#its a good enough fake unless you closely inspect it which it part of the reason the yllz stays somewhat secluded

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

In the equineswap au does everyone know that wwx lost his magic bc his horn is gone or does he pretend it's there somehow?

Wen Qing casted her scotch tape spell

#poorly drawn mdzs #equineswap au #mdzs #wei wuxian #wen ning #wen qing #big note here: These are *not* the final wen sibiling designs I want to do better #they really should be red horses but i couldnt find my marker B*( #wen ning carved it with his own two hooves #its a good enough fake unless you closely inspect it which it part of the reason the yllz stays somewhat secluded #they also painted JC’s transplant. He hasnt been swimming (or washing his horn) in *years* so he has no idea #wen ning shows him the can of paint he used 15 years ago and that kicks of the core reveal. Horn reveal #theres an ask burning in my inbox about how thrown together this lore is and FINE you GOT me #its mostly rule of funny. #but yeah wwx post horn loss 100% resorts to acting lazy to avoid showing his broken magic off. Necromancy is separate from unicorn magic #if he pretends he can use magic its gonna be like…stage magician stuff.

[vampiresuns]

Interlude 1: Do Not Stand Over My Grave And Weep, Part 2

⟡ PART 2: FRIENDS ARE THE FAMILY YOU CHOOSE ⟡

2.2k words. In which Anatole’s friends start uncovering the mystery of his death and sudden reappearance. 

CW: Death and discussions of it.

What to catch up with Anatole’s Apprentice series? You can do that here.

He had met him at University. He had been his friend since he was 18 years old. Anatole and Medea had been Leonore’s first lasting friends, the first people who outside of his family, had taught him permanence was not entrapment. They had filled his life with growth and laughter; he had suffered their woes, he had celebrated their triumphs, he had followed them into Vesuvia despite his original wish to travel the world. 

He still travelled, but he always came back to them. Medea and Anatole weren’t just friends: they were family now. When Leonore closed his eyes he could see them holding hands and jumping into the water one summer evening in Prakra. He could see Medea using his thigh as a pillow under a tree. He could see Anatole dancing. He could see Medea and Anatole dressed to the nines for their new Court jobs. 

He would know them anywhere. He would know them by the way their steps sounded alone.

It took Leonore some moments to remember where he was, Octavia gently nudging him. Sabine, who he didn’t realise had gone, announced themselves again, saying they had lost Anatole’s doppelgänger in the crowd. 

Only it hadn’t been a doppelgänger. Leonore knew his best friend, he knew Anatole when he saw him. 

“No,” he said at last. “No, that’s him. That’s him, Octavia. That was him, and I need to find him.” 

“Leonore, wait! Anatole’s dead.” 

They began bickering about it, Octavia trying to stop Leonore from head diving into a wild goose chase, not realising Selasi, the Baker, was listening to them. 

“Excuse me, forgive me for overhearing, but are you talking about Anatole Radošević? The magician from Moonstone and Jasmine?” 

“Yes! His aunt owned that shop,” Leonore said, jumping to talk to Selasi, who inspected him with a careful eye. 

“I don’t know what prank you’re playing, but he’s alive as can be. I opened a little after the plague subsided and he and Asra have been getting bread from me for three years, almost. They’re attached at the hip, so if you know Asra—“ 

Leonore leaped to shake his hand. “I do know, Asra! Thank you, thank you so much.” 

Selasi tried to tell him Asra wasn’t around, that he was on a journey, but that he could tell him where to find Anatole if he promised he was a friend, but Leonore sprinted towards the shop without letting him finish. Sabine set off to follow Leonore as Octavia called to both of them, which left her standing alone with Selasi. She made some apologies, and Selasi told her not to worry. 

“Where did you say you knew him?”

“Leonore went to University with him,” she said, thinking the least she could do was to assure the man they were Anatole’s friends, not some random people with weird motivations. “I know him through his cousin.”

The baker hummed. “I didn’t know Anatole had any family besides his late Aunt and Asra.”

Something about the way he said it, the casual certainty of it, gave Octavia a chill. She thanked him, and tried to catch up with Sabine and Leonore, not wanting to say anything Selasi might not know. She risked him stopping them, or worse, telling Anatole, which she didn’t think would be a good idea. Octavia just had a bad feeling about it: she didn’t expect people to just know who Anatole was, or had been, that could be conceited. Anatole himself hated being anticipated by his job, wanting to have the opportunity to present himself and do the best he could do. 

Yet from there to the sureness Selasi had had when he said he didn’t know Anatole had any family besides Paris and Asra? It was weird. The Radošević-Cassano weren’t meant to be separated; if Octavia knew anything about them from Milenko, it was that they were very close knit. The only people in their families that Octavia could think of as not being regarded ever, were Matilda and Krešmir, Vlad’s and Valerius’ late parents, who hadn’t even raised the siblings. All she knew about them was that they were neglectful and Matilda had the idle ennui of someone who was too used to having everything, and was used to using cruelty for fun. 

Milenko had only talked about them a couple of times, and she had never heard the Consul even mention them, let alone Vlad, Anatole’s father. One way or another, the Cassano didn’t detach themselves from their family, nor did the Radošević, and Anatole had only ever been extremely proud of the people who had raised him. That had been their way since the days of Cassano Arianamenzi, the first of them, and she could testify that legacy had not washed away with time. If anything, it had become stronger. So why would Anatole not speak of it?

Unless he didn’t remember them. She had read about such a thing once, doing research for one of her most early plays. A shiver went down her back, making her hug her arms around herself and walk faster.

When Octavia reached the Moonstone Leonore and Sabine were talking to a tall man who seemed to guard the shop. None of them had seen him before, but he seemed to know them; he called them ‘people from before’. 

“You used to give Anatole clementines, which he doesn’t like—” he said. He was tall, covered in a cloak, and had moss green eyes, though they were barely visible.

“He says they taste fake,” Leonore completed.

“So he gave them to me, before— it doesn’t matter. You won’t find him here.”

The only thing stranger than the stranger was that none of them could remember him as they tried to piece their afternoon together. However, Octavia had heard Selasi say Anatole was occupied in the Palace, and perhaps they could try their luck there. 

“Then let’s go,” Leonore said, already standing up. “Maybe Medea knows something we don’t.”

Medea Pryce was the daughter of two archaeologists and the granddaughter of another one. Both her father’s and her mother’s family had settled in Vesuvia some generations ago because its cultural diversity and rich history was good for the archaeological craft. Anatole wasn’t the first Radošević-Cassano she had met — her Grandmother was acquainted with Bastiste Cassano, one of the Cassano elders, and thus with Consul Valerius, whom Batiste called her spoiled grandnephew. Medea’s parents, on the other hand, were acquainted with Atanasie Radošević and Aurora Tesfaye, uncle and mother of Anatole’s cousin Milenko. 

So when she met him at University, which she had begun in Prakra, just as he had done, the surname called to her immediately. Discovering they would course the exact same program, even if they had different aspirations and goals, another pleasant surprise. It would be nice to have someone to know, as Medea liked making friends.

What a friend she had made of him and Leonore, who shared housing with them. Anatole was one of those people who had the energy of a handsome stranger one shared enlightening conversation with, yet then never saw again. Debonair and hopeful, he was passionate and inspiring, a devoted friend and nothing if not extraordinary. He had his shortcomings, like everyone, but that wasn’t the way one measured their friends. 

Seasons came and time passed. They both studied and apprenticed in Balkovia for six months, and then they moved on into Vesuvia, Leonore following them, to their surprise. They laughed and hurt, they fell in love with their own people, they held each other, and Medea and Anatole drafted their plans for the future. It would be a great future, they were sure of it. Anatole’s self-introductory speech for the Vesuvian Court was a gem, Medea believed it so. They liked to fantasise about one day becoming Consul and Head of Staff, with all the things they thought they could help with, working together for the people of their City. 

No matter the crashes and reality checks, the hardships or how many times Medea had seen Anatole stand up to the Count and the new Courtiers, they held hands through it and continued onwards: The World and it’s calling of completion met its perfect match in Anatole’s Ace of Swords coloured Strength.

Then the Plague came and Anatole died, and Medea was left with all their plans, and no one to implement them with. 

After his death, things only got worse. She could tell something was going on with the Consul, but she wasn’t close enough to him to know what. She was somewhat closer to Councilwoman Cassiopeia, but she didn’t seem to know what was going on with her cousin either. The Courtiers hadn’t done anything of value for the City in three years, and all that Valerius ever seemed to do was to keep it afloat. The Court was destroyed, and with the Countess as lost as they all were, Medea didn’t know where they would end.

When she heard the Countess had found a new advisor she was thrilled. Fresh air was what the Court needed, and by the first weeks of this advisor around the Countess, it was clear they were doing her good, even if she had heard the advisor had had a rocky introduction with the Court. It seemed like it, because she knew from first hand experience that the Consul had come in furious to his office, refusing to speak to anyone, except to Cassiopeia, whom Medea was sure forced him to speak rather than him wilfully giving her any information.

He had only said something about something in poor taste, and how had he let the Countess know he would not tolerate it, but he didn’t say anything else. 

Her turn to meet the advisor came the next morning. It happened by accident, when she was delivering some documents to the Council of Vesuvia. Meet was a lax word for it, ‘seeing’ him, was much more appropiate: with his light golden blond hair, and bespoke clothes. The same unmistakable black eyes and the scar across the bridge of his nose. The same stride, the same height, the same face, the same looks. 

Her friend, her own dearest Aelius Anatole had walked into the Consul’s office seeking for an explanation about the way he had been received in Court. From there on, the morning was mayhem, absolute mayhem, and only now that Medea was sitting alone she could finally process it. 

“Anatole” had introduced himself fully, his name the right name, but the Consul wouldn’t hear it, immediately throwing himself at the throat of the “second-rate witch” for daring to use that name. Anatole continued to insist that was his name. The more the argument extended, it was clear to everyone involved that that was Anatole, even to the headstrong Consul — his panicked eyes gave him away.

Medea knew her friend, her friend had always had a presence, even if he wasn’t always aware of it. He still had it, he still stood in the same way the Consul did, he still turned his eyebrows in the same way, and the way he spoke. 

What he spoke of, too. 

The breaking point came when the Consul grabbed him from the shoulders, demanding to know what he wanted from him. Then, Medea saw him do something he hadn’t done in years: she heard the Consul speak Balkovian in public. Medea’s grasp with the language was enough to know he asked two things, two crucial things, that anyone who wasn’t Anatole couldn’t answer. 

Anatole answered the first one, something about a sword’s name, in his perfectly native Balkovian, looking pale and sickly-greenish. Cassiopeia tried to interject, but the Consul wouldn’t listen to anyone. Then the Consul asked his second question, something about ‘what was the tree’, or ‘what was the name of the tree’, and nothing else. Medea wasn’t sure. 

Anatole replied both of the questions: His first reply being ‘grapevine’, followed by a choked up ‘cult of Dionysus’; the second reply was ‘a beech tree’, looking like he was about to vomit after the words left his mouth. 

“Valeriy?” He said, as the Consul looked at him in horror, still holding him by the shoulders. “I think I’m going to pass out.”

Anatole did pass out, and the Consul, blushing cherry red as he realised the whole scene had been in front of half the Court office at his care, yelled at them to know what the hell were they doing, if not call for someone to take this boy to a bed. After it, the Consul stormed off, Cassiopeia power-walking behind him as she demanded an explanation from her cousin, an explanation the Consul refused to give, waving dismissively at her.

“Don’t you wave like that at me, Valeriy, unlike you, I know my own damn nephew when I see him.”

“Don’t call me that here.”

“Valeriy Radošević, I will call you however I damn please! Come back here!”

Medea didn’t stay to watch the rest. The Court was in unrest, it was so much that it had stirred the four other weirdos into watching and making the oddest commentary for anyone to hear. Medea didn’t need an in with them to know they knew something they all didn’t, and simply thought of the Court Staff too inconsequential for them to spare them half a thought.  

As if possessed by a thunderbolt, Medea stood up from where she was sitting as she ruminated. She needed answers, and she needed to talk about this to someone. She had an idea: if anyone she was close enough knew a considerable amount of death and ghosts, it was Amparo Cassano, but first she needed to talk to Leonore. They had supported each other in these 4 years Anatole had been dead, or presumed as much. Anything she did, it would be with Leonore. 

As she turned around after grabbing her coat, Leonore was calling her name. 

“Sabine is waiting for us at our place, they wanted to ask some questions first so I ran here. Octavia is trying to find Amparo, or anyone really. There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Good,” she said, as she grabbed his arm and began walking out of the Palace, “so do I, but not here. The Courtiers are around, and they cannot be trusted.”

#the arcana #my writing #the arcana oc #apprentice anatole #anatole's apprentice rewrites #aelius anatole #selasi the baker #leonore #medea #octavia rei #sabine rei #the radosevic-cassano #beautiful powerful and stubborn as a ram #consul valerius

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Magnificent Scoundrels: A Duelist’s Dance

This is the third Magnificent Scoundrels story.  If you don’t see any of the characters you like, well, don’t worry, we’ll be getting to them in good time.  Also, if you want more action, don’t worry, because we’ll be getting to that too.  As always, I own none of these characters except the Drake and his crew.  I hope you enjoy!

Vir met with the two commanders of the regiment, Colonel Kasteen and Major Broklaw, before he was to inspect the soldiers of the regiment.  They nodded affably, the pale faces of ice worlders peering from under their dress caps, and saluted.  

“A pleasure to meet you, sir.  I read Drake’s report, and I’m happy to serve with someone who has advanced the cause of the human race.”  These guys really don’t stop with humanity vs. the aliens, do they?

“I heard from Commissar Cain that all the aliens in your universe want to kill you.  That’s, well, not the case here.  All the aliens on this ship are perfectly amicable, and won’t try to hurt you.”  Broklaw frowned.

“Well, you know what they say, beware the treachery of the xenos.”  

“Well, I trust them,” said Adam heatedly.

“You never know with xenos.  Anyway, Commissar- or should I call you Admiral?”

“Either is fine.”

“Tell me about yourself.  Where were you born?” asked Kasteen as they walked through the hallways. 

“The United States of America.”  The two other officers frowned.  

“An odd name for a planet.”

“You misunderstand.  That’s the country.  I was born on Earth, just like most humans from my galaxy.”  Both officers stopped and stared in shock.

“You were born upon Holy Terra itself?” asked Kasteen in an incredulous whisper.

“If that’s your name for the birthplace of humanity, then, yes,”  shrugged Adam.  What was the big deal with being born on Earth?  All humans came from there.  

“Truly, it is a blessing to meet a native Terran.  To see the cradle of humanity, yet alone to be born in it!” exclaimed Kasteen.

“Is that a rarity where you come from?”  Broklaw chuckled.

“With an empire spanning over a million worlds, yes.”  It was Adam’s turn to look incredulous.  

“A million worlds?  How could you possibly govern it?” Kasteen shrugged.

“Every planet in the Imperium is governed its own way.  So as long as they accept the word of the God-Emperor, pay the tithe, and respect the various branches of the Imperium, then they’re free to do as they wish.”  Well, that was interesting.

“Where are you two from?”  

“Valhalla, located in the northeast of the galaxy.  It’s an ice world, and we live in underground hive cities.  You either join the Guard or work in the caverns, cultivating the foodstuffs that sustain the populace.”

“That seems...” Adam searched for the right words, “harsh.”  Broklaw shrugged.

“Eh, could be worse.  You could be born on Catachan.”

“Or Krieg,” interjected Kasteen.  They both grinned at that.  But before Vir could ask what Krieg was, they arrived.  

He stepped through the door leading to the mess hall, one of the two only two rooms in the ship big enough to assemble a large body of people.  Every single member of the Valhallan 597th stood at parade attention.  Despite it being a relatively large room, the soldiers almost completely filled it, with little room to spare.  He didn’t really like doing it, but Adam was an admiral, and so that meant he had plenty of practice making speeches.  

“Men, and women of the Valhallan 597th, I am Adam Vir.  Due to the tensions between yourselves and the crew of the Omen, Commissar Cain and I are switching places to show both you and the crew that you can trust each other.  It is our duty to maintain order, and so order will be maintained.  That’s all for now.  Dismissed.”  Not one of his best speeches, but, again, not one of his worst.  Quick and simple.  It would work.  Now, for the tough part.  He found that people generally got along better if they knew and were comfortable with one another, and so he would be staying with the Valhallans and supervising them at all times.  Hopefully, they could work something out and tensions would de-escalate.  Kasteen approached him.

“Admiral Vir, I have decided to delegate tasks to the troopers to keep them out of trouble, and out of the way of the rest of the crew.  I thought it would be best if we gave both them and your crew some time to cool down, then gradually re-introduced them to each other,” she said.

“Good idea,” replied Vir.  He turned on his heel and walked towards the exit, when he had a sudden, horrid thought.  The Celzex.  The Celzex were a highly militaristic and easily insulted race, several of which were aboard the ship.  The problem with the Celzex, however, was that they were six-inch tall adorable balls of fur, practically the least intimidating thing any human had come across.  They, however, did not realize this, and all the other races of the galaxy let themselves be fake-cowed as the Celzex had the most powerful warships out of any race that sailed the void, and, honestly, they were too hilarious to take seriously.  Adam had hidden them away, out of the reach of the Imperials, as nothing good could come out of a confrontation with deluded fluf balls and highly xenophobic humans.  Adam would also feel terrible if the Celzex were to be insulted and retaliate with their deadly weapons against the Imperium.  (Although, later, he was to feel much the opposite and be thankful that the Celzex didn’t insult the Imperium)  The problem with this was that without him in control over the ship, the Celzex would probably start to roam, and inevitably, with their pride and the Imperials’ xenophobia, someone would get hurt.  He resolved to speak with Simone at the earliest possible opportunity.  

Commissar Ciaphas Cain, backed up by Jurgen, as always, stepped through the doorway to the cargo bay, the other room big enough to hold large bodies of people at one time.  He was to be in charge of all the ground combat operatives on the Omen, which, unfortunately, included a group of the ten feet tall four-armed xenos.  Despite Admiral Vir’s reassurances, Cain still wasn’t comforted.  Xenos were a tricky lot, and it was best to still be on guard, despite what the possibly heretical Admiral said.  The xenos, er, Drev, were lined up neatly next to the ship’s marines, and Cain walked down their rows to inspect them.  The Marines’ armor was odd, nothing like he had ever seen before on an Imperial Guardsman.  But, it was a new galaxy after all, so it made sense that new sights would be seen.  And, he thought to himself while inspecting the Drev soldiers, it could be worse.  One of the people at Drake’s meeting was accompanied by a small rodent-like xenos that could talk, and another with a brown hairy xenos that looked like a walking carpet.  Clearly, things could be worse.  Although, Cain, with several centuries (Authors note: in the Warhammer 40k universe, there are treatments to prolong people’s life spans.  Cain, being a high ranking commissar and a Hero of the Imperium had and has access to these treatments) of military experience really ought to have known better than to jinx it.  

“I am Ciaphas Cain.  Your captain and I have switched places to retain order between yourselves and the Imperial Guardsmen on board this ship.  It is our hope that you will all come to understand one another, so that we may carry out the Emperor’s work all the more efficiently.”  Damn.  He was still used to Imperial phrases and platitudes while making speeches.  “I shall be your commanding officer and oversee all of you and your efforts.  Unless you have any problems or questions, dismissed.”  Not one of his best speeches, but he wasn’t used to speaking to heretics and xenos.  Speaking of which, one of the big xenos, the Drev, he corrected himself, was sauntering over to his position.  

“You are presuming to command us?  I'm not sure if the Admiral told you, but in our culture, if you want command, you must fight for it.”  Cain wasn’t sure, but he thought the Drev, despite its beak-like mouth, was grinning at him.  Well frak.  He put on a casual outward appearance.  

“And if I don’t?”  The Drev shrugged.

“You cannot command us,” it said simply.  Most of the Marines and other Drev were sharing smiles between each other.  They wanted to see these arrogant Imperials put in their place.  And Cain, well, he had no idea if this custom was real, or if they were just making it up on the spot to spite him.  It didn’t matter either way.  He had to fight, otherwise, real custom or not, he would look weak, and the Drev and most of the Marines would probably refuse to serve under him.  He shrugged.  

“Fine then.  When is the fight?” he asked

“As soon as possible,” replied the Drev.

“See you in forty-five minutes.  Where, and, what are the rules?”  The Drev seemed to think things over, then replied.

“We shall make a combat area here.  We fight until disarmed or unable to continue.”

“I shall return in forty-five minutes,” replied Cain.  Frakkin’ xenos.  

Admiral Vir was frustrated.  He had returned to the bridge to talk to Simone about the Celzex situation.  Apparently, they were already mad that they could not go through the entire ship as they wished, and so he was required to go calm them down.  They wouldn’t listen to Simone.  Already, more problems.  And it was just at the point where he thought that the day couldn’t get any worse (again, he ought to have known better than to jinx it), when Ramirez, one of the Marines and a close friend of his, burst onto the bridge.  

“Adam!  We have a problem.”

“What else could have possibly gone wrong in the last half hour?”  Ramirez swallowed.

“Well, uh, the Drev challenged Cain to a fight.”

“They what?”

“They challenged Cain to a fight, as a way to get back at the Imperial’s insults.  A lot of the other marines are backing them.  I know it’s best if you guys restore order, which is why I’m telling you.”  Great.  Now Cian was going to get beat up, and he couldn’t do anything because he had to deal with the Celzex.  

“When’s the fight?”

”In ten minutes.”  It kept getting better and better, didn’t it?

“Try and stop them!” he practically yelled at Ramirez.  The last thing he needed was Cain getting beat up.  Then tensions would probably escalate until people started dying.  He hoped Ramirez could stop them in time.   

Cain stood at the edge of the space the Drev and Marines had laid out for the fight.  The edge of his chainsword was covered in black rubber, so as not to allow the razor sharp teeth to slice through his opponent.  (Author’s note:  Yes, chainsword.  It’s exactly what you think it is.  A chainsaw/sword)  His opponent, whose name he didn’t know, was holding a massive spear, blunted on the tip so he wouldn’t end up shish-kebabed.  Said opponent had been chosen by the other Drev, and Cain had no idea how good it was.  Hell, he had no idea what gender it was.  If, of course, Drev had genders, which he didn’t know and honestly didn’t really care about.  Most of the Drev and Marines were gathered around the circle, eager to see him get pummeled.  Hopefully, he would prove them wrong.  Hopefully.  It didn’t look good.  The Drev across from him was one of the big ones, standing ten feet tall with a forest green outer carapace.  It seemed to grin, an unseemly sight coming from it’s beak-like mouth, and spoke. “Commissar Cain, I am ready to begin.  Are you sure you want to fight in that coat?” it asked.  Several of the Marines snickered.  Cain hid his offended look behind a well practiced outer facade.  This time, he grinned in response.

“Of course.  I’ve fought many a tougher opponent than you in this coat.”  The Drev snarled.  

“Fine then.  We shall begin.”  The two fighters stepped forward, weapons raised, each one ready to test the other’s defences.  The Drev smiled to herself.  This would be easy.  A puny and arrogant human put in its place.  

Interestingly enough, most species throughout the now collective galaxies have a distressing tendency to not learn from the mistakes of the past.   The Drev were no exception.  This one seemed to forget that her species had once under-estimated humans, and it had cost them dearly, the Drev’s first ever major military defeat in war.  She lunged forward, spear singing through the air, intending to smash the sword out of Cain’s hand.  He sidestepped and deflected the shaft with contemptuous ease.  The Drev took a step back.  Surprising?  A little.  But it was of small matter.  That was just the opening blow.  She took a fighting stance, and the duel began in earnest.  

Ramirez sprinted through the ship, heading towards the cargo bay.  Hopefully, he would be in time to stop the fight, which would probably end badly for everyone involved, especially the Commissar.  If he was wounded or, unlikely but still possible, considering the mood most of the people on the ship were in, killed, the crew would be dealing with trained and armed soldiers without the oversight of their disciplinary officer.  In short, if the fight started, something bad would probably happen.  Unfortunately for him, he could see Cain and one of the Drev already in the combat ring, weapons drawn and raised, circling each other when he got to the cargo bay.  He was imminently familiar with Drev customs, having served alongside them for so long, and thus knew that interrupting the fight would probably cause worse problems than letting it continue.  There was nothing he could do but watch and hope Cain didn’t get pulverized.

The Drev scowled and launched another attack at Cain.  Once more, Cain’s feet moved in an intricate pattern, dancing around the blows, deflecting them with ease.  How?!  How was this possible?  This man wasn’t supposed to be this good!  She snarled and launched another attack.  

Cain spun out of the way of another blow.  The audience seemed to be taking closer notice it seemed.  It mattered little to him.  While the alien, Drev, he corrected himself, was certainly quite good, it wasn’t near the level of some of the opponents he had faced before.  It did not have the brute strength of an Ork, nor was it was hellishly fast as a genestealer, nor as overwhelmingly powerful as the demented servants of the Blood God.  He saw another swipe coming and sidestepped once more, knocking his opponent’s spear to the side.   

Several of the Marines were grinning.  There was, marines being marines, a betting pool for this fight.  The odds were overwhelmingly in favor of the Drev.  So in favor, in fact, that some of the marines had decided that they were just too good to be passed up and bet on Cain.  Now they grinned as Cain exhibited his deadly skill with a sword as their fellows glowered at them.  

Several of the more pragmatic and practical amongst the Drev and Marines were watching the combatants closely, noting how they fought for future reference and perhaps imitation.  The Drev, as benefited a warrior culture, had several different named styles for fighting with the most common weapon amongst  their kind, the spear.  The Drev in the ring was using what was known as the ‘Earth’ style, designed to deliver the most powerful and crushing blows as possible to one’s enemy.  Her form was good, noted several of the Drev absently.  What everyone was mostly looking at was Cain.  He fought using his own unique style, tailored to his tastes and abilities, and formulated to fight the horribly overpowered enemies of his home galaxy.  It was largely defensive in nature, designed to deflect blows with minimal effort so as to get his opponent to make a mistake or over-exert themselves.  But it was not only the style of the fighter, but the fighter himself that drew such attention.  It was plain to tell by those more experienced in the art of combat that Cain was an exceptionally good swordsman.  His reflexes allowed for no mistakes.  Every stroke was parried, every brutal blow knocked aside with a dexterity that astounded.  Every step was perfect, every counter attack measured so as to not let a single opening in his defenses.  He was more than good; he was one of the most deadly opponents anyone watching had ever seen.

And, finally, inevitably due to her frustration, the Drev over-extended herself.  She launched a wild, lunging sweep to Cain’s left.  Once more, he knocked it aside, then followed with a blindingly swift counter-attack.  Blow after blow rained down on the Drev, who did all she would to block the expertly executed counter, but finally, inevitably, with a twist and flourish of his chainsword, Cain knocked her spear from her hands.  Some of the watchers gasped.  Several applauded, mostly those who just won money.  Most just stood there, slack-jawed.  This wasn’t supposed to happen.  

Well, at least Cain didn’t get pulped, thought Ramirez.  He did wonder, however, exactly what the implications this victory would have.  

Later That Night

Admiral Vir had assembled his council.  Simone’s idea to switch Cain with Vir had already borne fruit, and the two factions were already more calm.  However, this was not the only part of the plan.  He had sent his most trusted friends to find out as much as they could about the Imperials and the culture they came from.  While Drake’s report was helpful, for some reason, the Imperial’s home galaxy was represented only sketchily, so Adam had decided to have his most trusted crew snoop around for questions.  The results were...alarming.  

“I had a one-on-one talk with the regiment’s chaplain, Tope,” said Maverick.  “They are totally infatuated with religion, which can be a problem just by itself, but their religion is what’s most concerning.  They believe that their Emperor is a living, breathing, omnipotent and omnipresent god, who they worship to the fullest extent.  The Emperor is entombed,”  she checked a notepad she had with her, “I think.  Anyway, he was apparently immortal, which seemed ludicrous, and is sitting on a massive life support device called the Golden Throne of Terra, where he’s been fueling a massive interstellar navigational beacon called the Astronomican.  It's all really bizarre and seems really improbable, but that’s not the worst part.  The tenants of this religion are as follows.”  She cleared her throat and read of her notepad.  “One: the God-Emperor of Mankind once walked among men in their form and that He is and always was the one true god of humanity.  Two: The God-Emperor of Mankind is the one true god of humanity regardless of any beliefs previously held by any man or woman.  That means there isn’t any religious tolerance in their Empire, which already isn’t endearing me to them.  Three: it is the duty of the faithful to purge the heretic, beware the mutant and, uh, psyker?” she struggled over the unfamiliar word.  “And abhor the alien.  Which explains why they don’t like us.  Four: Every human has a place in the God-Emperor’s divine order.   Five: It is the duty of the faithful to unquestionably obey the authority of the Imperial government and their superiors, who speak in the Divine Emperor’s name,” she finished.  The table shared concerned looks.  

“This smacks of Fascism,” intoned Narobi.    

“I’m inclined to agree,” replied Adam.  “However, we only got our crew and their soldiers off each other’s throats, and their relationship with the non-humans on board have improved markedly.  We can’t jeopardize that now, as much as I dislike how this government sounds.  What else did you find?”

“Well, as you know, Cain fought and beat a Drev,” said Ramirez.  Adam had heard.  Actually, it was probably one of the best things that could have happened.  The Drev had a high sense of honor, and thus accepted Cain totally.  The Marines respected him for being able to win a fight with a Drev.  He commanded the total respect of any of the Omen’s fighting crew.  

“How good is Cain?” asked Sunny skeptically.  She was a Drev, who was busy helping Simone run the ship, and so didn’t see the fight.  She didn’t see how an overly-elaborate dressed human had been able to take a ten-foot tall member of her species.  

“He’s good.  Very good,” replied Ramirez with probably altogether too much excitement for the situation.  

“Exactly how good?” 

“He could probably give Adam a run for his money.  In the Iron Eye suit.”  Several low whistles and incredulous expressions greeted this information.  Adam was himself no slouch at hand-to-hand combat, and the Iron Eye suit was a series of armored prosthetic enhancements that made its wearer move faster, jump higher, fight stronger; plus there was the fact that it was armor, which meant that it was really hard for any weapon to penetrate.  The idea that a single non-enhanced human could take on an Iron Eye soldier was frightening.  

“Alright then.  Anything else?” asked Adam.

“I went to the armory.  The Imperials asked to store their spare weapons there.  Most of the stuff there...is like nothing I’ve ever seen.  Their main weapon seems to be a laser rifle which runs off of rechargeable batteries,” said Sunny.  Laser rifles?  Now that was interesting.  Adam Vir was, by his own admission, a sci-fi fanatic.  Now he wanted a laser rifle.  

“Well, despite what it seems, we should try and keep an open mind.  They seem to be very logical and level-headed,” he said.  There were nods of agreement around the table.  “If no one has any other comments, dismissed.”  Little did the crew of the Omen know, but Cain and the other Imperial officers were doing the same thing on their side of the ship.

“Well, what did you find?” Cain asked Major Broklaw.  

“Their government is called the Galactic Assembly.  It’s a big council where all the races of the galaxy sit down and discuss their problems,” Broklaw sneered.  

“Great.  A bounce of xenos-loving filth,” muttered Sulla, one of the captains.  Cain ignored her.

“Chaplain Tope?  What did you find?” he asked.

“They have many different religions, and before any of you start yelling ‘heretic!’, that is to be expected.  You see, they come from a place that is devoid of the divine radiance of the Emperor, and thus, their tendencies will probably go against the Imperial Creed.  That’s all right, though.  I’m sure that we can bring them into the loving light of the Emperor soon.”  Cain nodded with approval.  He liked Tope.  Tope wasn’t what he liked to refer to as an Emperor-bother, one of the people who thought that they should be praying, day in and day out; completely obsessed with religion.  Tope was more practical.  And Cain had found through a long military career that the Emperor helped those who helped themselves.  

“That’s good, then.  I must say that we should keep somewhat of an open mind about all of these people.  They are humans after all, albeit humans from a different galaxy.  They do not have the teachings of the Emperor to rely on.”  Most of the heads around the table nodded.  “Kasteen, what did you find about your new acting Commissar?” he asked with a smile.

“Well, first off, he was born on Holy Terra.”  That caused some low whistles and incredulous stares.  Despite there being no Emperor in Adam Vir’s galaxy, he was still born upon Holy Terra, the sacred homeworld of the human race.  That had to count for something, right?  

“Well, if we’re being led by a native-born Terran, then we’ll probably be in good hands.  No offense,” one of the captains shot a look at Cain.  He laughed.  No offense was taken.  

“Anything else?”

“What about the fight?” asked Sulla.  Cain shrugged and gave a self-deprecating smile.  

“Those big aliens are good.  I just got lucky.”  Kasteen and Broklaw shared a look.  The Commissar was being too modest again.  In reality, he was probably the best swordsman either of them had ever seen.  But that was the Commissar.  A humble hero.

Well, on that note, that’s the story!  Endings are always the hardest to get right.  For any of you wondering how exactly Cain could have beaten a Drev, well, like I stated, he’s a very, very good swordsman.  Good enough to beat the terrifying opponents I mentioned during the duel, which if you want to know more about, just ask.  If you have any comments, criticisms, concerns, thoughts, ideas, or id you just want to know more about any of these wonderful sci-fi universes, feel free to ask!  Wherever you are, have a wonderful day!   

#empyrean iris #warhammer 40k #sci-fi #crossover #story #magnificent scoundrels

[lailannajacobs]

A Broken Ship and a Healed Heart | Counterfeit Criminals pt. 13

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader

Chapter Summary: You deal with the aftermath of Loki’s injuries

Warnings: lil angsty 

Word Count: 2.6k 

A/N: So we’re almost at the end, I can’t believe it! One more to go after this! Hope you guys enjoy, I always love to know what you think! <3 

Previously...

Then his eyes fluttered shut, his head falling back to the floor with a thump.

“Loki,” You croaked, feeling his hand go limp in yours.

He didn’t answer.

You checked for a pulse.

Chapter Thirteen 

Nothing. 

The sound of your own heart pounded in your ears, but there was nothing under your fingertips to match the sound. Your fingers trembled. You tried to breath but the only thing you could inhale were choked sobs that left you gasping for air. You needed to steady your hand. You convinced yourself maybe that was the reason you hadn’t felt anything and pressed into his throat a little harder. Your tears dripped onto his chest in a steady rhythm and you felt like you were going to collapse even though you were kneeling by Loki’s side. His face was ashen, his entire torso covered in blood. He couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t. You almost let go, but that was when you felt it. A pulse; faint but there.

A shaky exhale escaped your lips. He wasn’t dead yet, but he was dying.

Your hands hovered over his body as if you could magically heal him. He needed medical attention - far more than you knew how to give him - but you needed to get your ship to ground fast. If he was going to make it out alive, you needed to wipe your tears and do this with the same efficiency as one of your heists. Checking his pulse one last time, you stood abruptly, feeling a cold calm come over you. There was no place for emotion here, even if it was emotion motivating you in the first place.

A ripped bed sheet, a cork, and a few safety pins later, you’d managed to stop most of the bleeding and had bandaged him up. It was a terrible, half-baked version of a tourniquet, but it was all you had, and it would have to do. He groaned and you paused, your heart breaking at the sight but you couldn’t let it. He’d be okay; he had no choice to be.

“You’re not going to die,” You whispered, giving his hand one last squeeze, “I promise I won’t let that happen.”

Although you were pretty sure you were imaging things to keep yourself sane, you could have sworn you’d felt a faint squeeze back. Somewhat reassured, your adrenaline picked up again. Every move you made was quick and efficient, no second wasted on indecision or fear. Even the astroid field was a blur, the giant rocks seeming to move out of the way the same way they had for Loki.

The alarm quickened, the beeps coming in faster intervals, demanding you land immediately or prepare for an evacuation. Loki’s planet appeared behind the last of the astroids, but it was still too far to put your ship down. You needed another minute or else neither of you would survive the landing.

You brought the ship in faster than you’d ever risked for a landing but there was nothing you could do at this point. The only thing left was hope the impact didn’t kill you. Loki bounced around on the floor of your ship and you winced, but you couldn’t give him your attention for long. You strained against the gravity and the force of your ship as it went down, pulling against the controls in an attempt to slow your descent.

The impact resounded through your entire body, knocking the wind from your chest. Everything shook and rattled as your ship dug into the ground, skidding toward the house. It neared closer and closer, and you pulled back desperately trying to avoid the collision with the house. Time moved in slow motion, the distance between you and the ship closing until, by some miracle, the tip of your ship knocked a light off the side of the house but nothing more.

Collapsing back into your chair, you closed your eyes trying to catch your breath. Your moment of relief didn’t last long, and a small groan from Loki spurring you into action. The sound was enough to know he was still alive, and you inspected the rest of his body, trying to decide what to do. But you weren’t a doctor. You couldn’t be sure what to do.

You pulled back the bandage. The stab wound didn’t seem to have bled anymore, but the other wound he’d teleported onto your ship with still had something lodged in it. Before you could pull it out, you realized it was something like an arrowhead. Your heart dropped in your chest, dread flooding your system. You knew enough about injuries to know that the only way for it to come out was through, and judging by its placement, if you didn’t do it perfectly, you’d be the one to kill him. You began to tremble. Maybe Loki wasn’t going to make it through.

The tears came flooding in and you hiccuped, trying your best to keep them at bay but it wasn’t working. You stared at him hopelessly. All he had was you and there was nothing you could do for him. You weren’t enough.

You brushed the sticky hair from his face, wishing more than anything that he would disappear from under your touch and appear behind you, but there was no pretending that the life draining from the body in front of you was fake.

“Why’d you have to save my life?” You scolded, but really it sounded more like you were begging, “I don’t know how to do this, so you need to live okay? At least a little longer so I can figure it out, okay?”

But there was no answer. You wouldn’t get another one ever again unless you did something.

Then you remembered your time on Asgard last year and your breath caught. It was a long shot, a hail Mary if you’d ever seen one, but it was the only thing you could think of. You grabbed Loki’s hand, whispered for him to hang on a little longer, and sucked in a deep breath.

“Heimdall?” You cleared your throat, not sure how loud you needed to be for him to hear you, but knowing your choked-up mumbling couldn’t be enough, “I need help…Loki needs help. I don’t know if you’re hearing this or seeing this, but I need someone to tell me what to do. Loki’s dy-” You choked on the word, “He’s not going to make it. Please.”

Nothing happened. You knew it was stretch and it probably wouldn’t work, but you couldn’t give up. Not yet.

“I’ll give anything,” You begged, louder and stronger this time, a thought blooming in your mind, “I’ll return to Asgard, give Odin the chance to carry out his sentence. As long as Loki makes it out of this alive, I can give Odin the justice he’s looking for. I promise. Please, just help him.”

Sobbing, you paused and then it was as if you were standing at the end of the Bifrost beside Heimdall, staring out at the infinite worlds.

He kept his gaze far out, titling his head in your direction; the only indication he knew you were there, “Nonsense child. I won’t let you sacrifice your life for his, though it is commendable that you would do such a thing.”

Speechless, you only stared at him.

He continued, the corner of his lips pulled up in a slight quirk, “The moment Loki introduced you to me that day, I knew you would be in his life the entirety of yours, and as you can see, you are well and living. Here’s what you will do, and you must hurry.”

The Bifrost vanished and you were back in your ship. Heimdall’s explanations were clear and concise, especially the first telling you where Loki had stashed a first aid kit in your ship complete with an IV set. Throughout the entirety of your procedures, you weren’t sure you breathed at all. Every move you second guessed, looking up to a Heimdall you imagined no one else could have seen, to make sure you were doing the right thing.

The hardest part had been turning Loki on his side to push out the arrowhead. Only Heimdall’s steady hand on your shoulder kept the thoughts of Loki’s death at bay. Your hands were covered in blood and so was Loki’s bare chest but his breathing, though shallow, was steady. You weren’t sure when Heimdall had left only you knew he was gone now. You couldn’t ask him if he knew if Loki would survive or not, but you figured that might be a good thing. At least this way, you could delude yourself into thinking he would survive.

When the last stitch was tied, you finally let out a short exhale. You didn’t think you would breath normally again until he opened his eyes. At least you knew there was now a good chance he would. Gently, you cleaned him off until the only sign of his injuries were the white bandages across his chest.

You grabbed every pillow available to you and made sure he was as comfortable as possible and settled in for the night. You held onto his hand, refusing to move until he woke up, because he had to wake up. He had to. You wouldn’t consider any other outcome.

Exhausted, you drifted off into a deep sleep, your hand never letting go of his.

Loki felt like his chest and stomach were on fire, like his head was about to explode and that his tongue was a piece of sandpaper in his mouth. Even breathing hurt… but he was alive. He shouldn’t be alive. For maybe the first time in his life, Loki had acted without considering his safety first, but it wouldn’t mean a thing if she wasn’t alive. He cracked an eye open, searching for the reason he’s sacrificed himself.

She was on the ground beside him, head bent at an odd angle, brow creased even in sleep. Loki didn’t know how long he’d been out or how long she’d been beside him, but there were a couple plates and one with a half-eaten sandwich on it which meant it had to have been longer than a day.

He sighed, relived that she was fine. All the fear he’d felt concerning his feelings towards her felt trivial in the face of losing her. He’d pushed away his emotions, afraid she’d leave him if she really knew how he felt and yet here they both were, him half dead and her the reason he wasn’t completely. He’d almost died. For her. If he kept running from his feelings, he only would only be risking her life even further. That wasn’t an option. Maybe letting her in wouldn’t be as terrible as he thought.

Loki pushed past the pain, lifting up to his elbows. He wanted to move a pillow under her head, but his movements were so shaky and pained that her eyes fluttered open.

“Loki,” she breathed, frozen in place.

He shivered at the sound of his name on her lips. He didn’t know what to say.

He stared into her eyes, fighting the urge to touch her and figure out everything going through her mind. Unsure what to do, he tried to push himself up even higher.

Her hand shot out, hovering just away from his shoulder, and she blurted, “Don’t. It’s fine. Are you okay? I know you’re not but are you in pain?”

Shaking his head, he tried to push himself up to a seat but couldn’t.

“You’re lying to me,” She said sternly, a dangerous look on her face, “I have pain killers. I’ll go get them.”

She was about to get up and leave, but he tightened his grip, “Stay.”

He hadn’t forgotten they were holding hands, but by the way her eyes widened, she had. The look made him smile, giving him enough strength to say what he had to say.

“I have something I need to say.”

“It better be thank you,” She snapped, then immediately winced.

Normally that would have been enough reason for him to choose a sarcastic remark and run with it, but he was done putting on a show. He’d never had to with her and it was about time he admitted that he felt things to himself and to her, regardless of what she said about it afterwards.

“You’re right, thank you,” Loki gave her hand another squeeze, hoping she knew that he really meant it, “But I also owe you an explanation.”

“You shouldn-”

He cut her off, knowing if he didn’t say this now, he might never, “I have to. Please.”

She sucked in a breath, and nodded, though he could tell she was wary of what he was about to say, “Then please don’t lie to me.”

“I won’t. I’ll do my best to give you the explanation you deserve,” Loki then continued to explain the conversation he’d overheard a year ago and Odin’s plans to kill her. Talking about it a year later still made his blood boil, but his body was in no condition to support his rage. Uneasy from the blank look on her face he finished with, “If you hadn’t escaped, Odin would have killed you the next morning. You needed to be as far off Asgard as possible, with no reason to return.”

She shook her head, looking like she was about to be sick, and whispered, “I don’t believe you.”

“You asked me not to lie,” He whispered back, afraid he’d waited too long to tell her.

The lines on her face hardened, “Since when has that stopped you?”

“Since you started believing in me,” He snarled back, unable to keep the emotion from his voice or the words from tumbling out of his mouth, “Or at least since you used to. Since you stayed…Since you didn’t look at me like I was the cruel monster everyone else believes me to be. Odin was going to kill you and I couldn’t let that happen. Not to you…never to you.”

It was as if the next moment was suspended in time and they stared at each other, trying to find the truth hidden beneath all the lies. But for once, there were no lies. There were no half-truths or omissions, no tales spun for fear she wouldn’t like what she saw. He owed her the truth. Not only for saving his life, but simply because it was time she knew.

Loki couldn’t read the expression on her face; didn’t know if she was going to kick him off her ship and leave him on his own or if she might be willing to stay. Although he was afraid to say anything now, she had a room ready for her in his house. Yet, the longer he waited, the more he thought this was the end.

And then she kissed him.

His surprise quickly turned to relief and he pulled her closer, ignoring the pain in his body. Without realizing it though, he must have winced because she tried to pull away, but Loki kept his hand firm around the nape of her neck, refusing to let her slip away. He’d been waiting this long, he wasn’t going to ruin it because he’d almost died.

“I’m fine,” He growled before deepening the kiss.

He felt her smile against his lips and he almost sighed with relief. She tangled her fingers in his hair, tugging gently, and Loki shivered. He tried to pull her in closer, but even he couldn’t ignore the pain any longer. They broke away, both flushed and a little breathless.

“Why now? Why find me now?” She murmured, forehead resting against his.

He smiled, “Because, I needed to make sure the people you stole from didn’t kill you.”

“How kind.”

“What can I say,” He brushed his thumb along her jaw, “I am generous. I’m letting you stay on my planet.”

“I can leave if you’d like,” She offered.

He tugged her in so that his lips hovered so close, they brushed lightly against hers as he said, “I’d rather you stayed.”

And then he kissed her.

#loki #Loki Laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #Loki Angst #loki x you #loki x reader #loki x female reader #marvel fic #fan fiction #fanfic

[jessiebanethedragon]

Cracked Kyber, Empty Coffins (7/?)

With Vaders acute hatred for the Jedi and strength in the force, tracking down the remaining stragglers was easy. Unless a jedi lost or gave away their connection to the force, there were not many places they could hide. 

Tracking down the planet they hid on was easy. The sector, more difficult. But when it was narrowed down it wasn't long before the Storm Troopers came back with satisfying results. 

It was early morning, the third rotation the troopers had spent searching the region. Starting with the lowest levels and working their way up. So far no evidence of a jedi was found.

ANY PERSONS HARBOURING FUGITIVES WILL BE PROSECUTED.  The message played over the holoprojectors was clear enough, no one could hide forever. 

“We need to leave.” You tell Kesh when you see yet another squad of troopers march past the two of you on a disgusting back alley cobbled street. 

“Paranoid.” He reminds you, watching them get further and further away. 

“Something’s off, there's more troops than ever.” You whisper to him. 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” He asks, looking down at you. It pulls at your heart, thinking that every helmet that runs by could have Colt underneath it. But what were you to do?  Start yanking off helmets until you come across him? You sigh in response, you’ve got nothing, no plan, and no credits. 

“Identification.” A blank helmet demands as you and kesh round a corner and come face to face with yet another trooper. 

“You don’t need our identification.” You confidently say waving your hand over his face.

“I don’t need your identification.” He echos, and allows you to move forward. Another sigh leaves your lips, that's the second time today, something is definitely up. 

“Stop right there.” Another trooper says, both you and Kesh freeze, exchanging looks of panic. Three of them walk towards you, hands already hovering over their blasters. Every muscle in your body is itching for your lightsaber, but you remain still. 

“We need to ask you some questions.” the same trooper declares. 

“Alright.” Kesh speaks for both of you, you’re wondering if you know the clone under  the mask, if you rocked him to sleep on the stormy nights on kamino or watched as he completed his training. 

“Where is your identification?” He asks, and you panic, there’s no piece of flimsiplast on either of you, so even if you could trick him into thinking he didn’t need to see it, you have nothing to pull out in subsitute for the ID. Kesh starts making a show of patting down his pockets, but you still haven't moved. One trooper gets impatient and not-so-gently nudges you with the end of the blaster. Another starts talking into his wrist comm. 

“We have identification,” You say, waving a shaking hand. 

“You have identification.” the two repeat, monotone. Keeping an eye on the one who has turned his back to you, you continue. 

“And it checks out,” you press. 

“It checks out.” They say. The one putting his gun back into its holster. 

“Stop right there jedi scum.” A fourth trooper demands. You want to curse for being so stupid, they always work in even numbers, clone rarely work in groups less than four. The latecomer walks down the street with his blaster trained on you. Hesitantly you raise both of your hands.

“I’m not a jedi.” You try  and say. 

“Shut it.” he snaps, Kesh has stopped moving as well, looking at you as you stare down the white armour. 

“Commander Colt,” you say with fake confidence. “Where is he.” None of them answer you, as both you and Kesh get  pushed to your knees. 

“Little sister…” Kesh whispers looking very nervous now. 

“CC-8172.” you demand. “Tell me where he is.” 

“8172?” One asks while another shout for you to shut up again, your heart skips a beat, 

“Yes 8172!” You exclaim, “please!” You beg, every clone you’d ever  met was kind and caring, and perhaps the stubbornness in you refuses to believe that someone could change tem. The one trooper lines his blaster up with the back of your head, if you don't act now, both Kesh and yourself will die. But you're so damn close. You see the slightest movement in one trooper, like he’s turning his head towards the other. Like they know something. 

“8172, his name is Colt.” you say looking at the trooper furthest from you, he knows something, you’re becoming more and more sure. “Please?” you whisper. 

“By command of the emperor himself under order 66 you are sentenced to death for treason.” The words leave the helmet modulated and you move more quickly than you ever have before. Your sabre comes out, slashing the blaster that was pointed at you into two. You see Kesh roll to the side as you send a foot into the kneecaps of another trooper. A second kick top the head knocks him out cold. The third is pushed into a wall and slumps down unconscious, and the last, who is drawing his blaster, bolts which you easily deflect. You bring him towards you with the force, the dark green blade dangerously close to his neck. 

“Answer me.” the light your sabre reflecting off of your face. 

“I don’t talk to jedi traitors.” He spits at you. Kesh wrestles him from your grasp, and you deactivate the light saber not wanting to draw more attention. Using the force, you lift the helmet off of the struggling and very angry StormTrooper. He looks so much like Colt, tears spring to your eyes. It’s  him, your heart beats, but your head knows better. You kneel  down so you’re face to face with him. 

“This isn't who you are soldier.” you explain  “i'm sorry i have to do this.” He struggles again, “tell me everything you know about the trooper 8172.”

Approximately two years earlier: 

“Colt! Colt!” you shake him trying to keep him conscious as he pants into your side, his eyes droop, body shutting down to desperately try and repair itself. 

“Should’a gone after the DNA…” He mumbles, somehow leaning further into you. Part of you realizes that this is the closest you ever been with him, maybe the closest you've ever been with anyone. But it matters because it’s him. 

“You’d be dead, and I couldn't let that happen.” You explain, looking up the stairwell at all the floors you’ll have to drag him up. 

“Clones are expendable.” Colt tells you as you slump down against the wall for another rest. 

“You’re not. Not to me.” your honestly surprises you as much as it does him. Colts head leans against the cold wall,  

“That’s a dangerous kinda feeling.” He tells you, eyes fluttering from closed to open so he can look at you. Even now, soaking wet, panicked and scared, you’re beautiful. Colt’s  shocked as he comes to this conclusion. The idea that he finds you beautiful isn't forgein to him, but the fact that now he wants you even closer to him does. 

“How’s your throat?” You ask, changing the subject, letting your hands float over the area, watching carefully as he inhales and exhales.  

“Hurts.” He grunts out, head rolling back even further  to accommodate your touch so you can inspect it.

“Want me to kiss it better?” You tease, hoping for even just a small smile.his eyes open again and lock with your own, you see him gulp slightly, 

“Shouldn't joke about that ner Jetii.” He scolds you, and, fast as lightning but gentle as a  cloud, you lean down and placea kiss just below Colt’s jawline. 

“Wasn’t joking.” You retort as you pull away, it’s his hand that stops you. Shifting so he can lean forward and cup the side of your face. 

“Ner mesh’la Jetii.” my beautiful jedi, the hardened commander whispers into your lips before placing his rough ones against your soft ones. Your lips part to accommodate his, as the  hand makes its way into your hair. The bang of a blast makes you both pull apart as the red emergency lights flicker above you. 

“I was so afraid i’d never see you again,” Colt says, eyes still on the lights.”thought it would be easier if i just pushed you away. Guess it didn't work.” you smile softly  shifting to press your forehead into his.  

“Didn’t anyone tell you how stubborn i am?” You feel him smile at your words, only groaning when you pull him up with you as you stand. “You need medical attention.” you deadpan, throwing his arm around your shoulders before you start climbing the stairs again. 

“Thought you kissed it better.” He says with a smirk. 

“I’ll kiss you a thousand more times if you get that ass moving.” You pant out, Colt smiles at you again, it's the biggest smile you've ever seen from him, and your heart beams knowing it was you who  put it there. 

“Deal.” He says.

#clone wars #the clone wars #clones #clone x reader #clone x jedi #clones x reader #the clones x reader #clone wars x #the clone wars x reader #clone wars x you #clone wars x y/n #colt #clone trooper colt #colt x reader #commander colt x reader #commander colt

[elexica]

Wasted

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25671706

Summary: Kaiba gets drunk at Mokuba's fraternity initiation party and does the cute orientation leader's calculus homework. He's bad at flirting, but he's good at math.

Rating: Teen for Drinking

Pairing: Kaiba/Joey; Puppyshipping/Violetshipping Word Count:1568

(exactly what the summary says; read under the cut!)

“You are the glass half empty, sippin my ocean dry , emotionally spin me so that our planets cannot align, but I guess I can stand you one more night. . . I like us better when we’re wasted.”

– “Wasted,” by Tiesto.

“An’ over here is the cafeteria!  It’s all you can eat while ya live in the dorms!”  Joey smiled brightly as he waved an arm towards the cafeteria dorm.  “But if yer not in the dorms, you gotta pay.” He shook his head in exaggerated sadness.  “Unless you can get some Frosh to swipe ya in!”

Seto nodded serenely.  They continued to walk around campus, heading back to the student union.  Joey was the best orientation leader on campus—known for making everyone feel welcome and comfortable.  This was why they were always giving him the most difficult transfer students, he was sure.  He was also the only transfer student who worked for the orientation office as part of his financial aid work-study plan.

“So uh… yer clearly a little older than the freshies here… are you a transfer student or something?”  Joey rubbed the back of his neck nervously.  “Not that I’m judging or anythin’! I’m a transfer student too! Saves a lotta money and you get the same degree anyway!”

Seto did not look at Joey, as if he was wholly preoccupied by observing the various bicyclists streaming past them.

“It was time for my brother to start as a freshman, and I determined that I might as well secure a diploma simultaneously.”

Joey laughed, not because Seto had said anything funny, but because he was trying to lighten the mood.  His partner didn’t offer anything else, and it was painfully awkward.  Joey looked down at the information the admissions office had given him.

“So ehhh, looks like you’re a computer science student.” Joey offered.

“That’s correct.” Seto said.

“Which means…  you any good at calculus?”

“I am excellent.”  Seto rolled his eyes.

“So uh, if you got the time… you think you could help me?  It’s a pre-req for a biology class I gotta take for my Child Development minor and…”

“A minor in Child Development? Are you studying to be a teacher?”  Seto’s voice was harsh with derision.

“Close—social worker!” Joey beamed a little extra.

Seto rolled his eyes, his ice finally freezing any further pleasantries.

. . .

Seto Kaiba hated Fireball whiskey.  He was a man of taste, and had no problem sipping quality whiskey with the best of them.  But four shots of fireball in at his brother’s initiation Frat Party left him entirely nauseated.

Cinnamon-tinted bile worked its way up his throat as he balanced against the sticky wall of the party.  Portraits of the last 50 Fraternity Presidents glared at him, and he had half a mind to projectile vomit on them.

The world was spinning, but if he put down the red solo cup of what Mokuba had affectionately called “Jungle Juice” he would be forced to interact with another living soul in the building, so he choked down the fireball with some of the alcoholic fruit punch.

That was a mistake.  If the world had been slightly off-balance before, the combined effect was really hitting, and the whole world was clearly spinning.  He didn’t dare dislodge himself from his spot on the wall.

“Kaiba?”  Joey approached.  Kaiba wanted to bite out some witty line about the profit margin on social work, but he didn’t totally trust himself to open his mouth.  “You ok?”

With a thick swallow, Kaiba looked over and bit out, “Fine.  How do you remember me from…”

“Yeah uh, I don’t give a lotta tours to CEO-billionaire transfer students, ya stuck out.”  Joey leaned in, clearly concerned.  “You don’t look so hot, you wanna sit down?  Have some water?”

Kaiba stepped away from the wall to get out of the situation, and maybe start walking back to his apartment.  Within two steps he stumbled.  His spatial reasoning was totally shot.

And so was all his good sense, melting into the strong arms that caught him.

“Yeah, let’s get ya some water, alright?  Man, you do not look like yer having a good time.”

“Still want me to tutor you in calculus?” Seto managed to say, leaning embarrassingly into his counterpart’s chest.

“Honestly, if you still understand it, in yer condition, then yeah, that’d be great.”

“Ha! It would be easy.”

“Look, I’m gay, okay, I can’t do math!” Joey laughed at his own joke.

“Pathetic! I am also gay, and I am the best at math.” Seto slurred, but sounded devastatingly serious.  Joey leaned the belligerent drunk into a chair in the dining room of the frat house.  “You don’t believe me?”

Joey raised his hands defensively, “I believe you!”

“No, you don’t.  I’ll prove it.  Bring me your homework.”

Joey wandered away.  At some point, he must have told his fraternity bros that Kaiba was going to do his calculus homework drunk, because Mokuba and a group came over.

Mokuba was wearing a Delta Mu shirt from their charity event last week—some sort of poker night—and his hair was even wilder than normal.  “Seto! This is so like you.  Did you really have to steal the spotlight at my initiation party?”

Seto looked up from a solo cup of water that Joey must have left behind.  “I am not here for any spotlight.  I’m going to prove a point.”

And with that, Joey reappeared with his old laptop wide open.  “The worksheet is open.  The software calculates your grade immediately after you press enter.”

“I know how the interface works, dumbass.”  Kaiba rolled his eyes and stretched his fingers in front of him.

“Ahh yer a mean drunk.  You might need a graphing calculator, by the way.”

“Then bring me a graphing calculator.”  Joey flipped him off, but left the room to get one.

The pledge-master, Tristan, stepped in.  “I dunno if this guy’s actually drunk, or just faking.”

“What incentive do I have to—”

“Moki-Moki, he’s your bro.  What do you think?  What would he never do if he was sober?” Tristan said.

“Talk about his feelings,” Mokuba said instantly, rolling his eyes and taking another sip to hide his smirk.

“Ok.  Well?”

Kaiba opened and shut his mouth a few times, before he announced, “I’m about to puke on this fool’s laptop.”

“Sounds like Seto.” Mokuba’s smirk blossomed into a smile at getting to make fun of his brother for once.

“FINE!”  The cold fire behind Seto’s eyes lit up.  “I am thissss close to making out with the hot blond dumb ass, but instead I’m going to do his homework.  Happy?”

“Moki?”

Mokuba’s smile vanished, and he wasn’t in any state to hide his shock.  “Checks out.  I’m … well I was… the only person who knew that Seto liked boys.”

Seto leaned into the computer.  “Great.  Bring me that graphing calculator and tequila shots for everyone.  I’m going to raise that guy’s grade 15%, and this is supposed to be a party.”

Joey reappeared with the calculator, and was shocked to see Seto actually making some headway on the problem set.  There were about fifteen problems.  Tristan put a neon plastic shot glass on the edge of the laptop, and without looking away from the screen, Seto slammed the shot.  If it burned his throat, he didn’t show it.

The gathered crowd looked at each other, holding matching neon shots awkwardly.  Tristan had clearly expected that Seto would have followed proper shots conduct and waited for the announcement.

Mokuba had years of experience with covering Seto’s faux pas.  “You saw the man! SHOTS!”  Everyone else downed them in tandom.

After a few minutes the group was chatting about other things and several of the brothers had entirely lost interest in watching Kaiba do calculus.  A smaller group of hold outs was extremely entertained, and Seto was going shockingly fast.

Within fifteen minutes the homework was complete.

“Done!” Seto shouted, pushing the graphic calculator across the table and was handed another tiny neon green shot glass, which he quickly downed.

Joey inspected the website.  It looked right enough.  “I dunno if I should submit this…” Joey waffled.

“Fool! Then we won’t know if I was right.” Seto looked unbearably offended.  

“But the academic honor code?”  Joey was actually nervous about this.

Seto leaned all the way back, and threaded his hands through his long hair.  “Screw the academic honor code.  I have money.”

“C’mon, don’t you wanna know if he’s the genius he’s supposed to be? Plus, no one else is going to know!” Tristan prodded.

Joey pressed enter.

The whole room paused while the site processed his answers.

“PERFECT SCORE!” Joey shouted, throwing his hands up!

The group had grown again and cheered, and Mokuba called for another round of celebratory shots, which served to drive the group back into the kitchen.

Joey and Seto were left alone.  Seto rested his head against the table and looked up at Joey.

“So… uh… ya wanna make out with me?” Joey blushed a little.

“I am literally going to puke, right now. Step aside.”  Seto shifted to get up.  He looked determined to make it to his feet, but it was not promising.

Joey leaned over to help.  “I can’t believe that you can do calculus, but ya can barely stand.  Yer ridiculous.”

“Still want me to tutor you?”

“So much.”

The end.

#kaiba #kaiba seto #seto kaia #joey wheeler #jounouchi katsuya #ygo #fanfic #fanfiction #my work #also on ao3

[zombiesbecrazy]

harder and harder to breathe

Summary:  The rock hit the ground and instead of just landing normally like it should, it disintegrated into a puff of dust, filling the air and swirling around. Brown and tan and green dirt particles surround them for mere seconds before everything settled down again back into the cave floor.

AO3

“How do you clean your suit?” Clark asked casually has he carefully navigated the narrow pathway. Deep in some caves of Kentucky, the trail was threatening to give way at any wrong step, and sure, he could fly, but Clark was going to try and avoid it if possible because no one wanted an accidental cave in. “Nothing sticks to my cape so I don’t have to worry about that. I toss my suit in the washing machine with the brights, but you can’t do that with the armor or tech. Do you polish it?”

The trail that they had been following down the path, the glowing purple blood, had been spilling from the interdimensional worm beast that had slithered away, stopped suddenly and there was a hum in the air that Clark always seemed to hear after a portal had been opened.

The creature had jumped dimensions again, for the third time that they knew of this week. Maybe it would stay away now that it had been injured. Probably not though. It would probably be mad and bring back some friends for revenge.

He hoped it wouldn’t happen on Wednesday; he and Lois had dinner reservations that he didn’t want to miss.

“Why are you so interested in how my suit is maintained?” Bruce was busy inspecting where the blood had stopped, filtering through the spectrum lenses in his cowl in attempt to verify that the creature had indeed left and not done something else like turn invisible.

“I don’t know. It was a long walk and I think about a lot of things.” Bruce pointed at a large rock and Clark picked it up for him so that he could examine underneath, looking for any evidence that could help. “Alfred has to be polishing it for you. You smell like lemon pledge.”

Bruce didn’t rise to the barb, not that Clark really expected him to when he’s in full detective mode, and he started to collect samples of the blood instead, to go with all of the other samples of the blood that he already has back in his lab.

The rock that Clark had in his arms felt oddly heavy which didn't make any sense in the world, but he continued to hold it while Bruce worked underneath it, scraping some clay into a tube, getting air readings off his gauntlet. Typical protocols were being followed until the heavy rock starts to feel itchy, which is even stranger because its just a rock and he’s Superman and the only things that make him feel itchy are coarse wool blankets and this is definitely a worse itch than those ever were. The itching suddenly turned into a sharp pain and then the only thing that registered was that there was no way that Clark could hold onto this innocuous rock for any longer.

“Batman, move,” Clark grunted, feeling the rock begin to slip.

Bruce had no context as to what the problem is, but knows when Clark tells him to move he should immediately listen, so he shoulder rolls off to the side just as Clark drops the rock from his grasp, hands twitching like he’s been burned but the discomfort not receding once the contact was lost.

The rock hit the ground and instead of just landing normally like it should, it disintegrated into a puff of dust, filling the air and swirling around. Brown and tan and green dirt particles surround them for mere seconds before everything settled down again back into the cave floor.

“That was highly inconvenient,” mutters Bruce and Clark starts to apologize for the rock, for ruining the evidence, but as soon as he opens his mouth he finds that he can’t say any of those things. Instead, he coughs. At least he thinks he’s coughing; he’s never really had to cough before so he’s not sure if he’s doing it right. Does he even have a diaphragm? Out of all his millions of thoughts, he’s never thought to check that.

Whatever is happening to him, it burns deep in his chest, trickling up his throat and in his mouth and nose and he coughs again, harder, but instead of getting better, getting in more oxygen, he feels worse and there is less air than there was before. Not enough air.

“Bat-” he coughs harder, hand covering his mouth and he can taste the blood in his mouth, all copper and iron, before he can see it. “Bruce. Can’t.. Breathe.” Suddenly he’s on his hands and knees, panting but getting nowhere near enough air in. Is this what suffocating felt like? “I..” He’s coughing more now, uncontrollable and relentlessly, and this time he’s seeing the blood hit the dirt, with some microscopic glowing green particles in it.

Green is bad. Clark is able to process that much. For everyone else green is good but not for him. He’s dying because randomly stumbled across the one random thing that can kill him in a random cave and it wasn’t even for a good reason.

He was now certain that this was what hyperventilating felt like and the panic that went along with it.

He’s aware enough to feel that Bruce is readjusting him into a sitting position and talking to him, trying to get him to focus, but it’s so hard to do without air. “Look at me. Pay attention.” Bruce’s voice was firm and commanding and Clark forced himself to look at him, coughing and wheezing loudly as he managed to suck in the barest amount of air possible with the maximum amount of effort. Bruce kept eye contact, but was pulling something out of his belt as he did so, prepping whatever miracle cure he hopefully had stored on him. “You inhaled kryponite. I have an idea. I don’t know if it is going to work but it won’t kill you.” Before Clark could react in any way to that information, Bruce jabbed a needle into his thigh and held it in place and he kept his other hand on Clark’s pulse. “Probably.”

“What?” Clark managed to choke out as Bruce tossed the needle aside and then grabbed onto Clark’s hand, and didn’t make a sound as Clark squeezed it as tight as he could, which probably wasn’t very strong if he was choking to death on space dust.

“You’re an alien, Kal. I have no way to predict how you’ll react to human medication that you've never had before.”

“That feels prejudiced,” whispered Clark, words halted and breathy but they were audible enough, “against the differently specied.” Bruce grunted, but other than monitoring his symptoms with narrow eyes ignored Clark. The pressure was lessening in his chest, but very slowly and only just a little bit, and the feeling of imminent doom lingered in his brain. Clark sucked in a shaky breath, deeper than he had been able to for minutes but that just made him cough again, doubled over with effort, more blood and green particles with each bark. As the fit subsided, he felt Bruce rubbing his back in small circles with a fair amount of pressure. Clark thought it might be helping or it was at least fooling his brain enough into thinking it was helping. Either way, it felt good, like when Ma had comforted him after a nightmare as a kid or when he was curled up with Lois after a long and grinding day. “What was that?”

“Epi-pen,” said Bruce, voice tight in a way that Clark only heard when someone Bruce cared about was hurt. “Luckily the kryptonite made your skin malleable enough to pierce. I suspect it’s a temporary solution though.” Bruce’s lips were pressed firmly together in a grim way. “Let’s get you up into the sun. Hopefully it will work out of your system faster that way.”

Clark didn’t have it in him to argue about the sun not being a miracle drug but there was a part of his brain telling him that he had to at least get away from the debris of the seemingly normal looking rock that had exploded into Clark’s own personal death trap, so instead he struggled to his feet and let Bruce wrap one of Clark’s arms around his shoulders for support. They made slow work of weaving their way back through the caves, Clark less concerned about where he put his feet this time, but becoming more aware that with each step he took it was becoming more difficult to breathe again. He was farther away from the rocks, but he still must have some inside his lungs. “Why did you have an epi-pen?”

“I always have two in my belt. They are good in medical emergencies.” Bruce huffed a bit through his nose. “And Tim’s allergic to bee stings.”

“Good thing,” said Clark, before coughing again. “Not that Tim’s got a bee allergy. That you had the shot.” They stumbled along for a few more minutes before Clark had to stop for a moment to try and catch his breath, but he couldn’t help but notice that he was getting harder again. "How far down are we?"

"About a kilometer." Normally Clark would rib him for using the metric system but he just nodded and Bruce picked on on it instantly and tightened his arm around Clark's waist. "Why?"

Clark shook his head and starting to walk again, careful of his footfalls because if he fell down he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get back up. He was concentrating on the tightness in his chest, and the way it felt like it was itching on the inside, just like he had originally felt it in his hands before things had turned south. "I think the shot is starting to wear off," he mumbled. Part of him wondered if the symptoms were more in his head and just thinking about them made it worse. "Anaphylaxis symptoms can be psychosomatic though."

"Not really." Bruce didn’t laugh, but Clark could at least pretend that he was a little amused by Clark’s effort to fake away his symptoms. "I have another pen but don't want to use it unless it's a last resort. There was an opening in the cave just up ahead, a natural opening halfway up the gorge. This time of day there should be sunlight.” Clark coughed again and Bruce shot him a concerned look as he sucked in a pitiful breath. “Conserve your air."

"Pretty sure it doesn't work like that." His airways were closing, no amount of holding his breath could stop that.

“Shush.” Bruce said, and then had to pull tight because Clark stumbled over his own feet, threatening to trip to the ground. "You can lean on me more. I've got you."

Clark knew that. Bruce always had him.

It felt like an eternity before they reached the opening that faced the gorge and Clark was close to not being able to breathe again, gasping between coughing up blood and little bits of devil green rock. He fell onto all fours at the ledge of the gorge, afternoon sun beaming down on him, feeling like he was hacking up a lung as Bruce rather forcefully pounded his fist on Clark’s back, in an attempt to get the rock out.

Clark was on the brink of passing out, darkness closing in on the edge of his vision and he knew that Bruce was seconds away from giving him the second shot when suddenly the pain and itching in his chest vanished, a last forceful cough with a small glimmer of green was expelled and Clark rolled over and collapsed on his back, exhausted, but enthusiastically able to breathe again and feeling better by the second, chest heaving with the ability to breathe again.

It was out. It was finally all out and he could breathe and it was amazing. Oxygen had never tasted so good.

He cracked an eye open and saw Bruce studying him, epi-pen rolling between his fingers in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. “I think that was it,” Clark said, reaching towards the bottle. He took a big drink before handing it back. “Gosh, what were the odds of finding a rock made of dust sized kryptonite particles in a random cave in Kentucky?

“Was that hypothetical or do you want the math?” Bruce casually brushed the tainted blood that Clark had choked up over the edge, keeping a careful eye on him.

“Hypothetical. I can do my own math.” He rested his hand on his chest, feeling his heart pounding with enthusiastic thumps. “Later. After more breathing.”

“Rest. Recover.” Bruce sat further back and leaned against the wall of the cave in the shadows. “Lay in the sunbeam like a cat.”

Clark meant to argue back, he really did, but the sun was just so nice and he just felt so exhausted and suddenly he was waking up before he had even realized he was asleep. The sun was slowly setting in the distance, making the sky pink and orange. He sat up and stretched, feeling pretty good for someone who took an unscheduled nap on the floor of a cave, only to see Bruce smirking at him like the smug jerk that he was.

“Just because I fell asleep doesn’t make you right, you know,” said Clark, only now noticing that there had been a big black cape under his head during his impromptu nap. "I'm not a house plant that just perks up in the sun."

"You are. One day I'm going to prove that your cells have photosynthetic properties. I'm going to recruit Ivy to help if needed."

Of course Bruce would use his resources to try and prove his theory, no matter who it was. "Absolutely not. I don't want Ivy, or before you get any other ideas, Swamp Thing, having any reason to think that I'm part of the Green.” Maybe Bruce was right about the sun but Clark wasn’t going to tell him that and he certainly wasn’t going to let a sometimes evil botanist conduct experiments on him just to win an argument. “Thanks for saving me. I owe you one.”

“We owe each other several. I’ve pulled ahead for now though.” Bruce stood, and Clark had to hide a wince as he heard Bruce’s bones creak from sitting for so long on the rock. "I should be apologizing. It was my fault. I asked you to lift it."

Clark gawked at him. "Are you serious right now? You had no way of knowing it was laced with kryptonite." Bruce frowned and had the face that he did when he was about to argue and Clark just shook his head and cut him off before he could start. "Bruce. Stop it. If you really want to blame yourself, fine, I forgive you, but just know that I don't really forgive you, because it wasn't your fault."

They stared at each other for a minute before Bruce nodded and looked away, obviously still brooding about it but moving on as if he wasn't. “Are you ready to head up? I still have to analyze those samples before the worm jumps back to this reality.”

“Sure.” Clark climbed to his feet and handed Bruce back his cape, and Clark watched with interest as it was reattached. “You know, you never answered my questions about the armor.”

Bruce shrugged. “Alfred looks after it.” He started to step forward before freezing and turning back to Clark. “I don’t really smell like lemon pledge, do I?”

“Of course not,” said Clark, but he gave Bruce a big, fake smile before stepping past him and leading the way to start heading upwards, hoping that the faint smell of lemons would follow close behind.

#whumptober2019 #no.19 #clark kent #bruce wayne

[chuffyfan87]

Being Discreet. Part 2

It took just over a week until Charlie was able to find a shift where they could work together, a Thursday nightshift. As he gave the team their start of shift briefing Charlie tried his hardest not to glance over at Duffy too closely or frequently. She seemed to have purposely positioned herself towards the back of the group so he couldn't get a clear look at her.

As the group dispersed Charlie jogged over to catch up with Duffy before she disappeared off into the department. Reaching out he grasped hold of her arm lightly and pulled her to one side. Leaning in closely he whispered in her ear.

"Well I kept my side of the deal, did you keep yours?" He asked, waggling his eyebrows and grinning broadly.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this!" She hissed back through gritted teeth.

"I think you'll find this was your idea." Charlie chuckled.

Duffy rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue. Charlie moved his hand to run down her back, confirming the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra this evening. His hand travelled lower, coming to rest on her bottom which he couldn't resist giving a light squeeze, his eyes widening as he did so.

"Oi, no touching! That's one of the rules. Unless you want to admit defeat already?" Duffy smirked, swatting his hands away and stepping back from him, preparing to collect the details of her first patient of the shift.

"Wait! It felt like you're missing more than just your bra! Are you?"

"I'll leave you and your imagination to decide on that Charlie boy! Don't want to keep my patient waiting." She laughed as she strolled off towards reception.

Charlie had thought he'd been smart by picking the shift he had, believing that it would be a quiet night. He should have known that the residents of Holby would have other ideas. He sighed as he sank into his office chair, closing his eyes as he tilted his head backwards.

Moments later he was startled by a knock at the door. He rubbed his hands across his face, smiling as he called out.

"Come in!"

His smile faltered slightly as Elle walked into the office. He mentally chastised himself, he should have known better as Duffy never knocked.

"What can I do for you?" He enquired politely.

"I had a few moments so thought I'd grab those files you needed me to sign." She explained.

"Ah yes." Charlie reached into his drawer and gathered the files together to pass to Elle. As he did so something slipped out from between them and landed on her shoe. Charlie's eyes widened as Elle picked up a black lace thong.

Holding it between her fingers Elle chuckled. "Um, that's very kind of you Charlie but, well, I don't think it's my size."

"I... Erm..." Charlie stammered.

Elle shrugged as she placed the underwear down on the desk. "It's good to see that it's not just the junior staff who are having all the fun round here." She grinned. "Do I know the lucky lady by any chance?"

"It's complicated." Charlie mumbled, quickly placing the knickers back in his desk drawer.

"If you love her don't let her escape again." Elle paused, letting her words sink in. "Anyway, I best get these files sorted before the next influx of patients descends." She turned and left his office, closing the door behind her.

Charlie reopened the drawer and pocketed the underwear. He then headed out into the department in search of their owner.

It took a while but he finally found her sorting through some supplies near resus. He crept up behind her and dangled the knickers from his fingers in front of her. "Misplace these did you?" He whispered, his breath tickling her ear.

"Oh! It's a good job you found them!" She replied, feigning surprise. She reached out to take them but he snatched them from her grasp.

"Wouldn't want you to lose them again so I'll keep them safe for you." He replied, smirking as he put them back in his pocket.

"Just make sure you wash them before you return them to me!" She replied sweetly, giggling as she walked away.

The department soon got busy again meaning Charlie only caught the merest glimpses of Duffy over the next couple of hours. Finally finding a quiet few moments he escaped to the staffroom for a cuppa. Opening the door he saw that Cal and Ethan had had the same idea. He nodded a greeting to them as he flicked the kettle on. While he waited for it to boil he wandered over to his locker to grab the sandwich he'd thrown in there at the start of his shift.

As he opened the door he was caught by surprise as he was hit in the face by an item that was hanging inside. Stepping back he realised the item was a black lacy bra, a bra which, on closer inspection, clearly matched the knickers that he'd found in his desk drawer a couple of hours earlier.

Remembering that he wasn't alone in the room he tried to grab his sandwich and quickly close his locker door but it was too late...

"Black lace? I didn't think you were the type Charlie!" Cal smirked.

"Cal!" Ethan admonished his brother, his face bright red with embarrassment.

Charlie could feel his cheeks heating up to a similar shade as he turned to face the two younger men, the bra still in his hands. "I have no idea where it came from. Probably someone's idea of a joke."

"Who could it belong to..?" Cal wondered aloud, a big grin on his face. "Let's have a closer look?"

"Its probably just a random item that doesn't belong to anyone in particular." Charlie shrugged keeping a firm grip on the item in question.

"No, it looks expensive." Cal pointed out. "That rules a few people out straight away." He turned to his brother. "What do you think?"

"I... Erm... Think we should just leave it and I'm sure whomever it belongs to will claim it back in due course." Ethan stammered.

"Spoilsport!" Cal mocked. "Hmm... Whoever it belongs to isn't very busty, I doubt that bra's any bigger than a C cup."

"There's more to attractiveness than big breasts Cal!" Charlie replied, a little too quickly.

"You know who it belongs to and you fancy her!" Cal accused with a smirk.

"Cal it's none of our business..." Ethan broke in awkwardly.

"If only I'd known the Ice Queen had such a thing for nurses... Explains a lot..!" Cal mused smugly.

Charlie was about to reply when Duffy wandered into the room.

"You starting a collection of ladies lingerie Charlie?" She asked with fake surprise.

"Not just any lady - Mrs Beauchamp!" Cal smirked.

"Really? Well, dark haired doctors always have been his type." She mused as she crossed the room and picked up a banana she'd left on the counter.

"Is that right?" Cal asked with interest.

"Mmhmm, likes them bossy does Charlie boy!" She laughed before taking a bite out of the fruit, subtly catching Charlie's eye as she did so.

"Duffy!" Charlie groaned before clearing his throat awkwardly, afraid his tone had given him away too much.

"What?" She asked innocently, swallowing her food. "Female authority figures have always made him go weak at the knees." She informed the brothers with a mischievous grin.

"Do they indeed?" Cal smirked.

"I think that's quite enough..." Charlie interrupted.

"Oh I haven't even started yet..!" Duffy giggled as she headed back out the door. "You should probably return that to its owner." She suggested, gesturing the the bra. "I imagine she's terribly cold without it!" She winked and headed back out towards reception.

Charlie hesitated momentarily before pocketing the bra and heading out the door with his sandwich. "I'm going to eat this in my office." He explained lamely over his shoulder.

The brothers looked at each other. "I think you might have been wrong about who it belongs to." Ethan commented.

"What? You mean those two?" Cal questioned making a lewd gesture with his hands. "Nah!" He laughed.

About twenty minutes later Duffy was walking past Charlie's office when she felt a hand reach out and grasp her arm, pulling her inside.

"You took your time!" She giggled as he closed the door and turned the lock.

"You're not playing fair." He pouted, holding up her underwear in his hand.

"You said I couldn't wear it, there was no rule saying I couldn't do something else with it." She smirked triumphantly.

"The whole department will be talking about it by now!" He complained.

"You and Connie?" She couldn't contain her laughter any longer.

"Duffy!"

"She'd eat you for breakfast Charlie!" Duffy replied as she finally managed to rein in her giggles.

"I'd much rather you did!" He shot back, a lustful glint in his eyes. "You weren't kidding about being cold!" He added, his grin widening.

"Charlie!" She admonished playfully, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Duffy..!" He pouted playfully.

She glanced at the clock. "Still another three hours to go... Will you survive that long..?" She giggled and left his office.

"Urgh!" Charlie groaned as he sat down in his desk chair. Why had he thought this was a good idea? He tipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling, his grin reappearing and growing bigger as he thought of all the things he planned to do to her as soon as the shift ended.

Eventually the end of shift rolled around with no major incidents to disrupt the relative calm of the early morning in the department. Charlie left his office to head to cubicles to try and find Duffy. Seeing her with a patient he lent against the admin desk and watched her at work. Minutes passed but she showed no signed of finishing with her patient. As she walked up to the admin desk to grab a form Charlie whispered in her ear. "Your shift has finished Sister Duffin." He reminded her.

Duffy tilted her head and regarded him with a cheeky grin. "Someone's impatient!" She giggled. "I'm just finishing up." She rolled her eyes and walked away laughing.

Charlie let out a sigh and headed back to his office. Once there he lost track of the time as he went back to his lustful daydreams.

Eventually they were shattered by the sound of the door opening. Duffy stuck her head around and smiled. "I'm finished."

"Get in here and lock the door!" Charlie replied, his eyes filled with lust.

"I thought we were going back to yours?" She replied innocently.

"I've waited long enough..! No more!" He asserted as pulled her into his arms.

Duffy laughed as he yanked the zip of her tunic undone. "I knew you'd never manage it!" She crowed triumphantly.

#chuffy #charlie and duffy #charlie fairhead #lisa duffin

[tardis-sapphics]

Ooh you said you were open to Thasmin prompts so may I suggest Thasmin + ice cream?

you guys seem to like your ice cream prompts don’t you

‘I can’t believe you got an ice cream van.’

The three of them are standing outside of Graham’s house, in various states of disbelief. Parked on the curb sits the Doctor’s new… acquisition, a monstrosity on the eyes, the gaudiest type of van to ever roam the streets of Britain.

‘I can,’ Yaz responds to Ryan’s open-mouthed utterance.

The Doctor, it seems, has bought an ice cream van that has intensified its own nature. Gone are the pretty pinks and the calm orange pastels of years before; this van boasts of at least seven different colours, all bold and bright and beautiful, splashed all over its exterior. On its front and rear twirl different cartoons, from iconic Looney Tunes characters to cartoon aliens that Yaz has never seen before in her life. She thinks she glimpsed a Scooby-Doo on the other side, too, but none of the rest of the gang. On the serving side of the van, the ubiquitous ‘Mr. Whippy’ logo takes up most of the room, a typeface copied on the front of the van. On the roof, two ginormous painted metal ice creams spin on an axis in tandem.

Yaz doesn’t even want to consider how obnoxiously loud the ice cream van’s jingle will be.

The Doctor has never looked prouder, of course. Her arms are wider than the sun as she shows off her newest hobby; her grin deep-set and all-encompassing. Her eyes crinkle with delight. She can barely contain herself.

It makes sense, Yaz thinks, that she would take this mission to the next level. Her exasperation is quickly dissipating: it’s easy to forgive the Doctor for her wild plans when they make her smile like that.

‘I…’ Graham stutters. ‘Doc, you’ve genuinely made me speechless. Proper speechless.’

‘Ey, and that don’t happen too much, does it?’ Ryan grins to Yaz.

‘It’s just…’ They wait, curious, as Graham tries in earnest to find the words appropriate for this moment. He constantly has to adjust his crossed arms, his eyebrows getting more and more furrowed. The Doctor has started lowering her arms by the time he reaches the right response. ‘H…How?’

Yaz shrugs. That’s fair.

The Doctor has endeavoured to inspect every inch of her new van, checking, no doubt, for any improvements she could make. ‘If you must know, I have a mate up in Leeds who sells them.’ She disappears behind the back of the van, though her voice still carries. ‘I say mate. I mean acquaintance.’ A pause. ‘I say acquaintance. I mean someone I met.’

Yaz hums. ‘You found it on the internet, didn’t you?’

The Doctor’s head pops up to the side, and she points a finger at Yaz. ‘But she were very lovely, I’ll have you know! She were dead pleased, said she don’t really get customers anymore. Unless, of course, they’re from—’

‘The United Federation of Ice-Cream Creators,’ the three humans echo in unison.

‘See; you’re learning!’ the Doctor crows, and appears only to disappear again, into the van to inspect its contents.

Buying an ice cream from the ice cream van in summer was a highlight of their repeated childhood memories, no matter which generation they belong to. Graham swears up and down that the vans haven’t changed much since he was young, though the ice cream van could park anywhere back then, unlike now with all these cars clogging up the streets. For Ryan, ice cream vans always indicated refreshment after playing out with his mates – he of all of them would appreciate the cool refreshment after all the hard work. Yaz’s prevailing memory is of her local ice cream van man: a walking Italian stereotype who refused to call any of the girls by a name other than Rebecca or Jessica. At several points throughout her childhood, Yaz was called both Rebecca and Jessica during one single purchase.

It’s with these memories in mind that they follow her into the van – not only because they tend to follow, but because, they, too, are curious. Stepping closer to peer inside feels like a betrayal of the childhood mystery, but they’re pulled to it regardless.

It simply looks off-white; functional, extremely claustrophobic, and a little underwhelming. But if the expression on her face is anything to go by, it’s the Doctor’s idea of paradise.

Yaz is the first to step inside. She’s the first to follow; she always has been. In the cramped line the space inside the van allows, Yaz becomes situated against the Doctor, pressed up close and comfy. It’s a happy coincidence that the Doctor’s arm has to reach over her shoulder to point at the whippy dispenser and the empty cardboard boxes waiting to be filled with 99 Flakes.

The Doctor choosing to rest her arm on Yaz’s shoulder afterwards is not such a coincidence. Ryan and Graham are taking the time to do their own preliminary investigations, passing comments to each other in the light tone they’ve both grown to depend on from one another. (This isn’t without difficulty, though. Graham is desperately trying to decode Ryan’s rhetorical question of whether screwball ice creams ‘deserve rights’.) Knowing the other two are distracted, Yaz takes the time to sink into the feeling of the Doctor around her, letting her head rest on the Doctor’s. She smells like honey, and engine oil, and peppermint. They breathe in together and revel in the feeling: the both of them free to display affection like this. Finally, finally.

It evolved slowly, intensifying, like taking a deep breath. First it was the handholding, electrifying when sparse and comforting when established; long looks and good-natured teasing were followed by hugs, and longer hugs, and holding on. Then came the peak, lungs filled with anticipation – clandestine kisses shared in the dark and in the quick moments. Settling into rhythms and understanding each other in ways they wouldn’t have otherwise.

Yaz knows what the Doctor’s lips taste like in the morning, and the exact way she likes her tea. She knows that the Doctor is ticklish on the insides of her elbows and the undersides of her feet. The Doctor has read and reread Yaz’s favourite childhood books, Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy, just so she can match Yaz’s pace and fervour whenever it is somehow brought up in conversation. Almost every time the Doctor holds Yaz’s hand, and especially when they’re alone, she’ll make the effort to flip her hand over and kiss Yaz’s palm with a tenderness that makes the other woman tremble.

In other words, Yaz is absolutely head over heels for the Doctor. And she’s pretty sure it’s being reciprocated, too.

Not that they’ve really verbalised what this is. Hand holding and kissing and genuine comfort is one thing; giving the dynamic foundational support is another. It’s the question that’s kept her awake almost every night since, but Yaz doesn’t want to break this. The Doctor tends to be slow on social cues, and Yaz doesn’t want to rush her.

The Doctor might just not be into labels.

‘What d’you think?’ the Doctor murmurs.

Being pulled out of one’s deliberations gets no less jolting – it does, in fact, take Yaz by surprise to a higher degree thanks to the Doctor’s proximity. Her lips are close enough to Yaz’s ears that she’d hear the Doctor whisper even over the din of the van’s engine. It does wonders for a part of her she’s not at all prepared to dwell on in an ice cream van. It’s this reminder – that the Doctor’s talking about a flipping ice cream van – that brings her to her senses.

‘I think you’re an idiot,’ she replies, bring up a hand to hold the Doctor’s hand so leisurely draped over Yaz’s body. The Doctor’s hands are cool, reassuring, where her own burn hot. ‘What happens if we’re still monitoring the Federation for longer than a week? Won’t you have to take it back and lose your cover?’

The Doctor frowns, an expression that moulds her lips into what Yaz and Ryan fondly call a “scronch”. ‘Why would I be taking this back if I bought it?’

Yaz sighs.

‘Doctor, I swear to—’

Quite a lot of Yaz’s life sounds like something out of a conspiracy theorist’s overactive imagination. Thankfully, the Moon landing was not faked; and the world, she can confirm, is overwhelmingly round – but she can personally attest to aliens walking amongst humans on Earth. And more besides.

Sometimes it’s so crazy that she can’t quite believe it herself.

If you told her two years ago that the ice cream van industry was being targeted by an alien species determined to steal the original Mr. Whippy recipe from Earth and claim ownership of the delicacy throughout the known universe – she would’ve laughed you out of the room.

But, well, here she is. Trying to stop ice cream thieves.

Ryan and Graham were assigned the roles of faithful customers, parading the scorching streets of Sheffield in order to build a rapport with the city’s ice cream sellers. All those pound coins being spent (mostly Graham’s) have, eventually, paid off: they’ve compiled an effective list of who they believe to be local Federation colleagues, aliens the four of them should attempt to befriend in order to get inside information.

It’s up to the Doctor and Yaz, then, to sell the alibi – and plenty of ice creams in the meantime. While it’s the Doctor who mans the van first and foremost, Yaz joins her when police work isn’t demanding her attendance. The ice cream selling is much more preferable to patrolling the county in a roasting police uniform.

Summer 2019 has been swinging, temperature-wise, from the boring to the truly worrying. In a week where the weather has alternated between torrential rain and record-breaking heat, the two women have had a wildly varying record of success. Sometimes they’ve sat with the serving window up to see no passers-by in sight. Not that they would be able to glimpse them, anyway, behind the incessant raindrops splattering the serving window. Other times, they’ve had impatient queues consisting of the entire park they’ve visited: harassed and harangued parents struggling to keep their kids happy in the sweltering heat; groups of kids in vital need of sustenance after all their playing; older residents cashing in on the opportunity to indulge in nostalgia. Such is British weather.

The Doctor has taken to selling ice cream like a duck to water. She may not be socially tactful, but her enthusiasm around people more than makes up for it. She makes the process of making ‘Mr. Whippy’ ice creams into a show for the kids to enjoy. She juggles the ice lollies before presenting them to her amused customers, despite the little space the ice cream van provides. She can be heard whistling the ice cream van’s jingle, ‘Greensleeves’, even after her work for the day is done. There’s a knack to ice cream selling, Yaz believes, and the Doctor has it in spades.

Sometimes they even forget they’re meant to be keeping a lookout for the Federation. It’s so easy to slip into this routine, switching between serving the public as a police officer and serving the public their much-needed ice cream. Spending her time with the Doctor, floating around each other in the van guided more by the touch of fingertips on familiar clothes than by sight; it feels like something they could get settled into.

Apparently it shows.

They get looks, the Doctor and Yaz. Very specific looks. Yaz is not often in the back of the ice cream van whilst the Doctor is serving, but whenever she makes her way down, hands on the Doctor’s back as she moves, she’ll sometimes catch a glimpse of recognition from the customers. The ice cream van is a two-way mirror through which society can look at itself – the Doctor and Yaz get a feel for the surrounding community, and the customers, too, get a feel for them.

Sometimes they’re parents, surprised to see such tenderness between two women. (Sometimes their acknowledgement is one of distaste. Not always, but sometimes; Yaz does her best to stare back, to make them uncomfortable.) Sometimes, they are gay couples, and the look passed between them is one of solidarity more than anything else.

Sometimes they’re just curious kids, learning more and more about the world each day.

‘Are you two girlfriends?’

Wearing a football shirt drenched with sweat, the girl stands and waits patiently with her mother for a well-earned 99 Flake.

‘Idha!’ the mother scolds her.

Amongst the recognition of her own mini heart attack, Yaz estimates that the kid must be about 9, no older. There’s no sort of disdain coming from her. She’s just a curious little girl.

Still, that doesn’t make answering her question any easier. Honestly, Yaz was just in the back to pinch a 99 flake. That mission has backfired massively. Her heartbeat picks up.

She knows what she’d like to say. She knows that whatever answer is given now will determine the answer to that question for a while yet.

Yaz presumed the Doctor was too busy concentrating on perfecting the twirl of the ice cream to pay attention.

But the Doctor takes her by surprise. One perfect ice cream is presented, Flake squished in, with an equally made-up smile. As Yaz opens her mouth to speak – to say what, she doesn’t know – the Doctor jumps in.

‘Me and Yaz? We’re partners in crime, we are,’ she responds, with a wink. ‘Not literally. She’s a police officer, you know.’

Partners in crime. Right.

(She can’t help but notice the disappointment fizzling in her body.)

This seems to placate both child and mother long enough for the significance of the question to be forgotten. They pay for the treat – the girl utters a very polite, ‘Thank you, miss!’ – and leave.

Yaz is returning to the driver’s seat to eat her Flake in peace, but the Doctor catches her eye for just a second as they manoeuvre around the small space. The Doctor’s gaze is acquiescent; filled with a longing Yaz can’t quite place.

‘Was that—?’

The Doctor’s words are cut off by the thump of a small child managing to catapult themselves straight into the ice cream van.

 Alone time, when the great British public have not deigned the two women with their presence, is preferable for interests other than sugary cold treats. Especially when the clouds are dumping a month’s worth of rain in about three hours.

She’s been trying her hardest not to be distracted these past few days, but it’s easier said than done when it’s just been the two of them in this van. Their duty to the public comes first, of course, but in the midst of many an explicit look, Yaz has never been happier to forget her promise to serve the public their ice cream.

Besides, making out with the Doctor is so much more fun.

It’s a very middling Friday; after the ridiculous heat of Thursday, the temperatures have comparatively plummeted to around 21 degrees. The clouds overhead have sent kids running indoors, nervous about the deluge to come. A few brave souls have wandered on parched pavements, though; a couple of them have even wanted a cool treat.

Yaz’s shift doesn’t start until 7pm, so she’s free to assist the Doctor in her ice cream escapades for three more hours or so. On this slow day, she’s been the one doing the driving whilst the Doctor busies herself with stock-checking or fiddling with this strange handheld invention the Doctor has brought on board.

She can’t really understand it. There are at least three levers, and a winding gear. It has what Yaz can only conclude is a dog cone fixed hastily onto one of its ends. Whenever she has tried to ask what on Earth the entire contraption may be, the Doctor has been far too preoccupied to answer.

‘What are we even gonna do when we uncover the Federation ice cream sellers?’ she wonders. She has to make her voice loud over the sound of the engine, kept on even when they’re stationary in order to keep the ice creams cool. Getting out of the driver’s seat, she steps into the serving area to find the Doctor bent down, inspecting her rapidly depleted supply of strawberry syrup. The dog coned invention languishes at her feet, bleeping infrequently.

‘I dunno, really,’ is the Doctor’s reply, her voice stretched by her movement as she stands back up. Leaning with one hand on the van’s windowsill, she continues, ‘I’m definitely reporting them to the Shadow Proclamation, though. There are about 300 different laws on the issue of original content being stolen from species who haven’t developed enough to defend their planetary property – the Federation are breaking every single one of them.’

Coatless, with sleeves rolled back, she looks just a little more unkempt than usual, frazzled in the best way by a new hobby keeping her busy. She’s positively glowing – not from the regeneration energy, this time – and Yaz is a little more than attracted to the sight.

Yaz has to swallow it down. ‘But what about in the meantime? Surely the threat of the Shadow Proclamation won’t stop them from continuing their business right now?’

‘You’d think that, wouldn’t you?’ the Doctor muses. It’s hard, in a small space such as this, getting somewhere with so much energy, but Yaz can only describe her movement as floating – getting closer and closer to Yaz. ‘But no. The Redeto know just how little power they have in the universe. Stealing a soon-to-be popular recipe will pay off big time if successful, but the repercussions are huge. They know the stakes here.’ The Doctor shrugs. ‘Maybe if I promise I won’t rat them out.’

‘That’s if they give you an audience,’ Yaz points out. It’s a strong point, but it peters off into nothingness now the Doctor has moved so close. Their noses are almost touching. Yaz can see hazel green; wide pupils.

Her heartbeat is off the charts.

The Doctor doesn’t bother to attempt a corny line. There’s no need now she knows Yaz is unofficially, but totally, hers. Instead, her indication of intent comes in the form of nervous hands, swooping up to caress Yaz’s face. Everything is still new; with warm touch, Yaz’s skin is set on fire.

She is the one to push forward and press their lips together. It’s such a relief, every time, like breathing out after holding her breath for too long. They gasp for each other in between kisses and Yaz can feel it, that mutuality, that simplest of desires, to hold and be held. Her hands slip down the Doctor’s mustard suspenders, and she thanks her lucky stars that this feeling – this experience – is something she gets to indulge in. She’d be thankful for an only time. She’s lost count of how many times they’ve kissed now, and she grows every day in her gratitude.

She’s lost all sense of the outside world – just pressing herself further into the joy of it, the relief that comes with knowing the Doctor still wants to kiss. She’s quite forgotten that they’re stood at the serving area, kissing slow then fast, hard and tender, with open mouths and roaming hands.

She wishes she could do this all the time.

There comes a point where attention must be paid, however, to something else other than the Doctor. At a slow moment within the kiss, the Doctor stills and stalls in her previously successful endeavour of pushing her hands underneath Yaz’s jacket. Yaz immediately pulls away, regretting the absence of warm hands and confusion starting to crease her brow – until she hears it too.

Another engine. She tries to calm her heartbeat.

‘Is that…?’

‘Probably.’ The Doctor swallows, attempting to compose herself. ‘We’ve got company.’

Peeking through the serving area’s closed window, they can see an idling ice cream van. The décor is much duller than the Doctor’s – practical, toned down and perfect. It’s a perfectly respectable paint job for a perfectly respectable person – and that would be fine, of course, if it weren’t for the fact that the person in the van is very much not a person. Not a human person, anyway.

Yaz recognises the van right away – one of the people on the list. Ryan and Graham have known about this Redeto for a while, and they tasked Yaz and the Doctor to keep an eye on him. Apparently, they weren’t subtle. The stern, dangerous look on his face is indication enough. To his left, another person bends forward and makes himself known.

Two of them.

Knowing your cover might be blown is different to actually having your cover blown. Yaz keeps eye contact with the Doctor as their expressions slacken with dread. Was it their discussion? Was it Ryan and Graham? It doesn’t particularly matter.

The Redeto are not known for being considerate.

‘You alright to start driving the van?’ the Doctor asks politely, a light confidence in her voice that would be reassuring were it not for its total falsity.

Yaz gets to it. Their moment of being together is over, very over. With no small feeling of reluctance, she disentangles herself from the warmth of the Doctor’s body and makes her way to the driver’s seat, nearly tripping over the Doctor’s contraption as she does.

Almost three years of driving has prepared her enough for the small feat of piloting the ice cream van. Thereabouts, anyway. The van lurches into motion as soon as she eases her foot off the clutch and she grimaces, embarrassed. But they’re on their way.

The other ice cream van immediately follows.

Yaz swallows. They’re definitely within the realms of being chased now. This is new to her; she’s usually the one pursuing, checking for escape routes to block and ways to guide the target into stopping. On the flipside, the mounting pressure is starting to get to her.

She would not want to be in the shoes of a criminal, Yaz thinks. It’s bad enough being pursued by an ice cream van.

She takes a deep breath and presses down on the accelerator, hard. The van groans in response but reacts as best it can. It unsettles the Doctor’s balance in the back of the van.

‘Keep going, Yaz!’ she shouts, the bleeping from her invention almost a second rallying cry. ‘We can try to evade him!’

She’s on the flipside – but, Yaz realises, she can use that to her advantage. Her knowledge of Sheffield’s roads is bone-deep; better, she imagines, than an alien following the popular routes where customers would most likely be. She finds an opening and makes a sharp turn, the tyres screeching and the ice cream machines rattling raucously. Terraced houses whizz by; Yaz catches a glimpse of a mother in pyjamas putting out the bins; her eyes wide, her mouth open at the sight before – and then after – her.

This sort of scene would usually be accompanied by a dramatic film score; a heart-raising drumbeat, maybe a few electric guitars. Instead, the street is treated to the shriek of ‘Greensleeves’ as the ice cream van thunders past.

‘Yasmin Khan, you are my hero!’ the Doctor praises. ‘Nice job. Time to head for the TARDIS, don’t you th—’

‘Doctor, he’s back,’ Yaz interrupts, catching sight of him in her wing mirror. Just because she turned so quickly, it didn’t mean he couldn’t catch up. He must have found a shortcut too, she thinks. Damn. She switches gears to accommodate for the upcoming hill. A red light flashes into existence at the top of it, and a three-car-long queue has built up.

‘You’re kidding,’ she whispers. She has to stop. She is, after all, a law-abiding citizen – and a police officer. She’s the last person to defy a red light.

Waiting for the amber light gives the Federation ice cream van enough time to catch up. As they line up in adjacent lanes, the Redeto in the driver’s seat turns to look at Yaz. Yaz looks back, a disapproving frown planted very firmly on her face. And his smile widens into a smug. Weirdo, she thinks.

The green light returns, finally, and they are restricted by the cars in front for a little while. But, once more, as soon as Yaz sees an opening away from the queue, she takes it – tyres screech and the Doctor is thrown into the 99 Flakes box. The Federation van follows suit, and gains steadily as they run through a green, an amber, another green. Their van has more horsepower, the two women come to realise; once again the two ice cream vans line up. Yaz goes into another gear and speeds up, pushing past the speed limit, but it’s not enough to lose them.

The driver smiles at her again as he winds down his window. Yaz grumbles under her breath. Then the passenger leans forward again, this time having procured with a rather gun-like weapon.

She gasps – ducks her head. Just in time. The shot goes over her head, singing a couple of her hairs – and breaking both windows of the van’s driving compartment. It shatters with a high-pitched sound, and Yaz yelps.

The van veers to the left but she rights it. ‘Doctor, do something!’ she shouts over the noise of the engine. ‘He’s shooting at me!’

‘Yes, I saw!’ the Doctor shouts back. Yaz swerves the van onto another street – another residential area. Mercifully, there are no kids playing. The turn upsets the Doctor’s journey to the driving compartment, but with her free hand she holds onto the passenger seat.

The Redeto’s weapon, it seems, needs to power up again. Yaz takes the moment to glimpse at the Doctor – sleeves rolled up past her elbows, blonde hair flyaway, a few strands falling down past her forehead onto her face. There’s an intensity in the way she’s set her jaw. As she winds up the invention tucked under her arm, her right arm’s muscles tense and relax.

Yaz finds it amazing how, in the middle of being shot at, she still finds time to be wholly distracted by how impressive the Doctor looks.

Then they’re shot at again – the Doctor jumps back, Yaz compressing herself into a crouch – and she focuses on the task at hand. Namely, driving. They soar over a speed bump and the shock of the landing is particularly hard. Something in the back of the van breaks open. They return to a wider road. Still, the Federation van keeps up.

‘Now, Doctor!’ Yaz yells.

The buzzing of the Doctor’s contraption gets more and more frequent until it blends into one sound. A whirring starts up, like a whistling kettle, and the Doctor’s grin gets wide.

‘Show time,’ she breathes.

With a couple of steps, the Doctor places her body in the way of Yaz, so neither Redeto can destabilise the womens’ van. Hoisting the contraption onto her shoulder, she points the cone-end forward at the Redeto drivers and yanks down a lever. White hot light surrounds the machinery.

‘Oi!’ the Doctor shouts. ‘Stop shooting at my girlfriend!’ She presses a button, and a stream of white light gets propelled towards the Federation van.

Yaz and the Doctor speed away, but in the wing mirror, Yaz can witness what the contraption has done to their pursuers. The white light envelopes the surfaces of the ice cream van; with the two men stuck inside, they are caught in the consequences. The van completely freezes – momentum dissipating in the afternoon air – and nothing escapes. Not a sound, not a single movement. Hair does not sway. Arms do not collapse. The steering wheel does not turn.

They are simply suspended.

The sight of them in her mirror gets smaller and smaller, until they become inconsequential. Nothingness has never seemed so explicitly still. Yaz turns another corner and eases the van into a more residential-friendly speed. At this pace, the incessant ‘Greensleeves’ blaring through the ice cream van’s speakers feels less frantic.

Yaz huffs out a relieved breath.

‘Aw, mate,’ the Doctor beams from beside her. ‘I was hoping that would work.’

Yaz doesn’t want to entertain the alternative. ‘Wh-what was that?’ she asks. Her eyes are still on the road; even though the Federation van has been… apprehended, she still wants to get them as far away as possible.

The Doctor jumps into the passenger seat, already investigating the state of her contraption. The whirring has stopped, the light disappeared; the beeping, at least, is much more regular now. ‘That was a makeshift Time Stop,’ she explains. ‘Does what it says on the tin. I need this to reverse the effects, so they continue to be exactly how they were in the moment they got stopped, but by that time we’ll be much better prepared for them.’ She winds it up, and it bleeps at her. ‘I know, I know! Look, we’ll charge you when we get inside the TARDIS, alright?’ With that thought, she looks up at Yaz. ‘Can you head there now?’

Yaz nods, and changes direction.

It takes a minute or so of relative quietness – ‘Greensleeves’ is still playing, the twee high pitch fuelling Yaz’s irritation – when her brain catches up fully with the afternoon’s events. The tension of being pursued has melted away to reveal perfect memory.

She jolts in her seat.

‘Doctor,’ she says.

The Doctor jumps. ‘Yeah?’

‘You called me your girlfriend,’ Yaz states, her voice carefully devoid of anything emotional.

‘Yeah,’ the Doctor repeats, and the guilt seeps through. ‘Sorry; wasn’t thinking.’

Yaz keeps quiet, expecting the Doctor to elaborate.

It’s one of the hardest feats she’s ever achieved.

‘Sorry if that made you uncomfortable. Was just caught up in the moment, see. And when they shot at you like that – twice! – it just riled me up. Didn’t think.’ She pauses. ‘Should’ve had the conversation first, shouldn’t we?’

Yaz can’t keep the smile hidden any longer. A quick look to her left secures their eye contact. ‘I liked it,’ she shrugs, and in real time she sees the Doctor swell with delight. ‘You can keep calling me that, if you like.’

‘I will,’ the Doctor beams. She jumps up to attend to the serving area – but not before pressing a kiss to Yaz’s cheek.

The sheer joy of this revelation comes off the both of them in waves. Yaz thinks she may just appreciate ice cream vans a bit more now.

Sometimes her life is so crazy that she can’t quite believe it herself.

#doctor who #doctor who fanfiction #thasmin fanfiction #thasmin prompts #thasmin #thirteenth doctor #yasmin khan #idiot girlfriends #ryan sinclair #graham o'brien #team tardis #fic: more of the universe #i love writing dark and deep stuff #(see: i might brave the fire) #but sometimes you just need to write a small child yeeting themselves into the side of a van you know

[thewritenerd]

Victor and Adam: NaNoWriMo Day 16

Adam

Nervous Adam kept pacing up and down his room. His friends were coming round for the first time in over a month. On top of that this time they were staying for dinner and Shreya was coming too. He’d asked her last minuet when Igor had asked if there was anyone else he’d like to invite. Now he wondered if three was too many. He wasn’t used to all this. ‘I wish you wouldn’t fuss.’  Igor sighed. ‘They’re only a few minuets late.’ That was the worse thing he could have said. Truth was Adam hadn’t realised his friends were late, he’d been so worked up he’d lost track of time. Igor was about to say something when he was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell ringing. ‘That’ll be them.’ He turned to leave and Adam followed close behind stopping in the hallway a few steps away from the door. As soon as he opened the door Igor was nearly bowled over by Chelsea as it threw itself at Adam. ‘Hey Adam. Whoops sorry Igor.’ Igor shook his head. ‘It’s fine.’ Nate and Shreya said hello to Igor, Shreya introducing herself as she did so before making their way over to Adam. ‘Sorry we’re late. Nate’s hearing aid batteries died so we had to go back to his place to get new ones.’ Shreya explained. Nate shrugged. ‘Hey I swear these ones are duds.’ Adam shook his head. ‘It’s fine. I didn’t even notice. Come on then you wanted to see my room.’ He lead them all the way up to his room. ‘Wow you sleep in a tower?’ Shreya asked. ‘You’re like a princess.’ ‘Well I do live in a castle.’ Adam laughed pushing the door open. The four of them stepped inside and at first no one said anything. 

‘Adam this is amazing.’ Chelsea eventually gasped. It turned to Nate. ‘Your mum is so talented. I’d never come up with anything like this.’ Nate beamed at this. Shreya meanwhile was surveying what was on Adam’s desk. ‘So what’s this supposed to be?’ She asked pointing to it. ‘Oh that’s a secret project I’m working on for a friend.’ The other three exchanged glances. ‘Well he’s a friend of my dad’s. But he’s really nice to me and I offered to help him with something.’ Chelsea and Shreya seemed to accept this explanation but Nate still looked uncertain. Then again uncertain seemed to be Nate’s default expression. ‘I can’t believe you have your own sofa.’ Chelsea laughed throwing itself onto said sofa.’ ‘Yeah well I have a lot of room. Guess you have to fill the space somehow.’ ‘You’re not kidding about the room.’ Shreya laughed. Two desks, a sofa, that freakishly large bed.’ ‘I don’t fit in regular beds.’ Adam grumbled. Shreya laughed before suddenly bolting across the room and throwing herself onto the sofa next to Chelsea. ‘Hah. Guess the boys get the floor.’ Nate who had been about to sit down rolled his eyes and sat on the floor instead. Adam had just taken a seat next to him when there was a knock on the door. ‘Come in.’ Adam called. Igor stepped into the room. ‘Any requests for drinks?’ he asked. ‘What do you have?’ asked Chelsea. As Igor listed off the options their eyes widened. ‘Wow you have all that? Do you even have room for food?’ Shreya laughed. ‘Why of course. We keep it in the other fridge.’ They turned to Adam waiting for him to reassure them he was joking. Instead Adam simply nodded. ‘We do.’ He confirmed. ‘Oh and I’ll have a Cream Soda please.’ After telling Igor what they wanted, Ginger Ale for Chelsea and Nate and a strawberry milkshake for Shreya, they turned back to Adam. ‘So you have two fridges?’ Shreya asked. ‘How rich are you?’ Adam shrugged. ‘I’m not sure what counts as being rich.’ ‘And yet you’re one of our two numbers guys.’ Chelsea laughed. ‘So what have you been up to recently?’ Shreya asked. ‘Since you’ve had a week free from school?’ Adam sighed. ‘Home schooling is something I’m used to. But I have missed going to school.’ ‘Nerrrd.’ Chelsea teased. Adam gave it a light shove. ‘Hey for your information I missed hanging out with you. You can’t really muck about on your own and lunch is pretty boring even with Igor teaching me Backgammon.’ This made Chelsea’s grin widen. ‘Oh God don’t let it’s head get any bigger from that.’ Nate muttered. ‘Ah ah you can’t use the lords name in vain.’ Chelsea pretended to scold. ‘I’m not I’m using it in prayer.’ This earnt him a not so gentle shove from Chelsea. ‘Prayer?’ Adam asked. ‘Yeah. I’m Christian. Most of my family are. Except Sascha she’s wiccan. And I suppose with the younger ones we can’t be certain yet. I mean they believe in the easter bunny and the toothfairy.’ ‘Um the easter bunny is real.’ Shreya cried an expression of fake indignation on her face. ‘What’s an easter bunny?’ Adam asked. ‘And what’s a fairy? Actually more importantly why is there one made of teeth?’ His three friends started to laugh but stopped when they saw his face. ‘You mean you’ve never heard of the easter bunny, or fairies?’ Shreya asked. ‘Please tell me you’ve heard of Santa?’ Chelsea asked. ‘Yeah I’m Buddhist and I’ve heard of Santa.’ Adam shook his head. ‘Well I guess we’d better teach you.’ Chelsea announced. It then proceeded to go into explaining a whole bunch of fantasy creatures and magical people each associated with a different holiday or event. Only stopping when Igor came back with their drinks and to ask if they had any dietary restrictions. Shreya explained she couldn’t eat meat but everyone else was fine. ‘And people really believe in this stuff?’ he asked. ‘Well it’s mostly for small children. Just a bit of fun to make things seem even more special.’ Nate explained. ‘Yeah you know when you were little and…’ Shreya began before stopping herself. ‘Oh that’s right. You never got to be a little kid did you?’ Adam shook his head wanting to change the subject. ‘Hey I don’t suppose we could see those ruins?’ Chelsea asked sensing the creeping tension. ‘Yeah sure.’ Adam stood up and gestured for them to follow him. They made their way down to the ground floor and all the way to the other end of the castle. Stepping out through the door he watched his friends for their reaction. Shreya’s jaw dropped and Chelsea let out a low whistle. Nate on the other hand starting walking sideways inspecting the floor and nodding as he did so. ‘This is amazing.’ Chelsea laughed. ‘I know right?’ Adam agreed grinning. ‘And this is only a small part. Come on.’ He beckoned for them to follow him across the room and onto the grass. ‘So cool.’ Shreya gasped. ‘And you can just wander around here as much as you like?’ Shreya asked. Adam nodded. ‘As long as I don’t try to climb any stairs.’ ‘Oooh what’s in there?’ Chelsea asked pointing. When he saw what it was pointing at Adam felt his heart sink. ‘That’s… I don’t know I’ve never been in there.’ ‘Well I want to see.’ Before he could stop it it had run across the grass to the tower. ‘Oh wow. You guy’s have got to see this!’ Shreya rushed after it but Nate sensing Adam’s unease hung back. ‘Well come on you two.’ Shreya called. ‘You can’t miss this.’ Nate shot a glance at Adam before making his way over. Reluctantly Adam took a deep breath and followed him. Once he reached the doorway he saw what had excited his two friends so much. The room was a bare stone square with nothing worth taking notice of except for a trap door sitting in the middle of the floor. It was made from a dark wood and was more than big enough for Adam to fit through. ‘Okay we have to see what’s down there.’ Chelsea cried. ‘Come on and help me lift.’ It started pulling on the metal handle which was attached to the door but it wouldn’t budge. ‘It’s probably locked.’ Nate pointed out. ‘No way there’s no lock.’ ‘Maybe it’s locked from the other side?’ Shreya offered. ‘Well that’s just silly. No it’s probably just really heavy. Hey Adam give me a hand.’ At first Adam wanted to say no and run back inside. But he did really want to see what was under there. So taking a deep breath he made his way over and took hold of the ring. It took him a couple of tugs with both hands but he eventually managed to open it up. Peering in they saw a drop into a dirt tunnel bellow and a ladder leading down. ‘Wow. So who wants to go first?’ Chelsea asked. Shreya shook their head and Nate just kept frowning at the ladder as if it were an especially difficult puzzle. ‘Oh what’s wrong?’ Chelsea sighed when it saw his face. ‘It’s metal. Why does an old trap door have a metal ladder?’ Chelsea shrugged. ‘Dunno. Hey Adam how long has your dad owned this place?’ ‘About seven years. Maybe a little longer. Why?’ Chelsea nodded seeming satisfied. ‘There. It was probably left by the previous owners. Now come on.’ Before anyone could argue it started climbing down. Realising it would just disappear down the tunnel on its own unless they followed Shreya, Nate and Adam climbed down after it in that order. Once they were all down in the tunnel Chelsea pulled out its phone and turned the torch on. ‘Come on.’ It said and started to make its way down the passage. It was narrow so they had to walk single file and at times Adam had to turn sideways so as to not rub against the dirt walls. Eventually though it began to widen until eventually they found themselves in a large chamber which then split into three other passageways. ‘So which way now?’ Shreya asked. ‘Let’s try the one closest first. Then go from there.’ Nate suggested. The first passage wasn’t very long and lead to what looked like a jail cell built out of dirt and rock. ‘Creepy.’ Shreya whispered. The others nodded and quickly backed out. Truth was none of them felt like sticking around. The second passageway split into various other passageways so they decided to try the last passage in the chamber first. ‘Good place to hide a body though.’ Chelsea joked. Nate shot it a dirty look and cocked his head toward Adam. Adam pretending not to hear made his way to the last passage now at the head of the group. ‘Adam! Hey Adam wait up!’ Chelsea called. ‘Sheesh how does he move so fast in the dark?’ Shreya asked. ‘I’m standing behind you and your torch and I can’t see much.’ ‘No idea. Come on before we loose him.’ Nate replied. Adam heard all this but didn’t respond. There was something about this passage that drew him to it. Feeling his way down the tunnel he eventually came out the other side into what seemed to be another chamber. Chelsea stepped out of the passage and shone its torch around. ‘Oh wow.’ Adam wanted to agree but he found he couldn’t speak. It wasn’t a chamber they’d found. But a laboratory. Swallowing the bile forming in his throat Adam made his way over to the metal table that sat in the middle. It was huge, even bigger than him, and there were scorch marks in places. Looking up he saw a long metal pole sticking out of the, was ceiling the right word? ‘What is this place?’ Shreya asked looking nervous. ‘This is where I was made.’ Adam replied not looking at her. His voice was so low he wondered if they hadn’t heard him especially when there was no response. Then almost as quietly she just said, ‘Oh.’

#nanowrimo #writing #writblr #long post #read more #victor and adam

[luciana-galvez]

I’m not the bad guy | Part II

When Troy finds you in the desert and takes you to the farm, you don’t know what to make of the intense man with the piercing eyes, and you understand even less why you’re so drawn to him. Is he as messed up as he seems to be, or is there something more beneath the surface?

Fandom: Fear The Walking Dead

Words: ~1700

Pairing: Troy Otto x reader

Warnings:  Light smut, couldn’t help myself

Masterlist

It was fair to say that Broke Jar Ranch was the most unusual place you had seen since the outbreak. From what you could gather in your week here was that it had been established long before the actual apocalypse, preparing people for the fall of democracy by a survivalist group, with Jake’s and Troy’s father Jeremiah as a founding member.

And the people were even more surreal. You watched them from the side of the illuminated area with a beer in your hand and dumbstruck look on your face, trying to understand how people could throw a party like this and be completely unburdened by everything happening on the outside. It was the 60th birthday of another founding member, and regarding the occasion, an exception had been made to raid parts of the pantry and throw a party, including beer and whisky and all the good things. So here you were, on a ranch in the desert, watching people drink and dance under lanterns and stars, trying to fit in.

“Aren’t you the life of the party?” You turn to your right and see Troy approaching you, his usual militia uniform replaced by a long sleeved denim shirt, unbuttoned to reveal a white shirt underneath, a cup in his hand. He and Jake were the one’s you spent most of your time with since your arrival. Jake was warm and welcoming, whereas his brother was…something else. You couldn’t quite tell yet. Troy had as much charm as you’d ever seen in a person, yet something about him set off all your warning signs. With his militia and his eagerness to go out into the wasteland, you felt like he fit in better in this world than he ever did in the civilized world, and that scared you. No good person would fit in better in a world ruled by the dead. Yet why were you so drawn to him? Was it his eyes, and how you would find him staring at you sometimes? Was it his charm? Was it his natural confidence – almost arrogance – and his leadership of the militia? You couldn’t tell.

“I feel like an outsider,” you told him eventually. “This whole thing is….nuts,” you added, for a lack of a better word.

“The ranch?” Troy asked.

“Partying,” you said. “Look at these people. Look how untroubled they are. They’ve been completely sheltered. Have they even set foot outside the fences even once since it started?” You couldn’t help but notice a hint of disgust in your voice.

“You pity them,” Troy said.

You looked out over the people, not answering for a moment. When you spoke, your voice was quieter than before. “I envy them.”

“Don’t,” Troy said eventually. You looked at him, and for once, his expression was earnest. “These people,” he said, motioning to the dancing crowd with his cup, “they’d be helpless out there. You can hold your own.”

“Yeah, but at what cost?”

He smiled. “There’s always loss. There has always been loss, before and now. When I’m out there, I feel alive,” Troy said, and there was a new intensity in his eyes. “Have you ever felt truly alive before it all happened? There’s stakes now. It’s interesting now.” He finished and started walking back to the crowd, but not before turning around to you one last time. “It’s survival of the fittest,” he said while raising his arms to each side of him, and the smug expression was back on his face.

You looked after him for a while, even after he had disappeared into the crowd, contemplating his words. You wondered what he had done before the outbreak.

Eventually, you decided to mingle when you saw Jake standing at the table with the drinks. “Beer, huh?” you asked teasingly as you walked up to him.

“You know, I do have fun sometimes. Do you?”

“Oh, I do,” you told him, opening another beer for yourself.

“You sure? Because I have been seeing you standing alone next to a tree all night,” he laughed and you had to cringe. “I feel super awkward,” you admitted, defeated. “Everyone here is this big family and I feel like the new girl that joins class halfway through the semester. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not great with people,” you said with a smile.

“Yeah, I could tell by Joe’s broken nose,” Jake laughed.

“Yeah…I still don’t completely understand what happened there. All I know is that strangers tried to take my things.”

“Fair enough, I’ll rule in your favor,” Jake said, and when you thanked him with fake sincerity, he excused himself to go rejoin his group. When he had taken two steps, he turned back around.

“Hey,” he said, and there was no playfulness in his voice anymore. “Be careful with Troy.”

You turned to him, surprised. “What makes you say that?”

Jake simply shook his head. “Just be careful.”

“You’re his brother.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “That’s why I’m telling you.”

You remained at the table for a long time, contemplating Jake’s words, wondering why he would warn you about his own brother. Was it so obvious that you had developed an interest in him? You finished your beer and opened another, the alcohol making you feel tingly in a good way, in a way you hadn’t felt in too long. Have you ever felt truly alive before it all happened? Troy’s words played through your mind, and you wondered when you had felt alive the last time? It wasn’t out in the desert, when you walked for days upon days, trying to find someone that was alive. It wasn’t when you were faced with the infected like Troy had said, in spite of the adrenaline. You hadn’t felt anything in a long time, and the more you drank, the more you craved to feel something.

And then you knew what you needed.

Troy only walked back to his cabin when most people had already left the festivities, his feet easily finding the path in the dark. He knew the ranch and its grounds better than anyone. He walked steadily, the alcohol barely affecting his balance, yet when his cabin came into view, he stopped in his tracks. There was light shining through the windows. He knew that he turned everything off when he had left. His pace quickened, the little alcohol that had affected him replaced by alertness. He reached the door and opened it carefully, gazing into the room. A floor lamp in one of the corners of the room was turned on, dimly illuminating it. On first glance, the room seemed empty.

“It’s rude to keep a girl waiting, you know?”

He hadn’t seen her because she was lying in his bed, covered in his blanket, her back turned. When she spoke his posture relaxed, and he entered the room and closed the door behind him.

“I must’ve missed the moment we made this arrangement,” he said cheekily.

She turned in the bed and he could see that she was tipsy, but her eyes were clear. He took a few steps toward the bed. “And to what do I owe this visit?”

“I was thinking about what you said,” she told him. She carefully lifted the blanket and stepped out of the bed, and when she did, the sly expression disappeared out of his face instantly. She was wearing nothing but a black slip and a black bra. His eyes couldn’t help but wander. Her body was lean from the lack of food out in the desert, and there were scars and scraps here and there, but for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. Her gutsiness of showing up in his bed in nothing but her underwear truly threw him off his game.

“What you said about feeling alive,” she continued and took a tentative step toward him, and then another. When she was almost in front of him she looked up. “Unless you want me to go?” she added half teasingly, half sincere. Only then did he notice that his mouth had been slightly open ever since she stepped out of the bed. There was no scenario in which he would have, could have rejected her; she was almost magnetic.

He shook his head slightly and closed the distance between them. For a second, he didn’t know what to do, she was almost naked while he was fully clothed; but when he stood right in front of her, she confidently grasped his shirt and carefully pulled it off his shoulders before moving to his white shirt underneath. Her carefulness surprised him. When both of his shirts were off, she carefully put a hand on his torso, sliding it from his chest down to his stomach, hovering over the scar he had since he had his appendix removed as a kid, as if she was relishing the physical contact. And then it occurred to him that she probably did. How long had it been since she was close to someone, had felt someone’s warmth, had touched someone apart from the impersonal contact of shaking someone’s hand, or being grabbed, or even being carried to and from the border control post?

Then she raised her hand to his face, running her fingers over his cheek and through his hair. He was watching her eyes inspect his face and suddenly felt her other hand on his waist, holding on, pulling him closer. He couldn’t have said how long they had been standing there, but when she finally looked up and found his eyes with hers, he couldn’t wait any longer. He leaned in and pressed his lips against hers, almost urgent to feel her close to him. She returned the kiss with just as much need, and her lips felt hot under his. Her hands wandered to his jeans blindly, fidgeting with the belt and the zipper until she eventually managed to open them and they slipped to the floor. They moved backwards clumsily, too invested in the kiss to look where they were going, until Troy eventually lifted her up, her legs wrapped around his waist, and carried her to the bed. He put her down carefully, and when he slipped off her underwear, she moaned his name.

#troy otto #troy otto imagine #ftwd imagine #troy otto x reader #troy otto imagines #ftwd imagines #ftwd x reader

[askmicrowaveayem]

MAYEM: The First Meeting Pt. 1

This is a RP between @askull4everyoccasion and @beabaseball of our two Undertale Gasters meeting. While reading each fic isn’t required to understand this story, the Gasters in question are from Skull’s A Year Every Minute and Baseball’s Microwave Grapes. This begins roughly six months after AYEM’s ending and inserts a new day right after chapter five in MG.

Skull’s parts appear in BOLD while Baseball’s are in regular font.

Enjoy!

[Archive] [Cast]

This wasn’t the first time the family of three had used the machine, but it was certainly the first time something would go wrong. They piled into it just like they always did, Gaster taking over the controls just as usual. Everything felt and seemed normal, like jumping through time and space was just some family activity they all partook in these days. It was a strange thing to think about, but none of them really ever gave it much thought.

They all sat and waited, as they did every time before, watching the readings slide up along the screen embedded just above the control panel. Sans and Papyrus always knew when their father caught sight of what he was looking for, the doctor abruptly sitting back and hooking himself in before punching a few coordinates in and then going through a series of buttons and levers that even Sans had difficulty following.

Both of them knew how to work the basics, just in case of an emergency, but most of the time it was all left up to Gaster just for safety's sake. None of them wanted a repeat of what happened the first time.

After a few moments the machine whirred to life and jumped out of one time and towards the next. They hadn’t even managed to get a little smalltalk in before a tiny light began to flash on the dashboard and the entire thing jerked abruptly to one side. They all jerked in their seats, thankfully strapped down for just such an occasion.

“Uh… that’s not good.” Gaster mumbled mostly to himself while leaning over and staring at the screen. After a minute of staring at the information sliding along in front of him he looked back at Sans and Papyrus, who were looking rather panicked. “I think we might have-”

Before he could finish his sentence the machine jumped into a timeline they had originally had no plans on visiting, crashing loudly into something before sliding to a stop.

--

Gaster was ready to go home.

The day had been far, far too long. Between introducing CS-1 to his crutches and the basics of standing upright, the power outage, and CS-1’s subsequent fall, he was more tired than usual, which was saying something. Still, he wanted to be able to be awake for at least a little while once he made it home, so he’d stayed in the lab just a bit longer than normal, picking up a new can of tea and rummaging in one of the older labs where he used to work, searching for a new insulator he’d discarded some months before being pushed onto PERSEVERANCE and had thought up a new potential use for while on his break.

That lab in particular was a bit farther back in the complex. Very few places around it were occupied, except by other scientists who, like Gaster, prefered their privacy when working. Most of them were gone, now, or if they were still around, he hadn’t seen them.

So when a machine flew out of the wall and crashed through his old work table and computer deck, his first thought was who the did I piss off to deserve this?

The contraption wrecked the room--shrapnel flying, bits of papers, metal and wood--he tried hard to not think of earthquakes, and threw up his magic, forming a thin purple shield of telekinesis which caught any tossed aside anything which flew too close.

When the dust from the wreckage began to clear, he stayed still, keeping close to the wall, and waited to see what would happen next.

--

The three inside took a moment to get their bearings.

Gaster had been flung with so much force he had sort of slipped through his harness and against the far wall. Sometimes being made of ‘the void’ had its setbacks. As he pulled what was left of his arm from the wall and started to reform it, he looked around to Sans and Papyrus dangling from their seatbelts on the wall across from him.

“You two alright?”

“uh… i think so.” Sans said, then looked at Papyrus, who was clutching the straps of his belt with wide eye sockets. His older brother waved a hand in front of them before he finally blinked.

“THAT WAS NEW.”

“You’re not kidding.” Gaster grumbled as he pulled himself to his feet, one of his legs having trouble solidifying enough to stand on.

Papyrus unhooked himself and stood up before reaching up to help Sans, setting him on his feet beside him. “SO WHAT HAPPENED?”

“Well I don’t want to say much before I find out for myself but we might have found another me. Or something equally rare.”

“another you? alive?”

“Maybe.” The doctor said, giving his leg one last kick to get it stable before turning to the door of the machine. He turned the handle but it didn’t budge. “Well shit. Pap?”

He had barely glanced back at Papyrus before the taller skeleton stepped forward, grabbing the handle and roughly pushing downward. After a few strong pushes and pulls the door flew open, nearly falling off one set of its hinges.

--

Gaster jumped back as the machine gave a rattle and a panel revealed to be a door flew open.

But that was nothing to what was inside.

A small trio. All unique in form. One tall, one short, one with--with scars on his face and hands, much like Gaster’s own, but somehow smoother. As though worn soft from time. But, but the thing that clenched his throat up, made him twist his hand in an instinctive gesture of surprise, was they were all--

“...skeletons?”

--

The three of them stood looking out, Papyrus and Sans looking a mix of terrified and shocked at the sight of what was apparently another version of their father. Gaster, on the other hand, was grinning broadly.

“Hey I was right!”

“THIS IS… VERY NEW.” Papyrus narrowed his eye sockets before suddenly putting on his best smile and waving at his… father? “HELLO! YES, WE’RE ALSO SKELETONS! WELL… I GUESS TWO OF US ARE.” He put his hand to his chin, as though he suddenly wasn’t sure what his father was anymore. Technically anyway.

--

Most days, Gaster could handle the weird things the lab threw at him.

Not today.

What was he even supposed to say to that? He was hardly even going to question the ‘I guess’ about being skeletons, because two was more than he’d ever even really expected at all--

Lost for words and still dumbstruck, he just… did what he usually did. Lifted one shaky hand and waved back, and tried to put on a not-too-fake-looking smile. He was still a bit too shocked to actually move his face much and still gaping a little at the new arrivals, but… he at least managed the wordless wave.

--

Papyrus stood there for a moment, his own expression falling. He turned and put a hand to his mouth, as though it would at all ever make his voice less than a yell. “I THINK WE FRIGHTEN HIM.”

“Pap, we just crashed through his wall.” Gaster gestured to the mess behind them. “And he’s looking at a clone of himself. Kinda.”

He took a step out of the machine and kicked a piece of rubble away from his feet before turning around and inspecting the damage. Papyrus and Sans climbed out after him, the shorter of the two shoving his hands into the pockets of the hoodie he wore underneath his lab coat.

Papyrus glanced down at him before giving a nudge, the two exchanging a few glances as though to say ‘you do it’ and ‘no you do it’ before the hand gestures started, the two silently arguing with one another before Papyrus finally decided that was getting nowhere and used words instead.

“IT’S YOUR TURN, SANS, AND YOU KNOW IT.”

The shorter skeleton let out a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan before turning to look at his father. “dad, you’re doing this one.”

Gaster turned around quickly, his hands beginning to gesture nervously. “What? Why?”

“because it’s you.”

--

Gaster watched their exchange silently, still trying to… accept whatever it was that he was seeing in front of him. It was strange to watch their interactions, clearly they were close, but then when the shorter one--Sans?--spoke was when his eyes were drawn to something much more interesting.

The other ‘him’--and he had some questions about that--began to gesture. It wasn’t exactly the same, the sound element wasn’t quite there, but the gestures themselves looked familiar, and without hesitation, Gaster asked, Can you understand me?

--

Gaster was in the middle of a groan when the gestures caught his eye. It took him a moment of thought, the gestures were slightly different but still pretty recognizable. After that he signalled back, ‘Yes?’

--

His eyes lit up. His face said polite surprise, but his hands said, holy fucking shit what the fuck!!!! and pure joy.

--

At that Gaster couldn’t help but laugh and turn to his sons. “Yep, definitely me.”

After a moment he turned more serious and thought of what to say. “Uhh…” He began, before falling into gestures. ‘Sorry about the wall. Hope we didn’t mess up anything important. Didn’t mean to come here.’ ((Nope, go on. lol))

--

Gaster shook his head, infinitely more comfortable communicating with his hands for what felt like the first time in forever. Even if this was absolutely the last situation he’d expected when this day began. Nothing important. Just an old lab. We might want to leave soon unless we’re betting no one is going to come investigate. I’m not really supposed to be destroying things anymore. Didn’t mean to come here?

...maybe he was a little too excited about being able to talk with his hands again. He forced himself to stop talking a moment later.

--

The shorter of the skeletons squinted a little. “‘anymore’?” He repeated, apparently able to read what was being said just enough. The white dots in his sockets looked up at Gaster and his smile grew. “wow, he really is you.”

The doctor rolled his eyes and ignored Sans for the most part before signing back. ‘Probably a good idea. I need to be sure my machine remains… somewhere, though. Maybe not here, but I can’t have anyone looking into it. I’ll explain the rest once we get this somewhere out of sight.’

Gaster paused and looked back at the machine, grimacing. It was a pretty big thing to teleport away with him, but… well, desperate times.

He turned back to his other self, ‘Where is the closest place where I can hide this?’

--

Gaster paid much more attention to the shortest skeleton than his double did, or so it appeared.

Can you all understand?? he asked, glancing between all three, surprised, before focusing back on his other. That is one of the most suspicious things I have ever heard.

But they were also apparently…… each other, so. Okay. Maybe being suspicious was just something he should let slide. There’s nowhere that others won’t have access to in the lab. I can cover it up here, though. No one ever really pokes around much back here.

--

Both Sans and Papyrus nodded, “YES, DAD TAUGHT US HOW TO READ HIS SIGNALS YEARS AGO! BUT WE’RE NOT VERY GOOD AT USING THEM OURSELVES.”

Gaster glanced at ‘himself’ and then back at his machine before eventually sighing. ‘Fair enough. I trust myself not to be an asshole to… myself.’

He gave another cursory glance back at his machine and looked to be thinking about something before turning to the other Gaster. ‘It’s a time machine. We’re fucked if someone takes it accidently or starts poking around in it, so you see my concern?’

--

If you don’t want me to be an asshole to you, you’re always better off not actually being me, he said, assuming someone who was supposedly himself would understand that sort of humor. But he frowned a bit at his double’s next words.

Bullshit, he said at first, but shook his head, and stepped forward anyway, saying, I’ll do what I can. Any dangerous exposed parts I should be aware of before I do anything?

--

Gaster chuckled a little, but that soon stopped as his double expressed his disbelief. “What-” He began, realizing his mistake before going back to signals. ‘Oh come on, like you couldn’t fucking build a time machine.’

He hovered for a moment before holding up a finger to say ‘one moment’ and climbed back inside. “I’m taking out some smaller important shit so it can’t work if someone stumbles upon it.”

Being unable to signal while his hands were busy he would just hope that would be okay, for this one time anyway.

While Gaster busied himself inside, Papyrus finally turned to the other ‘dad’ and decided the tension was gone enough to start asking questions. “IS THERE ANOTHER PAPYRUS IN THIS WORLD?” He said, pointing to himself.

--

Gaster bit back a remark at the time machine remark, deciding now was not the time or place, and immediately wondering if that counted as a pun. He had a more important question. Seeing as his double was out of sight and unable to sign, he spoke aloud instead, his voice cracking and sounding vaguely painful, though it was not. “Do you prefer to speak aloud?”

The tall skeleton’s question came at almost the same time, too quick for either of them to have noticed or stopped, so Gaster quickly changed his focus and without even having to think through the response, said, “No.”

--

“OH. WOWIE! THAT’S A FIRST. SO MANY FIRSTS TODAY!” Papyrus said, apparently unphased that one of himself didn’t exist in this world when they did in so many others. It was almost like everything was backwards!

“Either are fine.” Gaster said from inside the machine, the sounds of one of the panels being ripped off echoing from within. “I use both equally well, but the boys can only understand rather than actually use it.”

After a moment he stepped out holding a tiny chip of some kind before… pushing it into his chest and letting his body take it inside like he was made of slime.

“Okay, we’re good.”

--

Haha.

Gaster was going to have nightmares about shoving metal into his chest for months, he could already tell.

Bringing one hand up to rub away the sympathy pain over his chest, he said, “Aha. Okay,” and turned away quickly to head towards the back of the lab, where a large sheet of canvas usually reserved for large messes was stowed.

That was when the lights cut out.

The whole lab plunged into darkness. Gaster knocked his knee against a piece of the shrapnel leaning against the cabinets and swore.

“Twice! Twice in one day! What the fuck are they doing?!” With another frustrated sound, he waved his arm and summoned a quartet of Blasters, lighting the room with a dim but constant violet glow.

He retrieved the canvas easily after that and turned back to the new arrivals, edging around them to start levitating the canvas over the machine.

--

Papyrus let out a girlish scream as soon as everything went dark.

“jeeze, pap.” Sans couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

“SHUT UP! IT STARTLED ME.”

“Is that the core?” Gaster asked, wondering if that was still the same. “I remember this kind of shit happening all the-” His train of thought abruptly stopped at the sight of the blasters.

“Woah, WOAH!” The doctor waved one hand in the air, using the other to grab onto Sans and Papyrus to yank them down. After they didn’t shoot anything he paused.

“Wait… what?”

--

Gaster was about to ask what ‘the core’ was when his double suddenly grabbed the other two skeletons and hit the deck. He spun around, looking for something behind him that had startled the others, but when he came face to face with nothing but the rest of the empty lab, he… was not really sure what to make of that.

It was a bit too dark to sign effectively, so he kept speaking aloud as the blasters floated around his head, totally at peace.. “....are you okay?”

--

Gaster stared at the blasters, Sans looking equally startled. Slowly he stood upright, arms dropping to his sides.

“Okay, note to self; blasters are not the same here as they are back home.”

“jesus.” Sans wheezed, clutching at his chest waiting for the panic to die down.

“HIS SEEM MUCH MORE CONVENIENT THAN OURS.” Papyrus commented, the calmest out of the three.

--

“What…” Gaster said, looking between the three of them, “...what are they to you?”

He was so used to having his Blasters around. They were almost comforting. He couldn’t imagine having such a violent response to seeing them. It might have shown on his face how disquieted their reactions had left him. Still, while waiting for their response, he lit his eyes again and lifted the canvas over the wrecked machine, hiding it rather completely from sight.

--

“Guns. Canons. Huge lasers, one of the three. Take your pick.” Gaster shrugged, apparently unbothered by the telekinesis. “They can’t be used for something like light. That’s a good idea though. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“because you’re obsessed with blowing things up?”

The doctor narrowed his eye sockets at Sans, who had a shit-eating grin on his face.

--

“That…” Gaster said, “...seems impractical.” What even was there to shoot huge lasers at that they would be intentionally made? It wasn’t as if Blasters were a common part of puzzles. At least the telekinesis didn’t elicit nearly the same response.

Yet he also narrowed his eyes at Sans’ shit-eating grin. That expression seemed strangely…. familiar.

--

“I guess maybe it is here.” Gaster shrugged, then suddenly realized something. “Wait, are monsters trapped under Mt. Ebott?” He asked, wondering just how much of this world differed, then paused and stopped himself.

“No, no I should save all those questions for when we’re out of here. I know once I start I won’t be able to stop.”

“MAYBE THEY AREN’T!” Papyrus said, hopeful. “THIS SEEMS LIKE AN OPPOSITE WORLD SINCE SANS AND I DON’T EXIST.”

--

“This is Ebott,” Gaster said. He hadn’t even considered that might not be something the travelers would assume. “You’re in New Home’s Hotland Lab. Fourth floor.”

He finished making sure the machine was fully covered before finding some paper, a pen, and scribbling a message onto it by Blaster light and attaching it to the front of the canvas, so it would be the first thing seen should anyone walk in.

‘My bad!’ the note read, ‘Please don’t touch. Open electric current. Fire hazard. Will be cleaned as soon as safety equipment is available. - Gaster’

--

“Okay, so that is the same. Huh.” Gaster said, a finger raising to his toothless mouth to tap along his chin.

“maybe he just isn’t as paranoid about humans as you are.” Sans added, that grin still in place.

The doctor looked at Sans with annoyance. “Well that would be a good thing. If he didn’t fight in the war then he’s probably already better off than I am. And he doesn’t have you brats.” Gaster reached down to pinch one of Sans’ cheeks.

“ow.” He said, completely monotone.

--

No. no, no, no, Gaster was not letting a comment like that go. He whipped around and grabbed his double’s arm, not intending to grip hard, but a little unable to help himself. “The war. You fought in it. How old are you? What happened to skeletons in your world? Tell me!”

--

Unfortunately for both of them, Gaster didn’t do well being suddenly grabbed, no matter how gentle.

His body rippled like it was made of water, but it stayed semi-solid. Both eye sockets lit up a bright purple and his hand instantly raised, the slight glow of a bone beginning to summon, but not quite finishing.

“woah woah!” Sans yelled, holding his hands up.

Papyrus quickly stepped in, grabbing his father’s raised hand firmly. “DAD!”

The look of sheer panic on Gaster’s face smoothed almost instantly, the magic in his eyes fading.

--

The moment the hand raised and his counterpart’s body began to ripple, Gaster was skidding backwards, well out of range of any immediate attack. Three of his four blasters vanished, the final one hovering just over his shoulder protectively, and he kept in a crouch until the glow of the other’s magic faded. Even if he hadn’t fought in the war, he still moved like someone who had been in fights before, and expected assaults before they came.

By the way the other Gaster had reacted to his stupid, sudden movement… maybe they really weren’t that different. Just to different extremes.

He waited, quietly, for the other to have a moment to relax.

--

Papyrus stepped in front of his father, putting himself between them. His grip on Gaster’s arm remained firm. The shorter skeleton beside him gave the other Gaster an apologetic smile.

“sorry. he’s… not good with sudden movements.”

“DAD?” Papyrus said again, the doctor’s form rippling again before the normal white dots of his eyes reappeared.

“Uh… yeah… sorry!” He said, calling around the broad shoulders of his son to his other self. Just like that he seemed normal again, although still looked a little on-edge.

Papyrus sighed and let go of his creator’s arm before stepping off to the side.

Gaster awkwardly cleared his throat. “So, uh, what were those questions again?”

--

Gaster watched carefully as all this happened. Slowly, he stood straight once more, and resummoned the blasters--smaller ones, this time. Cat skulls. They kept low to the ground, nonthreatening, and never pointed towards the other party.

“No, I should be apologizing. If we are… similar…” he still wasn’t exactly sold on this other Gaster actually being his alternate, “then I should have realized. That was stupid. I’m sorry.”

He kept his tone clipped and formal, but really, he did feel guilty, and at least tried to appear sincere, even if his voice was still stiff in its expression.

“...I just… please tell me what the state of skeletons are in your world.”

--

“Eh.” Gaster said, waving off the apology. No harm had come to anyone and they had learned a valuable lesson. That was good, right? Yeah.

“Well… near extinct?” He finally said with a shrug. “Not many survived the war. Is it the same here?” His eyes turned to focus on his counterpart, although after his ordeal his gestures had come back out of nerves. Their movements were more radical than before and sometimes didn’t make much sense or follow what he was saying at all.

--

Gaster considered that and continued with his own gestures. They were much smaller in contrast. Finely controlled. And kept close to his chest.

“...functionally extinct,” he said finally, after debating a few long moments on how exactly to put it. “...don’t be surprised if people stare if they see you.”

--

“I won’t. We get a lot of stares anyway.” He said, then chose to elaborate. “After about a thousand years underground the barrier is broken and we make it to the surface. Or at least our timeline did. Humans are pretty freaked out by us for the most part.”

Gaster paused and exhaled through his mouth, lacking any sort of nasal cavity. “Guess our kind got screwed over in nearly every instance. That’s a shame.”

--

Gaster barked out a laugh at that last comment, and quickly tried to stifle himself.

“Sorry. Sorry.” He coughed. “Yeah.”

Then, after a moment, he looked up again, looking rather… young all of a sudden. And maybe torn somewhere between hopeful and frightened. “..a thousand years. And you make it out? They don’t kill you?”

--

Now it was his turn to laugh.

“Uh, well… nnnyees?” He eventually shrugged, “I’ve been a little… between life and death, so that’s a tough question. We should probably get out of here, or at least walk and talk.”

--

“Right. Sorry,” he said. Glancing back and forth between the trio. “Um. Well. Fourth floor. Underground. There’s a stairwell and a back door, but, um, all of you at once might be… difficult to smuggle. Unless there’s some special powers you have I don’t know about.”

He meant it jokingly, but still. That would’ve been pretty useful right then. Though perhaps the cover of darkness in the blackout would help.

“...you said your Blasters couldn’t make light, didn’t you? That might scrap that...”

--

“Yeah, ours are strictly weapons and I’m not willing to summon one indoors to test out the theory that they change to fit the timeline we’re in.” Gaster said, then looked around and eventually let his gaze land on the ceiling.

“Underground, you say.” He commented mostly to himself before waving his hand slightly in the air. A tiny prompt appeared, lines of information spread across it. “We can make this work. I can take Papyrus up a few floors where there doesn’t seem to be anyone around and you can walk Sans out with you. He looks like a tired scientist who’s lost all will to live, right?” He said jokingly down to Sans.

The skeleton smiled and shrugged. “not so much anymore, but i can pretend.”

“Alright.” Gaster held his hand out to Papyrus, who took it.

--

Gaster watched closely. The prompt window, the talk of ‘taking’ Papyrus up, the… friendly way they all seemed so relaxed around each other. It was strange and uncomfortable and terrible, and he was going to ignore it until he felt better.

He turned to Sans instead, keeping an eye on the other two, but still mostly trying to focus on the shorter skeleton. “Your Blasters are weaponized. Are you comfortable touching one of mine to use as a guidepost, though?”

A small cat skull-like Blaster floated over as he spoke, still lit up, and looking away from Sans and his family.

--

“sure.” Sans said with a lazy shrug, reaching out to touch the blaster. His other hand remained in his pocket. It seemed he rarely ever pulled it out.

Meanwhile behind him, Gaster took a step forward with Papyrus in tow. A rip in what looked like space itself opened with the sounds of electrical pops and fizzes as he stepped on through, both him and Papyrus vanishing once it closed.

--

...Yeah, Gaster was going to question the fuck out of that later. For now, he focused on the only remaining skeleton in the room.

“Walk to the side, just out of my light. No one will be suspicious if you’re following a bit, but too close and they’ll notice. If in doubt, just follow the Blaster.”

As he spoke, the Blaster’s light faded, the skull growing as dark and shadowed as the room around it. It nuzzled up to Sans’ hand and stayed close to his side.

--

“you got it, chief.” Sans said, his grin fading the darker and darker it became around him. He kept his hand on the skull, apparently not at all frightened about walking around in the dark or being separated from his family. Save for only a few quick instances that smile of his never seemed to go away, and when it did only the very corners managed to tug downward as though his cheeks were glued that way.

--

Gaster had only spent a handful of minutes around the new skeletons, but he was.. not sure what to think of them. He couldn’t tell if their oddities were a result of being from an apparently alternate dimension, his own paranoia, or something else more deeply rooted than that. Still. Only one way to find out. Got to just keep going.

“I’m going to take a quick detour to check on an experiment before we go out entirely,” he said, “Just stay close to the Blaster. It’ll be fine.”

Dismissing all but the blaster under Sans’ hand and the larger one hovering over his shoulder, Gaster turned and lead the stranger out the lab doors and began the long trek through the hall.

--

“sure.” Sans said and began to follow along. Before they left he spoke again, but it wasn’t directed at the Gaster leading him.

“we’re takin’ a detour, he’s gotta check on something.”

Gaster’s voice came through what sounded like a speaker. “What? God dammit, fine. I’d probably do the same thing, honestly. It’s an experiment, isn’t it?”

“yep.”

There was a sigh, but from the sound there was definitely a smile behind it. “Alright.”

--

Yeah, he was really starting to get self-conscious with all this… family love going on.

Three levels up. Through a few turns. He kept Sans close with the Blaster and walked silently through the halls, occasionally sidestepping someone coming the other direction, only occasionally clicking his fingers out of habit to talk to himself. The gestures were mostly hidden, but most of what he had to say was things like fuck it’s that intern and a running commentary on the people they passed.

Finally, they reached the medical area. He had the Blaster Sans was following pause a little ways outside the door while he headed towards the private bed areas, and ducked in to check on CS-1.

The experiment was curled in bed, fast asleep. Exhausted from the day spent getting injured and practicing magic.

...Gaster knew he’d recognized that smile.

A moment later, he was back out of the medical area and heading back out to the main hall, bringing Sans and the Blaster behind him. It had been a very short detour.

--

At the very least, Sans was probably the best option out of all three to be the one he lead around, despite what resemblance he might have had with the experiment. He was quiet and said nothing as they walked, his footsteps nearly silent as he followed the blaster in the dark.

Nothing seemed to bother him, or perhaps he was just very good at following directions.

Gaster and Papyrus were in an empty room on the ground floor, the doctor hovering a window in front of him just so he could read where Sans and his counterpart were. It emitted only a very soft glow, just enough to read it and nothing more.

He would wait until they were close to step out.

--

They reached the ground floor without any trouble. As they did, Gaster looked around, first making sure they were alone, before turning to Sans and asking, “So, how are we finding your friends to meet up?”

--

“give ‘em a second.” Sans said, waiting for a few moments before the sound of a door opening down one of the hallways broke the silence. Two sets of footsteps got closer and closer, the glow of the tiny window all that could be seen.

He would be sure to quickly turn it off if anyone started to head their way. If not, he stopped just beside them and shut it off.

“Good to go?”

--

“Um,” Gaster said, and nodded. He definitely wanted to know much, much more about that window before whatever else was going to happen happened. “This way.”

He lead them down the hall towards the laboratory exit. When they came to the front desk with the Temmie desk attendant, his eyes glowed a moment and his hand twitched. A small bone appeared underneath Temmie’s chair, unbalancing it.

When she bent down to try and figure out the disturbance, the bone vanished and reappeared beneath a different strut of the chair, shifting the balance again. Every time Temmie tried to find the unbalancing factor, he changed the bone’s location again, ushering the travelers past the front desk with him while Temmie made increasingly frustrated noises behind them.

Soon, they were out in Hotland. In the distance was what would one day be the MTT resort, but now was simply a looming dark construction site in the distance. There was no CORE on the horizon.

#mayem #rp log #undertale #gaster #goop #kid #sans #papyrus #the first meeting

[sorcererinthestars]

The Phone Call

Written for @shadeofazmeinya​ after getting a long convoluted message with somewhat this plot at 3 in the morning. 

I am pretty fucking hungover so this is what I choose to do with my morning. My dumbass brain also submitted this to them so you may see this same post on their blog instead of on mine which is cool, reblog either if you’re so inclined.

Gavin had gotten a phone call. It was strange, having that particular phone ring. It was a dusty old cellphone he kept in his room, thrown to the side and practically buried underneath papers. It was almost always on its charger and perpetually on although no one ever expected it to ring. It was an old black thing, not gold, not matching his aesthetic at all. He'd rather be caught dead than caught carrying the thing around.

But at five o'clock in the afternoon on a Wednesday, just as the Fakes had called off any more heist prep and were just starting to sprawl out on the couch before dinner, the phone went off.

There was no mistaking the ringtone for anything else. Gavin's whole body seemed to change - the Golden Boy persona wavered slightly and he jumped up, looking distressed. "I - I'll be back in a moment," he stammered and fled.

It was a short, quick phone call. Frankly, he should have been flabbergasted that they had managed to find him at all - not everyone has his skills at tracking people down. But someone had apparently managed to locate his old British phone number and called him, long distance. He thanked them profusely for the knowledge, jotted down the date, and hung up.

There were ways the Golden Boy handled grief and there were ways that Gavin Free, young kid from the UK, that normal man hidden under layers and layers of bravado and gold-painted confidence, handled grief. The Golden Boy could not keep Free out and the patina shattered, cracking.

The phone slipped from his hand and he started to sob, low, broken gasps that seemed to rip from somewhere deep inside of him, to come from low in his gut as if they were clawing him open from the inside. This was a sob reserved for those closest to him. This was the sob the rest had thought was reserved solely for them.

The others don't pry when he returns, makeup redone immaculately like it was never smeared down his face with the force of his tears. Dinner was ready anyways and so they don't pester him when he sits down to eat, a lot less bubbly than the man they had let go get the phone. There was an unspoken rule in the penthouse, even among them as lovers - some things were personal and weren't to be pried into. If Gavin didn't want to share, he shouldn't have to.

The dinner is much the same as usual, all six of them laughing and joking and eating together. Footsies happen under the table, warmth comes from every side, and if Gavin seems a little bit less into it than usual, no one really points it out.

They do notice, though, when Gavin excuses himself to his room after dinner instead of joining them in the living room for games. His room, too, not their room. They all had their own bedrooms, of course, as sometimes they all needed personal space, but if he was tired and just wanted to sleep it wouldn't be in his own room. It would be in their huge-ass bed in Geoff's room.

But they don't pry. What can they say? It's not their place. The rule has protected them many a time and they don't break it now. They watch as Gavin slips away and turn back to their game, exchanging somewhat anxious looks. Let him deal with it for now, they seem to agree. If it's bad, he'll come to them.

-

But he doesn't come.

The next few days drag on. Gavin spends a lot of time in his own room, only slipping into the pig pile bed when they're all so worried they send one of them to fetch him. His eyes seem hollow. The spark in them has seemed to vanish. They're worried, of course, but what can they do?

If Gavin doesn't want to speak, they shouldn't force him.

That is, until he botches a diplomatic exchange. It should have been a simple trade of goods and services. Guns - lots of them - for some coke the Fakes had picked up on one of their last missions. Easy. In and out. Gavin was playing his part easily, swave and confident with just a hint of a swagger, making the man believe he was so lucky to be in with the Fakes, when suddenly he stumbles.

Someone's hand goes to a gun and they pull it out - it may have been Michael's hand, inspecting the merchandise. He aims it and chuckles over to Ryan, who was hunching on the other side. "Look," he said to Ryan with a bit of a laugh. "I'm a soldier." He aimed down the sight and pretended to blow someone away.

It was all in good fun. Certainly no one was squeamish about death. But Gavin - it hit close to home. Something went wrong; his persona dropped. He snapped at Mogar, which made the gun dealer confused.

They almost lost the exchange. It easily could have ended in a shootout.

-

Michael was furious at him for that. Upon arriving to the penthouse, he stalked over and found Geoff, making Gavin stand in front of him, expecting a lecture.

But Geoff saw the hollow look in his eyes, the defeated way he was standing, and he recognized it. Same as the way Ryan had not said a word the whole way back, studying Gavin through his mask. Those who knew grief intimately, who had spent time in its' cool embrace for months at a time, could see the way it pulled on others. Michael had never really lost anyone terribly close to him. Nor had Lil J. Even Jack hadn't had the true immersion.

But Geoff knew. Ryan knew. "Go to your room," Geoff had ordered Gavin - like a parent scolding a child. But they all knew Gavin would have headed there anyways, so it wasn't even really a punishment.

Geoff made eye contact with Ryan, who stripped his mask and patted Michael on the back, steering him away. Gavin was already gone, vanished into his room.

Greeted by a closed door, Geoff knocked softly. "Bud." No response. "Gavvy, please, open the door. It's just me."

"Go away."

Geoff sighed and tried the handle. Surprisingly, not locked. He stepped inside, startling Gavin who was hunched over his computer. Even if the door wasn't locked, they rarely invaded each other's spaces like this.

Geoff closed the door and there was a stereotypical click of a lock. Gavin's eyes widened. "Geoff, what the fuck -"

"You're hurting and I want to know why. You almost botched the exchange and put yourself, Michael, and Ryan in danger." He crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm not mad at you. But you need to talk to one of us. We're worried about you." Gavin's chest puffed up and he narrowed his eyes. "I'm not - its none of your fucking business, is it?" The accusation seemed weak. There wasn't enough force behind it. He seemed tired and flinched away when Geoff walked forward.

"I'm not opening that door unless you tell me what's going on," Geoff replied gruffly. "Now talk." He glanced at the computer and his eyebrow rose. "Tickets to England. You fuckin' running on us?"

"I - what? No!" Gavin shook his head quickly, eyes widening. Then he frowned and shrugged. "I guess, but only for a little bit. I have -- business back at home. I need to go take care of it."

"Business? What business do you have that doesn't concern the rest of us? That's behind our backs?" Geoff shook his head. "Not a fucking chance that would work. Spill. Now."

Gavin's eyes flitted across the room like a caged bird. He leaped up and tried darting for the door, but Geoff grabbed him easily, snatching him off his feet and throwing him back on the bed. It was a powerful movement and left Gavin stunned, laying on his stomach on the bed and taking a few deep breaths before rolling over. "Jesus, Geoff, warn a guy."

He was a bit more like Ramsey than Geoff at the moment and they both knew it. "I'm not fuckin' around, Gav. Tell me what's going on. I don't like secrets in this penthouse."

Gavin flipped himself right way up and drew his knees up to his chest, sighing. "... you know Dan, right?" he said in a quiet voice. Geoff nodded, sitting quietly down next to Gavin on the bed. "Course. He was your friend who got killed in action - the one who made you come here to the States, right?"

The other swallowed and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah - that was Dan." His hands trembled and Geoff reached over to wrap his unmarked fingers in his tattooed ones, soft and sweet. Gavin took a deep breath. "... his mum died the other night. Heart attack, she was old, we all knew --- " His voice hitched. "We all knew it was coming. I just... she was the last bit of family Dan had, Geoff. Without her.... I'm the only one who even really cared he ever lived at all."

His voice hitched again and then he broke down into sobs, weeping heavily. Geoff let out a long breath and pulled Gavin into his arms, shushing him, stroking his back and pressing gentle kisses into his hair. "If he's important to you, Gav, he's important to us," he breathed. "He matters. She matters. What do you want? I assume you're intending to go to the funeral? When is it?"

Gavin let out a few deep breaths and pulled aside, wiping tears from his face and just smearing his makeup even more. ".... next week. In our home village. I - I just ...." He choked a bit more, pausing and collecting himself. "I haven't been back there since I met you. I don't know if I can --" "We'll all go." Geoff's voice was soft but firm. "You don't have to do this alone. We all know how much Dan meant to you. You're not alone, bud." He slipped a soft finger under Gavin's chin and gently angled it upwards, leaning forward for a kiss.

Gavin gave it eagerly, moving forward and curling up against his chest, tears falling. "....thanks, Geoff," he whispered.

Holding his first idiot Lad against his chest, Geoff just hummed. "Don't mention it, bud," he replied, stroking his back. "Don't mention it at all."

#fahc #what is the ship name for geoff/gavin #ragehappy #fake ah crew #shadeofazmeinya

[cuadra-stuff-blog]

Perhaps one of the reasons President Trump hesitated to state that he supported our intelligence, was becausehe knew the many times in history when American intelligence was either manipulated or flat-out wrong!

Let us review some of these past historical disasters.

NEWS BRIEF: "If You Think U.S. Intelligence Is Never Wrong, I Have Some Yellowcake for You", by Rebecca Mansour, Breitbart News, 18 July 2018

"... before these new Cold Warriors and their neocon fellow travelers lead us into a crusade based on an FBI report about a computer server the bureau never got to inspect, perhaps we should consider the track record of U.S. intelligence in times of war. It's worth asking: Do the experts the establishment relies onpeople like communist-turned-CIA-director John Brennanactually know what they're doing? How much can we trust the War Party's judgment?"

Consider some of the greatest "intelligence failures" in our nation's history:

* "1861 Johnny Will Come Marching Home Again in Just 90 Days!"

* "November 1861 -- Union General McClellan was falsely informed by hisintelligence that Confederate General Robert E. Lee commanded 100,000 men facing Union forces. In reality, Lee had only 54,000. That 50% difference caused McClellan to be far more cautious than he otherwise might have been, and handed the battle victory to Lee.

* "1898 'Remember the Maine'& Which Wasn't Blown Up by Spain"

* "On February 15, 1898, the American warship the USS Maine blew up inHavana Harbor, leaving 260 Navy men dead and sparking outrage back home ... 'Remember the Maine!' was Uncle Sam's rallying cry, as President McKinley launched the Spanish-American War."

"Much later, in 1974, a definitive investigation found that the cause of the USS Maine explosion was coal dust inside the ship.. Spain had nothing to do with it. Oops."

* "1941 The Infamy of a Sneak Attack We Should Have Seen Coming"

"Knowing that the Imperial Japanese were up to no good, the Australians, our close allies, broke the Japanese military code in 1939two years before the attack on Pearl Harbor. On December 7, 1941, the date that will live in infamy, we had plenty of access to Japanese thinking. In fact, three days before the sneak attack, the U.S. Office of Naval Intelligence issued a 26-page memo, focusing in on Japanese surveillance of Hawaii."

"Yet as we all know, American forces were completely unprepared at PearlHarbor, and 2,355 Americans died. "

Remember, the American White House desperately wanted the Japanese to attack us so that we could enter World War II in time to save England from Germany.

At this point, Christian author, Ralph Epperson succinctly notes: "Americanplanning on how to force Japan to attack Pearl Harbor began in 1915 -- 27 full years before Japan did strike in December, 1942! (Epperson, "The Unseen Hand",page 271).

* "1957 Mind the Missile Gap"

"In 1957, a blue-chip Pentagon advisory panel, the Gaither Committee, concludedthat the Soviet Union had ten intercontinental ballistic missiles (ICBM), whereas the U.S. had none."

Then, in 1960, Senator John Fl Kennedy fired up an aggressive campaign to replace President Dwight D. Eisenhower. He turned his attention to the supposed "missile gap" reported above.

"Senator John F.. Kennedy, gearing up to run for president as a hawkish Cold Warrior, coined the term 'missile gap' to describe the supposed U.S. deficit. In the meantime, the number of alleged Russian missiles grew, from 10, to 100, to500. But we would later learn that the actual number of Soviet ICBMs was four, and that included prototypes of unknown effectiveness."

* "1961 The Bay of Pigs"

"On April 17, 1961, some 1,500 anti-communist Cubans, backed by U.S. logisticsand airpower, landed at the Bay of Pigs in Fidel Castro's Cuba, hoping to liberate the island. The mission was a catastrophic failure."

The CIA so infuriated young President Kennedy that he vowed to disband theentire agency and spread its functions to a variety of Federal departments.

* Operation Northwoods, 13 March 1962 (NOTE: this portion is not part of this featured news story)

"This document, titled 'Justification for U.S. Military Intervention in Cuba' was provided by the JCS to Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara on March 13, 1962, as the key component of Northwoods. Written in response to a request from the Chief of the Cuba Project, Col. Edward Lansdale, the Top Secret memorandum describes U.S. plans to covertly engineer various pretexts that would justify a U.S. invasion of Cuba. These proposals - part of a secret anti-Castro program known as Operation Mongoose - included staging the assassinations of Cubans living in the United States, developing a fake 'Communist Cuban terror campaign in the Miami area, in other Florida cities and even in Washington', including 'sink[ing] a boatload of Cuban refugees (real or simulated)', faking a Cuban airforce attack on a civilian jetliner, and concocting a 'Remember the Maine' incident by blowing up a U.S. ship in Cuban waters and then blaming the incident on Cuban sabotage. Bamford himself writes thatOperation Northwoods 'may be the most corrupt plan ever created by the U.S. government'." ("The National Security Archive", Emphasis added)

Cutting Edge posted an article on this "Operation Northwoods" which adds great detail.

* Aug just 1964 - Gulf of Tonkin "false flag" operation (NOTE: this portion is not part of this featured news story)

One can only think back to the Gulf of Tonkin fiasco (August, 1964), where American naval officials falsely claimed that their ships were attacked by North Vietnamese speed boats in the Gulf on Tonkin.

Historians know realize that this "attack" never happened, but was totally fabricated by American authorities. Do you remember the disastrous results of that government lie? Congress passed the "Gulf of Tonkin Resolution", whichPresident Lyndon Johnson immediately used to build up American forces in the South Vietnamese theater to about 550,000 men.

From that moment to the final conflict in 1975 which lead to the complete victoryfor North Vietnam, over 58,000 American servicemen died needlessly, many more tens of thousands were permanently disabled, and over 2 million South Vietnamese civilians died.

* "1968 The Holiday from Hell" -- TET Offensive, the battle which changed American public opinion about the war. The Mass Media so reported this battle that Americans believed we had lost the battle, when we had won a smashing victory militarily.

"The Americans and their South Vietnamese allies ultimately prevailed, but the fact remained that the U.S. was taken by surprise. We had badly underestimated the communists' ability to launch such a wide-ranging offensive." (Ibid)

* "Sept 11, 2001 The 'Shock' That 'Should Not Have Come as a Surprise' "

"Hundreds of books, reports, and monographs have been published about thefailure to prevent the 9/11 attacks. In the words of the 9/11 Commission, 'The 9/11 attacks were a shock, but they should not have come as a surprise'."

Indeed, anyone who was aware of the "Illuminati Card Game" (March, 1995) was shocked by the attacks of 9/11. Here are the pertinent cards depicting an action the Illuminati was planning to take in order to overthrow this current world order so the New World Order could occur.

"Terrorist Nuke" -- This card is one of the most shocking of all, especially in light of the fact that this game first hit the specialty stores in 1995! How in the world did Steve Jackson know that the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center were going to be attacked? In fact, this card accurately depicted the World Trade Center attack in great detail. This card accurately depicts several facts of 9/11 -- on cards created all the way back in 1995! The pictureaccurately depicts:

* That one tower was going to be struck first; this picture accurately depicts the moments between the first tower strike and the second.

* The card accurately depicts that the place of impact is some distance from the top of the twin towers. The plane hit in this approximate area of the first tower. How in the world could Steve Jackson know this fact?

* The card accurately depicts the Illuminati leadership by showing on the building to the extreme left of the card the Illuminist pyramid with an all-seeing eye in the middle.

* The caption at the top properly identifies the perpetrators of the attack as"terrorists"

When I saw this card, immediately after seeing the Twin Tower picture, my blood froze! Unless one had advanced knowledge of the Illuminati Plan, there is no way on earth that they would have been able to create pictures in 1995 that accurately depict the unfolding events of 9/11! The Pentagon is shown on fire; we know that a plane allegedly flew into a section of the Pentagon and nearly burned that section completely. However, the rest of the Pentagon was undamaged to the point where its functions continued unimpeded.

Isn't this the situation depicted here? This card shows a fire burning mightily in the center courtyard of the Pentagon, but the rest of the building looks undamaged enough so that normal activities could continue unimpeded!

Thus, these two cards literally depict both of the strikes of 9/11: against the Twin Towers first and then against the Pentagon.

This kind of accuracy 6 years before the attacks is possible only if one knows the Illuminati Plan very thoroughly.

* "2003 The Difference Between Yellowcake and a Cakewalk"

"We're all familiar with the multiple intelligence failures of Iraq, but we can pause over three.

First, we were told that Saddam Hussein had WMD, and that he would give themto Osama bin Laden.

Second, we were told by the Bush-Cheney administration that U.S. forces wouldbe "greeted as liberators." The invasion would be, as one giddy neocon put it, a "cakewalk.." Yeah, not quite. In fact, U.S. fatalities in that conflict have totaled nearly 4,500, with another 32,000 injured.

"Third, we were told by President Bush, backed up by his neocon brainiacs, that Operation Iraqi Freedom would touch off a wave of democratization across the Middle East. Instead, it touched off a wave of civil wars and genocidal ethniccleansing of ancient Christian communities, such that there are barely any Christians left in the region that gave birth to Christianity."

* "I could write ten volumes on the intelligence mistakes of Hillary Clinton aloneshe who voted for the Iraq War, was eager to "liberate" Libya, and left our ambassador defenseless in Benghazi."

* "Senator John McCainwho also voted for the Iraq War, cheer-led every dumb move in Libya, and has supported every other vainglorious exercise, from the former Soviet republic of Georgia to Syria. He never met a foreign conflict he didn't want to send Americans to die in."

The point here is simple: President Trump stood at the podium with President Putin and had to make a split-second decision as to whether he supported the conclusions of the U.S. Intelligence Apparatus on the issue of Russian meddling in our 2016 election.

Can you see why he hesitated? He knew that the American intelligence officials with the CIA and the FBI were occupied by his defiant enemies who wanted his impeachment and then he knew of all these historical instances when our intelligence agencies had either outright lied, or had failed altogether.

DVD

Too many Americans find it very difficult to believe that their own government could lie to them on nearly ever occasion, even sometimes when the truth would be better received by the public.

Once you come to this realization, you can more readily accept the fact that our leaders have been committed to a Global Dictatorship, a Global Economy, a Global Religion, and a Global Dictator since 1792, when a committee of the Congress voted just such a symbol with the title, "NOVUS ORDO SECLORUM"(New World Order). The Bible calls his Global Dictator, "Antichrist".

Only two Presidents resisted their part in the implementation of this Global Plan:Abraham Lincoln and John F. Kennedy. They were both assassinated, as this DVD pictured above, "The Elite Serial Killers of Lincoln, JFK, RFK and MLK" so accurately describes.

How can you tell if an assassination was carried out by the Illuminati in order that their Global New World Order can be advanced? The Elite creates an "Eternal Flame" at the gravesite of each person so murdered.

[ronnykblair]

“Bad Blood” Book Review: Fooling Most of the People for a Long, Long Time

While I read Bad Blood, John Carreyrou’s detailed account of the rise and fall of Theranos, two thoughts immediately came to mind.

First, if North Korea ever launched a startup, Theranos would be it.

The company operated the same way Kim Jong Un does: non-functional products, “launches” that backfire, massive fraud, dead employees, and a creepy old guy who monitored employee email and Internet usage.

Second, this story is amazing. They need to make it into a movie.

Then I realized that they are making it into a movie starring Jennifer Lawrence, with Adam McKay from The Big Short set to direct.

After extensive research, I’ve determined that North Korea did not officially back the company, but I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that the Kim family invested via Rupert Murdoch or Betsy DeVos.

Bad Blood is my favorite non-fiction book of the past decade.

It’s so good that it almost seems like fiction – a John Grisham thriller, maybe.

It takes the best parts of history’s most famous downfall stories and injects even more intrigue by adding the one element those stories lacked: human life.

This book isn’t directly related to recruiting or working in the finance industry.

But there are so many valuable takeaways that are indirectly related that I decided to write this review anyway:

What is This Book About, and Why Should You Care?

In case you’ve been living in a cave in Antarctica for the past ~3 years, Theranos was a massively hyped “unicorn” healthcare startup that aimed to perform hundreds of blood tests from a single drop of blood pricked from your finger.

No more needles! No more vials of blood!

Just one small problem: it is impossible to do this.

Blood from your finger is different from the blood in your veins because it is partially oxygenated, it’s contaminated by interstitial fluid, and the volume is very low.

In plain English, there’s not enough data, so you can’t solve the problem with a medical device.

You can do a few simple tests, such as the one for glucose levels, with finger-pricked blood, but not the hundreds of complex tests out there.

Despite that, Theranos still managed to raise $900 million over the years at a peak valuation of $9 billion.

But after more than a decade of lying to investors, threatening employees, and using non-functional devices to diagnose patients, Theranos finally began to implode in 2015.

That’s when WSJ investigative reporter John Carreyrou received a tip about the company, began his deep dive into it, and finally published the article that sparked a firestorm.

After that, the company’s trajectory resembled that of a spaceship being sucked into a black hole.

Regulatory agencies banned Theranos from running a lab, Walgreens ended its partnership, the COO was forced out, investors and partners started suing the company, and the SEC charged the CEO and COO (Elizabeth Holmes and Ramesh “Sunny” Balwani) with massive fraud.

A criminal investigation is underway, and indictments are likely. Most likely, Theranos will soon be liquidated, and both the top executives will be in jail.

This story is a textbook example of how to do everything wrong at a startup.

And it’s a cautionary tale of what to avoid and how to detect deception if you’re an investor.

So… How Did a North Korean Startup Survive for Over a Decade?

Even if you’ve followed all the WSJ’s reporting on Theranos, you probably have one big question: How could such a fraudulent company last for so long?

Didn’t anyone notice that the Empress had no clothes before a reporter came along?

Bad Blood makes it clear that plenty of people were skeptical from the start.

The company never published peer-reviewed literature, its Board of Directors consisted of fossilized former diplomats who knew nothing about medicine, and it never attracted serious life science VC investors.

The original Ph.D. student who founded the company with Elizabeth Holmes thought her first idea was “science fiction,” and dozens of disgruntled employees quit along the way, convinced that the entire operation was a Potemkin village.

I can’t explain the company’s survival in one sentence, but here’s my summary:

Business Partners: Walgreens was paranoid that CVS would get the technology first, so they entered the partnership without proper due diligence. One skeptical consultant kept warning them, but he was silenced. This one goes in the FOMO (“fear of missing out”) bucket.

Investors: The company raised money mostly from family offices and VCs with no healthcare experience. And they pointed to early investors, such as Tim Draper and Larry Ellison, as evidence that “the smart money” was on board.

VCs with a track record in life sciences, such as Google Ventures and MedVenture Associates, passed when they realized the company couldn’t answer basic technical questions.

Employees: Pretty much all the employees figured out that the company was a fraud, which is why turnover was extremely high.

However, Theranos was super-secretive and used expensive lawyers and private investigators to threaten ex-employees who could have become whistleblowers.

Regulators: Theranos operated in “regulatory no man’s land” by labeling its diagnostics “lab-developed tests,” which are not regulated by the FDA.

Eventually, the regulators caught up to them and started conducting surprise lab inspections because of tips from anonymous ex-employees.

Patients: The company used its broken device(s) to test patients in Arizona and California, which later resulted in ~1 million voided tests.

Amazingly, they threatened doctors and patients who left bad Yelp reviews, but nothing could hide fraud on this scale.

These live deployments finally pushed it over the edge and alerted the broader population to the scam.

What I Loved

I’ve followed the Theranos story closely, but Bad Blood was great because it put together all the pieces in a logical order and gave them more emotional resonance.

The book conveys superbly the human tragedy, ranging from patients who received the wrong diagnoses to employee Ian Gibbons, the chief scientist who “committed suicide” under suspicious circumstances.

But what I loved most were the vividly drawn characters.

In particular, “Sunny” Balwani, the #2 at Theranos, seems like an amalgamation of every single horrible VP in investment banking.

Not only did he micromanage employees while knowing nothing about the product, but he also had the social skills of an autistic monkey.

When an employee quit and refused to sign a confidentiality agreement, Sunny sent a security guard after him, called the police, and then told the police the employee stole property.

When they asked what property was stolen, Sunny replied that the employee “stole property in his mind.”

Oh, and the whole time Sunny was at the company, he was also in a romantic relationship with CEO Elizabeth Holmes, who was ~20 years younger.

Award-winning corporate governance!

Areas for Improvement

That said, the book isn’t perfect.

There are a lot of characters to remember, and sometimes I lost track of who was doing what at which time.

The book moves in rough chronological order, but chapters tend to be thematic or character-based rather than time-based.

So, similar to TV shows like Westworld, the exact timeline can be a bit confusing (though the lack of robots makes it far less convoluted than Westworld).

Finally, the transition where John Carreyrou enters the story toward the end is a bit jarring, since the preceding chapters are written in the third person from the perspective of others.

Takeaways for the Finance Industry

Here’s what you can learn from this story even if you have no interest in startups, venture capital, or medical devices:

1) Story, Story, Story

Your story is everything. That’s why we focus on it heavily in the Interview Guide and the articles on this site.

A great story can sell anything, whether it’s a product or yourself in a job interview.

Elizabeth Holmes was a great storyteller who idolized Steve Jobs, and like Jobs, she could also sell anything.

But if the claims in your story can be disproven easily, your story will fall apart.

It’s not unusual for an early-stage biotech startup to make aggressive claims about its future products.

But what was unusual – and fraudulent – was to claim that the product was ready for real-life usage, when it clearly was not, and then to use it on patients.

This is why it’s a terrible idea to lie or even “spin” facts that can be easily disproven in interviews, such as your abilities in other languages, graduation dates, grades, employment dates, and job titles.

So many readers have gone too far with spinning that I’m going to rewrite the article on the topic later this year.

2) Healthcare != Technology

Many technology companies that launch apps, software, and even hardware adopt a “fake it ‘til you make it” attitude.

That’s fine for technology because no one dies if a smartphone app crashes.

And many students have famously dropped out of university and then started world-class technology companies… because you don’t need that much experience to get started.

Healthcare, though, is a different ball game.

Your product can’t “kind of work” unless you want to kill people.

And it’s almost impossible for 19-year-old university dropouts with no medical experience to start important healthcare companies.

If you’re trying to move into finance, you can use these industry differences to your advantage.

For example, if you have significant medical/biotech experience, you’re much stronger as a career changer candidate if you target healthcare groups at banks and VC firms.

They want people like you because no university graduate could understand those sectors as well as a Ph.D. or industry executive.

But if you want to get into the industry at the last minute, or you don’t have real work experience, it’s better to target sectors such as technology or consumer/retail where you can get up to speed quickly.

3) The Fallacy of Expertise Transferability

Many students at top universities believe that since they got into a top school, they are experts at everything – or at least, they could quickly become experts at anything.

The Board members and early investors of Theranos embraced similar logic:

“I’m the former Secretary of State/Defense or the founder of a multi-billion-dollar tech company. Therefore, I can also be a successful healthcare investor!”

Except… they’re completely different fields.

Facing down the Soviets in the Cold War is impressive, but it doesn’t make a 90-something former diplomat qualified to judge the merits of medical devices.

I outlined in a previous article how you can outwit and out-hustle Ivy League students to win job offers, and this point goes along with the advice there.

Yes, other candidates might have better credentials or higher GPAs…

…but will they take the time to learn the in’s and out’s of stock pitches, find contact information for hundreds of industry professionals, and then contact them in a socially calibrated way?

I’m not sure, but most “experts” would say it’s beneath them.

4) Focus on the Right Things for Your Development Stage – Not the Trappings of Power

As Theranos raised $900 million, Elizabeth Holmes spent much of the money on lawyers, new offices, a contingent of bodyguards, and yes, even bulletproof glass for her office (!).

She also put a ton of time and effort into distribution partnerships and sales.

For an early-stage technology company, it’s not necessarily wrong to focus on sales before your product is fully functional.

But for an early-stage healthcare company, nothing matters except for developing a working solution, passing clinical trials, and winning approval from regulators.

If your new device or vaccination or surgical method doesn’t work, partnerships won’t save you.

Consistently, companies focus on the wrong things and ignore the stage they’re at.

I even did the same thing back when I made the mistake of creating a $5,000 product for a $500 market.

In a way, I made the opposite mistake of Theranos: I had products that worked, and I wanted to make them even better to the point where no one noticed or cared.

But it was motivated by the same mistake: not understanding the stage I was at.

5) If “The End Goal” is Your Focus, Rethink Your Life!

When Holmes was young, a family member asked what she wanted to be when she grew up.

“A billionaire!” she replied.

That answer demonstrates why the fraud reached this level before collapsing: rather than trying different skills, becoming good at one, and then pursuing it, Holmes started with the end goal in mind.

And she stopped at nothing to pursue it, even if it meant lying to investors, threatening employees, and putting patients’ lives at risk.

Most entrepreneurs start working in a specific industry, get to know people, learn the key problems, and then launch new products/services.

Otherwise, it’s impossible to know what people will pay for and which solutions are feasible vs. science fiction.

Idolizing Steve Jobs and aiming to become a billionaire aren’t real goals; they’re aspirations of teenagers who do not yet know themselves.

As far as applicability to the finance industry, well, take a look at the comments thread on this article about finance as a long-term career.

Final Thoughts and Reality Distortion Fields

Both Steve Jobs and Elizabeth Holmes possessed “reality distortion fields” that let them recruit subordinates and convince investors, Board members, and the public of almost anything.

But Jobs also had a firm grasp on his own reality, and despite some exaggerations and problems, delivered products that worked.

By contrast, Holmes forgot to apply self-shielding, which let her reality distortion field twist her own perception of reality.

Aside from the upcoming indictment and trial, I don’t think we’ll be hearing much from her.

But if you want to find out more, the rumor is that she might head to North Korea.

Apparently, she’s an excellent fit.

The post “Bad Blood” Book Review: Fooling Most of the People for a Long, Long Time appeared first on Mergers & Inquisitions.

from ronnykblair digest https://www.mergersandinquisitions.com/bad-blood-book-review/

#ronnykblair digest

[ishipbertigwain-blog]

Yonec- Marie De France

          In Marie De France’s “Yonec,” the narrator speaks solemnly on the virtues of a young woman she was locked away for years by her husband to keep her away from the world. The woman becomes depressed and doesn’t take care of herself properly, leaving her looking homely. Eventually, a magical man finds her tower, first appearing to her as a bird man and then a handsome knight that made her feel a spark of something other than the hate that her husband made her feel. The knight fortells his own death, telling the woman that her maid will find out and tell her husband, leading to the knight’s death. 

          Despite this, their love remains strong. We feel like this is a prime example of true medieval romance and chivalry, because their love outweighs the risk to them. Eventually the husband catches on to his wife’s change in demeanor and dress, and created a plan to kill her lover. The woman was already pregnant with the knight’s son, and when he grows up the woman takes him to his father’s tomb to tell him the story of how her husband murdered her lover, the boy’s father. Upon her death thereafter, the boy look off his stepfather’s head, upholding his family lineage and avenging his mother and father in the name of not only chivalry, but also love. 

          Another aspect to consider is the husband. He is the villain of this story, but furthermore, he is the reason that this woman is so depressed in the beginning. He keeps her locked away and the only other person she comes in contact with is a mean old maid who doesn’t care for her much either. This situation that the man has put her in is what makes her a damsel in distress, a classic archetype of misogyny. Although it is a woman who wrote these lais, the misogyny of this time was something that seemed to be commonly accepted. 

Yonec, Marie De France 1 Now I've taken up the making of lais, I won't lay it down, though heavy it weighs. Adventures I've known in my time, I will retell them all in rhyme. I've been thinking, and wanting too To tell the tale of Yonec to you: 2 Whence his birth, how his father First came visiting his mother-- His name who begot Yonec Was, properly, Muldumarec. Long ago in Britain there thrived A rich old man, antique, long-lived. His power in Caerwent was never denied; They called him lord in that countryside. Caerwent's on the river Duelas, Once deep enough for ships to pass. Into old age this lord had passed. In order to make his fortunes last, He took a wife to get children, heirs; After him, all this would be theirs. High-born was this noble maid, Wise, well-mannered, and lovely indeed, When to the rich man they gave her. For her loveliness he loved her-- Her beauty and sweetness roused his ardor, So he planned carefully how to guard her. He locked her up in a tower, alone, In a big room paved with stone. He had an elderly sister, Widowed, a Mrs. with no Mister, He put her in there with his wife, To hold her to a righteous life. Other women were there, I presume, Somewhere in a separate room, But the lady never said even "How do you do?" Unless the old woman told her to. 3 He kept her there more than seven years-- They never did engender heirs; From that tower she didn't descend Not for a relative, not for a friend. When the lord came to sleep with her, No valet nor any porter Dared to enter the tower room, Or light a candle in the gloom. The lady lived in sorrow and pain; With weeping, sighing, weeping again, She lost her beauty, as a lady would Who didn't care if she looked good. For herself, the best wish she could make her Was for swift death to come soon and take her. 4 It was the month of April; spring Set those little birds to sing. The lord arose in early morning, Dressed himself to go out hunting. He roused up, too, the old woman To lock the door tight behind him. He gave the order, she'd obey; The lord and his men rode away. The old woman took her psalm-book along, And sat mumbling David's song. The lady lay awake in distress; Now she picked out the sun's brightness. She saw the old woman had gone Out and left her all alone. She began to sigh and complain; Her weeping began all over again: "Alas! I was born on an evil day! Hard and cruel is my destiny! This tower is a prison for me, And only death will set me free. What's he afraid of, that jealous Old man, keeping me in this fortress? He's a fool, crazy, always afraid Somehow, somewhere, he'll be betrayed. I can't even go to church To hear Mass, do God's works. If I was able to talk with people, Go out, enjoy those pleasures peaceable, I'd be so sweet to him, so good, Even if I wasn't in the mood. A curse on my family And on all those, collectively, Who gave this jealous man my hand, Gave me his body for husband! I pull and pull--naught comes of it: I wish and wish, but he won't die of it. Instead of his being baptized, In Hell's river his boat capsized! His sinews are tough, his veins tough, The blood that fills them's alive enough... 5 "Often I've heard the tale told How people found, in days of old, In this same land, adventures bright, The sad redeemed, the wronged made right. A knight might find a maiden-lover Sweet and fair, by thinking of her; Ladies could find lovers who Were handsome, gentle, valiant, true-- Nor were they blamed for such affairs: They alone ever saw their lovers. If this can be--if it did happen-- If this ever came to any woman-- God, who have power over all, Please hear, please answer now my call!" 6 When she'd spoken this sad word, She picked out the shadow of a great bird Through a narrow window. She Didn't know what it might be. It entered her room flying-- Jesses (1) on its feet--a hawk it seemed, Moulted five or six times in its life. It settled there, in front of the wife. After it had rested a minute, And she'd closely inspected it, It became a knight, handsome, gentle. The lady thought this was a marvel-- Her blood stirred and began to race. In her fear she hid her face. The knight was gentle, courteous; He addressed her, speaking first, thus: "Lady," he said, "Fear ye not, no! 7 The hawk's a gentle bird, you know; Though how and why remain a mystery, Still, you see that you may trust me, And take me for your friend, your dear. For this," he said, "I came here. I've loved you for a long time now. In my heart I yearned for you. I vow, I never loved any woman but you, Nor will love any other; I'll be true. Still, I couldn't come here where you are, Or come forth out of my own land Unless you had made that prayer. Now at last I can be your friend!" The lady was now reassured; She uncovered her head and spoke a word In response to what the knight asked of her; She told him she would make him her lover If he believed in God above; This would make possible their love. For his beauty was very great: Never in her life, early nor late, Had she seen a knight so handsome, Nor will she ever, in days to come. "Lady," he said, "How well you speak! Not for anything would I wreak That wrong, be your occasion of sin-- The guilt, the doubt, the suspicion. I firmly believe in the Creator, Who freed us from that sad state where We'd been thrust by Adam our father When he bit that apple bitter; He is and was and will be ever Light and life to each poor sinner. If my word you cannot credit, Ask for your chaplain to visit; Say you've a sudden ill, an ailment; For this you want the sacrament Which God established in this world So that we sinners may be healed. Then I'll take on your form and face, Receive Christ's body in your place. And so that you'll have no more need To doubt me, I'll say my whole Creed." She approved of what he'd said. He lay beside her on her bed, But he didn't want to caress her, Nor embrace her yet, nor kiss her. 8 Just then the old woman came home, Found the lady awake in her room, Told her it was time she rose, Wanted to bring in the day's clothes. The lady said she had some disease-- They'd better go alert her priest, And tell him to come to her, quick, She feared death, she was so sick. The old woman said, "Well, suffer away! My lord has gone to the woods today, And no-one but me will come in here!" The lady felt a terrible fear; She faked a faint, and there she lay. The old woman saw this with dismay. She unlocked the door and ran Off to find the good chaplain. Soon as he could, the priest came, swiftly, Bringing with him Corpus Christi. The knight received the sacred bread, Drank wine from the chalice in her stead. Now the good chaplain is gone; The old woman locks up the door again. 9 The lady lies beside her dear; You never saw such a lovely pair. When they've laughed and played enough, And told each other their hearts' truth, The knight takes his leave of his dame To go back to his own land, as he came. Sweetly, softly she makes her prayer That he'll return often to see her. "Lady," he said, "when it's your pleasure! I won't let slip a single chance; But in your wishing find some measure, Or else our ruin you'll advance; That old woman's a traitor, all right; She'll spy on us both day and night. She'll learn of the love between us, And tell her lord how she's seen us. If it all happens as I've said, And we are indeed betrayed, I will never be able to fly Away again, except to die." 10 With this he goes, the lovers part, She's left alone with a joyful heart. Next day she gets up, not at all sick. She was so happy all that week. She learned she has a precious body, And she recovers all her beauty. Now she really prefers to exist Home alone--other pleasures aren't missed. She longs often to see her knight And take from him her own delight. As soon as her husband leaves the tower, Night or day, late or early the hour, She has all she could want of her love. Long may she rejoice, please God above! Because of the joy in which she moved, From seeing so often the man she loved, Her form and face were quite renewed. Her husband was a sly man, shrewd; In his heart he knew that she Had changed from what she used to be; He begins to doubt his sister. One day he begins to ask her, Isn't it a marvel how His wife just loves to dress up now? He wonders why this might be so. The old woman says she doesn't know-- No-one can have speech or sight of her, And she has no friend or lover. There's just one thing: she's gladder when she Is left alone than she used to be. This small change is what she's spied. To this the husband has replied: "By faith," he says, "I believe you! Now here's something you must do: In the morning, I'll rise early, And, when you've shut the door behind me, You must pretend to go outside; Leave her lying in bed by herself. But really, secretly, you'll hide Some place you can see by stealth Where this comes from, what it might be, That's making my lady so happy." They parted, agreed upon their plans. Alas! They are in evil hands, The couple for whom she lies in wait-- They'll be deceived, yes, and betrayed! 11 In three days, as I heard the story, The husband pretended to go on a journey. For his wife, this story he fed her: The King has sent for him by letter. He'll return as fast as he can, for sure. He leaves the room and shuts the door. So the old woman got out of bed; Right there, behind the curtain, she hid. She'd hear and see, hidden so Everything she wanted to know. Wide awake under her bedcover, The lady's longing for her lover. He comes--he doesn't hesitate-- He's not an hour or a moment late. They make each other happy now, By what their words and faces show, Until it's time to rise for the day-- Now he must be on his way. The old woman's watching. She spies How he comes in, then away he flies. Indeed, she fears and feels the shock Of seeing him first man, then hawk. When the lord returned to his abode (For he hadn't gone far down the road) The old woman explained aright All the truth about the knight, And in deep thought he is wrapt. He orders: the knight will be trapped And killed by deceits his wits Devise. He has them forge iron spits, Tips clad with steel; never razor In this world was ever sharper. When he has had these made, Forked and toothed on every side, He has them fixed around the window, Fastened tight in close-set row, Just where the knight passes in When he comes to his lady friend. Dear God! Why can't he know the treason Prepared against him by this felon? 12 Next day, early in the morn, The husband gets up before dawn, And announces he's hunting today. The old woman sees him on his way, Then back on her bed she lies, To sleep; the sun has yet to rise. The lady's awake, alert to await The man she loves with loyal faith; 13 He could come to her now, she says, And be with her in peace and ease; As soon as she's prayed such A prayer he comes, nor delays much; He comes flying through the window, But the spits are fixed there now; One pierces his body, deep; Scarlet blood begins to seep. Knowing this wound is his doom, Freed of the spike, he enters her room. He alights on the bed beside the lady, So that her sheets are all bloody. She sees the blood and the awful gash. Anguish makes her white as ash. He tells her, "My sweet love, my friend, Your love's brought my life to its end. I told you it would happen thus: Your form and face have slain us." Hearing this, she fainted and fell; She seemed dead for a short spell. Sweetly he offers her comfort: Her sorrow and pain aren't worth It: by him her pregnancy's begun; She'll bear his strong and valiant son. This child will heal her ache and shame. She'll see that Yonec is his name. Someday he will kill his and her Enemy, be their avenger. The knight cannot stay with her longer, For the wound's bleeding is stronger. Sadly, sadly, away he goes. But, with a great cry, she follows. She gets out through a window-- It's a miracle she's not killed below, For the wall was twenty feet deep Right there where she made her leap. Aside from her shift she was nude As she set herself to track the blood Which from the wounded knight was flowing To mark a path for her going. She followed this road; it wound Along until it came to a mound. There was an entrance to this hill; 14 All around the door she saw the spill Of blood, but could see nothing farther. Then she thought she knew her lover Had passed this way and gone in here. She entered, too, this place of fear. Within, she found no spark of light, Yet she followed the road aright Until she came forth from the mound Where lovely meadows spread around. The grass here was soaked with blood-- Her fears returned now in full flood. Across the field she followed the trace. There was a city near that place All enclosed by a great wall. No house there, or tower or hall Seemed made of anything but silver; Rich was the work of the city's builder. Marshes lay at the town's edges, And the forests and the neat hedges. Near to the castle, on the other side, All around flowed a river wide, Where boats and ships could dock and anchor; Three hundred sails--more--crowd the bank there. The lower gate is quite unclosed-- Into the town the lady goes Still following the blood, fresh red; Through town and to the keep it led. No-one spoke to her, no-one; She saw no living man nor woman. She came to the palace courtyard; The stones were bloody, soaked and smeared. She entered a lovely room in the keep And found a knight there, fast asleep; She went on, not knowing him, Into another, larger room; A bed, nothing more, came to light, And, upon it, a sleeping knight. She's passed through this and come Into a third great fine room, And here she finds her lover's bed. Of purest gold is the bedstead; I couldn't guess the bedclothes' value; Candlesticks and chandeliers, too, Kept aflame both night and day, Are worth a city's treasury. The moment that she caught a sight Of him, she recognized the knight. Swift and fearful, she goes toward him. In a faint she falls athwart him. Her lover takes her in loving arms, Cries out at how fortune harms Them both. When her faint has passed, He comforts her sweetly, at last. "My lovely love, by God! Hear my plea! Leave this place! You must flee! I will die before daybreak, And here there will be such heartache, That if my people found you here, They would torture you, my dear; My people know what you have cost me-- That it's for your love they've lost me. I ache with worry for you." "My love," she says, "I implore you, I'd much rather die here with you, Than suffer what my husband will do; He'll kill me if I return." The knight can answer this concern. He gives her a little ring, And teaches her to use the thing: As long as she keeps it safe, she'll see Her lord will have no memory Of anything that has just passed; For this she won't be harrassed. He gives her and commends his sword To her, forbids her with a strong word Ever to yield it to any man; She must keep it for his son's hand. When he shall be strong, full-grown, A valiant knight, worth some renown, To some festival she'll go, Her husband and her son in tow. They will come to an abbey; They'll see a tomb, hear someone say How he's dying all over again, And how wrongly he's been slain. Then she must give him the sword; 15 He must be told then, word for word, The adventure of his birth, his father's name. They'll see how he makes his claim. When he's told her all this, He gives her a rich silk dress, Which he commands her to wear; Then he sends her away from there. With the ring, then, she goes, And the sword to comfort her woes. She's passed the city gate and door, And gone half a league, no more, When she hears the tolling bells, Mourning cries from the castle halls. In her sorrow at hearing these chimes She falls into a faint four times. When she finally comes around, She makes her way to the mound, Enters, passes through to the other side, And finds herself back in her own countryside. Together with her husband, her lord, She dwelt for many a day afterward, And never did he bring an accusation, Insult or mock her for what she'd done. Their son was born; they did all to rear Him safe and well; they held him dear. They gave him Yonec for a name; No-one could find in that domain A man so handsome, so valorous, So worthy, liberal, generous. When his age was right, They dubbed him a knight. After his knighting, that very same year, What happened--listen now and you'll hear! 16 At the Feast of Saint Aaron (2), Which was celebrated at Caerleon (As well as at many another town), A formal order had been sent down To the lord to go there with his friends, As the country's custom demands. He brought along his wife and son; Rich were his clothes and caparison. It's time to go, and they go, But where they're going they don't know. They took along with them a lad, Who led them along down the right road, Till they came to a castle tall, In this world the fairest of all. Within the castle stood an abbey Where deeply pious folks live and pray. The boy got rooms there for them all (Their young guide to the festival). In the abbot's own chamber They were served well, and with honor. They go to hear Mass the next day, Then they're ready to be on their way. The abbot comes to have his say: He begs them to prolong their stay; He'll show them his dormitory, His chapter-house, his refectory. Since their lodgings are of the best, The lord gladly grants this request. 17 Later, when they'd finished dining, They set out to tour the buildings. First they come to the chapter room; There they found a huge tomb Draped with silk on which stitched wheels rolled, And banded across with expensive gold. At the head, the feet, to left and right, Were candles, twenty, burning bright. The candlesticks were of the purest Gold, the censers of amethyst In which that day they burned incense Around the tomb, in reverence. They inquired now, their demand Of the natives of that land Was, whose tomb this might be? What man lay there so honorably? Now their tears began to fall, And weeping they began their tale, That this was the very best knight, Strongest, proudest, first in a fight, Handsomest, most loved, most worthy of love Of any born here under heaven above. "He was the king of this country-- Never was any lord so courtly. At Caerwent he had been taken, For a lady's love he was slain. Since then we've never had a lord; Rather have we awaited some word Of his son, begotten on that lady; He commanded us to be ready." Having heard all this narration, The lady called out loud to her son: "Dear son," she said, "Do you hear How God Himself has led us here? Here lies your own father, whom This vile old man murdered, in this tomb. This sword I give you was his before you; I have kept it a long time for you." Everyone heard, as she taught him Who his father was, how he begot him, How he used to come to her, How her husband committed murder; She told the truth; then on the tomb She fell fainting in a swoon. In her faint, she passed on; She never spoke again to anyone. When her son saw that she was dead, He took off his stepfather's head. So with the sword of his father He avenged the pain of his mother. Everyone in the city soon knew All that had happened, true as true. They took the lady with great honor And laid her there beside her lover. They made Yonec their lord, there and then, And afterwards went home again. 18 Some who heard this adventure told Made a lai, when the tale was already old, Of pity, of sorrow, of pain, of All they once suffered for their love. 1. Jesses: leather straps on a hawks legs, often with a ring where a leash can be attached.

2. St. Aaron: Saint Aaron of Aleth was a man born in Britain who relocated to Aleth, a small island near St. Malo in Brittany, France; he was a hermit and an abbot of the monastery there.