded him in death. Sometimes he was able to comprehend what a shame it was, for him to have survived so long only to succumb now, when peace had returned to his home. In those moments he tried to take solace in the thought that he'd been granted more cherished memories with his wife and daughter, without a threat hanging over them, when he could focus on lavishing them both with the fierce love he felt for them. Emma would remember. Hope... he liked to think she would.

None of that mattered in the moment, though, as quivering muscles shocked every single inflamed nerve ending into high gear, enveloping him in a fog of inescapable agony.

Emma met his watery gaze with a sad, stiffly calm smile, and he read the desolate grief in her forged reassurance even as he realized that the attack was finally subsiding.

"Morphine?" she asked quietly, but he shook his head. Hope would be coming by for a visit soon, and he wanted a clear mind for her.

Her grip on him relaxed by degrees as some of the tension drained away from his body.

“I'm so sorry, Killian,” she whispered. “If only we could somehow bring magic back. I might not be able to stop these attacks, but I could at least heal your wounds and prevent some of this pain.”

She sniffled and before Killian could summon the breath to respond, she continued,

“It doesn't make any sense; I mean, we thought it was related to the Vocivore, but maybe we're wrong, ‘cuz it seems like we should have found something by now…”

“I have something to report about that,” came Regina’s voice from the doorway. “But you’re not going to like it.”

Emma turned with a weary expectancy, and Regina stepped inside. She was the very picture of classic irritated aloofness, but she did glance at Killian and say,

“Sorry for barging in like this.”

"You found something?" demanded Emma, and Regina stopped at the foot of the bed. Her scowl could whither the blossoms off an apple tree.

"It's those damn pigeons."

"The... pigeons," repeated Emma slowly. In his mind's eye, Killian saw a ragged pink feather coated in slime; white, powdery droppings splattered on chancel cobbles; black and amber irises reflecting nothing but pure animal instinct. He heard the trilling cooing that had been the quiet backdrop for many a scream, memories as clear as if the blasted birds were right there in the room with him.

"Those ridiculous pink pigeons, Sheriff Swan," Regina confirmed, completely oblivious to Killian's uneasiness. "I cannot fathom how, but they're the ones responsible for the magical shielding. Pesky vermin."

Emma looked unconvinced, and Killian wanted to agree, but considering how the birds seemed inextricably linked to the Vocivore's presence, perhaps the idea wasn't so farfetched.

"Regina, are you sure? They're just dumb birds. How can they possibly block magic?"

"I'm... still working on that," admitted the queen. "But I know I'm right. Did you hear about those hooligans who set off the fireworks in front of City Hall this morning? Right in the middle of an inter-realm council meeting?"

"David filled me in, yeah; said he thought it was some Lost Boys from the Wish Realm."

"Well, as disruptive as it was to the meeting, it was a hundred times worse for our feathered friends. They took off like their tails were on fire and made for the Enchanted Forest or... Madagascar or somewhere; trouble was, they're too stupid to remember that for long, and they were back within 10 minutes. But in that time, there was a brief window in which I could almost access my power; it was there, just on the edge of awareness, just out of reach." She made a growl of frustration, both hands tightly fisted. "I thought for a second that the shield was collapsing for good, without us having to do anything about it, but wouldn't you know, we're stuck with our usual luck again."

Regina looked like she'd rinsed her mouth with lemon juice as she continued ranting. "The first bird to come back, while we were still searching the area for any unexploded fireworks? A pigeon. A fat, iridescent pink pigeon. And that's when I made the connection."

"Well, I've been saying we needed to get an exterminator, but just because you saw one doesn't necessarily prove that they're the culprits."

"I think she may be right," Killian said with another shiver. "They were... fairly strongly bonded with the Master. Sometimes would even ride on its shoulders." He cringed as the haunting outline of the beast filled his imagination, complete with winged companions, its tentacles pulsating as they reached toward him....

"And we have only recently started noticing them around Storybrooke," added Regina. "Just about the same time as magic failed. They’re remarkably distinctive, and I remember being surprised the first time I saw one."

"I don't see the connection," Emma began, still doubtful. "But it can't hurt to check it out. So say it is the pigeons. What's the next step?"

"That's the bad news." Regina glanced at Killian in apology. "It won't be a quick fix. Short of poisoning them, or making the town somehow inhospitable to birds in general--both of which are options that I can't see our critter-loving neighbors approving of--we're down to trapping and relocating each one individually, or trying to figure out what exactly gives them the ability to block magic. And either way, it's going to take time." She folded her arms, waiting for questions, but Emma and Killian were quiet, mulling over the situation. "I've tasked Robin with the job of bringing one to me for study. Don't tell your mother."

Killian was only half listening as a whole movie's worth of scenes replayed in his head. Pigeons, pigeons everywhere. He felt foolish for not noticing their conspicuousness before, but, of course, he did have other things to worry about at the time.

He felt his spirits sinking impossibly lower as the consequences of the news took shape. No quick solution would mean no magical healing. He'd be stuck in this infernal hospital, recuperating in the conventional way, spending whatever time he had left uncomfortable and in pain. Somehow, the Master had managed to orchestrate continued torture for him; even in death, it was having the last laugh at his expense.

"Pigeons," scoffed Emma. "Pigeons and a crab. Who would have guessed?" Seeming to sense Killian's dark musings, she stroked his cheek with her thumb. "Sorry, Killian. This sucks."

"They must have evolved together," muttered Regina absently. "Developed some kind of symbiosis; they shield the Vocivore, and it gives them, what, shelter? Protection from predators?"

"Blood," realized Killian suddenly. The inspiration had come out of nowhere, a thought buried deep within his subconscious that had burst unbidden into full awareness. He'd only ever seen it out of the corner of his eye, with no attention to spare, his own misery and how long he'd been given before the next Session at the forefront, always. But there they were. Pink bodies fluttering to earth, a writhing mass behind him as he left the church, squabbling among sticky smears and warm pools, dipping dainty beaks, plunging belly-first in some macabre bathing ritual…

Then outside. They would be strutting through the gutters, congregating near fresh corpses while his tunnel vision kept him limping in the direction of Z's cottage, never truly seeing how beady little eyes sized him up even as blood-crusted heads burrowed into decaying flesh in search of more nourishment.

"Um... what?!"

Killian returned to reality to find Emma and Regina staring at him with matching expressions of revulsion.

"The pigeons, they... they seemed to fear the noise and, f-for the most part, remained in the rafters... during..." He hesitated, winced, then carried on with great effort. "But afterward... the Master didn't care about the stains on the floor, yet I never saw fresh blood when I first arrived. I... I think the pigeons... consumed it."

Killian thought he might vomit. Both of his visitors seemed to share the feeling.

"Okay, that's... disgusting."

Regina gulped and plastered on a weak smirk. "So. ‘Carrion’ pigeons. I wonder if their feathers are just stained, then, or if they turn pink from some substance in the blood they eat, similar to flamingos."

"Gross," moaned Emma. She took a sip of her bottled water. "But hold on a sec. If they're so fond of... that... then why did they make their way all the way to Storybrooke? There's way less... that... around here."

"Guess they can do without it. Or maybe they live off roadkill out here."

"Overcrowding?" suggested Emma, answering her own question. "Better nesting sites?"

"Would have made an intriguing Exchanges topic." Killian cringed at the thought. "Had I known to ask."

An uncomfortable silence descended upon the trio, until finally, Regina grunted her irritation at the whole thing.

"Well, I can try to confirm all of this once I get my hands on one of those little pests. Guess it's good to finally be getting some answ-"

"Mr. and Mrs. Hook, get your Thank-You cards ready; I've just-" Dr. Whale paused when he noticed Regina in the room. "Oh. Your Highness."

"Victor."

Whale caught Killian's glower and smirked. "What's that look for?"

"I'd explain but I'm still recovering from that utter shipwreck of a salutation."

"Sounds like you're feeling better. Guess I'm wasting my time, then, working around the clock?"

"Did you have something to tell us, Whale?" Emma's feigned irritation fooled no one--it was obvious she anticipated more important news.

"We've had a bit of a breakthrough, thanks to the data gleaned from you and Detective Jones." The physician held up a cautionary hand. "Results look promising, but this is by no means a sure thing, and there's no guarantee of long-term success. We'll of course continue to tweak it as we go along, but for now I think Killian could benefit from an initial dose as soon as possible."

"You think you've found a cure, then?" clarified Regina.

"A therapy," he corrected. "To slow the degeneration and maybe, eventually, reverse it. Tested on some lab animals, then this morning on two rescued slaves who were near death. They seem to be doing better." He pulled a hand-labeled vial from his pocket and set it on a table with a flourish. "The FDA would burn my license and probably toss me into prison for this. Good thing none of us officially exist."

As Killian stared at the little container of clear fluid onto which, suddenly, all of their hopes were pinned, he was struck with unexpected anxiety. It was all well and good when there was nothing that could be done, his fate seemingly sealed. Now that there was a reported chance, he wanted nothing more than for it to work. He wanted to live, to be a husband and father, to watch Hope grow and be there for her. The vial represented that future... and what if it didn't work?

Whale took Killian's silence as reluctance, and he sighed. "Yeah, I can't guarantee its safety either, or provide you with a list of possible side effects. Just that for you, with your weird, extra barrier that we still don't entirely understand, I'd like at least the first few doses to be administered directly into the CSF, and we do know the risks and side effects of lumbar puncture. But, well... listen, if it were me or a loved one in your position, I would still say that we need to try something, because the risks don't matter once the condition becomes terminal. Make sense?"

"None of that is in question," said Killian slowly. Then he flashed a short, tired smile at the physician, radiating self-deprecation. "Believe it or not, I actually do trust your medical expertise. I was only... praying for its success, I suppose."

Whale looked genuinely touched, for a fleeting instant. But soon enough his cocky demeanor was back. "You're right: I'm not sure I do believe it. I'm gonna take that admission as another symptom and then we can just carry on the way we always do."

He tossed some forms at Emma, ordering,

"Read and sign for him. Assuming you want to go through with it, we'll be back shortly to perform the procedure."

He left in a swirl of white lapels, muttering a polite farewell to Regina on his way. The queen turned back to Killian and Emma, wearing a slightly uncomfortable grin.

"Well. Good news, then. Or, a seed of hope, at least." She brushed invisible dust off her jacket and made other I'm-about-to-leave cues.

"Yeah. Thanks for filling us in about the pigeons." Emma glanced down at her phone, and a tiny frown creased her forehead. "Although you could have just called me."

Squirming, Regina blustered,

"I... thought the news would be better delivered in person. And... well... maybe there's a... small part of me that wanted to see how Killian was doing."

"That's most appreciated," said Killian. "Thank you."

Regina nodded stiffly, shot an, "I'll keep you informed," then exited.

Killian gritted his teeth through another bout of shivers--thankfully shorter this time--and when he could open his eyes again it was to find Emma watching in sympathy.

"Hope that's over with for now. You don't wanna be doing that while they're trying to stick a needle into your spine."

Throbbing and aching, Killian grimaced. He needed a distraction. "Everything okay, love?" he growled. "You were rather tight-lipped toward the end there."

It was then that he noticed the tear tracks staining her face.

"Emma?"

She lay aside the consent forms and wiped at her cheeks. "I've been so scared, Killian. Starting a month ago, but it hasn't stopped even with your rescue. I... well, Whale's been pretty pragmatic about your condition, and... truth is... I was starting to prepare myself to lose you." She caught two droplets before they had a chance to fall. "I mean, how horrible is that? You aren't even gone yet and I'm coaching myself to start saying goodbye."

She started to reach for his hand but stopped and gripped his wrist instead.

"That's human nature," he pointed out. "I've been doing it, too."

Her eyes glistened with sad questions. "We didn't... I mean, Whale thought that..."

"No, no one's told me anything; not before now at any rate. No one had to."

Emma leaned forward to kiss his cheek gently, brushing back some stray hair as she murmured,

"I'm sorry, Killian. Shoulda known better than to give up so soon."

His eyes found the vial, which Dr. Whale had left on the table. "Do you think it will work?"

"It has to," she said simply. "If nothing else, to give us more time. And you know... Whale's kinda the expert at this sort of thing, even if his attitude leaves something to be desired."

Killian was tiring rapidly; it had been one hell of an afternoon, and this was the most he'd participated in a conversation since his rescue, if not longer. But he still had one final question before hopefully catching a nap between interruptions.

"Whale mentioned 'data,' gleaned from you and Jones. Did I hear that correctly?"

Emma waved a dismissive hand. "Just a couple of tests he did on us; no big deal."

"You subjected yourselves to becoming his laboratory animals, all on my account?"

"And to help the other rescued slaves." She flashed him a twinkling grin, which softened into loving fondness. "But... yeah, mostly for you."

"Thank you, Emma, truly."

She graced him with a quick kiss, saying,

"You're welcome, and like I said, no big deal, and that's all we're gonna say about that." Noticing his heavy eyelids, she smoothed an eyebrow and then sat back. "We better do that paperwork before you fall asleep. Want me to hold it up so you can read it, or I could read it aloud to you..."

"Don't bother about it, love," he murmured. "You can read them yourself if you'd like, but I think we both know that there isn't much they could say that would change our views on the matter."

Killian cast his eyes on Hope's artwork once more before succumbing to his weariness. Perhaps it would guard his dreams and bring positive thoughts from here on out. Because now that he had a fighting chance at survival, healing his psyche had suddenly become that much more important, and it would most definitely be a longer road than the not-insignificant path to physical health.

Would he be up to the challenge?

________________________________________________________________

AN: Well, obviously I failed to get this posted quickly enough. Blame @cocohook38 and @lillpon for killing me in their own wonderful ways :) Less than 36 hours til I’m on the plane to Ireland!!! Sorry to make you wait for the conclusion! It’s really not that long of a trip, though. I should be back to somewhat functional by July 10 :D

I’m looking for some milestone that gives me an excuse for “Winter Whump” to have lasted this long... XD The closest I’ve come is that I probably had the first inklings of what the premise would be sometime last summer, as sign-ups for the event closed June 30, 2018. So the final chapter will be released approximately 1 year later. *Shrug* Best I can do.

#ouat fanfiction #killian jones #emma swan #ouat regina #dr whale #hospital #pigeons #lillpon found the clues #anyone else?#:D #vocivore ltd #if anyone is a star wars fan #and read the expanded universe novels #the idea for the pigeons came from the ysalamiri #from the thrawn trilogy #lol

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terrablaze514 · 5 years

Note

Happy Birthday!

Aww thank you! Greatly appreciate it!🤗♥️🎂🎂🎂🎂 30 has arrived and I'm here to see it.🎂🎂🎂🎂

A Black Panther/Gundam Wing crossover? It can work, depending on what the chosen theme is. I did start one a few months ago (but it's extremely violent). Then I ended up thinking about a more lighthearted version.

*******

I do not own these characters. Mixed timelines on purpose. No profit is made in this fanfic crossover short.

“Relena?”

The thirty-nine year old woman groaned as she slowly sat up on her bed. The weather forecast had presented a promise for Spring-like warmth, with sunny skies. All the more proof she needed that the Robin sang outside.

With a sigh, she rubbed and opened her eyes, met Dorothy’s petulant smirk, and spotted Zechs and Noin near the doorway, all dressed up.

The Foreign Minister managed a smile. “Good morning. What's going on?”

The group chuckled.

“What's going on? How could you possibly forget? Relena, today is STEM Rewards Day! There's the Science Fair in America right now as we speak.”

“Oh, that's today? I thought it was set for next week.”

Dorothy tried to hold back a chuckle with little success, while Zechs and Noin chimed in.

“Happy Birthday Sis!” they began in sing-song style. Noin continued, “And by the way, those emails you've gotten last month? It has everything to do with today's grand event, located in Oakland, California.”

A concentrated expression landed on her face.

“Wait a moment. Wakanda has opened its borders to the world sometime last year. Around July, which marks the period after King T'Challa reclaimed the throne.”

“That's right, and his younger sister, Princess Shuri, is in charge of the museum.”

Zechs smiled. “I find it quite interesting how she was given the responsibility to handle something like this, the same way responsibility was thrust into your hands during War Time.”

Relena nodded. It's true she took after her late father and discovered a keen interest in politics and public relations. She should've lived out loud like a typical teenager, but due to the circumstances, she's grateful to be in this position now.

“I will get organized, then we'll board the jet.”

~°~°~

A few hours later, The Peacecrafts had arrived in Oakland. A few formalities were exchanged, and unlike some of the people in attendance, Relena and the others greeted the Wakanda Royals with the salute. Queen Ramonda smiled as she invited members of the Sanc Kingdom in.

“It's great to have you here,” the Queen began. “We've heard so much about you.”

“Thanks,” Relena responded. “I was looking forward to seeing how the marginalized communities were doing, years after the war. It's also a great thing the Avengers had brought your children and countless others back.”

The Queen nodded. “Indeed, it is a blessing. It's as if they weren't gone, though - Shuri was quick to pick up the progress of accomplishing this center, while T'Challa collaborated with Thor, The Hulk and Falcon to rebuild and restore the broken parts of Wakanda, where many have evacuated before.”

“That's great to hear,” said Relena. “I was worried at first. Tried to get The Preventers to offer aid, but Commander Une had informed me that superheroes were taking care of that. Speaking of which...”

The Grand Hall of Shuri's Science Center was jam packed with onlookers, a few judges with pens and clipboards, children and youth with their various inventions at separate sections, and The Preventers.

Heero and Quatre were amazed by thirteen-year-old twins who invented an advanced hacker prevention system.

Duo and Hilde had an ongoing conversation with Ayo and Nakia about giving orphans a place to belong.

Wufei, Sally and a handful of attendees, young and old, enjoyed a story time corner hosted by Lord M'Baku's fiancée.

Trowa is seen juggling a ton of objects. Relena tried her hardest not to laugh; he should know that playing with vibranium held a lot of risks. Still, he didn't seem to mind. Five boys and two girls chanted, “More! More!” when W'Kabi tossed another object in Trowa's direction. The young man had no trouble juggling it with the other things.

Two battle knives, one hammer, an iron glove, a beaker, an old hard drive, and one of The Hulk's glass statues. Dorothy recorded this on her phone while the spectacle continued. At some point, the glass statue landed on Trowa's nose; other objects balanced on his arms. His emerald green eyes glanced at the tall warrior, who nodded and picked up his glass statue. A teenage girl who examined Trowa's abilities studied his brain waves and pulse rate on a black screen.

“This guy is good, extra courageous if I might add. There's no indication of fear or panic, just concentration. Should we try another test subject?”

“No!” the group chanted.

The young scientist looked up at Trowa. “I guess they really like you. You're not getting tired though?”

“I never notice such things,” he replied, placing the objects aside. “When I'm getting things done, that's what I'll focus on until it's done.”

“That's one important skill to have,” W'Kabi spoke as a finger tapped his shoulder. He turned to face Okoye.

“As grand as that display was, you are aware of the rules, kunene?”

“Sorry, my love. Be nwabisa.”

Zechs and Noin had taken a liking to a building presentation nearby, by two upcoming architects. “If we wanted to build another Space Colony, this is where we'd be located,” a five year old boy spoke. “Directly outside of Wakanda,” his fifteen year old brother added. “We can show you all the method of transportation we've started building.”

Relena turned to the Queen. “So, where are your children? I'm quite surprised they're not in here.”

“I think I know exactly where. Follow me.”

~°~°~

One block away from the museum, a group of youth were seen playing on the basketball court with Prince N'Jadaka and King T'Challa. Princess Shuri shook her head as she watched on. Her timer would buzz in two more minutes, which meant game time will be over. M'Baku and three Jabari Tribe Warriors carried more jugs of water into the museum. M'Baku paused midstep, and watched as Relena conversed with the Queen Mother.

“Ngubani lowo?” he asked.

“A colonizer,” his trusted assistant spoke. “Don't forget, some colonizers were invited to this event.”

M'Baku nodded. “As long as there's no trouble, I'm good.”

“We'll be fine, Lord M'Baku. I understand how you feel since that incident with Thanos, but things are different now. He no longer exists, so Wakanda - and the world as a whole - will not be threatened again.”

M'Baku smiled. “You're right, though I think it'd be wise to send two Dora with the pair. The King may be tolerant, and the Princess wouldn't mind... But the Prince on the other hand?”

The Jabari Warriors exchanged knowing glances.

“Thumela u khuselo olukhawulezileyo,” Lord M'Baku commanded. Placing the water jugs near the welcome station, the buff men split in search of Dora Milaje. M'Baku stood near the museum entrance and watched the Panther Tribe Royals, in hopes that they - Erik in particular - doesn't start a scene.

Shuri's timer went off.

“One more game, I promise,” said Erik.

“I'm ready to head back,” T'Challa said. “Nine games is enough.”

“It's also time for my speech!” Shuri snapped. Both her brother and cousin froze as the youth group made their way towards the museum (after exchanging high fives with them). Unbeknownst to them, Relena and Queen Ramonda had greeted them as they neared the basketball court.

“There's this thing called, Black Time Syndrome. You should try it.”

T'Challa shot a knowing glance at Erik. “Bad timing, Cuz. You know she never falls for it.”

“I heard that!” Shuri shouted. “Ngoku khawuleza phambi kokuba sibe neentloni.”

“Alright, alright. I hope Tayshall ain't forgot those chill pills.”

Shuri hid her face as T'Challa cocked an eyebrow. “What was that?”

“Last one back loses the bet.”

“What bet? We're supposed to take a break from those.”

“Oh, right. M'Baku never told you. Which means you'll lose!” Erik snatched T'Challa's wallet, leapt over the fence, and darted towards the museum with a hasty, “Hey Auntie,” before he stopped in his tracks. His locs complemented his moves, but his eyes lost their mirth. “Ngubani?” he asked, eyeing Relena with disdain.

“The Foreign Exchange Minister of ESUN.”

“Oh?” Erik crossed his arms. “Hope they don't steal nothing. Otherwise-”

“I'll take my wallet back thank you very much,” T'Challa interrupted as he thrust the object out of Erik's reach. “And the Peacecraft Family are not here to steal anything. They're granting scholarships and bursaries to the many pupils here in Oakland, so they can advance to the best universities of their choice when the time comes.”

“Nah, I have harder questions for later,” Erik said. “Don't trust their motive one bit.”

“Nice meeting you all,” Relena responded, secretly thanking T'Challa for stopping Erik in his tracks.

T'Challa nodded while Erik huffed and turned away. “Shuri, you don't want to be late!”

“I won't!”

Just as the tall men walked on, Shuri expanded her arm and shook Relena's hand. “It's great meeting you here,” she said.

“Likewise,” she said. “I've heard about the project last year and thought about how to introduce your style of Afterschool programs to the colonies.”

“As in the space colonies? Well, it shouldn't be hard if you have a great team of people behind you.”

The three of them walked back.

~°~°~

The Dora Milaje escorted the ladies back when an event coordinator approached Shuri. “Sorry to interrupt you all, but we will need you on stage in ten minutes,” she said.

“No problem,” came the curt response. She refocused on Relena. “Don't forget what I've told you.”

Relena chuckled softly. “I won't. Talking with you is like dealing with a younger version of me... Well, to a certain extent. Most importantly, I want to congratulate you on this project's success.”

“Thanks! I can't wait to see what you have in store for two hundred plus pupils.”

“The pleasure is mine.”

*******

Tagging GW Fans: @softnocturne @kirinjaegeste @vegalume @blacknekojess @seitou @downwarddnaspiral @deejayers @craftssakura @cooking-725 @chemicalcrush @ahsimwithsake @simulacraryn @elduende11 @bryony-rebb @gundam-wing-archivist @fadedsepiascribbles @noirangetrois @offspringchick29 @rhysgalentalcernunnos @lbro009 @jessie-blast-off

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*My apologies in advance if some are missing from this list - user tag limits - but this is for y'all! My personal Birthday present from me to you. I hope this crossover turned out fine. So if you love it, feel free to like, comment, reblog - your choice. Love y'all!*

#tb514asks #tb514fanfics #softnocturne #black panther #gundam wing #crossover #tb514birthday

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tmarie82 · 5 years

Text

For Research

Pairing: Beckett x MC (Elliott)

Book: The Elementalists

Word Count: ~2,100

Rating: PG-13

Author’s Note: I love Beckett Harrington and I’m not ashamed. That adorable blushing magick man gets me excited for a new chapter of The Elementalists every week. Here’s a little snippet for Beckett and my MC Elliott as they explore the changing dynamic of their relationship after their first kiss. Enjoy!

Please let me know if you would like to be added to my tag list. You can find all of my fics in my Masterlist on my homepage.

~~~~~~~~~~

The main hall of the library buzzed with quiet energy on this average Sunday afternoon as the small group sat around the long table with their schoolwork. The swirling sounds of soft whispered chatter, flipping of pages and scribbling of pens, along with the electrical sizzling of the light fixtures created the perfect sort of white noise that most students found soothing enough to aid in focusing on their studies. Elliott really was trying her best to focus on her Magick Spells 101 textbook, reading each section and documenting the highlights in her notes for future review. The fact that it took her reading and then re-reading each section at least two or three times was beside the point … she couldn’t help it if her mind kept wandering back to Friday night’s moonlit forest rendezvous with one certain handsome coed studying across the table from her. One certain handsome coed that seemed so intent on his own studies at the moment that he luckily had not noticed her frequent glances in his direction.

Elliott finished writing some gibberish notes in her notebook before flipping to the next page, the transition allowing the perfect opportunity to raise her gaze to study something (or someone) else again for a quick moment. Her eyes scanned over his hands, one casually tracing the lines of text in his book while the other curled his fingers around a pen. The same fingers that she had felt digging into the flesh around her hips less than 48 hours ago, holding her firmly against the tree and his body possessively. She glanced upwards to his face, his eyes narrowed and focused intently on the page in front of him. Her mind slipped back to that stolen moment in the forest, how dark his deep blue eyes had looked when he broke away to catch his breath, the fire and heat behind his stare making her stomach flutter with nervous excitement before he leaned back down to meet her lips again. And those lips … those perfectly shaped cupid’s bow lips pursed in a slight pout as he scanned the contents of the page before him, those same lips that had kissed her under the full moon again and again until she felt dizzy, the ones that now she couldn’t help but want to nibble until she bit that adorable little pout right off. To say that Beckett Harrington had caught her off guard the other night with his smooth advances and skilled caresses would be an extreme understatement. Beckett Harrington, the normally awkward blushing and bumbling nerd, had literally shocked the hell out of her. So much so that Elliott could think of little else for the last two days.

Beckett pushed back away from the table and stood upright nonchalantly, his eyes never leaving the notebook he carried in one hand. He started off towards the rows of bookshelves, mumbling something under his breath to his friends about “research” without so much as looking up as he walked away. Elliott watched him closely as he departed, her eyes scanning his broad shoulders and the curve of his yoga-toned body conspicuously from under her dark lashes. She shook her head and cleared her throat, hoping to set her focus back upon the task at hand now that her distraction had departed. Alas, three minutes and the same paragraph later, she resigned herself to the realization that she may need to conduct some research of her own.

Elliott flipped back through the last few pages of her textbook loudly, making a show of glancing between her notes and the book. She finally gave a frustrated huff, writing a few keywords down on a blank sheet of paper before tearing it out and standing up. “I’m going to go get a few books, I’ll be right back.” Her voice was slightly higher than normal, and definitely more cheerful than it should be for someone in the midst of studying. As she stepped back from the table she noticed Shreya smirking at her from the corner of her eye, that knowing look that told Elliott that she might not be as subtle as she had hoped. Luckily Griffin and Zeph seemed to not even hear her, and she slipped away before they had a chance to notice her departure.

Elliott headed to the back of the library to the walls of bookshelves that went on and on forever into the west wing, careful to reference her note paper as if on a determined mission every few rows when she passed by another student. Truthfully she was on a mission of sorts, just not the kind that would help her GPA in any way. Row after row she passed until she finally found who she was looking for hidden in the Natural Elements section. She cut the corner and waltzed over to him, the blood pumping in her veins as she came closer. Mesmerized in his book, Beckett didn’t even look up until she was right in front of him. A look of confusion spread across his face. “Elliott?”

Elliott took a deep breath, then made her move. “I was hoping to find you here. Alone.” She stepped up on her tip toes and cupped his face in her hands, pulling him to her as she crashed her lips upon his. Beckett gave a muffled cry of surprise, unable to move at first, but when Elliott opened her mouth and slid her tongue along the seam of his lips his surprise quickly melted into need. He closed the book he was holding, gripping it tightly in his hand and pressing it against her back as he held her tighter. They were lost in each other, their lips and tongues tangled together as their hands gripped each other fiercely, unwilling and unable to let the other go. So focused on each other that Beckett forgot himself, letting go … Thud!

Elliott startled and they separated quickly, both breathing heavily as they acclimated again to their surroundings. Beckett noticed the book he had dropped loudly, swooping down to retrieve it by her foot just when a librarian peeked around the corner. “Is everything okay over here?” She asked accusingly, her brows arched in annoyance.

“Yes, ma’am, everything is fine!” Beckett chimed in swiftly, his voice twinged with a squeak and his cheeks flushing. Elliott fought the giggle in her throat as she watched him try to recover.

The librarian scoffed and gave them a knowing look. “Please be more respectful with the books from now on, Mr. Harrington. And remember that the purpose of library is for reading, not for other activities …” her voice trailed off as she glared at the pair of them, and Elliott swore Beckett’s face turned a whole new shade of crimson.

“Yes, of course, we understand. We will be more careful next time.” Elliott jumped in, knowing very well Beckett would fumble over any further attempts of an explanation. The librarian nodded before turning on her heel and marching off.

Elliott turned back to a red-faced Beckett, then burst out into a soft chuckle as soon as she was sure the librarian was out of hearing range. Beckett’s own mortified expression gradually softened until he too was smiling, shaking his head as he raked a hand through his hair.

“Wow. I am soooo sorry.” He muttered, rubbing his hand across his jaw as he finally met her eyes.

Elliott giggled. “No, no don’t be. I’m the one that basically just threw myself at you in the library, so …”

Beckett’s face spread into a wide grin. “Yes, you did do that, didn’t you?”

“Well, I couldn’t help myself after spending the last two days thinking about that kiss on Friday. And besides, somebody had to make the second first move.” She gave him a flirtatious smile, cocking her head to the side playfully.

But Beckett’s smile fell quickly, his eyes widening in a look of shock and then guilt as he dropped his gaze to his feet. “Right …” he murmured softly, shifting his weight self-consciously from one foot to another.

Elliott’s heart sank, suddenly filled with fear and disappointment. Did I read the whole situation all wrong? Was the other night just a one-time thing, a casual fling after being caught up in the moment? “Beckett …” she started, her voice a little shaky as she tried to formulate her inquiry. “I’m sorry, I guess I just assumed after the other night that this was the start of something. But if you’re not interested, then I-“

“I am interested!” He blurted out, raising a hand swiftly as if he were going to reach out and touch her, then dropping it back to his side. He looked down again, remaining quiet for a few moments while Elliott observed him thinking quietly to himself. When he finally lifted his stare to meet hers, his eyes were soft and clear, glistening with sincerity as he started to speak. “I am interested in you, Elliott. I’m very interested. I just …” he shrugged, lifting his arms to motion between them, “I just don’t know how to do this.”

Elliott’s brows furrowed in confusion. “I don’t understand, Beckett. Cuz you sure as hell seemed like you knew what you were doing the other night …”

Beckett sighed, his eyes searching hers for a glimpse of understanding. “Well, I kind of expected that the other night, or at least I hoped I’d have the chance to …” He shook his head, trying again to explain himself. “I mean, when you asked me to come to the party I had hoped we’d finally get the chance for something to happen. I was nervous, so I kind of … prepared for the situation.” His eyes slowly found hers again, but his nerves were more than obvious in his flushed face and neck.

Elliott tilted her head to the side and studied him closely as she processed his confession. “Are you saying you studied how to make a move on me, Beckett?” She tried to suppress the smile forming on her face, but was betrayed when the corner of her lips curled up slightly.

“I didn’t study!” Beckett blurted. “It was more of a mental pep talk and preparation. My god, when I say it out loud though …”

“I think it’s cute.” Elliott interjected.

Beckett halted his blundering to meet her steady stare. “Really?” Elliott nodded in response, and he felt some of the tension leave his body. As nervous as he was, he was not about to let this incredible girl go without giving it his best effort. Even if that meant going outside of his comfort zone. He took a deep breath and released it before starting again. “The truth is I really like you Elliott. You bring out a side of me that I didn’t even know was there. But I don’t know how to do this. How to act every day. How to be around a person that I want to kiss all the time and yet still maintain a semblance of responsibility.”

Elliott took a step forward and ran her hands up his arm, causing him to inhale sharply at their close proximity. “Are you saying, Beckett, that you want to kiss me all the time?” Her eyes flicked up to his, her stare teasing and pleading with him at the same time.

“Yes.” His voice was soft and raspy.

She smiled warmly, tracing her thumb along his defined jawline before cupping his face in her hand. “I think you should trust your gut more often, Beckett. There’s no wrong way to do this. Just do what feels right. We’ll figure it out together, okay?”

Beckett’s heart swelled as his mouth quirked into a small smile. “You are amazing.” He bent down and captured her lips with his, slow and gentle, no pressure and no expectations.

They finally parted, both with goofy grins on their faces like two lovesick puppies. “I guess we should head back.” Beckett suggested, Elliott nodding in agreement as he tucked the book under his arm. They started walking together towards their table, their arms grazing each other’s in the tight corridors as they walked side by side.

Beckett grinned as he glanced over at Elliott, watching her as he reached out his hand to grasp hers in his palm. She startled at first, studying him closely with wide eyes for any sign of hesitancy. Happily finding none, she smiled broadly before lacing her fingers through his. Beckett marveled at the comfortable silence between them, the simple gesture of affection of her hand within his. Whatever this was that they were creating together, he felt some reassurance in the pure fact that it just felt right.

END

~~~~~~~~~~

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#beckett x mc #beckett harrington #the elementalists #tmarie82 fanfic

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madscientistjournal · 4 years

Text

Fiction: Jehovah's Feathers

An essay by Mary Magdalene Farconi, as provided by K. Kitts Art by Leigh Legler

Strapped in his bouncy seat, my son Tyler went off at the exact same moment as the kitchen timer and the doorbell. I verified that nothing was actually gnawing on him and rushed to the brownies. Paul would have to get the door.

From the living room, Cissie yelled, “It’s the bird people.” Being a good girl, she knew not to open the door to strangers, especially those from another planet.

I yelled, “Paul, get the door,” while I yanked the brownies from the oven.

The Home Owners Association bake sale started at 10 AM, and it was already 10:10. In my head, Mrs. Topher, the HOA president, admonished, “In my day, people respected each other and were on time.”

As I dashed toward Tyler, I mumbled, “Yeah, back when Moses parted the Red Sea, most mothers of young children didn’t have to analyze a 270-page watershed impact statement by Monday.”

Before I unbuckled Tyler from his seat, I smelled his problem. The doorbell rang again. “Paul! Get the door!”

From the living room, Cissie yelled, “The bird people are still here.”

I hustled down the hall with Tyler at arm’s length. His room also served as Paul’s home office. Sure enough. Paul had his earbuds in and was playing some computer game. I hip-butted the back of his chair.

Startled, he yelled, “What the–” but stopped in time. We try not to cuss like muleskinners in front of the kids. I handed Tyler over.

“I’m working, Maggie. You do it.” He tried to pass Tyler back.

The doorbell rang a third time. Cissie called, “The bird people are still still here.”

I said, “One, since when is slaying boss monsters a part of your job? And two, it’s Saturday. We agreed on Saturdays you have to help. No questions asked.” As I stomped to the front door, I muttered, “That is if you ever want to have sex again.”

Hand on the knob, I breathed in deeply and exhaled. Bird people are sensitive. I didn’t want to frighten them because they’d take off in a flurry of feathers and shrieks and dump whatever they had in their cloacas. I didn’t have time to hose off the front porch.

I’d worked with several bird people when I’d served as an analyst for the newly established Alien Affairs Bureau. That was until the AAB’s work rules changed and became intolerable for nursing moms. Two months after Tyler was born, I moved to a clean water non-profit with a short commute. The work wasn’t as important, but my hair had stopped falling out. However, when I opened the door, I wondered whether I’d been out of the loop a little too long.

Instead of a group of sleek greenish-blue peacock-cranes, there stood two bedraggled and dull office drones dressed in modified white button-downs and khakis. Their tails were clipped and their wings pressed tightly against their backs. Even the frills on the tops of their heads drooped. They were both so dull in color, I couldn’t tell whether they were male or female, but given the office casual, I guessed males.

Clutched in one of the T-Rex arms that protruded from beneath his breast, the left bird person held a black book. His colleague grasped a plastic sheet upon which text flickered.

I asked, “May I help you?”

Book bird bobbed his head and pressed the first icon on the squawk box on a chain around his neck. In a mellifluous voice, the box intoned, “Good morning! We are in your neighborhood seeking to expand our flock.”

I frowned. If they were looking for females, they were out of luck. Our HOA categorically refused all building permits for aviaries. And with such poor color, I doubted any female would give them the time of day.

He cocked his head and pressed the second icon. The box asked, “Have you been saved by Jesus?”

I face-palmed. Flocking was extremely important to them. It made sense they’d become a target of some strip mall prophet, but where was their female, and why would she allow this to happen? “To which home nest do you belong?”

“Reverend Vernon P. Hogg,” said the plastic paper bird. He passed the flickering sheet over.

The title read: The Watch Perch. The address running along the top was the old non-denominational church that had sold its parking lot to the highway extension.

Articles flitted past on how Jesus could save the faithful from obesity, drunkenness, and bird lice. “No, I mean your mother bird. Who is she?” I tried to return the plastic paper, but the bird refused to take it.

“Our Most Supreme Singing Heart,” he said.

The book bird squawked and his box translated, “She who laid us has asked us to go into the world and find a new flock.”

That was odd. I’d worked with Singing Heart when they set up the reservation. Alpha females never let go of their sons until they could find another female to take them in. Things had to be bad on the Rez for her to cut them loose.

“Where do you sleep?”

The book bird’s box said, “At the church.”

“Except on bingo night, knitter’s club night, and days with AA meetings.”

“Then we sleep in the park.”

“But that’s more difficult now. They cut down the bushes to keep the homeless out.”

These two were definitely nest-mates.

The phone rang and Paul yelled, “It’s Mrs. Topher. She wants to know where you are.”

“Listen, I’ve got to go. Good luck in finding new flock members.” I shut the door before the bird people could object.

I dumped The Watch Perch into the electronics recycle bin and changed from my mommy clothes–puke-stained shirt and yoga pants–to my work clothes of white shirt and blue pants. My resemblance to the male drones was not lost on me. I grabbed a not too stinky towel from the clothes hamper and nestled the hot pan of brownies on the front floorboards of the van. After fetching Cissie and buckling her into the child seat, Paul strolled out with my purse and Tyler.

He asked, “Aren’t you going to take him with you?”

I tucked my purse behind my seat. “Did you clean out and refill the diaper bag like you promised?”

He made a Homer Simpson d’oh face.

I smiled sweetly. “Then, there’s your answer.”

As I backed out of the driveway, Paul came running from the front door, waving the plastic paper. I powered down the window.

“Take this with you. It keeps crawling out of the recycle bin. It beeps and says you owe at least a five-dollar donation.”

Making a face, I took the paper. “I’ll drop it off at the church on the way back.” I shoved it under the brownies. They were no longer hot enough to melt it. Too bad.

Mrs. Topher was a sturdy woman with a toad-like mouth: thin-lipped and broad. This week her hair was an auburn color on the orange side. She lived on the biggest property with a pool deck the size of our entire house. I would’ve thought a competent stylist was within her budget.

Cissie joined the other kids playing tag outside the HOA’s clubhouse, and I settled in the folding chair next to Mrs. Topher. As I cut and bagged the brownies, she added the label and the price.

“Are these boxed or homemade?”

“I baked them myself.”

She marked them two for a dollar and tossed them in the boxed section. “Because you were forty-five minutes late, I assume you’ll work the table until 12:45?”

It wasn’t a question, but I didn’t mind. There were activities for Cissie, and Mrs. Topher pounced on any poor victim who wandered within ten feet of the table, giving me time to wade through the impact statement. An hour in, Mrs. Topher became agitated after receiving a series of texts and calls.

I tried to ignore her harrumphing and heavy sighs, but it was a losing battle. “You seem upset, Mrs. Topher. Is there anything–”

“The cretin bailed on us.”

I could see Mr. Topher in a cluster of men near the parking lot. So it wasn’t a marital issue.

“This is the third investor. Third! They say they’re interested, but once they see the engineer’s report, they lose my phone number.”

Now I understood. The HOA had been trying to get an investor to take over and finish up the subdivision. The bake sale was to help with attorney’s fees. The original builder had gone belly up when he discovered it was harder to drain a swamp than he’d imagined.

“This idiot is suggesting we donate the land to the state as a designated wetlands.”

“That would take care of–”

Her penciled-in eyebrows arched. “If you’d attended the last meeting, you’d know that the tax write-off will not offset the loss in fees. We’ll have to raise the rates again. If there were only some way we could squash that stupid report.”

“Cuz that wouldn’t be illegal or anything,” I said.

Mrs. Topher stared daggers at me.

By 1:15, Cissie and I were at the church. Vernon P. Hogg himself was setting up chairs for the 2 PM book club. Vern looked forty, despite being much younger. From his teeth, I suspected his drug of choice had been meth.

I handed him the plastic paper. “If this thing finds its way back to my house, I’ll report you for littering.”

He sighed and punched in a code. He dropped it in a pile on an old piano with chipped keys. It calmly sat there no longer flashing or inching toward me like a possessed credit card bill.

“Let’s talk about the two bird people,” I said.

“No, let’s not. I was just trying to help them out, and all they’ve brought me is trouble.” He opened a side door and yelled, “Hey, Larry and Curly! Get your feathered asses in here.”

Cissie hid behind me, staring at the scary man. I folded my arms. “If they’re Larry and Curly, who are you? Moe or Shemp?”

“Very funny. I didn’t pick the names, they did.”

The two bedraggled bird people hustled in, bowing and bobbing their long necks. In unison, they clicked an icon on their boxes. “How may we serve you, Father Hogg?”

I raised an eyebrow. Vernon said quickly, “I tol’ you boys. You’re supposed to say, ‘How may we serve Jesus, Father Hogg?'”

The two bird people looked confused and corrected the text associated with that icon.

“It doesn’t matter.” He waved his fingers as if to shoo chickens. “You two are fired. Get out of my church and go darken someone else’s doorstep.” He turned to me. “Are you happy now?”

The two bird people screeched and flapped their clipped wings. “What have we done wrong? How can we make amends?”

They kept tapping the icons repeating those two sentences until Vernon grabbed a mop handle and threatened to beat them. Cissie burst into tears and threw herself in front of the bird people. Her little arms out wide, she yelled, “I won’t let you hurt them!”

Cissie’s action shocked Vernon. He sighed. “I told you all they do is get me in trouble.”

I rested my hand on Cissie’s head. She melted into my leg, wiping snot and tears on the back of her hand. The bird people clustered behind me and froze, as if that made them invisible.

“Jesus!” Vernon shouted. One of them had dumped his cloaca. “Look what I have to clean up!” He spun around twice on the broken-down heel of his faux alligator boots. “I got people comin’! Payin’ people!”

Good thing he didn’t have a cloaca.

“I don’t want them fired,” I said. “I just don’t want anyone to take advantage of them.”

“Taking advantage, hell. I’m helping them out!”

I pointed to the pile of The Watch Perch. I would’ve waved one in his face, but I feared touching them.

He whined, “I paid their vagrancy tickets for sleeping in the park.”

Hands on hips, I asked, “Did you clip their wings?”

He shook his head. “They have to be clipped to get off the Rez. Some new regulation ‘cuz people claimed they were peeking in windows and messing with security.”

I’d heard about no-fly zones, but I hadn’t thought through all the implications. “Can you keep them for a couple more days while I figure something out?”

“Not those two. They’re dumber than pigeons. I’ll keep the other three.”

“Five? You’re housing five bird people?”

“There’re a dozen under the bridges near the river. They’re pouring off the Rez, and they’re all looking as sad as these two. I think they’re starving.”

I looked at my phone. If I ignored the speed limit, I could get to Singing Heart’s compound in two hours. I called to Cissie, “Sweetheart, help the bird people into the van.”

Cissie’s entire being lit up. “I knew you would save them, mommy. I knew you would!” She herded them like ducks outside. I felt a flicker of pride before reality hit. I hadn’t saved anyone.

Larry and Curly strutted through the backyard, eating insects, while I told Paul what happened. He squatted to Cissie’s level. “Did you really do that? Protect those bird people?” She nodded fiercely. He gave her a bear hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

My heart swelled. I kissed Paul on his neck. “You’re a good man.”

Cissie ran off to tell her dollies about her adventures. I fetched the car keys.

Paul shook his head. “It’s late.”

“I’ve got to see for myself. Something’s up.”

He looped his arm around my neck. “Sweetie, you can’t save the world.”

“No, but I simply walked away, and that’s not working for me either.” The emotion made my voice crack.

“You were burned out. With the commute and Tyler–”

“Yeah, but if I don’t do anything at all, then I’m part of the problem. I don’t want that to be the lesson I teach Cissie.”

He met my eye. “After what Cissie did today, are you seriously worried?”

I smiled but hung my head. Paul got out his wallet and handed me cash.

“What’s this for?”

“Gas. But I’m keeping the rest ‘cuz I’m not making dinner. I’m ordering pizza.”

I entered Reservation land at 4:40. It bordered the river in a swampy valley that produced mostly mosquitoes. Singing Heart’s high status had afforded her first choice in picking her home nest site. It was the closest to the blacktop. The climate was hot and humid, but the birds liked it that way. I kept my windows up and the AC on. Singing Heart’s people on average looked better than the two drones, but there were no children in the crèche and even the females were out in the river working.

The two male guards at the entrance of Singing Heart’s aviary were still resplendent with long tails, elegant wings, and piercing black eyes. They sported the sharpened beak spikes and leg spurs of their class. One recognized me and asked me to wait. He sent a small messenger male inside. After a few minutes, I was ushered into the geodesic dome that functioned as Singing Heart’s main dormitory.

Inside resembled a rain forest arboretum. Industrial fans created a slight breeze and made it easier for me to breathe. I walked slowly to keep from sweating too much. Designed for visitors and fledglings, the path wound upward. The adults glided from perches set along the struts two-thirds of the way up the sides. The top of the curved path opened onto a platform for meetings. Above that sat Singing Heart’s nest. One of her daughters roosted in it. The other nests lay empty.

Singing Heart’s frill was up and her feathers fluffed. On the platform, her brown and green plumage shone brightly in the late afternoon sun, but in the dappled places among the plants, she’d have blended in perfectly. Her neck extended, she stood tall. My eye met her beak. For the first time in her presence, I felt the flutter of discomfort and fear, as if the trouble–whatever it may be–was somehow my fault. I asked, “Did you release two males?”

Singing Heart’s wings came away from her body, and all the other birds in the dome came to attention. “Yes. Why?”

Out of nowhere one of the male guards landed with a thump next to me.

I put my hand out in a placating motion. “They’re at my house.”

Singing Heart lifted her knees one at a time and shook out her feathers. The other birds relaxed, and the guard bird moved to the edge of the platform but did not fly off.

“They are good men, but we have no room for them.”

“May I ask why?”

“Come. Walk with me.”

Singing Heart could’ve glided to the exit in a heartbeat, but she walked slowly, one long stride after another, so I could keep up. Once outside of the dome, Singing Heart flicked her tail feathers. The guard remained behind.

“Children can be impetuous and impatient,” she said.

“Are you talking about these two males?” I asked.

“No. My eldest daughter. She couldn’t control herself and fertilized two eggs. I’m sure you saw her nesting.”

“Are resources so tight that you don’t have room for two more?”

“It’s a matter of leadership. If my home nest doesn’t control its population, I can’t ask that of others.”

“The valley looks lush, is there a shortage of food?”

“Your government insists that unless we put in a water treatment plant, we can have no population growth. They say we’re putting too much nitrogen into the water, but they won’t allow us to sell our technology, or use it to back a security you call municipal bonds.”

I pretended to examine the foliage to hide my chagrin. Singing Heart could read facial expressions, and her sight was superior to humans. Like most avians, she had an extra protein in the back of her eye and could see into the ultraviolet range. Her home star was very active and produced a lot of UV. In fact, it had become so active, it was eroding their planet’s atmosphere. That’s why they’d come to Earth, refugees from a natural disaster.

It was my fault. The clean water non-profit I worked for had been responsible for some of those clean water laws. Talk about unintended consequences. Now I understood why the state hadn’t fought the legislation. It was never about clean water. It was about population control. The non-profit and I had been suckered.

“How about making a home nest in town where there are sewers?” I asked.

“None of my daughters can get building permits.”

My own damn HOA had contributed to that problem.

We continued to the river. The water was clean but the banks boggy. Singing Heart waded out into the dark mud. She stretched her neck. It ballooned and she made a whooping roar that ended in a bellowing meow. All the females stopped what they were doing and responded. She called and they repeated for several rounds. The tone and pattern changed but not the volume. From downstream came a second set of calls and responses. When it did, Singing Heart shook her feathers and rejoined me on hard ground. The call would wind its way down the river to the end of the valley.

I didn’t need the translator. It was a gratitude psalm. A tear dripped down my cheek.

“Magdalene? What distresses you?”

My chin quivered. “How can you sing of gratitude considering how we treat you?”

“You’ve taken in my two sons. You cannot imagine my relief.”

It had been a sheer accident. And for how long could I keep them? An aspirin for a brain tumor.

Singing Heart asked, “You left the AAB because you were having difficulties with a fledgling? Is he well?”

“I left because it was too much stress to deal with a toddler, a nursing infant, a sexist boss, and an hour commute each way.” I blushed, ashamed of my pitiful problems. “I can’t imagine how you handle the stress of this place.”

Singing Heart bobbed her head. “I don’t do it alone. I have my flock. Your culture of complete independence is foolish.” She clucked and the box intoned, “You will do better now that you have my two sons. We have more to teach you than technology.”

“Technology!” I pointed to the birds in the river. “Your daughters all have equivalents of Ph.D.s, and they are reduced to stringing nets in a river.”

“Do you feel reduced when you take care of your fledglings?”

I remained silent. There were seasons in life, but my boss and my culture didn’t understand that, so I did feel less than no matter how wrong it was. I lifted my chin. “I make no promises, but now that I understand the issues, I can work on solutions.”

Singing Heart brushed me with a wing a sign of gratitude. But in this case, I took it as a gesture of forgiveness.

On Monday, instead of summarizing that 270-page impact statement, I presented the plight of the bird people. The staff members were divided as to what to do, but they agreed to an emergency board meeting to discuss the possible realignment of the mission of the non-profit. We were small and disorganized, but it was a start.

Moving on to the second prong of my master plan, I cornered Kendra–our one and only lawyer–before she could slip away to pick up her kids from school.

I handed her a flash drive with the HOA covenant rules. “My question is simple. Can I force the HOA to accept an application to build an aviary?”

“You are taking this personally,” said Kendra.

“I want to change the narrative from NIMBY to YIMBY.”

“YIMBY?”

“Yes, In My Back Yard.”

Kendra smiled. “I’ll go over this tonight and get back to you.”

A week later, I was sitting in Mrs. Topher’s living room with the finished proposal. Mrs. Topher’s décor was 1970s day-glo. It explained the clown hair. I wanted to get down to business, but Mrs. Topher wanted to play hostess. She provided fat-free, taste-free cookies and iced tea so sweetened the sugar had precipitated into the bottom of the glass. My fillings ached.

“I hear there are two avians living in your home,” said Mrs. Topher.

I’d read the rules so many times I knew that unrelated folk were frowned upon, but not live-in help. I smiled. “They provide childcare and cleaning services.”

I expected Mrs. Topher to warn me of the dangers of salmonella or something, but instead she nodded slyly. “Yes, I’ve heard the labor laws don’t apply. You don’t have to pay unemployment or match social security.” She patted me on the knee. “How smart of you. It must be nice to finally be able to afford help.”

Ripping off Mrs. Topher’s arm and beating her to death with it would not advance my agenda. Instead, I asked, “So you have no issues with bird people?”

“Not if they have a job, know their place. Of course not. I’m not a racist.”

“Excellent. I have a buyer for the rest of the subdivision.”

Mrs. Topher lit up, and not just from her spray tan.

I explained the details of how Singing Heart’s daughter would buy into the subdivision and build an aviary. “And here’s the best part, because they’ll be part of the community, they’ll pay yearly fees. It’s a win-win.”

Mrs. Topher’s face darkened like a summer thunderstorm. “It won’t pass.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll vote against it. This is a human community.”

My time at the non-profit taught me not to argue. I’d just have to go grassroots.

Mrs. Topher opened a leather slipcase and produced a typed list. “I’ll save you time. These people will vote with me no matter what. I engender loyalty that way.”

Was she bluffing? I reminded myself not to engage. I thanked her for the list and tried to let myself out, but Hercules and Atlas were loose. I had to wait until Mr. Topher corralled the two guard dogs. They were well muscled, but a little too lean. I wondered if they were actually vicious or just hungry.

After dinner, I made some phone calls. Mrs. Topher hadn’t bluffed. She had a solid thirty-five percent. The vote would fail. I wailed in frustration and flopped facedown into all the maps and papers I’d spread out on the table. Larry tapped the floor with one foot. I rested my chin in my hand. “Need help getting Cissie to bed?”

He typed on his controller, and the box said, “You are distressed. It is our role as men of the house to relieve that distress. How may we help?”

Just being asked made me smile. I hadn’t explained about the proposal to shield them from disappointment, but the worst had come to pass so there was no point in hiding it. I explained the situation. While doing so, Curly joined us with Cissie padding right behind, her Disney toothbrush in hand.

I pointed on the map. “The woman who lives here will vote against the proposal, and all the people on this list,” I held up the paper, “will vote with her.”

Larry touched my shoulder with a beak, a very personal gesture. “Then all is not lost. All you have to do is change one person’s mind instead of thirty. We have faith in you.”

“Of course we do, mommy.” Cissie hugged me.

Yeah. Only one.

After the kids were in bed and the bird people asleep, I gathered the covenant rules and binder clipped them. I found a loose page under the map of the subdivision. It outlined the rules governing utility easements. Something caught my eye. I compared the Google satellite view with the subdivision map. The original map didn’t have Mrs. Topher’s giant pool and deck. I checked the property lines, the easements, and compared it to the satellite view.

“Son of a–” I fished out two steaks from the deep freezer and shoved them into the microwave to defrost.

Twenty minutes later, dressed all in black with a measuring tape in one hand and a bag ‘o steaks in the other, I stood at the Tophers’ fence. Hercules and Atlas barreled up barking and snarling.

“Hey, boys.” I waved the steaks. “Let’s find out. Are you vicious or hungry?”

The next day I again sat in Mrs. Topher’s living room, suffering another glass of sludge tea.

She smiled unctuously. “You said you needed a change to the agenda?”

I’d used that as the excuse. There was no way this woman would forfeit an opportunity to gloat. “Yes.”

“Do you want to cancel the vote?”

“No. I have discovered a violation.” I leaned in. “A serious violation. The board needs to know so they can act.”

Mrs. Topher licked her lips. “Do tell.”

I handed her a manila folder. Eagerly, she flipped it open. She scowled. “This is my address.”

I grinned. “Yes, and your pool crosses into the easement by nine inches. You’ll have to rip it out.”

“I’ll get a variance.”

“That’ll take 2/3rds too. Do you think you’ll have that many friends after they find out you could’ve solved both the swamp problem and reduced their fees by allowing the aviary?”

She tossed the folder onto the coffee table. “That’s blackmail.”

“May I count on your vote and those of your friends?”

As I rounded the van to the driver’s side, Mrs. Topher released Hercules and Atlas. They bolted straight for me, but instead of mauling me, they tried to lick me to death. Disgusted, Mrs. Topher slammed her front door. Such bad doggies.

Two months later, the subdivision threw a party for the groundbreaking. Larry and Curly’s flight feathers had filled in and their tails were elongating. Their crests stood high and their eyes shone. By Christmas, they might be ready for their own set of leg spurs.

They followed Tyler, as he stumbled across the lawn. He’d grown into a mobile terror, squealing and clapping his hands. Seeing the three of them walk across the lawn, my heart warmed. Flocks were nice.

The ceremony had called all the displaced birds from miles around. They would all apply to become a part of the newest home nest. All but Larry and Curly, of course. First, she was their sister, and second, they’d become fully integrated into our household. I had become their mother bird.

Paul strolled over with Cissie on his shoulders. Behind them stood Mrs. Topher, her hair now a yellow-orange. She preened for a local news team. “Yes. We are a progressive neighborhood. I was instrumental in getting the permits.”

Paul nodded towards Larry and Curly. “Boy howdy, are those two working out, especially now that you’re back at the AAB.”

“Don’t get too used to it,” I said. “Soon, we might not be able to afford them.”

Paul frowned. “Why?”

“My next project is to get the bird people labor protections.”

Cissie said in her father’s ear, “Yes, daddy. Do you know what labor protections are?”

As he bee-lined to the food table, he said, “Yes, I do, Cissie. But please explain them to me anyway.”

My attention turned to three clipped birds in white button-downs and khakis who rushed toward Larry, Curly, and Tyler. The leader of the three clutched a black book. The other two clutched plastic papers, which flickered with text.

The leader squawked and the box translated, “Good day, gentle birds. We are seeking to increase our flock. Have you been saved by Jesus?”

Larry and Curly stood tall, their necks extended. In unison, they said, “Thank you, but we have already been saved, saved by Mary Magdalene.”

Ms. Mary Magdalene Farconi, a working mother, is a G-11 in the Labor Protections Department of the Alien Affairs Bureau. She supervises a governmental hotline for reporting labor abuse of Avian Nationals and is currently working with cities all over the US to design and develop aviaries within human communities.

Dr. Kathy Kitts, a former geology professor, served as a science team member on the NASA Genesis Discovery Mission. Before that, she directed a planetarium for nine years. Her latest speculative short fiction has appeared in Amazing, James Gunn’s Ad Astra, and Mad Scientist Journal. Her latest short story collection, Getting What You Need, is now available on Amazon. Born and raised in the southwest, she is currently living in the high desert of New Mexico.

Leigh’s professional title is “illustrator,” but that’s just a nice word for “monster-maker,” in this case. More information about them can be found at http://leighlegler.carbonmade.com/.

Fiction: Jehovah’s Feathers was originally published on Mad Scientist Journal

#HOA #K. Kitts #Leigh Legler #Mary Magdalene Farconi #Xenobiology

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bcdrawsandwrites · 5 years

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Next entry for @badthingshappenbingo!

Reminder that I am still accepting prompts for this! Check out my initial post (linked in my blog desc) for the guidelines. Also note the current bingo card on this post–the things I mark with crossbones are completed prompts, and ones with a single bone are ones that have been requested, but not written yet.

(Fics are also posted to AO3 and FFN, but please just use the links in my blog desc to get to those ‘cuz I’m too tired to make links for them.)

Aaand here’s our next prompt, submitted by @melody-of-the-universe! This one is very fluffy. I hope you like it!

Prompt: Common Cold Characters: Héctor and Imelda, post-movie

Even an hour after the musical had ended, the theater was still crowded. Héctor was talking animatedly to one of the musicians in the crowded theater when Imelda placed a hand on his shoulder. “Héctor, remember what I said?”

“Sí, mi amor, of course!” he replied, and then turned to quickly wrap up the conversation with a promise to meet again later. That settled, he faced Imelda again, offering her his arm. “I remember, before ten.”

She nodded at him, smiling as she looped her arm around his, and the two of them walked out of the theater. “I will not go to work on less than eight hours of sleep.”

He flashed her a grin. “So you’ll stay home with me, then?”

“Héctor!” She gave him a playful shove, and they both laughed as they made their way to the gondola station.

This had been an evening they’d been planning for about a month now, as they worked their schedule around their jobs, extra deliveries, and concerts. Their lives weren’t the same as they’d been eight years ago—they were busier than ever, but it was absolutely for the better. Imelda may have missed having a slightly more lenient schedule, but she was more than willing to sacrifice that to be with her husband once more.

Tonight had been the night to see a musical—one Héctor had been highly interested in, since it was the premiere of one with brand new songs from a songwriter he liked. Apparently the musical had been unfinished in the songwriter’s life, and he’d simply picked it up again to finish it in death.

“It’s great isn’t it? When they haven’t lost interest in their writing,” Héctor babbled to her, even as he repressed a yawn. “Death can really be a killer on your inspiration for some people, heh, so it’s nice to see when it doesn’t discourage them.”

Years ago the words would have left a twist in her gut, given the reason why he’d quit music all those ages ago, but it was something they’d long since worked out in the form of apologies, tears, and the music they sang and played together. Now, she was simply happy to see him happy, and that was all that mattered.

The musical had been wonderful, and they found themselves losing track of time as they discussed the story and songs on the gondola ride back, tired though they were. As they stepped out of the station, they tried to recall the lyrics of a particular song they’d enjoyed. “It was something to do with that storm,” Imelda said, lifting up the hem of her dress as she stepped down a few stairs. “The one in the second act.”

Héctor hummed, taking her hand in his and swinging their arms back and forth as he thought, while his other hand held his hat in place to keep it from being blown away by the wind. “Something like… ‘And then the rain will fall—’”

“No, no, she never said ‘rain.’ It was certainly ‘storm,’ I remember. Oh, and ‘storming.’ She used it to rhyme with ‘warm’ and ‘warning.’”

“Sí, you’re probably right. But then—” He paused, and Imelda glanced over when his arm stilled, finding him with a stunned expression on his face. “…Rain?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “It was absolutely ‘storm.’”

“No, no no, I mean rain.”

“But—”

A large drop immediately splashed onto her head, and she stopped.

“…Rain.”

“Sí. It—I thought it wasn’t supposed to do that today—”

The raindrops were coming faster now, and they were still a fifteen minute walk from home. “Did you bring an umbrella?”

“No.”

They swore simultaneously and took off running, Héctor removing his hat and holding it over Imelda’s head, for all the good it would do. Immediately she regretted wearing heels; though she’d hand-made them herself, even the most skilled Rivera craftsmanship couldn’t prevent the eventual ache that came with running in heels.

As they turned a corner, the rain picked up even more, as did the wind, causing the rain to beat against them in great gusts. It might not have been quite so terrible had it not been January, but as it was, it was bitterly freezing. Imelda’s dress was getting wet, though not soaked through, and her bones that weren’t covered with clothing felt like ice. That was bad enough, but they were so focused on getting home that they weren’t looking where they ran, and Héctor let out a startled whoop as they splashed through a deep puddle, thoroughly soaking his nice pants and her dress.

“We should have taken Pepita!” Héctor called over the wind.

“In this rain with her wind speeds?”

“Aaaeeh… fair point!”

It felt like an age before they finally arrived at the hacienda, and Héctor was quick to open the gate for Imelda. When they reached the house, Imelda fumbled through her purse with numb, shaking hands as she searched for the key, while Héctor wrung out his scarf. Finally they stepped through the door, both of them heaving an exhausted sigh of relief.

“That… could have gone better,” Héctor remarked as he hung up his hat. He then pulled off his wig, twisting it to wring it out.

“Stop that, don’t dry it out over the floor like some animal,” Imelda said, shivering as she turned to close the door. Before she could, however, a winged, hairless alebrije squeezed through, stood between the two skeletons, and shook himself dry. Imelda cried out in disgust, while Héctor sighed heavily.

“Thank you for the demonstration, Dante,” he said, deadpan, as he replaced his wig with a wet thwap. Dante, meanwhile, trotted over to the living room and flopped down onto the rug, rolling around on it to further dry himself. Neither of them had the energy to scold him for it.

Imelda glanced at the wall clock, wincing when she noticed the time. “Ten minutes to ten,” she breathed, her shoulders sagging. “At least we made it home on time.” The rest of the house was deserted—everyone had already gone to their respective rooms for the night, and it was about time they get to theirs.

As she made her way up the stairs, Héctor let out a great yawn, attempting to speak through it: “—shower would’ve been nice.”

“Yes, and then I would have to put you back together and carry you out of the bathroom after you fall asleep in the tub again.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I say it because we both need to sleep in bed, mi amor.”

It was a pain to disrobe from their sopping wet clothes, but they managed, toweling dry and changing into freshly-washed night clothes. Sure enough, they slipped into bed just before the clock struck the hour. “Gracias for taking me to the play, Héctor,” she murmured as she settled next to him.

Wrapping his arms around her, he mumbled something barely comprehensible in response: “Mm… Sorry ‘bout… the rain…”

Imelda smiled. “I’m deeply offended you couldn’t control the weather.”

Héctor chuckled softly beside her, and it was the last sound she heard from him before he drifted off, and she soon followed.

Imelda didn’t know what time it was when she found herself slipping back into awareness; all she knew was that it was freezing, and the sound of her bones shivering against Héctor’s was rather obnoxious.

Blinking in the darkness, she tried to discern the time from the clock on her nightstand. The hands on it glowed faintly (it was a little more modern than she normally liked, but it was a gift from her brothers, and she had to admit the feature was useful), and it took her a moment to realize that it was a little after one in the morning. She really should go back to sleep, and tried to settle closer to Héctor, hoping he would provide more warmth.

To her surprise, the clattering sound of bone against bone grew even louder, and she realized Héctor was shivering as well. It wasn’t just her, then—it really was freezing in the room. Luckily she kept a few extra blankets in the trunk at the foot of their bed, but the problem was getting out of bed without waking Héctor up. She tried to slip out from his arms, but he only let out a faint whine, wrapping his arms around her more tightly. Fortunately she knew the workaround to this, and carefully tugged her pillow between herself and her husband. Héctor responded by wrapping himself around the pillow, leaving Imelda to slip away.

Crawling out from under the quilt and standing barefoot on the hardwood floor seemed to increase her chill tenfold. Imelda retrieved the blanket and spread it over their quilt as quickly as she could before returning to the warmth of the bed. However, the added weight and warmth of the blanket didn’t seem to completely chase out the cold—in fact, it felt almost simultaneously too hot and too cold—but it would have to do.

Imelda tugged the pillow out of her husband’s arms and settled next to him once more. Hopefully this would be the end of it, and the chill wouldn’t wake either of them up for the rest of the night.

Of course, the universe seemed keen on disregarding Imelda’s wishes. It didn’t feel like much later that Imelda found herself waking again (at five thirty-eight, the clock cheerfully informed her) to a terrible chill once again. This was absurd—had they left a window open? Or the balcony door? But why would they do that in the middle of winter?

Lifting herself up on her arm, Imelda glanced toward the windows. The curtains were pulled over them, but she could faintly hear the sound of wind and rain outside—if the windows were open, the curtains would be billowing in the wind, surely. She had to twist herself around, looking up over Héctor to see the curtains covering the balcony door, but they too were still.

Ridiculous.

Clearly there must be a draft somewhere in the house—possibly from her brothers conducting another experiment without her permission, or perhaps Pepita had scratched another hole in the side of the building. Either way, she would deal with it after she got ready for work.

Imelda tried to leave the bed again, only to find Héctor clinging to her once again, shivering. “Nooo… no, stay,” he mumbled, half-asleep, and Imelda blinked.

She knew what he’d said, but for some reason, he sounded like he was speaking through a stuffy nose. Which made little sense, given they didn’t have noses anymore. Regardless, she rolled her eyes, letting him cling to her for a few more moments. It wasn’t six yet, after all.

Héctor seemed pleased with this, sighing as he tucked his head against her shoulder.

The only thing keeping Imelda from enjoying the peacefulness of the moment was the chill in the air and—she now realized—the strange ache in her chest and in her joints. Remembering she’d been running around in her heels last night, however, she figured that was probably what was causing the soreness. That’s what it had to be, not… anything else. It was her fault for wearing impractical footwear that night—a rarity for a Rivera, but it did happen.

Eventually the minutes ticked on, and it was time to get up. Once more exchanging herself for a pillow, Imelda slipped away from her husband and prepared for a usual day of work at the zapatería. When she found herself sniffling, she blamed it on the new perfume she’d picked up at the store—she would have to try a different brand later.

In spite of how cold and sore Imelda felt, she finished getting ready (putting on a long-sleeved dress this time) and made her way down the first flight of stairs. She reached the landing, paused, then sneezed.

Her first instinct was to cover her face in surprise, but she forced herself to relax the second she heard footsteps scurrying closer. A door just by the stairs creaked open, and Oscar and Felipe poked their heads out into the hallway.

“Salud.”

“Buenas dias,” she said, giving her brothers an unimpressed look. “I thought you were supposed to clean and dust around here yesterday.”

“Oh, we did!” Felipe exclaimed, ducking back into the room for a moment.

“Sí,” Oscar confirmed. “We used our prototype dusting machine!”

Felipe stepped out into the hallway, carrying a contraption that consisted of two feather dusters tied to a device with a crank attached. He immediately began working it in demonstration, and the feather dusters spun in a circle. “We completed our task with only minor complications.”

“It only took half an hour longer than normal.”

“It seems you missed a spot or two, then,” Imelda said, turning away and fighting the urge to sniffle. (She didn’t have a nose, so there was nothing to sniff with, or even sneeze with, for that matter.) “You should do a more thorough cleaning after work today.” With that, she headed down the second set of stairs before they could protest.

The morning continued to go on as normal, mostly, as the others made their way downstairs and started their breakfast before work. It was all fine at first—a few of them asked how her date with Héctor had gone last night, and she’d been happy to tell them about it. But she could also tell they were glancing at her every so often, with the way she avoided eating and kept to short sips of coffee instead, but she ignored them as she tried to hide her shivers. She already knew what they wanted to say—that she must be sick, and should take it easy, but they all knew better than that.

At least, she thought they did.

“Mamá Imelda,” Rosita said, and Imelda snapped to attention, realizing she must have zoned out. “You should probably stay home and rest. You seem like you’re—”

“I am not sick,” Imelda said, resisting the urge to sniffle again. Her voice was taking on the same stuffy quality her husband’s had, much to her annoyance. “You know we can’t get sick. We don’t have anything to be sick with.”

The others exchanged glances, and Imelda rolled her eyes. “It’s all a trick of the mind. I’m not really sick, but because of a bit of rain…” She shook her head. “I’ll be heading in today. This is nothing to miss work over.”

Fortunately that seemed to shut everyone up, and she was grateful that they finally dropped it. Or perhaps they knew there was no point in arguing? In any case, she was glad to get that out of the way.

Until Coco brought up something else: “Has anyone seen Papá?”

“He’s usually up by now, isn’t he?” Victoria asked, glancing toward the stairs.

That was true; it wasn’t uncommon for Héctor to wake up late, and none of them really minded, but usually he tried to be up on time to go with Imelda in to work, at least. Recalling the way her husband had been shivering earlier, Imelda frowned. “I’ll go check on him,” she said, heading for the stairs. “Don’t wait for me. I’ll be in to work on time.”

She didn’t care whether or not any of them believed her, because she’d make sure of it herself. She would be in to work today. There was no reason not to be. Sure her feet hurt, but she wasn’t going to be on her feet all day. And maybe her chest hurt a bit, but she wasn’t going to be doing any running around, either. She would be fine.

Stepping into the bedroom, she found Héctor still asleep and shivering, his arms clutching the pillow. She approached the bed, reached out to brush his hair out of his face, and felt his forehead. Sure enough, it was warm—he was running a slight fever, though nothing serious. Sighing softly, she ran her hand through his hair, and he stirred.

“Stay here and rest, Héctor,” she said gently. “I’ll come back to check on you during my break.” Bending down, she planted a light kiss on his forehead before pulling away.

Just as she approached the bedroom door, however, she felt a soft tug on the back of her apron. Confused, she turned around, only to find nothing out of the ordinary—Héctor was still seemingly asleep in bed. When she turned to face the door again, she felt another tug, and this time reached back, startled to feel something long sticking out of her back. Quickly she yanked it off of her and held it in front, only to roll her eyes exaggeratedly at the sight of Héctor’s arm waving cheerfully at her.

Looking back again, she found Héctor propped up on his other elbow, eying her with a raised brow bone and a playful-but-tired smile on his face. “You’re not going to work,” he said, his voice still stuffy with cold, and Imelda clicked her non-existent tongue.

“I am. Stop messing around and get some rest.” Imelda tossed the arm back to the bed. While she noticed he’d failed to catch it, she didn’t think anything of it until she felt something tugging at her apron again. “Héctor!”

Héctor’s other hand was rather insistently tugging at her skirt, and when she pulled it to her front, it stood up on her hand on two of its fingers, looking almost like a little person. The sight amused Imelda until the hand managed to leap up on top of her head, then settled to her forehead, just long enough for Héctor to feel it.

“You have a fever,” he said, and the hand jumped away from Imelda as he recalled it, moving back to his wrist with a reconnecting pop. “And you’re not going to work.”

“How on earth do you manage that?” Imelda asked, hands on her hips.

“Telling that your temperature is higher than normal?”

“I mean that trick with your hand.”

“Oh.” Héctor sat up, rubbing his wrist sheepishly. “Well, when you’re dead for a hundred years, you get kinda bored sometimes…” He plucked off his left hand again, setting it on his right palm, and made it do a convincing imitation of a zapateado dance.

“Very impressive.” Imelda smiled, cocking a brow herself. “But I’m not going to stay home from work tod—” Her voice broke off into a series of coughs, and she held a hand to her chest.

“Imelda…” Héctor said, his voice softening as he scooched over to sit on the edge of the bed. “This isn’t like… how things were in the Land of the Living.”

“Exactly,” she said, wincing slightly at the roughness of her voice. “This is all just in our mind thinking that we’re sick. Nothing more.”

Héctor shook his head. “Not what I mean. It’s…” He scratched the back of his head, looking away. “I know, back then, you had to work hard, even if you weren’t feeling well… because you had to, if you wanted to feed everyone.”

Picking up on the hints of guilt tugging at his words, Imelda took a seat next to her husband, reaching out. “Héctor—”

He held up his hands in protest. “No, no. The point is… everything’s okay, now. We don’t have to worry about money, and the others can handle running the shop without you for a day.”

Imelda glanced away. “But I’m not—”

Héctor cut her off again, this time unintentionally with a sneeze, nearly knocking his wig off. Startled, he held a hand to his head to straighten his hair before giving a slight laugh. “Listen, you told me to take it easy, and I’m pretty sure you’re feeling the same as me. Right?”

Before she could answer him, she nearly sneezed, herself, and paused long enough to suppress it. “No.”

Héctor laughed, and Imelda chuckled as well.

“Very well,” she conceded. “I’ll stay home… on one condition.”

Héctor beamed, sitting up straight. “¿Sí?”

Imelda gave him a half-smile. “You have to make tea for the both of us.”

“Sí, Imelda!” He went to push himself up off the bed, only to pause, and laugh again.

“What’s so funny?”

“You told me last night that you wouldn’t stay home with me if you got eight hours of sleep. But I guess now you get the best of both worlds, eh?”

“Ugh.” She shoved him backwards onto the bed, but smiled. “I’ll make the tea myself.”

#hector rivera #imelda rivera #rivera family #coco #pixar coco #coco spoilers #bad things happen bingo #my writing #fanfic #FINALLY gosh I procrastinated editing this one for an age but IT'S DONE YEAAAA

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laceymorganwrites · 6 years

Text

Beyond saving

Word Count: 5,132 Pairing: Ban x Reader

Warnings: swear words A/N: pls don´t hate, I´m not happy with this either(Banlaine is my otp, still I´ll continue writing Ban x Reader, cuz readerchan deserves love too, kay?)

700 years ago:

Y/N´s POV:

“You were in the human realm again, weren´t you?” mother scolded me again, I had disappointed her again. “I didn´t mean too...” I tried to excuse myself, but mother´s hard expression wasn´t changing in the least bit. Her eyebrow twitched as her hand stroke my cheek harshly, soon I could feel warm blood dripping like tears. But tears didn´t come these days, I never cried, I knew how much my mother hated it when I cried, or spoke, or called her my mother. “Don´t lie to me, you worm! Always crawling in the dirt, you should be ashamed of yourself. This isn´t how a goddess behaves!” Maybe I don´t wanna be a goddess, I thought, but didn´t dare say a word. “Get out of my sight! You should be lucky I even tolerate you here, if you ever go down to those lowlifes again, it will be the last time I promise you this.” she threatened, I always thought she was weak for not killing me, but in the end, she chose a destiny worse than death for me. I never wanted to be a goddess in the first place, I never believed in race, I just wanted everyone to live together happily. Maybe my fascination for the humans came from my mother all along, she always spoke so lowly of them, I was just curious if they were really that bad.

I looked up at the sky, laying in the grass, letting my thoughts slip. Why did I always think about my mother? Or Zeldris? About all of the things that held me back? I was free now, I could do everything and no one could stop me. I could finally live with the humans, fairies and giants. I should be happy, but then I remembered that my sister and her lover died because of me. All the bad things always happened because of me. If I never caught the two of them, none of this would´ve happened.

“Little sister! Your mother searches for you!” I called for Elizabeth. Mother told me she ran away from me, because I scared her. I never understood why she wanted to drive us apart so badly, my sister and I loved each other dearly. The nighttime wasn´t far and I knew that mother wanted to prevent Elizabeth staying out so late. I found her in a cave with a demon, kissing. To say I was shocked would be far fetched, I just didn´t know what was going on. “Elizabeth?” I asked, standing in the entrance of the cave. Elizabeth and her lover rapidly got away from each other and looked at me. “I´m sorry, I didn´t mean to interrupt you” I wanted to turn on my heel and risk getting beaten by mother for not getting my sister.”Wait, big sis, this is Meliodas, the demon prince. He´s just like us, he also wants us to live together peacefully” she smiled from one ear to another and I swear, I never saw her happier. I smiled back at her, I just had to, her happiness made me happy too, even though I didn´t deserve it, but I was selfish and ignorant, so I took it anyway. I remembered this night so clearly, we three talked since then and I felt like I belonged. But like everything, I had to destroy it.

These past 2,000 years I came around pretty well, I lived with the humans and the giants, I helped build villages and cured illnesses. I watched empires fall and times change, my life didn´t feel like a curse, rather like I finally had the chance to contribute to something bigger than me. I had enough time to atone for my sins, the sin of being born. I lived every day trying to be a better person than I was yesterday. Soon I came upon the fairy king´s forest and stopped for a moment to think about what I had done: I had started the holy war. All the deaths were my fault. And even though it was over and the demons locked away, I felt their energy, they would return, I was sure of it. But when would it happen? And how could I prevent it? My feet subconsciously dragged me into the forest and I was met with the true nature of humans. Or should I say hunters, predators? They chased the fairies and ripped out their wings, the sight was gruesome to put at least. I heard a little girl scream for her brother and ran to her, embracing her. “You need to get away from here, it´s dangerous. The humans have come to haunt you” I explained the situation. “I know! It´s all because Harlequin and Helbram left. They trusted the humans too much, I always told them it was too dangerous, but they wouldn´t listen!” she shouted, tears streaming down her face. I hugged her tighter, before I let go and unsheathed my sword. “I`ll take care of this, you stay hidden until I´m back, okay?” I ran into the forest and slaughtered the humans who came to hurt the fairies. Then I got back to the girl who got threatened by another human I oversaw. “Let go of her!” I yelled, wielding my sword and the next thing I heard was: “We got ourselves a nice pair of wings!”. It was followed by dirty laughter and a warm fluid flowing down my back. I stumbled over and fell to my knees, the pain was like something I never experienced before, it felt like my body was turn inside out and torn apart. I don´t know what was worse: hearing the bones crack or the weight loss. I didn´t notice my scream or anything else, I passed out from the pain. I woke up to the girl crying and laying in her lap. She had bandaged my back and treated the wounds. “Are you hurt…?” I whispered and tried to sit up, but I just fell over on my face. The girl heavily shook her head and I was ready to aid her, but then she helped me up and hugged me again. “How can you think of me in this situation? You almost died!” her voice cracked and she started crying. I chuckled, before patting her head and putting an arm around her shoulder. “I can´t die, my mum made sure of that, so don´t worry about me. Besides, I don´t deserve it...again: are you hurt, little girl?” I cradled her back and she nuzzled against my bandaged chest. She shook her head. I smiled. “Good, what a crazy day, eh? What´s your name?” I asked. “I´m Elaine” she smiled, she was a sweet girl. “Nice to meet you, Elaine, my name´s (Y/N)” I introduced myself. In the next years she nursed me back to health and I got to know her better, one day we talked about her brother. We were stargazing as she suddenly hugged me and said: “I´m so glad you´re here, now I´m not lonely anymore” she smiled and I wondered what she meant by that. “But...there are all the other fairies...” I noticed and she looked glum. “I´m the protector of this fountain, my brother used to be king of this forest. He was by my side all the time, but as the humans came, he vanished. He just left me all alone. But now you´re here, so that´s okay” she told me. “I think I saw a fairy with a giant girl on the way here, after all I lived with the giants for a while...maybe it was him?” I thought out loud. “Why would he be with a giant girl? That´s even more dangerous than the humans!” Elaine exclaimed worriedly. I shook my head. “Not all giants or humans are bad...same goes for all races” I thought about all the good things that have happened to me after mother and the other goddesses vanished. “i can´t picture demons being good people, they´re hardly people after all” I laughed out loud. “The princes of purgatory are actually pretty neat, I´ve only been there for a day, but it was a nice day” I reminisced and then an idea rushed through my head. “How about I search your brother?” I suggested and Elaine looked at me with big eyes. “You would do that?” I nodded and added: “Only for you”. Then I jumped down the tree and walked through the night. It was sunrise when I reached Britannia, the realm dominated by the humans. In the very outskirts I stumbled upon a bar, the boar hat. “You open?” I dashed in and was met with emptiness. “Yup! Might not look like it, but we´re always open!” a merry voice said, something about it sounded familiar. “What can I get you?” Meliodas stepped out of the kitchen and we both stared at each other for an awkwardly long while. “Where are your wings?” he broke the everlasting silence. “That´s the first thing you´re asking? I thought you were dead all this time! What happened to you?” I almost yelled. “You might want to sit down” he said and we sat down at the counter. Meliodas sighed deeply and frowned, a second ago I could swear he flashed the biggest smile on earth. “All I remember is waking up to Elizabeth´s dead body, it wasn´t until a few years later that I realized we had been cursed. I saw Elizabeth, alive and well, only that she couldn´t remember me or anything else, and when she did, she died three days later in front of my eyes. This has happened 82 times now.” he explained and it took me a while to take all of the information in. I stood up and hugged him tightly. “I´m sorry...” this was all my fault, if I´d never been born, then I wouldn´t have been married off to and didn´t need to be saved by them. “I´m so so sorry, Meliodas, this is all my fault...” I wished I could comfort him better, just do anything. He shook his head. “No, it´s not. If things were different back then, it still would´ve turned out this way. The holy war was inevitable.” he stated and I abruptly pulled away. “I´m gonna make this right!” I vowed and searched for a way to break the curse, consulting the most powerful magic users, but it all seemed useless.

16 years ago

Elaine´s POV:

My brother had left me and now my best friend too. She said she was going to search for my brother, but hasn´t returned in a few hundred years. I was tired of being lonely, left alone and forgotten. I had enough of protecting the forest, nobody would ever find it anyway, let alone steal the fountain of youth. Nobody could be this stupid, except for this boy who tried it since six hours. At one point I grew tired of defending the fountain and let it go, let him get it, what did I care? But what I didn´t expect was that instead of stealing the fountain he was talking to me. I didn´t mind it and added to the conversation. I caught myself talking about (Y/N) and letting my feelings for her run free, I told him how she was the first one I thought of as a friend and how she was always so kind and nice to me. I told him how she lost her wings trying to protect me, I told him how pretty and funny she was, but I didn´t know the story behind her sad eyes. She had only told me about the goddess clan, her sister and her lover, and her marriage, but never about anything that happened after that. She told me everything that happened up to 3,000 years ago, there seemed to be a gap which she didn´t tell me about, but I never dared ask. It felt good to talk to a stranger, I could just talk about all the things I could never tell (Y/N) or Harlequin. I felt relieved and even laughed with Ban. I thought it was funny how despite of his personality as a thief, he didn´t lie. He had the same sadness behind the eyes as (Y/N) did, he reminded me of her in many ways. For example., how he always looked into the distance, trying to search for something long gone. He was funny too, just like her. Maybe this was why I trusted him. He sat down at the edge of the tree and stared off in the distance again and I went to the other side where to my surprise a girl in a dress climbed up. “Shit, this ain´t easy in a dress...I totally underestimated the weight of this...” she mumbled to herself, pulling the hood of her cloak back, which was when I ran to her and storm hugged her. “(Y/N)!” I cried out. “You´re back! Are you okay? What happened? Where have you been?” I rambled. I would´ve never thought she would come back, yet here she was, but something was off. She seemed different, she didn´t hide her sadness behind a smile anymore and she had dark under eye circles, over all she seemed lost and hopeless. I was worried sick, hoped nothing bad had happened. “One second, Elaine. I´ll explain everything, but before that, could you help me out of the corset, I can´t breathe” she told me in a straightforward manner. Now that I looked at her closer, I could see that she sweated heavily. I nodded and went behind her, carefully undoing her cloak and revealing the upper half of her body in pulling the upper half of her dress off. Then I undid the laces of the corset until she sighed relieved and put her dress back on. “You´re the best” she stated and smirked. I suddenly remembered that I told Ban that he had to meet (Y/N) and dragged her by the hands behind me. “You need to meet Ban, (Y/N)! He came here today and talked to me, he´s really nice! I bet you´ll love him!” I chirped and (Y/N) suddenly stopped and looked at me sincerely. “Don´t throw around that word like it´s nothing” she coldly stated and I gulped. “Sorry...I forgot...”. She told me how she never knew love and swore herself to never love. “Love is stupid. If you´re loved, you´re cursed, you´re the reason for everything one does, the reason for their hurt and pain. And if you love you´re stupid too, because you´re selfish, you just get hurt all over again. The worst thing that can happen to someone mortal is dying when someone loves them” (Y/N) told me again, we always talked about love and her negative view on it, which apparently has only strengthened in the past decades.

Ban´s POV:

So this was (Y/N), she talked like she´s been through a lot, like her heart had been broken. Whoever did it, I wouldn´t let that bastard live. Elaine didn´t lie, she was a radiant beauty, the way she swayed her hips when she walked, the way she raised an eyebrow when she saw me, completely ignoring me after that. “You let a human get up here? Are you stupid! He could´ve killed you!” she yelled at Elaine, who looked at me apologetically. “He´s nice! I swear!” she defended me, to which I chuckled. It wasn´t so bad up here, until now I´ve lived in the dirty streets of villages which would be forgotten. Elaine and (Y/N) sat down next to me and (Y/N) still mustered me suspiciously, pouting a bit, which looked insanely cute. “Do you wanna tell me where you´ve been?” Elaine asked (Y/N), smiling in high expectations, but (Y/N) declined. “Not now...” she sighed and looked up to the sunset. I suppressed the urge to pull (Y/N) in front of me and rest my chin in her neck, whispering how lucky I was to have her. But I didn´t, then why did I feel like I knew her? Right, because Elaine told me about her, about her story. I wanted her. When the sun set and it got dark, Elaine got sleepy and went to lay down in the soft grass. (Y/N) put her cloak around her, serving as a blanket, I smirked at that action. To my surprise (Y/N) sat down next to me again and pulled her legs against her chest, so she could rest her head on them. “So you´re the goddess without wings, eh?” I asked and she ´tch-ed´. “I can´t believe she told you...” she muttered. “I´m Ban” I tried to start a conversation, but she blocked me off. “Don´t care” she simply said and frowned, staring at the stars. “Ya know, this forest´s pretty cool” I tried again and finally I got a reaction from her. She turned to me and looked as if I just said the earth was flat. “This forest´s build on blood, do you think that´s cool?” she spat. I grinned. “Wanna tell me about it?” I proposed and she sighed. “I´m not here for your fucking education” she said and I chuckled, she´d make a hot teacher. “Then why are you here?” I asked, still smirking. (Y/N) tilted her head. “Could ask you the same thing” she dragged the words in a threatening way. “I like it here, besides I don´t have anywhere to return to...” I casually told her and her expression softened a bit. “Me neither, sorry, you probably don´t care, it´s just...it´s not that bad not belonging anywhere, you know, you´re free, you can do and be whatever you want, you can travel the whole world...and I think that´s awesome...” her eyes glistened, I bet she thought about all the adventures she had. “I don´t believe you don´t belong anywhere, after all you got Elaine...” I told her, trying to cheer her up. She sighed and shook her head. “I´m just holding her back, whatever, I didn´t come to you to talk about Elaine...why did you come here, who told you about this place?” she asked me and I clenched my jaw. “Maybe I´ll tell you someday, but not today...” I brushed her off and she nodded, smiling. Why was she smiling? She fell asleep on my shoulder that night and in this moment I didn´t want her anymore, I needed her.

(Y/N)´s POV:

I woke up in Ban´s arms the next morning, he was still asleep and Elaine was giggling. “It´s not what it looks like!” I shushed her and carefully crawled out of our cuddling position to get to Elaine. “Told ya, you´d like him!” she playfully punched my arm. I rolled my eyes, grinning. “I don´t, more importantly, I can´t...because if I do, it´ll be the worst thing that could happen...” I thought about what kind of feelings Ban had awoken in me yesterday and quickly pushed that thought away. You couldn´t fall in love that quickly, besides it wasn´t even love, was it? I was overthinking again, but it didn´t matter, Elaine had dibs. With that realization my mind could relax, nothing of romantic sort would ever happen between us and it was good this way. “Elaine, I´m going to tell you something I´ve never told anyone before. I´m going to tell you about the holy war and where I was these past decades...”

Elaine´s POV: (Y/N) took a deep breath and then started to tell her story I yearned to know. “I wish it would´ve been different, I wish I never was born, I wish many things and blamed myself for everything bad happening, but in the end, I can do nothing to change what already happened. You already know my little tales of friendship and my travels, but I never told you about the holy war. I´m sure your folk has already told you about the events of the holy war, every child knows it, in every race it´s depicted as something they have won, when in reality it was an unnecessary bloodbath with many innocent deaths, the truth is, nobody won, nobody gained anything from it. It all started with the wicked schemes of my mother” she chuckled and choked back a tear. “She married me off to Zeldris, but told our folk that he had kidnapped me, they attacked purgatory at night, slaughtering even innocent citizens. My sister, her lover and me never wanted the war to happen, while my mother searched for a way for it to happen. My sister and her lover came to get me that night and we came here, to this forest...where we were met with such a chaos, it seemed like every race was fighting each other, and when it was over, all races were separated and lived alone. I remember it clearly, walking through the chaos, trying to find my sister, and when I did, it was already too late. Her lover died too and so my mother bestowed me with a curse. But my sister and her lover were cursed too, so I searched for a solution these past decades, but I couldn´t find anything...they can never rest assured...” (Y/N) broke out in tears and cried loudly against my chest, I could do nothing but hold her, nothing I could say would make her hurt go away. Now I finally understood why she had the view of love she had, why she seemed to hate herself.

Ban´s POV:

“I started a goddamn war, Elaine, and I wasn´t even able to save my sister...and I have to live with that. That is my sin. This ignorance, this violent wish for peace, we should´ve known it was insolent and would bring only pain and death...it´s all my fault….and there´s not a single thing I can do to atone for my sins...” (Y/N) was on her knees, trembling, crying and Elaine frowned, she had a determined look on her face, like she was out to kill everyone who would make (Y/N) cry. (Y/N) shook her head. “It´s nice that you want to cheer me up, it´s just...I can´t do anything to change what happened...there´s nothing I can do anymore, so it´s actually fucking pointless to talk about it, it´s too late anyways...” she sighed and smiled immediately afterwards. “But thanks for caring, I just hate talking about it, you know?” then she wiped her tears away and laughed out loud. “Gross! I haven´t cried in 700 years” Elaine chimed in with the laughter and then pinched (Y/N)´s cheeks. “You´re cute when you cry” she stated. (Y/N) gasped. “You´re the cute one, you cutie!” she tickled Elaine, who then giggled. “Kya! Stop it! I´m regretting telling you my tickle spots!” she laughed and tickled (Y/N) back. “Oh it´s on! Elaine, not there!” (Y/N) burst into laughter as Elaine tickled her hips, she let herself fall onto the grass and couldn´t control her laughter. It sounded like the sweetest song I´ve ever heard. “So, I´m cute, you´re cute, what about Ban?” she cheekily asked, now things were getting interesting. “Nah, Ban´s hot” (Y/N) said casually, I was so gonna get her. Elaine stopped her tickling and chanted: “Ha! I knew it, I knew it!”. (Y/N) clasped her hand on her mouth and then stood up. “Please don´t tell him, Elaine...” she pleaded. “Why not? There´s no shame in being attracted to someone” the girl said. “But, I can´t be with him...he´s mortal...I can´t afford to fall for him” (Y/N) looked into the distance, somehow hearing her say that made me sad. “As if you aren´t already are” Elaine smiled at (Y/N) who blushed and muttered “Shut up...”. I faked a yawn and walked over to the two. “Mornin´ lovelies...” I chirped, winking at (Y/N) who just frowned and looked away. “Good morning, Ban!” Elaine greeted me with her smile. I smiled back at her. “I´m going to town...want anything?” (Y/N) said, leaving us alone. “You heard everything, didn´t you?” Elaine asked and I nodded. “Yup” I popped the p, Elaine squinted her eyes at me. “Don´t play with her, or break her heart...she might not seem like it, but she´s a very loving person. You´ll never know what love means until you were with her” she looked up to the sky and smiled. “What´s that supposed to mean? Besides, I´m not really interested in her that way...” I raised an eyebrow, dragging my words a bit. “She doesn´t love often, suppressing every emotion of that sort, especially towards mortals like you, it´s in her nature, a safety habit formed from her mother´s abuse...but when she does, she gives it her all, I couldn´t stand her having her heart broken...she´s so devoted, she´s not used to receiving, so she gives and gives and gives, she´ll eventually break on it...” Elaine looked sad. “You´re really worried about me breaking her heart, huh?” I put my hand on her shoulder. “She´s my best friend, she´s always been there for me, I couldn´t stand it if her heart were broken, I wouldn´t know what to do...I´d be utterly useless, but maybe I´d understand her better this way...” she thought out loud. “You´re a great friend, Elaine” I smiled at her. In the next few days I kept my distance, I could understand how painful it must´ve been not being able to love, because everyone you´d love would die in the end. But one day, as she went to town again, I couldn´t stand it any longer and went with her. There we sat down and I did something I never did before, I opened up about my past, I let her see a part of me which nobody ever saw before. “I heard about your sister, I had a sister too, ya know? But she died too, guess I just wanna say I´m sorry, kay?” I wasn´t good at comforting people. (Y/N) sighed and looked me in the eyes with an unreadable look. “Why are you telling me this?” she pleaded. “I wanna get to know you better, I never told anyone bout my sister before, but I feel like I could tell you. I dunno what it is about you, but whatever it is, it draws me in, and I can´t escape it...fuck...I know this sounds weird, cause we don´t know each other, but that´s the thing, I hate talking bout myself, but I wanna tell you everything which made me who I am today, I wanna laugh with you and just...enjoy your company I guess...I wanna get to know you like nobody ever knew you before...sorry that was weird...I´m an idiot” I rambled, why the fuck did I do this? (Y/N) stared at me for a while, before taking my hand into her own. “Yes you are...this will never work...you know why” she smiled, a sad smile, but a smile. “I´ll just take the fountain of youth” I said, I don´t know what´s gotten into me, but I didn´t want to have a quick thing with her anymore, I enjoyed the idea of us being together, forever, the last people on earth...”No! No, you won´t. I won´t let you, there´s nothing worse than to live forever, believe me. Don´t burden yourself with eternal life because of a girl who intrigues you” she grabbed my shoulders and looked me dead in the eye. “But I don´t wanna die, besides, no one´s destined to be alone forever” I spilled my secret like it was nothing. (Y/N) rested her head on my shoulder. “Yes, I am destined to be alone together, that´s the sole purpose of the curse, that´s why it´s called a curse. I have to wander alone with my thoughts, knowing just how badly I fucked up...because it´s what I deserve. And I chose to live with that. About the dying thing, there´s no need to worry, death is better than this” she chuckled. We headed back in silence, all words had been spoken.

(Y/N)´s POV: All my life I had done my best to ignore and avoid all feelings of love, and there he comes and just doesn´t care. It´s like a challenge from my mother, fall in love with him, I dare you. And I did, like I never did before, but that was a good thing, because I never felt this feeling before, I could easily tell myself that it wasn´t love. From afar I could see smoke rise up to the sky and the nearer we got to the forest, we could see the gruesome scene of the forest burning. “Demons...” I muttered and got a hold of my sword as we ran towards the forest. “Shit!” I cursed, the smoke made my eyes burn and it was hard to see. We reached the top of the tree and I saw Elaine laying on the ground, blood leaving her small body. “Noooo! Elaine!” I sprinted towards her and held her fragile figure in my hands, uncontrollably crying over her dead body, I couldn´t believe how this could happen. It was fine in the morning, but now everything was in chaos. I got flashbacks from the holy war and looked around anxiously, but I couldn´t make out any demons. That was until Ban started spitting out blood and a hand was coming out of his chest, leaving a hole. I grabbed my sword, tried to keep my cool and not fall down on my trembling legs and then dashed onto the demon yelling and cut out all his hearts. As I was done, I looked around, I saw a dead Elaine and a dead Ban, and the fountain of youth...without thinking I ran to the fountain, grabbed it and let myself fall onto my knees next to Ban, pulling his body onto my knees, forcing the liquid down his throat. All I did after that was cry, until Ban´s eyes opened and he sat up, wiping away the tears with his fingers. “Thank you...” he whispered and then leaned in to kiss me, my stupid self dove right into the kiss and kissed him back like there was no tomorrow, even though there´d be nothing but tomorrows from now on. I took dominance over the kiss and abruptly pulled away, leaving Ban out of breath. “I´m sorry, I was selfish….I shouldn´t have done this...I took away your choice and dragged you down into my curse...I´m sorry, Elaine, I´m so sorry….what have I done?” I muttered, slowly but surely resolving in a panic attack. “The right thing” Elaine opened her eyes, hugged me and smiled. “You´ve saved me again, but who saves you?” she said. “I´m beyond saving” I told her. There we were, my one arm around Elaine, my other hand in Ban´s, his arm around my shoulder and watching the stars.

#nnt #nnt spoilers #nnt manga #nnt anime #sds #sds spoilers #anime #imagine #one shot #the seven deadly sins #nanatsu no taizai #ban x reader #nnt ban #sds ban #undead ban #fox sin ban

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fakesurprise · 5 years

Text

The Grinch Who Wasn’t Jaysome

The thing about the long ago is that it was also yesterday. Nothing really happens long ago, though often we think it so. It is the way of the world to walk as though we never had wings at all; what else are dreams for if not to teach us to fly? We invented the long ago when we chained ourselves to time, and it was very necessary but also very sad. So many necessary things are evil, and no one really talks about that. Not now, not even in the long ago.

This story is from the long ago that was yesterday, and perhaps tomorrow too. He used to have a name, of course, the monster did. Every monster once had a name, though not everyone monster had a mother to love them or not. Some might claim the lack of a mother birthed the monster, but that would be perhaps a fallacy. Some monsters are born, of course, and others made, but the reality is that the difference does not matter in the end. The monster knew this better than most, and told no one of his past.

The monster was not evil at this point in his story. One need not be evil to be a monster. Some claim monsters begin with being misunderstood, but that is only wishful thinking. The monster began – well, that would be telling. And it is wrong to be unkind, even to a monster. That is a hard lesson to learn, especially for the monster. Some monsters believe they should be punished, but too often end up doing the punishing.

The monster lived in on a mountain outside a town, and no one dared to approach him. Most years he did nothing, but some monsters need only be. The town was crueller every year, something so essential it had no name leached from the people the longer the monster was there, and it had been there for enough generations to be almost as settled as the mountain. The town was, the monster was, and that was all there was to it.

But this would not be a story if nothing changed.

It was a colder winter than even the elderly could remember, which said much since they never forgot the winters of their childhood that were always worse than the present. You could have an ice age one year, and still have the old saying it was colder during their youth that occurred years before that. But this winter was cold and bitter, the air a chill no fire could quite escape. There are rituals everywhere for when the world shifts from darkness to light, but this year the town was only concerned with survival.

The monster did nothing, and that was part of what made it a monster.

The boy walked in on the solstice day, as everyone who was never there remembers. Everyone who was there remembers that he wore no shoes, and bounced happily through the snow. The town was not large, though few places are as small as they think they are, and word spread slowly. A few dared to leave fires, and some of them quickly returned to them to whisper fear-filled words, for the boy did not seem ordinary and the town knew not to trust such things.

And there was one other thing everyone knew about the boy, and that scared them without knowing why.

It was Elbeth who left to confront the stranger. She who had killed the last two boars of the season took no weapons with her – she had killed the last with her bare hands, but said she would rather try words before force and walked out to meet the boy.

“Hi,” he said, and the cold diminished a little at his joy. And then he grinned, and everyone in the town felt the force of the grin as a warmth no summer had brought in years plunged into their bones.

“Winter’s breath,” she replied, the seasonal greeting a reflex still paused by the force of the smile. “I am Elbeth.”

“I am Jay,” the boy said.

Elbeth did not run. He was eleven, and she knew this as easily as her own name. This was what scared her, but she had grown up in the shadow of the monster and thought bravery was hiding from her fear. “Why are you here?” she asked.

“Uhm. An adventure, cuz that’s why anyone is anywhere,” he replied.

Elbeth said later that she had once lured two coyotes into murdering each other, and that was why she said what she did. The truth of the matter was perhaps more complicated. “If you seek adventure, there is a monster in the mountain terrorizing this village.”

“Oh. Well, that’s just rude,” the boy said, and turned to the mountain. He paused for a long moment.

“Jay?” Elbeth asked.

“There are worse things than being rude, and not being jaysome is one of them,” Jay said firmly, and something in his voice stirred the hairs on her neck. “Which is a definite reason for an adventure,” he added excitedly moved through the snow, over it faster than a comet would cover the sky. And Elbeth was grateful to her dying day that he never turned back after those first words, that she never had to see something other than joy on his face.

The boy went up to the mountain. That much everyone saw as they emerged from their homes. The mountain grew arms, and tried to strike him. Some say it did, and he was not hurt. Others that he was simply too fast to be hit. Some maintain both things happened at once, and no one disputed that at all. The mountain grew legs to move away, and the boy stopped it with his name. And it was not Jay he said, but Jayseltosche, which was longer and somehow different.

The monster came out of the mountain. No one has seen the monsters in years, but everyone knew in that moment that the monster was thirteen, and the knowing scared them.

“What are you doing here?” the monster asked, and his voice carried so far that it became a garbled story worlds away.

“Well, I was looking for an adventure but instead I found you,” Jay said crossly.

“Go away,” the monster said, and the sun moved away from the world.

The boy did not move. “You’re being a grinch and not jaysome at all,” he said.

The monster reached out with one hand, and raised the boy’s chin. “Once you could have made my heart grow three sizes toward jaysome. But I am not certain you can right now.”

Jay went quiet, and even the monster drew back from the quiet. “I did a hugey not-oops because I knew what I was doing and did it,” he said, and everyone heard the conversation though they were certain it was meant to be private.

“Then do not do it again,” the monster said.

“You can say I will never kill again?” Jay asked, his voice an empty void of calm.

And the monster merely threw back his head and laughed. The laugh was.

“I can tell you nothing,” he said after it ended. “That is the way of things. But, too, that it is not being a grinch to take time for yourself, and that you do not have to be jaysome all the time and still be Jay.”

Jay thought that over. “I think I do. Unless I use it all up, and that is why you are missing it?”

“How subtle,” the monster murmured.

Jay grinned proudly, because he was Jay and knew that he was subtle.

The monster shook his head. “I cannot tell you why you are no longer jaysome at thirteen. But I can tell you that it is not your fault.”

Jay was quiet for a long moment. “Really?” he asked.

“Really,” the monster known as Jayseltosche replied.

“Okay,” and Jay vanished, which everyone felt. Some cried without knowing why.

The monster put the mountain back, and the sun back in place. No story agrees on what happened next. Some say the monster said grinch, and vanished. Others that the monster spoke another word, but all agree the monster left and was never heard from again.

#writing #prose #magician series #future jay stories

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carryonmylovelies · 6 years

Note

Heyyyyyyy my dude anyways can you write a fic that is literally just fluff and Simon spooning Baz? Cuz that's literally all I want in my life tbh (also you're lovely and amazing)

Hiiiiii my lovely anon!! Thank you so so much for being my first fic request, and I really, really hope you like this because I wrote it for you :D Let me know what you think of it! (I hope you don’t mind that I spiced it up a bit lol) I would also like to dedicate this to @bazypitchandsimonsnow because Theo is my best friend and she’s always there for me and this could not have been made without her. I love youuuu here on ao3)

Eyes On Me, Please

Baz

It’s been a long day. Two of my uni professors were late, arriving in a tired mess of coffee, ungraded papers, and the general mood of not wanting to be there, and one of them just didn’t fucking show up. I had to write a five page essay twice (I don’t want to talk about it), the students in my mathematics class wouldn’t shut up about communism, and the cafeteria didn’t have my salt and vinegar crisps.

I am very much ready to be home, in the flat I share with my best friend and my lovely, crazy hot boyfriend, and in said hot boyfriend’s arms, furiously making out with him. (I swear to Merlin, I should not be allowed to be in a relationship. Thoughts of the next time I can get Simon under me and in between the sheets of the queen-sized bed we share threaten to overwhelm every bloody rational thought I have throughout my day. I’m not going to lie; it’s a bit hard to focus on my professor explaining William of Tyre and the diplomacy of the Byzantine empire when all I can hear is the exact sound Simon makes when I bite the inside of his upper thigh.)

I am too goddamn thirsty.

I finally arrive at my door, exhausted, hungry, and a little turned on. I weakly hit my fist against the door. No answer. I knock again, more forceful this time, but I still don’t get a response.

“Fuckers!” I yell, digging for my keys in my bag and shifting my books to the other arm.

I jam my key in the lock, wiggle it, and push the door open, letting it slam against the wall with a dull thud. That will totally leave a mark, but it feels good to do a little damage.

I kick off my shoes and leave my bag by the door, the flat sounding unnaturally quiet. I walk into our light, airy kitchen and notice that Bunce has buried herself in a book that’s larger than her head again, and it looks so old I think she has a bit of dust on her nose. I flick the side of her pastel-purple head as I walk by, and she doesn’t even look up as she flips me off. I smirk, and make my way to the our living room, which is stuffed with chairs and pillows and a large couch, all surrounding the television.

I find my boyfriend lounging, one elbow propped up on the top of the couch, his long legs and tail dangling off of the end, and his wings falling lazily around his shoulders. His white earbuds peek out from behind his curls, and he’s looking at his phone like he’s about to throw it at the wall. His fingers furiously tap at the screen.

I stand in front of him and put my hands on my hips because this situation is very deserving of my signature hands-on-hips look.

He continues to play his game, and I can make out the sounds of violence and fighting spilling from his earbuds. How mature.

“Snow.”

He doesn’t hear me.

“Snow.”

Still nothing.

“Snow, I’m leaving you. I’m leaving you for that cute barista at Starbucks.”

He is so engrossed in his game he probably doesn’t know what day it is let alone who’s right bloody in front of him, trying to engage him in conversation.

“Snow, you hear that? I’m leaving you for a fucking barista. No one can make a pumpkin mocha breve like Dave from Starbucks can.”

“We’re gonna have six children and name them all after you.”

“I would bake him sour cherry scones every morning.”

“Snow, I’m going to go walk down to the Starbucks right now and have sex with Dave the barista all over our favorite table in the corner.”

Bunce yells at me from the kitchen, “Basil, as much as I want this one-sided conversation to continue because it is fucking hilarious to listen to, he cannot hear you, so you better think of something else.”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up,” I respond, and she peeks around the corner and gives me a very reassuring thumbs up.

He has not acknowledged my existence in the 3 minutes that I have been home, and 2 of those minutes I spent physically speaking to him, so this calls for something a little bit stronger. I leave my stupidly attractive boyfriend (emphasis on the stupid) with his unruly curls and blue eyes glued to his phone, alone on the couch as I walk determinedly into our room.

I slip off my shirt and trousers and pull on the pair of jeans that I know are Simon’s favorite (plus they make my arse look illegal) and one of his worn jumpers. It’s a bit big for me; he has broader shoulders and more of a stomach, but the length of it is about the same. He knows that I know how much he loves it when I wear his clothes, so getting him to notice me should be easy now. And yes, I am going to all this trouble to get my very own boyfriend to notice me, and it’s because I am extremely petty and over-dramatic and because I really fucking love it when he looks at me like he’s starving and I’m the last sour cherry scone in the world. Sue me.

I saunter out, ready for the final part of my plan, and I suddenly can’t help but enjoy the sight for just a moment. The sun is slowly fading from the living room, but that doesn’t stop it from catching on the ends of Simon’s bronze curls, dousing them in a burnt orange, and the moles and freckles on his face and neck are just begging for lips to press against them. His blue eyes glow with the light from his phone and I just can’t take it anymore.

I cross the room in two strides and throw myself into his lap, promptly ending whatever game he was playing.

I expect Simon to be mad, or at least annoyed, but to my delight Simon just laughs, throwing his phone and earbuds onto the carpet and kissing my cheek. He slides back into the corner of the couch and takes me with him, pulling me to sit in between his legs. His arms snake around my waist, his fingers gripping my sides possessively and his chest is a solid warmth against my back. I sigh, and let my head fall onto his shoulder. He kisses the top of my nose.

“Hello,” he says, and I drown in his smile.

“Hi,” I say back, and then I pinch his arm. Hard.

“Owww! That hurt,” Simon whines, glaring at me.

I pout, “Well, you shouldn’t have ignored me when I got home! I’ve had a very long day.”

“I was busy,” he says sulkily, pushing his nose into my hair.

“Oh yes, you were very busy … playing on your phone.”

“… I was about to reach my high score.”

“And I was tired and stressed from school! All I wanted was some bloody love and affection from my adoring boyfriend but I guess that’s too much to ask from a prat like you.”

He growls and tightens his hold on me. I inhale sharply at the sound, and shift in his lap, cursing Simon for having growls like that.

He pushes his face into my hair and his hot breath makes the back of my neck tingle. Then he raises his head sharply, and squeezes my waist.

“Hey, is this my shirt?”

“Yes.”

He groans and falls back into my hair, “I love it when you wear my stuff.”

“I know,” I say, smugly.

He bites my neck (who’s the real vampire in this relationship?) and then presses a kiss to the same spot.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention to you when you got home. And I’m sorry you had a hard day,” he mumbles. “Wanna talk about it?”

I open my mouth to tell him about the stressors of my day but surprisingly I’m not really bothered by them anymore. Hatching a plan to get your boyfriend to notice you is a great way to de-stress, with the added bonus of your plan working and now you just get to relax while he spoons you.

His arms are tight and hot across my middle, and his chest is practically forcing heat into me. Everywhere he’s touching me I’m burning up. And I love it. He smells like scones and my expensive shampoo even though I tell him not to use it and to use his own fucking shampoo. His legs are flush against the outside of mine, and I unconsciously snuggle closer to him, turning my head so I can press my lips to one of the moles on his shoulder.

“No, I’m okay, now.”

Penny

I watch them from the doorway of the kitchen, and I’m glad to see that they worked things out. They’re talking now, in low voices, sharing smiles and small laughs. Simon has draped himself all over Baz, and Baz looks like there is nowhere else in this world he would rather be. Although, they aren’t really in this world anymore; they’re both in a world all on their own.

They make each other so happy. Anyone can see it. It’s in the way Simon’s tail winds itself around Baz’s legs whenever he’s close by. It’s in the way Baz’s eyes light up whenever Simon walks into a room. It’s in the way they slowly built each other back up after the worst time of our lives, and it’s in the way they continue to hold each other when one of them feels like falling and not getting back up. I truly, only wish the best for them.

With their soft voices floating in from the living room and the hum of the refrigerator in the back of my mind, it’s easy to slip back into my book.

The next time I look up I’m not sure how long I’ve been reading for, but I can tell that something is … off. I set my book down on the counter and pop my head around the corner.

God dammit they’re at it again!

I swear the number of times I have caught them on that fucking couch doing what they are now two seconds away from doing is a number higher than any of us want to admit.

I clap my hands a few times, disrupting the quiet, and they slowly break apart. Simon looks a little sheepish, but Basil looks like he has no regrets, whatsoever.

“Basilton Pitch! Simon Snow! Now, I know this may blow your small, idiotic minds, but I need you to stay with me through this okay?” I ask, cheerily, with a bright smile plastered across my face.

They both stare at me.

“You two, have this thing, called a ‘bedroom’. Spell it with me, b-e-d-r-o-o-m. Do you know what bedrooms are for? They are for where all of THAT,” I gesture frantically at their tangled bodies, “belongs. Not. On. The. Fucking. Couch. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Penny,” Simon sulks, and he starts to get up but Baz yanks him back down.

“No,” Baz says, looking at me with a challenge in his eyes, “She’s not going to do anything.”

“Oh, shit. I wouldn’t test me if I were you, Basil. I really wouldn’t.”

Baz shoots me a long, cool look before grabbing Simon, pinning him to the couch, and kissing Simon like it’s the last fucking thing he’ll ever do.

I scream, and storm into the bathroom. I snatch up the squirt bottle I use for my hair in the mornings, and stomp back out to the eager 20-year-olds who are practically fornicating on. My. Couch.

I walk right up to them and unleash hell. I squirt water on them furiously, screaming at them to use their own fucking bedroom. They both shriek and roar with laughter, so I spray them harder. They stumble/fall into their room, and I personally slam the door closed.

I yell at them, “Fuck you both!”

They don’t answer.

#you ask raegan answers!!#raegan writes a story #carry on fanfiction #carry on rainbow rowell #fanfiction #simon snow #baz pitch #penny bunce #snowbaz #fluff #spice #oof i wrote this in one day #i am proud of myself #woot

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