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hiddendreamer67 · 3 years

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Giant Mers are Good Mers

That's right, it's MerMay baby! Introducing my new bois. Caspian is a giant siren with influences of Mediterranean monk seals and leopard seals. Beckett is a lil' human who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. This piece is a completed oneshot, but I've got a couple ideas for more oneshots with this pairing, including a few ideas for alternate universes (especially after seeing all the fun @ibis-gt seems to be having with AUs of their bois).

Word count: 6,001

Initial prompt idea: human was taken by a giant siren but then let go (on a whim / siren got bored) but human doesn’t know why they were spared so they come back to thank the siren. The siren doesn’t even remember doing that because it was such an insignificant event to them, but now it’s interesting because humans never came on their own.

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Beckett had always been a simple fellow. He grew up in WhiteBridge, on a small town farm with his three older sisters picking on him ceaselessly. While he loved WhiteBridge and its quaint charms, Beck found his true passion in books, and studied at Oxford for several years before scouring the globe for his passion. In his quest for knowledge, Beckett chose to join a month-long excursion out at sea, and found himself regretting that decision a few weeks later.

“Steady on there.” One of the sailors, Michelle, handed him a pair of earplugs. “You’ll need these where we’re going.”

Beckett eyed the little pieces of foam dubiously. “And just where might that be?”

“Siren territory.”

Beck hardly believed in such fairy tales, but to calm the sailor’s superstitions he inserted the plugs as instructed. Siren tales aside, Beckett found himself growing as twitchy as the sailors. The coastline hadn’t been visible for ages due to a large amount of fog accumulation. The stormy skies were foreboding as well, indicating that proper precautions would need to be taken. This far north, the weather reports often indicated rocky waves far beyond what should be normal.

Would Beckett sink, out here in the middle of nowhere? Was that to be his fate? The young man began to fret, hastening to make himself useful as the first rolls of thunder sounded off and the waves grew steadily higher.

And then, he heard it. Beckett paused, arms slack on the rope as he attempted to hear that haunting melody. Was the weather playing tricks on him, or was someone calling out to him.

“BECK! EARS!”

Beckett blinked, stunned to find himself standing on the slippery railing. When did he get up here? Beck hastened to climb down, noticing the rest of the crew had their hands firmly clasped over their ears, even with the ear plugs inserted.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough. Even with the double protection, the voice grew in volume, its booming voice penetrating into their heads. Every single person on board fell victim to its call, the ship’s captain turning the wheel to head towards the beckoning beast. Beckett climbed back up to the railing, plunging overboard into the crashing waves.

With a sputter, Beckett fought to keep his breath, legs kicking desperately against the current. Even in his desperate survival state, the voice called to him, and instinctively Beckett swam in the right direction to answer its call.

Every time the voice paused to take a breath, Beck would regain control for only a moment, his heart pounding as his fate flashed before his eyes with nothing to be done about it. Between one blink and the next, the sky grew darker, a looming shape breaching in the distance. Another blink, and Beckett’s face lost all complexion staring up at his demise.

A great sea serpent, half man half beast, towered with its human half over the pitiful human. With a single shift of its body, the beast created waves that threatened to pull Beck under. Those sharp features and piercing blue eyes were unforgettable, and subconsciously Beck realized this was the last face he would ever see.

Another blink. This time, when the serpent let out a hum, Beckett remained conscious but still out of his own control. His body was lax but his mind manic. The siren reached for him, slimy claws surrounding his form and making Beck shudder as he was raised 50 feet in the air in seconds. Beckett whimpered, coughing out sea water as his gaze was drawn down to the siren’s lips. The creature grinned and revealed its razor-sharp fangs. Taking a deep breath in, the siren revealed the cavernous depths beyond as it prepared to inhale its next meal.

Beckett pleaded nonsense pitifully, tears pouring down his cheeks as the haunting nothingness washed over his mind yet again. Would he even wake once more? Was the beast merciful enough to let Beckett go in his sleep?

When Beckett woke up, he thought he was dead.

He squinted, the sun too bright for his eyes. The sun? What happened to the storm? Stranger yet, the water that had soaked him to the bone was no more. Beck was dry, wrapped in blankets in a stranger’s bed.

“You’re awake.”

Beckett turned his head, his sore muscles protesting the movement. Beside him sat an older looking fellow, hair greying with age. “Who’re you?”

“The name’s Seymour.” Seymour introduced himself. “And who’re you?”

“Beck.” Beckett’s voice felt like he hadn’t spoken in days. “Am I dead?”

“No, but you tried awful hard.” Seymour assured him. “Found you passed out on the shore two days ago. Guessin’ you were part of some shipwreck? Though there wasn’t much wreckage to be found. Awfully impressive for you to have swam that far.”

Is that what happened? Beck frowned, trying to parse out the details. His body ached something terrible. He did remember swimming for a great distance. Had the siren all been a strange vision of his adrenaline-infused thoughts?

“...huh.” Beck settled back into the pillows, looking up at the ceiling. “I… didn’t know I could do that.”

“Well that, or an angel saved you.” Seymour chuckled. “You’re one lucky soul.”

Beck squinted in thought. If that’s what angels looked like, he could understand why all biblical depictions had humans cowering in fear.

(...was it an angel?)

Beckett spent some of the most confusing weeks of his life recovering from the shipwreck. Even as his physical form healed, Beck couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around the events that transpired that night. He couldn’t get the notion out of his head that the giant sea serpent was real. It had all felt so lifelike, the claws and the fish breath and the dark melodious tones that haunted his dreams…

Seymour was kind enough to open his home to Beck, offering the traumatized lad a position maintaining his lighthouse while Beckett still fought to gather his wits. “Yer’ not the first.” Seymour assured him with a chuckle. “It’s no water off my back if you want to keep me company while you figure things out.”

You’re not the first. Beckett had cleared his throat, wanting to address that thought. “The other people who wash up on shore… did they ever… see anything?”

Seymour raised a patient eyebrow. “What do you mean, seen? Figure you lot have all seen a lot, what with the wreckage.”

“No, I mean, out at sea.” Beck felt foolish, twiddling his thumbs a bit. “Like a… like a merman.”

To his credit, Seymour did nothing more than a slow blink. “A merman.” He repeated.

“But, not a regular merman.” Beck winced at his own words. Just what was a regular merman? “A big one, like a hundred feet long, and pale white skin, and white locks of hair, and piercing blue eyes-”

“Kid.” Seymour cut him off. “I’ll tell it to ya straight. No, I ain’t ever heard nothing like that.”

Today, Beckett found himself on the cliffside, safely back from the edge as he watched the distant waves. His knees were tucked up to his chest, chin atop them as Beck sat lost in thought. Somewhere out there, Beckett’s giant captor- and later savior- was out there.

Why did the beast let him go? Even further than that, the siren had gone out of its way to give Beck a chance at life. There’s no way Beckett could have made it all the way to the shore on his own, disoriented as he had been.

Despite his better judgement, Beckett had to know the truth. With this foolish notion in mind, Beck set out a few months later, having rented a boat from one of the local fishermen. It took a lot of practice for Beckett to learn how to guide such a vessel, as every crest of a wave made the poor lad jump.

Seymour must think he was mad. Often the kind old man reminded Beckett that he didn’t have to conquer his fear of the waves directly, but Beck had just shook his head. Seymour couldn’t understand the debt Beck felt to the creature that had saved his life, and his curiosity kept him captive. Beckett wouldn’t be free until he had answers.

Of course, once he was out on the waters, Beck realized how foolish of a plan this truly was- he knew nothing about aquatic navigation. Every part of the ocean looked the same to him. Even worse, his memories of the last sea journey were extremely muddled. How on earth was he going to find the same location?

And even as Beck drifted in waters that may or may not be similar, the human realized he had no surefire way of gaining the siren’s attention. He settled for calling out often, hoping his carrying voice would be enough. Did the beast understand english? It was deceptively human-looking.

Beckett’s throat grew parched, and Beck sat down a moment to take careful sips of water from his dwindling bottle. The sky was growing darker, and a familiar fog had begun to roll in. An eerie chill began to creep up the back of Beckett’s neck. Suddenly, this plan wasn’t feeling so wise.

That’s when he heard it. The familiar song of his dreams was echoing across the water. Beck had forgotten the feeling, his limbs stiffening against his will like a marionette pulled taunt.

Blink. A gigantic fish tail, just the tip cresting the waves. Blink. Beckett found himself in the waves, gasping as he kicked frantically to keep his head above water. Blink. All too soon, Beck found himself clasped between those claws, water dripping from his locks as he stared at those terrifying chompers.

Oh god. This was a terrible idea. What should he do? What was there to do? All the blood left Beckett’s face, watching the siren lick its lips. It raised Beck higher, dangling the human by the back of his shirt above a now gaping maw. Beckett let out an unholy screech, realizing he had made a terrible mistake.

Beckett squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the words out of his lungs before he never got the chance again. “WHY DID YOU SPARE ME?!”

To Beck’s great relief, he didn’t find himself lowered onto the beast’s tongue. Instead, after the longest pause of Beckett’s life, he opened his eyes to see the siren’s mouth had gone slack.

“What?”

Beck’s eyebrows shot up into his scalp, shocked to hear the siren actually speak. Guess that meant it understood english, too. Beckett cautiously raised his gaze, meeting the siren’s eyes instead of its teeth. The creature looked confused, to say the least.

“You-” Beck cleared his throat, knowing he had to keep the siren’s attention lest he become a meal. “You spared me.” The siren’s brow furrowed further. Beckett frowned. “You… you saved my life? I mean, first you threatened it, but… 3 months ago? You- our ship, and the song, and… I woke up on the shore…”

Unfortunately, despite being the most momentous occasion of Beckett’s life, the giant sea serpent didn’t seem to have given the night a second thought. Beck couldn’t stop the sinking feel in his chest, knowing this whole journey was pointless after all.

The siren slowly shook his head. “That sounds unlike me.”

“It’s true!” Beckett insisted, especially because his life seemed to be on the line. “I was baffled too, but for some reason you spared me, and-and I don’t know why either! It’s been driving me insane. Why else would I sail all the way out here trying to find you?”

“You came looking for me?” This, at least, caused the siren to raise an interested eyebrow. “That would be a first.”

Beck nodded quickly. “Yes! I’ve been shouting for you all day. And before that I’ve been training for weeks, saving up for a downpayment to borrow Ben’s boat, which I’ll probably be losing now that I have no idea where that ended up…” Beckett grimaced, once again meeting the siren’s gaze. “Sorry, I’ve been told I have a tendency to sidetrack conversations in uncomfortable situations. Boat’s not important. Please don’t eat me.”

To both of their surprise, the siren let out an amused snort, the hot fishy air rustling Beck’s hair.

“I apologize for that.” The creature had the decency to look sheepish, even as its words curdled Beckett’s blood. “It’s nothing personal.”

“Wait, what?!” Beckett immediately began screeching, attempting to squirm out of the claws still holding him captive.

“Stop!” The siren hissed, his grip tightening painfully around Beck’s ribs. “You will fall with that behavior.”

Beck winced, continuing to struggle against the crushing appendages. “That was kind of the idea. I choose waves over teeth.”

“Waves over…?” The siren shook his head. “No, you misunderstand. I will not eat you.”

Beck found that hard to believe. He squinted, judging the gigantic face before him even as the pressure stayed tight around his chest. “So, you were going to?”

“Yes.”

“But now you’re not.”

“Yes.”

“...why?”

“Because you’re quite interesting, little human.” The siren admitted. “Your question confuses me. Do you want to be eaten?”

Beck chose wisely to avoid that question. “My name’s Beckett.” He said instead. “Beck, for short. Not little human, or anything.”

The siren blinked. It must be strange putting a name to your not-food. “My name is Caspian.”

Caspian. For some reason, Beck hadn’t actually pictured the siren having a name. Or talking. Or generally possessing much humanity at all… the self-reflection made him feel a bit guilty.

“It’s nice to meet you, Caspian.” Beck greeted. He glanced around, realizing the sun had finished setting. “Can we circle back to the boat issue? I mean, I’m glad this hasn’t ended fatally, but it is getting late.”

“Hold on.” Caspian frowned. “You spent all that effort to reach me, only to leave? Little Beck, your story has holes.”

“No, no no no.” Beck quickly shut that down, hastily trying to avoid any possibility of a vengeful siren. “No that’s not it at all. It’s just, your time must be very valuable, and I don’t want to intrude. And also, contrary to popular belief, I'm not a great swimmer. Hence the boat.”

“Hmm.” Caspian seemed to consider this for several moments. The giant seemed to reach a conclusion, but Beck was uncertain what it was as he was raised up above Caspian’s head. “Climb on.”

“Climb on?” Beck repeated, confused.

“And hold on tight.” Caspian advised, opening his palm and tilting it so that Beck slid off with a yelp. “I was under the impression you need air to survive?”

“YES! Yes, that is- yes, I need that.” Beckett confirmed, quickly grabbing onto Caspian’s hair as best he could. Not the easiest task in the world with how everything, including himself, was soaked. Nevertheless, Beck was wise enough to prepare himself for whatever a massive sea serpent might have planned.

Without further warning, Caspian lowered himself into the water, only keeping the top of his head above the waves for Beck’s benefit. Beck hastily lowered himself onto his stomach, not wanting to slide off Caspian’s head as the mer began to swim through the ocean faster than a speedboat.

“Where are you going!” Beck shouted above the wind whipping at his face. He squinted, trying to see where the siren was headed but having no luck. Were they swimming to the boat? Had Beck really gotten so far away from it?

Unfortunately, the siren himself offered no answers. The night sky and fog did not help Beck’s visibility. In these conditions, he was practically blind.

After several minutes of this less-than-ideal water travel, Caspian came to an abrupt stop. Beck frowned, finding himself staring at a rocky cliffside shore. Was Caspian trying to return him to the lighthouse again? But none of this looked familiar…

Caspian raised his head above the waves, sending Beck scrambling to keep his hold. It didn’t matter, as those familiar claws came up and plucked the human from Caspian’s hair.

“Hold your breath.” Caspian advised. This was Beck’s only warning as he was cupped between Caspian’s hands, the mer diving beneath the surface.

Thankfully, Beckett was intelligent enough to take the warning to heart. He held his breath, eyes squeezed tightly shut to avoid getting saltwater in them. The pressure became quite intense as Caspian dove several dozen meters down with ease. It made Beck feel like his head would pop at any moment. Was Caspian trying to drown him? But why go through all the effort of telling Beck to hold his breath, if only to drag it out?

Just as Beck could take it no longer and felt on the verge of passing out, Caspian breached the surface. Immediately Beck began to suck in large gulps of air, snorting to get the water that got stuck unpleasantly up his nose.

Despite being above the surface, Beck couldn’t see anything. He tried not to panic, heart racing thanks to all the uncertainties of the situation. “Where- where are we?”

“Home.”

Caspian’s answer only brought on further questions. Home? What kind of home did a gigantic merman have, anyway? Slowly his human eyes began to adjust to the darkness, noticing that bioluminescent moss seemed to give the space just enough light to see the outlines of shapes. It appeared they were in some sort of underground cavern, the water lapping against a craggy water-worn shore.

“Ah, yes. Of Course. Home.” Beck tried not to think about the several deadly reasons a wild animal might welcome him into its living space. But thankfully, Caspian wasn’t just an animal. He could talk, he seemed half human- that had to amount to something, right?

Of course, Caspian had still planned to eat him. So. There’s that.

“You’re still not gonna eat me, right?” Beck asked, not about to leave something so important to chance.

“Right.” Caspian sighed, as if the question were a mild annoyance and not tied to Beckett’s entire livelihood. “But you have disturbed my hunting time. I’m hungry.”

“Not sure that’s entirely my fault…” Beckett murmured to himself.

Caspian lowered his cupped palms to the rocky shore, setting Beck down away from the water’s edge. “Stay here.”

“Wha-? Stay here?” Beck became alarmed, taking a few nervous steps to catch his footing on the slippery slope. “Where are you going?”

“Do not worry.” Caspian assured Beck, easing himself back into the water. “I’ll bring you back something to eat as well.” With that, Caspian dove back into the water, leaving Beck alone in this dark murky cave.

Beckett blinked, shocked to find himself alone in this enclosure. “I don’t think he knows what humans eat.” Beck grimaced, not eager to see just what Caspian would be bringing back for him. Would it be wriggling? Slimy? Would it be human? The thought made Beck want to throw up.

Beckett shivered, feeling chilly now that the adrenaline was beginning to wear off. He found himself in an unknown underwater cave off the coastline somewhere, still soaked to the bone in his wet rags. The icy temperature in here was freezing, and the water wasn’t any warmer. Was Beck going to die of frostbite here? How long was Caspian planning on keeping him prisoner?

Beckett walked up and down the shore, looking for any driftwood or materials to make a fire. He had no luck, of course, but even if he had Beck didn’t know the first thing about starting a fire. So with nothing to warm himself, what should Beck do? Beckett knew from all the books he’d read on environmental conditions that staying in his wet clothing was one of the worst strategies for survival, but standing around naked in the freezing cave didn’t sound any more appealing. Not to mention, Beck had no way of drying his clothes even if they left his person. He would just have to put the soaking wet rags back on eventually.

Making a foolish decision, Beck kept his clothes on in the hopes that his own body temperature would help dry them eventually. Coming from the man who went out to sea to search for his would-be murderer all day, perhaps Beck shouldn’t be treating himself as a good source for advice.

“What was I thinking?” Beck murmured, pacing back and forth to try and keep the blood flowing to his extremities. His fingertips were growing numb, and Beck shoved them in his armpits to try and keep them warm.

Should he try and escape? Beckett guessed there must be some underwater entrance to this cavern, but there was no way of knowing how deep he would have to dive to reach it, how long the tunnel itself was, nor how high he’d have to swim to reach the surface on the other side. Beckett wasn’t known to be a particularly decent swimmer. Even just the idea of getting in the water right now made Beck shudder, not eager to get soaking wet once more.

Beckett let out a yawn, the excitement of the day catching up to him. He was cold, and tired. Nothing sounded better than stripping off these clothes and lying down in a warm, dry bed back at Seymour’s.

Oh gosh, Seymour. What was the old man gonna think when Beck didn’t return home like he claimed? He knew Seymour had little faith in Beck’s sailing abilities, but Beckett had foolishly promised to be careful. Would Seymour mourn him? Worse yet, would Seymour try to send out a rescue? What if Caspian found him and wasn’t so merciful?

Beckett was dead on his feet by the time the water began to shift. Beck slapped himself out of his stupor, standing to attention in his semi-dry clothes as the giant merman emerged.

Caspian pulled himself partially up onto the shore, holding out one hand to Beck. As expected, none of this looked edible in its current form. There was a live octopus, still wriggling around, a half dozen oysters, a few slimy eels, and a few other squirming entities Beckett wasn’t certain how to classify.

“Oh, thanks.” Beck tried to keep the disgust off his facial features. Even with not eating all day, Beck didn’t have much of an appetite. But would Caspian be mad if Beck didn’t eat it? It’s not like Beckett asked for it in the first place...

“I was uncertain what you would like.” Caspian admitted, a soft frown gracing his features as he nudged the human with his fingertips, encouraging Beck to eat. “Will this be good for you? Do not be shy, I ate my fill already.”

Beck cleared his throat. “Well, uh, some of this is what humans can eat, but we don’t eat it… raw. Or alive, usually.”

“Hmm.” Caspian considered this for a moment, taking one of the eels between his claws. Caspian raised the creature to his lips. In one swift motion, Caspian used his fangs to tear off the eel’s head, sending a small spurt of blood spattering down.

Beck cried out, quickly covering his head with his arms to try and avoid getting caught in the rain. “COOKED! IT NEEDS TO BE COOKED!” Beck hastily corrected, turning a bit green as Caspian tried to once again offer him the bloody corpse. “It needs to be prepared right, too, I don’t think I’m supposed to eat a lot of stuff found in live fish, they usually gut ‘em and stuff, and I’ve never been one for sushi in the first place.”

Caspian licked his lips, clearing away the blood stains as he tilted his head like a pup. “What do you mean, ‘cooked’?”

Beck slowly uncovered his head, thankful Caspian seemed to have backed off for a moment. “Right, cooked.” Beck nodded to himself. “Guess you wouldn’t know what that is, living in the ocean and all. Um, do you know what fire is?” It was Caspian’s turn to nod. “Wait, you do? How?”

“Fire chokes out life.” Caspian explained. “It creates the smoke and the ash that destroys the shores.”

“Well… yeah, I guess it does do that, sometimes.” Beckett admitted. “But we use it in smaller, healthy doses. You use it to cook your food, usually heating it up and changing it to be healthy.”

Caspian seemed more confused the further this conversation went on.

“Unfortunately, there’s no fuel here anyways.” Beck gestured to their surroundings. “And I don’t know how to make a fire anyways, so-”

“No fire.” Caspian said sternly. He sounded more like a stern parent, banning experimentation with firecrackers in the house.

“No fire.” Beck confirmed. He glanced at the ceiling. “Probably wouldn’t have been the best idea anyways, all enclosed like this. But anyways, no. I can’t accept your fish. Thank you, it was very kind of you, I’ll be forever grateful, but if I eat that I will be sick.”

“...hmm.” Caspian looked- disappointed? Frustrated? It was hard to tell the mer’s emotions, but Caspian at the very least seemed to understand Beck’s meaning, as he pulled his handful of fish back to himself. With a thoughtful expression, giving Beck one last option to protest, Caspian tilted the whole mixture into his mouth, chewing it into a paste and swallowing with ease.

Gross. Beck kept this thought to himself, grateful he was not on the other side of Caspian’s abs himself as the pleased merman gave his stomach a few pats.

“Then what will you eat?” Caspain asked, laying down to be more at eye level with the little man.

“Well, uh, I suppose I can always eat after I get home.” Beckett chose his words carefully, still uncertain what Caspian’s intentions were. “My friend would usually make meals with me. Stew, most of the time.”

Caspian’s eyebrows furrowed. “I can make stew with you.”

“No, you can’t.” Beck corrected. Gently. “No fire, remember? Fire’s needed for stew, too. And we don’t have any of the other ingredients. Vegetables, seasonings, broth, cooked meat… stuff like that. And any we got in here would be soaked with sea water, and that’s not great for humans either.”

The giant siren seemed displeased with this answer, obviously intent on keeping the human alive. This, at least, was one positive note in a storm of negativity for the evening.

With a displeased hum, Caspian reached out his hand towards Beckett. Instinctively Beck flinched away, worried the siren had gotten bored and wanted to do away with him, but all that happened was a giant digit began carefully stroking the top of Beck’s head and down the length of his back.

“Uh...what are you doing?” Beck asked, still stiff as a board.

Caspian didn’t seem inclined to answer. Instead he tilted his head, curious blue eyes intently studying Beckett. “Can you sing?”

Beckett blinked. “Can I what?”

“Can you sing?” Caspian repeated, and after Beck gave a nod: “sing for me.”

“Oh, well, I can sing, but not very well, mind you.” Beck admitted, looking a bit sheepish. The stage had always been his sister’s forte. “Certainly not to your caliber. I don’t think you want to hear me sing at all, actually.”

“Yes I do.” Caspian insisted gently. “Sing.”

Beck let out a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for such a task. What song does one even use to serenade a siren? After careful consideration, Beckett selected an old nursery rhyme from his childhood, both for its brief length and easy melody.

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star-” Beckett began, his voice shaking. He cleared his throat, trying to project a bit more even as Caspian leaned in to hear. “How I wonder what you are. Like a diamond in the sky, up above the world so high…”

Beckett had shut his eyes, trying to forget about any pressures to perform. A nice benefit to this impromptu concert is that Caspian had paused his petting to allow Beck to focus. “Twinkle twinkle, little star… how… er, ...up… ah…y’know what? I’ve forgotten the last line, actually.”

Beck grimaced, opening his eyes. Caspian was as difficult to read as ever, the siren’s face passive as Beckett awaited any sort of review.

“That was it?” Caspian clarified.

“Yeah, not a very long song.” Beckett agreed. “Meant for children, y’know? Just to… well I don’t know the point of it, actually, I guess it’s just something to sing.”

“Ah.” Caspian drummed his fingers along the rocks. “It was…”

Beckett waited not so patiently. “Well?” He spoke up. “I told you I’m a lousy singer.”

Considering the siren made no effort to disagree, Caspian held the same opinion, yet he wore a pained expression. Perhaps Caspian had held out hope for Beck after all? But then again, even if he were a renowned opera singer, how could a human voice ever possibly appeal to a siren?

“I thought everyone could sing.” Caspian admitted quietly.

For some reason, this bashful admission is what finally set Beck roaring with laughter. Beck clutched at his sides, doubled over with mirth as a concerned siren watched. Caspian let out a noise of concern, reaching out his hand to prod Beck in the side.

“No- I’m good!” Beck hastily assured him, pushing away the finger as if he had any chance of telling the siren what to do. “It’s just- ah, fuck. What a day, you know?” And with that, tears began to pour down Beckett’s cheeks, the poor exhausted boy helpless to stop them as he alternated between laughing and sobbing.

Now Caspian let out a whine, the trill noise echoing across the cavern walls as Caspian scooped the human up into his hands. Beck gasped, momentarily without air as he was forced against Caspian’s chest. “Shh, shhh.” Caspian hushed him, patting his back like he was a child.

Well, what did it matter? Beck felt like a child. He was tired, and hungry, and cold, and he just wanted to go home. Unable to work on any of those things, Beckett tried instead to take the comfort that was given to him, so overwhelmed by the day that this might as well happen.

Beck hiccupped, his tears still coming but too exhausted to keep wailing. Beckett leaned into Caspian’s chest, the smooth seal texture feeling surprisingly warm and dry for a creature that spent most of its life in the ocean. If he focused, Beck could hear a rhythmic thumping. It was Caspian’s heart, just on the other side of this ribcage.

“I wanna go home.” Beck murmured, more to himself than the siren who wouldn��t listen. “I just wanna go home.”

A rumbling sensation filled Beck’s ears, which he slowly recognized as Caspian’s singing. Beck closed his eyes, allowing himself to succumb to the call.

…

“...Beck?”

---

“-OI! Wake UP!”

Beck coughed, startled awake as he found himself once again doused in sea water. He blinked, disoriented to feel the surface beneath him was rocking like a boat. Before Beck could ponder that out, a bright light shined directly in his eyes, making him squint.

“Blimey, you look half dead.” Seymour whistled, taking stock of Beck’s appearance.

“I...what?” Beck frowned, looking around. They were on a boat. What happened? Last thing he remembered, Caspian had been coddling him like a wounded babe. “Where’s Caspian?”

“Who?” Seymour didn’t have a clue.

“Caspian! I- the giant siren!” Beck looked around, trying to spot anything in the darkness of night.

“Boy, I think you swallowed too much seawater.” Seymour shook his head, easing Beck back down. “Take it easy, you’re lucky to be alive.” Seymour pulled out an emergency orange blanket, wrapping it firmly around Beck’s shoulders. It was only then that Beck came to the startling conclusion he was naked, stripped of his wet clothes entirely. At least he could see them lying on the deck as well.

“The voice.” Beck insisted, staying down only because his head felt dizzy. “You must have heard him singing? He was singing. What’d I miss this time?”

Seymour had no answers, as far as giant sirens went. Instead, he explained his side of things. “When you didn’t come back yesterday, I came out to look for ya.” Seymour explained. “You must have a guardian angel after all. Caught you in my sights only by change with the spotlight, adrift in the waves. No idea how the hell you’ve got a speck of life in you, jumping in without a liferaft or lifejacket or nothin’. Holy hell son, ya got a death wish, there’s easier ways of going out.”

“I- what?” Beck frowned. “No, that… that’s not what happened.”

“Hypothermia can cause hallucinations.” Seymour swore under his breath. “Shit, you’re in a worse state than I thought. Never should have let you come out here alone in the first place, nevermind with Ben’s boat. He’s gonna kill ya, y’know, if you do manage to survive the night.”

“Didn’t mean to lose the boat.” Beckett rubbed at his eyes. “Got left behind on the way to the caverns.”

“To the caverns, he says.” Seymour rolled his eyes, handing Beck a warm thermos. “Drink. Sit. And don’t fall asleep.” With these last instructions, Seymour moved over to the captain’s chair, starting the motor and steering the boat back towards shore.

Beck stared at the waves passing by, sipping gently at the contents of the thermos. Tasted like hot lemon tea. Beck would have preferred hot chocolate, if shipwreck survivors were allowed to have preferences.

Was it a shipwreck? Did he jump in? No… no it was Caspian, wasn’t it? Dumb seal’s fault for it all. That, Beck was certain. Too bad he couldn’t charge the siren for Ben’s boat.

Before, Beck had barely escaped with his life, lost and confused about his potential giant savior. Now, he knew so much more than he had before. Caspian was real. Caspian’s name was Caspian. Caspian had intended to eat him, didn’t, and then let him go. Caspian had forgotten him.

Would Caspian forget him again? Why did that notion make Beck feel so uneasy?

It wasn’t like Beck owed Caspian anything, truly. The guy had saved his life twice now, but only after endangering it in the first place. But why did Caspian let him go this time? It seemed as if Caspian was intent on keeping him around like some sort of amusing lil’ pet. What had changed?

Beck’s mind was too tired to process through such things. He sipped more of the tea, growing drowsy.

“No sleeping!” Seymour yelled.

“Yes sir!” Beck jolted upright, regretting it when his head pounded. The sound of the waves had changed. Beck could hear them crashing against the shore, indicating they were almost to the dock.

Seymour expertly steered the ship into the harbor, a feat which took a good deal of skill in the middle of the night. Once securely fastened, Seymour offered Beck a hand, hauling the boy to his feet and keeping Beck steady all the way up to the lighthouse.

“Alright, in you get.” Seymour instructed, easing Beck into bed. He piled more blankets onto Beckett, disappearing briefly to grab a warm compress which he placed on Beckett’s forehead.

“I really did see him.” Beckett murmured, closing his eyes as the warmth lulled him into a deep slumber.

Seymour let out a low sigh. “I’m sure you did.” Seymour murmured, patting Beck’s arm.

#g/t #giant/tiny #giant mermaid #giant mers #giant siren #OCs #Caspian #Beckett #giant!siren!caspian #human!beckett

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songfell-ut · 3 years

Text

Merry Xmas toooo

Hey @venelona remember when I was talking about that Beauty & the Beast thing in your server

Well, I copied myself, ‘cause Sans is still not good at following through on getting a human soul, and a stray bit of paper drives the plot once more.

This is nowhere near finished because it’s me. I’ll polish it up and put it on AO3 once my other gift is done for tomorrow (she said famous-last-words-ly).

Prepare yourself for a shock: I wrote something long. Indents, meh. Warning, Sans is stupid.

Today was not a good day: it was cold, he had to get married, and now there was a human in his garden.

This was problematic for many reasons. For one thing, as the literal lord of all he surveyed, Sans always found it hard to get any alone time, much less a chance to nap. He’d started coming outside each night after dinner to doze off for a few precious minutes, at least until the wind whistled through his sockets one time too many or his brother started yelling at him over the wall. On this particular evening, though, after his chat with Toriel, his sole aim was to avoid seeing anyone; luckily, he’d already forbidden the others from coming into the garden, and he was prepared to stay out here forever if he had to, weather and Papyrus be damned.

Sans was not prepared to take a shortcut to his favorite bench by the nightshades and sit down, only to catch sight of someone hunched behind a bush at the end of the row. The skeleton scrambled to his feet in sudden panic, readying his magic to defend himself. Who or what the hell was that? No one should be here—this was his place! Had Toriel told him all that crap to trick him into going out alone, then sent someone after him? But how?

His instinct was to attack first, but for all Sans knew, this was some kind of trap; instead, he watched and listened, waiting for the thing to make its move. His soul thrummed like a harpstring, ready to summon bones to skewer the intruder, or teleport away—

But nothing happened. As the seconds ticked by, Sans gradually realized that the small, dark-clothed figure wasn’t crouched to spring at him or lying in wait, just bending down to examine the flowers. He couldn’t sense any malicious intent whatsoever; in fact, it didn’t seem to know he was there, or that he was coming closer for a better look.

Well, no wonder: it was wearing a cloak with a deep hood that blocked its peripheral vision, and it was facing into the wind, where it couldn’t hear or smell anyone sneaking up from behind. That meant the intruder was either very confident or really fucking stupid.

Maybe it was just Monster Kid or one of the others screwing with him? After all, no matter how often Sans told them to stay the hell out of his garden, and no matter how strongly his subjects were compelled to obey him, he kept finding rocks, bits of bone, and other junk the little bastards had tossed over the wall. Things had gotten better since Papyrus started patrolling the outer courtyard, happy to combine his favorite pastimes of keeping things tidy and beating the shit out of people, but…

But no, this wasn’t a kid who’d found a loophole in his orders, or an adult monster strong enough to defy him. Sans took a couple of quick shortcuts at different angles to appraise the intruder, confirming that it wasn’t sized or shaped like anyone he knew; it also failed to react when he stepped through an arch of greenery just a few feet away. No shift of attention, no magic gathering to attack or defend itself—who could possibly be that dumb? None of the surviving monsters would ever dream of dropping their guard like this, not even the kids!

The wind shifted, and Sans’ nasal ridge twitched as an unfamiliar stench hit him. He recognized the scent of leather from its clothes, but there were strong hints of…some kind of hair, and…bodily fluids? There was something missing, too, so basic that it took Sans a minute to pinpoint it: the trespasser had no magic whatsoever.

That was the most confusing thing of all. No matter how fishy or perfumed or otherwise gross they might be, everyone had that dry, slightly spicy smell. Had someone dressed up an animal and released it into the garden as a prank? A thrill of fear raced through him again—did Toriel’s curse include female animals? It’d be just like her to dump that on him and then make sure he ran into a bear or a deer or something!

Suddenly, the intruder sighed heavily, straightened up, and shook its hood off. To Sans’ shock, it wasn’t an animal or a monster: the thing standing in his garden was a human. It turned its back to the wind, squinting down at the white-stoned path and up at the surrounding wall, the smooth black marble shining rose-gold in the twilight.

What the hell was a human doing here? At least it was a male; Sans relaxed a little, then shook himself and edged forward.

Humans were legendary for their cruelty and cunning, but this particular specimen didn’t seem very dangerous. Beneath its dusty travel clothes and heavy cloak, it was almost as short at Sans, with a wrinkly face and gray streaks in its hair. Did all humans get like that after only…what, fifty years? Granted, Sans was just twenty-five, a baby by monster standards, but he wouldn’t be this twitchy or feeble when he reached the human’s age. And he wouldn’t be dumb enough to wander into someone else’s territory after sundown!

The man had started walking again, still oblivious to Sans’ presence, and paused at a fork in the path. Sans silently willed him to turn right, and he’d been obeyed by everyone he knew for so long that it was a surprise to see the human go left instead. The skeleton watched in irritation, then disbelief, as his uninvited guest sat down on a low wall and pulled a map out of his pocket.

That had to be the stupidest thing Sans had ever seen. Did human maps of the area include HAUNTED CASTLE ON FORBIDDEN MOUNTAIN? He doubted it. Besides, there was a village at the foot of the mountain, straight down through the forest; even if he couldn’t find the main path, all this moron had to do was walk downhill, back the…way he’d…

Wait. How had he even gotten in here?

Quick as thought, Sans zipped over to the massive iron gates that stood between the castle and the outside world. Sure enough, the ivy growing between the bars had been disturbed at one end where the man had squeezed through. Sans extended one bony finger very, very slowly toward the gate, and as his phalange approached the nearest bar, the air filled with a warning hum, his bones prickling with alarm till he stepped away.

The barrier was still working, then. What had the King said before they dusted him? Anything could get in, but nothing could get out…except a monster in possession of a human soul. But there were no—

The skeleton monster’s sockets widened again, this time in excitement. He grinned hugely, then took a shortcut back to the human, who was trying to fold up the map. Just in case, Sans peered at the human’s chest, gauging how much effort this would take.

His elation immediately vanished, disgust welling up in its place. Of all the humans who could’ve wandered up here, it had to be one with a pathetically weak, almost sickly little soul—and why did it have to be green? Fucking Kindness! Talk about shitty luck!

Not that he was going to pass up the opportunity, of course. Absorbing any human soul, no matter how crappy, would give him power greater than every other monster who’d ever lived, combined. He could finally pass through the gates, descend on the human village like a force of nature, grab as many souls as he wanted, and come back here to destroy the ga—no, he’d wreck the whole fucking castle! The others would finally be free, too, though he wouldn’t be stupid enough to share any souls with them. Maybe Pap could have a few, just enough to fulfill his dream of tearing Undyne to pieces, and to help eliminate Toriel; then they’d be untouchable in a world where “kill or be killed” was the only rule!

Sans was jerked back to the present by the human making a horribly wet noise and pulling a square of cloth from his pocket. Why was this disgusting sack of flesh even here, anyway? As far as Sans knew, no one had come near the castle for decades; even the local wildlife stayed far away. Yet here he was, an ordinary-looking human who had come all the way up the mountain in the approaching dark.

The man had finally sensed something wrong and was looking around uneasily. “Hello?” he called. Sans stayed where he was, silent and contemptuous; sure enough, the human’s gaze swept right past him. “Odd,” he murmured, lowering the map and folding it in half.

Sans knew he should go ahead and kill the guy now, but the wind chose that moment to pick back up, rustling through the flowers and nearly yanking the map out of the human’s hands; the man swore and fumbled at the stiff parchment, fighting to keep hold of it.

The skeleton chuckled, almost pityingly. As lord of the castle, he decided he could be magnanimous and let this moron finish putting the map away. Besides, it was funny as hell to watch him lose to a piece of paper.

Eventually, the man gave up and tried instead to stuff the half-folded map into his pocket, pulling a few things out to make room. Enough of this, thought Sans, his amusement fading. The skeleton took a few steps forward, letting his magic swell to a darkly feverish pitch and drift off him like red smoke. He was probably scary enough as it was, but anything worth doing was worth overdoing, especially when it’d make the human’s reaction that much funnier.

Besides, this idiot had trespassed on Sans’ land and his solitude at exactly the wrong time. A quick, clean death was too good for him, but it couldn’t be helped: Sans had to get his soul out in one piece and reach the village before daybreak. Ha, maybe he’d put his hood up and pretend to be the Reaper the humans feared so much—wasn’t that why they had exterminated every single skeleton monster but him and Pap? He’d give the fuckers something to be afraid of!

It was time, all right. The human had finally sensed someone at his back, and began to turn around. “Excuse me, I—”

Another gust of wind suddenly came howling through the garden and tore the map out of the human’s grip. It landed with a thk and skidded along the white-stoned path; with it went a couple of envelopes he’d set on his lap, and another, much smaller piece of paper, which blew straight into the nearest flowerbed.

The human’s demeanor changed in an instant from annoyance to panic. “No!” He flailed at the air, then stumbled over the wall, charging through the flowers. “Come back here!” he yelled, as if the wind or the paper could understand him.

Sans froze, feeling his magic go still as the blossoms answered—or, rather, echoed: “Come back here!” What the hell was the guy doing tromping around like that? Those were echo flowers, not daisies! One of them was worth twenty of this dumbfuck!

The wind was still blowing, but after a few clumsy grabs, the human threw himself full-length onto the ground, trapping the paper amongst the squished flowers. He sighed gustily – ha – and stood up, smiling. “There you are,” he murmured, his voice clear as the wind dropped to a light breeze.

The skeleton couldn’t see what the human was looking at so fondly. In his irate curiosity, he hesitated another moment too long: “Hm,” the man said to himself. “Yes, that’ll do.” He crouched again, grabbed a blossom at random, and plucked it clean out of the ground.

“What the fuck?”

Sans’ roar shattered the air like a rock through a stained-glass window. He was too angry to enjoy the human’s shriek of terror, or his attempt to turn and run; the skeleton jerked his hand up and sideways, yanking the man off his feet and hurling him onto the path. “Who the fuck d’you think you are?” snarled Sans. His magic flared up again as he advanced, staining the footpath red. “Huh?”

The human was trembling violently, staring up at him. “Are you deaf or somethin’?” the monster demanded. He grabbed the man by the collar, hauling him to his feet. “Answer me, or I’ll rip yer fuckin’ head off!”

The human gulped. “I…” He squeezed his eyes shut, sweat rolling off his face. “P-P-Please forgive me, my lord! I-I was being pursued by bandits, and they didn’t stop until I reached this place! I needed shelter, someone to point the way home—” He peeked up at Sans again, almost hiccuping in fear. “I-If you’ll permit me to leave, I swear I’ll never trouble you again!”

Sans glanced up at a nearby lantern hanging on an iron post, and it obligingly lit itself. “That’s for damn sure,” said the skeleton. His wrath faded a little as his prisoner gaped at him in the clearer light. Now he understood the expression “bug-eyed,” not to mention “slack-jawed”; it was one of the funniest things he’d ever seen. Still… “You expect me to believe ya just wandered in here outta nowhere?” Sans jerked his head at the castle looming behind him, though the moon hadn’t risen to provide a properly spooky silhouette. “Didja think you could sneak in, grab somethin’, an’ get out before anybody noticed? ‘Cause I fuckin’ noticed!” He stabbed a finger at the echo flower in the human’s hand. “That shit doesn’t grow just anywhere!”

The man blinked stupidly at the flower, as if surprised to see it. His eyes darted back and forth, his other hand sneaking toward his pocket. “I…I can explain, my l—”

“Uh-uh.” Sans waggled his finger, and the human cried out as his hand was yanked straight over his head, the little slip of paper fluttering to the ground. Ignoring his protests, Sans made a couple more gestures to open the man’s coat and run a thread of magic through the pockets, then the lining. He frowned as he found several coins, letters, a comb, a pipe…but no weapons.

Huh. If the human hadn’t been going for a knife or something, then what the hell was he doing? Was he just trying to put the paper away? How goddamn stupid could he—

“Please!” the man almost shrieked, and Sans was startled into releasing him. He watched the human stumble back, dropping the echo flower in his haste to run after the slip of paper again. Luckily for him, it blew against the corner of another bench, where he could easily stoop to retrieve it. The map lay nearby, but the human didn’t even look at it; he sighed in relief, and started to turn around.

Sans was directly in front of him, grinning at his strangled squeak. “Whatcha got there?” The skeleton didn’t wait for an answer, just reached for it.

“No!” To his astonishment, the man flailed at him, backing away till his shins hit the bench. “I-It’s nothing!” the human babbled. “Nothing at all! Just a picture that I didn’t want to lose! You can leave it!”

Later, Sans would try to blame himself for not being more careful. But he had every right to be curious, and no reason to be thinking of Toriel right then; it was only natural for him to use his magic to grab the paper and hold it up to see what was so fucking important. So, he did.

The human was right: it was a delicate ink drawing. Sans felt the smirk slide right off his face, and he took the picture in both hands, peering so intently that he didn’t even notice the man grabbing his sleeve. “Who’s this?” the skeleton inquired, trying to sound careless. “Yer wife?”

“My daughter!” The guy was actually jumping to try to grab it, like a frantic kid. “As I said, it’s worth nothing to you! Please give it back!”

Sans absently pushed the human off with his elbow, raising the paper to the light. “Knock it off,” he grunted as the man came right back.

The human’s sheeplike face contorted. “Has milord never seen a woman before? Give it ba—”

Skeletal fingers shot out and locked around his throat. To Sans’ surprise, when he glared down at the human, the man glared right back, even as he clawed at Sans’ radius. “Why d’you want it so bad? Is she dead or somethin’?” the monster asked in sudden hope.

The human’s eyes bulged wider, and he struggled to speak until Sans loosened his grip. After a bit of coughing and puffing, the man rasped, “How dare you? She’s my child, you wretched beast!” He dashed Sans’ hopes with a jerky shake of the head. “I’ve been away from her for over a month, and I was only hours from home when I was attacked! That’s all I’ve had of her! If I’m going to die at your hand, the very least you can do is let me see it one more time!”

Sans’ jaw clenched so hard that his single golden tooth creaked under the pressure. He shut his sockets, aware that he had to think very carefully before he spoke. “I got some questions for ya,” he snarled. “Tell me the truth, an’ you might leave in one piece.” He opened his sockets, his ruby eyelights pulsing across the human’s face. “Got it?”

The wind shrieked past them again, but Sans held both the human and the slip of paper steady. The man stared at him in clear distrust; Sans wasn’t sure if he was being brave, or stupid, or what, but he wasn’t cowering anymore. As a slight token of respect, the skeleton opened his hand, letting the human jerk away. “Yes, milord,” the latter whispered, massaging his throat. “Whatever you wish.”

Sans snorted, and snuck another glance at the portrait. “What’s your family name? What were you doin’ away from home fer so long?”

The man’s brow wrinkled further. “My name is Proust, milord. I’m a merchant, so I travel frequently. I’ve been investigating a business opportunity in the capital.”

A merchant? That was hard to believe. The coins in the human’s pockets consisted solely of pennies and a few silver pieces that Sans didn’t recognize; Proust was dressed fairly well, but on closer inspection, the fur trim of his cloak was patchy, while his leather coat was shiny with age. Either he was a cheapskate, or he hadn’t made any real money in a long time. “How’d it go?” Sans asked sardonically.

“Poorly, milord,” the man snapped. “I promised Frisk I’d bring her something from the city, but then I could barely afford to pay my way home.” He looked down at the echo flower, which lay on the stones between them. “She likes gardening, so…”

Sans knew he should make another fuss about the theft, but he had a bigger problem. “‘Frisk’?” he repeated. “Is that a nickname or somethin’?”

“No,” Proust said stiffly. “What else would my lord care to know?”

Sans gave him another glare, and though the man flinched, he didn’t look away. “Heh,” the skeleton murmured. “She your only kid?”

“Yes, my lord. My wife died in childbirth. Frisk…” His voice caught. “She’s all I have left.”

The monster grimaced. He almost would’ve preferred an aggressive human to a sappy one. “How old is she?” The paper trembled. It wasn’t the wind: his hands were shaking. “Did you leave her home alone, or with ‘er husband, or…?”

The human eyed him in rightful suspicion. “She’s twenty-two, my lord. We live with my brother’s family. She’s unwed—I’ve had several offers for her hand, but she refused them all.”

“Why?” Sans asked bluntly.

Proust blinked a few times. “She didn’t love them. She didn’t even like most of them, and the one she might have accepted left because my brother wouldn’t give her a dowry. Why do you—”

“A dowry?” Sans repeated. “The hell is that?”

This was obviously a sensitive question: the human’s face turned a weird color, and something pulsed near his eyebrow—a vein? Was that what it was called? Sans turned his head in disgust, studying the portrait again. If she had veins, he couldn’t see any.

The human cleared his throat. “It’s a gift of money or other goods that a woman brings to a marriage. Many young women in our social class have a difficult time finding a husband without one, and…”

“An’ you don’t have enough cash to sell her off?” Sans waved a hand as Proust swelled with rage again. “Never mind. Whatever stupid shit humans get up to, I don’ care.” He was quiet for a moment. “Just seems pathetic that you’ve gotta pay someone to take ‘er.”

“Was milord listening?” the human demanded. “I’ve had six other gentlemen ask to marry her, and four were willing to forego any dowry at all! She was good enough!”

It was Sans’ turn to twitch. “Why? What’s so great about ‘er?”

Proust made a noise like an angry frog. “May I humbly entreat milord to explain his gracious interest in my family?”

Sans toyed with the idea of telling him the truth, and shrugged. “Just curious. So, I’m guessin’ you wanna see her again?”

“Yes, milord, absolutely,” the man said in a rush. “I’d do anything—you have no idea how much she means to me!” He looked longingly at the paper in Sans’ hand, still held up to the lamplight. “She drew that herself,” he added.

Sans started. “Really?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“Yes, indeed,” the human said proudly.

The skeleton scowled at the picture. It was a perfect rendition of a young woman seated at a table, wearing an old-fashioned gown; her dark hair was twisted up into a bun, showing a small earring, a pearl necklace, and a graceful curve of neck and shoulder. Now that Proust mentioned it, she did seem to be drawing herself in the mirror, one hand holding a pencil and the other steadying the paper, her head tilted to look up at Sans.

For a moment, he was so angry that he couldn’t breathe. This was bullshit! Why should he pass up his chance at unlimited power because of a girl who probably wasn’t even that pretty in real life? He should just rip the stupid picture in half, rip the human in half, grab his shitty green soul, and get things started!

But the longer he stared at the paper, the less he wanted to rip it in half, kill the human, become godlike, etc. etc. It just seemed…boring? Unnecessary?

Tch. This was all Toriel’s fault! She’d called him to her room that evening in an absolute fit of laughter and told him exactly what was going to happen, and the old bitch knew he’d come down here afterward and—

And he couldn’t stay mad about it. Instead, something weird was happening behind his sternum, a sticky kind of warmth spreading like an infection through his ribcage and down his limbs. No matter how hard he tried to dwell on being jerked around, or why it had to be some squishy human with a dumb father and a weird name, Sans couldn’t look away from the portrait, caught by the girl’s clear, bright eyes. No one had ever smiled at him like that…

He came down here every night to get away from everyone, but what if…what if he had someone he didn’t want to get away from? Unbidden, a thought crept up: what would the garden look like with this human in it, helping water the flowers or sitting with him to watch the sun set? What would it be like to always have someone to talk to about stuff bothering him, help with all the day-to-day crap of running the household…smile at him, keep him warm at night—

Shit! Had Toriel laughed at him because she knew he’d actually want this to happen?

“Hello?” Proust was asking. “Milord? Is something wrong?”

Sans shook himself. “Fine, she can draw. Does she know how ta do anything?” That’d be a perfect excuse to forget about her. If he wanted to keep something cute and useless around, he could just put a collar on one of the kids and make it do tricks!

The human actually laughed at him. “We went to stay with my brother, milord, when Frisk was fourteen years old. He was a widower, so she took it upon herself to be the lady of the house. Within a few months, she was managing his servants, balancing his accounts, organizing his social affairs—clear up till he remarried last year.” His narrow chest puffed out. “It’s a large part of the reason she’s been sought after. Any man would be lucky to have her.”

The monster’s hands were trembling again, a strange sensation burning him from the inside out. “Is—” It was a childish question, but he couldn’t help it: “Is she nice?”

Proust looked at him strangely. “Yes, milord. She is.” He flinched as Sans’ grip on the drawing tightened. “Forgive me,” the man quavered, “but why do you—”

“Gimme your hand,” growled the skeleton. He gestured, keeping the paper suspended in midair as he lowered his own hands. “Take the glove off.”

Proust swallowed once or twice, then obeyed. Sans didn’t hide his distaste as he took hold of Proust’s wrist, the human’s pulse twitching against his thumb. For a second, he didn’t know if he could go through with it; then he glanced at the portrait, and said, “Don’t move.” Before he could lose his nerve, the monster lifted a skull-shaped pendant from beneath his shirt, positioned the human’s finger between its tiny jaws, and willed them to snap shut.

Proust yelped as the pendant latched onto his finger. “What in God’s name is that thing?” he cried, trying to shake it off.

“Magic,” Sans said pleasantly. The poor skull didn’t seem to like it any more than the human did: its jaws sprang right back open, and he could’ve sworn he saw it make a face at him.

Proust was staring at his hand in disbelief, searching for signs of any blood or puncture wounds—nothing. “What…?”

“Here’s what’s gonna happen.” Sans tucked the pendant back under his shirt. “There’s a spot over by the gates where you can sleep. No one’s allowed in here, so you oughta be safe till morning. When you leave, jus’ head straight down the mountain. Pretty much any of the paths will take you to Ebott. I’d send ya there now, but my magic can’t get through the barrier on the gate.” He sighed. “Need ta pull some strings to get you back out at all.”

The human was torn between intense relief and distrust. “Thank you, my lord. May I—”

“Nope. Just be happy that’s all I did.” Sans indicated the man’s finger as Proust pulled his glove back on. “I’ll even let ya bring ‘er the flower. Nice, eh?”

The man swallowed hard. “Yes, milord. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. But…may I please ask why?”

The shadows seemed to creep in, darkening the lamplight. The human shrank back as the skeleton’s grin broadened. “Wanna hear somethin’ funny?” Sans reached up to run a finger along the portrait’s bottom edge. “I’m the boss around here, but there’s a lady hangin’ around I can’t get rid of, and she knows stuff. Guess what she told me ‘fore I came out here. Go on, guess!”

Proust looked nearly sick. “I…I don’t know, my lord. What did she—”

“She said, ‘Congratulations!’ An’ I said, ‘On what?’ And she said, ‘On your upcoming marriage!’ So a’course, I said, ‘The fuck are you talkin’ about?’ An’ she said I was gonna meet my wife real soon.”

It was subtle, but Proust’s eyes flicked to Sans’ pelvis. The skeleton’s amusement vanished. Just like a human—didn’t he know how magic worked? “Yeah, my wife,” he growled. “Funny part is, she was right.” The monster took Frisk’s drawing in one hand and tapped the side of his skull with it. “Wanna know who Toriel said it’d be?”

The man didn’t move, except to make a noise vaguely resembling “Who?”

Sans chuckled. “The first woman I saw once I left the room.”

A beat of silence. Sans was wondering if he’d have to spell it out when Proust howled, “No!” and made a credible attempt to tackle Sans and grab his daughter’s picture. “You can’t—”

The skeleton sent him sprawling with one push. “Sorry, Dad,” he drawled. “I left the room, an’ I saw ‘er. That’s that.” He laughed harshly at the man’s expression. “What? She’s gonna get her own damn castle, lotsa nice stuff—I won’t even make you pay for ‘er!”

“You—” Sans watched, bemused, as the human sprang to his feet, fists clenched. “Tear me limb from limb if you want, but I am not giving my daughter to a thing like you!”

“Yeah, about that.” The skeleton raised a finger. “Y’know that little nibble ya got just now? ’s a great trick. Lemme show you how it works.” Hmm…what to do? Better not get carried away, or the guy would have a nervous breakdown before he could get his daughter up here. “Grab the echo flower and say, ‘I’m a stupid doo-doo butt.’”

Before Proust could protest, his body turned, stooped, and picked up the blue flower. He brought it to his lips, and said, very solemnly, “I’m a stupid doo-doo butt.” Then his head jerked up. “What in the—”

Sans hooted with laughter, fighting the urge to slap his future father-in-law on the back and accidentally break his spine. “See? When I say you’re gonna do somethin’, you don’t have a choice, do ya?” He sobered in an instant. “So, yer gonna go home an’ fetch ‘er for me. Got it?”

“It doesn’t matter what you’ve done to me,” Proust said defiantly. “You said it yourself. Once I pass your gates, your magic won’t have any effect.”

“Good thing it ain’t my magic, then. It’s yours.” He got a blank stare, and sighed in exasperation. This was getting old: it was chilly out here, and he had a lot of planning to do. “I don’ have time fer a whole magic lesson. What it boils down to is, yer a part’a this place now. The magic’s with you wherever you go. Even when ya get back home—”

Proust chose that moment to make a break for it. Sans watched him race toward the gates, then reappeared directly in front of the bars, forcing the human to stop short. “Listen,” he said coldly, forestalling Proust’s attempt to cover his ears. “Three days from now, you’re gonna bring Frisk here. Yer gonna tell ‘er whatever you need to make ‘er stay. Then you’re gonna shut up and leave, and you won’t come back.”

The human’s face was crumpling in a way that suggested something wet was about to happen. “You can’t be serious, milord! Please spare her! Kill me instead!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, quit bein’ dramatic!” Sans jerked his thumb at the castle. “Like I said, she’s gonna have everythin’ a lady could ever want. Almost everyone’s dead now, so there’s a bunch of neat stuff left. Hell, we got a whole room with nothin’ but jewelry in it.”

For some reason, this didn’t seem to reassure the human. “Frisk does not want things, and even if she could be bought off like that, a wonderful young woman like her has no business being entrapped by a loathsome abomination like y—”

“Shut your fucking mouth. Right. Fucking. Now.”

Proust’s teeth clicked shut as the air around Sans roiled with crimson magic. “Just for that,” the skeleton hissed. He stepped forward, jabbing the human’s shoulder with one pointed phalange, almost a claw. “Just for that, you’re not allowed ta make stuff up about her goin’ to school or marryin’ a human or somethin’. You’re gonna tell the truth: you fucked up an’ trespassed on my property, and you only get to live ‘cause you had somethin’ worth tradin’.” Another poke. “Let ‘er know that you’ve got three days from now—” Sans glanced at the rising moon. “—an’ if you’re not here by then, she gets ta watch her dad rot from the inside out.”

Another long moment of silence passed as the human stared up at Sans, hopelessness dawning as he searched in vain for any sign of mercy. There was no telling what he would have said if another sound hadn’t made them both jump: “SANS!” It came from over the marble wall, advancing rapidly. “YOU HAVE HAD EXACTLY AS MUCH LEISURE AS YOU DESERVE, LORD BROTHER! I HOPE YOUR TIME HAS BEEN RESTFUL, BECAUSE YOU HAVE FIFTEEN MISCREANTS TO DISCIPLINE AND A JAM SHORTAGE TO ADDRESS BEFORE YOU CAN RETIRE FOR THE NIGHT.” A stiff click-click of heeled boots. “I WILL BE WAITING IN YOUR SITTING ROOM. YOU ARE HUMBLY REQUESTED TO BE THERE WITHIN TEN MINUTES OR ELSE FACE SEVERE CONSEQUENCES!”

Sans mumbled a long stream of curse words as Papyrus’ footsteps strutted away. That reminded him of something. “Don’t even think about killin’ yerself or breakin’ a leg or somethin’ ta get out of this,” the skeleton said, still facing the garden wall. “I’ll say it one more time: go home, get ‘er packed up, an’ bring her back here on time. No tricks, no cute little loopholes, nothin’. Don’t bring anybody else with you, or I’ll kill ‘em. Got it?”

The human shuddered. “How—” His voice cracked. “How can you do this? You don’t have to do this! This is your castle, your land—surely there are enough women of your own kind to choose from? You don’t have to steal my daughter!”

The skeleton shifted to look at him. “Nope,” he said, and made to step around the human.

“Wait!” Proust fell to his knees, fists clasped in supplication. “One thing, my lord, I beg of you! Please don’t harm her!”

Sans could’ve cheerfully punted the man across the garden. “The fuck?” the monster snarled down at him. “Why the hell would I hurt my own wife? What am I, a goddamn human?”

There was no answer, only a ragged sob. “Good night,” the skeleton muttered. Proust tried to say something else, but Sans paid him no mind: he had things to do, and to look forward to.

Her father was hiding something.

That seemed impossible, and not just because he was a terrible liar: almost the moment he stumbled over the threshold of her uncle’s house in a filthy, sobbing heap, he had started babbling about a monster stealing his Frisk. Once he’d been cleaned up, fed, and tucked into bed, he’d stayed awake long enough to relate a horrible, fantastical tale of stumbling across the castle from local legend and running afoul of its hideous master. And they’d believed it, because…well, she loved her father, but he had the most wretched luck imaginable.

At least her aunt had been asleep when all the commotion started, so there was nothing to stop Uncle Raph from assuring his brother that they would look into the matter as quickly and thoroughly as possible. Servants were dispatched to fetch books from the library and summon the nearest mage from his cottage outside the village; by the time Aunt Kay woke up, her maid could report to her that her brother-in-law had come home bearing a “geas,” a type of curse far too powerful for humans to break, and would lose his daughter in less than three days.

Frisk had to give her aunt credit: she said all the correct things about being so very sorry and hoping that there was a way to save her poor niece from having to live with literal monsters, possibly for the rest of her life! And when it became apparent that there was nothing anyone could do, she was the first to embrace Frisk – as much as she could around her enormous belly, of course – and assure her that if any young woman could handle such a bizarre fate, it was her. She’d packed a bag of sentimental items for Frisk to take with her in case she got homesick, with only the slightest hint of glee at having sole dominion over the house now.

Her father had come home with a cold brewing, because of course he had; knowing she was going to leave and having so little warning had caused chaos among the servants, and Frisk was too busy making arrangements to do more than check in on her father every few hours. He spent most of his time either asleep or staring at the beautiful blue flower he’d brought her.

That was the last bit of proof anyone needed to believe his story. Echo flowers only grew in intensely magical surroundings, and there was so little magic left nowadays that they were thought to be extinct. But here it was, a thick-stemmed, six-petaled blossom that repeated anything spoken nearby. Frisk would’ve been more excited about it under different circumstances, but…well, maybe her new employer would let her have a few of her own.

The whole thing was strange, all the more so because of the way her father had told that part when they were gathered to listen to his story. He’d said he was bound to do what the creature commanded him, which was to bring his daughter up to the castle within three days’ time. The most logical supposition was that Frisk was going to get eaten, but her father had hastened to assure them that the beast seemed angry at the very idea of hurting Frisk. He just wanted…

There was that little hitch in his voice when he said the beast wanted Frisk to perform all the functions of a housekeeper, and that she would be well rewarded—why hadn’t he just said “The monster needs a housekeeper”? And why had he clutched his chest like that afterward? Was the geas hurting him for saying the wrong thing?

Frisk had kept herself too busy to think about it very hard, to believe that she was really going to be thrown out of another home and into the clutches of monsters from myth and legend; on some level, she could convince herself that her father had exaggerated or made some kind of mistake, and it wasn’t going to be so bad. But now, nearing sunset on the third day after her father’s misadventure, they were most of the way up the mountain, and fear was starting to creep through her veins like frost. Her father could be naïve, even simple-minded, but he wasn’t crazy. She really was going to be left alone in a strange place full of strange creatures, expected to take care of them, answering to a walking, talking skeleton—this couldn’t be happening!

A couple of the younger manservants had insisted on accompanying them part of the way. The mage had warned them that they could only get so close to the castle before the horses refused to go any further; sure enough, about a mile from the castle gates, the men had to help them dismount before the animals grew frightened enough to turn and bolt. Frisk gave each man a quick hug – at least her aunt wasn’t there to scold her – and they reluctantly headed back down the mountain to wait with the terrified horses, ready to escort her father home.

The latter was growing more and more agitated as they approached the castle on foot. He could barely speak with his throat raw from coughing, but the way he kept glancing at her, clearing his throat and sighing heavily— “What is it, Father?” Frisk finally asked.

“I…” He swallowed. “I haven’t been entirely truthful, dear.” She stiffened, shifting her bundle to her other shoulder as he coughed into his handkerchief. “The creature didn’t order me to say the exact words in just the right order, and I didn’t want to humiliate you in front of everyone by telling the full story—”

“What story?” The lump in her throat grew heavier as the trees started thinning out, the ground sloping sharply upward. “Is it really true that I have to stay with the monsters and keep house for them?”

“It’s true, love, but…” Another maddening pause. “Er. He is a skeleton, so I believe you’ll be spared…some things, but running the household is included in your role as—”

The wind rose from nothing to a scream of frigid air, nearly throwing them to the ground. Frisk lowered her arm, and to her dismay… “We’re here,” her father croaked.

In the dying light, a huge wall loomed over them, black marble framing a set of gates over thirty feet tall. The bars were nearly obscured by climbing ivy; despite her fear, Frisk found herself drifting closer in sheer curiosity, reaching to pull the ivy aside.

“Frisk!” her father croaked. He was almost unrecognizable, pulling her back and giving her a little shake. “I…” She watched him struggle with himself, and lose. “Stay here, and be good,” he said jerkily. His lips formed a few frantic words, but she couldn’t catch them before he crushed her to him in a sudden, fierce embrace. “Be careful,” he whispered. “I love y—”

The sun had disappeared over the horizen. Before she could hug him back, Frisk felt something coursing through her father’s body, forcing his arms to drop and his legs to carry him back a step. He struggled to get more words out, but it was too late—what had his last orders been? “Shut up and leave”? Charming, and succinct…and effective.

This was it. Frisk had had plenty of practice at smiling, and did her best. “Goodbye, Father,” she said helplessly. “I love you, too.” Then she turned and plunged through the ivy before he could hurt himself resisting any further.

When she stepped free of the bars and brushed the leaves from her face, Frisk almost forgot her sorrow and despair in sheer wonder. Lamps on iron posts lit up a garden arranged in long, orderly, but breathtakingly lovely rows of bushes, flowerbeds, statuary—she’d never seen anything like it. Letting her bundle hang from one wrist, Frisk turned to look at the gates and the massive walls, wondering how big the grounds must be if this was just a private garden. Granted, it belonged to the lord of the castle, and he obviously cared enough to keep it in good order…

And had terrorized her father into forcing her out of her home to come play housekeeper amongst total strangers for…how long? If the problem was just that monsters couldn’t cook or clean up after themselves, maybe she could stay long enough to teach them and then go back. Surely they didn’t expect her to do it all on her own forever, not when they had magic to help them do everything? But if they could do it with magic, then why bring her here at all?

Frisk shook her head, scanning the garden for signs of life. She could hear a fountain burbling in the near distance, just out of sight; the wind was freezing, but carried the smell of flowers, helping calm the human down a little. It was enough to let her take a step forward, then a few more, wandering into the first stand of rosebushes and a patch of black irises. Their petals didn’t reflect light, but shone like velvet, tempting her to reach out—no, she thought hastily, snatching her hand away. Touching flowers without permission was what got her poor, well-meaning, hapless father into this mess!

No one seemed to be coming to meet her, but then, it wasn’t completely dark yet. If she had a few minutes to herself, then Frisk figured she could spend it in peace and calm before she met her fate, whatever that might be, whatever her father had been trying to tell her… So the young woman stood up and set off down the path, taking her time examining the rows of irises, snapdragons, and several flowers that had no business blooming at this time of year.

She didn’t see a shadow step out from behind a lamppost. Nor did she notice when it hesitated, then vanished, reappearing behind another lamppost, and another, and another, till it was just a few steps away.

Frisk thought she felt someone watching her, but when she turned around, there was nothing there. Shivering, she drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders, squinting up at a faint outline against the darkening sky. The castle wasn’t exactly hard to find, but that didn’t mean she knew how to get there; the garden was so huge that she couldn’t tell which path led out of it. Maybe she should—

“h u m a n~”

Raw terror flooded her senses, and her brain screamed so many conflicting orders that nothing got through; Frisk could only stand stock-still, clutching her bundle till she summoned the courage to whirl around.

Nothing was there. Was her mind playing tricks on her? No, she couldn’t have imagined such an awful voice, deep and rough as—

A delicate tap, tap on her shoulder.

Frisk shrieked and twisted around, landing on her rear with an ungentle thmp. “What are you doing?” she yelled. “Who’s—”

The air went still, her lungs shriveling and her heart stopping at the sight of a skeleton – this must be the skeleton – looming over her. The smooth bone of its skull had a dull, velvety sheen like the iris’ petals, and dots of red hellfire glinted in its empty sockets. Its teeth – no, fangs – were bared in a cruel grin, hands buried in the pockets of its black coat; beneath it, the creature’s shirt was a surprisingly bright red—satin? The tidy, domestic corner of her mind wondered how expensive that had been, and how difficult it was to keep clean; as a matter of fact, the skeleton was more richly dressed than her father had been at the peak of his wealth, right down to a frankly garish gold tooth. This had to be the lord of the castle, beyond a doubt.

But his wealth was less important than the fact that a skeleton was staring down at her. It didn’t speak, or grab her, or do anything but stand there, its face unreadable. Surely it could talk, after the way it had cursed her father?

Anger surged through her, propelling her to her feet. “Greetings, my lord,” Frisk said coolly, stepping back to discreetly brush herself off and drop into a deep curtsey. One of them had to be civilized about this! “My name is Frisk. I am here by your command.”

The skeleton blinked, the bone of its sockets somehow closing just like a human’s eyelids. Frisk was almost too fascinated to be angry—almost. It silently shifted its weight. Was it a “he”? The monster was dressed like a male, and had sounded like it. Why wasn’t he saying anything else?

A light gust of wind flapped her hood against her neck. Shivering, she broke eye contact to hitch her bundle back over her shoulder and reach to pull the hood up. “I hope I’m not too late to—”

Quicker than she could blink, the creature was right in front of her, inches away. Frisk tried not to cringe as his bony fingers plucked the hood from her grasp, letting it drop against her back. “What…?” Stupidly, she reached up again, and the skeleton’s brows drew together. His fingers pushed her hand away and, to her shock, rose to brush her hair off her cheek.

That did it: she was willing to come here to save her father’s life, not to be scared out of her mind, stared down, kept freezing, and all but propositioned by the thing that had done this to them! Who did he think he was?! “I beg your pardon!” she snarled, and the skeleton’s sockets widened as she smacked his hand away. “You will not touch me without my permission, milord! And if I am not allowed to wear this—” Frisk waggled her hood. “—then you will please take me somewhere out of the wind!” She tried not to sniffle, and hoped he’d attribute it to the cold. Without thinking, she scratched her cheek, trying to erase the unwanted feeling of those smooth, warmish fingers on her skin. “Lead the way!”

To her alarm, the red light in his sockets vanished, as if she’d blown out a candle. “Yes, m’lady,” growled a voice from somewhere deep in its chest. Frisk gripped her bundle as the skeleton turned on its heel. “Come along.”

Frisk tried not to gulp too loud, and hoped it – he – couldn’t hear her heart pounding as she followed him across the garden. With the anger ebbing away, fear was reclaiming her, dulling the wind’s bite and the ache building in her feet from the walk here; her aunt had insisted she wear a respectable dress and heeled slippers to meet her new master, never mind how impractical they were for traveling, and Frisk could feel a blister forming.

The skeleton’s shoulders were hunched, his hands in his pockets as his boots scuffed the white stones. It was a distinctly un-noble posture, almost sullen. Was he really the lord of the castle? He wasn’t carrying himself with much confidence, and though she’d obviously irritated him, he hadn’t bothered to correct her. Maybe monsters were nicer than humans overall, no matter what the stories said; maybe, she thought as they exited the garden through a wicker gate and started across a courtyard, humans were entirely wrong about them. She might just be a—

“Dumbass!”

The skeleton stopped so fast that she nearly walked into him. A moment later, something flew across their path, followed closely by a small yellow body. “The ball’s a dumbass,” it said helpfully in passing, with the snide, high-pitched tone of a child almost breaking the rules.

Frisk’s escort made a low noise and suddenly whipped his hand up and around. She barely had time to process what was happening before the little monster was jerked into the air, flipping upside down and hanging in a scarlet cloud. “Ya think you’re smart?” the lord demanded, gesturing to silence the…child, she supposed. “Don’t answer that!”

The lizard-like monster didn’t have arms to gesture with, but kicked his feet and snapped his teeth more than expressively enough. “Knock it off,” the skeleton warned him.

The child obediently stopped kicking, and started mouthing obscenities instead. To Frisk’s dismay, the cloud of magic dropped him onto the ground head-first and, before he could recover, picked him back up; the lizard stuck his tongue out in defiance, at which the red cloud rose several feet higher before dropping him again. This time, when it picked him up—

“Stop it!” Frisk protested. They both glared at her, and she shook her head. “He’s just being a child! He’s not hurting anyone!”

The skeleton snorted. Frisk felt her face flushing again as the magic dropped the young monster once more; the child gave her one sneering glance before scuttling off. Then the lord turned to glare at Frisk, who was trembling with fear and rage. “I could say a lot of stuff right now, but you just got here,” he said with dangerous patience, “so I’m gonna cut you some slack.” He started walking again. “C’mon. Everyone should be in the Great Hall by now, ‘cept that little fucker, but that’s fine. He’ll hear it, too.”

Frisk wanted to ask what he meant, and object to his language, but she was tired, and cold, and sore, and hungry, and now keenly aware of what the monster could do to her if he chose. She followed him meekly across the courtyard and through several more winding paths, most too dimly lit to see more than the skeleton’s broad back; he wasn’t much taller than her, but he was powerfully built, even without his hellish magic. He didn’t look sullen anymore, just angry. Frisk wasn’t one for self-pity, but…what had she done to deserve this?

He eventually stopped in front of a door so small and unassuming that she went right in after him, blinking in the sudden light, expecting to see a kitchen or servants’ entrance; instead, when her vision cleared, it revealed a dazzling array of…red carpets, stairs, dozens of voices, thousands of candles—her senses were too overloaded to take it all in. This must be the Great Hall, she thought muzzily, barely aware that the skeleton had turned to watch her.

She did notice when he took her hand, fingers tightening as she reflexively pulled away. “This way,” he muttered.

Frisk couldn’t help scowling. For someone who had spent so much time and cruel effort getting her here, he didn’t seem at all happy to have her. At least his hand gave her something to focus on as he led her through the columns at the back of the room and into the center of the red carpet. As she’d thought when he touched her face in the garden – which she still resented – his bones were as warm as human fingers, with a strange consistency, smooth and slightly pliant. He was probably strong enough to crush her fingers like brittle leaves, but he held them just firmly enough that she couldn’t get away. How nice of him, she thought irritably.

Suddenly, the skeleton paused and turned to face the room. “Hey,” he said, almost conversationally. “Shut up.”

The human thought he was talking to her until the hall grew very quiet, making her ears itch. A tug on her hand turned her to face the same way he was, and her eyes widened.

The room was full of monsters—the ones she’d heard about as a child, and with whom she’d be living and working now. There were creatures made of ice, one built almost entirely out of razor-sharp teeth, several fire spirits, some with fur or scales, or both…there was another, much taller skeleton, and…

Hm. She was good at making quick estimates, and there were barely a hundred monsters in the hall. Surely this couldn’t be all of them?

“So,” said the lord. With his free hand, he dug beneath his shirt and pulled out a pendant shaped like a miniature skull, elongated like a deerhound and sporting far too many fangs for Frisk’s taste. The skeleton raised the pendant to eye level: in an instant, Frisk sensed a shift in the atmosphere from mild disdain to wary, almost fearful anticipation. “Here she is,” proclaimed the lord of the castle. “Meet…Frisk.”

No one reacted, except for a few scoffs and an extremely half-hearted “Hurrah” from the back of the hall, more insulting than no response at all. Frisk hoped she wasn’t expected to introduce herself, or say literally anything else.

Luckily, the skeleton was already speaking again. “So,” he intoned, and as one, the monsters flinched. “First off, no one’s allowed to hurt her—directly, indirectly, on purpose, sort of on purpose, tricking her into it, trickin’ someone else into it, I don’t fucking care. Humans are weaklings, remember? If any of you assholes so much as breathes on ‘er too hard, I’m gonna take you apart mote by mote and burn yer dust in front’a everyone.”

Judging by the monsters’ shocked faces and low murmurs, this was quite the threat. The skeleton lord’s hand was holding hers a little more tightly—was he shaking? At the front of the crowd, the other skeleton had uncrossed his arms and seemed ready to—

“Second!” Everyone twitched. “You do what she says, when she says, unless I tell you different.” He paused, as if weighing his options. “No lyin’ to her. If she wants ta know somethin’, you gotta give ‘er a good answer.”

More murmurs of surprise and resentment. Frisk could feel little pulses through her contact with the skeleton—his pendant was doing something magic-related as he spoke. With a start, she remembered her father’s description of the skull that bit him and inflicted the curse of obedience; this must be the same thing, in a way that let him use it on every monster at once.

Regardless of how he was doing it, Frisk wished she understood why. He clearly did want her here, but how terrible could things be for him to go to these lengths for her? The first tiny prickling of unease began skittering around the back of her mind. What had her father been trying to tell her? Something he’d been hiding that would have destroyed her reputation among her family and friends, with worse duties than arranging parties and checking whether the maids were stealing anything …and the monster being a skeleton was relevant. What could possibly—

Someone had asked a question. “No, not yet,” the skeleton said, to groans of disappointment. “Party’s tomorrow. We’ll hold off for tonight and let her get settled.”

A loud, rude snort made everyone turn to the back of the crowd. “Well, ain’t that sweet?” It was a tall, armor-clad figure holding a faintly glowing spear. The voice was female, but almost as rough as the skeleton’s. “I know if I was her, I’d want you to hold off for tonight!”

The monsters erupted into jeering laughter. Frisk’s face burned as the implication sank in, and she gave the skeleton a disbelieving glance as that sense of disquiet prodded her again. What kind of party was he talking about? Would he really go to this much trouble to procure a normal housekeeper, much less protect her like this and celebrate her coming?

To her bemusement, the skeleton seemed as embarrassed as she was, and several times angrier. “Fuck off, Undyne!” His magic pulsed again so strongly that Frisk’s palm tingled. The woman in armor made a faint sound and staggered back against the wall. “If you’ve got time to say stupid shit, maybe it’s time you—”

“That’s enough,” said someone above them.

Frisk felt the air in the room shift again; this time, it felt like a classroom where the teacher had walked in and just looked at everyone. Every monster in the Great Hall – even Undyne – sank to one knee; the skeleton’s hands dropped to his sides as Frisk turned to watch another monster descend the staircase. “Tori,” he mumbled.

The white-furred monster glared at him. She resembled a giant goat, but seemed far more predatory, perhaps because of her golden eyes; they reminded Frisk too much of her uncle’s captive hawks, which always looked ready to eat someone. “How strange,” the goat-woman murmured. “I could have sworn that we’ve met before and you know how to properly address me.” Like magic, she was now smiling brilliantly at Frisk. “Welcome to our humble abode, my dearest girl. May I be the first to congratulate you on your conquest of Sans’ affections?”

The human’s polite smile was fixed in place, the one she used at parties when trapped in conversation with people she wasn’t allowed to run away from. “You certainly may, Lady…?”

“Toriel, my child. I am the former Queen of this place, now a silly old lady enjoying my twilight years in retirement.” The goat monster inclined her head, and suddenly raised her voice. “Thank you all for coming. I believe dinner should be ready soon?”

That was the monsters’ cue to scatter, no compulsion necessary. “Well,” said Toriel as the room emptied. Her smile twisted in utter contempt. “You seem surprised, my dear. Was Sans incompetent enough to allow your father to lie about your purpose here?”

The skeleton – Sans – gritted his teeth. Frisk would’ve felt sorry for him if…no, wait, she wouldn’t, ever. “Well,” she said, echoing Toriel, “when my father told everyone at my uncle’s house what happened, he said the monsters wanted someone to ‘perform the functions of a housekeeper.’ He never came out and said I’d be marrying anyone.” Frisk gave Sans as poisonous a look as she could, and his sockets went blank. It was unnerving, but she was too angry to care. “On the way up here, he tried to talk more about it, but then he had to leave.”

Toriel cackled, raising the hairs on the back of Frisk’s neck. “Of course he didn’t tell the rest of your family you’d be sharing your bed with a skeleton! You’d be the laughingstock of the village—no, the whole country!”

“Tori,” muttered Sans. Somehow, his entire skull was turning a dull crimson; he’d shrunk in on himself, looking much smaller and curiously vulnerable. Good.

The goat monster must have agreed; she smirked, and fully turned her back on him. “I hope you can understand your father’s intentions, my dear child,” Toriel said. Frisk would have given anything to make her stop smiling. “Parents tell these little fibs every so often to protect their children’s feelings.” She patted Frisk’s shoulder with a soft, heavy white paw. “I’m sure you’ll understand once you start having them.”

Frisk’s skin crawled—whether it was Toriel’s touch or the thought of that with Sans, she couldn’t say. Probably both. “I wish he had given me some forewarning, Lady Toriel, but I understand his reasons. He was also very sick when he reached the village, and likely still is, so we didn’t have many chances to talk privately.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” Toriel murmured. “But it was to be expected after a night outside without food or drink, and then a walk down the mountain without provisions.”

“A what?” Frisk rounded on her would-be husband, who was sweating profusely. How the hell did—no, never mind. “You didn’t give him anything at all? And you made him sleep outside?” she demanded.

Sans’ eyes sparked red again. “He trespassed on my land and fucked up my garden! What was I s’posed ta do? Give ‘im a cookie and his own private room?”

“Anything but keep him outside like a dog!” Frisk was so angry that her eyes were filling with tears. She swiped them as discreetly as she could. “I am overtired, Lord Sans! May I be shown my room for the night? Or would you prefer I sleep in the garden?!”

“Fine!” he bellowed. For a horrible moment, Frisk thought he was really going to lock her outside—no, he was grabbing the pendant: “Panne! Lapis! Get your asses down here, now!”

“I’m afraid you have your work cut out for you, my child,” Toriel said kindly to Frisk, who was seething so hard that it took a moment to realize someone was speaking. “If you want any help, dear, you need only ask.”

“Thank you, Lady Toriel,” the human replied. “I’ve dealt with bullies before, but they usually don’t have magic on their side.”

Toriel cackled again as Sans’ eyes went blank. “Well said, my dearest Frisk! Very well said. Our lord is accustomed to getting what he wants, but a bit of reality may be what he needs.”

“Y’know what?” The skeleton’s voice was high and loud with indignation. “You’re right. Forget it. Fuckin’ forget about this whole thing! We’ll do the ceremony, make it so yer creepy-ass curse worked, an’ then she can go back to her dumbass family. How’s that sound?”

Frisk’s heart leapt…until Toriel gave a gentle sigh. “Yes, Lady Toriel?” the human asked warily.

“Yeah, what?” Sans snapped.

“Several things, children. For one, Sans, you already came crawling to me for help in getting Frisk’s father through the barrier—to be honest, I’m surprised we were able to do it at all. I absolutely do not have the resources left to move another human through the gates safely.”

Frisk could have cried, but as it turned out, that was the least of her problems: “And if you think you’ll be man and wife after a few words and a slice of cake, you’re sorely mistaken. A true marriage is built on time, trust, and communication.” Toriel nodded benignly. “And sex.”

“What?!” It came out in perfect tandem between the skeleton and human.

The goat monster didn’t bother to hide her glee. “I never said you’d find a wife in name only, you pathetic sack of bones! What are you thinking, trying to get rid of her? Why go to all the trouble of snaring such a lovely thing if you were just going to shoo her off? I’ve never seen you so excited, having your room prepared and planning what to eat for—”

“There they are,” Sans said sharply, looking and sounding ready for death as two rabbit monsters approached. “You! Get her fed, bath, sleep, whatever! I’m goin’ to bed, good night!”

Toriel’s grin was the most evil thing Frisk had ever seen. “Good night, my lord? It’s only—oh, dear. There he goes.” She examined the tips of her claws, and gave Frisk a look that made the human shudder. “Was it something I said?”

“REALLY, BROTHER, I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU EXPECTED.”

Sans tried to think of something witty, but it was easier to bash his head against the wall some more. So—

“WILL YOU KINDLY STOP THAT FOOLISH NOISE! IF IDIOCY COULD BE REMOVED THAT WAY, I WOULD GLADLY CRACK YOUR EXALTED SKULL OPEN. BUT NO, YOUR LORDSHIP’S STUPIDITY WOULD REMAIN INTACT NO MATTER WHAT MEASURES WERE TAKEN.”

For the millionth time, Sans found himself reaching for his pendant, the key to the spell encompassing the castle and its grounds. All he had to do was concentrate on Papyrus and command him to shut up for ten goddamn minutes. His life would be easier, and quieter—

—and complete shit, because Pap wouldn’t be his brother anymore. Sans rolled his skull sideways along his bedroom wall, glaring at the taller skeleton. “Get yer ass off my bed.”

Papyrus snorted. “WHY? IT IS APPARENT THAT YOU WILL BE THE ONLY ONE USING IT FOR THE FORESEEABLE FUTURE.”

“Oh, not you, too!” Sans grabbed a book at random from the shelf and chunked it at his brother, who easily caught it and tossed it to the floor. “What, you wanna be more like Undyne?”

“PATHETIC AS SHE IS, IT WOULD STILL BE PREFERABLE TO OTHER PERSONS OF MY ACQUAINTANCE, BY WHICH I OF COURSE MEAN YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE TERRIBLE.” Papyrus did get up, though, and Sans tensed as his brother approached the mirror. “WHY DO YOU STILL KEEP THIS?” To Sans’ indignation, Pap took the ink drawing from where Sans had stuck it in the mirror’s frame, holding it up for a closer inspection. “SURELY, NOW THAT YOU HAVE CAPTURED THE HUMAN IT DEPICTS—”

“Put it back,” Sans snapped.

Papyrus tutted under his breath. “AS MY IDIOTIC LORD WISHES.” Unwilling to make a mess of any kind, the younger skeleton tucked the picture very gently back into the frame, smoothing down the creased edges. “IT WILL BE RUINED IF YOU DON’T STOP CARRYING IT EVERYWHERE.”

“Yeah, I know,” the elder skeleton grumbled. He let the back of his skull thump into the wall again, earning another sharp look. “You can leave now.”

Pap’s boots tapped impatiently on the stone floor. Several rolled-up rugs were stacked at the other end of the room, but Sans had made several excuses to leave them there, unable to admit his fear of picking something she didn’t like. Of course, now he would kill for that to be his biggest problem. “WILL YOU BE ALL RIGHT, BROTHER? SHALL I BRING THE MANUAL? THE SECTION ON WOOING A KIDNAPPED BRIDE IS PITIFULLY SHORT, BUT—”

“I’m good, bro,” lied Sans. “Go to bed.”

It wasn’t a command, and they both knew it. “I DIDN’T GET A CLOSE LOOK AT MY NEW SISTER,” Papyrus remarked. His gloved finger tapped the edge of the portrait. “IS THIS ACCURATE?”

“No,” Sans said sharply. “Don’t touch it.”

“HMPH!” Only Pap could make that a complete sentence. “I SEE. THE ARTIST SEEMS SKILLED ENOUGH, BUT IT MUST BE ANOTHER HUMAN LIE. IT IS A SHAME, BECAUSE THE FEMALE IN THIS PICTURE IS NOT NEARLY AS HIDEOUS AS MOST OF HER—”

“Get the fuck outta my room!”

Eventually, Papyrus complied, leaving Sans with only his stupid, stupid thoughts for company. There weren’t enough permutations of “fuuuuck” to express what he was feeling, so he settled on staring at the windows and letting his head hit the wall some more.

He hadn’t lied to Papyrus. The picture wasn’t accurate: it didn’t show that her eyes were gray, or the way her nose scrunched when she was mad, or how her cheeks turned pink when he touched them. Looking at it always made him want to hold her, but it didn’t have her light, sweet scent or feel so damn soft that he forgot he wasn’t supposed to touch—

Fuuuuuck. She was here, but this was still bullshit! He’d felt a twinge in the spell framework and realized that someone was trying to get around one of his orders – probably by a lie through omission – but how was he supposed to know it was Proust? He never expected that whinging, craven little shit would avoid telling Frisk she was going to be married. She hadn’t had time to get used to the idea, weigh the pros and cons, maybe move past him threatening to kill her daddy as leverage…

Oh, who the hell was he kidding? Even if Sans had gone about this as honorably as he could, and even if she’d had a year to think it over, she never would have accepted him on her own. No matter what anyone said, he was still a monster, and she was still…

His mind veered off yet again to when he’d followed her through the garden. He’d been so thrilled that she was really here, but so terrified that the ideal he’d built up from one picture would fall short of reality; maybe he’d made an ass of himself, getting everyone to clean stuff up and get things out and plan it all down to the second for someone who’d drawn herself to look better than she really was. Maybe her dad was just being a dad and he’d actually spoiled her rotten, letting her take the credit for some actual housekeeper’s work. Maybe she wasn’t really that nice. Maybe this was a mistake.

So, faced with possible perfection, what did he do? He snuck up close enough to smell her, weirded her out, and then tried to play it off as a joke, which scared her even worse. And…

No, the picture wasn’t accurate. He’d been so stunned that he just stood there like a complete moron, not apologizing or helping her up or introducing himself, because she was so beautiful that he forgot to breathe. Of course she got scared and mad at him, and he didn’t know how to handle it because he didn’t know how to handle anything, so he just acted like himself, and—

He was going to kill Toriel if it was the last goddamn thing he did!

The wind was howling again. Sans wondered if it was keeping Frisk awake, assuming she could sleep at all after discovering she was going to marry him.

He looked at his bed, which had never had anyone but him in it, thank you, Papyrus—he’d enjoyed modest success in his sex life before that stupid fucking day with Asgore, but ever since, he found that being able to make people do anything he wanted was a massive turnoff. It felt creepy and pathetic and, well, wrong, even if he didn’t actually order anyone into the sack, or to do anything in it.

Now that he was going to have an actual wife – who thought he was a bully, hated and feared him – would that be any better? Maybe if he courted her well enough, let her see that he’d loved her before they ever even met, refrained from using magic to change her mind…

If that was the best he could do, then no, it wouldn’t be any better. Sans gave himself one last bang on the wall, kicked his boots off, and climbed onto the bed. “G’night,” he said out loud, and closed his sockets to wait for morning.

#hey i think i'll terrorize my way into a relationship #wait wHy DoESN't sHE LiKE Me

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delimeful · 4 years

Text

the end of being alone (2)

donation drive commission for @bumblebeekitten for the next chapter of TEOBA, with the prompt: patton & virgil fluff! hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!

chapter 1

warnings: miscommunication, false impression of a very bad situation for like .5 seconds, recklessness, sometimes you just gotta have a good cry

The next sunrise, they set out again, this time with considerably less weaponry and considerably more snacks. Roman held point again, since he was the one with the most practical experience in tracking.

There had been a somewhat tedious argument on whether or not Patton should come, one that Roman had thoroughly lost, since it was Patton’s quick thinking and emotional attunement that kept the previous cycle’s encounter from descending into disaster.

He had acquiesced in the end under the combined force of Logan’s reasoning and Patton’s disappointed look, but that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it. After catching barely a wink of sleep between restless nightmares, he was feeling more grumpy than generous.

Still, his own irritation faded as they grew closer to the rocky cliffs where he suspected the Human was, shifting into an intense concentration on the task ahead. It was a miracle that their initial encounter hadn’t gone sour, a miracle that this Human seemed young enough to be somewhat nonaggressive, and while he hoped that whatever they had said to scare the young kit off hadn’t irreparably damaged their budding acquaintanceship, he wasn’t counting on it.

He had his underarmor on for a reason.

The other two didn’t quite share his concerns. Logan’s arms had been in an excited, information-gathering flurry practically non-stop since they set out, and he and Patton had been discussing the plants and insects in the nearby forest that were relatively non toxic to them (and so would probably be no issue for a Human), and how many nutrients they would provide. None of them knew how much or what a Human needed to eat, but Patton seemed firmly of the opinion that whatever the kid was eating, it wasn’t enough.

“Fledgelings need plenty of food and the proper nutrients to grow up healthy! A lone child in the middle of one forest can’t possibly have all the variety they need in their diet,” the Ampen insisted, feathers fluffing up at the mere idea of a kid going hungry.

“Another important factor to note is the planet itself is not the child’s home, and so may not have the necessary nutrients available at all, let alone in one localized area,” Logan added.

“You two have enough variety in those packs to weigh down a mountain,” Roman interjected, “so how about we focus on not scaring the kid off before we even reach them. Human senses are ludicrously strong, enough so that they’ll hear you two yakking a parsec away.”

They agreed to be stealthier, and just in time, because Roman was pretty sure he’d found a more solid trail than the ghost-like faded prints that seemed all to trek over the place. He gestured in Crav’n sign for the two of them to stay put and stay quiet, and then followed the fresh tracks until they came to the mouth of a small cave amongst the crevices and steep drops of the pale cliffs.

He slowly stalked into the cave, keeping his movements light and quiet even as the light grew dimmer and his vision more restricted. Before it could grow too dim, however, his gaze caught on round, un-rock-like silhouettes.

It took a moment to identify the shapes as small, limp Humlilts, all piled up around the larger Human. He nearly physically recoiled at the sight. So, this was why the small creatures had gone missing: slaughtered en masse at the hand of a Deathworlder. Not for food nor shelter, not in defense of itself or others, just for the sake of the callous cruelty and disregard for life that Humans were apparently born with.

Humlilts were small, but Patton was scarcely bigger. Once the Human got tired of playing at mimicry, would it try to add the Ampen to the hoard of bodies?

He wasn’t going to lose another family.

Almost against his will, a low, near-subsonic growl rumbled out of his throat. He took one advancing step forward, and then…

And then, a tiny head poked up from the pile, small dark eyes staring at him over a long snout.

Roman nearly tripped over his own feet, astonished. There was still a living Humlilt in there?

Before he could even finish his thought, another head appeared, and then another, until there was a sea of fluffy faces and huge ears all pointed in his direction. The undersized ungulates were fine, each and every one of them. They had simply been sleeping, all cozied up with one of the most dangerous species in the universe.

Roman felt a strange and overwhelming mixture of relief and shame, his scales flattening down guiltily. It was too late, though, the movement had already rippled through the group until it reached the Human. Their creepy mask was absent in rest, and they pawed at their eyes sleepily as they sat up to see what all the commotion was about. There was a red mark on one of their cheeks from where it had pressed against the cave floor.

The moment they saw who stood at the entrance of their little nook, all the color drained from their face. The Humlilts shifted uneasily, and Roman found himself bracing to have thirty miniscule sets of horns charging at him. They couldn’t really hurt him, but they were persistent little things, and Patton and Logan would not be happy if a bunch of Humlillts tried to drive them away from the Human before they’d even properly spoken.

Instead of siccing the plethora of tiny mammals on him, though, the kid whistled a few notes in a perfect echo of the Humlilts all-clear call, settling them down. They carefully detangled themself from the pile, trailing a few stray twigs and leaves behind them in the process. Roman wondered absently how long they’d been building the collection of plant matter that covered them.

A few parting trills later, the kid was in front of him, holding their bony shoulders firm but unable to conceal the tremor in their legs. They raised their chin up in what looked like a friendly Crav’n greeting, but attitude-wise seemed more along the lines of a challenging stance.

“No hurt,” they said firmly before Roman could say a word. “No hurt small--,” a few words in their own language here, “--small good. No hurt. No hurt. Yes?”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Roman tried to reassure them, “I swore, remember?”

The kid stomped their foot once in… some kind of emphasis. “No hurt,” they started again with deliberate slowness, and then ended with the Humlilt whistle-greeting. Many of the Humlilts whistled back from where they were still observing the two of them. The small cavern echoed with the sound eerily.

“You don’t want me to hurt the Humlilts? The small creatures?” Roman asked, gesturing to the pile of fluff and hooves, and was rewarded with the kid seeming satisfied.

“Yes. Small good. Good good small. No hurt.”

Roman extended his hand palm up for another oath. “I vow not to harm your small good friends,” he intoned solemnly. The kid patted his hand twice, bobbing their own head in a curious motion. Roman could only imagine the sort of notes Logan would be taking.

Oh, right. He’d left the others in the bushes.

“I brought my friends, too,” he informed the kid, who blinked up at him. “Logan and Patton, remember them? Little critter?”

He said the last words in the chirps of the Ampen language, only a little strained by his accent, and the kid visibly brightened. “Little critter!”

“Wait right here, and I’ll get them,” Roman instructed, lowering a flat hand to convey wait. The kid probably didn’t really grasp it, but seemed content enough to stay put, shifting from one foot to the other.

It took no time at all to find Patton and Logan, who had progressively edged closer to the cliff face as he’d taken his sweet time in there.

“Okay, so,” he started, “I know where all the missing Humlilts went.”

---

Virgil shuffled his feet slightly, feeling the cool stone under his toes.

He should probably leave now, because even if the fluffy chirp alien really was there, they knew or at least suspected he was a human, and aliens hated humans. All of them, even the ones that looked soft like birds or cool like dinosaurs.

A soft, velvety nose poked up against his hand, and he squatted to gently pat the strange little singing puppy-antelope that had parted from the group to check on him. He couldn’t help but smile a little bit as it bumped its snout against his knee, sounding like a windchime.

Okay. Maybe not all aliens.

He looked up at the clitter-clatter of talons on rock, and then the fluffy chirping alien really did careen into view, feathers all puffed up like that very angry owl that had roosted outside his window for three whole hours one time. The other two bigger aliens came in only moments later.

Virgil couldn’t help but shrink back slightly from where he was still crouched, because aliens were weird and sometimes they did weird things that he didn’t really… get. Typically, this would be right before they started getting really mad or shaky, and screaming at him.

Before Fluff-Chirp could get any closer, though, the puppy-antelope had charged between them, planting its little legs and lowering its head so that the little horns were pointed out in warning. Virgil went still, eyes darting between Fluff-Chirp and the little creature, who he was pretty sure was the one with the white spot on its forehead, the one he’d named Susan after his nice neighbor.

The cool dinosaur alien had promised not to hurt them (he was pretty sure), but would it count if the puppy-antelopes attacked them first?

Fluff-Chirp stepped forward a little bit, and Susan let out a shrill cry like someone blowing really hard on a flute. Virgil clapped his hands over his ears as he attempted to whistle the calm-down sound, but Susan would not be budged, even as the other two aliens got all tense and twitchy.

In front of it, Fluff-Chirp stopped advancing, and instead plopped down on the ground with a soft thump. They ruffled in their bag, and Virgil was struck with the fear that they would pull out a space blaster gun to shoot Susan for trying to protect him. Hurriedly, he crawled forwards and threw his arms around the puppy-antelope (puppylope?) and hugged it close to shield it from any laser gun beams, his eyes squeezing shut.

There was a grunt-grumble from the cool dinosaur, and the click-click-click of the bunches of arms of the blue one moving around, but all he heard from Fluff-Chirp was shuffling, and then—

“Hello good morning,” the fluffy alien said. Or at least, that was what Virgil thought the birdsong-like words meant.

Fluff-Chirp always said it when waking up in their little camp, and Virgil had said it back, because that was just basic manners, especially when someone gives you stuff. Fluff-Chirp had given him a bunch of sweet sliced up fruit, kind of with the feeling of mangoes and the taste of strawberries. It had reminded him of home.

It… kind of smelled like Fluff-Chirp’s fruit now, actually.

—

Patton watched hopefully as the kid slowly opened one eye to peek over at them.

He hadn’t meant to scare the poor little guy by rushing in, he’d just been absolutely delighted to hear that not only would he get to see some Humlilts after all, but also that the kid seemed to have some company after all.

Some very loyal company, if the one threat-displaying at him was any indication. Patton was careful not to engage, particularly since further back in the cave, he could see a whole assembly of tiny, reflective eyes. Roman would probably just hold him up in the air if there was any real danger, but it was the principle of the matter. He didn’t want to upset the little guys!

Or the kid, who had finally spotted the dishes of fruit Patton had set out.

“You wanna come eat with me, little critter?” Patton offered, patting the ground near him.

“Little critter…,” the Human murmured. Their face was much more expressive now that it wasn’t mostly concealed by wood, and the kid looked painfully young. Probably no more than seven or eight sun cycles. Patton’s hearts twanged in sympathy.

Slowly, like they were waiting for the rug to be yanked out from under their feet, the kid scooted forward enough that they could grab a few pieces of the dana fruit, setting one down in front of the Humlilt to distract it. Patton eye-crinkled encouragingly, and took a piece of his own to nibble on.

“Do you remember me? I’m Patton. Patton,” he emphasized, ‘pat’-ing his own chest in example.

The kid paused mid-bite, and then swiped their wrist over their mouth before mumbling, “Patton,” back. Patton glowed with happiness.

“And that’s Logan,” he said, bolstered by one apparent success. Logan obligingly stepped forwards and gestured to himself.

“I am Logan,” he enunciated clearly.

The kid, who had stopped eating to focus wholeheartedly on this new task, scrunched his brow up. “I am Logan?”

“No, not quite,” Logan corrected gently. “Logan. I am Logan.” He cast a meaningful look to Patton.

“And I am Patton!” he added cheerfully, gesturing between the two of them. “Logan! Patton!”

“Logan,” the kid mimicked, looking at the Ulgorii and then the Ampen, “Patton.”

“You got it! Good job!” Patton noticed that the kid was very careful to keep their hands in their lap, and wondered if Humans were normally this withdrawn, or if exposure to other aliens had caused this reticence.

“Good job?” the kid echoed, wide eyed. They looked to Roman curiously, though only for a moment before dropping their gaze.

“I am Roman,” Roman surprised them both by beating them to the introductory punch.

“... Roman?” the kid offered, and got a chorus of nonsense praise for their effort. They bared their little teeth and clapped their hands together, and it took the three of them an alarmed pause and exchange of glances to realize that they weren’t, in fact, being threatened by a youngling.

“Joy? Or perhaps, contentment?” Logan was mumbling to himself. “The skin around the child’s eyes folds much like an Ampen expression of happiness, so…”

“It would make more sense to be happy after receiving praise, right?” replied Roman, who had gotten a bit bristly from nerves for a moment. Patton resisted the urge to elbow the both of them into not saying long, confusing sentences. Luckily, the kid seemed too occupied with their own thoughts to notice.

“Patton, Logan, Roman,” they recited, looking at each of them in turn. Then, very carefully, they reached up and patted their own chest. “Virgil. I am Virgil?”

There was a brief moment of stunned silence, and then Patton trilled in delight, clapping his hands in an echo of the Human’s gesture, in hopes that it would convey his own happiness and pride in the kid’s quick learning. The kid jumped, but then did that teeth-bearing smile again.

“Virgil!” he tested out, not quite getting the Human tones right, but that was okay because he could practice! “Virgil Virgil Virgil! Yes! That’s you!”

“I am Virgil!” the Human was practically bouncing in place as they matched Patton’s energy, and Patton couldn’t help but dart forward and try to bump his head to the Human’s affectionately.

Roman hissed something exceedingly panicked, but Patton was already using one of the Human’s bent legs to reach, and then he was brushing his antenna to the kid-- to Virgil’s forehead, and then the Human was lifting their arms slowly and curling them around him, and okay now Patton was a little bit concerned, but.

But, all Virgil did was lean into him slightly, arms bracing but not suffocating, and sniffle once, like they were holding back tears. Any resolve Patton had to not give his teammates stress ulcers faded away like dust in the wind, and he leaned in carefully and wrapped his arms around as much as he could reach of the kid’s shoulders and neck, which Roman would tell him was stupid dangerous because necks were weak points on Humans and they would absolutely react defensively--

Virgil promptly burst into tears, their chin coming to hook over Patton’s shoulder as a stuttering little wail worked its way out of their system. Patton made soothing nonsense croons and sung Ampen lullabies as the kid shuddered their way through a good cry, and tried not to feel too alarmed that unlike Ampens, Humans apparently leaked emotions while they cried.

Once Virgil had more or less settled down, they seemed completely wiped from the outpour of emotion, eyes drooping, body tilting to one side. For the first time since they’d arrived, the kid looked too wiped out to be nervous. Sure enough, only a few moments later, they shifted to curl up on their side, falling asleep on the cold stone easily.

Patton looked up at his teammates from where he was sitting in the center of the curled c-shape of the kid’s body, and offered them a sheepish shrug. “Well. Now we know that Humans can experience touch hunger?”

#sanders sides #ts patton #ts virgil #ts logan #ts roman #the end of being alone #teoba #donation drive #commissioned works #wibar #wibar au kid virgil #bumblebeekitten #space au #writing #my writing #i genuinely feel so soft writing this au #let virgil have hugs 2020

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pinkispoggers · 3 years

Text

New Girl || Lance Bishop x Fem!Reader

A/N: PLEASE READ!! ok, there's a few things I need to say before you get to reading. I have an alter named Bishop. He's my co-writer. I have DID. Please, if you don't know what that is, look it up to understand why some of the writing style is different than others. Second. I'm so sorry this took so long to write but that's because I was studying the Aliens script to write this, and had to watch the movie 2 times. 3rd the grammar sucks again and this is like a remake of the movie with a similar plot. I'm so tired but please don't comment about the writing style changing, that's probably Bishop's writing. Anyways please enjoy!

(Oh, and this is like the dumbest plot ever)

Tw: mentions of vomit, profanity, and the word "kill" and small violence, (and some death (gore)) Guns and of course Mr milk guts…

Words: 9.1k

You slowly wake up, yawning before you could notice anything in the room, but when you do, you see him, standing in the doorway, legs crossed and arms crossed, looking down at what you saw to be a plate with (a food you really like) on it. You smile widely. "You didn't have to!" You blush. "I kept my word" He smiled and looked down. You grab the fork as you sit up and dig in.

A few moments later

You finish your meal and he hops in bed with you. You gasp and smile as you hug him tightly, never wanting to let go but you had to if you wanted to kiss him. You smile and smash your lips on his and he kisses you back. You take a breather and he looks at you with care in his eyes. "I love you, Bishop, I just want you to know that." You whisper and he nods "me too Y/n" he smiles and kisses your forehead, putting his forehead on yours.

"I also watered the plant you have." He smiles and you mimic the gesture. "Aw, thank you Bishop" you say. "Do you want to go for a walk?" He asks and you nod. "After I get dressed, I would love to." You blush. You get up from your bed, fully nude. You go to get clothes but within seconds his arms are wrapped around you and his head is buried in your neck once more. But this didn't last long as you had to get dressed. You slip your shirt and pants on. You grabbed your wallet and headed out with him, hand in hand. "Wanna go to the mall?" You ask and he nods.

You hold his hand while you walk from your apartment, to the local park, skipping happily almost all the way there. You reach the flower field and you and him sit down on some soft grass, secluded from everyone else. No one was even at the park, just you and your synthetic boyfriend. You and him lie down on the grass and he does the same. You lie there, not saying a word for a few moments but he breaks the peaceful silence. "It's a beautiful day Y/n, isn't it?" He says and smiles. "It sure is!" You smile wider. He points out some cute shaped clouds and you laugh and point out another.

Without warning, you roll on top of him and he gasps. He looks up at you and smirks. No one is around so you can do whatever you want, but you choose not to. As you lay on his stomach, he flips you over to be on top of you. He kisses you deeply. "I love you Y/n'' he breaths and you smile on his mouth "Same here" you whisper as you continue to kiss him. This only lasts for a few moments as you remember what you said about 30 minutes ago. "We should probably start heading to the mall now." You say and he pushes himself off of you.

He stands up from the soft grass, pointing out one more pretty cloud. You stand and start running and laughing, knowing he is going to follow. He jogs after you, getting closer. You try your best to get away but as soon as you could process things, he scoops you up and swings you around once. You laugh and kiss him once more as he let's you down. You jog with him about 2 blocks to the mall.

You run in through the automatic doors but you pause when you see everything in there, you stop in your tracks. He catches up to you and hugs you from behind. You shake, not expecting that. "Oh, I'm sorry." He says and you grin "it's alright!" You say as you rush into a men's clothing store, and he follows you in. "Ooo oh! Bishop look!" You call to him and point to a black and gray striped shirt. "It looks… really nice!" He says and you smile and kiss him "wanna buy it?" You ask "Sure! You brought your wallet?" He asks and you nod. You also grab a few pairs of sweatpants and formal clothing. You head to the register and he goes to the other side of the shop and crosses his arms, waiting for you to finish paying.

As you finish paying and grabbing your bags, he grabs one from you, and you know he's trying to help and you smile. "May i?" He asks "Yes you may." You blush and you head out to other stores.

3 hours later

You call a Taxi and head home with what seemed to be a million bags. You were surprised that you could carry that much with his help of course. You arrive home at dawn, but there are 2 big black cars outside your apartment. "Y/n, I'm being pinged." He says slowly. You're so confused "pinged?" You ask and you don't even notice the large pair of hands grabbing you, and another set, Bishop. He doesn't say anything, but you are screaming for him. You get out of the pathetic grip of the person behind you, only to go up and hug Bishop, knowing what you have to do. The person doesn't try to grab you back so this is the perfect opportunity. You reach up and snatch the chip out roughly and put it in your pant pocket. No one noticed.

After you do that the hands pull you back and you don't say a word, knowing that you have him in your pocket, instead, you smile. The person escorts you up to your apartment, but while you were walking, you thought, how did they know he was here? The car he came in? Maybe, you had no clue. When you get inside you smile at the now known man that led you in and he just walks away "bitch" you mutter. You get in and immediately get a phone call. You rush to get your phone. It says WEYLAND-YUTANI CORPS. You honestly don't want to answer but you do.

It's a nice woman, asking how your day has been and how it goes now. "Listen Y/n, to cut to the chase, we need you on another mission. Hadley's Hope isn't responding. Again." She said and you sigh, barely wanting to do it, but you knew you would have the same crew, Bishop, Hicks, Apone, Hudson and more so you of course said yes and hung up without saying goodbye.

It's getting late so you head off to bed, only dreaming of Bishop, and wishing he was there, in bed with you.

2 days later and it's time to head into Cryosleep. You lie, not caring who was with you, but only caring about the journey ahead.

3 weeks later, sleeping peacefully with no interruption.

You rise from your chamber, slow and easy. You overhear a tiny conversation between Drake and an unnamed female, just before you feel the need to vomit all over the place, and you almost do, but you control yourself. You sit up and drag your heavy legs over the bedside and you see someone you know and love… or well, the same model you guessed. Bishop. You blush, but before you know it, that smile on your face turns into a frown.

You know it's him, and you know it's his same model, because he is the only synthetic of his line, named Bishop, which you could see on a screen in the far corner of the room. Your face flowers into a smile once more as you flood over with happiness. You were also happy because you were part of the team. You stand, in your underwear and a tank top and you hear Hudson and Apone fighting? If you could call it that.

You notice an unfamiliar woman staring at Bishop with a glint in her eyes. Something like… love? You get a rush of anger deep in your heart but you pay it no mind as you slip by them and rush over to your locker, just remembering what was inside. The chip. You grab that and your flight suit and move to the cafeteria.

You sit next to someone new today, a curly headed woman with light skin and beautiful eyes. You try to spark up a conversation but she doesn't answer. "Ok then" you snort. You look over to a sudden loud noise that is Hudson screaming. Bishop is playing the knife game with him of course. Why would he be screaming? It ends soon with a "Thank you" from the artificial person himself. He goes to sit down right next to the women you were trying to talk to, which was right across from you. You noticed the same woman from the locker room staring at Bishop. Her face was angry, probably because she didn't get to sit next to him, you thought. But again, you pay it no mind and try to ignore it.

"I thought you never missed, Bishop." Burke said with a scoff in his voice. The woman next to him was startled for a second, but her facial expression turned into a mix between shock and anger. "You never said an android was on board. Why not?" She said. "It never occurred to me." Burke replied. "It's common practice to have synthetic on board." He said calmly but Bishop's face turned into a slight frown, but then a smile as he said "I prefer the term "artificial person" myself." You were going to say something to Burke, to remind him that before Bishop said anything. "Right." Burke said with a nasty smile. "Is there a problem?" Bishop worried "I'm sorry." Burke breathed. "I didn't even... Ripley's last trip, the syn... The artificial person...malfunctioned." Burke said with a tone of worry in his voice.

"- Malfunctioned?" Ripley said, a bit surprised. "Ripley," you whispered and no one heard. Such a nice name, you thought. "There were problems and… a few deaths were involved." Burke lamented. Bishop opened his lips slightly, to come off as "I'm shocked." He turned to look at Ripley, then back at Burke. "Was it an older model?" Bishop asked. "Yeah. The Hyperdyne Systems 120-A-2." Burke answered and Bishop closed his lips and within seconds, "The A-2s always were a bit twitchy. That could never happen now with our behavioural inhibitors. It is impossible for me to harm, or allow to be harmed, a human being." He goes on, turning to Ripley, tray in hand "You sure you don't want some?" He asked.

As soon as he offered, she slapped the tray out of his hand and everyone in the room turned to look. You were surprised she had snapped. Maybe she wasn't so friendly after all. "Just stay away from me, Bishop. You got that straight?" She said angrily and he got up to go sit by the woman that was looking at him before and you sighed deeply, a spark of jealousy perking up in you. You turned your head to see her sparking up a conversation. You want to move but you don't want anybody to get suspicious of your intentions with him so you sit quietly, not eating any of the cornbread he had offered you earlier.

After Breakfast

You rush over to a few boxes where you wait for everyone to pile in. Ripley is standing in front of them with another Marine and Apone. Ripley is talking about our mission, going back to Hadley's Hope because they weren't responding… again but you barely listen. Only looking at that Bitch and Bishop together in the back, laughing together. You were furious now. But then you remembered that you had the chip. He would only love you, and nor her. He's loyal, right?. As Ripley finishes talking, you are still staring at him and the woman, until she and Apone motions everybody to move out.

You move to the back rooms, where you thought you were gonna be alone but as soon as you open the door, you honestly weren't surprised. It was Bishop and the girl. You are furious. They were sitting there, laughing at each other's jokes and things like that. "Excuse me?" You say and they notice you are there, her, holding in a laugh. Bishop got up and walked over to you. "Hello, I don't think we've met! I'm Bishop" He says softly. "I know" you say angrily. "Did I do something wrong?" He asks and you smile and stare dead at her. "No honey" you say, suddenly changing your tone, but still staring at her.

"Um…" She whispered "What the fuck" she said as her face contorted into a angry frown, but before she could say anything else, Apone barged in. "What is going on in here?!" He asks but before you or the girl could say anything, Bishop speaks. "Oh, I'm just introducing myself to Y/n and hanging around with Diana." Diana. Her name was Diana. Before you could even think of anything else, you thought of saying "Diana, more like Die-Ana" and you burst out with laughter. "What is so funny Y/n?" Apone asks, very seriously and you simply reply with "Oh nothing" and you slip past him, happy you made that bitch mad.

You overhear Apone telling Diana to get back to work and stop fucking around with the artificial person and you snicker under your breath. "Fuck" you mumbled, knowing that you still had the chip, but wondering what you were going to do when the time came to put it in. You see Ripley and you walk up to her slowly. "Hi!" You accidentally raise your voice and she shouts, turning around and shaking a bit. "Oh, I'm sorry if I scared you, I'm Y/n, you need anything?" You ask and she smiles gently "I'm sorry about what happened a little bit before this, I guess I just wasn't in the mood, I'm Ripley, and I don't need anything but thank you. And tell Bishop I'm sorry." She went on and you smiled.

"Yeah I can do that!" You say and she smiles widely.

30 mins later

Everything is in place and Apone is raising his voice for everybody to head into the M577 Armored Personnel Carrier, and you complied. You see Bishop heading in first and you, last. You strap into your seat next to Hicks and right across from Diana. You give her a mean stare and she catches your eyes. You try to start a convo with Hicks but he's asleep. "Well." You whisper, and the carrier heads off with a "Rodger!" From Bishop and you head out. The carrier pulls into a drop ship and they dive down into space, heading for LV-426, Hadley's Hope.

You set down on the planet and you feel sick from all the turbulence but you hold back your vomit. Apone rushes everyone to hop out and head in and you do as he said. Diana is a marine and you are a science officer, so is Bishop. You hide back with Bishop for a moment and Diana just stares at you "Well Marine, do as Apone says." You laugh and she growls at you like a fucking animal and you cringe as you look at Bishop with a smile and he smiles back, not processing what just happened. His mind is on something else, you thought.

You head in, walking and talking with him, having a pretty good conversation about life in general and how his goal in his "life" was to learn and grow more! It was very intriguing. "Oh! You remember Ripley right?" You ask "Well how could I not? I mentally cannot forget unless my memories are deleted." He said and you laugh "I know that silly. Well anyway, she said she was sorry for flipping out on you." You exclaim and his face lights up with a smile.

"Ah, thank you for telling me!" He says with a smile that could light up any room and it makes you blush. "I have a surprise for when we get inside, it has to be somewhere private." You whisper and his face lights up. "So… sex?" He whispers back. "When did you get such a dirty mind?!" You laugh. "So not what I'm thinking." He asks so politely "nope, definitely not" you smile. You head in, holding his hand all the way in, but you feel as if something or someone is watching you. When you make it to where the marines are and they are trying to catch something? A little… girl? You had no clue but they were very scared and you offered to help but it seemed like no one heard you.

You and Bishop head back and wait outside for the marines to come back. You start up a conversation with him and as soon as you know it, you are having a laugh with him, a light hearted talk with him, and you could tell it made him so happy that someone was treating him like he was a "human". You made him feel welcome, that was all he ever wanted. "So, Bishop, what was your early life like?" You ask and he smiles.

"Well I'm glad you asked! When I was… say, "born", all I remember was standing on a shute, and a beautiful woman on a keypad in front of me was murmuring something in another language. I said "Hello" but she wouldn't answer me back." He said with a frown. This seemed to be a slightly hard story for him to tell but you were intrigued. He sensed that and kept telling you the story. "Well, when she did answer, and after I asked some questions, mainly about the shute I was standing on, she got… worried? At Least that's what my database was telling me. She thought I was too curious? I don't know, but she told me about how the shute led to something that would disassemble malfunctioning Artificial persons like me." He went on and you felt sorry. He could have gone to that "room".

"Then she told me to walk into a room that had others like me, my same model. An artificial person named Rook greeted me. He told me the others were named Castle, King, and Knight." He said and you cut him off "someone likes chess!" You laugh and he mimics your gesture. "That's what I said!" He said and you laughed harder. "I was in my skin only. They gave me clothing and I pulled it on. They all pinged me to sit down on a long white couch, but I didn't. The room was all white too. They were like... brothers?" He exclaimed

"and why didn't you sit down?" You ask and he smiles "simply because I didn't want to." "But…" you stop and he takes that as a green light to speak "I'm just… different, maybe broken." He said and you frowned and hugged him. "You aren't broken, but you are very different, and that's what we love about you." "Thank you Y/n" he says as you hear faint screaming from inside the building.

"What was that?" You ask and he shrugs "I think it's better to wait here." He says. "People could be dyi-" you try to get out but before you could make out the rest of the words, the carrier came rolling out from inside the building and you screamed and Bishop grabbed you, careful not to hurt you, and quickly pulled you to the side so you wouldn't get hit. "Are you ok?!" He asks and you nod.

"We need to call a fuckin dropship, NOW!!" Hicks yells and you get a wave of anxiety. Ripley comes rushing out of the Carrier and you run up to her, leaving Bishop behind. "Ripley what is going on?!" You shout. "Those fucking aliens. We need a dropship!" She shouts back and you panic. Aliens? What the fuck was she talking about. You knew now that you should've listened to the speech she gave instead of worrying about Bishop.

You hear Burke and Hudson squabbling about something dumb, but you don't pay it any mind. You turn around and your eyes widen. Diana is in the middle of hugging Bishop, and looking right at you. Fuck you, you wanted to say but that would be unprofessional so you just stuck your middle finger towards her and she laughed. Oh, you were gonna get this bitch later.

About an hour later

You could see the dropship coming in close but something was wrong. It was a bit wobbly? It was coming in hot, and definitely not normal. You start running, and so does everyone else. Everything is coming down off of the ship and you cry out for everyone to move. You get out of the way, grabbing Bishop from Diana and rolling behind a rock with him, hugging him to protect him, and you. "Y/n, I'm ok!" He gasps out "Ok good!" You smile widely. "What the fuck are we gonna do now?" Somebody called. "Why don't we start a fire, and sing some songs!" Burke said annoyingly. "Shut the fuck up Burke" you call and his face turns to a frown and he shuts up.

It's been twenty minutes since everything had happened and Ripley motions you into a big base, with the little girl in hand, but before you could follow her in, "where were you Diana?" Hicks raises his voice at her. "We were all looking for you." He snaps. You had had a gut feeling that she was watching you and Bishop, but you didn't know if that was true, but you were going to assume it was. "She was watching me and Bishop." You blurt out and she rips her gaze away from Hicks and over to you. She gives you a glare and then looks back over to Hicks. "I swear I wasn-" she tried to say but he cut her off "I don't want to hear it. Let's go everyone!"

Diana rips Bishop's hand from yours and… kisses him, hard where no one but you sees. You could tell he was surprised, and had no say in this. You felt bad for him, but at the same time, you were fucking furious with her. It wasn't a competition for his love, but if he wanted to compete, you would gladly compete, and you knew you would win. You had the chip, and she didn't. You run in, looking back and winking at Bishop and he just smiles.

Bishop walks with Diana, and you behind into the building, having a chat. He parts ways with her to go into a room with the rest, but you head to what looks like the lab you guys were in last time you were here. You overhear Bishop talking, saying that he was heading to the mad lab. You make it there first and are already standing over the face hugger that Bishop was in the middle of dissecting, and right next to it, where you had the second best sex of your life. "Y/n?" A voice whispers. "Bishop!" You say and he smiles and comes over to hug you. This is the time! Now! You think and you reach to hug him.

Your hands slowly reach up to his neck and right before he can do anything, the chip is out. He's pretty much lifeless, not moving, but blinking. It was unsettling, but you had to do it, to get him back. You grab the chip from your pocket and slide it in the slot and he begins to power up. His eyes shut hard, and then open like the first time. His eyes, flawlessly human-like. When he opens his eyes, "Y/n!" He says as he goes in for a kiss and you let him. He backs off to speak "where are we?!" He asks and you smile and fill him in.

After you do, he stares blankly at something behind you. "Bishop?" You ask and he motions his eyes towards you. He slowly closes you into a corner and you get a wave of anxiety. "Bishop!?" You call out as his hands gently push you against the wall. You were already so touch starved so you didn't mind, but at the same time, you were scared, not knowing his intentions. "Now where were we?" He asked and chuckled. "Oh, so you want to have sex I'm guessing?" You whispered "Yes. Are you ok with this?" He asks "of course, but please ask before you make a move." You laugh.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I should have asked, I didn't mean to scare you!" He says with a sorry tone. "No, no, it's alright!" You laugh it off. "Ah ok!" He says with a smile. He pulls his arm from your chest and starts to pull his flight suit down. Once he gets it all down, yours is next. He unzips it and pulls it down with smooth, efficient movements with a little help from you of course. He grabs your legs and hoists them up to behind his head, now he's right in front of your heat. You are a little anxious even though you know he's seen you. You are also anxious because of the watching eyes you felt when you were outside with him and you weren't exactly comfortable with people watching you.

He pulls you closer to him as he leaves kisses along your thighs as he gets closer to you. When he reaches your sex, he leaves one gentle kiss on the top of your cunt. His tongue suddenly delved into you and he started pacing around your clit, making you shake. You reach for his hair while convulsing slightly, grabbing it and forcing his head towards you. His tongue speeds up against your clit, and you try your best not to shake anymore then you are already shaking.

"B- Ahh!!" You cry out. He takes this as a sign to go to the perfect pace, a pace that sent you to heaven. "Im-" you cry "please" He says, smiling on you. You burst out with moans of ecstasy. His tongue slows down, as he notices that's what you need. As you are coming down from your high, he's still working on you, but now, teasing you with two fingers right above your entrance. You noticed what he was doing as soon as you could see straight. "Please" you whine and with sudden moments, his fingers are in you, slowly pumping in and out, curling as they do.

"Mfh!" You cry out and he speeds up, but then stops suddenly. "Bishop?" You ask and he turns his head suddenly. "I heard something," He says. "Please continue" you say softly and he lowers you to hip level. "Shit Bishop" you moan as you look at his perfect shaft. He lines himself up with you, smearing pre cum all over you to lube you before he thrusts into you. As he's holding you with strong arms, your arms go over his head and he snaps his hips into you at an alarmingly fast speed. "AH!" You scream out.

"I love you Y/n" he says softly and the butterflies that were in your stomach were fluttering around fast. "I love you too!" You smile. He starts off with an achingly slow pace and you arch your back as best as you can. He uses the power of his upper body to lift you up and down on his cock, while still trusting at a normal pace now. He takes one arm off of your hips to finger your clit. "Ohhhh" you moan. You are a moaning mess under him, but you still hold onto yourself as best as you can.

He's leaving kisses wherever he can, mostly sucking on your neck to leave Hickeys, noticeable ones. "Faster!" You shout and he complies. He's thrusting into you at animalistic speeds and you are literally living your sexual dreams. "OoOH!" You moan and he smiles "you like this don't you" he asks and you nod while shaking in front of him. He licks a trail of artificial saliva up your neck and gently bites your ear and you scream out, gripping him, hard.

"Mmh" He grunts. "You feel amazing" He says as his head rolls back. You blush. "L- Let's change positions!" You call out and he slides you off of his shaft, gently. You point to a small mattress that definitely wouldn't fit both of you but you had an idea. He carried you bridal style over to the bed and to your surprise, flipped you so that you were facing the wall, stomach on the bed. "Like this?" He asked "exactly" you smile and he lines himself up and pushes in.

He continues his thrusts, very fast, but it stops suddenly. "Bishop?! What's wrong?" You ask, a little mad, but it's hard to be mad at him. He's not usually like this unless he thinks someone is in danger, or if he hears something. Then you hear it, small footsteps. "Shit," you mutter and he pulls out of you, concerningly slow and just stands there, awkwardly. You get up fast and try to cover yourself with a nearby blanket, quickly wrapping it around yourself as a figure steps in the room. "You BITCH" The figure says as she makes herself clear. Diana. Of course it has to be fucking Diana. Your face switches from panic to a shit eating grin. Not even giving a shit that she just caught you having sex with him, but that you won him over completely, like it was a game.

"Awwww are you mad Diana?" You ask and she just looks at you like she's ready to kill you, but with tears brimming her lashes. You started to walk towards her but Bishop grabbed your arm "Please Y/n, don't." He says, not exactly knowing what you were going to do. "Please" He says with a reassuring voice and you decide to stay back. Tears were falling down her face, but she was also angry. Diana runs away down the hall and out of sight. "Are you ok?" Bishop asks. "Yeah! I'm fine" you shake off what just happened with a smile. His hand lands on the wall behind your head "would you like to continue where we left off?" He asks and you shake your head no. He frowns, but he understands.

You slip under his hand and he doesn't stop you. You slip on your clothes and start a long conversation with him about what had been going on when he was gone. It's been 4 hours with you both trying to dissect a facehugger, which is quite a pain then you hear a buzzing in his ear. "they are pinging us over." He says. When you get there, Ripley is with Hudson and Vasquez fooling around and joking. Bishop went over to Ripley as she motioned him to.

"Now let me get this straight.

The aliens paralyzed the colonists, carried them over there, cocooned them to be hosts for more of those…" Ripley points at the stasis cylinders containing the face-hugger specimens. "Which would mean lots of those parasites, right? One for each person...over a hundred at least." She asked

"Yes. That follows." Bishop says "But these… things come from eggs...so where are all the eggs coming from?" Ripley asks and pauses "That is the question of the hour. We could assume a parallel to certain insect forms who have hivelike organization. An ant of termite colony, for example, is ruled by a single female, a queen, which is the source of new eggs." He says.

"You're saying one of those things lays all the eggs?" Ripley asks.

"Well, the queen is always physically larger than the others. A termite queen's abdomen is so bloated with eggs that it can't move at all. It is fed and tended by drone workers, defended by the warriors. She is the center of their lives, quite literally the mother of their society." Bishop runs on. "Could it be intelligent?" She asks.

"Hard to say. It may have been blind instinct...attraction to the heat of whatever...but she did choose to incubate her eggs in the one spot where we couldn't destroy her without destroying ourselves. That's if she exists, of course." Bishop says plainly. Ripley ponders the ramifications of Bishop's analysis. Ripley rises "I want those specimens destroyed as soon as you're done with them. You understand?"

Bishop glances at the creatures, pulsing malevolently in their cylinders. "Mr. Burke has instructions that they were to be kept alive in stasis for return to the company labs. He was very specific." Bishop says and Ripley feels the fabric of her self-restraint tearing. She slaps the intercom switch. "Burke!" She calls out and you look over at Bishop with a grin "He's in deep shit" you laugh and he laughs with you.

Everyone leaves the room so you and Bishop are alone, making things… well you can't say awkward. He walks over to you slowly. "Do you need something?" You ask but he doesn't answer. He reaches you and a hand crosses your neck, to the wall behind you like before. Then he twitches suddenly. "Bishop what's wrong?!" You call out but he doesn't answer. You try to push him away, but he won't budge, and then his eyes go blank and you can finally push him off of you. You stand behind him, clueless to what is happening. "Shit" you murmur. Then it hit you.

You reach up to the back of his neck and pull the chip out and he stands straight, not moving. You had to be quick about this though, for people might walk in. You rush over to get a hot glue gun from the side of the room as it seemed like it had everything in it. You grab the gun and start to try to fix the growing tear in the chip. Once you are done with that, you walk over to him but you feel that you are being watched… again. You turn around suddenly but there's no one there. "Ok…" you whisper but then a small hand grabs your shoulders and spins you around, just to slap you.

"Excuse me!" You shout at the person in front of you. It's obviously Diana, because who else would slap you that hard? "What the fuck is wrong with you, you whore!" She screams. You have no words, or any before she said something else. She looks over at Bishop, terrified. "What the fuck did you do? I watched you!" She calls out. "Why the fuck were you "watching" there's something seriously wrong with you Diana." You say calmly. "Nothing is wrong with me Y/n, it's you being a whore that's wrong with you." She said angrily as she stomped over to the lifeless artificial person like a child. "How am I a whore when I made love to him, and only him?"

"Well… i- ya know what, I'm gonna tell everyone that you slept with him" she smiled well she observed him. "Ok?" You pause "I couldn't give two fucks if you did or not… honestly" you give her a shit eating grin, practically begging her to tell everyone, knowing they aren't gonna give a fuck, so you let her. She leaves and you get back to what you were doing. You were supposed she didn't give a shit about what you were doing to him, or how you were helping him. You've been hiding the chip behind you while Diana was acting like a toddler. You go over to him and put it in, having to reach past his soft hair.

He powered up again and turned around, looking sad. "What's wrong hun? What's that look for?" You ask and giggle. "I'm sorry, it was an error in the chip. I'm trying to fix it." He smiled. You go up to kiss him and he gently lays his lips on yours for a moment then let's go and his hands, especially one finger, vibrates. You worry. He never shakes like that. "What's up with your hand?" You ask and he shakes his head with a frown. "My sexual functions are simulating rubbing you off. I'm sorry." He says and you almost snort "I'm sorry, so you're telling me you could have used that when we were fucking?! Woah, that's actually really cool." You say, louder than intended. "Well, next time tell me and I can." His smile widens and you nod.

"Shit!" You say and he turns his head back at you "I filled you in about what's going on right now, and why they need you right now? Right?" You ask. "Affirmative" He smiles. "Well let's go! Vamonos!" You say and he follows you out.

Ripley and Hudsons side

Mixed with the echoing crash-clang is a nerve-wrecking SCREECH of claws on steel. The intercom buzzes, startling them. "Bishop here. I'm afraid I have some bad news." He says over the coms. "Well, that's a switch," Hudson laughs.

You walk into the room with Bishop and he goes over to the window where Ripley and Hudson stand. You stand over to the side, just watching them. You overhear the conversation. It's hard not to listen.

"That's pretty Bishop, but what are we looking at" Ripley asks "That's it. See it? Emergency venting." Bishop answers as you see big blueish steam rising from outside somewhere. "How long until it blows?" Ripley asks "I'm projecting total systems failure in a little under four hours. The blast radius will be about thirty kilometers. About equal to ten megatons." Bishop runs on.

Before anyone could say anything more, Diana rushes in. The fuck does she want, you thought. "Do you need anything?" Ripley sighs. "She fucked him!!" Diana called out. "Who fucked who?" Hudson asked, confused. "Y/n" she breathed hard. You can tell she ran here. "She fucked Bishop" she panted and Hudson looked shocked. "Y/n…?" He said quietly. "C,mhere!" He shouted as he raised his fist for a fist bump and you did, and gave him one, while smiling from ear to ear.

"You gotta tell me about it when we get back!" Hudson said and you laughed and shook your head "Nah, I'd rather not" you smile and look back at Diana. Ripley just smiled, glad for you, but seeming stressed at the moment. Diana was furious, thinking all of them would be mad, and you, humiliated. Vasquez was also smiling. "We got problems." Hicks calls "I don't fucking believe this." Hudson says and you roll your eyes. "Do you believe this?" Hudson replies to himself "And it's too late to shut it down?" Ripley asks, not paying any attention to Hudson. "I'm afraid so. The crash did too much damage. The overload is inevitable, at this point." Bishop says.

"Oh, man. And I was gettin' short, too! Four more weeks and out. Now I'm gonna buy it on this fuckin' rock. It ain't half fair, man!" Hudson exclaims "Hudson, give us a break. They watch as another gas jet lights up the fog-shrouded landscape. "We need the other drop-ship. The one on the Sulaco. We have to bring it down on remote, somehow." Ripley says, looking at Hicks

"How? The transmitter was on the APC. It's wasted." Hudson cries. "I don't care how! Think of a way. Think of something." Ripley paces "Think of what? We're fucked." Hudson cries out again in-between some "Shut up"s from Hicks. "What about the colony transmitter? That up-link tower down at the other end. Why can't we use that?" Hicks asks "I checked. The hard wiring between here and there was severed in the fighting." Bishop answers.

Ripley is wound up like a dynamo, her mind spinning out options, grim solutions. "Well then somebody's just going to have to go out there. Take a portable terminal and go out there and plug in manually." Ripley says to which Hudson's face turns grim. "Oh, right! Right! With those things running around. No way." He says and you could hear someone muttering something, then they spoke up. "I'll go." Bishop says quietly. "What?" Ripley asks "I'll go" Bishop repeats himself.

"I'm really the only one qualified to remote-pilot the ship anyway. Believe me, I'd prefer not to. I may be synthetic but I'm not stupid." Bishop smiles for a moment, seeming to be proud of himself. "All right. Let's get on it. What'll you need?" Ripley asks. You turn your head away and walk with them into a med lab.

Vasquez and Hicks

"Listen." Vasquez shushes. It's stopped. They listen. Nothing. An instant later comes the high pitched shrilling of a motion-sensor alarm. Hicks looks at the tactical board. "Well, they're into the complex." Hicks says plainly

INT. MED LAB 130

One of the acid holes from the colonists' siege has yielded access to subfloor conduits. Bishop lying in the opening, reaches up to graph the portable terminal as Ripley hands it down to him. He pushes it into the constricted shaft ahead of him. She then hands him a small satchel containing tools and assorted patch cables, a service pistol and a small cutting torch. "This duct runs almost to the up-link assembly. One hundred eighty meters. Say, forty minutes to crawl down there. One hour to patch in and align the antenna. Thirty minutes to prep the ship, then about fifty minutes flight time." Bishop goes on. "Great" you sigh and he looks back at you with a grin. "Wanna come along?" Bishop asks and you nod

Ripley looks at her watch. "It's going to be closer. You guys better get going." "See you soon, C’mon Y/n!" he says cheerfully as he squirms into the shaft, pushing the equipment along ahead of him with a scraping rhythm. The diameter of the conduit is barely larger than the width of his shoulders. Then you get in, doing the same. Vasquez slides a metal plate over the hole and begins spot welding it in place. Bishop and you look back as the welder seals you guys in. He sighs fatalistically and squirms forward. Ahead of him the conduit dwindles straight to seeming infinity. Like being in the bore of a very long Howitzer. You say nothing as you crawl along.

When you finally make it there, it's very windy and cold, lightning everywhere.

hunched against the wind at the base of the telemetry tower. He has a test-bay panel open and the portable terminal patched in. His jacket is draped over the keyboard and monitor unit to protect it from the elements and he is typing frenetically. "Now, if I did it right…" He whispers to himself He punches a key marked "ENABLE." And the ship is off

10 mins later

"Bishop, you read me? Come in, over." A voice says through the coms, it's Hicks. There is a long pause then Bishop's voice, almost unintelligible with interference, comes over the radio. "Yes, I read you. Not very well... " Bishop replys.

Bishop is huddled against the base of the telemetry mast, out of the wind which is now gusting viciously. "The ship is on its way. ETA about sixteen minutes. I've got my hands full flying…" Bishop raises his voice over the coms. the weather's come up a bit. Bishop's fingers are blurring over the terminal keys and he squints, watching the screen as the flight telemetry updates rapidly. In the b.g. the AP station has become a raging demon, wreathed in boiling steam and electrical discharges. "All right, stand by there. We're on out way. Over." Hicks says and he's out.

You turn to Bishop, wind almost blowing your face away, a single tear falling down your face, and a smile on your lips. You started a nice conversation with him, telling him what happened while he was gone, or dormant. "So you're telling me this other Bishop told you about the time I was "born"?" He said, barely audible over the high winds. "Yep, all of it." You yell over the winds. He seemed surprised, he knew he would have told you if you had asked and laughed.

"Shit, we gotta go, it's gonna be here soon" you say and you rush out of there.

Drop-ship two descends toward the landing grid, side-slipping in hurricane gusts. Bishop stands, guiding it with the portable terminal. The ship sets down hard. Slides sideways. Stops. Bishop turns as Ripley and Hicks stumble out of a doorway in the colony building behind him. He goes to them, helping to support Hicks and they run toward the ship, buffeted by the gale. Ripley shouts, her words barely audible over the wind. "HOW MUCH TIME?" Ripley yells "PLENTY! TWENTY-SIX MINUTES!" Bishop answers. "WE'RE NOT LEAVING!" Ripley says and Bishop's facial expression is… from what you can see, confused. "WE'RE NOT?"

You step to Bishop's side once again. "Where is everyone?" You ask, trying to be as calm as possible "Dead. Let's go." Ripley said with a flat tone.

The loading ramp deploys and they run into the ship. An infernal engine, roaring out of control. Steam blasts and swirls, lightning zaps around the superstructure and columns of gas thunder hundreds of feet into the air. You look up in astonishment. If you had more time, you would have stayed and stared at it, but you had no time for that.

Ripley finishes winding tape around a bulky object and drops the roll. She has crudely fastened a M-41A assault rifle together, side by side, with a flamethrower. A massive, unwieldy package of absolute firepower. Her movements are precise...determined. She works rapidly, snatching magazines, grenades, belts and other gear from the fully stocked ordnance racks of the drop-ship.

Bishop comes out from the pilot's compartment to help Hicks dress his injuries. Hicks is laid out in a flight seat, the contents of a field medical key, strewn around him. He's out of the game...contorted with pain. "Ripley…" Bishop sighs "She's alive. They brought her here and you know it." Ripley says "in seventeen minutes this place will be a cloud of vapor the size of Nebraska." Bishop sighs again. Ripley is stuffing gear rapidly into a satchel, her hands flying. "Hicks, don't let him leave." Ripley eyes Bishop "We ain't going anywhere." Hicks said, grimacing in pain. Ripley runs down the ramp, crossing the platform to the open doors of a large freight elevator. The doors close.

You felt really bad for him, standing over him. He was one of your friends. You went to go stand out on the bridge of the drop-ship. "What the fuck?" You ask yourself as a small figure approaches the dropship. "Diana, what-" you try to make out the figure and sure enough, it's her. "Oh fuck" you blurt out. "What's up?" Hicks says painfully. "It's Diana" you sigh as you see her flap her arms in the air to try to get your attention. "I'd- I'd say shut the damn door, but that would be rude" Hicks tried to laugh. When she reached the bridge, she hopped on and ran straight to Bishop, who was still treating Hicks's wounds. She tried to hug him but he gently pushed her off.

"What's wrong hun?" She says. "What? Please don't call him that." You say, trying not to get annoyed. You could tell Hicks was enjoying this squabble since he was not trying to break it up. "I can call him whatever I want." She said as she walks up to you and slaps you for the second time today. "Fuck you" you say softly and punch her square in the bridge of her nose and she passed out right away. "Y/n!?" Bishop called. "Holy shit" Hicks said and you just smiled as she's laid out on the floor.

Bishop rushes up to the pilot's chamber and starts the ship. "What are you doing?!" You yell "the platform is getting unstable!" He calls back to you. "But Ripley?" You say and you get no answer.

30 minutes later

You just sit in your seat, Diana still passes out and you sigh "Damn, this bitch." Bishop let's down the ship and you gasp. The doors open and Ripley and the girl run in

Ripley leaps into a seat with the girl, cradling her. Begins strapping in. Bishop wrestles with the controls. The landing legs retract, ripping free. Ripley slams her seat harness latches home. "Ripley!" You say as she turns her head to you and then Diana. "Shit, what happened?" She asked and you told her everything and she just sat there with no words.

"Punch it Bishop!" She called

The entire lower level of the station disappears in a fireball. The air vibrates with intense heat waves and concussion. The drop-ship engines fire. Ripley is slammed back in her seat. The ship vaults out and up, Bishop standing it on its tail, pouring on the gees. Ripley and Newt see everything shake into a blur.

30 minutes later

Diana finally woke up, just staring at you the whole way to the Sulaco, probably not knowing what happened.

Bishop stands behind Ripley as she kneels beside a comatose Hicks. "I gave him a shot, for the pain. We'll need to get a stretcher to cart him up to medical." Bishop says. Ripley nods and, picking up the little girl, precedes Bishop down the aisle to the loading ramp. "I'm sorry if I gave you a scare but that platform was just becoming too unstable…" Bishop continues as they move down the ramp. "I had to circle and hope things didn't get too rough to take you off." He says. Ripley turns to him, stopping part way down the ramp. She puts her hand on his shoulder. "You did okay, Bishop." Ripley says. "Well, thanks, I-"

He notices a tiny innocuous drop of liquid splash onto the ramp next to his shoe. SSSSSS. Acid. Something bursts from his chest , spraying Ripley and you with milk-like android blood. It is the razor-sharp scorpion tail of the alien queen. Driven right through him from behind. Bishop thrashes, seizing the protruding section of tail in his hands, as it slowly lifts him off the deck. Above them the Queen flowers from its place of concealment among the hydraulic mechanisms inside one landing-leg bay.

It blends perfectly with the machinery until it begins to emerge. Seizing Bishop in two great hands it rips him apart and flings him aside, shredded, like a doll. It descends slowly to the deck, the rotating lights shining across its shiny black limbs, dripping acid and rage. Still smoking where Ripley half-fried it. The Queen is huge, powerful...and very pissed off. It descends slowly, its six limbs unfolding in inhuman ways.

"BISHOP!" You scream as you try to run over to him but Diana grabs your collar and pulls you back, making sure she's there first, but before she can make it, the razor sharp tail slices her straight in half, blood spilling and guts falling out of her and tears stream down your face. "HOLY SHIT" You scream and freeze in place.

You and the little girl run for cover. The Alien drops to the deck, pivoting toward the motion. Ripley waves her arms, decoying. You and the girl get under I grate, trying to hide from the creature, but, you see a big hand trying to rip the grates up and you try not to scream as you rush down the system. As you are trying to get away, the clawing stops and you do the same, and so does the little girl. You hear a stomping on the ground from above and the creature turns around from the grates. "Get away from them you Bitch!" Ripley says from about ant the "Queen" runs towards Ripley. This is your time to escape with the girl. You run from the queen and pick up the girl as you do it.

You see Ripley in a power loader "Holy shit" you mutter, and Bishop, violently torn in two.

Ripley pulls her arm out of the controls of the loader and claws toward a panel of airlock actuating buttons. She punches the red "INNER DOOR OVERRIDE" and latches the "HOLD" locking-key down. A KLAXON begins to sound. She hits "OUTER DOOR OPEN" and there is a hurricane shriek of air as the doors on which they are lying separate, revealing the infinite pit of stars, below.

The girl and you scream as the hurricane airstream sucks you and her across the floor toward the airlock. Bishop, torn virtually in two, his pasta-like internal organs whipped by the wind, grips a stanchion and reaches desperately for the girl as she slides past him, but not you as his hands are full. He catches her arm and hangs on as she dangles, doll-like, in the airblast. You grab onto a grate, also dangling like the girl. You don't know what is happening but as soon as you know it the airlock is closing with shrieking winds.

When It finally does close, Ripley emerges from the pit, not in the power loader at the moment. She lies on her back, drained of all strength. Gasping for breath. Weakly, she turns her head, seeing Bishop still holding Newt by the arm. Encrusted with his own vanilla milkshake blood. Bishop gives her a small, grim smile.

"Not bad for a" He gurgles "human." He winks.

The little girl is called out for Ripley, calling her mommy, to which Ripley grabs her, like a mother and her child, and cradles her, spinning her around and hugging her tightly, careful not to hurt her.

You smile at Bishop, hurting just looking at him, but you gather the strength to go over to him, and kiss him on his, also encrusted lips and he smiles back

Ripley is carrying Newt on her hip, and you are carrying Bishop's top half, In your arms to the Cryogenic chambers and lie him in it, in a big plastic-like bag. But before you close it, he blurts out three simple, but complicated words. "I love you" he says and before you can say it back, he shuts himself down and you begin to cry while you walk over to yours. Ripley lies Hicks in one of the chambers next to her and Newt in another, having a little conversation before her, and you both get into your own chambers and drift off to sleep, but you, with one tear rolling off of your face. It's been a tough journey, but you are just glad you made it.

Tag List: @soggy-enchilada (hi! So ik I'm tagging you in all of this so I'm sorry, it just seemed like you were interested!)

#lance bishop #bishop x reader #lance bishop x reader #aliens #smut fanfiction #aliens movie #fanfic #robot love #robot/human relationships #smut #lance henriksen

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98prilla · 4 years

Text

Deathworlder Down

Set in @delimeful 's wonderful WIBAR AU. Virgil gets sick, and the others struggle to help him, not only with his illness, but the clear underlying emotional issues.

AO3

...

It was quiet, on the Mindscape.

Logan was reading, absently twirling his fingers and hands as he studied, recording information, though he was certain most of it would prove false, as it was the little that was reported about humans. Most were comparable to ghost stories or urban legends, but there were a few that seemed more credible, that he hoped would give some more insight into humans in general.

Roman was off working out somewhere, sparring, he insisted it was just to keep sharp, but they all knew it was because he didn’t trust the human on board not to go feral and kill them any second, despite Virgil’s rather shy and withdrawn personality. Still, at least he was getting his aggression out elsewhere, and not by actually fighting or snarking at the true object of his emotions. He was doing better, still, Logan would give him that, but there was a long way to go.

He could hear Patton pitter pattering about in the kitchen, chirping and warbling to himself, making his lips twitch up into a smile. It had been far too quiet, without the little Ampen aboard, too much silence to drown in. It was a comfort he hadn’t realized he’d grown accustomed to, hearing Patton hum and chirp and sing all day. Now it was also a relief, a steady reminder their friend was back home, safe and sound, and he frowned again, thinking of how close they had come to losing him for good. That they would have, had it not been for Virgil.

Speaking of…

“Patton?” He asked, stepping into the kitchen, the Ampen stopping his trilling as he set the kettle on the stove, giving him one of his warm, happy smiles, that seemed to actually light up the room.

“Yeah, Lo? Everything ok?” Patton’s antennae twitched slightly, and he focused back on the present.

“Yes, I believe so, I was simply wondering if you’d seen Virgil today. He is usually awake by now. I was hoping to discuss some… perhaps sensitive topics, that I picked up on during our vidi.”

It was true. He hadn’t seen much, with how fast it had all turned, and spiraled out of hand, and though Virgil and him had been having question and answer sessions, the ones he really wanted to ask seemed more… personal. So, he’d kept them to himself, and simply continued his observations, and studied up on the information available to him.

And what he’d noticed was… concerning, to say the least. He was certain the human wasn’t sleeping enough. Unlike most species, humans could run on limited sleep for an extended period of time, but he was slowly becoming aware that just because humans had the capability to do something, didn’t mean it was natural or good for them to do it. They could survive grievous injuries that would have killed any other species, but it came at great physical and mental cost. They could survive intense radiation, but they would sicken slowly and die. They could imbibe substances that a single sip would be deadly to himself, but even in small amounts, it inhibited a human’s survival instincts and weakened them.

So just because Virgil was running on, at his best guess, four to five hours of sleep a day, didn’t mean that was anywhere near the healthy range of a human’s normal requirements. He’d noticed some of the side effects so commonly, he’d thought they simply were how humans were, until the Vidi gave him glimpses at others, who lacked the bags under their eyes, the deep bruising, that Virgil always had. Virgil was often unsteady on his feet, “light headed” he called it, he often stared out into space for minutes at a time, without registering anything that was said or happening around him, he ran into things, doorframes, corners of furniture, he stumbled and often had to lean against something to regain his balance.

The other issue was his diet. Logan was absolutely certain that Virgil was not eating nor drinking enough. With his permission, he’d taken his heart rate, he’d calculated how many calories his body must burn, at the least, throughout a day. With no physical activity, no exertion, the very base level of sleep, Virgil was missing at least hundreds, if not nearly a thousand, necessary calories, and that was if he were in a relaxed state, which he never was. The human was endlessly jumpy and frightened and twitchy, and he had admitted that his heart rate was much higher than it should be, most of the time, due to his constant state of high alert. But despite this, he ate nearly the least at meals, always pushing food around his place, making excuses to take small portions, at least half the time Logan was certain he hadn’t eaten at all until he was forced to at their daily dinner together, and only then because he didn’t want to upset Patton. Based on his limited understanding, Virgil was immensely underweight and incredibly sleep deprived, both dangerously unhealthy states for humans.

“oh! I peeked in on him a bit ago. He'd just woke up, said he was going to take a shower. I’m kinda surprised he isn’t out here yet.” Patton frowned, his feathers fluffing in distress.

“I see. I'll go check on him, Patton. Save me a cup?” He smiles as Patton’s face lights up again, only half surprised as Patton jumps at him, hugging him. He carefully supports the Ampen, holding him close, allowing his head to rest against Patton's small, fluffy shoulder.

“Thanks, Lo. For looking out for him.” Patton mumbled, as Logan let him go, setting him back down on the counter.

“Of course, Patton. It’s the least I can do. He deserves to not only be safe, but feel safe. I am happy to help make that happen.” Patton's feathers pulsed his trademark light blue, a sign of happiness, that made Logan’s hands flutter, trying to record the warmth in his chest, as he turns away.

…

He woke up with a groan, pushing the cupboard door open, jumping as his door opened, hitting his head against the back of the cupboard at the sudden movement, breath speeding wildly, before he registered Patton’s head poking in, concerned eyes on him.

“Hey, kiddo. Just checking in. Everything ok?” He sighed, but pushed back his exhaustion, summoning a small smile, making it as reassuring and genuine as possible, not difficult, faced with a small ball of fluff.

“I’m alright, Pat. Just catching up on some zee’s. Was gonna go shower.” Patton nodded, hopping into his arms for a quick snuggle, before chirping a happy goodbye and vanishing out the door.

He slumped back against the pylon behind him with another groan, rubbing his hands across his face, then up into his hair, wincing as he felt his hair stick straight up, matted with sweat. He’d stayed in bed far later than usual, but he hadn’t slept more. The night had been plagued with nightmares and sleep paralysis, filling him with terror so deep he couldn’t even scream, could merely panic until he passed out once more, tossing and turning restlessly.

He felt shivery, cold, and his head spun just a bit as he stood, his stomach turning at the motion, vertigo rocking him as he leaned against the wall for a moment, trying to get his bearings.

“fine. I’m fine.” He muttered, taking a few deep breaths in and out, before making his way to the door, listening for a few moments to make sure he couldn’t hear Roman anywhere nearby, he didn’t think he could handle the Crav’n in his current state.

Which was normal and healthy and perfectly fine. He had to be fine.

He made it to the bathroom with minimal stumbling, his vision barely swimming in and out, as he stripped, and turned on the water, hot enough it would probably burn any other members of their little band, but he just sighed in relief as he stepped in, letting the water run over him, soothe the aches building in his muscles. He let out a sigh, halfheartedly scrubbing at his hair, zoning out as he watched the steam.

As he watched, it seemed to form a shape, to swirl into a nebulous form, and his breathing stuttered, heart stopping, as he stared in fear at the suited figure, one of his captors, a needle stabbing down towards him, and he flinched back, the world blurring and swirling and fading out around him, static roaring through his ears, his heart racing as static filled his vision as well. Distantly, he heard knocks, someone maybe calling his name, then he felt his legs give out, his head hit something hard, and the world went black.

…

“Virgil? Are you alright?” He heard a loud thump, a crash, and his eyes widened, knocking again. “Virgil? If you do not answer me, I am going to enter. Virgil!” Nothing. He threw open the door, breath catching, freezing in place at the sight.

Virgil was sprawled across the bathroom floor, unconscious. His breathing seemed somewhat labored and shallow, and he could hear the slight wheeze to it from the doorway. What caught his eye first were the endless collection of scars, all across his body, covering nearly every inch of his skin, and it turned his stomach, it made him sick, the level of trauma and abuse Virgil must have endured. He’d known it wasn’t good, known he’d been a lab rat, an experiment, a being to harvest then sell off the parts once he was drained dry, but knowing it and seeing the scars, the marks of old burns from the stun batons, was something else entirely. And nothing Virgil had said had indicated the violence against him to be to this extent. He felt another surge of appreciation, for Virgil having protected Patton.

The second thing, that finally forced him into motion, was the small pool of red forming around the human’s head, likely where the back of his skull had impacted with the floor. Quickly, he grabbed a towel from off the rack, and rolled Virgil onto his side, wiping away the blood from his neck and hair, to see where to apply the pressure. He breathed a sigh of relief as he located the wound, surprisingly small, given the amount of blood loss, and he was confident a few moments of pressure would easily stop it.

“ROMAN!” He shouted with all his might, voice shaking and unsteady, hearing the crashing footsteps of the Crav’n immediately, the being sliding into the doorway mere moments later, scales raised to their extremes, teeth bared, ready to fight, no doubt hoping for an excuse to fight the human.

“Logan? What’s-“ Patton darts in around Roman’s legs, eyes widening as he instantly is at Virgil’s side, trembling, eyes wide as saucers.

“I need help. Roman, he’s heavy, I need-“

“Ok. Ok, teach, I got you. Let’s get him dressed, then I’ll move him to the couch. What’s… what happened?”

“I’m not entirely sure. I knocked and heard a crash, when I entered, he was like this. I suspect it has something to do with his malnutrition and sleep deprivation.” He answered, focusing on carefully pulling Virgil’s hoodie over his head, hands clenching sharply as one brushes his forehead. “he’s burning up.”

“That’s what happens when he’s… when he’s sick. Humans get all hot and shivery and sometimes their stomach hurts and they can’t eat. But that only happened on the… on the ship. When… when it was really bad.” His voice wavered, feathers flattening.

“I would suspect that he has been feeling ill for a couple of days now, if it’s grown severe enough to make him pass out. His normal temperature is around 98.6 to 99, I would estimate his to be closer to one hundred and three. Has he seemed off to you, Patton?”

“He’s spent less time with me. Less time out of his room. I thought he just needed some space, but… but he was trying to hide he was sick, wasn’t he?”

“Why would he do that? Did he think we’d just abandon him like some deathworlder would an injured comrade?” Roman snorted disdainfully, helping pull pants onto the human, though Patton could see the concern hiding behind his outrage.

“Contrarily, he probably didn’t want to be a burden. To use up more of our resources and time. He constantly sees himself as lesser, as the least important of the group, therefore the one who should take up the least space, least time, least amount of food. Surely, you’ve noticed, Roman.”

“I…hadn’t. I’ll take him now, Pat.” He mumbled softly, gently shooing him back as he scooped Virgil into his arms, surprised at how light the human was, his head lolling limply against his chest, his cheeks flushed, while the rest of his face was even paler than usual. He could feel the frantically rapid beat of his heart, his eyes flicking uneasily under their lids, and his scales flattened in concern. As much as he didn’t trust the human, he didn’t want to see him hurting, either. And if what Logan said was true, Virgil had not only been hurting, but hurting himself, out of, what? Loyalty? Worry? He just couldn’t get a handle on him.

Then again, he hadn’t tried very hard to get to know him, or to give him a chance. But there was something in seeing him so vulnerable, without the usual piercing stare and silent slink, that made him soften a bit, made him remember that despite being one of the most fearsome creatures in the universe, that Virgil was essentially a child, by human standards. He was so thin, too. He could count his bones, under that hoodie. No wonder he was always cold, he had no layer of fat on his bones.

And those scars…

Well. It was enough to almost make him rethink his view on Virgil, at least, as he laid him down on the couch in the common area, Patton immediately taking a seat by his head, brushing his hands soothingly through Virgil’s hair, as the human shook, muttering something in his sleep that was undecipherable, though the tone of fear was impossible to miss, as his hand clenched against the fabric.

“We need to break his fever. Blankets, Roman? I’ll get you a washcloth and water for his forehead, Patton. If he wakes, he is likely to be disoriented or possibly even hallucinate, because of the fever. However, I have no doubt he will calm immensely upon registering your presence. You are… his lifeline, Patton.” Patton nodded, continuing to focus on Virgil, doing the coo chirp pattern used to soothe babies, one of the first things Virgil had mimicked back to him, back on that awful ship.

“He’ll… he’ll be ok, right? He just needs some sleep and he’ll be okay?” His voice trembled, and Logan’s hands clasped behind his back, eyes darting as he looked for the right words to say.

“I don’t know. There’s so little information, Patton, I keep looking and there’s just… not enough, to help him, in any meaningful way. There’s no way of knowing if this is just a ‘flu’ or if it is something more severe. I know his heart rate is high and his breathing rasping, but I don’t know if that’s the result of the illness or simply stress, I would give him medicine, but I don’t know what he can have, what would be helpful, and I don’t know what to do if it’s something we aren’t equipped to handle!” He exploded, pacing the floor somewhat frantically, hands flailing wildly, wincing as one smacked the wall. “I don’t know what to do, but wait.” He said, softer, taking a deep breath and rubbing at his hand, looking up as Roman came to stand before him, gently patting one of his arms.

“It’s ok, Lo. No one expects you to have all the answers. We know you’ll do your best. You always do.” Logan nodded, pulling himself together somewhat, striding off to the kitchen, Roman heading down the hall to raid the extra blankets from the closets.

“you’ll be ok, kiddo. I promise.” Patton murmured, nuzzling against Virgil’s cheek, giggling as Virgil mumbles again, leaning into his touch, hand unclenching, face relaxing minutely. When Logan came back, he huffed fondly, Patton curled up against Virgil’s shoulder, just a ball of puffed up blue feathers, pulsing soothingly.

#wibar #wibar au #sickfic #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #sympathetic virgil #sympathetic roman #sympathetic patton #sympathetic logan #virgil angst #like loads of it #eventual happy ending #flashbacks #anxiety attacks #past trauma #past abuse #minor blood

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alderaani · 4 years

Text

Jump

Summary: Fives and Echo are still settling into the rhythm of the 501st following the chaos of Rishi. Sometimes there are quiet moments where the only thing to do is share stories and wait.

A/N: I meant to get this little fic out for Halloween yesterday, but then it turned out to not be quite a little as I meant (story of my life). You can also read it on AO3 here, and the rest of the series on tumblr is here!

The stone echoed. Fives didn’t like it; didn’t like the way it amplified everything from the water dripping overhead to the sound of their tight breathing. It felt heavy, oppressive, casting a darkness so stifling that their headtorches only shone a small way into the gloom. The others were twitchy too, Echo pressing up into his side in a way he only did when he needed comfort. Fives knew without asking that they’d be sharing a bedroll that night, curling up tight like two cadets in a pod. He’d complain like he always did about his brother’s cold feet, but he’d be hanging on just the same. Neither of them were doing very well being underground again. Not after the tunnels of Rishi. Not after Cutup.

Even a small campfire would have gone a long way to soothing him, something just to put some warmth in his bones. He hated the way rock leeched it out of his body, greedily trying to fill its own never-ending well.

“Why d’you think we’re stopping here anyway?” Echo was speaking to Ridge, who was cleaning his blaster in slow, methodical strokes that Fives could tell were to steady his hands more than anything else. “We finished the mission, and there’s no sign of the Seps this far out.”

Ridge shrugged. “It happens a lot when we team up with the 212th, General Kenobi likes to explore, I think. Drives Commander Cody nuts. He said somethin’ about some old Jedi temple here.”

That would explain the old pillars they were camped between, and the creepy statues that always felt like they were watching. When it was lighter Fives had been able to see that they were half covered in moss, worn smooth and impassive with age. In the dark they loomed, just present enough through the black that it felt like they were leaning over his shoulder, the occasional gust of wind settling like breath on the back of his neck.

Knowing that they were Jedi-made should have been a comfort, but General Kenobi had stressed that they stay heavily armed down here, and after what Fives had seen his own general do in combat, he knew better than to assume this place would be harmless. Not to mention that they were kliks away from any known settlement, and the local fauna had already shown itself very willing to take a chunk out of the unsuspecting.

Echo’s armour creaked as he shifted, his hands twisting some old wiring together in his lap. Fives had noticed that he liked fiddling with it in their spare moments, and had taken to collecting pieces himself to slip into Echo’s utility belt.

“Really? I didn’t realise the Jedi came so far out. What he’s looking for?”

Ridge laughed, but it wasn’t unkind. “I dunno, vod’ika, I don’t try to understand Jedi poodoo. You’ll have to ask him yourself. ‘Spect it’ll be dusty though, and trapped to the gills. A word of advice – stick tight to your squad in there.”

Fives let out a breath and glanced nervously over his shoulder at the statues and the maw of the stairs between them, slithering up the rockface into the black. “Traps? Why would they karking trap a temple?”

Ridge shrugged. “Fett knows why, but they’re usually a nightmare to get through.”

Nax and Attie had been talking close by, reduced to two ghostly white shapes, but now they broke off and leaned into the little circle of light pooling round their headlamps.

“Aw c’mon Ridge, them Jedi are full of secrets,” Attie said, grinning. “Who knows what weird osik they left behind in here, they wouldn’t want just anyone puttin’ their grubby hands on it. Keeps the wrong people out, right?”

“Oh yeah? That why you keep puttin’ yours on things every time we go in one?”

Attie shrugged, unrepentant. “I’m just bein’ thorough.”

Ridge rolled his eyes. “We’re supposed to avoid the traps, di’kut, not set them off! The generals ain’t gonna thank you if you’re dead in a pit somewhere.”

Fives cast his eyes around, frowning, his spine going stiff. “There’s still a patrol out there. What if they run into somethin’?”

Nax waved him off, stretching lazily. “Ah, don’t worry yourself, rookie. Denal knows better than to step anywhere he shouldn’t.”

“Yeah, worry about yourself,” Attie said, grinning wolfishly. “Who knows, you could be sittin’ right on top of one.”

Fives shifted uncomfortably as Attie chuckled, not faltering even when Nax drove an elbow into his gut.

“Don’t tease the vod’ike,” Nax muttered, never one prone to draw attention to himself if he could help it. “Unless you want me to tell ‘em about the first time you got brought on one of Kenobi’s little ‘research trips’.”

Attie put his hands up in surrender as Ridge laughed and shook his head.

“Oh yeah, I’d forgotten about that. Didn’t you –“

“Hey,” Attie grumbled. “I’m shutting up. You gotta let me have some reputation, Ridge.”

“It’s too late for that, they’ve already met you –“

There was the sound of a fist colliding with plastoid, then squawks mixed with laughter. After a brief scuffle they all settled back down into silence, and Fives tried to focus on the little intricate wire tangle that Echo was weaving between his hands, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration. He found he couldn’t stop his mind wandering, fixating on all those winding tunnels in the dark. The more he thought about it the more he could feel the vast expanse of the rock over their heads, the deep belly of the earth opening beneath them. He tightened his hand over his thigh, just shy of his blaster, and contented himself by drumming his fingers against his armour. It wouldn’t be so bad if only there was light, but the clouds were as dense as ever and the cliff face stole what little might have been left.

Just as he was beginning to relax, he heard something, a slight scuffling right on the edge of hearing.

“What was that?” he asked harshly, closing his hand around his weapon so tightly his knuckles hurt.

“What was what?” Echo stilled instantly apart from a small jolt that Fives knew meant he was tilting his head, listening. The others had all gone quiet too, but after a second Ridge snorted.

“I don’t hear anythin’. Don’t let Attie rattle you, kid.”

Fives made a harsh sound in his throat as the noise came again, closer, followed by the scrape of something against rock.

“I’m tellin’ you, there’s somethin’ out there.”

They all paused again for several long seconds, and Fives knew when Echo had also heard the sound, because he went rigid. Fives didn’t breathe, listening to the sound of something dragging itself towards them. All he could think about was the memory of walking down a stone ridge and saying “watch out for the eels”, before hearing his batchmate scream. He curled a hand around Echo’s back, getting ready to shove him to the ground if needs be.

After half a minute Ridge sighed and hauled himself to his feet. “Look, I’ll go check it out, don’t get your armour in a twist.”

Fives watched him disappear into the gloom as the rest of the group muttered, a collection of disembodied voices and floating lights. A moment later there was a loud squeak, the sound of a safety switch flicking off, and then a bright, searing bolt of blue.

Then there was a sizzling sound.

Then there was silence.

“All clear, it was just a rat,” Ridge’s voice called out. “Kriffin’ big one, I’ll give you that, but I don’t think we were in mortal peril. You’re a jumpy batch of shinies, ain’t you?”

Fives felt his chest clench, his face going hot as the rest of the squad laughed. His hand automatically went up to grab the scruff of Echo’s neck before he could start another fight he couldn’t finish. They weren’t a batch, not anymore, just the remnants of one – and therein lay the problem. He could feel his twin practically vibrating next to him.

“Sorry, Ridge. Better to be safe than sorry, right?” His voice was just a little too tight to be believable, but thankfully nobody called him out on it.

Ridge came ambling back and sat himself down, and there was a long stretch of silence before someone spoke again. To Fives’ surprise, this time it was Echo.

“Say, Attie? Tell me more about these temples? They’re all really old, right?”

There were a few groans, Fives’ included, but Attie’s armour ground together as he gamely leant in again. “Think so. General Kenobi said somethin’ about centuries, at least.”

“You know, I think I’ve read about ancient places,” Echo said, which made Fives raise his eyebrows, because Echo usually selected his reading material the same way he liked to approach their missions – directly, and with a clear point. “’Specially abandoned ones. Some people say that dead things sometimes…linger.”

“The hell you talkin’ about, kid?” Ridge asked.

“S’just what I’ve heard,” Fives could feel Echo shrug. “Especially in old Jedi places. Did you know that they used to be in a war with some bad Jedi? Went on for hundreds of years, nearly tore the galaxy apart. Some real bad blood between ‘em. Apparently, that makes for a lotta angry ghosts.”

“Ah, you’re pullin’ our legs,” Attie said with a laugh, but to Fives’ ears it sounded a little strained. He could feel his own skin crawling, but something still felt a little off about the whole situation. It was Echo, he realised after a moment; the ramrod straight position he was sitting in. He usually only held himself like that when he was sniping and lining up a shot. Where was he going with this?

“I’m only passin’ on what I’ve read.” Echo said. “Was real interestin’ though. The temples have always been worst for it, ‘cause they used to get attacked all the time by bad Jedi. Every time someone died it left an imprint in the force, and sometimes you can see ‘em standin’ there still, like they were in the seconds before they got cut down. Sometimes they even scream. One account said some guy went scavengin’ and felt like someone was followin’ him the whole time. He wasn’t sure at first...but then his torch kept goin’ out. He replaced the charge: same thing. So then all he had was candle light, and it kept gutterin’ as he moved from room to room, like someone kept breathin’ on it. Could’ve just been the wind right? But here’s the thing – there wasn’t any.”

As if summoned, there was a sudden gust of air through the narrow ravine they were camped in. Fives heard a shiver ripple through their seated brothers, a clattering of plastoid.

“Then,” Echo continued, his voice hushed. “As he tried to look for the vault, he swore he could hear voices, muffled like they were just around the corner. He called, and he called, and told them to show themselves, but there was no answer. Just the slow, creepin’ knowledge that he was bein’ followed, and that it weren’t friendly. As he made his way through to the old vaults the feelin’ got stronger, and stronger. Doors kept slammin’ shut, and things kept trippin’ him, pullin’ on his clothes. He thought about turnin’ back – but he was so close.”

Echo paused, letting his words hang in the air for several long seconds.

“An’ then what?” Nax asked, his voice a little breathless.

“Nobody knows. The rest of his travellin’ group had waited outside, and according to them, all they heard was his scream. And when they went into the temple to find him, he was curled up dead by the entrance, stone cold to the touch. Like he’d been there for hours. No mark on him, no blood, just a look of terror on his face and some words at the bottom of his notes, not written in his own hand: get out.”

Echo lapsed into silence, and this time it was permeating. Attie sucked in a breath, deafening in the quiet.

“That’s a whole lotta osik, vod.”

“Maybe. But General Kenobi wants us armed in there, you said it yourself. You ever wondered why?”

More silence, but in it, Fives could pick out the sounds of people’s fingers tapping on armour, the sounds of sharp breathing and rustles as they shifted. Echo had rattled ‘em, good and proper.

“Hey, what was that?” Someone’s voice whispered suddenly. “I – I can hear footsteps.”

Fives could hear it too, a rhythmical beat that was getting closer.

“W-Who’s there?” Ridge barked, getting to his feet with one hand on his blaster. When there was no answer, there was a resounding sea of clicking as the others all copied him. “Show yourself!”

“Easy vod, it’s just us!”

Ridge cursed as the patrol came into view around the corner, flooding their seated brothers with light. Denal was at point and took off his helmet, shaking his head in mystification as several clones put their blasters away and sank down with a groan.

“It’s quiet as the grave out there, the hell’s got you spooked?”

As Ridge fumbled for an explanation, Fives felt Echo start shaking next to him, and with a jolt realised that he was laughing. Honestly, he shouldn’t have been surprised.

“You made all of that up, didn’t you?” Fives breathed, feeling a grin spread over his face. “You kriffin’ liar.”

Echo laughed softly in the dark, just the edge of his smile illuminated by his torch. He knocked their shoulders gently together, satisfied by a job well done.

“Hey, it’s not my fault they’re a jumpy batch of shinies.”

taglist // @leias-left-hair-bun @nelba @bad-batch-of-fics @iscream4clones @majorshiraharu // if you’d like to join, link is here!

#arc trooper fives #arc trooper echo #501st legion #fives #echo #the clone wars #star wars #star wars the clone wars #the clone wars fic #CT-5555 #CT-1409 #alderwrites #domino twins #domino squad

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rovewritesit · 4 years

Text

Angel Of My Dreams (Chapter 1) John Deacon x Reader Series

I’ve read so many fan fics in the past four months and I thought it was high time to try my hand at it. I’ve created this side blog so that I can 1) Express my love for Queen and 2) Not annoy the randos from high school and college who still follow my main. This’ll be a slow burn folks, so hold on to your hats.

Series summary: After reluctantly joining a band with your childhood best friends, you are thrust into oncoming stardom with no sea legs and an overwhelming sense of anxiety. But you just might find your way, thanks to some seasoned pros by your side. And the interest of one particular bassist.

This series is a work of fiction, and is loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4

Pairing: John Deacon x Reader (eventually)

Chapter Warnings: Lots o’ curses

Chapter Summary: This is basically just some set up for the series. No Deacy yet, but a meet-cute to happen very soon! I got the band name with the help of some random band name generator so be kind. I’m hoping to introduce in some songs readers may not have heard - I was thinking of “Heart of the Night” by Juice Newton while writing this, hence the single name and album.

Song/Title Inspiration: Angel - Fleetwood Mac

- - - - - - -

Days of Our Lives Documentary Shoot - 2010

(Brian May and Roger Taylor Joint Interview)

“The early 80s were huge for us, for sure. I believe we were at our biggest then, internationally speaking.” Brian states, glancing over to Roger.

“Yes, Another One Bites the Dust really set things a-flame I think. The traveling and playing were constant. The crowds getting bigger by the venue. Parties, hotels, girls, more parties. We were meeting just so many people.” Roger adds.

“And one of those being a certain American female rock singer.” The interviewer adds quietly from off-camera.

Roger glances over to him with a questioning look, but Brian catches on quick, like always.

“Ah yes, that particular rock goddess. We did meet her around then, I believe, yes. Maybe a few years after.” Brian says knowingly, still playing along.

Roger stares into space with a confused look on his face until the realization hits him. “Are we talking about Y/N?” Roger mutters to Brian. “Yes” Brian chuckles, patting his friend on the shoulder.

“Oh, what a spit-fire she is! Not back then though. Fred really worked some magic with that one. Almost inseparable those two were.” Roger laughs out, a wave of nostalgia washing over his face.

Brian raises his large eyebrows, “Deacy would beg to differ I think.”

Roger smirks, “Oh, well that’s a whole different story.”

- - - - - - -

1982 - MTV Studios, New York City

You run your hands up and down your thighs, trying to will your left knee to stop repeatedly bouncing up and down. The satin of your pants does nothing for the layer of sweat on your clammy hands. You fold them together in your lap and gaze around the studio instead, taking in the bustling of crew members as they ready for the pre-taped interview. The god-like VJ, Alan Hunter, sits in a chair off to the side as someone artfully pieces his blonde locks into place. He grins over at you with a small wave. You limply lift your hand in a greeting, pasting on a small smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.

You catch your pained expression as you glimpse a monitor off-camera. A friendly woman backstage had painted your face to the point of being almost unrecognizable. Gone was the evidence under your eyes of the restless sleep you’d fought the previous night. They were wide and doed, rather than their normal crescent shape. Your lips full and vibrant, your hair bounced and fanned out around your face. And your skin seemed to be glowing, masking the spots that had popped up overnight from stress. You looked every bit the rock goddess the label hoped to paint you as, and the exact opposite of the nerves currently threatening to overtake your body.

“Y/N, I can feel you vibrating from here. Take a deep breath. It’s gonna be fine.” Rich commented from beside you. His legs were splayed out, his arms bent behind his head. Looking as relaxed as can be, as if he were on his couch at home catching a movie marathon, about to doze off.

“How can you be so calm right now?” You rush out. “Who knows how many people are going to see this interview. Do you know how many times a day I accidentally let the F word fly out of my mouth?”

Rich lets out a snort. “I happen to know exactly how much you curse, thank you. Yesterday you said fuck 3 times in one sentence. It was charming, my mom loved it.” He moves his right arm to squeeze around your shoulders. Usually, it would be a comforting display of friendship, but you shake it off.

“And look at those three. Already so at home, I see.” You nod to the three other members of the band. Steve is exuding energy like yourself, but it’s excitement that bubbles from him. His eyes flit around the room quickly as he taps out some unknown rhythm on his bent legs. A wide grin permanently fixed on his boyish features.

At the far end of the couch, Eddie and Lawrence are wrapped up in a not-so-silent game of knuckles.

“Son of a-- Will you take off those damn rings? It’s my turn and I’m still getting bruised.” Lawrence huffs. Eddie wiggles his long, skilled, silver-clad fingers in front of his face and raises his eyebrows. “It’s all about the look, baby. Gotta play the part of the guitar god.”

“Will you both knock it off.” You call over to them. “We need both those sets of hands in playing shape for tomorrow night.”

Eddie turns, probably to counter with some playful comment about how you mother them too much, but Alan approaches.

“Alright, guys. And girl.” He flashes his perfectly white teeth your way again. “We’re about 5 minutes out from going up. Anybody need anything? Water, vodka, beer…” He turns his gaze to Steve, who is still tapping lightly on his legs. “A Xanax, perhaps?”

“Waters all around would be great, thanks.” You offer. Alan nods to a twitchy PA waiting to his side and they hurry off.

“Oh wait up, a Bud Light too, if you have any!” Eddie calls after them. The other three boys echo the same as well.

“You can take the boys out of Long Island…” you mutter to yourself. Rich teasingly pokes your side. “And something stiff for the lady!” He shouts out.

“In all manner of ways” Steve giggles. You feign a shocked expression and reach over to place a gentle slap to the side of his head. He looks over with big apologetic eyes and you stifle a laugh.

In record time, the lanky PA rushes back over with a myriad of drinks, all threatening to topple over on the tray they were precariously balanced on. Another PA trails behind, handing you all water, which you’re in desperate need of. They hand the drinks out one by one and stop before you. “Your water, Miss. And I didn’t know what you liked so I have a jack and coke, a whiskey sour, and a gin and tonic.”

“The gin and tonic is great, thanks.” They hurriedly hand you the drink and go to turn away. “Love your hair by the way.” You tell them. “I’m absolute shit at styling mine. Guess I’ll have to learn now.” They smile back at you and run a hand through their short locks before disappearing amongst the rest of the crew.

“Okay, we’re ready to rock n’ roll!” Alan exclaims, getting the band’s attention as he sits down in a chair next to your side of the couch. “We’re going to start off with a few basics on the band. Your lower thirds will have your instruments labeled but feel free to explain how you guys started out, your influences, your process. I’ll prompt you in between and then we'll talk about the album and promote your upcoming tour towards the end. Should take 15 minutes tops, so keep your answers brief. But I won’t say no to any rowdy stories you want to throw in.” He finishes with a wink.

The band nods along as you gulp down a breath, your palms becoming even slicker. The stage manager’s high voice rings out around the studio. “Playback ready! Live to tape in 5.. 4...” Rich places a hand over your knee and gives a squeeze. “Light em’ up, Bun” he mutters in your ear.

“3.. 2..” She holds up a finger and then points it at Alan, a wide smile already set on his face. The camera light flicks red as the MTV open plays from speakers around the room. Alan beings as the song fades out.

“We’re here in the studio and boy, am I excited to get to know this next band. Over at MTV we’ve been watching the steady rise of their single “Heart of the Night” on the charts. And as an added surprise, they’re here to introduce their very first music video. I’m very pleased to welcome to the studio, Lo & The Limbs!”

You try to relax your face as a camera pans across the band and settles on a two-shot of you and Alan. You know your eyes are gleaming with anxiety so you glance down the couch, silently praying for one of the boys to take the lead.

“Thanks for having us Alan, it’s such a trip to be here.” Eddie says with ease, resting his forearms on his knees.

“So, I have to ask. Who is Lo? Is it you Lawerence?” Alan questions the piano player.

“Oh god, no.” Lawrence chuckles. “Our high school was affectionately called Lo High, for Long Island HighSchool of the Arts. So we sort of tacked that on while playing during those years to let people know where we were from. That and well, as you can see we’re all above 6 foot except for Y/N, so a lot of limbs going on here.”

Alan gives a short laugh. “You released your debut album, Quiet Lies, earlier this year to growing success. Why don’t you tell me how you all started out.”

“Well, the boys and I have been together for a few years. We’ve been friends since grade school and we always just used to jam about. As we got older we started playing local bars back on Long Island to mostly middle-aged crowds, trying to break in, but it wasn’t working. Then Rich had the idea to invite Y/N to join up and it’s all kind of all taken off from there.” Eddie explains.

“We needed a pretty face to balance out all these ugly mugs” Steve pipes up.

“It took a while for her to finally concede though. She was off being too studious for the likes of us.” Rich adds on with a smile and nudge to your side. Your eyes grow wide as you feel a question directed at you coming on.

“Is that true, Y/N?”

“I- I guess, I was at NYU studying documentary filmmaking.” You choke out, but continue on. “Love this lighting set up, by the way, it really hides all sins.” That gets a light chuckle out of the crew surrounding you.

“And these sins you’re hiding are…” Alan grins but quickly bounces to the next topic. “Certainly a good call, Rich. Heart of the Night is the only song off the album that Y/N is singing lead on and look how well it’s doing. How did that happen?”

“Most of our songs were already written from before when we finally got the money to record. We wanted Y/N to feel a part of it, so she went on and wrote Heart of the Night and we were all very pleasantly surprised that it’s become such a hit.” Steve explains. “She also directed the music video we’ll be debuting today. I can’t believe she let us do all the things we did in that… well, you’ll just have to see for yourselves. We can be a bit of a handful.” The boys all chuckle.

“That and she plays the weirdest collection of instruments. Rhythm guitar, any type of strings, the saxophone… She's a boss on the harmonica.” Eddie turns to you as he speaks. “You just need to get over those pesky little nerves about your singing, Bun!” He points in your direction.

You feel the heat rise behind your perfectly painted cheeks at the slip of your nickname. You cast your gaze down at your lap. Not liking how the conversation has turned directly onto you.

Alan quirks an eyebrow at you. “Bun?” He teases.

You have yet to lift your eyes when Rich answers for you. “Bunny, an affectionate nickname. It’s stuck around since grade school when she wandered into Lawrence's backyard in search of a rabbit she was chasing.”

“A rockstar called Bunny. There’s a first for everything.” Alan quips, but quickly notices your displeasure in the current topic. Sensing your growing panic, he addresses the rest of the group. “This has been quite the debut album, with more hits sure to come from it. Any bands you’ve taken inspiration from while writing and producing?”

Rich jumps at the question. “Fleetwood Mac would be a big one. The way they layer their sounds is just unmatchable. You catch something new with every listen of an album of theirs.”

“I can’t be a pianist from Long Island and not mention the granddaddy, Billy Joel.” Lawrence adds. “His songs take you on such a ride. They’re full stories, each one of them.”

“And you, Y/N?” Alan directs the next question. “Who will you be drawing inspiration from when you write your next hit single?”

You smile to yourself. “It’s gotta be Queen for me. I’ve loved every one of their albums. I mean, the way they’ve changed their sound just in the past few years alone. They’re always transcending. Never afraid to try out something new or weave a different genre into one of their songs. But you always know it’s a Queen song. I saw them 2 years ago when they played the Garden, and fu--” You catch yourself as you get more animated. “And they were all just so on. Perfectly in sync. There’s something so distinct about their sound, so practiced. I’d love to get to their level, to be able to experiment like that. To give joy in the way they’ve given it to me.” You finish. Realizing you’ve rambled for a bit, you turn your eyes downwards yet again.

“I think that’s the most I’ve heard you talk since you came into the studio!” Alan laughs. “Well, you heard it here first folks, Y/N L/N is a Queen fan, just like the rest of us. I’m sure you’re just as excited about their new album as well.” You nod quickly as Rich hides a smile. Knowing full well you’ll be first in line to purchase their new album, Hot Space when it drops.

“But before you get off to writing more hits, I believe you have a tour coming up!” Alan states, signaling that the interview is wrapping up.

“Yeah, we have a small American tour starting in February. But until then we’ll be opening up for Hall and Oates during their tour of the NorthEast next month.” Steve says excitedly, bouncing slightly in his seat.

“And with that, I think we’ll roll into the long-anticipated music video and directorial debut for the lovely Y/N L/N. Thank you all so much for coming in today and I can’t wait to see what’s next on the horizon for you. Here’s Lo & The Limbs with Heart of the Night!” Alan keeps his painted smile till the red light vanishes from above the lens on the large pedestal camera in front of him.

You breathe out the breath you’d been choking on as Rich puts an arm around your shoulders. He leans in and whispers lightly, “And only one hint of a fuck, ladies and gentlemen. She might just make it in this business after all.”

- - - - - - -

One Month Later - Veterans Memorial Coliseum - New Haven, Connecticut

The Limbs bound off the stage in full force, glistening with sweat and excitement. It was the largest crowd they’d played for by far. 10,000 people cheered from the audience as roadies and crew moved around them to set up for the main act, Hall and Oates. Rich spreads his long arms and huddles the rest of the group into a family hug, your skin sticking to one another, the smell of sweat filling your noses.

“I just want us to all remember this moment.” He speaks to the group, foreheads touching. “Even if nothing happens past this album. That was insane.”

“Absolutely bonkers, dude!” Steve says and he bounces up and down beside you. You all take a deep collective breath and squeeze.

“Alright, get off of me you fucks.” You laugh, untangling yourself from their vast expanse of limbs. “We all stink and I have to get out of all... this” You gesture to the skin-tight bodysuit your best friend, Dawn, had insisted you wear. Eddie presses a light kiss to your temple as he lets you into the dressing room first to change out of their view.

You close the door and sigh, glancing at yourself in the mirrors that line one wall of the room. Your eyes are bright, your hair is two times the size of when you went out on stage an hour before, and your makeup looks like you’d been in a fight. Grinning to yourself, you start to unlatch the halter top of the bodysuit, excited for the air to cool your skin.

Just as you are about to shimmy out of the rest of the ensemble, the door bursts open.

“Shit! Lawrence, what the hell?!” Scrambling to cover your top half.

Lawrence trains his eyes to the ceiling as he speaks. “Bunny, you gotta… just cover up and get your ass out here. You just... You gotta see, c’mon.”

Flustered, you hurry to redress your sticky body. After making sure everything is properly covered, you step out into the hallway backstage, already glaring at the boys. They’re all tight-lipped, staring at one another. “Okay, someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?” You say loudly. “Shhhhh” Rich hisses as he gestures behind him with a shake of his head. You glance over his shoulder to see the backs of two men. John Hall and Daryl Oates.

“Yeah, okay... I don’t get it. We’ve hung out with them like 5 times. Why are we fangirling?”

Rich widens his eyes at you and you glance back at them again. This time they part and you can catch a glimpse of who they’ve been talking to.

The flash of a tight leather jacket, a mustache, and two front teeth shining while laughter erupts from behind them.

You gasp.

“Fucking, fuck. That’s Freddie fucking Mercury.” You say, a bit too loud.

The bold man in question locks eyes with you. Something mischievous dances behind them as he narrows his gaze. Daryl and John move to their roadies to get fixed up before heading out on stage and Freddie lets out a sharp burst of laughter as he makes his way over. Your stomach churns with embarrassment but you can’t tear your eyes from his.

“Quite the redundancy of expletives, my dear. All you had to do was say hello.” he grins at you, all teeth. You’re not one to get too clammy in front of other musicians, but your voice gets trapped in your throat. You pray to whatever gods are out there that your eyes don’t get any wider.

Eddie’s easy charm luckily saves you. “This beautiful songstress right here is Y/N L/N.” You barely lift your arms as Freddie pulls you in for a light hug and kiss on the cheek. “But you can call her Bunny.” Eddie grins. So much for easy charm you think as you stare daggers into the profile of his face.

“Ha! Bunny? Oh my, that is wonderful.” Freddie chuckles. “It sounds as if you’re a socialite... Or a stripper. I can’t tell.” He beams at you. You can’t help but beam right back.

“Come along. Let us watch the show and you can tell me which one it is.” He says with a wink. “And introduce me to these giants you call your band.” He grabs your arm and leads you off, the boys in tow. Bouncing with excitement for what’s to come.

#queen fic #queen fanfiction #queen fanfic #john deacon #john deacon fic #john deacon imagine #john deacon x reader #john deacon series #deaky fic #deacy fic #deaky x reader #deacy x reader #angelofmydreams

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jessicajonesrp · 4 years

Text

Reminiscing and big news

The day of Dorothy Walker’s memorial service and funeral passed with minimal dramatics, thankfully.

As Jessica had promised, she and Luke had remained outside the service, vigilant for any sign of Phillip or anyone else lurking around the building or attempting a disruption. Jessica owned exactly two dresses that she had worn exactly once each, and one of them was a red wedding dress. She owned no “funeral appropriate” clothing, according to Trish, despite the irony of owning quite a lot of black t-shirts, jackets, and jeans. According to Trish, if Jessica wore any of them, despite the appropriate color, the clothes themselves would likely cause Dorothy to rise from the dead just to sputter her indignation at the scandal.

In the end she borrowed a dress from Trish that was a little short in length and tight on her around the chest, which made no sense to Jessica, since she was usually at least a cup size smaller than Trish. It was not exactly the kind of clothing that was suitable for ass-kicking, which would have made her uncomfortable any time, let alone when she was guarding a place with the actual possibility of ass-kicking. Damn Trish and her adherence to social expectations, but this wasn’t a day Jessica could argue with her.

Phillip didn’t show, although it seemed like every other person even loosely attached to the entertainment industry did. The amount of dramatic grieving from people that likely barely knew or had actively disliked Dorothy made Jessica’s skin crawl just watching them, which made her glad she didn’t have to sit through an entire service of it. No one in particular stood out to her, and the vast majority didn’t recognize her as Dorothy’s adoptive daughter as they passed, whether that was because they wouldn’t associate Jessica with wearing a dress or because Dorothy had managed to put that much distance between them over time. Jessica did notice a short young woman with dark hair and intense eyes look her over a little longer than she considered normal, but the woman didn’t speak to her, and she wasn’t someone that Jessica recognized, so she let it go.

By the time it was all over and everyone was milling around, likely gossiping more than talking about Dorothy, Jessica was more than ready to get Trish and go. She wanted to check in on her and make sure she got through her speech okay, of course, but she also had had to pee really badly. Which was weird, because her morning attempt at coffee and whiskey had not been successfully digested, something she was starting to get actively agitated about. This was not the time to be sick, damn it. She would start to think someone was poisoning her, if she hadn’t been getting all her own drinks herself.

Trish’s eyes were red, her expression tired when she finally emerged with Danny, but she gave Jessica and Luke a smile that was only slightly strained, obviously relieved that everything had gone smoothly. She gave Jessica a hug and kept her in it loosely as she looked past Jessica’s shoulder to Luke and Danny.

“Jess…I know you hate talking and feelings and combinations of the two. But would you please do just one more thing for me?”

Jessica sighed, pulling back from Trish to look at her, but despite the attitude she gave off in her look, she already knew she would say yes. “What are you making me do?”

“I sort of just…I want to go sit somewhere with you, and remember things about Mom,” Trish said softly. “Not like everyone else just did. That was a public thing. It was true, mostly, but it wasn’t the whole story, it wasn’t the Mom we knew. No one else lived with her, no one else but you knew her like I did. Just for a little while. I think it will help me, if you let me talk about things we remember.”

Her blue eyes were so full of both hurt and hope that it was hard to even look at her, let alone say no to her. Her request was about the last thing one earth Jessica wanted to do, but she sighed and nodded, for Trish.

“Fine. Just let me go pee first, I swear I’ve been holding it for like three hours now.”

They ended up sitting together on the couch of Trish’s and Danny’s penthouse, Trish with her knees wrapped around her legs, Jessica a little twitchy and tense at first, but gradually relaxing. She had been afraid that Trish might want to romanticize Dorothy, going into detail about every positive quality that the woman had and conveniently forgetting all the rest, but instead, Trish was wanting to talk about what it had been like when they lived together, or as Jessica thought of it, suffered through mutual Dorothy encounters together.

“Do you remember your first Christmas with us?” Trish said with faint smile. “Mom always insisted on going ridiculously all out with decorating, she would actually hire people to put up garland and mistletoe and fake snow and whatever else was chic that year. And she insisted on that huge photo spread of us as a new family in that magazine?”

“God, what the hell was she thinking, putting up mistletoe in a house three women lived in? Who were we supposed to kiss, each other?” Jessica rolled her eyes, before smirking. “Maybe we should have, just to shake her up a bit. That would have been the most viral photo shoot of the year. Patsy Walker makes out with her own sister!”

Trish giggled. “She made you wear that dress that matched mine, and you absolutely refused to smile. In every single picture, every damn one, there was Mom and me grinning like manic Christmas fairies, and you giving your best death glare, all decked out in velvet and lace.”

“She didn’t try that again, after all the comments to the editor speculating about if her new daughter was brain damaged or mentally ill from her tragic accident,” Jessica remember, her smirk deepening. “I think they would have cut me out of the pictures entirely if that didn’t kind of defeat the point of the photo shoot.”

“She would get so mad at how you dressed,” Trish reminded her, smiling. “I swear, Jess, I think your style to this day is a defiant reaction to her constantly telling you to comb your hair, put on makeup, and wear clothes with a designer labeled designed for the female body. Who knows, maybe you would be a fashion model if she hadn’t actually encouraged you to be one. You have the height and figure for it, she wasn’t wrong.”

“But absolutely zero interest,” Jessica reminded her flatly. “I outgrew the girly thing about the time I outgrew wearing princess dresses with Sketchers. Even then, Barbies in my hands got their hair chopped off and their bodies tattooed with Sharpie.”

“Remember the time the Thanksgiving caterer she hired somehow brought us the wrong food, for some vegan family, and we had this ridiculous tofu shaped like a turkey?” Trish laughed. “And she tried to cook one herself but never actually turned the oven on, so we had like, a thousand side dishes that all looked and tasted like cardboard, and a frozen turkey? And then you tried to microwave it-“

“Hey, I was 15,” Jessica laughed. “I know now to just order take out. Real take out, not vegan catering shit.”

“And that time she decided we should drive to the movie I was shooting in LA, all the way from New York, because it was about a girl going on a road trip with her friends, and she thought I needed to actually experience a road trip to give an authentic acting experience,” Trish continued, her smile broadening. “No matter how hard we tried, we couldn’t convince her that driving across the country with your manager mother at age seventeen is not at all the same as driving with a group of friends.”

“Oh my god, you’re lucky I didn’t strangle you both with my earbuds,” Jessica muttered, shaking her head. “She literally brought along an It’s Patsy soundtrack to listen to on the road. Does she know how many times I had to sit on my hands to keep from grabbing the wheel to force us over the side of a cliff? I didn’t care if it was suicide, I was fucking ready to die within an hour.”

“She would actually go rant at the gas station attendants about the unacceptable lack of cleanliness and availability of healthy food options in their stores,” Trish remembered, snickering. “I was so mortified. And you locked us both out of the car for an hour at one stop.”

“I needed the peace, what can I say?” Jessica shrugged, smirking. “I would do it again, a thousand times over.”

Trish sighed, her expression going more serious as paused before speaking up again.

“None of this was funny then,” she said quietly. “It probably still isn’t, really. But we’re the only ones that remember. We’re the only ones left that really knew her. Mom…she was a difficult person. Really, really hard to love sometimes, and harder to like. But the good things I said about her back there were true too. She was smart, she had high expectations of herself and others, and she was strong. She had to be, raising me on her own, wanting me to be more and have more in life than she could. She messed me up, but she always thought what she did was for my best, no matter how much she had to twist up logic to come to the conclusion that it was right.”

Jessica didn’t argue with her, just nodding slightly. What Trish said wasn’t untrue.

“She was toxic for you,” she offered quietly. “But she did love you, as much as she could love anyone besides herself. She was proud of you. She was shit at showing it, but she was. You were her shining star.”

“I know,” Trish said softly, exhaling. “I don’t know if I should be trying to remember the good times, like when she would tuck me in at night and tell me I was the best and most beautiful girl in the world, or the bad times, like when she would slap my face and call me a fat, selfish bitch. But maybe the best thing is to remember it all. Balance.”

Jessica nodded again, putting a hand hesitantly on Trish’s knee. Trish covered it with hers, squeezed, and then entwined their fingers.

“She loved you too,” Trish told her, unknowingly repeating Luke’s words. “I know it probably didn’t seem like it to you. But she did. I know she did. She wouldn’t waste her breath criticizing someone as much as she criticized you, if that person wasn’t someone she loved.”

This was the first time that Jessica had really considered this, and the first time it rang true. She exhaled, accepting the idea, and a bittersweet tightness spread through her chest as she understood that this was something that both she and Dorothy had never expressed and now never could.

Trish leaned her head against Jessica’s shoulder, shifting to settle her body against her. Jessica inhaled sharply when Trish’s shoulder inadvertently jostled the side of her breast, not having expected the tender pain the slight gesture invoked.

“Ow,” she muttered, shifting away from her enough that Trish could remain leaned on her, but wasn’t touching anywhere near her chest. “Hm, maybe I pulled something.”

“Pulled something? Did you break a rib?” Trish asked, concerned, and starting to lift her head. “Did you go out and fight people last night?”

“No,” Jessica shrugged. “Pretty sure you can’t break a boob. Probably PMSing. Or strained a chest muscle from puking. You probably actually don’t want to get this close to me, whatever I’ve had lately is probably contagious.”

Trish’s lips twitched then, and her eyes danced with amusement that she tried unsuccessfully to hide. Jessica stared at her.

“What, we’re so juvenile now we laugh at the word boob? What do you call yours, mammary glands?”

Trish giggled, shaking her head.

“You just aren’t adding things up, are you, Jess?”

“What is there to add?” Jessica demanded, more confused than ever. “When did we change the subject to math?”

“Jess,” Trish said patiently, still fighting a smile. “Think about this. You’re throwing up. You’re wanting to eat weird things and not drink. You cried in front of Danny yesterday-“

“Hey,” Jessica protested, automatically defensive at the mention of crying, but Trish spoke over her.

“You’ve peed three times since you’ve been over here, and now, your boob hurts. Are you starting to see the picture?”

“Yeah, you spend way too much time paying attention to the shit I do,” Jessica grumbled, not seeing at all. “Why are you tracking everything I do, you weirdo?”

“Oh my god, you are the least self aware person I’ve ever met,” Trish groaned, shaking her head. Putting both hands on Jessica’s shoulders, she looked her directly in the eye, speaking slowly and distinctly. “Jessica. Honey. You need to take a pregnancy test.”

“What? I’m not pregnant!” Jessica exclaimed, automatically stunned and dismissive of the idea. “I would know if I was pregnant, Trish, please!”

“Jessica, Danny already told me that you are,” Trish started, which only set her off into sputtering indignation.

“DANNY told you?! He’s been in a parallel fucking world, how the fuck would Danny know a damn thing about whether or not there’s a human being hatching in me?!”

“He saw the baby’s chi,” Trish explained patiently. Giving her shoulders another little squeeze before letting them go, she stood, then gestured for the door. “Right, I can’t let this level of denial go on any longer. Here’s fifty bucks. Go to the pharmacy and buy a pregnancy test. Two of them, at least, the most accurate brands. Go home and take them, and if I’m wrong, you can laugh at me all you want.”

“Baby’s chi- what crap,” Jessica muttered, shaking her head as she stood, taking the money. “Whatever, I’ll buy the pregnancy test, but I’ll buy a few bottles of booze too. So I can celebrate my not-pregnant state once I prove you wrong.”

But an hour later, she was standing frozen in the bathroom of her and Luke’s apartment, staring at the very clearly marked positive of the third pregnancy test she had taken. Two positives had not been enough to convince her, and she had actually gone out to buy another of a different brand from a different pharmacy before she could accept the outcome. But three positives was evidence enough to come to a conclusion.

Danny and his stupid chi was right. Apparently, Jessica was pregnant.

Her hands were shaking when she picked up the phone to call Luke. “Um, when are you coming home? We need to talk about something.”

#jessica jones #jessica jones roleplay #luke cage #luke cage roleplay #trish walker #trish walker roleplay

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Level Up, Chapter Nine (Branjie) - Holtzmanns

(read on ao3) (full fic)

Vanessa’s watching her opponent’s arms like a hawk, coiled in front of their face ready to shoot forward at any moment. She’s looking for an opening, a chance where her opponent falters for just a second, where there’s a chance for her to land a clean hit, in and out, ending up with the points that she needs to win.

It’s strategy. It’s a game. It’s absolutely exhilarating.

AN: Thank you guys so much for the love on this fic so far, I really appreciate it! Every single review makes me so happy to know that you guys are reading it and enjoying it and have something to say about it. It’s the best thing to come back to as a writer. After a month, here’s chapter nine! Hope you enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think. Writ as usual is the best beta <3

Silky had asked Vanessa once about what goes through her mind when she’s in a match. What she’s thinking. And truth be told, even when Vanessa’s in it, it’s hard for her to really decipher everything.

When Vanessa’s in a fight, the world seems to slow down around her. She’s aware of every blink of her opponent’s eyes, every bead of sweat that is dripping from their temples to their eyebrows onto their cheeks. Vanessa’s watching her opponent’s arms like a hawk, coiled in front of their face ready to shoot forward at any moment. She’s looking for an opening, a chance where her opponent falters for just a second, where there’s a chance for her to land a clean hit, in and out, ending up with the points that she needs to win.

It’s strategy. It’s a game. It’s absolutely exhilarating.

This first fight feels pretty standard, so far shaping up to be what she’s prepared for. Vanessa’s unravelling the opponent’s tells with each minute that passes, and now, by the third round? She knows that the girl’s first instinct is to feint and jab high before actually going for a lower blow, and that she’s likely to block hits with her right. It’s all too easy for Vanessa, really, to land hit after hit by striking one step ahead while the girl is feinting a high punch, leaving her midsection wide open. Vanessa switches up her stance every time the girl’s shoulders relax for a second, because she can hear Brooke’s voice in her head lecturing her about the importance of being as comfortable attacking with her left side as much as her right and more dominant side.

It’s a puzzle that never fails to make Vanessa’s blood pump faster - her eyes narrow just a little bit more with every combo she can successfully throw at this girl, every hit that she blocks and counters with attacks of her own because she’s able to predict when the girl is going to strike. Each trill of the whistle that signifies the end of a round is a jolt in her ears, barely calming the electric current that buzzes along her limbs, keeping her on her toes even when she’s pulled to the side of the ring by Brooke in between rounds.

“Keep it up for this last round and you’ll be in the clear.” The approving tone in Brooke’s voice makes Vanessa stand up just a little bit taller as she tries to catch her breath, still bouncing on the balls of her feet. “She looks like she’s getting a bit worn out, too. It’ll be easier to land hits the more off kilter she is.”

Brooke tilts her head slightly towards the other side of the ring where Vanessa’s opponent and her coach are huddled, and it’s hard to miss the slight pout and downturned lips on the girl’s face, perfectly complimenting the furrow of her eyebrows. Her shoulders slump almost comically, and the way that she huffs and crosses her arms is reminiscent of the child beauty queens on Toddlers and Tiaras.

“You’ve got this last round,” Brooke reaches out, squeezing Vanessa’s shoulder as she winks when the referee blows his whistle, “so finish this match and let’s get ready for the next one.”

It doesn’t feel like a victory when the round ends and the referee hoists Vanessa’s fist into the air, declaring her win without a single word. The approving nods of the judges around the ring don’t mean much, not yet, not when winning this match is just a stepping stone onto the next one, where she’s going to have to face someone new and start the process of unravelling their tells all over again like she’s just finished doing with her first opponent.

The screen at the far end of the hall tells Vanessa that it’s only ten thirty. The tournament has only just started, and one successful match isn’t something to celebrate just yet, not when she has more to go. Still, it doesn’t stop her from squealing when she sees Monique leaving a fight of her own, the shit eating grin on her face telling Vanessa that she’s just won her first match, too.

“Bad bitches! Two bad bitches. Tell me, how does it feel to kick ass on this fine morning?” Monique spins in place and her excitement is contagious, any tiredness from Vanessa’s first match evaporating on the spot.

“It feels fucking fantastic, is how it feels. We just need Eye of the Tiger playing for the full dramatic effect.” Vanessa snickers.

“That’s old school. Play WAP and then we’ll be talking.” Monet slides up behind them, and Vanessa can’t help but double take at the sweats and sliders she’s in.

Monet catches the look and shrugs. “Bombed my first match. Got my ass whooped. But it’s whatever, I’m just gonna be here in the comfort of my sweats while watching y’all. My day’s gonna be easy.”

Vanessa reaches out to pat her shoulder, but Monet shakes her head. “Honestly? Pressure’s off for me now. I get to watch the rest of y’all stress.”

“Y’know, she’s got a point.” Monique raises an eyebrow, and Vanessa can’t help but let out a snort.

“You’re gonna keep fighting. No giving in because you wanna sit in the stands with Monet in your sweats.”

“You’re no fun.”

Monet pulls out her phone. “I’m gonna grab some food ‘cause I’m ‘bout to pass out. Anyone want anything?”

“I’m coming, my next match isn’t for another hour,” Monique grins, “so plenty of time to digest.”

Vanessa, though, shakes her head, because the thought of food feels almost foreign right now, not when she’s still so worked up and with her next match being so soon. “I’ll hold off. Maybe later.”

She waves her friends off and cranes her neck to look around the hall. Brooke had excused herself to the bathroom at least fifteen minutes ago, and the fact that she’s not back yet makes Vanessa wonder if she’s been held up. Is there really that long of a line for the bathroom at a boxing tournament?

Except there’s no line when Vanessa finds the bathroom, and Brooke’s not inside the enclosed area when Vanessa peeks in, fixing her flyaways in the mirror. When Vanessa pushes the door open though, stepping back out into the hall, she sees why she really didn’t have to go into the bathroom in the first place.

Brooke’s surrounded by what looks like a small army of athletes, tucking their hair behind their ears and batting their eyelashes and Vanessa doesn’t know what’s funnier - the way they’re all clamouring to get a word in or the way Brooke looks like she’s smelled something terrible.

“I can’t believe Brooke Lynn Hytes is here-”

“Are you ever gonna make a comeback?”

“You were like, my favourite boxer when I was a kid-”

The chattering blurs together when Vanessa peeks at Brooke’s expression, the polite smile on her face not quite hiding the way her brows are climbing higher and higher on her forehead. She’s at a bit of a loss of what to do - maybe Brooke doesn’t mind the commotion and doesn’t necessarily want to be rescued, but on the other hand her foot is tapping a beat on the floor that’s getting faster and faster. She’s getting twitchy.

Vanessa’s about to take a hesitant step forward when Brooke turns in her direction, and the relief in her eyes is palpable as they widen upon seeing her.

“What should I do?” Vanessa mouths, trying not to draw the crowd’s attention towards her, as a girl shoves a flyer and sharpie in front of Brooke’s face for her to autograph.

Brooke shrugs, taking a step back when another girl tries to take a selfie with her, blinking at the brightness of the flash. “Improvise!”

Well, there’s no time like the present for Vanessa to foray into an acting career.

“Oof. Ow.” Vanessa cradles her wrist in her other hand, trying her best to convey a wincing expression on her face. She’s about to limp, before realizing she’s pretending that her arm is hurt, not her leg.

There’s a reason Vanessa got the part of a tree branch in her third grade class play. It had required her to do absolutely nothing to sell the part.

Lucky for her, Brooke’s more than willing to step up to bat. “Vanessa! Are you hurt? Shit, excuse me, pardon me, just have to check on my athlete, coming through-”

Brooke pushes her way through the athletes until she reaches her, and Vanessa pretends to wince again for good measure. “Oh no, we better get this checked out before your next match, can’t have it giving out on you, can we?” Brooke spins to face the athletes, an expression of fake sadness on her face that Vanessa has to admit is pretty convincing. “So sorry to leave, it’s been wonderful to meet you all! But the sport always comes first, you know how it is. I’ll see you all around!”

Vanessa grabs onto Brooke with her other hand and practically sprints, ducking past the other coaches and spectators and athletes and pulling Brooke into the first empty hallway that pops up. Brooke nearly skids past her, recovering fast enough to find her footing before leaning against the opposite wall.

“Holy shit.” Vanessa gasps out, her giggles interspersed with the way she’s still trying to catch her breath. “Did you just-”

“Carry that fake injury plot on my back? Yes I did.” Brooke grins as she bends over, her hands resting against her knees as she tries to regulate her own breathing.

Vanessa sticks out her tongue. “Now that’s no way to treat someone saving you from a wild pack of fangirls, is it? Seriously though, I didn’t expect that.”

“Shit, honestly, me neither. It’s not that something like that hasn’t happened before, it’s just…it’s been awhile since it has.” Brooke lets out a breath. “I was used to it back in the day, competing all the time. But it’s been awhile since I’ve been in a place like this, where people actually know who pro boxers are.”

“You telling me you used to be smooth and suave while handling crowds?” Vanessa raises an eyebrow, trying to picture the sight of Brooke however many years ago.

“Don’t act like it’s that hard to believe. I totally was. I just gotta get that mojo back if I’m gonna come to competitions with you and have to say hello to people. Either that, or wear a disguise. Dress incognito.”

Vanessa snickers. “Ah, the life of a niche famous person is so hard. All the adoring fans. How are you ever going to survive it?”

“Shut up.” Brooke shoves Vanessa’s shoulder, but she’s laughing too, shaking her head as she does. “Seriously though, thanks. I appreciate it.”

“No problem, Princess Diana. Or Taylor Swift. Which paparazzi-favourite celebrity do you prefer?”

Brooke rolls her eyes. “The better question is, let’s see which one of us has her next fight in hmm, let me check my watch, fifteen minutes. Don’t make me make your warm up exercises a bitch.”

“Whatever you say, Lady Gaga. Hey, you could sing her song Paparazzi with all this media attention you’re getting, couldn’t you?” Vanessa flashes Brooke a grin before turning on her heels, practically sprinting back to the competition area before Brooke can retaliate in any way.

If nothing else, at least Vanessa’s keeping her humble. Never too good to have a big head.

The second match of the day is almost easier than the first - the girl falls for her feints almost too easily, giving Vanessa the chance to land clean hit after hit, and she’s barely breaking a sweat when the referee blows the whistle to end the final round. The referee lifts her fist up and maybe it’s the cheering of everyone around the ring watching them, maybe it’s the way he yells out her name as the winner, but Vanessa’s heart is still pumping at the speed of light, the rushing of blood loud in her ears and she feels like a fucking rockstar.

The best part, though? Brooke. At the edge of the ring, she has a sparkle in her eyes and a smile on her face that Vanessa can feel in her soul. Brooke cheers along with everyone else but there’s something about having her approval that feels different. Right. It’s enough to make every morning practice, every rep and extra minute of sparring worth it, just for the clap on the back that Brooke gives her as she helps her over the ropes of the ring and onto the ground.

“Fucking killed that.” Vanessa doesn’t mean to sound cocky but it’s hard not to when she feels like a million dollars, having obliterated both of the opponents that she’s faced so far.

She’s just left the ring but she wants more, because her muscles feel as if they’re laced with electricity that can keep her going for two, three, four more matches. The sensation is addicting and Vanessa almost feels drunk on it, the desire to win again almost an itch that she can’t scratch.

“Not gonna lie, you really did.” The pride in Brooke’s eyes is hard to miss but there’s a hesitancy too, one that’s hard to miss with the purse of her lips.

So Vanessa shoots her a questioning look. “What? Did I not do as well as I thought?”

“Just…be careful. Don’t get overconfident too early, especially when you have another match still left in the day. Letting your guard down means your next opponent is going to have an easy in.”

Vanessa wrinkles her nose. “Yeah, yeah, I know. It ain’t over ‘till it’s over. I’m still allowed to be pumped, though.”

“Didn’t say you aren’t,” Brooke tugs on one of Vanessa’s braids lightly, “but remember that you’re not done yet. Trust me, I’m speaking from experience.”

“You’ve let your guard down too early?”

“Every time I thought I had a match in the bag because I did fine on earlier ones, I didn’t. And I always paid for it majorly.” Brooke’s pointed look makes Vanessa want to scowl, because she’s not that cocky. She’ll be ready for the next one.

Just like she’d been for her first two matches of the day.

Vanessa makes her way towards the plastic chairs that Kameron and a handful of athletes from the gym have taken over, plopping herself down beside Asia with a grin.

“Made it through to the finals in my division.” Vanessa holds up a hand and Asia returns the high five immediately, though she’s biting her lip, her eyes looking a little wild.

“Why do you look like you’re about to puke?” Vanessa raises an eyebrow and Asia shushes her almost comically, slinking down in her chair.

“Can you not be so loud?”

“What, bitch?”

Asia pulls her hood up over her head, mumbling something under her breath that Vanessa can’t hear. Vanessa scoots herself closer until her and Asia are close enough to bonk their foreheads together.

“Speak up.”

“KameronandIkissed.”

“What?”

“Shh!”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Vanessa mumbles under her breath, trying to resist the urge to rub her temples, “how? When? Where? Did you swap spit out here on the chairs? The fuck?”

“What? No!” Asia whispers, making frantic shushing gestures with her index finger. “She was giving me a pep talk before my second match. In the hallway. Which happened to be empty.”

“And decided it would be best to end with a makeout session?” Vanessa feels like she’s about to explode because holy shit. Asia’s crush on Kameron isn’t exactly a secret and quite frankly, it’s always looked reciprocated.

But a first kiss before a match? Damn.

“It wasn’t a makeout session! Who do you take me for?” Asia sputters but Vanessa raises an eyebrow, and snickers when Asia seems to deflate. “Okay, maybe it was a bit. But I won the match and now it feels like I can’t even look her in the eye because the last thing we did before the match was kiss.”

“So what? Go kiss her again, dumbass. It’s not rocket science.” Vanessa feels like Dr. Phil, with her friends’ love lives. First Monique and Monet not figuring themselves out and now Asia in a tizzy over Kameron.

But Asia’s crossing her arms. “She’s a coach! I can’t just go and kiss a coach.”

“Hate to break it to you, but you technically already kissed a coach.” Vanessa snickers, trying her best to hold back the urge to wiggle her brows.

“Shut up.” Asia grumbles. “I can’t believe I can never talk to her again.”

“Never again-what do you mean, never again?” Vanessa nearly falls off of her chair as she leans forward, poking Asia’s shoulder. “Go talk to her and also make out with her. In fact, Kameron’s looking over right this second.”

The subtle looks that Kameron is throwing in Asia’s direction are hard to miss when Vanessa knows what to watch for, and she just wants to let out a little yell under her breath. Because something’s happening. Vanessa doesn’t know what, exactly, but if anything, she loves watching the show.

“What? She is? Shit, I gotta hide. She won’t see me if I slide off the chair and crouch, will she?” Asia’s beginning to slide to the front of her chair and Vanessa snorts, reaching out a hand to grab the back of her hoodie.

“You’re not exactly invisible, and it’s going to look way more suspicious if you do that.” Vanessa tugs on Asia’s hoodie, revealing her face again. “What’s the harm in talking to her?”

“Because then we have to talk.” Asia groans, dropping her face in her hands.

Vanessa reaches out to pat her shoulder. “I know you’d rather kiss her and all that, but you’ll have to talk eventually, y’know. You’re sitting in shotgun and navigating for the ride home.”

Asia lifts up her face to scowl. “First, I wouldn’t rather kiss her. Okay, maybe I would, but still. Second, I’ll just get Monet or Monique to navigate. I’ll hide in the back or something.”

“No you won’t. You’re going to talk to Kameron on the drive home about the kiss. And then go kiss her again.”

It’s foolproof, really. Straight out of a romantic comedy. Should be easy enough to execute.

“I’m never coming to you for advice again.”

Or not.

“You’ll thank me later when the two of you are together.” Vanessa grins, an expression that grows when Asia groans.

Vanessa has to tell Monet and Monique about this, because they’ll have to figure out a way to get Asia into that front seat. If any one of them is going to end up with a boo, it may as well be Asia. Despite her spooked horse tendencies.

Vanessa’s gotta ask Brooke about it. Maybe Kameron’s telling her about it too, from the way the two of them are deep in conversation only a few rows over. Not that Vanessa gets the chance to do so, because when Brooke’s getting up out of her seat and handing her a protein bar, they’re on their way to the last match.

It’s not too worrisome. Vanessa will be fine, just like how she had been for her first two matches. She takes a swig of her Gatorade in their corner of the ring as Brooke wraps up her other hand, feeling the energy growing in her limbs the closer and closer the clock overhead ticks to the start of the match. The crowd is bigger than those from her first two matches, seven to eight rows deep around all sides of the ring and it makes the excitement bubble higher and higher in Vanessa’s stomach. Reaching the finale in her weight class is one thing. But winning this match and thus winning her weight class?

It’ll be even better.

“Feeling alright?” Brooke grabs Vanessa’s other hand once the first one is wrapped, her touch delicate as she covers Vanessa’s knuckles for the third time that day.

Vanessa would be lying if she said that she doesn’t feel her heart beat just a little bit faster every time Brooke does up her wraps for her, but she can’t think about it now. Not during a tournament. Not when the first round of her last match is coming up in a few minutes and she gets to kick ass all over again.

So she shrugs. “Feeling just fine.”

“Good. So stay alert, look for her tells, and take her down using her own game.”

The girl across the ring is intimidating, Vanessa will give her that, with a sleeve of tattoos on one arm extending all the way to her fingers. She doesn’t look too afraid herself, fastening her gloves with her teeth while her coach gives her a pep talk of her own. The girl’s coach towers over her, but then again, it doesn’t mean much when Vanessa isn’t blessed in the height department either.

But Vanessa can beat her. Just like she’s beaten her other two opponents today.

The girl shoots her a grin as the referee beckons the two of them closer, the gold mouth guard she’s flashing almost akin to a grill. Vanessa’s hands are up and protecting her face and abdomen before the whistle blows, because she’s ready, and-

Damn.

The girl is fast, with a jab and a cross and an uppercut as soon as the round starts and Vanessa blocks them just in time, letting out a breath when the girl steps back. But she’s fine, it doesn’t matter if the girl is fast because Vanessa is too, and the combination that she throws at the girl with her hook is enough to land a clean hit against the chest. But then the girl is back and in Vanessa’s space and too close but she’s most definitely in the right spot to crowd her and land a bunch of hits that make Vanessa scowl as she retreats, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

The pierce of the whistle is almost welcome, as Vanessa flops onto the stool in her corner of the ring. Brooke’s handing her a water bottle and patting her forehead with a towel and her raised eyebrows make Vanessa shrug.

“So not the best start to a round. I’ll get there.”

“Crowd her space first. She’s trying to catch you off guard, so you need to be in there before she’s ready. You can probably get a few in with jabs and a backhand before she’s realized what’s happening.” Brooke reaches out a hand for the water bottle once Vanessa’s finished, taking a swig herself.

Vanessa rolls out her neck, wiping the sweat off of her forehead with the back of the glove and it’s just as well because the whistle is blowing again, pulling them back for another round.

Except that the girl figures Vanessa out too easily. She’s hitting back in the mere milliseconds that Vanessa’s guards are down, landing hits that will count in her favour and it’s frustrating, being a second behind. The girl takes advantage of every time that Vanessa pauses and takes a second to strategize, breaking through her train of thought every time with a hit that Vanessa should be able to block and counter with a combination of her own. But it’s feeling impossible when Vanessa’s attempted hits turn into fumbles, when all she can do is try to block the girl as best as she can.

“Fuck!” Vanessa’s scowling by the next break, dropping her head between her knees because this is wrong, not how this match should be going.

What the hell is she doing wrong?

“She’s getting in your head. Don’t let her do that.” Brooke’s crouching beside her, a hand on her knee and Vanessa wants to shake it off, because everything feels prickly, the energy previously flowing her limbs now acting like currents that are slowly setting her on fire.

Vanessa sits back up, leaning against the ropes of the ring. “How the fuck not? I can’t focus ‘cause she’s too fast and I’m crashing ‘cause it’s been a long fucking day, and I can’t do this.”

Maybe it’ll be less embarrassing if Vanessa throws in the towel now. She’s clearly in over her head, and it’s too much and maybe if she leaves with her tail in between her legs she can preserve a small shred of dignity without getting her ass whooped even more in the process.

“You’re not giving in that easily, are you?” Brooke’s raising an eyebrow and Vanessa wants to growl. “Thought you had more in you than that.”

“I do, I just…fuck.” She can’t go and give up when Brooke’s looking at her like that. Not that she would, anyway, but for a second, the option is tempting.

Vanessa is just going to crumble into pieces during the course of the match instead.

Brooke turns her chin towards her. “Listen. She’s not invincible. This is just me in the gym, pushing you just a little too hard when you’re tired. Nothing more. That’s all you’re facing right now.”

It’s easy enough for Brooke to say, Vanessa supposes, when the whistle blows again to signal the next round and her opponent is looking as fresh as ever, already bouncing on her feet. Vanessa feels like she’s stuck in molasses, her limbs sluggish as they fight against an invisible force and her brain just a second behind. She’s blindsided by hits that she’d be able to block easily in the gym, counter with a few of her own, but right now?

She’s fighting worse than someone who’s never boxed before.

Everything is too loud, too blinding around her as the third round ends and she slumps on her stool in the corner of the ring, dropping her head into her hands. The lights are too bright and there are too many people watching the match and all Vanessa wants to have is the ability to disappear into her brain and hide away and turn everything around her off.

There’s a hand on Vanessa’s knee, and when she opens her eyes Brooke is looking at her with a sympathetic expression and she hates it. She doesn’t want to have to see it, because it means that Brooke also knows that she’s in deep shit in this round, that there’s no way to come back from it. Instead, both of them get to watch this slow descent towards a loss that almost feels worse than if Vanessa was hit with a knockout. She gets to see the foundations of her boxing skills break down one by one, all because now she’s faced with a little bit of pressure that she can’t face up against.

She knows that Kameron, Asia, Monet, and Monique are in the crowd, along with the rest of the athletes from their gym. There’s other competitors that Vanessa hasn’t met yet, more coaches and spectators here just for the entertainment of it all. There’s even television cameras because the tournament is being broadcast on some offshoot sports channel on cable and god, the fact that people Vanessa doesn’t even know are seeing her in this state?

She hates it.

The referee’s whistle is piercing, cutting through her thoughts and bringing her back to the stool she’s on, the cheering of the crowd, and most importantly, her opponent who’s already bouncing on her feet and ready to go.

She still has one more round to go.

Fucking hell.

Tags: branjie, brooke lynn hytes, vanessa vanjie mateo, lesbian au, boxer au, holtzmanns, level up

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #lesbian au #boxer au #holtzmanns #level up

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third-rail-vip · 4 years

Photo

Wide Awake

Summary:

“It’s quiet out here... too quiet” might be fun to say, but when it’s 2am and quiet as hell in Sanctuary, sometimes it’s just boring.

A sleepless MacCready pays a visit to the only other person who might still be awake.

Notes:

Tumblr fluff prompt: “what are you doing here? it’s late.” I accidentally deleted the ask because i’m an idiot.

Beautiful screenshot of the night sky at Sanctuary very kindly lent by @mutantenfisch

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 3873 [AO3 link] [Then I Met You - Series Link]

MacCready couldn’t sleep. Lay in his darkened room, he huffed out a sigh – cigarette smoke mingled with condensation in the cold air. A cursory glance at his watch told him it was pushing 2 am.

What felt like too many hours ago, he’d found a spot in one of Sanctuary’s many unoccupied houses and bedded down on a mattress that seemed to be more springs than anything else, but it would do. He’d slept on worse.

Not that sleep seemed to be on the cards.

Nah, the mattress wasn’t the problem. He just couldn’t settle properly the first night back in ‘civilisation’ after weeks on the road. His nerves were still on edge. He’d barely undressed for bed, only shedding his coat, hat and kicking off his boots. His rifle lay at hand by the mattress, ready for what still felt like the imminent possibility of attack. He’d studied the ceiling until his candle burnt down, then lay in the darkness, not even able to blame his usual turn on first watch for keeping him awake—they’d be well into Ivy’s shift by now.

Not that she’d be awake. She’d be enjoying a quiet night’s sleep, some space to herself and no monsters ready to jump out of the shadows.

Just whatever prowls the dark places in her head.

MacCready shook the thought from his mind; it wasn’t any of his business where his partner went in those glassy-eyed moments when the colour left her cheeks and she looked like she was watching something so real she could reach out and touch it. Something he had no idea how to even begin looking for. All he could do was watch her back if it happened again.

Instead, he busied himself fidgeting with a fresh pack of cigarettes— ‘fresh’ 200 years ago anyway —unable to decide whether he should just lie there and light another or get up and stretch his legs in the hope that the cold night air would either wake him up fully or put him to sleep.

Whatever he chose, he needed to decide soon because the boredom was driving him nuts.

He sat up, suspiciously eyeing the sliver of moonless sky he could see through a hole in the unpatched roof above him. For a boy who grew up in a cave, darkness made him twitchy (not that Lamplight was a dark place, the clue was in the damn name). The thing he’d come to realise about the dark and the quiet was, if you didn’t know any better, it could too easily be mistaken for calm and safe. Once, just once, he’d let himself be taken in by it. And he’d have to live with that for the rest of his days.

These days, not that MacCready would ever admit it, he liked it better if there was just that little bit of light to creep past his eyelids as he drifted off, and maybe a bit of noise too, some sort of show that there was life around him; campfires, candles, even the tinny echo of Ivy’s pipboy broadcasting that jackass, Travis, at all hours would do the trick.

This quiet wouldn’t do at all. Too few distractions. Too much time to think.

Finally freeing a cigarette, he fumbled for his lighter in the darkness, flicked it a few times to no avail. A cursory shake confirmed it—empty. He tossed it aside, tucked the cigarette back into the pack and reached for his boots instead.

A walk it was.

------

The damn door creaked.

MacCready cursed himself for using it instead of the other one, which didn’t even technically have a door in it anymore. Idiot. He’d seen a glow through the window and hadn’t even thought. He’d just walked straight in.

Ivy’s house (the one she’d adopted, anyway) wasn’t like the one he’d chosen to hide away in. It didn’t smell like damp or have holes in the roof. Someone had gone to great effort to get it back to being homely. It still smelled like supper from that evening, leftover veg stew, and the vague scent of-MacCready sniffed-was that carrot flowers? Probably had something to do with that fussy old woman of a Mr Handy unit. He was undoubtedly why there was also a lingering smell of disinfectant.

Ivy had told him that it had stayed there cleaning its old masters’ house for two hundred years. What a loser.

From the meagre moonlight he could just make out the dark shapes of the kitchen counters ( there was the vase of flowers the robot must have decided to put out while playing house in honor of his new mistress’s return home), the rickety dining table they’d decided not to eat their supper at, and the couch that, on the one occasion he’d been stupid enough to throw himself onto it, turned out to be even more uncomfortable than the one in their usual room at the Dugout.

The faint welcoming glow of lantern light from the hallway to the bedrooms almost made him forget his midnight trespassing. He meandered forward – fully intending to announce his arrival– only to boot a water bowl right across the room. He dived forward trying to put an end to the metallic ringing and sloshing, but too late.

“Who’s there?”

Mac knew Ivy well enough to hear the edge of panic behind the warning in that shout. He clamped his hands onto the bowl, finally stopping it rolling, and looked up from his spot knelt in a puddle of dog water.

Ivy darted out from the farthest room, the one where the warm light spilled from, oh, and now he felt bad . She was dressed for bed in the over-large plaid shirt she’d picked up from some trader in Diamond City; something more comfortable to sleep in that her vault suit, she’d said - it hadn’t seen much use, given the amount of time they spent staying in places where it was safer to stay as armoured as possible, even when trying to get a night’s rest. Her hair was all over the place, like she’d been tossing and turning, trying to get settled as badly as he had. Frankly, she looked exhausted.

But only a real dumbass would tell her that right now, because the startled woman, whose house he’d walked into at 2am was currently levelling a pistol straight at his head.

“Woah woah woah! Angel, it’s just me!” MacCready stuck his hands up in the air, giving her a startled grin. He may be used to being on the end of the threat of her pistol—he couldn’t help having a smart mouth—but the actual pistol… that was new. “Is this a hold-up? You want me to hand over my caps?”

Ivy dropped the gun to her side with a muttered curse and flopped back against her doorframe.

“Mac? What are you doing here? It’s late.” Rocking her head back, she let out a shaky breath. “You scared the shit out of me.”

He shrugged apologetically from his spot on the floor, avoiding her question long enough for her to wander forward offering her free hand.

“You can get off the floor now, tiger,” she said with a sigh that edged into a smirk. “Like I could get any caps out of you anyway. Gunpoint or not.”

Now banter he could handle. It was one of his favourite things about her, she enjoyed his teasing and his joking, she even put up with his snarking. Plus, she’d offered him the perfect get out of jail free card to avoid any explanations about why he was there.

He let his gaze flick down the bare legs he was currently eye-to-thigh with, and back up to Ivy’s face, giving her an excessively dramatic eye roll.

“If you’re trying to impress me, it’s not going to work,” he drawled.

She withdrew her hand with a mock scowl and gave him a sharp, but not painful, kick—enough to send him from kneeling to sitting in the puddle of dog water—turned on her heel and wandered back up the hall to her room. With maybe a little more sway to her hips than was entirely necessary.

It was probably safer not to call her on it though, she was still armed, after all. Best just to stay put, watch maybe...

“I was in bed, thank you very much. There were blankets and everything.” She snarked back over her shoulder at him, finally giving a cursory glance as she reached her room before disappearing out of view. “I was just drifting off when I heard this absolute racket. And I thought to myself, it’s not Christmas for a few more weeks, so it can’t be Santa. Not that he doesn’t owe me 210 years’ worth of presents…”

And people thought he was the sarcastic one.

MacCready grinned, getting up quickly and bounding after her up the hall.

He was careful to avoid looking into the darkened nursery as he passed. His first time in Sanctuary he’d found Ivy staring into the room. She’d asked him if he thought they’d ever find that missing boy, Shaun, but he couldn’t answer. The sight of that damn crib haunted him. All he could think about was Duncan and how time was passing and he’d gotten nowhere. He’d just about managed to thickly mutter “yeah, sure”, which didn’t sound overly convincing to either of them, before he had to rush outside and try not to be sick.

Leaning on her doorframe, he peeked round the corner into the room. It was mainly taken up by an old pre-war bed that’d been fixed up like new since the last time they were there. There were clothes, sketchbooks and empty gumdrop wrappers strewn over a dresser in the corner - Codsworth mustn’t be allowed in here, there was no way he’d leave it such a mess. The glow that spilled out into the hallway came from an oil lantern balanced on the windowsill and a single candle, melting its way down on the bedside table.

On the bed was an open comic and more gumdrops. She hadn’t been sleeping either.

“If you don’t think you can get caps out of me, you can be damn sure you aren’t getting 210 presents,” he grinned, but Ivy was too busy rummaging through the dresser drawers to do anything more enthusiastic than throw a sock at him.

He flopped down onto his back on the bed and snatched up the comic and a handful of gumdrop. This bed was a damn sight more comfortable than the crappy mattress he had to put up with, that was for sure.

Grognak the Barbarian and the Jungle of the Bat Babies.

“Meh. I’ve got this one,” he complained as he munched on the candy, continuing to idly leaf through the pages anyway.

“Well if you wouldn’t mind not losing my page…” Ivy shot him a sharp look over her shoulder as she dragged on a pair of tatter jeans.

After weeks of sleeping in foxholes, broken-down houses and on rooftops, privacy between the two of them had become less of an issue, he’d gotten fairly used to catching sight of her trying to wriggle in and out of a vault suit in his peripheral vision, but he still couldn’t help smirking at the idea of the raised eyebrows there’d be around the settlement if they could see them now. He had to stop himself chuckling out loud, wondering what Garvey would think of his precious General having an ex-Gunner in her room in the middle of the night.

Best not to get too smart about the Gunner part… he’d heard about Quincy. Might have been years after his time with them, but that kind of association tainted the way people looked at a man.

Most people anyway.

He glanced over at Ivy who was trying to get her hair to behave. Christ knows why, it’s not like there was anyone to see it. It wasn’t Preston’s fault he kept catching on Mac’s last nerve, it was just… there were only so many times you could hear someone called a ‘good man’ without starting to wonder if that made you the ‘bad’ one. Not to mention the looks—he glanced at Ivy again—the way Garvey would go soft whenever she was helping that handyman with settlement stuff, or any other do-gooder crap. You’d think she was some kind of miracle.

He’d bet every last cap he owned that the man had never seen her pickpocket Gunners or watched those fingers crack a lock faster than any professional he’d ever met, just to break into a guy’s house because he rubbed her up the wrong way. No, MacCready might call her angel, but he was more than aware that she was flesh and blood.

Ivy plonked herself down cross-legged on the end of the bed, entirely derailing his train of thought.

“So, a gentleman caller at this late hour… tongues will wag.” She raised an eyebrow. “Did you just come here to frighten me or did you need something?”

Well now he felt like an idiot. There was no dodging the question this time, and she was watching him intently. Why was he here?

Because he was lonely? Heck no. He couldn’t sleep and he’d gotten used to having someone to talk to? He was bored? This place is too damn quiet and too damn boring. And how the hell could she live here before the war? Surrounded by boring houses with boring people and boring jobs and boring everything , when she wasn’t boring at all…

“I saw your light was on.”

“You couldn’t sleep either, huh?”

“Never can on the first night somewhere.” He gave in and shrugged as nonchalantly as he could manage. “Still feels like I need to watch the shadows. Anyway, I gave up trying and figured I’d get some air.”

She considered his statement for a moment. He hoped she wasn’t considering too hard how much ending up in her house probably didn’t count as ‘getting air’.

“Air sounds good.”

Well, he couldn’t say he wasn’t a little disappointed at the turn of events. He’d just been getting comfy, wondering if he could sneakily doze off and then she’d be stuck with the couch - she could usually be relied on to be too nice to wake him if she didn’t have to. But he dutifully put aside the well-thumbed comic, grabbed another handful of gumdrops and waited for her to pull on some shoes and grab a spare blanket before they headed outside.

------

Ivy swore under her breath, something about Boston winters even without snow. She gave an exaggerated shiver and dragged the blanket around her shoulders before joining MacCready in the street. She probably should’ve grabbed a coat, MacCready mused, but she didn’t seem bothered enough to head back into the house. Instead she fidgeted on the spot, looking at him expectantly.

“It’s your walk,” she whispered after a moment, keeping her voice low for fear of waking the long since passed out settlers. He could just about see she was smiling at him despite the shadows of the house. “Lead on, boss. ”

Boss. He rolled his eyes at her, but led the way anyway, meandering slowly up the street towards the end of the cul-de-sac, their footsteps crunching quietly on the broken asphalt as they passed house after darkened house.

MacCready stopped when he reached the tree that dominated the end of the estate, not sure where to go next. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. They could wander the edge of the small island that housed the settlement, but that ran the risk of bumping into whoever was on guard and then they’d be stuck making awkward conversation. They could cross the north bridge towards the vault. No, definitely not. Ivy was one of the few people he knew who wanted to go near a vault even less than he did. Especially that vault. Anyway, they were meant to be distracting each other from lack of sleep, not creating more reasons for it.

Ivy must have noticed the lost look on his face (or just got impatient of waiting) because felt a tap on his arm. She didn’t wait for him to respond before dragging him towards the farthest house. Instead of going inside, she led the way to a ladder propped up against the roof.

“You’ve got your binoculars, right?” she whispered, pointing up the ladder. “After you.”

He gave her a confused look, but patted the pair strapped to his belt, and went ahead and climbed first - offering Ivy a hand when she reached the top. Other than a couple of tall trees, the roof offered an unimpeded view right across the commonwealth down to the coast.

They settled down on the broad roof tiles, feet in the gutter so they didn’t slip down. Ivy had offered to lay the blanket out for them to sit on but after her display outside the house, he wasn’t going to sit there and watch her shiver for the sake of keeping his ass warm. And he told her as much.

“Don’t let anybody tell you I’m not a gentleman,” he grinned after her laughter died down.

It was a hell of a view. Mac scanned the horizon, picking out the familiar shapes that loomed in the darkness; the jagged skyscrapers of Boston’s skyline - lit up by Diamond City’s unsubtle display of lights, the satellite bank out near the coast, and the freeway, snaking across the landscape towards mass pike interchange. That held his attention a little longer than the rest. Just one more item on his list of problems.

But Ivy didn’t seem to notice. She wasn’t even looking out across the vista, she was sat back on her elbows, staring straight up into the night sky.

He leant back too, looking across at her but he didn’t stand a chance of catching her eye, she was completely enthralled. After a couple of minutes he gave up and gently prodded her, “Come back down to earth, spaceman…” It was enough to get her to tear her eyes away from the sky and glance back across at him. A sad smile touched her lips.

“My dad loved looking at the stars. It was kind of his job... along with a lot of math. He taught at a college back home.” She didn’t often talk about before, and he wasn’t sure she’d ever mentioned her family. “You don’t know how lucky you are, seeing the sky like this. People would travel hundreds of miles for a view like this.”

“Seriously?” MacCready stared up, bemused.

“Seriously.” She smiled at him, or maybe through him. Her mind seemed to be somewhere else, but not in a bad way for once. “Have you ever tried to look at the stars when you’re in Diamond City? Even Goodneighbor? It’s far too bright, you can barely see anything. That’s what most places were like before the war. It was all streetlights stopping you from seeing ‘one of the best views in the universe’. That’s what my dad used to say, anyway. He used to drive me, my mum and my brother out into the middle of the countryside on clear nights like this. I swear he’d talk about space all night, if mum let him.”

“Sorry, I went a bit off topic…” She let out a small laugh and shook her head. “I think the point I was aiming for was it’s beautiful.”

“I suppose it is.”

He hazarded a smile in the dark. Starlight suited her. Sat there bathed in the soft glow, wide-eyed and taking everything in as though she was seeing it for the first time, she looked genuinely happy. Completely lost to the world, mind, with no idea of anything else happening around her.

“I’m probably boring you to death.”

“No. Well maybe a little.” MacCready couldn’t resist a chance to tease. “I read about stars when I was a kid. Big balls of glowing gas, yada yada. You said your dad was an expert, show me something I don’t know.”

Ivy sat up, giving him a determined look. Oh good, challenge accepted. “Fine. Give me those binoculars.”

He handed them over and watched her tracing the sky above them, leaning back to look further and further north east until she spotted what she wanted.

“You see that star?” she pointed. “The fuzzy looking one.”

“They all look fuzzy.”

“No they don’t! Come here.” She shuffled right up next to him, still pointing in the direction she was looking.

It took about five minutes of manhandling to get him looking in the right direction. He was having too much fun winding her up by purposefully not paying attention, and laughing too hard when she tried to move him by his chin because it tickled. Eventually, and only after she begged, he stopped still long enough for her to get him looking in the right direction - according to her anyway. To him it just looked like any other star.

“Ok, stay still will you?” This time Mac did his best as she squashed right up next to him, and pressed her cheek against his to make sure they were both looking where they should be. She produced the binoculars again, holding them so they had an eyepiece each, and finally he could see what she was talking about.

“Right, so it’s a fuzzy star?” he muttered from trying to keep his head still. There’d be hell to pay if he didn’t.

“Look again. See the ellipse shape?”

“Yeah, the fuzzy one. What about it?”

“Oh, there might be a couple more than just that one fuzzy little star.” She pulled away and handed him the binoculars, tired, but beaming. “More like a trillion of them, a couple of million light years away. That is the Andromeda Galaxy.”

“No shit- oop.”

MacCready clamped a hand across his mouth in a poor attempt to catch the curse that had slipped past his lips.

“Does that count as something you didn’t know?” Ivy giggled softly, stifling a yawn as she lay back down and pulled the blanket tighter around her. “Damn. I should’ve put some caps on it.”

“Yeah, I’d say it counts,” he grinned. “But trust me, I’ve learned not to make bets against you.”

MacCready lay back, staring at the sky, eyes fixed on that blurry star that turned out to be much more than it appeared. He opened his mouth to quiz Ivy some more, but in the quiet he could hear that her breathing had become soft and even. A glance confirmed it, she was fast asleep.

“Well, I don’t know how I’m going to get you down off this roof,” he whispered, reaching over to tuck an errant curl back behind her ear. “So it looks like we’re here for the night.”

He settled back again, pulling the brim of his cap down over his eyes before resting his head on his hands. This time sleep found him easily, a smile on his face, thinking of a little boy back home who would love to hear all about the stars.

#fluff prompt #mac x ivy #then i met you #ivy kendrick #maccready #robert joseph maccready #maccready x f!solesurvivor #maccready x sole survivor #in this house we love preston garvey - mac is just being a grump and he'll get over it #my writing

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whittakerjodie · 4 years

Text

Doppelganger Part 2 (Whittaker!master X Reader)

Summary: The Master has decided that she’s not done with you

Words: 2.4k

Authors note: Mannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn the way she’s got me whipped rn...

Warnings: emotional manipulation, the Master in general

Part One

Things on the TARDIS had been… awkward to say the least. The Doctor had spent two days taking care of you and asking questions. Then, after those two days, it was like a wall was suddenly erected between the two of you and you hardly spoke. You knew you hadn’t done anything wrong, so there was no apparent reason for her shortness other than the ‘other’ Master.

Once in a while, you would catch her staring at you with a look in her eyes that nearly brought you to tears without feeling what she was. How did you even bring a situation like that up, or begin to explain it?

Thankfully, the shock, pain, and bruises became a lot less intense as time passed. Your adventuring resume had provided you with quite the tolerance for the three staples. There were still stubborn remnants though. The gentle touch of her hand before the sting of pain, the Doctor's voice perverted into yelling and commanding, her eyes as you were carried away; furious yet… calculating.

Then, sometimes you would find yourself staring at her, when she wasn’t doing the same to you. It was surrealism to a new level- the women you loved, same as always, even after seeing her (but not her) hurt you so badly. You hated the few times you would see her out of the corner of your eyes and jump on account of seeing the Master in her place.

The Doctor had insisted that you come on their next adventure, even though you’d asked if you could spend a day inside the TARDIS to relax. You supposed she didn’t want whatever happened before happening again and leaving you with her. So, you agreed, even if you weren’t excited like usual.

You were trailing behind the Doctor and the fam, unable to become fully present. The planet was nice, at least. Long winding tree’s stretched towards a dark purple sky, where 6 suns sparkled. You were hiking on a trail headed towards the peak of Banton, where you would be able to see the seventh moon from it’s height.

Nothing dangerous had happened yet, but deep down you could feel that something was wrong. Every alien on-planet seemed… tense. Artificial, almost. Their eyes followed you and you alone, and you could sense them still following you even into the wilderness. You heard shuffling in the bush behind you and curled your hand into a nervous fist.

“Doc-” You started. You were cut off by a tug on your arm, hard enough to nearly dislocate your shoulder. Your back slammed against a tree and the air was knocked out of you in one moment, a gloved hand pressing against your lips to keep you quiet. Red twinged at the edges of your eyesight from the pain and you tried to push outwards against whoever had hurt you.

“Careful love. Relax.” Then, everything disappeared in a bright blue light.

_____________________________________

Not again, you thought, as you woke up for the second time in immense pain. You immediately shot upwards, ecstatic to find that your limbs were not bound this time. Then, confusion set in. You weren’t in a chair or a dark, scary room.

There was a soft orange light covering the room. You could make out bookshelves, filled to maximum capacity. In the corner was a large vanity, the mirror extending to the ceiling. Reflected in the mirror was you, panicked and covered in a blanket you were realizing was very comfortable. And next to you-

You jumped up again and nearly fell off the bed when a hand reached out and grabbed your collar, yanking you forward.

“I said relax.”

The Master didn’t even look at you, eyes pointed at the pages of her book. Her fist was still curled around the fabric of your shirt, holding you in place. You tried to pull again only to be greeted with an eye roll.

“Do I need to tie you up again? Relax” she demanded through gritted teeth. She slowly let go of your shirt and you sank back into a sitting position on the bed.

“How?” Was the first out of many questions you asked.

“You don’t need to know that. What sort of food do you like?”

“Food from my own universe, thank you. I’d like to go back to it”

“You don’t have to go back to it.”

“Yes, I do”

“No you don’t.”

“And why is that?” you exclaimed impatiently.

“Because you never left your universe” Your eyes widened.

“What d’you mean?”

“I mean what I said. Now, I answered your question, dear. I believe I’m owed.”

You blinked, watching her doggy-ear her page and set the book on the nightstand. She stared back at you, eyes narrowed. You felt yourself blush involuntarily at the attention. She was still wearing the same outfit from the other day, but it was buttoned up once more. You stubbornly shoved the image of the opposite case out of your mind.

“W-which question was that again?” You stammered. She shifted, laying on her side with her head propped up on her hand.

“I asked what food you like.” You thought for a moment, trying to decipher any hidden trick lying in the question. You gave her your nervous reply, and she nodded, then pointed across the room. Hanging off the vanity was a long dress. “Put it on.”

Then, she pushed herself off the bed and walked out of the room. For a moment, you could swear you heard her chuckling to herself. Immediately you searched around the room for a way out other than the door. There were no windows, though, and no obvious forms of communication lying around. Giving in (for the briefest of moments only, you told yourself) You tugged the dress into your arms and put it on.

Her TARDIS console room was different than your Doctors. There were still columns surrounding the console, but they were grey and pointy near the ceiling. The ‘round things’ still covered the walls, but their orange was violent, like fire. Their light was the only thing keeping the console room from drowning in total darkness. The Masters form was nothing but a black shadow, toying with the buttons and levers with an careful expertise.

She heard your footsteps and turned. Although the shadows concealed most of her face, you could make out her smirk and approving stare. You tried to make out her outfit but she stepped back into the shadows more.

“If we’re still in my universe, how did you get here?” You asked. You didn’t want to consider the possibilities and plans running through her mind or the dangers of having two Masters - one of which was a spitting image of the Doctor- running around.

“How about you save the questions until after dinner?” She murmured.

“Dinner?”

“Yes, dinner. What do you think, that I asked what food you liked so I could erase it from existence? Oo-!” She perked up. It was scary how much her excitement reminded you of the Doctor. “I could do that. Maybe if you’re a bad girl.”

You stepped back into the shadows yourself so that she wouldn’t take advantage of the warmth burning across your face. This was all too confusing. It was embarrassing and weird and wow, there was too much going on inside and outside of your head. A gloved hand slid under your chin, tilting your face upwards. You met her eyes, shrinking under the weight of them.

“How long has it been for you, since we met?”

“Couple of days.” She nodded, stepping back.

“Come.”

You stepped out of the TARDIS with her, somewhat ashamedly shielding yourself behind her. She seemed to take note of the fact with a smile. You seemed to be in a restaurant of sorts, although not one on Earth. Aliens of all sorts dined at tables on several levels, all of which were lit so beautifully you nearly forgot that your date was a genocidal maniac wearing your crushes face.

You let the Master deal with all the talking, carefully listening in in case she let anything slip. To your disappointment, she didn’t, and you were led to your table. While you walked you found yourself once again greedily eyeing her outfit. It was very... fitting. The red shirt had remained the same, her black pants hugging her form tightly. You scolded yourself for getting distracted.

“Don’t try anything or I’ll slit the throat of everyone here,” the Master promised.

Hearing such a violent thing be said in the Doctor’s voice immediately ripped you out of your admiring state and you didn’t sit down. Somehow, the food had already been prepared for you. This was ridiculous- looking around, everyone was on a date. This was a date.

“Alright, just come out with the plan.” You demanded. The Master shot a glare towards the hostess, who scurried away with a yelp.

“What plan? How do you know I have a plan?”

“Don’t you always?” You spat. “Listen… this has gone on far enough. The Doctor will find me.”

“Oh great,” The master said with a groan. “You’re playing the damsel-in-distress angle. Classic, but not what I was looking for on this particular outing. Sit.”

“No” You insisted. “Why should I? You hurt me”

“I barely touched you” She said with an eye roll. She pulled your chair out for you, pointing at it. “Now, if you’re done whining, I believe your food is getting cold.”

She reached into her pocket and you could see the classic shape of the tissue compression eliminator. So, you thought. Not much difference between universes then.

You took a seat, pushing yourself in so that she couldn’t. She huffed and took the seat opposite from you, starting her meal. As she cut into her steak you looked down at your own food, unable to deny that you were hungry.

“It’s not poisoned, if that’s what you’re thinking. Eat, I have some things to discuss with you after.”

Deciding not to get on her nerves any longer, you silently ate your food. Amazingly, the Master hadn’t lied. You remained alive, enjoying the superb cooking. The Master was silent too, for once, although she seemed rather twitchy, like she was eager to jump up from the seat and cause chaos where she stood. She took a sip of her blood-red wine and began to speak.

“Do you know the first rule of travelling with the Doctor, Y/n?”

“Don’t run off?”

“The Doctor lies” She said lowly. “Tell me, is she still sticking to her usual formula? Telling you that you’re important, that she’ll take you to every corner of the universe, that she’ll take care of you?”

You swallowed your food and winced as it stuck in your throat. This is just her trying to get a rise out of you, you told yourself. “I am important” You argued. “She has taken me to many corners of the universe and she does take care of me”

She gave a small tsk and reached across the table to place her hand over yours. You tried to yank it back but she had an iron grip, digging her nails into the skin on your wrist.

“Tell me, Y/n, if you’re so important to her, do you know about all her other friends? Her lovers?”

You couldn’t break yourself away from the eye contact, trying not to show any emotion. You didn’t, really. The Doctor hadn’t even told you what planet she was from until a couple of months ago. The Master could tell that you didn’t know, too. It made you sick.

“I wonder… so many lovers here right now, eating. How much of a coincidence would it be if the Doctor were here, right now?” Your muscles tensed. What was she talking about? She feigned curiosity, eyes scanning the room until they landed on a table in the far corner of the room.

“Oh, look at that. Aren’t they lovely.” You refused to follow her gaze and as a result, she grabbed your chin and forced your head towards the table. It wasn’t any two people you recognized, but you could sense familiarity in the man sitting there. He wasn’t your Doctor per say but-

“Her 12th face. Technically. Who’s that sitting with him you might ask?”

“Stop.”

“His adoring wife!” She said gleefully. Your chin wobbled and you moved your eyes away from them. The Doctor was so old, you figured she would’ve loved others before you. But knowing was different then seeing and having it used against you.

The Master dropped your chin, laughing when your head quickly fell. You didn’t realize you’d been leaning into her supporting hand. She silenced herself with another sip of wine, watching you carefully.

"Been together ages, them. Granted, not nearly as long as me and the Doctor have-” She didn’t finish. “Did the Doctor tell you about the 24 years they spent on this planet?"

You took a bite and ate your food slower, determined not to give in. But she was just as stubborn- she glared at you impatiently.

"I- I didn't know she had a wife" You admitted. Regret immediately stabbed through your tongue; you'd given her ammo, now.

"Neither did I, at first. I told you, dear. That’s the first rule. The Doctor lies" You ignored her again, trying to process your feelings. It was a little hard, given the situation. She sighed. “I wouldn’t lie to you, y/n. Well, that’s a lie. I would lie to you. I will lie to you. But I’ll have the decency to admit my dishonesty”

“Well that’s very… honest of you” You murmur instinctively. She blinked.

“Regardless.” She seethed. “I usually don’t keep pets-”

“Companions.”

“Companions. But I'd be willing to make an exception for you” Your heart stops, caught completely off guard.

“I’m sorry- what?”

“The rules are simple. You come with me, no one dies. You refuse, or you try to contact your precious Doctor, and I burn the universe I came from.” She held up a small wooden box, twirling it around in her fingers. “It’s called the moment. Timelord technology, but modified. I press the button on this bad-boy and the entire universe collapses before you can scream my name”

You stared at the box in horror, unsure of what to do. She wouldn’t would she? But she’s not the Doctor, you reminded yourself. She would. But why?

“B-but that's your whole universe! What would you even do?!?” You try to tug your hand back again but she nearly claws at it.

“Stay here with you. Then we could watch your universe burn next. Wouldn’t that be fun?” You look around the restaurant, frantically trying to get someone's attention, hoping someone could notice your panic. She chuckled, pocketing the Moment. “Don’t bother. Perception filter. It’s just you and I, love”

“Fine” You spat.There was no time to consider logistics or options. “Just- don’t hurt anyone please”

The last thing you wanted was a body count and the Master could make that happen in a split second. All you could do was hope that the Doctor would find you. Until then… you would have to follow her every order. You would have to let her become your Master.

#whittaker!master #Whittaker!master x reader #13th doctor #13th doctor x reader

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