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dismaldonut · 6 months

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"Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Doctor Crowley" - Chapter 4

“So then THAT way we are both watching each other's backs. I don't know what they're planning but I am not going to put myself in a position where I may end up in a pool of holy water!”

It was out of self preservation and distrust of his fellow demons. He couldn't be too careful. “They can't keep us down here forever. Well they can. But they won't, because they decided I'm a Duke now, it gives me pull.” Crowley explained his grand idea he came up with in the past three minutes. The Doctor stood there with hesitation as Crowley removed his sunglasses. This was the first time he saw his golden eyes. Incredible. Was he sure he wasn't a descendent from one of the reptoid races? The humanoid face could only settle in so many variations until the random pattern repeats itself. There were several counts of complete strangers not related to one another get mistaken for twins. The Doctor, as nerve-wracking as this was, found all of it brilliant!

“I'm keeping my sonic screwdriver.” He declared, standing face to face with his demon-doppleganger. He grinned ear to ear and nearly bounced on the tips of his toes.

“Oooh finally I get to be a ginger!! Brilliant!”

“Ugh.”

Crowley extended his hand. The Doctor looked at it then back to him, flexing his fingers in contemplation.

“Before we do that I feel that in order for this to work… To really pull it off I need to get into your head. Psychic connection, extra layer of protection you know.”

Crowley's brow rose and his voice went low. “Pardon?”

“These demons. They've known you for several millennia right? They're probably expecting you to try something like this. What if they quiz us? See which is which if they feel something is off?”

“They aren't the sharpest crayons, Doctor, they couldn't even tell when I swapped places with the Angel. We'll be fine, you'll do great.”

“Okay, true, but can you prove to be a decent Time Lord?”

“Oh, let's see, act like a rambunctious child high on sugar? That's easy.”

The Doctor hardly blinked. He crossed his arms and then made a beckoning sweep of his hand. “Okay, you've known me for a good 20 minutes. Give me your best impression.”

Crowley paused for a moment. Oh, shit he would definitely have to pull this out of thin air, wouldn't he. This might be harder than he thought. He took a step back, stretched his neck with a growl and tried to conjure the essence of ‘the Doctor’. He ruffled his hair to stick up and widened his eyes and opened his mouth.

“Hello! I'm the Doctor and I have a glowy stick! It makes a funny noise and I have a lovely human Girlfriend who kisses people in the dark before checking! But that's alright, because although I walk in the bowels of Hell itself I fear nothing. I think it's brilliant! A holiday, a walk in the park! Whee-”

The real Doctor held his hands up to indicate STOP. “Okay that's… That proves my point. Got the hair and the teeth right sure, might want to tone it down on the rambling, but we should probably get you better acquainted with the wibble wobble jargon and a crash course on interdimensional physics and perhaps a brief rundown on the TARDIS. We really do need to psychic connect, wait Rose kissed you ?!”

Crowley shrugged, going back to his original self. “She thought I was you. Don't worry, not in the least interested. Honest mistake.”

“..Yeah I suppose you have a point there.” The Doctor trusted Rose with everything. If it was an honest mistake, it was an honest mistake no question. “Still! We really should psychic link.”

“..No.”

The Doctor, more worried and stressed as he held out his hand. “If this fails because of your stubbornness, I will not let you forget this.” There was a hint of fire in his voice and Crowley grinned, taking his hand. “Ah, good, you’re sounding like me already.”

Their clothes and hair began to shift color. The Doctor's eyes became serpent-like and Crowley's became a soft brown. His sideburns stayed, but the snake signature vanished. The Doctor finally got the red hair he wished he could have regenerated into ages ago. Once the cosmetic switch was complete he felt his hair.

“Huh. Hardly different at all.” The Doctor smiled.

“Easy for you to say.” Crowley grumbled, finding a small mirror on a desk behind the “throne” chair. He stared at himself with deep sadness. He hasn't looked anything like this in well over a millenia… Not since the fall. His face was near resonant of his angelic years. The Doctor seated himself in the “throne” with a lean and slouch, one slim leg over the armchair. “I hate everything except the Angel.” He growled, getting into character. Crowley leapt forward and gripped the Doctor's hair going nose to nose with him. “ Never, I repeat, never say that here in Hell. You will get yourself permanently discorporated so severe you can't regenerate for shit, why do I know that?”

The Doctor grinned wide.

Weird seeing that kind of alien look on his face.

“You skimmed my thoughts,” Crowley realized. Bastard!

“I needed something and this seems very much like a matter of life and death.”

“Ouh you are so irritating!” He stormed off into a corner.

“Careful, I don't talk like that! Better still, best not say anything.” The Doctor advised as someone banged on the metal door.

“Crowley. Your presence is needed in the war room.” A deep raspy voice of a lower demon spoke.

“Yes.. Of course. I'm bringing my companion with me.”

“Yes, your lordship.”

The two looked at each other. Show time.

The Doctor “Crowley” sauntered in as perfectly as the real demon. It was a crowded room of other demons, some lower, some horrendously disfigured… A true band of misfits gathering around to see the once seen “traitor” Crowley shoot his way all the way to royal Duke status. It smelt like burnt rubber, like when someone hit the breaks too hard on their car. Top that with sweat and shame. Did demons bathe at any point?! The real Crowley stood straight and attempted to look passive. They wouldn’t know how the Doctor acted, so he could do whatever he wanted. Still, it irritated him to no end that the Doctor essentially violated his trust reaching into his mind and swiped information. He wasn’t going to forget that, nor will he ever admit that it really was a good idea. He refused to.

…He also wanted to dive in again because that man’s head is intriguing. The Doctor no doubt went to Alpha Centuri. He wanted to see it and if seeing it meant through the Doctor’s eyes, he’ll do it.

Shax stood there with her lips pursed squinting at Doctor Crowley and held a golden sash slung over her arm. “Shax.” He greeted, reminding himself to mind himself.

“You know what this means. That you will lead us as the spearhead to war with Heaven. It will be your duty as a Duke of Hell.”

“....Understood.” Doctor Crowley grumbled, flexing his fingers.

Shax smiled smugly, her inhumanly sharp needle-like teeth shone in the dim fluorescent lights. An ugly smile, but one to indicate friendliness… Possibly. It was hard to tell. She put the gold sash over Crowley. “With the authority vested upon me by the former Duke Lord Beelzebub, I dub thee Lord Anthony J. Crowley, Duke of Hell. May your rule by awful and everlasting.” She declared with a hint of hatred in her voice, which was normal for her. Shax had taken his job filing paperwork when Crowley decided he had enough with Hell, stayed on top, and consorted with the enemy. Hell’s enemies had just become Crowley’s enemies again. He tried keeping a distance for so long, just going along with Hell best he could and they continued to just suck him in like quicksand.

There was some clapping, cheering, some Boo’s of disapproval that were quickly silenced by others with knives. The Doctor waved awkwardly with a forced smile.

"Are you ready for the next part?" Shax asked with a grin.

Both the Doctor and Crowley looked puzzled.

"Well you cannot have a corronation without celebration! Everyone! To the third ring! Hall 6!" Shax cheered. The rest shouted and hollered as they waved their hands and descended. Crowley's eyes lit with surprise and looked to The Doctor.

'What's happening.' The Doctor psychically asked.

'Erh... Shenanigans I think. Odd thing. Almost never happens. Not since the 70's.'

"Join us Lord Crowley! Bring your pet!" Shax beckoned before vanishing to the third ring.

'Do we go or is this a safe time to run?' Asked the Doctor.

'Not just yet, it'd raise suspicion. These things aren't too bad, you'll be fine.'

'I don't want to stay here for too long, this place isn't meant for living creatures.'

'Five minutes and that should make her happy.' Crowley grasped his wrist and subtly gestured his hand. They descended down together to the third ring of hell: Gluttony.

The best way Crowley could describe the third ring was that it was like a night club that never ended. You could step out of one large room full of incoherent strung out humans and demons and immediately find yourself in another one. A neverending labyrinth with smoke hovering low to the ground. It wasn't too different from the second ring, Lust. Matter of fact you didn't need to use the stairs to find Lust, it was right next door. The Doctor held his head up high and tried not to look at anything for longer than a second as they made it to Hall 6. It was a proper party. It smelt quite like cannabis, incense and stale beer.

The Doctor's mind reached out to Crowley making a psychic connection. 'Oh, mercy.' He wretched.

"What?" Crowley asked, not realizing what it was.

"I didn't say anything." The Doctor 'Crowley' insisted. 'It's a telepathic link. We can speak privately this way, just think what you want to say, and I'll tell your right now this smell is quite offensive.'

'You're in Hell, Doctor, what did you expect it to smell like, roses?'

'That'd be nice.'

'If you insist.' Crowley again subtly swept his hand and suddenly all the Doctor could smell was the faint aroma of lavender soap and roses, like having a soothing bubble bath.

There was alcohol and food, all mostly half rotten and the wine bitter and rough going down. It was one of the main reasons why Crowley loved Earth so much. There was no substitute for how humans did it. Many overindulged themselves, but it was no surprise to anyone given where they were. There had been an uptick of humans finding their way to the third ring. Hell had found an increase in mortals descending rather ascending. Good for Hell, concerning for Crowley, and plain terrible a sight for Heaven. They had much to celebrate over, not just their new Duke.

The demon and time lord sat beside one another on a half ripped open leather couch. Beautiful female demons were giggling and surrounded them, dressed in tight dresses. They had to be from the Lust ring. Crowley did not want to break cover, so he declined every time a greasy demon attempted to give him a beer. The Doctor took one thinking that was what he was supposed to do. Never took a sip. This was... Uncomfortable.

“You! Mortal double.” Shax pointed to The “Doctor” with a wicked gleam in her eye. She was a few drinks down already. “You travel through time, is that correct?”

“Yeah, something like that. I explore more than anything, you know. Cosmic tourist.”

“Then that means you can tell us the outcome of the war ahead.”

The Doctor chimed in, momentarily forgetting who he was supposed to be. “Bad idea, that.. Um. Well we and I spoke on that. There are.. Rules. Some that we cannot break unless you want to break space and time.”

The demons near her began to laugh. She herself grinned. “Lord Crowley, we are demons , since when do we ever follow rules?”

“When it's your very existence you are jeopardizing. Time is like fluid, you can jinx yourself. I'm not a fortune teller, but I know for a fact if we stepped on a butterfly in the past your hair could suddenly be blue! You might end up in a whole other part of this place if we messed with time.”

This made the Doctor's brow furrow with confusion.. Briefly. Not terrible lying. The butterfly effect theory was still complete rubbish, but none of these people had to know about that. He nodded. “That's what I'm talking about. Could completely jinx us entirely if we tried to see who wins.”

Shax's eyes rolled and she waved it off. “... Fine. ” There went that. “Still, though.. I bet it would be fun torturing you while we have you here. Have a beer. A nibble.”

“Nope, none of that. Plus the food here would probably get him sick.” Doctor Crowley wagged a finger in her face.

"Well, yes that's the point. Have a bit of fun, Crowley."

"I don't know about you but I'd rather not see someone with my face puking their guts out because someone put maggots in their snack cake." The Doctor snapped. Subtle "OoooooOOoooooos" could be heard in the background. “Now that I have been appointed Duke, is there any other business we have to discuss, or can we go and retire? I have things to do rather than.... this.”

Shax clicked her tongue in disappointment. “Ever since you went native living amongst the humans you've really become dull. Yes, there is some business, actually. You were appointed because of him after all.” She leaned in forward, knowing this would hurt. “Your former lover, Aziraphale. Tell us his weaknesses. What can we do to knock him off his smug high horse.”

Crowley, still appearing as the Doctor, winced before closing his eyes. They were never lovers, that was a purposeful jab, salt rubbing into the wound. He could do something quite violent for that but he knew better. He had to force a yawn to appear tired before anyone got wise. The Doctor as Crowley's jaw clenched. Why did he agree to this? Wait. He knew. Because he was clever. No doubt smarter than the demon, too. Oh did the Doctor feel so old just then.

“Well,” Doctor Crowley began, putting on his best grief struck face. Not hard to do. Guilt sometimes held him like a vice the things he had done in his past. “He was funny although he didn’t mean to. Kind to everyone, you know.. Just an angel.”

“We need more than that!” Shax snapped. “If you do not give us the information we need, I can strip you of your title and we will destroy you. And yes, before you ask, it is a threat. You know where we are.”

Oh, that was dark. There were many ways a demon could take another one down. They were surprisingly simple like how humans did it. It could simply take a cocktail of certain earth-aquired drugs and a bit of holy water... The real Crowley sat more still than a stone weeping angel. His eyes were fixated to the floor as he did his best to not accidentally make something happen. He was a powerful former archangel. He could do things other demons could not.

“Okay… Well you remember the last time you were in the shop. He could… Communicate with the other angels and… Such. If he could, it is possible he would recruit them at any time. Even on Earth. An army maybe. I suppose that’s the point, anyway…”

“I need more information! I seriously need you to open up your mind, I’m now pulling things out from thin air here!”

Crowley’s head rose to watch him walk. He quietly responded with a resonant and silent ‘Fine’. They were screwed anyway, so why not. He just didn’t want anyone in his head but it’s not like he ever had a choice, not like he ever got what he ever wanted. Ever! That’s what happened when you were a demon. Nothing ever works out for you, because nobody is there to look out for you. Ever .

The Doctor shifted and rested his elbow on his sitting Demon-Dopple's shoulders, leaning against him like a back rest. “He drank a lot of tea…” He kept on with what surface thoughts he had.

‘Let your mind go free. If there’s something you don’t want me to see, imagine a door and close it’

Crowley scoffed, shifting in irritation and discomfort from being touched. ‘Just do it you two hearted bastard’

‘No need for such language, my friend,’

‘I’m not your friend,’

The Doctor entered his mind. Woah, this demon was thousands of years old. He trumped his 900+ years, he… Oh, this was a lot. He trembled a bit and sucked in a breath. A tear fell as Crowley’s inner pain and turmoil hit him like a bag of bricks. Memories of Aziraphale and Crowley together flashed within the Doctor’s head. All their times together on Earth. Dates at The Ritz, saving and helping people, preventing Armageddon, Crowley’s desperate kiss to try convincing Aziraphale to stay…The way the angel looked at him. It was…

‘Oh, Crowley. I am so sorry,’

‘Don’t give me that shite,’

He dismissed that last comment. Crowley was shut down and numb. It was reassuring to see, however, that Crowley despite everything even now was still an optimist. He wasn’t exactly evil, he didn’t believe in killing humans, especially children. Even when ordered to do so. The Doctor decided then that he liked this one. Any demon that was repulsed by the thought of harming children was hardly a demon at all in his books. If they worked together, maybe they could thwart all of this together. It would be fun working side by side. He could already see it.

While the Doctor was reading him, Crowley realized it worked both ways. Interesting. Oh… This Doctor was an odd one wasn’t he. The last and only one of his kind. Stole a sentient time machine…Definitely had a thing for blondes, defied his own people… They weren’t too different.

‘Welcome to the group of misfit toys, Doctor.’

Ignoring Crowley, the Doctor spoke. “Aziraphale was of course you know, the guardian of the Eastern gate. He had a flaming sword, gave it away…I sort of picked it up and kept it, so there’s that. I have his sword.” He leaned forward slightly overwhelmed by the demon’s mind and shifted to one side. Fortunately this was how the real Crowley would shift and move about. Shax and the other demons were oblivious to what was happening before her. Mostly. It was still so strange seeing two of the same face.

“So he is unarmed.” Shax mused with interest.

“Oh, no not unarmed. Well – Not now at least. He’s kind to a fault.”

“And a traitor, I don’t care what rank he is, he still helped you prevent the last apocalypse.”

The Doctor shrugged. Crowley looked like was half dead. The link was starting to make him nauseous. Picking up on that, the Doctor sat back straight, still slouching with an arm over the couch to emulate Crowley's style. He was a bit dizzy himself and flexed his hands. “I believe in order to get an advantage I should turn back up to Earth to see if I can find the sword. See if I can reignite it, that sort of thing. Plus the Doctor doesn’t look too good, must be the fluorescent lighting. Or the strobes.”

The crowd of Demons began to murmur among themselves. It wasn’t too surprising a request.

“...You have your title. You can do whatever you want for the time being… Before the war.” Shax declared quietly. Her eyes lit with an idea. “Oh, that is brilliant, Lord Crowley. If you find the flaming sword, it may be just enough for you to defeat him. Permanently.”

Permanent discorporation. Shax was going to try and make him do the unthinkable. Crowley’s jaw clenched and the slightest tremors began shaking the entire floor. The lights began to sway as whatever he did triggered a low scale “Hell-Quake”

“Right…I’ll find the sword on Earth then. We’ll take the elevator out.” The Doctor said.

“Before you go, I’m sending someone with you. A personal companion to keep an eye on you two.”

“...What?” Both Crowley and the Doctor said at the same time, their voices bouncing off one another. It made Shax shiver. Creepy.

“Wayde! Front and center!” Shax shouted.

The demons from the dance floor began to push someone forward. Out came a demon with bright red eyes and scaly blue patches of skin around the frame of his face. His hair was curly and black. Stubble covered his face and when he smiled there were fangs. He was tone with muscle but seemed fidgety, like he didn’t know what to do with himself or where his place was. It was likely his first time down in the Gluttony ring. Handsome for a demon. He even threw Crowley off. Needed a new outfit perhaps, but that could be done easy enough.

“It’s Wade. W-A-D-E. Just a thing, you know. Hi. Nice to meet you. I’ve never been to Earth, is it cold up there? I’m not wearing a sweater.”

“Hello, uhm.. Currently it’s just damp up there from the rain I think. I’m sorry, is this necessary?” The Doctor asked.

Crowley squinted at Wade. He seemed new. Was he new? He couldn’t sense a lot of evil coming from this one. He didn’t smell of rot, just a ball of energy and anxiety. Maybe they mistook him for a fool? Murial would find him amusing.

“Yes, because we do not trust you to not go running to your Angel to warn him about what we intend to do.” Shax said, finishing her glass.

“Off you three go. We'll stay here and celebrate in your name, Lord.”

The Doctor had to help Crowley up. His knees were weak from the link. Oh he knew it was going to be a bad idea but not this bad. Ughhh.

“Does he need help?” Wade asked.

“Rule number one. Demons aren’t nice and we do not help others.” The Doctor corrected sharply to Wade. He hated this sort of acting but it had to be done.

“Right, sorry.”

Now Crowley understood. He was a low ranking demon. Basically Muriel’s cosmic opposite… But hot.

It took a moment, but Crowley found his footing. He shoved himself away and walked behind the Doctor. “Where’s the..” “To the left. Then another left. Then slightly sauntered down some stairs and then another right. I think.” Crowley helped, staring at the back of his head. Did his hair always curl that way? Despite feeling slightly disoriented, Crowley felt like he could breathe again as they managed to walk, mostly unescorted, back to the elevators that would finally take them back up to Earth. The Doctor focused on Rose. He needed to make sure she was alright. Crowley wanted to finish off whatever alcohol there was left in the bookshop. If he found that stupid bloody sword he swore he was going to take it and throw it into the sun. He gave Wade a side eye glance. He may not be a threat, Hell may view him as an idiot, but he knew better and did not trust him. At all.

It was all going to be… Bickity Boo.

***

To follow the whole crossover fic, below is the link to it on ao3! 🥰

#ao3 writer #anthony j crowley #good omens fandom #aziracrow #ao3 fanfic #aziraphale x crowley #crowley angst #david tennant #doctor x rose #10th doctor #neil gaiman #doctor who #the tenth doctor #doctor crowley #crossover au #good omens fanfiction #good omens

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boldlysizzlingvoid · 4 months

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Peanuts: Gone too Far, An AU Fanfiction-Chapter 1: A Hit too Hard to the Head

It was going to be another, normal day for Charlie Brown; He would wake up, eat breakfast, go to school, get bullied and picked on the Mean Trio, Lucy, Patty Swanson, and Violet, hang out with Linus at the Brick Wall, get on the bus and go back home...

But today...Today WASN'T going to be an ordinary day today.

It was currently lunchtime at the school, and Charlie Brown was currently siting by himself on a bench, eating a PB sandwich alone, like he always would. He meekly looked at everyone else in the lunchroom, talking to each other and having conversations, though, He wasn't...very good with doing that. Not at all. Though he didn't mind eating alone by himself, it gave him some peace to have some space:

That is...until Lucy came over with her friends, Patty Swanson and Violet, "Well well well...Hey Charlie Brown! How're you doing on this fine day?" Lucy said smugly, grinning from ear to ear, Charlie Brown stared at her, gulping softly, "G-good Lucy...very good." He said nervously, fidgeting his thumbs, meekly, as the three bullies smirked wider, laughing, "What's the matter? Still the same wishy-washy failure you always are?? Even after you got that little Red Haired Girl as your 'pen pal'?" She asked, doing air quotes while saying the word 'pen pal' with her fingers, Charlie Brown sighed, slowly getting up from the bench and walking away from the three girls, causing them to pause, as they went after him.

"HEY! DON'T IGNORE US!" Lucy shouted.

'YEAH! We won't be able to pick on you if you leave!' Violet said, crossing her arms.

"Besides, what do you think you can do to stop us from bullying you, BLOCKHEAD?!" Patty Swanson asked, as they began pushing him away from the entrance back into the school, causing Charlie Brown to fall down to the ground, as they began laughing at him, pointing.

Charlie Brown wasn't really such what to do before the three girls began to slug him, throwing a bunch of rocks at him with they're hands, "OW! H-hey, stop it!" He shouted in fear, not even noticing that a huge crowd of kids were surrounding them now, watching this unfold, including Charlie Brown's best friend, Linus.

"Lucy! What are you doing?!" He shouted to his sister, looking worried for his best friend, she only gave him a glare, pushing Linus outta the way, 'BUZZ OFF, LINUS!!" She simply shouted as she, Violet, and Patt continued to fling rocks and pebbles at Charlie Brown, until Lucy suddenly tripped feet-first on a pebble on the ground, 'W-whoaowWHOA!" She muttered, wibbling and wobbling, before comically summer saulting in mid air, and then...

CRACK!

Her hand slammed hardly right into Charlie Brown's skull, causing him to let out a yell of pain, getting everyone's attention, as they saw something red drip down his nose...

It wasn't strawberry jam...it was blood.

Everyone's eyes went wide in terror and worry, as they all ran towards him in concern, "C-CHARLIE BROWN?! A....ARE YOU OKAY?!?" Linus shouted, holding his best friend in his hands, there was no response from Charlie Brown's mouth; No sound. No voice. All he did was stare down at the blood, dripping down from his nose to his hands:

".....I-It... it hurts...so much." He faintly muttered, under his breath, his eyes completely grey colored, his entire body trembling in fear. He could feel his breathing slowly getting weaker and weaker, as he kept staring at the blood coming down his nose onto his palms...

Violet and Patty began to see this, both they're eye growing wide in shock, as they faintly gasped, look's of horror on their faces, blinking silently. Lucy, however, scoffed obnoxiously, rolling her eyes, "Psst, oh yeah right! Like I hit him THAT hard. He'll probably just get back up again, like he always does! Right Charlie Brown?" She asked, looking over to him, but...there was no answer.

This caused her to pause for a moment...Why didn't he respond?

....

Lucy's face began to scrunch a bit, in a slightly nervous expression, "R...R-right...Charlie Brown?" She once again asked, laughing nervously, "I-it's not like I...I would ever do that to YOU!"

"...."

"...R-right...RIGHT?!" She shouted, her voice becoming more frantic.

....There was still no response from him.

She suddenly ran up away from Violet and Patty, to see what was going on with him, but...the sight she saw was...something she never thought she would ever see:

Charlie Brown's nose and the back of his head was bleeding violently onto the ground, his eyes completely grey colored, as he was sitting on his knees as if he was in pain. Lucy's eyes silently stared at this, for once in her life, she couldn't believe what she was seeing....

Had...Had she gone TOO FAR this time...?

She stood there for a couple of minutes silently, before slowly walking towards him, holding a hand out, "C...Charlie Brown I...I'm sorry I-" Before she could say again, Linus quickly got up and gripped her hand, "ARE YOU HAPPY, SIS?!?" He shouted into her face, causing Lucy to looked shocked, "W..W-wha-?" She was udderly in shock at this-Seeing Linus THIS mad at her for something like this...It was something she wasn't even sure Linus could DO!

"YOU LITREALLY TOOK THE LIFE OF MY BEST FRIEND, AND FOR WHAT?!? JUST BECAUSE 'YOU' THOUGHT YOU WERE ALWAYS QUEEN! THAT YOU WERE ALWAYS ABOVE EVERYONE IN THIS WORLD?!?! WELL GUESS WHAT, YOUR NOT!!! AND NOW THANKS TO YOU HE...h-he..." Linus began choking on his words now, tears flowing and streaming down his eyes, crying. Lucy stared at her brother, her expression almost...furrowing in guilt, "I...L-Linus I...I'm so sorr-" He wacked her hand away angrily before she could get near him," NO! I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT, LUCY! ALL YOU'VE EVER DONE TO ANYONE IN OUR LIVES IS BULLY AND MANUPLIATE ALL OF OUR FRIENDS! So you know what? I'M THROUGH BEING YOUR BROTHER! That's right, I SAID IT!! I'M THROUGH BEING YOUR SIBLING....!!! Because from now on, I'M living with the Brown's so I can take care of Charlie Brown! SO HAVE FUN BEING AN ONLY SIBLING TO RERUN, CAUSE IT'S GONNA BE AS MUCH FUN AS YOUR GONNA GET, 'SIS'!!!" As soon as he finished his sentence, he quickly grabbed Charlie Brown, and ran away back to his parent's home, still having tears in his eyes.

Everyone's eyes were now locked on Lucy now, including Violet and Patty's, as she flinched almost, "...W....What are you all looking at me like that?! COME ON! You all know you would've wanted him as gone as me!" She said, trying to protest herself, "EXCUSE ME?!?" A tomboyish voice shouted over, as Peppermint Patty, a certain 'friend' of Charlie Brown, came over with her best friend Marice, the two glaring at her, "YOU were the one who started this, Lucielle! I never wanted ANYTHING like this to happen to him!" Peppermint Patty scowled, looming angrily in Lucy's face, "H-hey look It...It was an ACICIDENT, Alright Patricia?! I-I didn't mean to do it!" As soon as Lucy said that, Marcie suddenly came up from Peppermint Patty, gripping her by her shirt, "YOU THINK THIS WAS AN 'ACCIDENT', LUCY?!? YOU THINK TRYING TO HIT CHARLES LIKE THAT IS AN 'ACCIDENT'??!!?, HE WAS LITREALLY BLEEDING!!!" She practically screamed in her face, until Peppermint Patty slowly pulled her back, trying to control her from going berserk on Lucy.

"Breath, Marcie. Breath." Peppermint Patty said, as Marcie sighed, slowly taking a few deep breaths, looking down shamefully, "S-sorry sir I...don't know what got into me there," Marice said, sadly, "It's alright, okay? I get it. " She said softly, before turning to Lucy with a stone-cold glare that screamed 'Your DEAD to me, Lucielle.' , Lucy almost shuddered for a moment, looking away from her. Peppermint Patty sighed, taking her best friends hand, "Come on...Let's get outta here, alright?" Marice nodded, as she followed her along.

Soon, the entire class began to walk out of the lunch yard, leaving Lucy along by herself, she even noticed Violet and Patty were leaving, " VIOLET! PATTY!" She shouted over to them, causing the two girls to flinch, as they looked over, "Y...Your not actually gonna....leave me here...right?" She asked, that weak smile on her face spreading again, looking desperate, the two didn't respond with anything, and merely just....looked at each other, before walking away together, not even saying a WORD to her.

.....

....

Lucy watched as Violet and Patty walked out, leaving her alone in the playground, her mouth open.

"...T...They really..." She faintly muttered to herself, still shocked at what had just occurred. Something inside of her...began to release, as she began to have tears coming down her eyes, covering her face with her sleeve, "N-nononono...D...Don't cry, don't cry, DON'T CRY!!" She shouted inside her mind, holding her hands on her face, sniffling and sobbing softly, as she suddenly fell onto her knees.

For once, Lucy van Pelt had taken her bullying TOO far.

And now...she had put a life at RISK.

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

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Battle Scars and Wedding Rings // H.P.

Request: Hi lovely! Would you be able to write a harry potter x reader where reader is a healer and takes care of Harry after he comes back home injured from a mission? (Harry and reader are married) thanks in advance! I love your fics so much 💕 - anon

A/N: God, I love writing healer fics. I love writing healing fics. I’m so happy with how this turned out, I haven't written anything this long in a while so it makes a nice change. I hope you like!

Warnings: mentions of injuries, mentions of procedures and hospitals she/her pronouns, use of ‘wife’ and ‘woman’. FLUFF AND COMFORT FOR OUR MAN, HARRY.

Word count: 4.1k

Harry blinks up at the fluorescent light dizzily; a headache starting to form behind his eyes. Gingerly, he reaches up and removes his glasses, rubbing at his eyes to see if that improves his vision.

It doesn’t. If anything, it makes it worse.

He groans as the pounding in his head becomes worse. Now, he can hear his pulse sounding in his ears and he wonders briefly how to silence it. He’s a wizard who in his teens conquered the darkest wizard to have ever roamed the earth, yet right now, he can’t seem to remember a simply numbing spell to ease the effects of his headache.

Harry flinches as the curtain to his exam room is pulled back, but he relaxes the moment he hears your voice. “Love?” You ask, “Is this why you couldn’t make it home for dinner?”

Harry groans as he pulls himself to a sitting position; pausing partway to stave off the wave of dizziness overtaking him. He hadn’t felt this bad since he fell off his broom in Third Year; waking up in the hospital wing of Hogwarts with little to no recollection of the match and his injury.

You titter as you rush over to him; forming incomplete words as you help him sit up. Gently, you run a hand through his too long hair, dropping a kiss to the forever messy locks.

“How are you feeling?”

Harry sighs, “Malfoy checked me over. I have a concussion and a few broken ribs. Looks like I’m taking it easy for the next few weeks.”

You frown, “Did Draco leave your x-rays?”

Harry nods, not seeing the point in fighting with you. He knew Draco knew his stuff; he also knew that you knew Draco was far more than qualified for his job in the emergency room, but as a Healer yourself and someone in love with the patient, you saw it fit to check out the scans yourself.

You hold his x-rays up to the lightbox, inhaling deeply when you see the breaks in three ribs on his right and two ribs on his left. Clamping your lips against the wave of tears that threaten to appear, you turn to your husband, “Do I want to know what happened this time?”

Harry shakes his head, but he answers all the same, unable to keep anything from you, “A damned raid went wrong. I got blown back against a wall; hit my head and felt my ribs crack.”

You hold your hand to your mouth; worry alight in your eyes. “You’re not in pain anywhere else?” You ask; your Healer hat on for the time being until you’re at home and in private where you can let yourself feel the near loss of your husband without the prying eyes and ears of your colleagues and patients.

“No, just my head and ribs,” He replies wincing at the pain growing ever larger inside of his head.

Panic settles over his for just a moment; it’s been years since he felt this sort of pain. It’s been years since his head had hurt so bad that he wondered whether the faded scar on his forehead was truly coming back to life. He rushes the very thought from his mind; instead, honing his attention back in on your worried but loving face.

It wasn’t the first time you had been called away from home or a patient to see to him, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. However, with each call, you get more worried. The little voice in the back of your head taunts you with questions of which injury will finally be the one to make him stop; which injury will be the one that finally comes too close to taking him from you for good.

You had already experienced the numb sensation of what losing Harry would feel like. You were there that day when the Dark Lord had his body carried into the courtyard for the remaining student body and teachers of Hogwarts to see. You watched as the twisted wizard gleefully declared his death.

You could never forget the numbness that settled over you like a weighted blanket. Never in your days had you experienced a feeling like it, and with Harry’s risky choice in profession, you could only pray to Merlin that you would never feel it again. It would be too soon; it would always be too soon.

Your attention comes back to the small exam room at the feel of Harry’s hand on yours. He watches you with a quizzical expression, “Where did you go just now?”

You shake your head, “Nowhere of importance.”

He brings your left hand up to his lips; kissing the finger upon which a golden band sat, “Everything you do and everywhere you go is of importance to me.”

You roll your eyes with a smile; stepping closer to your husband, “Don’t try to get on my good side, Potter. I’m still pissed at you.”

Harry huffs a laugh before stopping abruptly at the pain lancing through both sides of his body. He smiles weakly, “You have every right to be pissed, but can you be pissed off at home? I really want to go to bed.”

Fondness for the man in front of you rushes through your body. You caress his cheek; your thumb brushing over his cheekbone, taking in the scratches that litter his face. A consequence of hitting the ground. You smile softly at him, “Let’s go home, Harry.”

-----

You decide against apparition. The swiftness of it would be too much pressure on Harry’s ribs and any further injury was something he, and your sanity, could not afford.

Instead, you wander slowly to the tube, helping Harry down the stairs to the platform and giving him the only empty seat on the carriage. He begins to protest – ever the gentleman – but a stern look from you has his argument dying on his tongue.

He remains quiet on the ride home; his mind caught in his earlier panic. Truthfully, he’s had two panics tonight. One in the exam room when the pain in his head started to become too much for him to manage, and two, earlier when he was blown back against a wall and started to lose consciousness. His only thought in those final few moments before darkness descended was of you – your eyes, your smile, your kiss. They were all of you.

When he came too in the emergency room with Draco Malfoy sitting in the corner of the room, he wondered briefly whether this was it. However, soothing words from the friend he once considered an enemy had him calming down enough for his ribs to stop screaming in agony.

The fresh air helps as the two of you walk from the tube station home. The summer evening air helping him take deeper breaths as he inhales the heady floral scents coming from the numerous gardens lining their street.

He keeps a hand on his right side as he steps up to the front door. Harry watches you rifle in your bag for your keys; thinking that your bag reminds him of the one Hermione charmed in their Seventh Year. You flash Harry a wide, triumphant smile as you pull the set of keys from your bag. The keyrings clink together as you unlock the front door and sigh, turning to him, barring him from entry for one moment.

You look him up and down, “What do you want to do? Bed or couch?”

Harry glances inside the house; his eyes flicker to the stairs and then to the living room door. He sighs painfully as he answers, “Bed, please.”

You nod, smiling reassuringly as the man you have loved since you were sixteen. You hold your hand out to him which he takes gratefully. “Bed it is,” You smile.

It’s slow going; pausing every two or three steps for Harry to catch his breath and to ride out the wave of pain that brings it with nausea and dizziness. You walk behind him; your hands at the ready should you need to catch him if he should trip or fall backwards.

Harry takes a seat on the edge of your shared bed; a pained expression leeching all colour from his face.

“I take it you don’t want the bath I’m about to offer?” You ask; hands on your hips as you take in the pale face of your husband.

He shakes his head wordlessly; apologies written in his green eyes.

You frown as you wander over to his dresser, pulling out the comfiest pieces of clothing he owns as well as a shirt for yourself. Quickly, you change out of your shirt and throw Harry’s on; the familiar and welcoming scent of broom oil and sweet orange washing over you.

Turning back to your injured husband, you find him watching you with a faint blush on his face. Harry’s pain forgotten for an instant as he watched you change into his clothing; it was his weakness, seeing you in his shirt or his jumper. He loved how his clothing melded itself to your every dip and curve; he adored the feel of the material against your skin when he slid the hem of shirt that little bit higher on your waist.

You hold up the items of clothing; letting Harry inspect them before wandering back to bed where he sits patiently waiting. He nods at your choices; not overly fussed as to what he’s going to be dressed in to sleep so long as he’s comfy.

“Lift your arms as high as they can go, and I’ll do the rest.”

Harry does so; lifting his arms to the point where his ribs begin to scream for mercy. He hates the fact that his bottom lip begins to wibble form the effort, but he’s had enough broken bones and other injuries to warrant a wobbly bottom lip should he want to.

Dark purple bruises litter both sides of his body; they spread to his back and you can’t help but feel sick at the sight of them. As you peel off his work shirt, you think back to the month leading up to your wedding where the majority of the time was spent in deliberation over your vows. You had written all what you wanted to say; covered all what you felt for the Boy Who Lived and yet you still had one more vow to make. It was a vow of protection; to keep him from harm a soften as you do. It didn’t help that he had chosen to train in one of the riskiest professions within the wizarding world, but as you were training to become aa Healer, you never gave it much thought.

Now, years down the line, you couldn’t help but wonder whether your vow of protection had been faulty. The voice of doubt within your head pestering you about it until you finally snap back at it; claiming that no, it was you who nursed him back to health after any injury and it was you who waited up at night for him to return from a mission. If that wasn’t a spell of protection, you didn’t know what was.

Fighting back tears, you reach for the t-shirt you had discarded the moment you reached Harry’s side. With some adjusting, you slide the t-shirt over his head and help pull his arms through the holes before settling it over his bruised and battered body. After that, you have him stand for a minute so you can pull of his trousers and help him stand into his joggers. By the time, he’s out of breath and squeezing his eyes shut from the pain.

However, he doesn’t miss how your breathing hitches and your hands falter on the fastenings of his joggers. He doesn’t miss the silver lining your eyes and the slight wobble to your bottom lip.

“Hey,” Harry starts; voice quiet and full of love, “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head; letting a single sob leave your mouth as you fold up his work clothes, making a mental note to throw them in the washing box. A hand on your arm has you stopping this action. You meet his eyes; seeing nothing but love and concern for your welfare.

You want to laugh, because of course. Of course with a concussion and five broken ribs, Harry’s concerned about you; about how you’re feeling.

In an equally concerned voice, Harry repeats his question, “Love, what’s wrong?”

In a fit of helplessness, you gesture to his entire body to which he responds by furrowing his eyebrows. “I’m going to need more than that,” He prompts; smile wane.

“I just,” You start; pausing for breath and to think of the words, “I didn’t expect to see you so bruised. You’ve been injured before and I’ve healed you before but seeing the extent of your bruising just makes it all the more real.”

“Love…” Harry whispers, patting the empty bed next to him.

Sniffling, you sit next to him gingerly, careful not to jostle him too much for the fear of exacerbating his wounds. “Have you ever thought of stepping back from the missions?”

“Darling…” Harry starts, comfort already resounding in his voice, “This is what I’m trained for.”

You sniffle, fiddling with your fingers, “I know that, I do, but I can’t help but be worried each time you tell me you’re going on a mission.”

Harry sighs; turning his head slightly to press a kiss to your temple, “If we look on the bright side, this has the been the worst injury I’ve had for months.”

You groan, “You’ve jinxed us now, love.”

Harry laughs; stopping abruptly at the lance of pain in his right side, “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

You hum, “We’ve been through worse.”

“We’ve been through worse,” Harry echoes; the very words that had become a mantra through your marriage and each injury. Whenever it seemed bad; whenever the dark cloud of grief or sadness loomed, you reminded each other, you’ve been through worse and survived – so why should this time be any different?

You shake your head; swiping away the freshly fallen tears and plaster a smile on your face. You lean over, gently placing a kiss on Harry’s cheek before saying, “I have an idea.”

He raises an eyebrow intrigued at your words.

“How about I go make us some hot water bottles? Then we don’t need to worry about too much jostling in the night to get warm,” You suggest; eyes darting between the scratches on his face to the way he holds himself up on the bed. Heat would help relax the muscles that are surely to get stiff overnight and will help distract him from any pain that flares up as he sleeps.

Harry nods; a small smile on his lips as he answers, “I could go for a hot water bottle right now, but don’t take too long, please?”

You raise an eyebrow, “Why? Got big plans for me, Potter?”

Harry smirks, patting the bed. His humour still alive despite the pain, “Massive plans and they all involve this bed.”

You cackle as you head towards the door, practically singing your reply, “I’ll try not to be too long then.”

You’re gone for a few minutes. Harry uses this time to think back over the long and winding course of your relationship.

He remembers being seventeen years old, in love and terrified. He remembers stuttering through his explanation as to why he couldn’t love you the way he wanted to right now.

He thought that that would have been the end of this; you would wash your hands of him then and there, but instead you kissed him. You kissed him and made him promise to return to you in one piece.

A promise he barely kept; a promise he barely keeps today, he now thinks as he glances down at his aching body.

Harry thinks of after the war; of how you chose healing as your discipline after seeing the dead and injured lined up in the Great Hall. The stark contrast between the groans of the wounded and silence of the dead something that has stayed with the both of you since.

He thinks of how he almost proposed to you then and there. Covered in blood and dust, barely eighteen, but he’s happy that he chose to wait. He’s happy he had the two years with you before getting down on one knee and asking for your hand.

You re-enter the room with two heavily filled hot water bottles; each are wrapped in towels to keep from burning your feet as the both of you shuffle towards each other instinctively throughout the night.

You smile peacefully at Harry as you slide the hot water bottles into each side of the bed; Harry can tell that you’ve used this time to collect yourself. To have that moment you need after each injury to process what had happened and just how to move forward.

Harry knew all too well how much you hated seeing him hurt; after all, he felt the same way with you when you let a particular patient and their case get to you over the course of your shift. Harry doesn’t like to see you hurting over something you know you can fix.

It’s a balance that you both play off; that was how your marriage worked. You both took from the other but gave back just as much, if not more. Harry can’t think of a simple thing he wouldn’t do for you; he’s already won a war to not only save the wizarding world, but to love you without fear of a target on your back.

You pull the quilt back into place; patting the spot where the hot water bottles now lay, warming up the ends of the bed to stave off cold feet through the night. You make your way back to your husband; watching him with tired eyes, but eyes still filled with the same amount of love and adoration as there was at seventeen years old.

Running a hand through his hair, you glance at the clock on your bedside table and ask, “Do you remember what time you had a pain potion?”

Harry pushes his head into your hand; desperate to keep the contact between you two, “Long enough to need another.”

You nod your head; dipping slightly to brush your lips against his before rushing to the bathroom. Harry smiles like a fool in love as he brings a hand to his mouth whilst listening to your rifle around in the bathroom, opening drawers and cupboards looking for a pain potion.

Harry supposes he is a fool in love. He has been since he was seventeen years old and watching you from afar in the Great Hall at meal times. He’s been a fool for you for so long that he knows no other form, nor does he desire to know.

“Ha!” You shout from the bathroom; dancing into the bedroom with the familiar shaped bottle of pain potion in your hand with a small measuring cup in the other. Carefully, with a trained eye, you pour out the right amount before handing it to Harry.

Harry grimaces as he down the potion; immediately feeling its effects. The pain potion had been around for centuries, and yet, no witch or wizard had been able to find a cure for the acrid lingering aftertaste.

“How does that feel?” You ask; placing the dark blue glass bottle on the bedside table by Harry’s side, knowing he would need more through the night and wanting close by.

Harry takes a breath, enjoying the painlessness of it. He smiles at you, “Good, for now.”

You grin at him, “So good that you think you could manage getting into bed?”

Harry chuckles, “Broken ribs will not stop me from sleeping by my wife. Not now, not ever.”

You bite your lip against the wave of adoration that washes over you. There were times in your relationship and then your marriage where the simplest things said by Harry nearly always turned out to be what you cherished most. You know that he most likely didn’t think twice before saying what he said, but those words settle into your heart, making a home there for you to pull out and revisit should you ever feel low. Simple words that leave your husband’s mouth but affect you so much.

You hold your hands for him to take which he does. You take bis weight as he pulls himself up, standing, pressed against you. Harry takes this opportunity to draw you into a longer kiss; a languid kiss that has you dropping his hands in favour for winding them around his neck to tug him closer. However, right at the last minute, you remember his broken ribs and you pull back with a sigh.

You caress his cheek, “I know what you were trying to do, Potter, and it isn’t working tonight.”

Harry smiles cheekily; the pain potion taking full effect now, “I’m not sure what you mean, Potter.”

You beam at the use of your married name. With a fond shake of your head, you gesture to the bed, “Come on, let’s get comfy before we fall asleep.”

It doesn’t take half as long to get Harry settled into bed; propped up against a wall of pillows and your headboard before you make your way to your side of bed, propping yourself up just as high. Childishly, you rub your feet against the bedsheet, revelling in the warmth being spread by the hot water bottles placed there only moments ago.

Harry chuckles at your action before mimicking it; happy to have some warmth seeping through his body instead of the air conditioned emergency room at St. Mungo’s.

Harry shuffles for a second more before finally uttering ‘Nox’ and plunging the room into darkness.

In the dark of the room, you reach for his hand. Tangling your fingers together, you say, “I’m not asking for you to quit your job, Harry. You love it too much to do so, but I’m asking you to think about slowing down a little. To not jump at each offer of a mission, to think about what could happen,” You pause, “I’m rather fond of you coming home, you know.”

Harry releases a shuddering breath. His sides aching with the effort. He lets himself breathe for a minute or two, counting the breaths in and out of his body. Eventually, as the pain lessens slightly, he says, “I think you’re right.”

“You do?”

Harry nods, “I’m rather fond of coming home to you too as it happens.”

Carefully, cautious of not jostling the bed too much, you shift onto your side, facing him in the dark. “What do you want to do?” You ask; curious to his thoughts on the matter.

Harry sighs, bringing a hand up to rub at his face. “I don’t know,” He starts, “I want to continue working, but I don’t think I can continue if getting this injured is part of the job.”

You purse your lips; attempting to think of a solution when it hits you all at once. You grip Harry’s hand tighter in the dark, “Didn’t you say that Auror Clare is retiring next month?”

“Yes…” Harry comments; voice apprehensive and curious to see where you’re going.

“Why don’t you put your name forward for his job? They haven’t found anyone yet, right?”

Harry blinks once, twice, three times as the idea settles in his mind. Soon enough, a large smile spreads across his face as he begins to nod rapidly, “Love, that’s an excellent idea. I’ve done more than enough field work to prepare me to train new recruits.”

You smile into the dark, “What do you think? Will you put your name forward?”

Slowly, taking care not to stretch too much, Harry reaches for your left hand and places kiss after kiss to the wedding band sitting there. “I think it’s a great idea, I’m going to send an owl to Auror Michaels tomorrow and put my name forward,” Harry pauses for a single second before whispering – something akin to awe in his voice, “How did I get so lucky to have someone like you fall in love with me?”

Feeling nothing but sheer yearning to be close to your husband, you slide over to him, resting your head gingerly on his shoulder. You tilt your face up, placing a kiss to the jawline that has only become more defined over the years. As your eyes begin to droop and a yawn overtakes your body, you whisper to him, “How did we get so lucky to find each other?”

**********

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countesskittymeow · 3 years

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And here we are for episode two. Couldn't watch it last night cz my kid woke up xD anywho, first thoughts, Im kinda digging this green and gold marvel logo a lot more than the boring red one xD

Mind control? Evil Loki Variant does mind control. I wonder if this Variant ever faced Thanos. Also! They used the song! Its one of my favourite songs!!! Now i wanna sing along but unfortunately I can't because my kid is asleep and I dont want to wake her up in the middle of the night. I do wonder why the variant kept the hot commander alive unlike all the other attacks

Why does the TVA have such a retro vibe?

Loki definitely wants everyone to know how awesome he is.

There used to be a HULK LOKI??? Also the look on Loki's face 🤣

The one after the hulk is just... I honestly don't have words to describe that one.. just wut???

I love the geeky Loki telling them about the nuances of magic (Im already creating a headcanon that this is an act and he's only showing them what they want to see i.e. an eager to please, slightly duplicitous version of Loki who wants them to know he's super useful to keep around)

Professor Loki. I do like the sound of that even if I suddenly flashed back to all of the harry potter crossover fics i used to read where Loki became a teacher at Hogwarts.

Mobius just gave Loki an answer from Doctor Who!!! Well sorta like that, not the same one but its all wibbly wobbly timey whimey stuff!

Loki is making his attempts at manipulation very very obvious and somewhat desperate. I'm really really reallllllly hoping this is an act. Come on writer people dont make me regret my decision to watch this show. I really wanna love it but I'm in that once bitten twice shy boat regarding the handling of his character so I'm either gonna come out of this series absolutely loving it orrrrrr I'm gonna hate it FOREVER and happily live in my headcanons.

It was an act! We finally see the real Loki! There is hope for this show yet!

Also the way his voice goes from the higher pitched eager to please tone to that deeper, slightly sinister yet 'i know I'm powerful and you should fear me' tone was fun to see.

This had better still be an act. He's supposed to be awesome at playing the long game.

He got shushed! So he shushed her back!

So wait... The total population on Asgard less than 10,000? Really?

Yeah Loki. Stabbing people in the back is boring. Stab them in the face! Much more fun that way.

Total Doctor Who vibes! They went to Pompeii! Ohhh imagine how fun it would be to see Doctor and Donna strolling somewhere in the background. Not that that would happen but now its my new headcanon and you'll have to stab me in the face to pry this headcanon from my claws xD

Loki, I'm loving your enthusiasm but the word Volcano was coined AFTER Pompeii's destruction. I doubt they know what you're talking about 😂 also, there's a volcano 'splodin! In the background, where the hell are the earthquakes?

Magic lizards. Loki really has a way with naming things doesn't he

Existence is chaos. Loki is the god of chaos. Since in algebra if a=b and b=c then a=c=a SO Loki is the god of existence and the variant Loki has already reached that conclusion so now the magic space lizards are feeling threatened by variant loki's potential and they want the variant dead to keep being the most powerful magic space lizards inside and outside of existence! Guys! I've just solved this season's plotline. If I don't live react to the remaining series episodes, know that I was found by you know who and taken for giving out spoilers.

Mobius: You're very clever!

Loki: and that surprises you? O_o

Asgard getting destroyed was a class seven apocalypse but the thin in 2050 is a level ten? I wonder how these classifications work.

The grin! The grin! They're both doing the grin!

You guys mean to tell me that NONE of the product packagings or designs have been altered or upgraded in thirty years? Dove, Axe, Vaseline, Tresseme, its all literally the same as the stuff I saw on the shelves at the grocers this week 🤣 i know it's a minor thing but I find that kinda hilarious.

Whyyyyyyy does Loki keep getting knocked around so much. Also, why isn't he using any magic. Grrrr... I find this most displeasing

She blond?!? Why is she blond??

Poor Mobius. I feel kinda sorry for him tbh.

And that's wrap on this episode. Still having mixed feelings about the series. There are parts that I like and then there are parts which keep bugging me. I'm not familiar with the various plotlines in the comics so I dunno whatever happened in those to the Loki though I find it interesting that Lady Loki (why is she blonddddd??? Why not make her a redhead instead? Loki was a redhead in most of the depictions pre-avengers, wasn't he?) has that broken horn on her headpiece like that one version from the comics.

#loki series #loki season 1 #live reaction #loki spoilers #loki show #loki and the tesseract #episode 2

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keelywolfe · 3 years

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FIC: Welcome to Backwater ch.7 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Stretch knows he can't really depend on the kindness of strangers, but oh, sometimes he wishes he could.

~~*~~

Read ‘The Kindness of Strangers’ on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

It was with a heavy, weird-ass book in hand that Stretch returned to the heat of the afternoon. This time he made haste getting back to the store while his knees were cooperating, almost jogging on the sidewalk and waving to any regular customers as he passed. The sun was on its downward path by now and the strollers were out in full force, the Human moms and pops pushing them hardly paying him any mind past a ‘good afternoon’ as he went by.

His knees were back to the wibble-wobbles when he slipped through the door, the bell announcing him with a muted clank. The first thing he noticed was that Red wasn’t behind the counter. He was standing at the back of the store, leaning on his cane and blocking off the hallway that led to both their living quarters. Yeah, that looked like insurance that Stretch couldn’t hurry on past him upstairs; Red wasn’t quick, but he also wasn’t stupid, and Stretch could feel his hard gaze scrutinizing him from across the store.

Wonderbar.

Stretch pasted on a grin and tried to act like someone who hadn’t been recently felt up by Red’s little brother in the public library. Not that Red said that he couldn’t, but some things, (for example, random groping) could probably be inferred.

“hey, what’s up?” Stretch said brightly.

“my bro called,” Red said bluntly, and Stretch’s feeble hopes deflated like yesterday’s party balloon. So much for discretion.

“i can explain,” Stretch blurted, “it wasn’t my idea, seriously, i was only—"

Red interrupted him with an amused snort. “easy, kid, don’t haul out your guilty conscience on my account. all he did was give me the gist of things, said you had yourself an unexpected adventure.” Red jerked his head towards the hallway. “g’wan, string bean, you can use my bathroom. take a shower and cool off.”

A cool shower pouring down on his dirty, sweaty bones sounded like Eden itself right about now, apple not included.

“thanks,” Stretch said gratefully. He skirted around Red, who didn’t move, only squatted there like a grouchy stump in the middle of the doorway while Stretch squeezed around him. Must be tempering his kindness with a little extra asshole to keep things even.

On his way to showerland, Stretch took a quick detour to leave the book on the coffee table amidst the clutter. Maybe he could ask Red about it, get the cliff notes version.

The shower in the downstairs bathroom was stuck with the same crappy water heater as upstairs, not that it mattered since Stretch was about ready to cuddle with an iceberg to cool off. Added bonus, the showerhead was a lot better and it managed to crank the feeble water pressure up to its max. There was a cheap plastic stool sitting in the tub, way too short for Stretch. He sat on it anyway, knees almost up to his chin as the cool water poured down on him and washed away the sweat and filth.

He was shivering a little by the time he was done, dragging a ratty towel over his dripping bones. The pile of his clothes was missing and there a new folded bundle sitting on the closed toilet lid. He must’ve been out of it more than he thought, he’d never even heard Red coming in. Unless laundry fairies were a thing and wasn’t that idea a lot more pertinent than it was yesterday.

Stretch picked up the bundle and part of it fell on the floor. Pajama pants, luckily not a pair of Red’s although it might’ve been hilarious to see Stretch wandering around like a scrawny hulk who sprouted upward out of his clothes instead of sideways. They were red plaid flannel and worn to the stage of being shiny at the knees and elbows. Probably an old pair of Edge’s, the fit was pretty close and not too many Humans wore their waistband quite as skinny as a guy without a waist.

(he was not getting a cheap thrill out of wearing a pair of Edge’s pajamas, no matter what his libido was trying to tell him)

He wandered out into Red’s living room, still squeegeeing his skull dry with the damp towel, and saw the sofa was made up with some blankets and a pillow, the television remote set helpfully in reach.

“you done?” Red’s voice echoed up from the store and his peculiar gait made its way down the hallway until he appeared again in the doorway. “then lay down and turn on the boob tube, zone out awhile. you’ll feel better.”

“what did your brother tell you?” Stretch asked. Not that he wasn’t willing to do what he was told. The couch was saggy in the middle, but the blankets were clean and smelling of laundry detergent. They felt blissfully cozy after the cold shower.

“said you met edgar allen,” Red said. “under less than stellar circumstances, i’m guessin’, since i don’t think ya got an invite for a meet and greet with the local scarecrow.”

This time his shiver had nothing to do with the temperature. Edgar Allen was an okay guy, (guy?) but Stretch was still on the fence about the corn’s attitude problems. “not exactly, no. thanks for the heads up, by the way.”

Red tilted his skull to one side, baffled, “heads up about what?”

“i dunno,” Stretch leaned up on an elbow to see him better and hopefully increase the effect of his dirty look, “maybe when you’re warning me off from the local landmarks, you could’ve touch on that fact that a stroll through the fields might involve the corn trying to hold me as a captive audience?”

“naaah,” Red scoffed. Stretch didn’t miss the way he absently started picking at his gold tooth; that was a nervous tell right there and maybe all this wasn’t just concern but dealing with a little guilt that Stretch’s latest town bonding experience was less than top notch. “that's why the damn scarecrow is there t'begin with. ‘sides, even without him you’d have gotten out before dark. anyway, never expected you to go tromping off into the corn in search of a maze, sorry i misgauged the direction of your dumbass.”

“no, i’m sorry, not your fault.” Stretch couldn’t hold back a yawn so wide it nearly split his skull, yeesh, it wasn’t even dinner time and he was ready to sleep for a week. The imaginary hamster running on the wheel in his head wasn’t quite as ready and it decided to race back to thoughts of Edge sitting in the library, alone. Researching he’d said, so intent on his books from the so-called restricted section, like a bargain basement Hogwarts. “hey, what does your brother do?”

“mostly he’s a pain in my ass.”

It was said with great feeling and Stretch snerked out a laugh. Yeah, kinda a universal trait with little brothers. “no, seriously, i mean, for a living, what does he do?”

Red shifted his feet, his cane scraping the floor. “why are ya askin’?”

“curious. bored,” Stretch shrugged, “take your pick.” He didn’t really want to explain to Red that his brother wasn’t just a sexy pair of legs in boots anymore, (but those hips would never be forgotten). He was interesting, no, fascinating. This whole town was turning out to be some kind of puzzle and it seemed to him that Edge might be a big piece. He’d said that figuring out Backwater was a fool’s errand, but he’d never met Stretch’s kind of fool before.

“kid—” Red sighed and that resigned tone snapped Stretch out of his whimsies. He cringed internally. What was he even trying to do here, he owed Red so much and not just for the job, and here he was digging for information about his bro after Red already warned him off, not once, but twice, so maybe what he was really digging was his own grave, if he didn’t knock it off.

“nevermind,” Stretch said hurriedly. “i shouldn’t’ve asked, none of my business, i get it.”

Red shook his head. “that ain’t it.”

Stretch tried on a little laugh, ha ha, see, it wasn’t that big a deal, right? “look, the state of your brother’s ass aside, i get it. that’s your little brother, and i didn’t forget what you said. we only bumped into each other at the library, i’m really not trying to get into his pants.”

He left off on making it a promise; he was telling the truth, but why take the chance on not keeping it.

He didn’t expected the hand that suddenly scruffed over his skull, like the noogies he used to give to Blue when he was little…well, okay, Blue was still little but noogieing was off the table since he’d started his guard training.

This wasn’t like that childish roughhousing, Red’s knuckles only scraped softly along his coronal sutures. “no, kid, you don’t get it. my bro can handle himself, it ain’t him i’m worried about. but you? don’t ya got the feeling you ain’t up to any new affairs of the soul right now? might want to take it easy awhile.”

That unexpectedly gruff kindness made tears sting in his sockets. Stretch guiltily leaned into that touch to absorb every drop, and how was it he could accept it from Red when he couldn’t take it from his own brother? “i don’t get you. you barely even know me. why are you so nice to me?”

Red huffed out a laugh. “you want i should be an asshole? okay, but i gotta warn ya, i’m a contender when it comes to dick moves.”

“thanks, but you can keep your dick in your pants.”

“your loss.”

“seriously, though, what i mean is. i just don’t get it. this place is so weird, but everyone is nice.” It didn’t exactly line up with Stretch’s view of the world. His brother was always nice sure and Snowdin hadn’t been too bad, if you didn’t count the fact that all his friends were from drinking his nights away at Muffet’s. The surface world ran about fifty-fifty with Monsters being on the kinder side of the scale…until he got dumped and found out he lost all his friends in the divorce, how was that for loyalty.

Red only chuckled. “now you’ve gone and cursed yourself. can’t say everyone is nice, you ain’t met everyone yet.”

That was true, fuck, he hoped the universe wasn’t listening and if it was, that it didn’t decide to drum up a little drama. “red?”

“yeah, kid?”

Stretch craned his head back on the pillow and met Red’s crimson gaze upside-down. “thank you for being nice.”

“don’t tell anyone. i’ll lose my resident asshole status.

“secret is safe with me, promise.” Stretch yawned again and the cow bell suddenly jangled loudly out front, startling them both.

Red shouted. “yeah, i’m coming!” He tossed over his shoulder back at Stretch, “take tomorrow off, sleep in, you ain’t had a day off since ya got here.”

“thanks, boss.”

Stretch started to settle in, nap ahoy, captain, hard to starboard and all that, and his eye lights snagged on the book. Shit, he forgot to ask Red about it. Probably didn’t matter, Red’s ingredient label kinda went equal parts of cryptic and cryptid, so he probably wasn’t gonna give the right answers even if Stretch figured out what to ask.

Wait.

If Red and Edge want to share the part of the local Obi-Wan with their mysterious ways, that was fine. He already had the perfect person lined up to ask about the town’s history. Well, part of a person, anyway, the most important part.

Plan formed, Stretch turned on the television and snuggled into the blankets, letting the dulcet tones of Pat Sajak lull him to sleep.

He didn’t dream.

~~*~~

The next day, Stretch headed over to the theater bright and early, still munching on the muffin Red handed off to him as he settled on the stool for the day with his latest book, this one with a bare-chested pirate embracing a busty Human woman as the ocean sprayed up over the hull over them. Seemed to Stretch that would be less smokin’ sexytimes and more cold and wet, but what did he know, his closest encounter with the ocean was extra salt on his Applebee’s margarita.

“thanks, mom,” Stretch said as he took the little paper lunch bag Red held out to him. Red only grunted and didn’t look up from his book. In the midst of rummaging for his tasty free breakfast, Stretch hesitated at the front door.

He felt a little guilty even though Red was the one who told him to take the day. Before he started working at the store, was Red really sitting there all day long, twelve hours of a cash register and customers while he drank beer and soaked up a little romance language in the form of a cheap paperback?

Not that Stretch was judging, hell, if that made Red happy, more power to him. Still, there had to be more to his life than that, didn’t there? Maybe he’d see if Mitch sold sudoku pads at the gas station, pick him up one along with a six-pack. Hard to guess if they carried that kind of entertainment; Mitch was either some kind of crossword grand champion or the kind of guy who ate ketchup on his cheerios and Stretch still wasn’t sure which.

The first movie showing wasn’t for another hour, but Igor didn’t make a fuss when Stretch asked him if he could go sit down early. (and holy shit, the proprietor’s name was actually Igor? He wasn’t sure if the guy’s parents hated him or if the universe sense of irony rolled a natural D20 when it hit this town.)

Igor only grunted and handed over two cups of popcorn without being asked, handing back a crumpled dollar in change. Aww, Stretch had a usual, see, he was settling into town just fine, suck it, Edge.

(don’t think it, don’t think it, don’t think it…)

Stretch made his way to the theater to his regular seat, propping his sneakers up on the chair in front of him. The popcorn he set aside for now, it wasn’t exactly his idea of a breakfast treat and that muffin Red gave him was still settling into his magic. To be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure if Doris could show up very long before the movie. He was no expert, but he did know that ghosts could have some peculiar rules about manifesting. Hopefully this wouldn’t mess with her morning routine, whatever it was.

He didn’t have to wait long. Maybe Doris could sense him or maybe she could just feel it when a living person came into the theater. She slowly came into focus next to him, pale ectoplasm coalescing, and the already cool air chilled even further.

Doris happily sniffed at her popcorn as she said, whispery soft, “Good morning, Stretch, you’re here very early.”

“yeah, took the day off work,” Stretch said. His voice sounded too loud in the empty theater, not even the elevator music was playing yet. “i need your help with something.”

He might as well have flipped Doris’s switch to ‘on’. She lit up, a smile curving her pretty mouth and seeming more solid than ever. The seat behind her was barely visible through her pale pink dress as she said eagerly, “Of course, anything that I can do.”

So that was how Stretch came to tell her the story about Edgar Allen. He didn’t leave out any details, including the bit about the kids shouting at him not to go in the field, the corn closing in around him in a dizzying maze of green, Edgar Allen’s assistance, and Edge’s cryptic warning that the scarecrow would disappear with the harvest.

Doris listened to it all raptly, her eyes wide and startlingly blue, and she never flickered once the entire time. The only unsettling sight was a single trickle of blood running down the side of her face, gathering in a heavy droplet on her chin.

“My, that sounds terrifying,” Doris breathed, unaware of the irony of her saying that while a slender thread of ghostly blood ran down her cheek. The droplet swelled fatly, growing until it finally fell with a plip onto her dress, leaving behind a perfectly round spot that would slowly vanish, only to be replaced by the next drop.

It didn’t really bother Stretch much anymore; he was getting used to it and an old memory of blood was nothing compared to his recent woes. “yeah, it was spooky all right.”

“But I’m not sure I can help you,” Doris continued sadly, “There wasn’t a scarecrow in my day, not that I remember. But the corn. Yes. That I recall.” She shivered delicately and her chair let out a strange groan of springs. “A person could get lost for days in the corn. I remember…” Her already faint voice went softer and Stretch strained to hear her, her gaze distant. “I remember one year at harvest time, they found a skeleton in the field, it was awful. Oh!” She gasped and pressed a gloved hand to her mouth, “I’m so sorry, it was a dead person, not a skeleton like you!”

“no offense taken,” Stretch assured her. He slouched down in his seat even more and waggled his feet, his untied shoelaces laces bobbing against the seatback “huh. so at least one person died out in the corn.”

“I’m afraid I don’t remember much about it,” Doris admitted. “whoever it was, they weren’t local.”

“uh huh.” An outsider, then, like him, getting munched up by the corn triffids. “who owns the corn fields, anyway?”

“I…” she hesitated, then apologetically. “I’m not sure. I don’t know if I’ve forgotten or if I never knew.”

Another mystery. If he was gonna play at Sherlock Holmes, he really needed to start taking notes. Maybe get a pipe.

“welp, either way, edgar allen bro out there saved my ass,” Stretch told her. He picked up a piece of popcorn and didn’t eat it, only crumpled it between his fingers and let the mangled bits fall to the floor, “and he’s gonna die come harvest time. i feel like i owe it to him to at least hear his story, you know? edge wouldn’t tell me much, just gave me that book and a scavenger hunt.”

“This Edge person doesn’t sound very nice,” Doris said disapprovingly. Her mouth pulled down into a frown that flashed briefly to a bloody smear. “Is he local?”

“kinda? he’s a monster like me, so he could only have been in town for a coupla years. since we came to the surface, anyway.”

Sudden relief washed over Doris’s pretty face. “He’s not a human, then.”

“nope, he’s another skeleton monster.” That seemed to satisfy her. Note to self, Doris wasn’t real keen on Humans, in a way that didn’t seem like it was only about the way they ran away when they got a good look at her. That mystery wasn’t all too mysterious, not with a big, bloody clue flickering in and out of view like a gory version of a kid’s flipbook. If that was a going away present from another Human, he didn’t blame her for being wary. He wondered if she’d met Edge before but Stretch hesitated to bring up that idea, or to mention Red; he didn’t want her to feel bad if she didn’t remember. “yep, another skeleton monster in town. he’s kinda rough around the edges, but he’s okay.”

“Okay, is that all?” Doris said with unexpected mischievousness, “he didn’t sound simply ‘okay’ when you were describing him.”

A blush flared hotly in his cheekbones and Stretch hunched down in his seat, weirdly embarrassed in a way he hadn’t been with Red. At least Red could see what he was staring at, Doris only had him waxing poetically about Edge’s hips to go by, and Shakespeare he wasn’t.

“yeah, yeah,” Stretch grumbled, and damn, he should’ve brought along his hoodie, at least he could’ve hidden from the laughter shining in her translucent eyes. She had a dimple in the cheek on her good side and it deepened as Stretch admitted, “could be that i enjoy the view. but that’s it, okay? just a little sightseeing, i don’t need any souvenirs.”

“Uh huh,” Doris clicked her tongue thoughtfully, “Stretch, my mama always told me you can’t hurry up a good time by waiting for it.”

Other people were starting to come into the theater now. One of them gave him a curious look, but they didn’t stop, only followed the others down to the front row.

“the only time i’m looking for is in the nick of,” Stretch sighed. “guess there’s no way around it, i’ll have to read the book.”

He should’ve known not to try to find an easy way out; seemed like all his shortcuts had abandoned him, lately.

Doris laid a hand on his arm and a sudden chill sank its teeth in deep enough for his bones to ache. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help,” Doris said softly.

“nah, you helped plenty,” Stretch told her. She had. Now he knew that scarecrows were slightly more recent, at least within the past century and that maybe the cornfield wasn’t quiet as safe as it’d been played off to be. At least a cornfield without Edgar Allen in it.

The lights started dimming, the first credits beginning to roll. His popcorn was cold, the butter congealing it into clumps of greasy blobs that stuck to his fingers. Stretch ate it anyway, hey, it cost him a dollar, and laughed with Doris as Buster Keaton escaped from a bumbling crowd of cops by grabbing onto a passing car.

His phone was in his pocket, tucked in deep and only lightly pressing against his femur through the thin cloth of his shorts. It vibrated once in a quick, staccato burst while the movie was playing but Stretch ignored it.

That was one lesson he’d learned very well while they still lived under the mountain; if you focused on the task at hand, you didn’t have to think about the ones you left behind.

~~*~~

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #underfell sans #welcome to backwater

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incoherentbabblings · 3 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Young Justice - All Media Types, Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Stephanie Brown/Tim Drake Characters: Stephanie Brown, Tim Drake, Cassie Sandsmark, Kon-El | Conner Kent Additional Tags: Missing Scene, Kissing, Romance, Established Relationship, Tim Drake is Drake (DCU), Stephanie Brown is Spoiler, Minor Canonical Character(s), Fluff and Humor, Light Angst Summary:

Expanded scene for Young Justice (2019) #15. Tim and Steph finally get to reunite after the team’s reality hopping adventure, and whilst Tim is keen for Stephanie to be (re)introduced to his friends, Stephanie isn’t sure she belongs.

Tim watched as people piled up the big green monsters into one giant pile of unconsciousness. He was standing on top of his pickup truck; the one Stephanie had apparently driven halfway across America without even a scratch to come meet up with him.

Tim watched as she very awkwardly extracted herself from a conversation with Jackson and Derek, not sure what to say or do, and made a beeline towards Tim. He tried to control his expression as she did so. He wasn’t disappointed in her, but he had hoped she would be able to feel comfortable enough around a bunch of strangers to strike up a friendly conversation or two. At the same time, he understood. Afterall, they hadn’t really gotten their reunion yet. At least, not the one that Steph had teased about wanting.

Tim could see her slight nervousness in the way she held her shoulders as she looked up at him, face hidden under her black mask and purple hood.

“We done? No more bad guys to punch?”

Two days they’d said. Two days and they would find each other.

They’d known it was a promise neither could keep, and things had very understandably gotten out of hand, but still, Tim felt like he had disappointed her.

“We’re done.”

He reached down, tugging her up onto the roof of the truck. She didn’t need the help, but he wanted to see how readily she took his arm.

She did so immediately, without hesitation, a light laugh bubbling out as she was heaved upwards. Stephanie was deceptively light, or maybe Tim was deceptively strong. Regardless, he tugged up until she was able to twist onto the roof on her butt. She then pulled herself up to standing to be level with Tim.

She was smiling under her face cover.

“Can I take off my mask, do you think? Do you trust them all?”

“Yes,” he replied immediately. “They’re our friends Steph.”

His heart broke a little that she didn’t quite understand it yet. It was a bit of a white lie, but Tim saw no reason why it could not be the truth. They had left Gotham for many reasons, altered timelines being one of many, but another was simply the desire to go new places, meet new people, and have a life outside of the damn Bat for two weeks.

Finding his friends again, finding that safe space... He wanted Steph to find her own place within it. He had mentioned it to Cassie, Kon and Bart on the rare quiet moment during their interdimensional travels. He didn’t want there to be a hard line between his life in Gotham and life with them. He didn’t see the need. Not anymore.

Needless to say that the three of them took his thoughts very well. Yes, the four of them were finally reunited. Enough with the melodrama; be grateful that they could spend time together once more and stretch it out and milk that time for all it was worth. Remember how easily it was taken away?

Besides, it couldn’t do Steph any harm to have friends too, right? Admittedly she was a bit rough around the edges, as socially awkward as she was genuinely kind, but then again it wasn’t like the team were exactly behaving at peak social norms either. Bart alone was surely testament to that, right?

Steph was ignorant to Tim’s musings and continued their conversation.

“Good. Because,” she sang, pulling down her hood and her full-face mask off. “I need to give you that proper greeting, remember? Can’t wait any longer.”

Tim exhaled at the sight of her smile and long blonde hair, but it collapsed when she leaned in, eyes half shut.

“Wait,” he said, jerking back a little.

“What?” Stephanie asked, voice quiet and sad. Worried at the rejection, she put her hands up to rest on his chest. He flinched as she did so, and she felt like crying. “Oh no… Something happened didn’t it? Is it those memories you got back? Was I horrible in them? Because I’m really sorry if I was. I’m a different person now. Literally or metaphorically I dunno but…Or is it something that happened whilst you were away?”

She spoke with such sincerity despite the farcical nature of the statements, that Tim felt the need to put her out of her misery. He grasped her wrists and then intertwined their fingers when she raised her palm from his chest. He squeezed tight, and he saw her tremble.

“It’s not you. I didn’t keep my promise.”

“What?” Her voice shifted from upset at herself to the situation.

“You needed me. We said two days. And I tried but-but…”

Stephanie pouted at being denied affection for such a trivial reason as – as far as she saw it – losing track of time. Tim was punishing himself in that silly head of his, and by extension, it also felt so to Stephanie. She took a deep breath and mellowed out her tone.

“Stuff happens,” she responded firmly. She was not interested in a debate or Tim’s proclivity for self-flagellation. “I know you didn’t deliberately leave me hanging, so why would I resent it? Impulse mentioned reality hopping…”

Her look became worried as she drew the wrong conclusion. The confidence fled her as quickly as it had come. “Was it bad? Trauma? Where did you go? Is that where you got this outfit from because ooft honey –”

“You gave it to me.”

Stephanie paused, then tugged Tim’s hands round to hold her waist.

“I did what?” she scrunched up her eyes and face cutely, shaking her head like she was trying really hard to remember giving Tim a brown superhero suit without a cape and a yellow bat on the belt buckle. “Is it another missing memory? Because it’s so unfair that you have yours and mine are still wibbly wobbly. I’m actually a little peeved about it to be honest.”

“This costume. It was… we were…”

Like she was speaking to a toddler, she squeezed tight and said, “Start at the start. What happened after you got to Metropolis?”

Tim told her.

It was an oddly long story, and yet simultaneously brief. It was chaotic and frantic, and yet the affection with which Tim relayed the adventure with his friends made her chest warm. When he reached the misdirection of Earth Three, Stephanie’s patient and attentive expression turned a little distraught. She didn’t mind having the title of Batwoman, she didn’t mind being a good guy in a world of not good guys, but there was just the fact that…

“But you said everyone on Earth Three was evil? A flip of this earth’s morality.”

“I thought so. But you weren’t. You were good there too.”

This only served to further confuse Stephanie.

“But… but…but!” she gulped in a large pocket of air. “But that would mean this me is evil! Right? Am I evil? All this time we’ve been worrying about crazy bat you –”

“Ouch.”

“—But what if it’s me? You could have stayed and helped her right? But you didn’t. And she gave you that costume as what? A present? Something to remember her by? Oh, that’s romantic and sad. But what if this means that I’m the ticking time bomb? You could have stayed and made a huge difference, right? You could have… turned that whole place upside down and made it better for everyone. From the sounds of it, I’m sure not evil me would have been down to clown... Which, great. Now I’m gonna spend my days thinking that me getting the wrong Starbucks order is going to be my start of darkness or something equally stupid. Your friends will think I’m a lunatic...”

Her eyes darted backwards, looking at the team, chatting and oblivious. Superboy was sitting off to the side, quietly watching as everyone wrapped up their work, Wondergirl and Arrowette were catching up, whilst Impulse spoke to Jinny and Naomi. Stephanie felt abruptly ashamed and as a result shifted, almost trying to hide herself behind Tim.

With a firmness and certainty that reflected Stephanie when she had rebuked his earlier guilt, Tim pressed her cheeks together to make her face scrunch up in a pout

“You… are not evil. You never will be if I have any say in the matter. Think you’re about the least capable of it in Gotham, if not in the world. You pulled me back last month from the brink of being a monster. I’d say I’d do the same for you, but I’ll never have to. You’re not stained by the dark.”

She blinked owlishly. Tim was not often that grand and romantic (though he could be histrionic), so it made her blush to be spoken of so highly. Still, her nagging concern, an uncomfortable tightness in the pit of her belly, remained.

“You could have stayed there,” she insisted. She was holding onto the fact that Tim had returned wearing a costume and a name which had been gifted to him on another earth. A name from his alternate self and a costume from an alternate her. There was something to be dissected there right? What would a psychologist make of that tangle of identity and interpersonal relationships?

He had returned from an earth where motives were selfish, and heroes were rare. He had returned wearing a name that was simultaneously his and yet not, wearing a costume that was not hers to grant. Tim wanted more than anything to make a difference. That world was ripe for his ambition.

Tim did not even seem concerned at such a concept. For once, it seemed he had not even given the matter much thought.

“Sure. Maybe I could have stayed. She would have been happy if I had. That Stephanie didn’t have anyone to help her. She…I think she was very lonely.”

Steph sighed shakily, and Tim held her closer. He knocked his forehead against hers, and her grip went up to cradle his face. They kissed, and Tim heard and felt Stephanie’s right foot pop up.

Finally granted the kiss she had been craving for hours, Tim swallowed the sound of her whimper. Not even remotely ashamed of who could be watching, Stephanie deepened the kiss and moved closer, curving her body against Tim as she tugged at his neck, encouraging him to make it harder.

It had been too long, and Stephanie was sure she was developing a complex regarding Tim, like if she took her eyes off him for three seconds he would – for the third time in a year – be zipped off to another dimension. It was almost funny how much the two of them could apparently not stay joint at the hip as they desired, and Stephanie suspected she may have started developing some bizarre attachment disorder as a result.

Although, it was worth it for moments when they kissed like this. When Tim allowed himself to feel like a seventeen-year-old. Kissing felt good. Kissing Stephanie felt great. She always tasted of cinnamon gum and liked to hold his cheek and tug his hair and she made cute squeaks when he –

No, he couldn’t get too carried away.

Tim ended the kiss with a most content sigh, like his worries had been laid to rest forever (which was false and a lie, but he indulged in it for now), and kept his eyes shut.

“I came back,” he whispered, keeping his forehead on hers and missing how Stephanie looked a little cross eyed from the kiss. “Because I had to get home to you. I promised, even if I couldn’t keep to two days. I had to come home.”

“To me,” Stephanie breathed. Looking at him reverently, she cradled his chin and kissed him again.

“To you,” Tim confirmed. “I missed you, Steph.”

She tugged him closer, making him rest his forehead against her shoulder as she buried a hand in his hair.

“Missed you too, boy wonder.”

They embraced for a moment too long, then Tim pulled back a little to speak into her ear.

“Come on. I’ll introduce you to everyone. Properly. I’m sure Bart did a rush job of it. They already know you, which isn’t fair. You should get to know them again.”

He very distinctly felt her tremble. Fighting monsters, fine. Facing her dad down, fine. Meeting her boyfriend’s friends? Terrifying.

Tim hopped down off the truck, but held out his arms, fully intent on catching her. Stephanie looked around once more. It seemed Wondergirl and Naomi were wandering over to the truck, so she swallowed her fear. She leapt off the car, straight into Tim’s arms. He caught her easily and spun her around twice, making her laugh sharply, until using the momentum he flung her up and off. She landed on her feet with a delighted shriek, and it was with that smile on her face that Cassie reached them.

To Stephanie’s surprise and delight, she was enveloped in a warm hug.

“It’s so nice to see you again. Both of you,” Cassie said. Chin resting on Stephanie’s caped shoulder, Cassie saw Tim’s look of relief and gratitude. “You guys will stick around a bit?” she insisted, raising her eyebrows in a gentle chide.

Stephanie choked on her reply, not sure how to react. Behind her, Tim grimaced. Why was she so reluctant around his friends? Was it because she didn’t want to know them, or because she didn’t feel she had the right too?

“I… I want to,” she said, Tim watching her struggle. “But-but my dad…”

Stephanie looked over her shoulder at Tim for guidance, and Cassie broke out the hug. Seeing Stephanie’s hand reach back, Tim took it tightly. He could see in her face no disdain or dislike, just insecurity and the realisation that she didn’t know how best to say her father was a pressing issue without seeming like a haughty holier than thou girlfriend.

Paradoxically, Tim relaxed. That angle was much easier to deal with. It simply was that Stephanie was nervous, and unsure of what her place was in the team. They had their memories of each other back. She held no such memories. She felt locked out, and undeserving.

How to make her understand…

“We have one loose end to tie up at our end,” Tim explained. Playing with Steph’s fingers, he had a sudden thought as a solution. “After though, how about the fact that we’re gonna need to see if the place in Rhode Island is still standing? The team should be able to use it again.”

“Huh?”

Cassie chuckled at Steph's confusion, and smiled broadly at the thought of returning to Mount Justice.

“You’ll love it Spoiler. Better than living out the back of a truck, believe me.”

Stephanie seemed bemused, like she had just suspected Cassie of mocking her but also not hearing any genuine insult in the dig at her current living circumstances.

Cassie wasn’t mocking her. She didn’t have a passive aggressive bone in her body and was not capable of being underhand. She was only trying to gently tease, as a friend would do.

Not that Stephanie knew that, but still, Tim’s heart stuttered for her.

Tim kissed Stephanie’s cheek and explained, “It was Young Justice’s home away from home. There’s a whole headquarters up there. An old Justice League site.”

“We appropriated it,” Cassie said. Her eyes were patient and encouraging. Stephanie, meanwhile, still did not understand.

“That’s cool,” she said politely. Tim sighed good naturedly, exasperated at her obtuseness.

“Stephie,” Tim moaned as she burned red from the pet name in front of his friends. He jerked his head at Conner, begging his direct nature to intercede.

“Whu—”

Endlessly patient, Tim stated, “It’s gonna be your home away from home too. If you want it to be. It can be all of ours again.”

She could not reply, as she was then embraced in a bear hug courtesy of Superboy. Cassie smirked, then called for the others to come gather. Tim held onto Stephanie’s fingers, and watched carefully what Conner did and spoke. Tim had seen that melancholy look from earlier as Conner had watched the team.

Tim knew Conner was feeling a little out of place, but he was grateful that he had put it aside to help Tim and welcome Stephanie. Hidden to Stephanie, he mouthed a thank you in Conner’s direction, who responded by wiggling his head in smug satisfaction.

Stephanie remained oblivious, her only thought as she endured the hug was at the blatant display of strength and control that the clone displayed. She grunted when he squeezed the bear hug tighter but found herself smiling all the same. There was only genuine joy and laughter in Conner’s voice as he teased.

“Hey, we finally got the lovebirds in the same room again, huh? It’s been a while, Spoiler, even if Tim says you don’t remember.”

When he set her down, she returned to Tim, holding his hand still. She didn’t understand why Superboy saying such a thing made the pit of nerves in her gut settle, but the warmth that bloomed in her chest made her smile until her cheeks hurt.

“I’m sorry I don’t. Remember, that is.”

Conner shrugged, “Hey, we’re still young. Gotta lifetime to fix that. Or make new memories. Or both.”

Tim’s hand snuck round her waist, and he pressed his cheek to her temple.

“We’ll deal with your dad. Then we’ll go home?”

“Home?” Stephanie asked.

“Second home,” he quantified.

Looking at the friendly faces surrounding the pair of them, Stephanie smiled awkwardly and nodded.

A home away from home sounded…nice.

#DC #tim drake #stephanie brown #timsteph #my fic tag #young justice

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mammon-chan · 4 years

Text

Deja Vu (Mammon x F!MC)

TW: blood, death, violent thoughts

A scream echoed through the House of Lamentation. It was a common sound – sometimes Asmodeus would screech about someone stealing his hair products, or Leviathan would yell about missing out on a limited-edition figurine. However, this time, the scream was unfamiliar – higher pitched than the rest of the brothers’ and was silenced quickly.

Mammon, who had walked along the corridor to try and spy on your conversation of Lucifer, raced towards the source. You were lying there, on the ground, battered and bloodied. His own brother, who was supposed to be on exchange in the human world, laughed hysterically as he was pulled back by Lucifer and Beelzebub.

Mammon didn’t understand anything people were saying – there was a roaring in his ears he couldn’t silence. He knelt beside you. Carefully, Mammon pulled your semi-conscious body into his arms. “Elena! Hang in there! Elena!”

“Mammon, you look like such a fool!” Belphegor sneered. “A human’s about to kick the bucket, and yet here you are, panicking as if it’s the end of the world!” He could barely finish his sentence due to his laughter, a crazed look in his eyes that Mammon didn’t recognise.

Your eyes fluttered, shifting to meet his. Your face was tense as you tried to fake a smile, your voice quiet within the din as you spoke, “at least I kept that promise, huh?” His mind went blank as he tried to decipher what you mean.

He was sitting on your bed. His hands shook as he wrapped bandages around your arm, the shock of you nearly dying at Leviathan’s hand, whilst he’d tripped, unable to stop anything from happening was still evident. Lucifer had stepped in at the last minute, saving you from harm’s way. Leave it to Lucifer to clean up Mammon’s messes, he had thought bitterly.

“…Listen. The next time your life’s in danger, I’m gonna be the one to save you, all right? Don’t you forget that.” He paused, swallowing as his hands slid away from yours. Seeming to hesitate before he continued, “…And if I can’t manage to save ya, then make sure you die, got it?!”

A short silence, and you nodded, giving him a small smile. “All right.” You answered. “I promise.” With your uninjured hand, you locked pinkies with him

Mammon shook his head. “No. No, you’re not gonna die, ya hear me? Don’t you dare die!” He yelled. Tears blurred his vision as they fell down his cheeks. His glasses were getting smeared and he could barely see. He didn’t care.

Raising a hand up to cup his face, your thumb grazed against his cheek. Your lips moved to form words he would never hear. He felt your hand drop and your eyes fluttered shut.

He doesn’t know how long he held you for. Curses spewed from his mouth as he screamed and cried. At some point he was pulled away from your body by Lucifer who had an odd look of concern on his face. He had tried to calm Mammon down. It doesn’t work. Mammon broke free from Lucifer’s grasp and bolted out of the house as fast as he could. Never stopping, never looking back.

When he finally arrived at the Demon Lord’s Castle, Barbatos was there, waiting for him. With the same polite smile as ever, he greeted Mammon. “So, you still haven’t managed it?” It feels like he’s being mocked. He ignored the comment and passed Barbatos.

“One more time. I’ll save her this time.” He swore on it.

--------

He awoke with a start. It all felt like a bad dream that would never end.

After getting changed into his uniform, he barged into your room as always, to find you, sat at your vanity mirror, seeming to have spaced out. It was normal to find you staring into space – he almost laughed with how regular the sight he saw was. You snapped out of your dream-world and your eyes met with his reflection. Due to the amount of times the brothers had barged into your room, you didn’t seem to be rattled by the fact he’d entered unannounced. “Good morning, mi amor!”

His eyes widened, and in just a few steps, he encases you within a rib-breaking hug that would rival Beelzebub’s.

You let out a small squeak of surprise and patted his arm in hopes he’d let you go so you could breathe. He loosened his grip but kept a firm hold on you. As he spoke, he rested his head on your shoulder. “Sorry, sorry. Just– Lemme stay like this for a little longer.” His voice was barely above a whisper. Your fingers threaded through his hair, and he let out a sigh.

“I feel like I’ve failed you,” He whispered.

You stiffened under his grasp, and he cursed himself for letting his thoughts slip out. “What?”

“Agh, nothin’, nothin’!” He let go of you and waved his hands precariously in front of him and grinned, making an obvious show of ‘nothing’ being wrong. “Was just talkin’ to myself, don’t ya worry, Elena.” You stared at him for a long moment, before you nodded.

“If you say so, love.”

Mammon could tell you hadn’t believed a word he had said. However, you weren’t the type to pry too much, so you didn’t question him. And for now, just being here with you was enough.

You were alright. Everything would be okay.

--------

But he knows that it isn’t. He spent the last year repeating the same day over and over. Trying, trying to save you. Always failing.

Each time you died seemed more devastating than the last – how could you keep disappearing during your conversation with Lucifer, then suddenly show up with Belphegor? He didn’t understand.

He’d tried, time and time again to follow you, but each time, he’d get stuck at the stairs that led to the attic. And surely you weren’t up there, because nobody was allowed there, except Lucifer.

Sometimes his anger would bubble up too much, and he’d even contemplate on whether he should murder his own brother, Belphegor, after he’d killed you so many times. Or at least severely injuring him before his brothers got in the way. Perhaps he could force him to talk about how he killed you when he was supposed to be in the human world. The violent urges would pass within minutes, and he’d mentally beat himself up over the fact he’d even think about killing his own brother.

--------

You had died once again. He had found you, half conscious, being dragged out to the hallway by his brother, who’s chest puffed out with pride at killing a ‘measly’ human that he despised. At some point, during one of the many times he’d repeated the timeline, he’d stopped crying when you died. He’d grown numb to the sensation of grief stabbing away at his heart. Instead, he turned, his head lowered, fists swung tightly by his sides. He left the House of Lamentation as his brothers mourned after you, and headed, as always, to the Demon Lord’s Castle.

The first thing Mammon had saw was Barbatos, stood by the entrance. His lips were curled into a smirk, and Mammon walked forward. He swung his fist forwards towards the other demon’s face, and Barbatos caught the punch before it landed, twisting Mammon’s hand away from him before he released.

“There’s no point in getting upset at me for your own failures.” The butler turned and walked back inside, and Mammon followed him inside, just like clockwork.

“You’re right.” He mumbled and stretched out his hand, fingers running over the fingernail marks that had bit into his palm.

He had followed Barbatos into his room, watched as he opened the door once again for him. If he stepped through, everything would be reset once again. You wouldn’t be dead anymore. You would be alive, in the Devildom.

With the next step he took, his demon form took place. After all the repeats of the same timeline, in the same dimension, he had grown more powerful. He could feel this extra energy surging through his veins, urging him to finally make a move. Barbatos turned towards Mammon as he stepped forward again, and with one swift blow to the head, he was down. He kicked the door shut, moving towards another door before Barbatos could recover. He was just thankful that Barbatos had explained which door contained which power, or he would’ve been lost in the time-loop forever. He yanked the door open.

“There’s only one way for us to be happy.” He muttered to himself as he stepped into the void beyond the doorway.

If he couldn’t save you, then he would create a universe where you would never get hurt again.

And with that last thought, his vision turned black.

--------

some of y’all might’ve been wondering: damn, jo hasn’t written/posted anything in a bit. jokes legit nobody has thought that and that’s because i’ve been working on this commission for the lovely @eckya! it’s actually the longest fic i’ve wrote in Years at around 1.4k words (which isn’t that long but shh)

they requested a fic with their custom MC inspired by madoka magica rebellion and it was pretty fun to play around/write with wibbly wobbly timey wimey... stuff. god i make myself cringe, this isnt 2012 tumblr

i hope y’all enjoy this fic bc it took a While due to quarantine fkjbggkj

if y’all did enjoy, feel free to tip my work here! or even commission me!

#obey me #obey me mammon #obey me fics #obey me headcanons #obey me fic #obey me shall we date #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me headcanon #mammon x mc #mammon x reader #obey me mammon x reader #obey me mammon x mc #my writing

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nevertherose · 3 years

Text

One Hundred Seconds to Midnight- Chapters 9-13

"All Roman wanted to do was take Logan on a Doctor Who LARP within the Imagination.

But with Thomas's Sides at their figurative breaking point after the disastrous wedding, the Imagination may just have a few ideas of her own..."

Chapters 1-8 are here.

Chapters 14-17 are here.

Here's the next chunk:

Chapter 9- Gridlock

“This Martha. She must mean an awful lot to you.”

“Hardly know her. I was too busy showing off. And I lied to her. Couldn’t help it, just lied.”

Patton felt strange.

Well, he’d felt strange for a while now, ever since this odd little adventure had started, but it grew worse the further into the asylum they traveled. His limbs were strangely heavy, he couldn’t seem to catch his breath, and there was a chill in his core that no amount of self-hugging could alleviate.

And he kept having these flashes of…well, anger. Like, sure, being stuck in the Imagination in the middle of the night was a tad frustrating, but that was no reason to feel this…this blind, red rage that welled up from time to time.

What was wrong with him?

Patton needed a hug.

He wondered if Janus would give him one, if he asked.

Eh…maybe not. Janus was many things: smart, cunning, arrogant, fiercely caring…but huggable wasn’t a word that immediately came to mind.

The ladder from the escape pod had led down a long shaft that dumped out into an empty metal hallway; dark, rusty, and with water dripping everywhere. Janus had found a computer terminal and scanned the area, plotting out a route that would lead them around various knots of warring aliens. He located Remus’ tiny prison almost immediately, and ignored it in favor of scanning for a teleportation chamber.

“If I have to be in this stupid adventure,” he informed Patton tersely, “I want my damned TARDIS back.”

“I’m not arguing with you.” Patton spread his hands.

“We’ll have to cross four hangers and a maze of corridors to reach the room,” Janus mused, irritatedly rubbing the scales on his face. “And it looks like most of this area is still infected with the nano cloud.”

“I know,” Patton whispered as Janus strode off.

Patton would feel a lot better about their chances if this hadn’t been the fifth time they’d had this exact conversation.

One empty hanger and two hallways later, Janus stopped at another terminal.

“Janus…” Patton started.

“There’s Remus’s prison,” Janus muttered, staring at the screen and ignoring him completely. “But where’s…ah. There’s a teleportation chamber about three hangers away. We should head for that.”

“But…”

“No, Patton, we are not going after Remus first.” Janus sighed, and itched his face. “If I have to be in this stupid adventure—”

“You want your damned TARDIS back, I know!” Patton yelled.

Janus blinked at him, and narrowed his eyes.

“You never swear.”

I never feel like this. Why am I acting like this?

“And you are being affected by the nano cloud,” Patton said hurriedly. “We keep having this same conversation over and over! I am begging you, please wear the bracelet for a while. ”

He held out his wrist, which Janus absently took in his hands. His mouth compressed, so hard that the skin around the snakelike slit grew pale.

“Or let me go ahead of you, and try to deactivate the cloud,” Patton offered.

“You wouldn’t be able to hack the system.” Janus shook his head. “I have all the Master’s knowledge, which is why I can.”

“Then you take the bracelet and do it!”

“We’re not splitting up, Patton.”

Patton growled softly and turned away, walking in a small circle to calm himself down.

“You…just…I am getting really frustrated with you, mister,” he sputtered. “Take. The. Bracelet.”

“I’m tough, Patton. I can handle it.” Janus smiled bitterly. “Maybe the cloud is messing with my memory a little, but it will never be able to actually convert me.”

Patton frowned…or tried to. His facial expressions felt weirdly stiff.

“Why’s that?”

“You remember the whole ‘how do you make a Dalek’ schtick?” Janus’s grin grew wider, fangs flashing behind his lips. “‘Erase love, add anger’? Well. My heart is already cold and hard. There’s no love to erase, and thus, nothing to convert.”

Patton felt his own heart break, to hear Janus say such awful things about himself…but…maybe he had an inadvertent point. Patton knew that he himself, on his best days, was a squishy ball of excessive caring and emotion, prone to bouts of both effervescence and melancholy (or so Roman had described him, once). Nothing to be ashamed of; as Thomas’s heart, that’s just who Patton was.

But as such, maybe…maybe the nano cloud really would have an awful, immediate effect on him. He already felt so strange…

Maybe Janus was right to insist he keep the bracelet on.

Well. Patton put his hands on his hips, huffing. That doesn’t mean he gets to talk bad about himself.

“Hello?” a strange, almost furry-sounding voice called.

Two aliens rounded the corner behind them. They looked almost human, except for their furred bodies, large, feline ears and catlike faces. They moved hesitantly, with inhuman grace, their long tails flicking nervously behind them.

“Ooh, Janus, they’re Catkind!” Patton gasped softly, clasping his hands together. “I always wanted to see one up close…”

“But where the hell did they come from?” Janus groused. “We were just in that corridor…and also, may I remind you that you’re allergic?”

“Hello there!” Patton called as the Cat People approached, ignoring Janus’s eye roll. “Where did you come from?”

“I’m not sure.” The tabby-like Cat Person rubbed their furred hands together. “One moment we were in our hover van, watching the newscast as always, and then…oh!”

The Cat Person’s eyes widened as they drew up to Patton. Janus quickly stepped between them and lifted his hands.

“It’s okay, we’re lost here, just like you,” he said smoothly.

“Well. I guess strange times make strange bedfellows, or something like that,” the tabby Cat joked, flashing a mouthful of feline teeth.

“Isn’t that the truth,” Janus crooned. “You were saying…?”

Patton was beginning to sense, more and more, that Janus was actively, purposefully hiding something from him.

But now wasn’t exactly a good time to ask.

“We were watching the TV,” the second Cat Person said. They were shorter, their voice and fur color both lighter than that of their companion, and they wore a sling pouch across their body. “And something flickered across the screen; I can’t remember exactly what it was. A gray face, or…” They shrugged, furred shoulders rippling. “And then we were just…here.”

A tiny face popped out of the sling as they spoke. It meowed, and Patton let out a very undignified squeal.

“Is that a kitten?” he all but squeaked, holding hands up to his face. It was so cute!

“Oh! Yes.” The pale Cat smiled down at the sling. “Our six babes. They sleep better when I keep them close.”

“Can I pet them?” Patton was practically vibrating. “Pretty please? I’ll be very careful.”

The Cat frowned, exchanging a glance with their partner, but carefully extracted a kitten and cradled it. Patton ran a trembling finger down its spine and cooed when it started to purr.

Janus, meanwhile, was stroking his bottom lip.

“Catkind…hover van…were you on the Motorway in New New York, by chance?”

The tabby Cat frowned. “Well, of course.”

“The Gridlock episode,” Janus said quietly to Patton. “Which was set in the far future, if I recall. But where…or I suppose, ‘when’…does the asylum episode fall within that timeline?”

Patton shrugged. He didn’t have Logan’s or, he supposed, Janus’s patience for untangling complex plot threads in TV shows, and time was so wibbly wobbly within the Doctor Who universe anyway. Plus, knowing “when” the Cat People were from didn’t explain how they spontaneously ended up here, in this hallway.

They’re just…here, like that Tivolian in the escape pod. Sadness rushed through him. The asylum was no place for innocent people like this, especially a couple with babies!

“If I may,” the tabby Cat said as their partner resettled their kittens in the sling. “Where did the two of you come from? And where are we?”

“Ah, well, that’s a rather long story,” Janus said. “We—”

“Ah-ha! More intruders in our quadrant!”

Six or so squat Sontarans, all helmeted and bristling with blaster rifles, flooded into the corridor. The two Cat People froze, eyes growing wide.

“Terminate them,” the Sontaran leader shouted, pointing. “For the glory of Sontar!

“Invasion of the Potato People,” Janus snarked, fangs flashing, as he flicked a setting on his sonic laser. “Just what we need.”

The aliens raised their guns.

“Now, er, fellas,” Patton tried, raising his arms. “There’s…there’s no need for violence. Can’t we all just, uh, get along?”

“The Sontaran Empire does not take orders from your kind, metal scum!” the lead Sontaran snarled. “Fire!”

“Run!” Janus shouted, seizing Patton’s arm and shoving the two terrified Cat People ahead of him.

There was a confused, mad rush through a half dozen corridors, dodging blaster fire, as Janus occasionally fired back with his laser and stopped to hack closed doors as they encountered them.

The clomp of boots and chanting echoed behind them.

“Sontar-ha! Sontar-ha!”

At one junction, the Cat People peeled off down a smaller random hallway before Patton could even protest.

“Splitting up is safer! We can’t worry about them!” Janus yelled, yanking Patton a different direction. That corridor ended in a door that Janus couldn’t seem to hack, and they had to backtrack to a tiny alcove, folding themselves inside and catching their breath.

There was barely enough room for the two of them.

Janus pressed one yellow-clad hand against Patton’s chest as they waited, warily, for the bootsteps and yelling to pass, their breaths filling the space. He was so close that Patton could count the individual scales on his cheekbone and the green flecks in his yellow slitted eye. Unfamiliar facial hair…familiar, hooded gaze.

It occurred to Patton, suddenly, that he’d never stood this close to Janus before. Close enough to feel his slight warmth, to breathe in the spicy, subtle aroma emanating from his clothes…

“Did you know you smell like cloves?” Patton blurted out when the corridor was silent again. It had been such an odd thing to notice.

It also wasn’t unpleasant.

Janus didn’t acknowledge that, but instead massaged his temples.

“Ugh, my head is killing me.”

“Say…” Patton narrowed his eyes as he realized he was looking down at the other Side. “Aren’t I shorter than you? In the mindspace anyway.”

If Patton hadn’t been looking for it, he might have missed the way Janus’s eyes widened infinitesimally.

“Well.” Janus shrugged, all expression gone. “I hadn’t paid much attention.”

Liar.

Something stone-like settled in Patton’s stomach.

“No, you’re definitely supposed to be taller,” he said, more firmly.

Deceit.

“If the Imagination altered our clothes coming in, surely it could have altered our heights.”

Janus’s voice was as smooth as ever, and for a moment, Patton hated how easily the snake-faced Side did this. The unfamiliar anger at the back of his mind swirled.

Deceit, come on.

“Well, then why didn’t I sneeze when I pet that kitten?” Patton demanded. “You yourself pointed out that I’m allergic.”

“Kittens don’t produce the protein that triggers an allergic reaction.” Janus’s eyes went distant for a moment. “I do hope that couple found a safe place to hide.”

“Gosh, yeah, me too…” Patton murmured, and then frowned. “Oh, no you don’t, mister, you’re trying to change the subject! I wasn’t allergic to the parents, either; explain that!”

Janus shrugged, still infuriatingly calm.

“Maybe Catkind as a whole don’t produce ordinary feline dander.”

“Why won’t you just tell me what it is you’re hiding!” Patton snapped, grabbing the other Side’s shoulders and raising a hand…wait.

What…am I doing?

Janus had paled, and the spark of actual fear flashing in his eyes was enough to snap Patton out of…whatever that was. He stared at his hands and for a moment, he swore he saw…

But then it was gone.

And Janus had pulled away, stepping out into the now-empty corridor.

“We should keep moving,” he threw over his shoulder, jacket flapping as he stalked away, leaving Patton to stumble after him.

“Janus.”

Janus’s shoulders flinched but he kept walking, his boots clacking harshly on the concrete floor.

Patton hurried to catch up.

“Janus!”

The snake-faced Side turned a corner, taking him out of Patton’s line of sight for a moment. Patton broke into a run, rounding the corner and almost crashing into him.

He’d stopped, and was typing away at yet another terminal.

Patton realized they were back at the door from before, the one Janus hadn’t been able to hack. Muffled shrieks and shouts echoed through the thick metal from the other side.

“Almost got it,” Janus muttered, absently rubbing his head; hadn’t he mentioned a headache earlier? He’s always concealing things. I wish he could just…but Patton still felt shaken by what had happened earlier, so he decided to let it go for now.

Best to avoid another quarrel.

“Are you sure we want to go this way?” he said instead. “It sounds like a battle on the other side.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Patton.” Janus waved a hand, not looking at him. “I already looked. It’s just some people milling around; they likely won’t even notice us. And the teleportation chamber we need is on the other side.”

Patton frowned, and hunched to peer through the smudged rectangle of glass on the door. It was difficult to make out specifics, but he definitely saw blaster fire, and knots of very large aliens running back and forth.

“That is not just people, J—” he started, but then the door slid open and Janus was already striding through.

“—Janus, no!” Patton yelped and followed.

That door, it turned out, had been blocking a great deal of noise. Yelling, clanging, blaster fire hitting metal, horribly familiar robotic voices screeching. Knots of hulking Judoon fought a proper horde of green Silurians, with a few commanding Daleks thrown in on both sides.

It was impossible to tell who was winning, if anyone; or what, if anything, they were fighting over.

Patton caught up to Janus and grabbed his jacket collar.

“See, Patton?” Janus shot him an easygoing smirk that made Patton’s stomach twist in alarm, and waved a hand. “It’s just people.”

“Oh, no, I remember this bit now,” Patton murmured.

He seized Janus’s face.

“Janus Sanders, the nanocloud is altering your perception,” he said, twisting the other Side around. “Look again, look!”

Janus looked, and Patton heard his swift intake of breath.

“EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY! THE CARGO DOOR HAS BEEN BREACHED!”

Several Daleks split off from the battle and rolled toward the two of them, drawing a few curious Silurians along. Patton huffed.

“And now they’ve seen us.”

He again held up his arms, though logically he knew negotiating with Daleks was a worse non-starter than placating Sontarans. Still…it never hurt to try.

A Silurian grabbed one of their neighbors, and pointed at him.

“It has a nano repeller!” they called. “Seize it!”

“Well, that’s new,” Janus snarked.

“Run?” Patton squeaked as more Silurians peeled off from the main battle.

“Run,” Janus confirmed.

They bolted across the hanger and through the thick of the fight.

The pursuing Daleks actually proved to be a useful distraction, charging after them with blasters blazing, drawing enemy fire away from the two Sides. But the pursuing Silurians were faster, and they kept chasing long after the Daleks found other, more engaging targets.

The Silurians tailed Patton and Janus into the adjoining corridor, briefly catching up when Janus had to stop and hack yet another door. The door slid open as green hands scrabbled at Patton’s arms. Janus zapped one with his laser and pulled Patton through, slamming the inside panel with his other hand.

The door slid shut, and Janus fried the controls so it couldn’t be easily opened again.

Patton breathed.

They were safe, again, for the moment.

At least Patton thought they were….until he happened to glance down at his hands.

“Janus!” he yelled shrilly. “My bracelet is gone! Oh no, oh no, oh no…I thought if we didn’t lose it in the escape pod we wouldn’t lose it at all…”

“Patton.” Janus was abruptly in his face, gloved hands gripping his jawline. “Patton, breathe.”

“I’m sorry!” Patton sobbed. “I lost it and now we’re both going to turn into Daleks, Janus, I’m so sorry—!”

“Nonsense.” Janus’s voice grew sharp. “You have nothing to worry about.”

And something…truthy...in the timbre of those words cut through Patton’s rising panic like a slap to the face.

“And why is that?” Patton asked, just as sharply.

Janus hesitated.

He very clearly hesitated, his fingers digging into the nape of Patton’s neck. Patton held his breath.

“Because…” Janus swallowed, his eyes darting away. “Because nobody in this universe or any other could possibly exhaust the well of love that is Patton Sanders’ heart.”

And with that he whirled away, stalking to the raised teleportation platform and sliding under the glass floor.

With an effort, Patton closed his gaping mouth (darn his stiff muscles). He’d never been so certain in all his life that Janus had just lied to him, again…but it was also the sweetest and most vulnerable thing he’d ever heard the other say. It sent a shock of warmth down to Patton’s too-cold toes.

Janus…Janus truly believed that Patton’s heart held too much love for the Daleks to steal?

“Oh.” Patton exhaled, gaze drawn to Janus as he rewired the platform; jacket sleeves rolled up his forearms, sonic held between his teeth and a look of utter concentration on his face.

That strange, and oddly beautiful face.

Oh.

Chapter 10- Silence in the Library

“The shadows are moving again. Those people are depending on you. Only you can save them. Only you.”

“What I want to know,” Roman griped as he and Logan slumped against yet another corridor wall, “is where all these blasted aliens are coming from.”

Ever since giving Remus’s “Silurian army” the slip, they’d encountered one obstacle after another. They’d been pursued what felt like halfway across the asylum by a pair of crafty Saturnynians wanting their nano bracelets; Roman had singlehandedly fought off a horde of Tritovores; Logan had outsmarted a Sontaran troop by trapping them in a small chamber with only one working door; and they had only just outrun a platoon of Judoon.

All with Logan unable to see anything more than five feet in front his face.

Roman, if he was being honest with himself, kind of didn’t mind being Logan’s eyes. Sure, his sword arm was sore from fending off aliens trying to rob them or kill them (Roman fought with the flat of his blade, of course; no need for pointless killing). But having his crush depend on him to see threats coming, and to keep from crashing into things…it was nice to feel needed.

For once.

Plus…Roman could compose entire sonnets on how beautiful Logan’s galaxy-dark eyes were, when they weren’t hidden behind glasses.

“Remus,” Logan called, straightening up. “We could use some help.”

Roman scoffed. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

“If Logan offers to pay in dick pics, I might get something up,” Remus’s whiny voice commented from the wall behind them, making them both jump.

Roman sputtered.

Did his brother really have to keep…was it even flirting, when it was that crude? Roman knew logically he was only doing it to get a reaction, but gosh darn Remus for going straight for his metaphorical heart.

“We are all anatomically the same, Remus.” Logan frowned. “Why you would wish to see my—?”

“Logan, I implore you not to finish that sentence.” Roman flapped his hands.

Logan leaned over to squint at him. And quite apart from Remus's inappropriate commentary, Roman wished he could figure out what that intense, narrow-eyed look Logan kept giving him meant. Right now he was sure his face must be as red as his missing Prince sash.

“It would be helpful,” Logan went on, turning to face the general direction of the wall speaker, “if I could see a current life-form reading for the whole planet. Then we would know which areas to avoid. Remus, is that something you can hack into?”

“Only for you, Logie-bear,” Remus answered. “Or should I say Nina? There’s a terminal with a screen just down the hallway.”

“Remus, I swear…” Roman brandished his sword at the speaker as Logan climbed to his feet.

But Remus only giggled, and Roman didn’t know how to finish the threat without prompting uncomfortable questions, anyway.

The screen showed the whole planet, with life-form density marked in red and notes written in some alien tongue. Logan leaned close, typing in various commands, looking at different areas; his frown grew deeper as he worked.

“Is that, like, a whole lot of red, or do I just not know how to read this thing?” Roman asked.

“No, it doesn’t make any sense,” Logan muttered, mostly to himself. “Remus. Will you read that number to me? Perhaps the Doctor’s command of this language is incomplete…”

“You mean the part where it says there are currently 13 billion life forms on the planet?” Remus said.

“What?” Roman sputtered.

“Exactly. It’s preposterous.” Logan nodded. “Nearly twice the population of humans on Earth. We’d be packed into this asylum like sardines, were the population really so high. Perhaps it’s aggregate?”

“Hmm, you know people can aggregate, too, especially during orgies when they f…”

“Remus, while normally I would applaud a creative use of vocabulary,” Logan cut in with a flat expression. “I do not wish to discuss group copulation at this time, or any other.”

Roman, meanwhile ran a hand down his (flushing) face.

“‘Copulation’, my ass,” he grumbled.

“Yes, that is usually how it works among men,” Remus crooned.

“REMUS!”

“Both of you!” Logan snapped. “Enough. Remus, please.”

“Fiiiine. Here’s your stats over a span of weeks.” Remus flashed another chart on the screen. “And here’s months, and years.”

More charts.

“See, this math makes more sense.” Logan reached up as if to adjust his glasses, but dropped his hand when he realized they weren’t there. “A constant flow of new aliens, while a smaller number disappear every day. That is unfortunately as I would expect in such a volatile environment.”

He peered closer to the screen.

“However, nearly eighty percent of the abnormally high life form readings are concentrated in a few clusters around the asylum; mostly in isolated, out of the way places. Remus, can you provide a visual for one of those areas?”

Remus did so, the screen switching to what appeared to be a security feed, pointed at a storage room. A room which was conspicuously empty, except for a few piles of long, white objects.

“Come on, quit fucking around,” Roman complained.

“Language.” Remus’s voice tsked.

Roman scoffed. “Oh, put a maggoty sock in it, Remus; you aren’t Patton.”

“Careful with those metaphors, brother mine, or you’ll start to sound like me.”

“Why you—!”

“Hush!” Logan snapped with a frown. “No, these…these are the correct coordinates. According to this data, there are several million life forms packed into that space.”

Roman and Remus gasped in unison, causing Logan to shoot Roman an alarmed look.

“How big are the ‘life forms’ that chart is picking up?” Roman demanded.

“Way ahead of you.” Remus threw more readouts onto the screen. “But I’ll bet my favorite stick of deodorant that they’re really, really small.”

“They appear to be microscopic, in fact,” Logan’s eyebrows shot up. “And those white objects…”

“Bones,” Roman whispered. “‘A million million life forms, and silence in the library’.”

Logan’s eyes widened. “Vashta Narada?”

“Vashta Narada!” Remus screeched, startling them both.

It took Roman a moment to realize his brother had screeched with glee.

“Ooh, look, there are so many of them!” Remus pulled up a chart of the whole planet, with clusters illuminated in red. Logan whipped out his screwdriver and scanned the screen.

“I did wonder why the Daleks always avoided the shadows, and ooh, look! Bones! Piles and piles of bones!” Remus showed another security feed; Roman quickly turned away. “They’re so clean.”

“I have downloaded the locations of the worst nests,” Logan flashed his sonic. “So we can avoid those areas, too.”

“Well, that’s just boring,” Remus complained. “One of you could surely sacrifice a leg or something. Aren’t you curious to see what your skeleton looks like?”

“Nobody wants to see that!” Roman felt slightly nauseated at the idea.

“Well, and if they did,” Logan added, ever literal, “that is what X-rays are for.”

“The Vashta Narada are his favorite Doctor Who alien,” Roman said in a lower voice. “He talked about that episode for weeks—”

The lights cut out, and the Voice…that’s what Roman had taken to calling it, anyway…mumbled its incomprehensible speech. It had happened several times on their journey now.

“What is that?” he demanded once the lights came back up.

“I think I heard ‘tower’, that time, and something about seconds,” Logan commented.

Roman shrugged.

“I may regret this, but…Remus, what do you think?” he asked with a grimace.

Silence.

Roman sighed. “Typical.”

A blast down the hall interrupted them.

Several Daleks rolled into the hallway, screeching in their room-filling, robotic voices. Roman seized Logan’s arm and pulled them into an alcove, placing his hand over Logan’s mouth when the logical Side started to protest.

“Daleks, super close,” Roman whispered.

He swore he felt Logan shiver in his grasp, and tried not to hyperfocus on the other’s rapid breathing, and heated skin, and…

One of the Daleks rolled in their direction. “INTRUDER! COME OUT AT ONCE!”

Logan pried Roman’s hand away.

“If we are at the scene in the asylum episode that I believe we are,” he said lowly, “then this should be the Dalek that runs out of power. If so, I remember how to defeat it.”

“And if it’s not?” Roman whisper-demanded.

“INTRUDER!”

“Then we will think of something else.”

“But—!”

Logan pulled Roman’s face very close, effectively shutting him up. His dark pupils were wide with adrenaline, his skin flushed with all the running they’d done. Roman couldn’t help it; his gaze flickered to Logan’s lips.

Those well-bitten, unfairly kissable lips.

“Roman,” Logan said softly, the words puffing against Roman’s face. “Do you trust me?”

“Oh, you…you can’t just quote Aladdin at me, Lo,” Roman protested weakly. “That’s not fair.”

“I would not be here to quote it, if you hadn’t gotten us this far. I outwitted the Sontarans; let me handle this.” Logan leaned even closer, and Roman couldn’t move even if he wanted to. “Do you trust me?”

Always, Doctor.

Roman nodded.

“INTRU—der—!”

As if on cue, the Dalek sputtered to a stop just before it reached their hiding place.

Logan shot Roman a devastating smirk and stepped out.

“All right, you rolling tin can.” Logan flicked his wrists and performed a mocking bow. Even half-blind, he was so fully and completely the Doctor in that moment that the performer inside Roman could only swoon.

Well, their Source was an actor, after all. Even his Logic instinctively knew how to work an audience.

“Identify me. Access your files. Who am I?” Logan’s voice dropped. “Come on. I’m tired and blind and just want to go home. Who’s your daddy?”

Roman choked and slapped a hand over his mouth.

“YOU ARE THE PREDATOR,” the Dalek declared.

“And what are your standing orders concerning the Predator?” Logan asked.

“THE PREDATOR MUST BE DESTROYED.” The Dalek attempted to use its gunstick, but only managed to wiggle it around.

“And how are you going to do that, Dalek?” Logan smirked, making Roman swallow another soft noise. “Without a gun, you’re a tricycle with a roof. How are you going to destroy me?”

“SELF-DESTRUCT INITIATED,” the Dalek warned, a light inside its eyepiece flashing red.

“Oh, heck, I remember this!” Roman rushed out to join Logan, as the other pulled out his sonic and lifted the Dalek’s lid.

“Exactly, Roman.” Logan ran the screwdriver along the shell’s insides.

“SELF-DESTRUCT CANNOT BE COUNTERMANDED.”

“I’m not looking for a countermand, dear.” Logan slammed the lid down. “I was looking for reverse.”

The Dalek whizzed backwards, flailing its appendages, its lights flashing frantically.

“FORWARD! FORWARD!”

It sped back into the chamber it had vacated, where several other Daleks waited.

“Run!”

Logan pulled Roman along (nearly running them into a wall; Roman quickly righted their direction), barely making it to the other end of the hallway when the Dalek exploded. Roman pushed them both down, crouching protectively over Logan as heat blasted against both their backs.

The asylum shook.

Grit rained down on their heads.

When it stopped, Roman pulled Logan to his feet and led them back through the newly-cleared chamber, dust still settling in the air. Dalek shells lay scattered, cracked and smoking; he had to guide Logan around them.

(There were a few other…bodies, too, which Roman determinedly looked away from and didn’t mention.)

“Oh my gosh, Roman! Logan!” a somewhat familiar voice shouted.

A Cyberman came barreling across the floor, prompting Roman to raise his sword…but relaxed when he realized it was only Patton.

“Janus, I’ve found the others!” Patton shouted over his shoulder. Roman squinted but didn’t see anyone else. “Boy, am I glad to see you guys!”

“We are pleased to see you as well, Patton.” Logan scrunched his face up in that adorable squint again; Roman caught himself smiling fondly, and swallowed the expression.

“Although unfortunately,” Logan added, “I mean ‘see’ in an entirely metaphorical sense right now.”

“Oh no, Logan, did you lose your glasses?” Patton caught up to them, as clunky and metal and frankly scary-looking as before. “Well, come on. Janus found a teleportation room, and is almost finished rewiring it to get us out of here.”

He led them across the exploded chamber, around a bend, and directly into a room with a raised glass platform, and machinery-covered walls. The platform itself looked half-disassembled, with dozens of wires and components sticking out.

Janus lay, collapsed and unmoving, at the base of it.

Chapter 11- The Power of Three

“I’m not running away from things, I am running to them before they flare and fade forever.”

Patton screeched.

There was no other word for the unholy noise that came out of his mouth, Logan decided. The moral Side-turned-Cyberman rushed to Janus’s collapsed form, shaking him and calling his name.

“I don’t know what happened!” he cried, rocking back on his heels. “He was fine when I left…well, not fine, he hasn’t been exactly fine this whole time, but he was awake!”

Logan knelt beside the downed Side and scanned him.

“He does not appear to have suffered any sort of electrical shock or other accident.” Logan peered at his screwdriver, reading numbers on the tiny screen.

(Yes, it had a readout, something he’d never noticed from the show.)

“Hmm. It would seem that the nano cloud is having an unexpected effect on his serpentine biology,” Logan explained, leaning over to place a hand under Janus’s jaw, and then over his heart. “It is making him too cold.”

“Oh!” Patton’s stance shifted. It was difficult to read his body language in his current state. “So do we need to, like, cuddle him or something? Body heat is good for cold, right?”

“Well I’m certainly not cuddling that viper!” Roman announced, folding his arms.

Patton awkwardly rubbed his head. “I mean…I could do it.”

It was on the tip of Logan’s tongue to point out that Patton would not be warming anyone up with his cold, metallic body…but it was clear he still didn’t know. And if Janus still hadn’t told him, Logan certainly wasn’t going to do it right now.

Patton having an identity crisis would be a distraction they didn’t need.

Roman stared at Patton with narrowed eyes, looking ready to protest. Logan stepped in before an argument could begin in earnest.

“Body heat would not be enough,” he said. “But I believe if I reconfigure one of our protective bracelets to counter those particular effects, he would revive on his own. Of course, that would mean one of us temporarily going without nano cloud protection.”

Patton sighed and rubbed his wrist.

“I’d give up mine in a heartbeat, except I already lost it earlier.”

Typical Patton. Logan bit back a sigh of exasperation. His was the bracelet he'd been hoping to use, as Patton didn't actually need it. Always willing to sacrifice his own wellbeing, and always losing things.

Well, that meant there was only one way to wake Janus.

He’d begun the process of unfastening his own bracelet when a strong, warm hand stopped him.

“Hang on, Calculator Watch.” Roman separated Logan’s hands. Annoyed caramel eyes stared into his own. “Why do you automatically assume you should be the one to give up your only means of protection?”

Logan frowned.

“Of the two of us, Roman, I am the least emotional. Obviously it has to be me.”

Roman let go and paced the room, coming back with determination sparking in his gaze.

“Look, I’m going to be logical here, because I know that’s the one thing you understand,” he said.

“Roman, we don’t have time—” Logan started, but Roman silenced him with a finger over his lips.

Logan noted, absently, how his skin reacted to the touch.

“We have to finish this game before Thomas wakes up, right?” Roman sighed, his eyes flickering down to Janus. “And as much as it pains me to admit it, the snake is smarter than me. We need both brainiacs on this team awake and thinking clearly to get us out of here.”

“Roman, you—” Logan protested.

“We both know I’m the expendable one here!” Roman yelled, pushing his bracelet-ed wrist into Logan’s face. “So just take it and fix him.”

“Falsehood!” Logan shoved at Roman’s arm. “May I remind you that the nano cloud subtracts love and adds anger; ergo, it manipulates feelings. As I have said many times before, and let me know if I lose you, I am not a feeling. I am Logic. It won’t—”

“You are Thomas’s Logic, you big-brained idiot!” Roman got in his face again. “And no part of Thomas could simply lack the ability to feel things. It's not in him. That's why you are not just Logic; you are Logan, and you already have a temper problem. The last thing you need is more anger!”

Logan whipped out his stack of vocabulary cards and flipped through them.

“As they say: ‘pot, meet kettle’,” he snapped, holding one up.

Roman growled, raising his hand like he’d knock the card away, but seemed to realize that would only prove Logan’s point. The hand clenched into a fist, which fell resignedly onto Logan’s chest.

Like a soft shock against his skin.

Logan was quite sure Roman’s touch didn’t always do that.

“Using mine will buy us more time. The conversation will take longer with me,” Roman said through thin, angry lips, staring at the floor.

“Why?” Logan whispered.

Roman’s fist flattened into a palm, still resting against Logan’s chest.

“It’s just arithmetic. It’ll take longer with me because…”

Logan inhaled sharply, and Roman’s suddenly wide eyes came up to meet his.

“It'll take longer with me because we both know, we've always known, that, the basic fact of our relationship is that I love you more than you love me.”

Without even realizing it, they’d been reenacting the fight between Amy and Rory.

Logan placed his own hand over Roman’s, wondering if the other could feel how rapidly his heart was beating. Does…does Roman really believe I care for him less than he does for me?

Well.

Thinking back over their tumultuous friendship, the fights, the insults; he realized he’d given the creative Side every reason to believe that. But then another realization crashed over Logan, which he felt like a physical shock through his system.

Do I…do I love Roman?

Headstrong, stubborn Roman, who knew exactly how to get under his skin with his ridiculous ideas and over-the-top facial expressions and twisty, rapid-fire cleverness. Brave, selfless Roman, who’d sacrificed his own dreams just to ensure their Source could keep a clear conscience.

Roman, with that wild hair and pouting lower lip and those fiery, passionate eyes that made Logan feel warm just from looking into them. He defied all logic, all sense, all attempts to constrain or catalogue or categorize him.

And Logan…Logan absolutely loved him for that.

“So…so it has to be me,” Roman concluded, glaring, finally snatching his hand away.

It took Logan a moment to remember what they’d actually been arguing about. He grabbed at Roman’s wrist as the other began blindly removing his bracelet, both hands held high above Logan’s head.

“Roman, no, you’re…you’re making a mistake,” he grated, as Roman continued to keep his arms out of reach. No matter how he tried, Logan couldn’t budge him; the other Side was much stronger.

“Yeah?” Roman succeeded in unsnapping his bracelet. “Well, get a pen and get in line, Specs. I have a list.”

He thrust the device into Logan’s hands and stomped away, avoiding Patton’s questioning gaze.

Logan shook his head, hand tightening around Roman’s bracelet until the edges bit into his skin. Stubborn.

So, so stubborn.

Like you, a quiet part of his mind whispered. He’s your equal, your check. That’s why you like him.

…and that’s why it could never work.

He exhaled, resigned.

Then he pulled out his sonic, and set about reprograming the bracelet to wake Janus.

Chapter 12- A Good Man Goes to War

“Good men don’t need rules. Today is not the day to find out why I have so many.”

Janus awoke with a pounding headache and a frayed temper. He sat up, digging at his face so hard he dislodged a scale. Irritably flicking it away, he saw that Patton had managed to find both Logan and Roman.

Good. That means we can all get out of here.

“Janus—” Patton started, but Janus held up a finger.

“Do not.”

He stood up, swaying a little, hating the way they all clustered around him.

“Stop hovering, I’m fine,” he grumbled, waving them away. Aside from the headache, his body felt stiff and sluggish…probably similar to how Patton feels, he realized, which did not help his sour mood.

“What happened to me?” he demanded, flexing his hands.

“The nano particles caused your internal body temperature to drop too quickly,” Logan explained. “Which, due to your unique biology, caused you to pass out. Your reflexes may be impaired for a few minutes as the bracelet continues to counteract the effects.”

Janus glanced down at his wrist, noting the bulky black bracelet with its cheerfully blinking light. Who…? Not Patton, his was lost; so probably Logan…but no, Logan still wore his. But that leaves…

Sure enough, both of Roman’s wrists were bare.

Janus raised an eyebrow, but the princely Side refused to meet his gaze.

Whatever.

“I am getting us off this rock and back to our TARDISs,” Janus groused, stalking to the abandoned panel and picking up the wire cutters he’d found. “Feel free to either help, or preferably stay the hell out of my way.”

“Ooooh, Jan Jan sounds a widdle angwy.” Remus’s sing-song voice crackled over a loudspeaker. “Pretty soon he’s going to try and kill you.”

“That does it!” Janus whirled and threw the cutters at the wall, eliciting a startled noise from Roman when they narrowly missed his face. “Logan, you reprogram the damned panel. I am going to deal with Remus.”

“Oh no, I’m so scared!” Remus gushed, not sounding one bit scared.

Janus marched to the chamber door, only to be stopped by Roman’s outstretched arm.

“Move,” Janus growled, clenching a gloved hand.

Roman didn’t budge.

“What are you even going to do?” he demanded. “If this is like the episode, then he’s already a Dalek and we can’t exactly bring him along for a ride.”

“I’ll figure it out when I get there.” Janus knocked Roman’s arm aside. “Perhaps we’ll get lucky, and seeing him in person will be enough to satisfy the Imagination. We have to at least make the attempt.”

“Well, then I’m going with you!”

Janus stopped at that, turning slowly to face Roman.

“Why?” he said flatly. “Surely not because you crave the pleasure of my company.”

Roman mirrored Janus’s folded-arm stance.

“Maybe I don’t trust you.”

“Because you haven’t already made that crystal clear.”

“And maybe I have my own score to settle with my brother,” Roman added in a louder voice, glaring around the room as though waiting for Remus to butt in.

For once, Remus did not.

But maybe that was because the Voice chose that moment to override the comms again, dimming the lights and rattling off its garbled message. Logan narrowed his eyes, Patton cocked his head, but Roman simply looked annoyed.

The Prince does hate to be interrupted when he’s picking a fight. Janus rolled his eyes. Or maybe it’s the nano cloud, which would serve him right…

“You know,” Patton commented, once it was over. “That weird little speech almost sounds like Virgil, when he gets really upset and his voice goes all deep and layered.”

Janus’s eyes widened and he inadvertently met Logan’s shocked gaze.

It did.

It sounded very much like Virgil’s Tempest Tongue, and Virgil had been inexplicably missing from this entire adventure, and why had none of them made that connection?? Once again, Janus found himself both impressed and unsurprised that Patton had been the one to put the pieces together.

“If that’s true,” Logan began.

“You know it is,” Janus cut in, a little sharper than he meant to. Logan held up his hands.

“I was not disputing the validity of Patton’s claim,” he said.

“Uh, overprotective much, snake?” Roman said with an eye roll, making Janus’s scales bristle and his nostrils flare.

“If that is Virgil, and Patton is correct; it seems very likely,” Logan enunciated, still holding up his hands. “Then he is part of this LARP, and has been the entire time. If reunification is indeed the ultimate goal, we will need to locate him as well, in order to meet the Imagination’s requirements.”

“Well, I’m not fighting my way back through this goddamned, alien-infested haystack to look for one overdramatic, anxious eyeshadow palette,” Janus declared, turning toward the door again. “Not without my TARDIS. Virgil can sit on his moody ass and wait.”

“Language!” Patton called after him.

Roman, more annoyingly, followed; surprisingly quickly, given his short-skirted outfit.

“Mixed metaphors aside,” the creative Side said as Janus stalked across the exploded chamber. “I still demand to know what you mean to do when we reach my brother…will you slow down?”

Janus stormed into a far corridor, making a sharp left and leaving Roman to stumble along afterward. Two lefts, a right, a straight shot through Intensive Care and we should find Clara’s…or rather Remus’s…chamber.

“Come on,” he threw irritatedly over his shoulder. “Or is Mr. Really Obviously Muscular And Nice having a hard time keeping up? What are all those muscles for, anyway?”

“Don’t you dare bring up that courtroom right now, Deceit,” Roman said darkly, still trailing behind. “Don’t you dare.”

“Still refusing to use my name, I see,” Janus snarked. His fast, angry footfalls echoed on the concrete floor.

“Show me where you’ve earned the right to be called anything except what you are, Deceit,” Roman spat. “I can wait.”

Janus stopped and whirled, coat flaring, almost causing Roman to collide with him. He thrust a gloved finger into Roman’s face.

“You don’t get it. You still don’t get it, because you are too spoiled, entitled, and self-absorbed to even attempt to understand another Side’s point of view.”

Janus started walking again, ignoring the pinched, insulted look he knew Roman was giving the back of his head.

“And what exactly am I supposed to understand?” Roman demanded, catching up.

“Why do you know my name at all, W-R-O-M-M-I-N?” Janus asked.

Roman exhaled carefully, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Ignoring that obvious bait, we know your name because you told us.”

“Exactly! I told you!” Janus paused just outside the Intensive Care ward, facing Roman fully. “You know Deceit’s true name because Deceit willingly revealed it.” He let his voice drop. “Now why do you suppose he did that?”

“Stop referring to yourself in the third person like some creepy, two-faced Elmo doll,” Roman groused. “Obviously you wanted to manipulate Thomas into trusting you for some nefarious purpose of your own.”

“Oh, for—!” Janus exhaled, barely resisting the urge to beat his head against the wall. “I could have told Thomas my name any time I pleased, if his trust was the only thing I wanted.”

Roman smirked. “Ah-ha, so you admit you have an agenda—”

“I wanted your trust, Roman!” Janus roared, silencing the other. “Yours, and Patton’s. I thought taking my glove off would be enough of a symbolic gesture, and how did you repay me? With laughter!”

Roman just stared.

Janus sighed.

“You were on my side, in that courtroom,” he said in a quieter voice. “Whether you are willing to admit it or not, Creativity and Self Preservation make a strong team for Thomas, and I don’t hate you, Roman.”

Roman scoffed and rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

“I have been trying to be more than just Deceit, to Thomas, to…all of you,” Janus went on. “Given how well our Purposes align, I cannot understand why you, of all Sssides, have been the most resistant to the notion that I am not evil!”

“Then let me enlighten you, Jack the Fibber.” Roman leaned close, eyes ablaze with fury. “Remember that courtroom scenario you just bragged about? The one where you claim I was on your side?”

Janus made a “duh” gesture with his hand.

“Did you conveniently forget that you spent the entire time patronizing me, emotionally manipulating me, and making me look and feel like a fool?” Roman folded his arms. “Because if that’s how you treat your so-called ‘allies’, then I would hate to be an actual enemy.”

Janus frowned. It was true; he had done a bit of twisting Roman around his finger, hadn’t he?

“Nobody trusted me then, and I needed you to help Thomas make the right choice,” he explained. “Your pride and your little rivalry with me make you irrational at times. I couldn’t risk either getting in the way.”

Roman let out a humorless chuckle.

“See, you say things like that,” he gestured angrily, “and then act shocked when I do the honest thing and side with Patton.”

“Which you and I both now know was a missstake!” Janus snapped. He tapped a series of numbers into the control panel by the Intensive Care door, which slid open.

They went in, but Roman, unfortunately for Janus, was not finished.

“And don’t forget the part where you manipulated us all again, by removing Logan and impersonating him,” Roman said.

“Because you and Patton were handling that situation so admirably on your own,” Janus snarked.

“That is not the point! That has never been the point!” Roman waved his arms for emphasis, almost knocking into one of the cells along the walls.

“Even here, now, when I’m trying to have an actual conversation with you,” and he jabbed Janus’s chest, “you’re still trying to manipulate me. The only time you’ve called me by my actual name is when you’re like ‘oh, Roman, woe is me, why won’t you trust me’? The rest of the time it’s all mockery.”

“It’s almost like it hurts when someone refuses to call you by your actual name.” Janus leaned into Roman’s space, baring his fangs. “Doesssn’t it?”

Roman winced. It was a tiny, tiny motion, but Janus saw it.

“Fine. Janus. But lying and manipulation are still wrong,” Roman said in a firm voice. “It doesn’t matter why you do it. It doesn’t matter what mistakes I make, or Patton makes, or even Logan or Virgil make without you. Lying fixes nothing.”

Janus pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are missing the bigger picture—”

“No! Stop pushing me to accept the things you’ve done to me just because you maybe, maybe, had good intentions!” Roman shouted. “As long as you believe deception is a legitimate path to making Thomas do what you want…even when it turns out to be the right call…you and I will never see eye to eye, and I will never trust you!”

Janus’s mouth lifted into a snarl.

“You know what? So be it. I do not have to defend my purpose or my methods to you.” He yanked out his sonic laser and placed it under Roman’s chin, relishing the momentary flare of fear in those caramel eyes.

“I just want to know one thing, oh noble Prince Roman, and be honest. When you were creating this cute little adventure for yourself and Logan, did you really have nothing to do with me being cast as the villain? The Master?”

The last word he cracked like a whip, and it echoed down the long, straight corridor.

“…master?” a staticky voice echoed from one of the cells, and a small yellow light flickered to life on the wall.

Cells that were, Janus noticed for the first time, unsettlingly empty...except for the rows and rows of fist-sized metal spheres along the walls, which began to light up, one by one.

“Uh…” Roman whispered. “What is happening? Where are the Daleks?”

Other voices joined in the chorus of “master, master”, until the corridor buzzed with echoes and Janus’s blood ran cold as ice in his body. The weird, almost childlike cadence was unsettlingly familiar…

“There are no Daleks.” He stared at the spheres, realization crashing over him.

“What?” Roman looked around wildly at the mass of yellow and now red lights, sword hilt gripped so tight that his knuckles were white.

The spheres began to detach from the walls.

“There are no insane Daleks in here,” Janus repeated, his voice rising. “They’re Toclafane! Run!”

He sprinted down the corridor as the first laser blast burst at his heels. Roman yelped, and then they were both running for the far door. A few cells were blasted open, though the little aliens were small enough to slip right through the bars, and the air suddenly swarmed with spiky, fist-sized metal balls.

“What…Toclafane?!” Roman yelled as they ran, dodging blasts. “Why? And why are they shooting at us?”

“The Master betrayed us! Kill the Master!” Metallic spikes whirred.

“They’re shooting at me!” Janus yelled back, shooting a wild blast with his laser over his shoulder. “Or rather, at the Master!”

Laser fire exploded at Roman’s feet, sending him careening into a cell as they ran.

“Well, tell them they have terrible aim!” the Prince retorted.

“Yes, I’m sure they’ll take advice from the character who canonically used and betrayed them,” Janus snarked, zapping a Toclafane and sending it spinning into its neighbor.

They reached the far door and slid to a halt, Janus seizing the control panel to open the door.

“Funny,” Roman said breathlessly, catching up and drawing his sword. “I can relate.”

Janus rolled his eyes as Roman spun to face the oncoming horde of tiny aliens, batting away a few spinning metal spikes.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, use this!” Janus thrust his sonic into Roman’s hands. Roman, to his credit, didn’t argue, but switched his sword to his left hand and readied both.

“Remus!” Janus shouted, focusing all his attention on the door’s keypad. “A little help would be appreciated.”

Behind him, he heard his sonic buzz and the sound of Roman’s sword crunching against something metal. The ozone smell of burnt electronics was starting to hurt his lungs.

“You have to say pleeeeeeease,” Remus’s voice said.

Janus slammed a hand against the panel.

“REMUS, I SWEAR TO APOPHIS I WILL REMOVE EACH ONE OF YOUR ORGANS IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER—!” he roared.

“Which alphabet?” Remus cut in.

“REMUS SANDERS—!”

“All right, all right! So violent. I love it!” Remus crowed. “Here you go.”

The door opened.

They tumbled through, Roman zapping away one last murder ball as the door slid shut again.

Chapter 12- Can You Hear Me?

“I’m still quite socially awkward, so I’m just going to subtly walk towards the console and look at something. And then, in a minute, I’ll think of something that I should’ve said…that might have been helpful.”

Roman leaned against the door for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the bright white light that filled the circular chamber. Compared to the dimness of the rest of the asylum, it was downright blinding.

“IT’S ABOUT TIME,” a harsh Dalek voice rasped, making both Roman and Janus jump and whirl.

A Dalek sat, motionless and menacing, at the far side of the room, bound in layers of chains. Its casing was green with silver trimming, and it wiggled its green-glowing eyestalk in a way that was almost…suggestive.

“I suppose that’s you, Remus?” Janus asked, visibly relaxing.

Roman sheathed his sword and realized he still had Janus’s sonic, which he tucked against his wrist. As little as he liked the unchivalrous weapon, he didn’t feel like handing it back over just yet.

“IN THE FLESH. BUT NOT REALLY.” Dalek-Remus burst into metallic giggles, sounding all the more bizarre coming from the killing machine he currently inhabited.

He probably likes being a Dalek, Roman thought sourly.

“ZAP MY CHAINS, MASTER JAN.” Remus wiggled, attempting to move. “AND LETS GO FIND THE EMO.”

Janus pulled a face.

“You…actually want to come with us?” Roman raised an eyebrow.

“THAT IS WHAT I SAID.”

Roman scrubbed a hand through his hair. He hadn’t considered what they would do if the dream didn’t end once they actually found Remus, and he definitely hadn’t considered the possibility of Remus actually wanting to be rescued. He’d assumed his brother was just, well, being himself. Taunting them, testing them, before fucking off (sometimes literally, ick) to do his own thing.

“I had hoped the scenario would end once we reached this room,” Roman confessed aloud, side-eyeing Janus.

Janus scoffed. “Well, it didn’t. Any other bright ideas, Creativity?”

“Well, we can’t take him,” Roman began, and startled backward when Remus screeched.

“EXCUSE YOU!”

“I’m sorry, Remus, but you’ve seen this episode! This is where your involvement in the story canonically ends.” Roman threw his hands up. “If we bring you along, it could mess up all the parameters we’ve established so far. And if finding you wasn’t enough, that means Specs was right; we really do have to track down old Panic at the Everywhere before the Imagination will let us go.”

“And since we haven’t the faintest idea where to start, we’ll need our TARDISs.” Janus walked back to the door and sighed. “We’ll have to run the Toclafane gauntlet again.

Roman cracked his neck. “I’m ready if you are, snake.”

“I’ll have my sonic back first.” Janus held out a hand. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you trying to secret it away.”

Roman’s mouth twisted, but he handed it over.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

Roman readied his sword. Janus slapped the panel.

Nothing happened.

Frowning, he hit it again, but the door remained obstinately closed. Roman’s stomach sank.

Can’t one aspect of this disaster be easy? Just one?

“Remus, open the door,” Janus snapped.

“WHY SHOULD I?”

Both Sides slowly turned to face the Dalek.

“Exsscuse me?” Janus said, dipping his head to glower.

Remus’s twin head lights flashed. “WHY SHOULD I LET YOU GO?”

“Because we need to end this game, Remus! You know that!” Roman ran a hand exasperatedly down his face. “Are you choosing now to be contrary? Really?”

“EXCUSES!” Remus snapped. “THE TRUTH IS, YOU DON’T WANT MY COMPANY.”

“Remus…that’s not it,” Janus started.

“Oh, that is absolutely it.” Roman folded his arms. “You pride yourself on how many different ways you can gross someone out within the span of five minutes, and then you’re surprised that nobody wants you around?”

“I HAVE BEEN HELPING YOU THIS ENTIRE NIGHT.” Remus rattled his chains; one of them snapped. “AND YOU MAKE PLANS IN THIS ROOM LIKE I’M NOT EVEN HERE. YOU WOULD LEAVE ME BEHIND WITHOUT A SECOND THOUGHT.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Like you wouldn’t do the same for a laugh, if it suited you!”

“BUT I DO NOT CALL MYSELF A HERO.”

Roman felt those words like a punch to the solar plexus. He physically recoiled, his grip on his sword tightening.

“Look, Remus—” Janus started.

“I AM EVERYTHING THOMAS FINDS DISGUSTING AND ABHORANT,” Remus continued. “UNLIKE SOME, I DO NOT PRETEND TO BE ANYTHING ELSE.”

That barb seemed to be aimed at Janus, who flinched, and Roman almost felt bad for him.

Almost.

“WHY SHOULD I ALLOW YOU TO LEAVE HERE IN TRIUMPH, JUST BECAUSE YOU ARE THE SO CALLED GOOD GUYS?” Remus surged forward, snapping the rest of his chains, and raised his gunstick. “THOMAS IS SUPPOSED TO REJECT ME, BUT WHY I SHOULD ACCEPT THE SAME FROM YOU?”

The gunstick began to glow.

Roman felt the wall at his back; out of time, out of options, again. What would they do if Remus decided to actually shoot them?

They were trapped in here.

“KILLING YOU WOULD END THE GAME, WOULDN’T IT?” Remus shrieked, shrill even for a Dalek. He rolled forward until his eyestalk was inches from Roman’s face. “TELL ME WHY I SHOULDN’T!”

Like looking in a funhouse mirror.

Roman saw his own terrified face, reflected in a Dalek eyestalk. Is this what I would be like, if I became someone Thomas…didn’t need anymore?

“Maybe you should,” Roman said quietly, the words just slipping out.

Remus stopped. “WHAT.”

“Roman, what the hell?” Janus snapped beside him. He had his sonic aimed at Remus’s headpiece, clearly ready to return fire if necessary.

Roman chuckled, bitterly.

“You Dark Sides always know how to hit where it hurts, you know? You’re right, Remus, I’m not a hero. Thomas even said so. So maybe…maybe killing us really is the fastest way to end this game. Clean reset. Done.”

“Don’t be a moron,” Janus retorted. “Thomas said no such thing. I was there for that conversation, if you’ll remember.”

“Shut up, snake!” Roman bared his teeth. “He thinks it, and don’t pretend like you aren’t the reason; you and my brother both! I knew who I was, and Thomas knew who I was, and everything was fine until you two started showing up with your lies and your lewd grossness and making Thomas doubt everything he is!” He dropped his gaze, eyes stinging. “Everything I am.”

Remus backed up a few inches. “AT LEAST YOU ARE HEEDED.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Roman said tiredly, still biting back tears.

“YOU NEVER HAD TO SHOUT TO BE HEARD. WHEREAS I WILL ALWAYS BE A MONSTER.”

Janus’s face shuttered. “Remus. We’ve talked about this.”

Remus aimed his eyestalk at the deceptive Side. “I AM NOT LIKE YOU. I NEITHER WANT NOR NEED ACCEPTANCE FROM OUR SOURCE, BECAUSE I AM THE INCEPTION AND DEPOSITORY OF EVERYTHING THAT HE FINDS UNACCEPTABLE.”

“But you still want it from us,” Janus finished quietly. “Is that what this is about, Rem?”

Remus said nothing.

Roman glanced between them. Somehow he had a hard time picturing his chaotic brother sitting down and just…talking, especially about heavy stuff like purposes and whatnot. Especially with Janus?

Janus exhaled.

“Honestly, neither of you know how to change, and I have watched it hold both of you back.”

He held up fingers to forestall both their protests, and pointed at Roman.

“You have always bathed in the light with Thomas, and so you’ve never needed the motivation to be better. And you,” he pointed at Remus, “have never been accepted by anyone, and therefore have never had the opportunity.”

“But the clock ticks on, and Thomas is growing up,” Janus went on, beginning to pace. “Which means all of us, including the two of you, must adapt. This whole ‘light Side, dark Side’ nonsense has to stop if Thomas is ever to achieve any sort of peace within himself.”

“EASY FOR YOU TO SAY,” Remus said. “NOW THAT YOU HAVE A SEAT AT THE TABLE.”

“As much as I hate to agree with Remus.” Roman folded his arms again. “I have to agree with Remus. What makes you the expert in how we need to change?”

“I am Thomas’s self-preservation!” Janus snapped, stalking back to Roman. “Adaptability is one of my core functions, because those who cannot change, do not survive.”

Roman frowned. “That seems like an oversimplification—”

“You really want to know why we ‘dark Sides’ have become such a problem for you, Roman?” Janus interrupted. “It’s because you, and Patton, and to a small extent Logan, have kept Thomas trapped in a familiar, oversimplified pattern of thinking, like an ill-fitting jacket bursting at the seams!”

Janus held up a finger. “Virgil was the first tear, lighting the metaphorical flame under your butts to think deeper, think wider, think differently. And when he, too, got too used to squeezing himself to fit into that safe little kid jacket, you got me.”

He smirked.

“You got me, pushing you to understand that the world is bigger than black and white, good and evil, and that sometimes the solutions to problems are not wholly one thing or another. And when you wouldn’t heed my words, you got someone even more blunt.”

He gestured at Remus as he spoke, then exhaled and adjusted his coat.

“We are not evil alien forces creeping about in Thomas’s head, making trouble for no reason, Roman. We have purposes, too. And if you’d take one moment, and use that creative brain instead of lashing out with your fantasy-trope, holier-than-thou, six-year-old mores, I know you are capable of seeing that.”

Roman huffed, and looked away.

The problem was…he did see it.

Maybe he couldn’t have put it in such articulate terms; he wasn’t Logan, after all. But anyone who looked into Thomas’s dejected eyes lately could deduce that the so-called Dark Sides were a symptom of something deeper, not the cause of it.

He just hated when Deceit…fine, Janus…was right, and lately it felt like the snake Side was turning out to be right about a lot of things. If Roman was ever going to change…if he was ever going to be better…he needed to reign in his pride, and acknowledge the truth in Janus’s words.

“The god of doorways, of beginnings and endings,” Roman said quietly. “One face to the past and one to the future.”

Janus blinked, clearly shocked; his snake eye slitted to the merest sliver.

“I am Creativity,” Roman added, enjoying the other’s momentary discomfiture. “Do you really think I’m not familiar with all the mythology Thomas has studied over the years?”

“If you knew what it meant.” Janus spoke barely above a whisper, looking away. “Then why did you mock it?”

Roman pressed his lips together. In all honesty, despite all his posturing, he’d never been proud of how he’d acted that day.

“I was jealous,” he admitted, just as softly. “Thomas needed you, a Side he’s always seen as morally abhorrent, more than he needed me, his…his hero…” he trailed off, staring hard at Remus’s Dalek shell. “What was I supposed to think? What does that make me?”

Janus sighed, deeply, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“It was never a competition. The metaphorical table is big enough for all of us. And I…” he sighed again. “I was wrong, to dig at your insecurities the way that I did. It was unworthy of me.”

Roman gaped at him. “By Odin’s beard. Was that…was that an apology?”

Janus grimaced, and flicked out his forked tongue. “Don’t get usssed to it.”

“GET OUT.”

Both Sides turned to face Remus, who’d been blessedly, unusually quiet up to that point.

“Excuse me?” Roman said.

“I HAVE LOWERED THE PLANET’S SHIELD.” Remus gestured with his gunstick as the door to his prison slid open. “WE HAVE JUST UNDER TWO MINUTES TO GET BACK TO THE TELEPORTATION CHAMBER.”

“Are you crazy?” Roman yelled, drawing his sword as the Toclafane outside swarmed toward the door.

“Kill the Master!”

A distant explosion rocked the asylum, making Roman and Janus stumble.

“IT HAS STARTED.” Remus slammed his body into Roman, pushing him toward the door. “TWO MINUTES, THE PLANET BLOWS UP. TICK TOCK.”

“What about them!” Janus shouted, zapping a Toclafane that tried to breach the doorway and hauling Roman back by one of his denim suspenders.

“I WILL CLEAR THE WAY.”

Remus rolled out into the carnage, firing his gunstick and laughing maniacally.

“EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE!”

Laser bursts and smoke clogged the air, Toclafane swarmed and fell in his wake, but finally the little murder balls began fleeing en mass.

Another explosion shook the ground, closer this time.

They ran.

“What made you change your mind?” Janus panted as they rounded a corner.

“THE SCENARIO MUST END.” Remus easily kept up, despite being a tin can on wheels. “THOMAS IS ATTEMPTING TO WAKE UP.”

“What about Virgil?” Roman demanded.

“IT DOESN’T MATTER NOW.”

“You didn’t kill us,” Roman pointed out.

Remus made a grating noise that might have been a chuckle.

“MAYBE YOU DON’T KNOW ME AS WELL AS YOU THINK,” he said. “OR PERHAPS THIS IS MORE FUN.”

The floor shook violently, sending cracks knifing up the walls.

“We have a problem!” Janus, bringing up the rear, shouted as they sprinted down the last hallway. “A big, fiery problem!”

Roman felt scorching heat on his neck and glanced back. His heart dropped; the corridor behind them was rapidly being engulfed in flames.

“This bit seemed so much cooler in the episode!” he yelled, putting on a burst of speed.

“Shut up! Go, go, go!”

Patton was waiting outside the teleportation chamber, his Cyberman head swiveling back and forth. He let out a metallic screech as they approached.

“Don’t shoot the Dalek, it’s just Remus!” Janus shouted, waving his hands. “Get inside!”

They all stumbled in.

Logan crouched by the translucent floor panel, sonic poised, obviously ready to activate the teleport. Roman had never been so happy to see his nerd.

“Patton, Roman, what—?” Logan squawked when Roman grabbed his arm to haul him up on the platform. Remus levitated the last few feet; he was the last one on.

“No time, Specs!” Roman yelled cheerfully. “Step on it!”

An explosion, near and violent, rocked the platform and sent everyone but Remus stumbling into each other. Roman caught himself on Logan’s shoulders…completely by accident, of course.

“Step on…what?” Logan squinted at Roman’s face. “What’s—”

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Janus seized Logan’s sonic and pointed it down at the panel, whirring it to life.

Light blasted up from their feet as fire filled the doorway.

Roman braced for a fireball…but the room seemed to disintegrate around them and the awful heat vanished. He sagged against Logan’s back. Soft weight enclosed his arms…sleeves…and he realized his outfit was shifting back into his familiar Princely attire.

They had done it!

“BY THE way.” Remus’s voice warped from a Dalek’s screech to his own whiny tenor. “Whose idea was it to make Patton a Cyberman?”

Stunned silence.

“I’m a WHAT now?” Patton’s shocked voice rang out.

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tenroseforeverandever · 4 years

Text

Double Blind

Characters: Rose Tyler; Tenth Doctor; Reinette; Adam Mitchell

Tags: AU - human; blind date; fluff; romance; humour

Summary: Rose Tyler has been set up on a blind date with a bloke she’s having a lot of misgivings about, but when he arrives, she finds he isn’t anything like she expected him to be.

Notes: This was written as part of a Classic Trope challenge on the Doctor x Rose Discord group. I got “Blind Date”. The story was actually inspired by one of the cute little stories on my French course on DuoLingo! To my brilliant beta team, @rose--nebula and mrsbertucci, my undying gratitude, as always. You got me on the right track more than a few times, and with the amazing @aintfraidanoghosts, you helped me plan out the rough patches. My love to you all!

Read also at: AO3; FF.net; TSP

Double Blind

Rose Tyler shifted in her seat and straightened the pale blue rose on the white table linens for the umpteenth time. She glanced covertly at the other tables around her: men and women dressed in nice suits and fine fabrics, eating meticulously presented food from china plates. Rose wriggled again, brushing invisible motes of lint from the cuffs of her white blouse, hoping she looked presentable. She told herself she couldn’t look too terribly out of place; the maître ’d hadn’t blinked an eye.

She had never set foot inside a restaurant this upscale before. They didn’t have posh spots like this near the Powell Estate. But the French restaurant, Révélations, was where her date had insisted they meet. He’d texted her instructions to place a blue rose on the table in front of her so he could identify her when he arrived. The idea of the rose was obvious (her name) and the blue was, according to him, for hope that their date would be “just the first of many”. He hadn’t liked the idea of exchanging photos, which would have made identifying each other simple. He’d informed her that “a blind date is a blind date” and he wanted “to meet without any preconceived notions” or some rubbish like that. But Rose already had preconceived the notion that this bloke was a bit too sure of himself. It was just a bloody first date, after all, blind or not. He sounded like he was already practically planning their wedding.

She sighed, not for the first time over the last few days. Her friend, Shareen… actually Shareen’s new boyfriend whom Rose had never even met… had arranged this date: a bloke, named Adam Mitchell, whom he knew from the research labs at the Uni. The bloke had allegedly returned from college in the United States to do Post-Doctoral research on some hopelessly science-y subject Rose could barely even pronounce the name of. Why Shareen (or, more to the point, Shareen’s mysterious boyfriend…) had ever thought he would be a good match for her, Rose didn’t understand. She didn’t even have any A-levels to her name, and she worked in a shop, for God’s sake.

On top of that, if she was being honest, Adam had rubbed her a bit the wrong way with the dictatorial tone of his texts to her. It wasn’t an auspicious beginning.

“The last thing I need in my life right now,” she’d told Shareen in no uncertain terms, “is another condescending, controlling… shite boyfriend. Besides, I only just got rid of Jimmy. I really don’t think I’m ready for any sort of boyfriend.”

Shareen had scoffed. “But this isn’t Jimmy. This one actually has a real, functioning brain, and he has a proper career lined up. He has money, babe; he can look after you.”

“What? I’m supposed to be some kept woman? You sound like my flippin’ mum.”

It had taken some convincing, but eventually, Rose had tired of Shareen’s whinging, and capitulated, agreeing to go on this bloody date, despite her misgivings.

And here she sat, waiting for Adam to arrive, incessantly rearranging her stupid blue rose and terrified to order anything more than a glass of still water lest it bankrupt her. She felt like she’d been waiting forever but when she glanced at the time on her mobile, wondering if she’d been stood up, it turned out he wasn’t late… yet. Rose couldn’t decide if she should be relieved or disappointed.

After another five minutes of jittering her leg under the table linens and trying desperately not to bite her nails, she decided to pack it in. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want… this. She gathered her handbag from the floor by her feet, and made to stand, but stopped half-way. From the lobby, with the maître d’ standing next to him, appeared a tall, slender man a few years older than her. She observed him carefully for signs that he might be Adam: he had brown hair and eyes (check) and was wearing a suit and a tie adorned with blue flowers (check, again.)

So far so good.

Although, she had to admit, the overall image wasn’t quite what she’d expected from Adam, based on the tone of his texts to her. Somehow, she’d been expecting the brown hair to be carefully combed into place, not a delicious, expertly tousled mop that practically invited her to run her fingers through it. And the suit was a bit more casual than the “business casual” she’d been anticipating: rumpled brown with pinstripes; tie carelessly loosened from the confines of his collar; and a pair of battered, cream-coloured Converse on his feet, in place of dress shoes. Based on his tone, she’d thought Adam would have been more… put-together and formal.

Her heart dropped. It couldn’t be him. Loads of people had brown hair and eyes, and the tie… easily a coincidence. Besides, while she’d been told Adam was good-looking, this bloke was positively fit!

She watched with bated breath as he glanced around the restaurant. Her heart did a little flip when his eyes settled on the rose in front of her. Then his gaze lifted to hers and his face erupted into a wide, toothy grin. Rose’s breath caught and she immediately plonked back down into her seat.

She amended her first assessment: he wasn’t just fit; he was drop-dead, bloody gorgeous.

The man waved off the maître d’, who remained hovering behind him, and stepped toward Rose’s table. “Hello.” He continued to beam stupidly at her.

She figured her expression was equally ridiculous as she grinned back in a dreamy haze. “Hello.”

“The blue flower…” He nodded toward the rose in a soft Estuary accent that made her feel all gooey inside.

“Yeah. And the, erm… the tie,” she managed.

“The tie? Oh… yes, it’s one of my favourites. Love the tie. Erm…” he gestured to the empty chair across from her, “…may I?”

“Oh, God, sorry! Of course.”

He sat down and put his elbows on the table and leaned toward her. “So…”

“So…” Rose giggled (blimey, she wasn’t normally the giggly sort…), then pulled herself together. “So, you’re doing post-doctoral work at the Uni, yeah? On what was it, again?”

“Quantum and Temporal Physics.”

Rose gulped, really wishing she’d never let Jimmy-bloody-Stone manipulate her into dropping out of high school. Not that A-level anything would help her much in this situation, but at least she might have stood a chance. “Yeah, I thought it was something like that…”

“Fascinating field, really. My research is based on the premise that space and time are fundamentally linked at quantum level and that if we can travel on any trajectory through one, we should also be able to travel on any trajectory through the other. It’s just a matter of applying…” he rattled on, gesticulating with his hands. (He had lovely, long fingers, Rose mused dreamily, quite happy to listen to the cadence of his voice and imagine all the things those fingers could do.) “…and realigning the quantum matrices. You see, people assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but actually from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint…” He trailed off. “I’ve lost you, haven’t I?”

“Just a bit, yeah.” She chuckled but her cheeks burned. “My brain checked out somewhere back around when you said, ‘space and time’.”

He cast her an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry. I do this all the time. Donna, that’s my cousin, she calls me a great, big outer space dunce. I keep forgetting that not everyone is a genius, like me.” He sniffed and straightened his tie.

Rose arched her eyebrow at him. Okay, now this was more the Adam Mitchell she’d been expecting: a bit of a pretentious git.

“Oh, no! Sorry, so sorry! I’ve mucked it up again. I just meant… weeell, I am very clever, but I don’t mean that I think I’m better than other people… I just know things, I suppose. And I get excited and like to talk about them because I want to share my knowledge… and as Donna pointed out, I’m also a dunce.”

Rose’s heart swelled with sudden affection. He wasn’t being pretentious after all; he was just being… forthright, sweet.

“And getting back to what I really meant to say, earlier,” he blurted, “all that gobbledygook about time… it’s really just a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey… stuff.”

Rose laughed. “Now that’s some science I can get my head around!”

He beamed at her again, his relief evident. “So, what do you do?”

Rose’s cheeks heated again. “Oh, me?” She averted her eyes, dreading the disappointment she would surely see settle on his face, but she supposed it was better she was upfront about it. “I’m just working in a shop… Henrick’s.”

“Oooooh, posh.” He waggled his eyebrows, setting her off giggling again. “I commend you. Not just anyone can handle rude customers all day. I bet you get some doozies in there!”

Bemused, Rose could only nod in agreement.

“I’d end up shouting at them and get fired the same day.”

“I feel like that too, sometimes, but I’ve learned to handle it, I guess. I’m top sales, every month.”

“Oh, well done! Brilliant!” He seemed genuinely proud of her achievement. There was no sarcasm in his tone or delivery, just open enthusiasm.

“But I really want to go back and get my A-levels,” she insisted, feeling she had to defend herself. “I was good at English and French back in school… and Art! I used to love painting!”

“I reiterate: brilliant! You should do just that if it’s what you want. What sort of things–”

The waiter stepped up to their table at that moment to offer them menus and tell them about the specials of the day. Rose listened intently. The food all sounded very opulent, and was probably delicious, but she didn’t have a clue what half of it was. She did her best to keep up, nodding politely and making interested noises at appropriate points.

“May I offer you something to drink while you peruse the menu?” the waiter offered.

“Oh, erm…” Rose stammered. What she really wanted was to order a pint, but she didn’t think that would go over too well at Révélations. And she didn’t want to order anything too expensive… “I’d love a glass of red wine.”

“We have a lovely selection of fine house wines for you to choose from.” The waiter opened the wine menu and pointed to the appropriate section.

Rose bit her lower lip, the words swimming before her eyes, and her heart somersaulting around her chest. “I… erm…” She glanced over to Adam, who was watching her with slightly narrowed eyes. She couldn’t help thinking he was sizing her up… and she was failing. Then his expression softened, and he offered her a compassionate smile.

“Oooh, a glass of red sounds good. How about we just order a bottle?”

Rose nodded fervently.

“What do you recommend?” he asked the waiter.

When the wine was selected and the waiter had finally left, Rose opened her menu and pretended to read over the selections. She glanced shyly up at Adam from beneath her fringe. He too, was engrossed in the menu. “Thanks,” she murmured. “I don’t know…”

“Don’t thank me yet.” His eyes met hers, sparkling with amusement. “We can only hope our waiter chose a nice wine for us. Aaand, speak of the devil…”

The waiter reappeared, opened the wine, and poured a little into each of their glasses to taste. Rose held the glass to her lips, hesitantly taking a small sip. She hummed her appreciation as the fruity flavour exploded over her tongue.

Adam was decidedly less reserved in his approach. With a flourish of his eyebrows at Rose and a quirk of a smile, he swirled the liquid around his glass, and sniffed it intently. (The show-off!) “Ahhh… that’s lovely. And do I detect… NO! It can’t be? Is that an overtone of... bananas?” He winked at Rose.

“Bananas, sir?” The waiter goggled at him. “I… erm… bananas?”

Rose clapped her hand over her mouth to hold back the bark of laughter building in her throat.

“Oh, I love bananas!” Adam cheered. “Always bring a banana to a party. And if you can’t do that, find a brilliant wine with overtones of bananas! This is lovely, don’t you think?” he addressed Rose.

“Lovely, yeah,” she agreed.

“Pour away, my good man!”

As the poor, perplexed waiter filled their glasses, he asked: “Have you had a chance to view the menu?”

Rose met Adam’s eyes and gave a little shake of her head. He turned to the waiter. “A few more minutes, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I’ll come back in a little while.”

As soon as the waiter was out of earshot, Rose couldn’t contain herself any longer: “Oh my God! Bananas?!”

“Oh, I thought he needed to lighten up a bit. This place is all a bit hoity-toity, in my opinion.” His eyes suddenly widened. “I hope you don’t mind…”

“Are you kidding? That was the best thing I’ve heard all week. The look on his face!”

“I know!”

They did nothing but grin stupidly at each other over sips of their wine for a few minutes, breaking into hopeless giggles every so often.

Adam took a deep breath and a gulp of wine. “So,” he asked, returning the subject to their earlier conversation, “back to school, eh? Is that something you’d want to do?”

“I think so, yeah. I want to at least be able to say I got my A-levels. I let a boy convince me I didn’t need them, and it was the worst decision I’ve ever made. I feel like… I dunno, it would be like taking my life back.”

He offered her a warm smile. “Well, good for you! And then… uni?”

“Maybe… who knows? Would that matter?” She worried the corner of her lower lip between her teeth. Despite her hesitancy to come on this date, she was really liking this bloke. She could see herself spending more time with him… if he were amenable. ‘Course she wouldn’t let on to Shareen. Shareen would be insufferable.

“What? No! Of course not! Uni is not the be-all and end-all. There are so many other avenues to pursue if that’s what you want. It was right for me, obviously, but…weeell…” he tugged on his ear, “you certainly don’t need my approval.”

Rose offered him a grateful little smile and ducked her head. She sighed happily. “What I’d really love to do, first, is take a year or so and just travel. Explore the world.”

“Oh, I’d love to travel too! I’ve spent so long at school. I mean I’ve studied in the States, but I never really had much chance to look around, to explore. I love to explore!”

“Me too! I’ve never been anywhere ‘cept when me and mum used to cram into Cousin Mo’s old car and drive to a beach in Dorset for a few days on the summer hols. Mum must have gotten sick of my whinging. She finally left me behind when I was fourteen. Blimey, she and Mo must have had a grand ol’ time without me taggin’ along.”

They both laughed.

“Where would you go,” she asked, “if you could choose?”

“Oh, I rather like the idea of blindfolding myself and throwing a dart at a map of the world. Seeing where the wind takes me.”

“Oh, that sounds perfect! But, on your own?” Rose blurted out the words, not thinking through how they would sound. He would probably think she was inviting herself along on this imaginary trip they were planning. Bloody hell, she’d not known him for more than twenty minutes.

He shrugged, his cheerful expression crumbling a bit around the edges. “There is no one else… not really…” His fringe fell over his face as he pointedly turned his eyes to the menu.

There was history there, and Rose wanted to learn more, but in this moment she just wanted to be there for him. She found herself dismissing any worries about being too forward, and impulsively, she reached across the table and rested her hand over his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “There’s me.” She licked her lips as his hand twitched under hers, sure he was going to pull it away.

Instead, he flipped his over so their palms were touching. A zing of something bloody brilliant coursed through her, and as their eyes met, she knew he felt it too, a shared energy. It felt so right. She swore she could feel the turn of the Earth, the ground under her feet spinning at a thousand miles an hour, like she was falling through space.

Stunned by the feelings exploding inside her, she opened her menu to divert her mind. Glancing up she saw Adam was doing the same.

A few minutes of awkward silence passed, their hands still touching; it seemed neither of them was willing to break the link between them. Finally, Adam spoke, gesturing to the menu, “So, what do you like, Reinette? It’s my first time here; I was hoping you could tell me what’s good.”

Rose let his words sink in. What was he on about? Hadn’t he selected this restaurant? Was this some sort of test? Frowning, she slid her hand from his. “It’s my first time here, too… Wait!” She pursed her lips as she processed his words. “Did you just call me… Reinette?”

His eyes bulged, his eyebrows disappearing under his fringe. “Oh, blimey! You aren’t…?” He ran a desperate hand through his hair. “I take it you’re not Reinette, then?”

Rose chuckled, shaking her head. “Never heard of her. And I’ll wager your name’s not Adam?”

“Adam?” He frantically ruffled his hair again. “Blimey! No, I go by Jonathan Noble.”

“Nice to meet ya, Jonathan Noble. Rose Tyler.”

“Rose Tyler, eh? Roooose Tyler. I have to admit, I like the sound of that. It suits you much better than Reinette. Aaaand, it goes a long way to explaining why you weren’t quite what I was expecting… Turns out, I wasn’t expecting you at all. I was expecting… well, Reinette, who I have to admit,” his voice dropped to a confidential whisper as he leaned across the table toward Rose, “seemed a little full of herself… a bit la-di-da, if you know what I mean?”

“Don’t I just,” she whispered back. “I got the same vibes from Adam. And then you… you seemed so…” she chewed on the corner of her finger, “…so… I dunno. We just seemed to click, yeah?”

He beamed. “Oh, yes! You know, looking back, now… I was a little surprised when you didn’t know what wine to order. I assumed Reinette was the sort that would be able to rattle on about fine wines until she was blue in the face.”

“I know! I kinda had the same experience with you… just the way you were dressed, yeah. I was expecting something a little more… proper, I guess.” His smile faltered and she felt a little rush of panic. “Oh, God! No, no! I didn’t mean… I love this, what you’re wearing. It’s comfortable and, erm… approachable. It really suits you.”

“You think?” He flushed and tugged on his ear, his eyes filling with hope.

“Oh, yeah! And the Chucks… inspired!”

Rose glanced up past Jonathan’s shoulder, distracted by a woman who had just arrived and was putting up a bit of a fuss to the maître d’. “Erm, Jonathan…” she asked, trying to come off as casual, “…what made you think I was this Reinette-person?”

“Well, I was told to look for a beautiful blonde. And she told me she would have a blue flower… a lily! She’s originally from France. A blue lily! Oh…” He glanced down at Rose’s flower, lying beside her napkin, his mouth dropping open. “Erm… you have a… a rose. Some genius I am, eh?”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, easy mistake to make. I mean, what are the odds: specifically a blue flower? But...” she grimaced, nodding toward the reception area, “I’m afraid the real Reinette might have just arrived.”

Jonathan spun around in his chair and Rose followed the path of his eyes. The woman sniping at the maître d’ was a striking blonde, dressed in a chic, expensive-looking pantsuit. She was holding a blue lily and peering around the dining room.

Rose’s heart plummeted. She would never be able to compete with such a beautiful, sophisticated woman. What would a genius like Jonathan Noble ever want with a chav from an estate in Peckham, when he could have the likes of Reinette? She picked up her handbag and swept her blue rose into it. “Thanks for being so nice, Jonathan, but it seems your date has arrived.” She offered him a tight smile as she stood to leave.

“What? What? No, no, no! Please stay… Rose Tyler.” Her name rolled deliciously off his tongue again and he begged her with big, sad, puppy-dog eyes. And then there was his delectable, pouting lower lip… oh, wouldn’t she just love to kiss that lip?

“I… I can’t. It’s not right. I mean she’s so… you know… and I’m not...”

“Please? Rose? I was enjoying talking to you; really, properly enjoying it!”

“Yeah?”

“Yup,” he assured her with a little impatient nod. “Sit, please.”

Rose hesitated.

“Please.”

“Oh, all right!” If this lovely man wanted to finish this date with her, who was she to argue. They really had been getting along very well, after all. That energy between them when they’d held hands… she’d felt a connection with him like nothing she’d never experienced before. A delightful shiver ran down her spine at the memory.

“By the way,” Jonathan asked as she settled herself again, “what made you think I was Adam? Was it the tie?”

“Yeah…”

“It’s just you mentioned it when I first arrived.”

“Oh, right,” Rose laughed. “Well, you obviously were looking for the flower too… but you – I mean he – told me he’d be wearing a tie with blue flowers on it. And there you were: tie with blue flowers. The two clues together…”

“Pure coincidence.” He winked. “I’d even venture to call it serendipitous, and I don’t generally believe in luck.”

“Oh, you don’t even know me yet.” Rose flashed him a toothy grin. “I could bring you nothing but misfortune, you never know.”

He dragged his gaze up from where the tip of her tongue teased him from the corner of her smile to meet her eyes. “Oh no, Rose Tyler, you have already saved me from a fate worse than death.” He nodded to Reinette who was currently flouncing through the restaurant, probably looking for him.

Rose bit her lip, stifling yet another giggle. “I haven’t saved you yet. Look out! She’s headed this way.”

“Oh, if I believe in one thing, I believe in you.” He reached over the table to squeeze her hand. “You’ll save me. You are my lucky pants.”

“Your what?” Unable to contain herself any longer, she burst into a full belly-laugh, but she gulped it back quickly as Reinette swept up to their table.

“Excuse me?” Reinette spoke with a light but haughty French accent and gave Rose a critical once-over before turning her attention to Jonathan. “Are you Jonathan Noble?”

Jonathan offered the woman a perplexed frown. “You must be mistaken. My name is… erm…” he scrubbed at the back of his neck, “…Adam.”

Reinette pursed her lips, arching a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him. “So, this means nothing to you, then?” With a flourish she showed him the lily.

“Oh, weeell, it’s a lovely flower… but, no…”

Reinette’s narrowed gaze flicked between the two of them, and Rose offered her a polite smile. With a harrumph, she moved away from their table to continue her search.

“Dodged that bullet!” Jonathan told Rose.

“Well, at least you didn’t get stood up.” Rose rolled her eyes, wondering what had happened to the real Adam.

“His loss. And my good fortune! See? You are my lucky pants.”

She shook her head. “You’re daft, you are! I guess we should take a look at these menus, yeah?”

He spent a few seconds flipping through the pages of the menu, then he sighed. “Actually… I know the wine is lovely – overtones of bananas and all – but since neither of us chose this restaurant, what do you say we pay for the wine and find somewhere else to eat. That is, if you want?”

Rose breathed a sigh of relief. “I know a really great pub not far from here that’s a little more my scene. They brew their own and they make the best fish and chips. I want chips.”

“Me too! Sounds brilliant. Shall we?”

Standing, she nodded fervently, and he threw some bills on the table to cover the cost of the wine, then offered her his elbow. She blushed, accepting his arm.

“Allons-y!” he chirped.

As they made their way to the maître d’ to offer their apologies, Reinette stormed up to them. “You lied to me! You are Jonathan Noble.” Her beautiful face was contorted in fury and she pointed adamantly at his shoes. “You told me you’d be wearing Converse with your… ahem…” she curled her lip, “...suit.”

“Weeell…” Jonathan’s shoulders tensed, and Rose could only hold her breath, waiting to see how he would respond. He flourished the arm that wasn’t linked with hers. “You got me! I admit. I lied. It seems there was a case of mistaken identity, two blind dates that got muddled up, and weeeell… Rose and I rather hit it off.” He was going for the honest approach, and Rose was quietly relieved.

Reinette, however, was livid! “Ridiculous!”

“I’m sorry,” Rose added, feeling the need to back Jonathan up. “He really did think I was you. We both had a blue flower, you see…”

Reinette snarled at Rose, then whipped around to face Jonathan. “I do not get… stood up! I insist you have dinner with me!”

Rose was distracted from Jonathan’s terse response by the insistent buzzing of her mobile with multiple incoming texts. She dropped his arm and scrambled in her handbag, finally finding the phone at the very bottom. The screen was lit up with no fewer than five notifications from Adam. It seemed he was running rather late, but told Rose, in no uncertain terms, that he expected her to wait for him.

“I’m worth the wait,” read his final text, followed by winky and aubergine emojis.

Rose rolled her eyes and fought her gag reflex. There was no bloody way she was going to wait for that tosser. And she was going to be having a few sharp words with Shareen about her (and her boyfriend’s) concept of what her ideal date looked like.

As it turned out, Rose thought as her eyes settled fondly on Jonathan, she had a pretty good picture of exactly what her ideal date looked like. And unfortunately, right now, he wasn’t faring well in his battle with Reinette. It was time for her to rescue him one more time.

“Tell ya what, Reinette,” she cut into the other woman’s rant, “a young man named Adam Mitchell is on his way here… right now. He’ll be wearing a tie with blue flowers and he’ll be expecting his date to have one of these...” She pulled the blue rose from her handbag and thrust it at the stunned Reinette. “Oh, and I don’t think he believes anyone could ever stand him up either, so you should get along famously.”

With that, she slipped her hand into Jonathan’s, and as one, they turned toward the door and pushed it open. As they burst onto the pavement, they nearly knocked over a dark-haired young man, wearing a tie with gaudy blue flowers all over it.

“Oi!” he barked as they sputtered half-hearted apologies and hurried along the pavement.

“Was that…?” Jonathan started.

“Adam?” Rose finished for him. “Yeah, I think it must have been.” Their eyes met and they erupted into laughter and looked back over their shoulders to find Reinette and (presumably) Adam fuming in the doorway of the restaurant.

Gripping Jonathan’s hand tighter, Rose grinned up at him. “Run!” she shouted.

“Oh, yes!” he cheered as they took off at a sprint.

As she ran hand in hand with Jonathan, Rose felt as though she had something to look forward to for the first time in a long time. She had walked into Révélations dreading the evening ahead, but a simple mix-up had turned her blind date into a matter of pure blind luck. Now she was running toward a future full of promise and opportunity, a future she rather suspected Jonathan Noble would be a significant part of.

She grinned. It was going to be fantastic.

#ten x rose #human au #blind date #fluff #humour #romance #mistaken identity #tenroseforeverandever's fic

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the-patrex · 4 years

Text

The Master bit back a frustrated growl as he weaved his way through the crowd of partying humans as he made his way to the refreshment booth. He needed a drink if he were to get through this night. Sniffing, he tried to gag at the sharp scent of alcohol and individual humans. Despite the strong odor, however, he caught the hint of something different. This one was lighter, more enticing than the others and had a hint of lavender perfume to it. Theta. He scanned the crowd but was unable to spot her. What was she doing here? Didn’t she have better things to do than stalk him 24/7? Irritated, he stood at the table and poured himself a cup of whatever drink was in the giant bowl. He wasn’t going to give any information on the Timeless Child if that’s what she wanted. In fact, he didn’t even want to see her anymore. The damn Matrix was enough to make him hate her, or so he’d thought before seeing her new face for the first time.

He clenched his teeth around the rim of the foam cup as he sipped, remembering her holy, angelic features. As if her spliced DNA being inside him wasn’t enough. He’d been awestruck seeing her new regeneration for the first time in person. The way the sunlight had made her hair burn like the early rays of morning and her smooth, perfectly crafted from seemingly God Himself(so different from the old, wrinkled face and bushy eyebrows he’d grown accustomed to as Missy!) made his hearts ache with an intensity he’d never felt before. “What are you doing here sulking about like that?” Speak of the devil, he thought bitterly, turning to face her. “Hello, sweetie.”

“Come to give me a check up, Doctor?” he asked sarcastically, smirking devilishly. She arched her brows, seemingly amused at the response.

“You missed your last appointment so yes.” He scoffed. “Enjoying the party?” His brows furrowed. There was something…off about her stance. She seemed a bit wibbly and sour smelling underneath the perfume. It was definitely not the smell of a rotting corpse or garbage but it made him faintly queasy. He decided to ignore it for now.

“What are you doing here? Don't you have to babysit your little human friends like you always do?” She chuckled, baring her milk white teeth like a feral creature. Hell, she probably was under that humanoid guise. Or maybe she was a creature whose true form was so incomprehensible to the mortal eye, it had to take the form of a Shobogan once it fell through the portal above that monument so it wouldn’t cause a ruckus. Perhaps that’s why she hadn’t died in the Kassavin realm. Maybe they’d seen her other form and decided to let her go easily because of it. The Master took a sip of his drink which was probably some sort of fruit cocktail by the taste of it. Her other form was probably to beautiful to look at if she looked this blinding in the body of a Time Lord. Blinding like the suns of Gallifrey. The Doctor poured herself a glass of wine.

“Your thoughts are too loud,” she grumbled, taking a sip.

“No one told you to read my mind,” he retorted, moving away to the garden behind the ballroom. He could feel her piercing gaze on him as he pushed the back door open and headed toward the gazebo. “Where are they anyway? That trio of yours?”

“Sheffield,” she responded, picking a flower that complimented her blue dress quite nicely. “You have quite the imagination, we’ll tell you that. Your speculations are wrong. Probably.” Probably?

“You found out?” The Master turned to face her. That wasn’t right. She wouldn’t go looking for the truth unless he’d forced her to. She was a runner not a seeker. He searched her eerily serene expression for some sort of clue. A clue to what, he didn’t know. She was a mystery that he intended to unravel but not in the way her adopted mother had. The Doctor’s eyes bore holes into his own, analyzing every twitch and muscle movement on his face. He didn’t like that look of hers. It reminded him too much of Tecteun the explorer and exploiter. She smiled knowingly and placed the plant in his suit pocket. Who are you? he wanted to ask. Why are you here? What do you want? “Did it hurt?” he asked instead, ignoring the gut instinct to fear this person(thing?) he’d known since childhood. “I bet it did because it definitely hurt me.” He stepped closer to her(it? Them?), wishing she’d show some sort of weakness instead of the serenity he privately yearned for during the late hours.

“Of course it hurt you,” she murmured, cupping his face in her hands. “Everything hurts, doesn’t it? We can see it, all that pain hiding behind the rage in your eyes.” We? When did she start referring to herself as we? She stared sympathetically at him. “Do you want it leave? We can make the hurt go away. Would you like us to quell the rage and pain in your hearts?” Her voice was more soothing than ever and her eyes were so hypnotic, he could barely look away. Their foreheads touched lightly. “Please, Koschei. Let us help you.” He frowned, mulling over her words. Us? Why would she use the word “us” to refer to herself? The strange trance broke and he sharply pulled away, feeling disgustingly exposed and violated. What had just happened?

“How dare you,” he growled, lunging for her throat. She dodged out of the way and placed a hand on his temple while making a sound in her throat that, judging by her expression, was one of disapproval. The Master suddenly felt weak and crumpled to the floor. Time seemed to swirl and wobble around him, causing his brain to spin. When she released her touch, he felt nauseous and puked a bit on the grass. “What the fuck did you do?!” he snarled, wiping the mess from his mouth and glaring at her. The Doctor, or whatever the fuck she was, looked down at him with mild dissatisfaction.

“We opened you up to the influences,” she responded simply, turning away. The Master’s head was still reeling but he struggled to his feet to catch up with her.

“What influences? Who the fuck are you?” The creature didn’t even turn to face him as it- no, they answered his questions.

“We are Legion. Unfortunately, you’re not getting your friend back any time soon.”

“Wh- you’re possessing her?!”

“No, it’s a progressive alteration of the host’s brain to better fit the needs of the parasite.” A parasite, the Master thought bitterly. Of course. So that was where the smell was coming from. He watched as they plucked a rose from its bush and examined it thoughtfully in their hands. “This is perfectly normal for her kind, as I’ve explained to her.” Today was just full of surprises.

“You talk to her?” He didn’t know if he should be horrified, impressed, or enraged at the thing. What has it been telling her?

“Yes, we have tea together.” Legion looked at him. “Would you like an invitation to our next tea party? You seem…what’s the word? Distressed? No, that’s not it.”

“I’m going to kill you,” the Master snarled, getting in their face. They didn’t even flinch which was quite impressive. “You think I’d be okay with a parasite talking to my best enemy like that?”

“Ooh. Careful, Koschei. She’s listening to everything you say right now. Don’t want her getting the idea that you care about her or anything now do we?” They smiled, tapping his nose mischievously with the flower. He wanted to bite them.

“Fuck you,” he spat, storming off to the direction of the ballroom.

“Was that meant for us or your girlfriend?” They called.

“Both!” He paused, realizing the implication of their word choice. Motherf- “And you’re not my girlfriend!”

[Okay, Kos. Sure,] Legion said telepathically. [We’re greatly flattered.]

“Piss off,” he growled through gritted teeth, feeling their amusement roll off him like waves.

A/N: He kept the flower in his coat pocket by the way if y'all are wondering.

#b r o #this concept is soo good #Id read the fuck out of a long ass fic with this #jeyfeather1234 #submission

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mamashereslashersweetie · 5 years

Text

Do you love me? [Slashers/Reader]

Author’s Note: Jason, Michael, Bubba, Brahms and Thomas’ reaction to their S/O asking if they love them.

Jason Voorhees

It was an odd question for you to ask him. You’d told him before you loved him, he took you at your word but had never been able to say it back. Words were not his strong point. He tried to show it though, as best he could. He protected you, brought you flowers, spent time with you when he wasn’t hunting. But maybe it wasn’t enough, because you were looking up at him with big watery eyes and anxious pout.

A slow blink, and careful shift of his wait, Jason tried to ignore the wave of panic. How could he show you how much you meant to him? No one had spent time with him since his mother, no one had cared about him until you. Uncertain, and afraid you would turn away and leave him alone, he pulled you in, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as he pressed you close to him, and pressed his mask down to the top of your head. You were still in his arms for a moment- had he done something wrong? Was this not right? Panic began to rise- and then your arms came around him, and your face pressed into his chest, and he relaxed.

“I love you too.” Your voice was muffled against his shirt, but he recognized the words and relaxed as your fingers tightened in his shirt, slipping beneath his heavy coat. “Thank you.”

Michael Myers

He was still, so still, watching you like a statue. Uncertainty didn’t plague him, anxiety was nowhere to be felt, but curiosity perked up from the back of his mind. He had not harmed you or tried to kill you since he’d first met you. Did that not count as ‘love’? He wasn’t sure what love was in the first place. That you asked him about it was confusing at best and frustrating at worst.

You stood before him, looking like you might cry- annoying- and fidgeting. Restless movement with no purpose and it made something in him feel tight and unsure. He didn’t like it. You shifted, and he stayed still, watching. Until you couldn’t take his piercing gaze any longer, turning to take a step away.

You’d barely turned away fully when a large hand gripped your shoulder, the strength he possessed was terrifying, but he touched you with all the gentleness he could muster, and you relaxed slightly into that touch.

There were no words, he had nothing to offer and didn’t know how to show you whatever it was you wanted to see. Your bottom lip wobbled, and something in Michael froze in what felt almost akin to fear. He blinked, his head tilting slightly.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” Your voice was small and quiet, almost as wibbly as your pout. He didn’t like it, at all.

A low huff was all the sound he’d let out, the most you would grab from the silent killer. But it was something, and when he pulled you a step closer you went willingly. Releasing you only when you stilled, Michael reached up to pull his mask off, a slow, careful movement. Letting mask fall, he watched your eyes go wide and your lips part in a soft 'o’. But when you reached up to touch him, he caught your wrists, holding them away, bright blue eyes narrowed. His head dipped faster than you could react, and his lips met yours in a clash of teeth and lips and tongues, enough to steal your breath away.

When he pulled away, letting go of your hands, you caught the softest sigh from him, a barely there word, “Mine,” and felt an odd sense of love in the only way you were sure he could understand it.

Bubba Sawyer

Flitting around anxiously, Bubba let out nervous whines and apologetic sounds. You were seated in the corner of the kitchen, looking so sad and worried. He didn’t know why, but it was horrible, why were you sad? How could he have made you sad?

You sniffled, and Bubba tried to pull you close, letting you melt into his arms, your face at his chest. His fingers clumsily stroked through your hair, he gave soft whimpers and babbled noises as he kept you as close as he could, waiting. It seemed to relax you, but when he pulled back again you still looked sad, if a bit brighter.

Jumping back up, Bubba left you for a few moments, rushing to the living room. He wasn’t gone for very long, and you could hear his heavy footsteps, as he moved from spot to spot, and eventually came back clasping something small in his hands. When he dropped to his knees in front of you it was heavy sound, and the kitchen shook a little with it. You flinched and he made a panicked noise in response.

Rubbing at your face, you offered him a weak smile. It was only with that small encouragement that he held out his hands, opening them to let you see a pretty string of teeth and tiny bones. It wasn’t finished, but you could see the way that it was being pieced together, a necklace in the making. He held it out to you, babbling softly, and you slowly took it from him.

Holding each side so that it wouldn’t fall apart, you let your eyes slide over the bones. They were bleached from the sun and carefully strung up to make a pretty pattern. It was obvious he’d made it himself, maybe with a bit of Nubbins’ help, but carefully devoid of any gore or skin. It was pretty, in its creepy way that everything in the house was.

“Did you make this?” You asked, voice soft, and he gave a happy little sound, bringing a smile to your face. “Thank you, Bubba, it’s great.” You could tell he was grinning beneath the mask, his crooked teeth showing, “I love it.”

Brahms Heelshire

He thought it was a pretty silly question, after all, you were everything. You were his, his to protect, his to keep. Just like he was yours. Just the two of you, always. But still you asked it, sitting in the library, a book held in your lap, the pages open. When he looked at you from his spot sitting on the floor, one arm around your legs, and his head against your thigh, peaking at the words on the page. With a careful tilt of his head, craning his head back to look up at you, meeting your gaze.

Soft, in the childish voice he used when playful or anxious, Brahms said your name questioningly and you immediately turned your head to look at him a bit more closely.

He found himself blinking as you set the book aside, and instead reached to cup his face. Fingers sinking lightly into his dark curls, and thumbs brushing against the mask’s cheeks, “It’s silly, I know, a weird question… but could you answer it for me, Brahmsy?"

A moment passed, and Brahms shifted his long lanky limbs, pushing up onto his knees and half folding over your lap. So close he could breathe in your scent, the shampoo and special soap you used and sometimes used when you forced him to bathe too. It was nice. His long arms wrapped around your middle, between you and the chair, and Brahms tilted his head, brushed his lips to yours with only the mask between you. His protection.

"I love you, I’ll always love you,” His tone came out deep, a voice he used mostly when upset or very serious. It was nice to feel how seriously he meant his answer, but that anxious childish tone took over when he asked the following question, “ You love me too, right?"

Laughing softly, a please, careful sound, you brushed your lips against his forehead, and combed your fingers through his hair, "Always and always.”

Thomas Hewitt

He didn’t much like it when you were in the basement while he was working. It was messy and grisly and Thomas always worried you’d look at him in fear if you saw him killing the meat. But you never had, and even now there was no fear in your eyes as he carved into the flesh of fresh meat strapped down. Instead, there was something curious, a little too serious in your eyes.

Blood on his hands, Thomas set down his tools and wiped them on his apron to try and clean them a little. Turning towards the table with all his cleaned tools and some of his collection of bones, where you sat, legs swinging slightly, your head tilted as you watched him.

It wasn’t fear, but Thomas wasn’t sure what it was either. What could be going through your mind when you asked something like that. What was he supposed to do?

The silence stretched between you both, broken only by the sound of the meat whimpering weakly, throat too raw to scream anymore.

“I just,” You started, moving your hands flippantly as you spoke, “I know I’ve said it to you, and talking isn’t really your strong suit.” You gave a shrug, to let him know it wasn’t too important that he speak. It was a relief, as he wasn’t very good at it and it hurt his throat sometimes to try. But you didn’t linger on that continuing on, “And like, you protected me from Hoyt but… I mean… You never really told me why- or explained why? I’m just wondering, am I like a passing thing? Are you going to get bored of me, Tommy? That would be horrible, cause I mean,” You continued to babble, oblivious to him moving closer, “I do love you, so so so much, like I can’t even really say, and I just… I just wanna be sure you feel it too, ya know?"

He was brushing against your knees now, but you hadn’t stopped, your mouth opening up to say something else, and Thomas reached up a hand to close your jaw before you could start another string of words. As you blinked owlishly at him, lips pressed together, he wondered what you saw when you looked at him. He had protected you, would still protect you. You’d smiled at him the first time you met him. Talked to him like he was a person, not a monster. Even though you were scared, and your kindness had never faltered. Charlie said it would, that it was just a trick to get him to let his guard down, and even Momma said it. But it never happened. Months passed, and you still smiled at him, bright and excited whenever he came upstairs. Not like the mean kids that picked on him at school. Just sweet and friendly and sometimes more than that.

Letting his hand drop down, he rested it over the beat of your heart. Felt it beneath his palm, knew that familiar rhythm. With his other hand, he took yours to press it over his own heart. You couldn’t feel his through the thickness of his apron, but you knew it was there. Just like you knew the person beneath the mask of human skin was human, was in need of love and kindness that a world like this one couldn’t give.

Sitting on the table you still only came up to his shoulder, but he hunched over gladly to press his forehead to yours. You could see his eyes through the mask, even in the dim light. So bright and hopeful with something so deep beneath that you could only see it as love, as he pressed in close. He was warm, and you could feel the fresh blood staining your clothes, but didn’t worry about it. A smile came to your lips, and before he could react to pressed a soft kiss to his through the dryness of the mask, "Thanks, Tommy. Love you too.”

#jason voorhees x reader #michael myers x reader #bubba sawyer x reader #brahms heelshire x reader #thomas hewitt x reader #my writing

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perspective-series · 4 years

Text

Pet Perspective (5/19)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: Collars, pain, shocking

First Chapter || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

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Patton brought Logan up the stairs but didn’t stop at his room. Instead, he went straight to his bathroom next to it. He set Logan down on the counter and grinned at him. “Alright, I think it would be good for you to take a quick shower first before we head out. The sink should be fine until we can buy you a tiny shower.”

Logan had never used anything besides a tiny shower before. “How does it work?”

“I’ll just turn the faucet on like this.” Patton did so. “So there isn’t too much pressure and you can go in a wash real quick with some soap I can give you.” Patton explained. He let the water run as he got up and went to snag a little piece of soap off the bar in his shower. He turned back and handed it to Logan. “There you go.”

“Are there any clean clothes?” Logan looked around, seeing none. “This exercise seems pointless if I’m redressing in the same garments.”

“Well, no...but I could wash them for you while you’re in the shower?” Patton suggested.

Logan cringed at the suggestion. “I am particularly clean. I bathed yesterday and borrowers take several days before a second bath is required.”

“Well...if you’re sure.” Patton said. “I can take the soap back then, we can save it for later.” He held his hand out as the other turned the water off.

Logan nodded, handing over the soap.

Patton put the soap back and closed the cage back up, taking it back into his room and setting it back down on the desk. “Alright, well, I need to go get ready then, so I’ll be right back, okay?” Patton grabbed his clothes and headed back into his bathroom.

Logan settled in, waiting patiently as he was trained. That was one thing he was good at- patience. While, only in terms of waiting alone. Logan had very little patience for others, be they borrower or especially human.

Patton came back fifteen minutes later, hair slightly wet and in new clothes. He dumped his old ones in a hamper, before going back over to his borrower. “Alright, so...how do you want to do this? I’m not sure if I can bring the whole cage with me while we shop.”

“Is it required I attend shopping?” Logan raised an eyebrow.

“Well, yeah, I want you to choose what you want.” Patton answered.

“In that case… “ Logan glanced at his human’s attire. “I suppose a pocket would be optimal.”

Patton looked down at himself and grinned. “Okay! Sounds good!” He opened the cage and once again set his hand, palm out, for Logan to climb on.

Logan tensed, but found the prospect less threatening now when he knew it would not be for long and that touch was being avoided. He was surprised his human was so accommodating. Because of this, Logan climbed onto the palm.

Patton grinned wide, glad to see his borrower had actually done it. He was quick to bring his hand to his chest pocket, holding it open to let his borrower climb down himself.

Logan did so, finding the sensation rather odd. He had never actually been in a pocket, and it took him several minutes to scoot around and find a comfortable position.

“How is it? Comfy?” Patton asked, opening the pocket to glance down inside it.

“It will suffice.” Logan answered, nearly losing his footing as the containment was jostled.

“Great!” Patton got up and headed downstairs, he was met with Virgil, already all ready and holding Roman close to his chest. “Hey Virge! All ready to get going?” He asked.

Virgil nodded but looked Patton over in confusion. “Yeah but uh, where’s your borrower?” He asked.

“Oh!” Patton chuckled and opened his pocket a little to show his borrower off. “He’s in here!”

Logan gave a cautious wave.

“Of course he is.” Roman huffed, imagining it was quite comfortable. Then again, Roman had been in plenty of cramped pockets in his life to know they weren’t all fun and games.

“Oh, wow, that’s actually a pretty good idea.” Virgil looked down at Roman and then at his hoodie pocket. He raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

“Well, it certainly beats dropping me on the sidewalk. What, you really expect to keep me steady all that way?” Roman raised his own eyebrows.

“Fair point.” Virgil said with a shrug before gently depositing Roman into his pocket. He kept one hand in though, just in case. “How is that?”

“Not as messy as your room.” Came the surprised muffled reply.

Patton couldn’t hide the chuckle at that and Virgil glared down at his pocket. “Whatever, we’re ready.”

“Then let’s get going! No time to waste!” Patton grabbed his keys and Virgil followed him out the door. They both got into the car and Patton started it up but as soon as it started, the music started blasting at a high volume.

Logan let out a shriek, which quickly turned high pitched as he firmly tried to press his hands to his ears and ignore the painful shock he received for raising his voice too high. His entire form began to tremble, an aftershock of soundwaves and the collar alike.

“TURN IT DOWN!” Roman gave his own shriek, unprohibited by a collar to speak his mind as he curled up with his hands to his ears. “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU BOTH?!”

Patton scrambled to turn off the radio, sighing in relief when he was successful. “I’m so sorry! I forgot it was up that high!” Concern etched into his face, Patton took Logan out of his pocket and looked him over. “Are you okay?”

Virgil did the same, grabbing Roman gently around the middle and bringing him up to chest level. “Are you okay?” He gently touched the side of Roman’s head.

“WHAT?” Roman shouted back, his ears still ringing.

Logan was still shivering, his muscles tense from the sudden jolt of electricity that had traveled through his veins.

Virgil winced. “Well, that isn’t good.”

Patton frowned down at his borrower. The poor thing was shaking like a leaf. “Kiddo? What’s wrong?”

“I- the- reaction- “ Logan found himself unable to form a coherent sentence, instead steadying his breathing and focusing on getting his body under control.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Patton gently rubbed the borrower’s back. “I’ll make sure we leave it off from now on, okay? No more big noisy surprises.” He promised.

Logan just nodded, frightened of setting off the collar again. For once he did not mind the sensation of touch, finding comfort in the warmth as his primitive mind attempted to cope.

As Patton continued to comfort his borrower, Virgil was still focused on Roman.

“Is your hearing back yet?” He asked.

“A LITTLE.” Roman gave a wibbly-wobbly motion with his hand, rubbing at his ears to try to get the sensation to stop. He was aware he was still yelling but couldn’t cease.

“Okay, you’re the one who lost their hearing, not me. You don’t have to yell.” Virgil said, wincing a little at the volume on the little guy. He was sort of impressed too, actually.

“...WHAT?” Roman tried not to smirk too much, his hearing beginning to return. It was certainly a benefit to annoy Virgil. He should do this more often.

Virgil gave Roman a deadpanned look. “Okay, now you’re just messing with me, aren’t you?”

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU.” Roman yelled, feigning ignorance. He put his hand to his ear, which had stopped ringing. “YOU’LL HAVE TO SPEAK UP.”

“...You’re going back in the pocket.” Virgil said, slipping Roman back into his hoodie pocket as promised.

Patton shook his head at the two, looking down at his borrower. Who looked a bit better. “You good now? Are you ready to go?” He asked gently.

Logan nodded. He had regained control of his limbs, and was eager to retreat to the relative safety of his own pocket.

“Okay.” Patton put the tiny back in his pocket and finally put the car into drive and took off for the store.

They arrived ten minutes later, both humans getting out of the car. When they entered the store, Virgil brought Roman out into the open. “I’m gonna head over that way. Meet you back up front in an hour?” Virgil asked and Patton gave him a thumbs up.

“Sounds good, kiddo!” They went their separate ways. Virgil beelining it for the clothes.

“Alright, Roman. See anything you like?” He asked, pointing the borrower in the direction of all the tiny clothes.

Roman glanced over the large selection of clothing, mostly unimpressed. It was mostly bland, very few colors and poor imitations of human clothing. And then, Roman’s eyes landed on a bin off at the end. Roman gasped, grabbing onto Virgil’s sleeve and pointing, unable to contain his excitement. “There!”

Virgil raised an eyebrow but then groaned as he got closer and saw what was inside. “Really? Roman you have all these normal clothes to choose from, why are you looking in the costume bin?”

“Those are boring.” Roman wrinkled his nose. Human-made borrower clothes were known for being dull and coming apart easily, not for practical use. At least something with glitter and frills would give Roman a small sense of fun. Roman kept in a moan, wanting to reach out and grab the fabrics. “You said anything, now take me to those treasures!”

Virgil sighed, he had said that, hadn’t he. He went over and turned the box on it’s side before setting Roman down to look. “Alright, but they can’t all be from here. You have to get some regular clothes.”

“Preposterous. Ooh~!” Roman agreed to nothing, holding up a rainbow crop top that was likely a rejected part of some hippy outfit.

Virgil just barely kept himself from face palming. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am completely serious. No, wait!” Roman gasped, grabbing up a long frilly white top that was a pirate’s undershirt.

Virgil groaned. “Roman, look, I know these are actually made for borrowers and stuff but they might as well be doll clothes. Why would you want that?” Virgil asked.

Roman tensed for a moment, shaking off the feeling with his arms full of costume pieces. He pointed back towards the regular clothes. “Those might as well be doll clothes too, with how sturdy they are. I figure I might as well have fun with it if I’m meant to wear any of these.”

Virgil sighed. “Fine, it’s my fault for saying you could get whatever you wanted anyway.” Virgil muttered. “Just hurry up, we only have an hour and we still need to get other things for you.”

Roman quirked an eyebrow. “Do you seriously have the gaul to tell me to hurry up? When I am in a fashionista’s paradise?”

“...I’ve just realized how terrible an idea it was to take you shopping for clothes.” Virgil groaned, running a hand down his face.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Roman insisted, gathering up more bits and pieces here and there. “If you hadn’t taken me, you would have to put up with my moaning over whatever horrendous ‘look’ you would have chosen.”

Virgil made a face. “Yeah...honestly though, I’m not sure which one would have been worse at this point.” They had just gotten there and he was already bored. Leaning his face on one hand, he started shifting through the box to busy himself.

“What’s so bad about this?” Roman argued. “I’m the one doing all the hard work, you know. You should be thanking me.”

“I’ve just never been a fan of shopping for clothes. I mean, have you seen what I’m wearing?” He usually just went for what was dark and comfortable. There wasn’t much thought behind it. Speaking of, Virgil raised an eyebrow as he brought out a sleeveless leather jacket. He smirked at Roman as he held it up. “Hey Roman, I think this would be perfect for you.” He waved the jacket back and forth.

Roman paused, hating to admit that he could almost see himself wearing that. Almost. But he certainly wasn’t about to tell Virgil that, and end up with an entire wardrobe just as dark and gloomy. “Very funny, irritating emo.”

Virgil shrugged but threw the jacket back into the pile. He checked his phone. How had they only been here for five minutes? It felt so much longer.

Roman continued to gather up various outfits, abandoning his technique of gathering them in his arms and instead piling them up off to the side as the amount grew to be more than he could feasibly carry. Seeing Virgil otherwise occupied, Roman also took the opportunity to sneak the jacket into his stash, shoving it deep into the middle so it wasn’t easily visible.

As Virgil finally looked back at what Roman had found, his eyes widened at the size of the pile that had grown. Oh, that was definitely going to cost him. “Okay, I think we’re done for now.” He quickly scooped Roman up with one hand before scooping up the clothes with another. He through them in a nearby hand basket before taking said hand basket with him.

“How come?” Roman asked, playing innocent. He may have thrown a few items on just for the heck of it at the end. After all, it wasn’t like he had to pay for it.

“I think this,” He held the basket up. “Is more than enough clothes. Now come on, we still have to get you a collar and an enclosure.” Virgil headed over towards the collars first, figuring it would be easy to get out of the way.

At the mention of the collar, Roman’s mood dropped significantly. In all the hype he had almost forgotten that particular accessory, and his neck was already chafing in memory. Not to mention, any gaudy tag was certain to clash with all the clothes he had painstakingly chosen.

Virgil looked at all the colors with a hum. “What color do you want?” Virgil asked Roman, letting him look at the selection.

“...none of them?” Roman tried, giving Virgil a hesitant smile.

“Nice try but you have to have one. Look, if you don’t care I’ll just get you a black one.” He started to reach for it.

“No!” Roman all but screeched, not wanting that dark leather permanently around his neck.

Virgil stopped and pulled his arm back. “Well, then pick one.”

Roman bit his lip, evaluating his choices. Unlike his clothing, Roman didn’t want a frilly collar. It would only get in his way and serve as a constant reminder of his imprisonment. No, what Roman needed was something slim and subtle, that would stay out of his way and hopefully be able to remove.

“...that one.” Roman sighed, pointing dejectedly at a thin red collar hanging near the bottom.

Virgil grabbed the one Roman pointed at, looking it over. “Okay, yeah, looks good. We’ll get you a tag made once we check out.” He put it into the basket. “Alright, now onto the enclosures.”

He went to the next isle, looking at the displays they had. The furniture and such was below each display. “Alright, Roman. What are you thinking?”

“Oh, I’m thinking we have quite enough, I don’t want you to have to spend all that money on an enclosure…” Roman pretended to look upset at the notion.

“Roman, it really is no problem. I know I complained a bit but Pat and I saved up specifically for this, so go ahead and choose whatever you want.” He motioned back over to the wall.

“Well, in that case,” Roman’s features failed to hide a mischievous grin, the borrower pointing eagerly at the top shelf. There sat an ornate structure, designed to look like a true doll, er, borrower, mansion, complete with a gold paint finish and advertised swimming pool.

“...Okay, I officially regret everything.” He looked down at Roman. “Please pick something cheaper?” He asked.

“I’m sorry, except I’m not!” Roman pointed earnestly at it again. “You said ‘whatever I want’. You were very clear about your intentions.”

“Okay, well not even a second ago you didn’t even want one. I know you’re just choosing it to get at me.” Virgil said, glaring at the borrower slightly.

“I would never.” Roman put a hand to his heart. “I never said I didn’t want one, I only expressed concern over your wallet, which you were quick to wave off. My heart’s been set on that one ever since i laid eyes on it and I cannot be swayed.”

Virgil groaned. He knew he didn’t have to get it for Roman. But he also wanted Roman to like him and if that meant getting a-he looked at the price tag and his eyes widened-very expensive enclosure then...he supposed his wallet would just have to forgive him. “Fine, alright.”

He waved someone down to ask for it and they told him it would be waiting up front for him. He thanked the man and then turned back to the furniture. “You are so spoiled.”

Roman just looked quite pleased with himself.

Virgil sighed. “Just pick some furniture already.”

#whooooo boy still so many chapters to go #i keep getting confused #because every time i post this i just go back and read the whole thing lol #pet perspective #perspective series #part 5 #borrower!logan #borrower!roman #Human!Logan #wait what #human!virgil #human!patton #...is thomas in this story?#man there are too many perspective stories #i'm so tired idk what i'm doing lol #lol that awkward moment you realize there's a plot hole #whateva who cares it's worth the angst

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appleinducedsleep · 4 years

Text

The Starless Sea - @readerbookclub June discussion

Here I am, 5 days late... and I have a lot of thoughts about this book, but I’ll condense it. Please come talk to me about it, cause my thoughts are not completely sorted yet :)

What did you think of the book? What were the things you enjoyed and the things you didn’t enjoy? Quotes or passages?

It left me pretty indifferent, and I didn’t want to be.

Most of the book felt like empty opulence, like it was more concerned with description than with plot, it showed the characters having to complete these aesthetic things, with the barest of explanations.

Zachary Ezra Rawlins wasn’t a compelling character to me, despite being the son of a fortune-teller and his love for side-cars. Only Kat seemed concerned when he disappeared... it was odd. His romance with Dorian (if that even was his real name), was also a bit bland to me. Probably because Dorian wasn’t much explored as a character. The things we read in his voice hinted at this dark past (the hotel room), but I don’t feel it really got resolved with Allegra. Without Allegra, the story seemed to become even more aimless though. I wanted to read more about her, cause she was the anti-hero.

Favourite Story

The Ballad of Eleanor and Simon had an interesting premise. And I enjoyed those first few conversations, with this outworldly girl and this baffled boy. All that wibbly wobbly timey wimey. I just liked Eleanor so much;

“I can’t climb things in a dress,” Eleanor explains, as though stating a simple fact.

“Climbing is not for girls.”

“Anything is for girls.”

Her expression is so serious it makes him consider the statement. It runs counter to everything his uncle says about girls but he thinks perhaps his uncle does not know as much about girls as he lets on, and his aunt has very particular ideas about what constitutes ladylike.

So, fast-foward; alone Eleanor births Mirabella (though she doesn’t consider herself the mother), Simon loses his mind and hand off screen somewhere. Captain Eleanor will be there to help Dorian, Zachary gets Simon. At the end, when Eleanor is sailing alone on the honeyed sea, it’s clear she will reunite with Simon. But we don’t get to see that, and I’ll admit, I’m a little bitter.

Favourite Character

My favourite was Eleanor, but honourable mentions:

I really liked Kat having tea with Madame Love Rawlins. For such a minor character, the mother stole the show. That comment about the confusion of having two sons, only to realize it would be a son-in-law. Precious.

I liked the character of Kat, for the most part (also, knit me a Ravenclaw shawl, please). Her first appearance made her seem like this busy queen bee (pun), but it was pretty jarring to have her in charge of the narrative. The way Zachary saw her, was all wrong... she is actually pretty friendless. It’s almost hard to believe that those entries from the Secret Diary are from the girl who got introduced to at the start of the book.

Madame Love Rawlins asks about her plans and Kat tells her about the job she’s accepted in Canada, how she’s going to drive to Toronto to visit friends for a few days before continuing on. The friends are a fiction invented to sound less like the truth of exploring an unfamiliar city solo but Madame Love Rawlins withholds comment.

What a weird thing to lie about... I don’t understand this.

But then the most relatable quote to me, is about her:

I think my stomach fell into my feet because I have literally always been the kid who believes in fairy tales but I didn’t know what to do because I wasn’t a kid, I was a twenty-something in a cocktail bar who never feels old enough to drink so I said, “I don’t know.”

Did this book remind you of something? Another book? A film or TV show? A song? A childhood memory? What was it and in what ways are they similar?

It reminded me of The Hazelwood, which also had these short fairytales in between the chapters. In that book, I liked the stand-alone fairytales more than the actual narrative, and the same is true for The Starless Sea. It felt disjointed, rather than magical. I can forgive a fairytale a lot, because the style is meant to make you accept certain truths and simplifications, but as soon as you include Real Life TM, there’s some laws of reality.

Morgenstern’s detailed and intricate world-building is quite beautiful. What parts of her world stood out to you? Where there any such images that stuck with you?

The honey. So much honey, I felt it could be a drinking game. There was one description, I think in one of the Dorian parts, and it was saying something about ‘a waterfall (honeyfall)’, lest we forget that this world is made out of paper and honey. Then there were the books and lights and keys, in piles or hanging somewhere, carelessly or artfully. Cats and candle wax, everywhere. Like I think it would be beautiful in an animated story, but it got a little repetitive to me.

The story about the acolyte was pretty harrowing, like just thinking about having your tongue cut out... only Rhyme still had hers, so maybe it was just a metaphor, like the pirate. Yet Allegra lost her eye.

The ending of the book seems to hint at the beginning of a new story. What do you think happens after the book ends?

Another cycle of this, with fresh stories, until the bees get bored again.

#the starless sea #my review #books #booklr #readerbookclub #apple reviews

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gofordrakgo · 4 years

Text

Dwelling Chapter Fourteen

“She looked momentarily stunned as she stared down at the paper clutched in her hand, and her knuckles going a paler shade of green was a good indication that she was upset. He found himself scrambling backward even before she shoved the flyer toward him, furiously demanding, ‘What the fuck is this?’ ”

Dwelling Summary

Dwelling Chapter One

Dwelling Chapter Thirteen

Dwelling Chapter Fifteen

The last thing he remembered super clearly was Shea thanking him again, in that gentle, nervous little way she did when she really meant it. He remembered opening his mouth to respond and then bolting off the couch instead. He hoped he’d actually made it to the bathroom before he’d been sick, taking the fact that he was lying on the floor with his cheek pressed against the cool tile as a good sign that he had.

His blanket was thrown over him almost half-hazardly. That wasn’t right… Haphazardly. It was thrown over him haphazardly. As he curled his shaking fingers around the fabric and pulled the blanket tighter around himself he vaguely recalled Shea following him into the bathroom.

He wasn’t sure if he’d begged her to go away or had just wanted to beg her to go away but he was sure that she’d gone and put a glass of water down by his hand and patted his hair in a way that bordered on genuinely sympathetic. And of course that made him a whole different sort of fluttery inside and he had to remind himself again that she was sixteen, and then he told himself that the fact that he had to keep telling himself that was… worrying.

After poking his tummy a few times to be sure he wasn’t going to throw up again he dragged himself to his feet and wibble-wobbled his way out the door. He wasn’t exactly listing expectations, but seeing Shea dangling upside down over the back of the couch like a bat with a book in her hands wouldn’t have been high on the list if he was.

The sight of her made him dizzy, and instead of the greeting he meant to say, he grumbled, “Would you sit properly? You’re making me nauseous.”

She scoffed but did some twisty-turny motion he couldn’t quite make out that landed her sitting up properly on the couch. “Happy?” she said, with that lilt to her voice that told him she was only teasing him.

He grunted and staggered the rest of the way over before flopping onto the couch next to her. “My head hurts.”

“Yeah, I know. You’ve told me that at least once every hour since six this morning.” Shea laughed, but he didn’t see what was so funny, so he just glared. More grimaced at her really - the sunlight hurt his eyes. “Did you brush your teeth?”

In lieu of answering, he asked a question of his own, his fingers fluttering to his face as he realized there was more than just a hangover to blame for his blurred vision. “Where are my glasses?” He sounded whiny again. Why did he always sound so whiny? At least it didn’t seem to make her angry.

He had to stifle a gasp at her fingers grazing against his skin, as instead of answering she slipped his glasses over his face for him. Blinking away his shock, he reached up to fix them on his face, mumbling, “Oh. Um… Thanks.”

“You look better,” she commented dryly, and after catching her looking him over almost critically he was quick to look away.

“Just do me a favor.” He pulled the blanket tighter, squeezing his eyes shut. “Don’t ever let me drink again.”

“Yeah, no kidding…”

He managed to crack one eye open just enough to glare at her which, as happened more often than not with her, made her smirk at him. “Please, tell me you at least got a little bit sick.”

Shea shrugged. “If you want me to lie to you I will, but…”

“You drank as much as I did!” Well, did she really? He wasn’t exactly sure how much he’d had to drink before she joined but he knew for a fact she’d been the one to finish his last glass when she was showing him how she breathed fire. “How could you not have gotten sick?”

She shrugged again. “I think my body may just burn off the effects if that makes sense. It happens with poison too.”

“With…?” He felt his eyes shoot open. “You’ve been poisoned before?”

Her face flushed a wonderfully alien shade of green, and she looked away.

“But you just said! Um… I mean…” He let his voice trail off at the look on her face. Gulping he asked instead, “Do you burn off medicine that same way?”

“No,” she repeated, grumbling under her breath.

“How is that–”

“Some friend of yours called,” she informed him, quickly changing the subject despite the fact that he’d been smart enough to fall silent at her glare - even if she was lying to him.

Drew blinked. “Who?” He didn’t exactly have a whole lot of friends, and the three he did have rarely called out of the blue. Maybe she misunderstood his mother or one of his cousins. Eddie, maybe? Smart as he was, and as much as Drew admired him, he tended to be loud and brash and rushed when he spoke, and he had a hard enough time understanding him even with perfect hearing.

Shea paused for just long enough that he started to wonder if she was just lying to change the subject. Finally, with a one-shouldered shrug, she said, “I think he said his name was Robby or something? I dunno, the guy just started talking before I could say anything.”

“Bobby,” he corrected reflexively, then paused, blinking as surprised curiosity overwhelmed him and made his headache start to fade. So, it really was one of his friends. Strange that he would call, especially on a Tuesday of all days - if they did call it was on weekends, to talk about upcoming plans. Or sometimes for help studying, but it seemed too early for that. “What did Bobby want?”

“He was wondering if you were taking some dorky class with a name too long for me to bother remembering.”

“That’s not exactly– What time is it?”

Shea reeled back, hopefully just surprised by his sudden shouting and not scared or angry at him for it. “A little before one,” she told him, snatching his wrist to shove his watch in his face.

Nearly cursing his earlier reckless stupidity, Drew jumped off the couch. Well, he attempted to. It shouldn’t have surprised him that his foot caught on the blanket and he went tumbling face-first in the direction of the floor. He didn’t get the chance to scream before Shea had shot out her arms and caught him mid-fall with a hand planted on his chest.

His ears were burning as he retreated to his room in an increasingly flustered rush. He could still hear her giggling about his tripping over the blanket a second time by the time he shut the door behind him, locking it for good measure.

He hadn’t been so drunk earlier that he’d forgotten his inebriated decision to skip class, but he wasn’t so hungover now that he still thought it would be a good idea. It was only the second day of the semester! He couldn’t miss the second day! Especially considering his only class on Tuesdays’ was one his boss taught.

Grape juice was reason enough to change clothes entirely and he nearly fell several more times yanking a clean pair of jeans on. Without looking he reached into his dresser to pull out a t-shirt, but the soft, worn-out feeling of the fabric made him slow down for just a moment. The Mighty Martian shirt he’d grabbed, still too big on him a decade and a half later, was reserved for only the worst of days. As much as it meant to him, he didn’t want to risk ruining it.

Carefully folding it again, Drew turned and grabbed a white polo shirt, hoping it would help make him look a little more presentable. There was hardly enough time to brush his hair, let alone water it down to slick it back the way he liked it, so he needed any appearance boost he could get. Was that why robots needed to be so shiny? Because if they got rusted and dirty they’d be more evil-looking or scary? No, he decided, yanking the shirt over his head. No, they were shiny because being shiny is what made them scary. They were just too perfect.

Perfect just like Shea when she smiled at him from her place on the couch. Perfect and scary. And yet somehow, he couldn’t resist smiling back, even as his brain pounded in his skull like it wanted to escape out his eyeballs. Ew. Another word to never use again, Drew decided. Eyeballs. Weird.

“Food,” he stated, realizing only after he did that he said it out loud. “Um… Have you had any?”

She hummed, though he couldn’t tell if she was answering him or just acknowledging that he’d spoken as she turned back to her book. Deciding she would eat if she got hungry - though the day before had disproven that theory - he poured himself a bowl of cereal, which he ate with one hand while attempting to tie his shoelaces with the other.

Milk dribbled down his chin and his laces were more knotted than ever, but his real mistake came after he’d dumped his bowl in the sink. Well, it sort of came the night before, when he’d done his homework on the couch rather than in his room, and had been stupid enough to leave his backpack unzipped. But asking Shea to toss it in his direction certainly didn’t help.

He realized as she reached down for it that her looking inside would probably not end well for him. He never got the chance to tell her to wait. Sure enough, though she didn’t bother looking up when she grabbed it for him, the loose contents of his backpack spilled out as it hurtled through the air in his direction. Paper flyers fluttered to the ground much the same way fleets of spaceships on Mighty Martian and Captain Constellation landed, which was not a comparison he should have been mentally noting at that moment, all things considered.

Just his luck, his notebooks and textbooks all stayed safely inside, and he ended up stumbling back a step as the still-heavy bag smacked him square in the chest, a yelp escaping him as he futilely tried to grab for the papers. Shea glanced up at the commotion.

“I’m– Just let me!” Drew snapped in a panic, rushing forward to grab her hand in an attempt at stopping her from inspecting the papers. He missed completely, not that she seemed to have noticed him trying to stop her as she plucked one of the fluttering flyers out of the air.

“Ever heard of closing your—” Her voice cut off suddenly, and he risked a nervous glance at her face. She looked momentarily stunned as she stared down at the paper clutched in her hand, and her knuckles going a paler shade of green was a good indication that she was upset. He found himself scrambling backward even before she shoved the flyer toward him, furiously demanding, “What the fuck is this?”

He was fairly certain, for a brief moment, that her eyes were glowing with her anger, and he continued to move backward toward the door.

“I don’t– It wasn’t– I thought I– Nngh!”

And with that he shoved open the door and fled, leaving Shea glaring at him from inside his apartment as he raced down the hall. He stopped running halfway down the first flight of stairs, his lungs burning already. There’d been no sound indicating the door had opened, so, for whatever reason, she wasn’t following him.

Chastising himself for being such a coward all the while, he made his way to the bus stop, ripping yet another flyer from the billboard while he waited. Shea wasn’t stupid, he knew, so she knew exactly what she was seeing. He’d just hoped she wouldn’t have to see it, was all. He hoped even more that taking them down had been the right choice, even if not telling her what he knew wasn’t.

He had figured out the truth the day they went to the library. Her story about getting struck by a comet had intrigued him, and having just seen her fascinating superpowers he was inclined to believe it. But he was sure something like that would have been reported. So, while she searched for books, he spent his time searching for… well, her. Her comet, at least.

Drew rested his head against the cold window, despite the fact that it pressed his glasses into his face and knocked his head hard enough to hurt. He still didn’t understand how she’d made it all the way to Lowerton from someplace called Go City in seemingly just one day, but he hadn’t known how to bring it up. Even harder to bring up was Shego, which he’d been able to tell was her even with the mask covering her eyes in the glossy black and white photo.

It wasn’t that he had a problem with it! The opposite, in fact! He wanted to talk to her about it. It was pretty cool, considering the coolest thing he’d ever done was… he wasn’t sure he’d done anything people considered cool. But she hadn’t brought it up, and he wasn’t sure she wanted him to know.

He thought he was sure, at least, that she wouldn’t want flyers hung up everywhere they went. When he saw the first one on his way to class the day before, he’d ripped it down in a panic. And then he’d exhausted himself running around trying to find any others around MIST’s campus. He’d been strangely offended on her behalf when they all called for help finding Shego. Then he’d questioned if she just made up the name Shea so he wouldn’t figure out who she was earlier. He still wasn’t sure.

All he really knew now, he thought as he wandered off the bus and in the direction of the neuroscience building, was that people were definitely going to want the reward attached to handing her in, he didn’t want her to disappear (even though she was a pest), and that, now, she was mad at him. And he really, really, didn’t want her to be mad at him.

An arm thrown around him suddenly made him yelp, pulling him out of his thoughts about how he was going to explain himself to Shea when he got home. So long as she hadn’t run away…

The shiny metallic rims of round glasses came into his view through the corner of his eye and Drew forced a smile at Bobby Chen who hardly spared him a glance as he dragged him faster toward the neuroscience building. “So, you are in Advanced Neurobiological Chemistry with me right, Lipsky?” Bobby asked. “I’m thinking I could use that brain of yours.”

“Sure, I am,” Drew muttered, only just paying attention to what was being said to him.

Bobby elbowed him gently in the ribs, and he blinked, focusing his attention on him. “Family visiting or something? I tried calling, but you weren’t the one who picked up.”

“Oh, that was just my new roommate,” he explained, with what he was sure was an unnoticeable hint of resentment in his voice. He didn’t want to remain upset about his three friends ditching him all the way out in Lowerton for a house on the outskirts of Upperton, but he was hardly able to help it. It wasn’t even that he was mad at them, so much as at the fact that he couldn’t possibly afford to join them, even splitting the cost between the four of them.

Although, he thought brightly, if he had moved in with them he never would have been able to meet Shea. So far, he didn’t think he’d make that trade. Sure, he was more than a little nervous about going home after class now, but he still liked her. She was interesting, even before the superpowers. There was just something about her that he was drawn to. Hell, even the night they’d met he had been secretly thrilled when she continued to follow him after he’d told her to leave him alone.

“Your roommate sounded an awful lot like a girl,” Bobby said with a slight grin, and before Drew could point out that that was because she was, they’d entered the classroom and were immediately hushed and told to find seats. Cringing back slightly at the glares shot their way for the disruption - although class hadn’t officially begun yet - the two shuffled to seats at the side of the room, as close to the front as they could get, wearing matching blushes.

“This will not be an easy class,” the accented voice of the professor declared, as he walked to the front of the classroom. “As students here at MIST, I expect all of you to be able to handle the work.”

Dr. Cyrus Bortel, a short, dark-haired, man in his early forties, was a genius in every way, and Drew had never admired another human being more. Dr. Bortel had been the one to scout Drew out when he was just thirteen, offering free tuition for him to attend some of his introductory courses.

Although it took a few years for his mother to agree, the offer was never dropped. In exchange, Drew had had the privilege of working alongside him since his very first day of college. Sure, sometimes he wished his tasks went beyond grading, fetching lab equipment, and teaching the occasional lecture, but he still knew he was incredibly lucky to watch the man work at all. Not to mention the perk of practically being paid to attend college.

“You can come to me if you’re ever struggling,” Bortel droned on. Much as Drew admired him, even he couldn’t find a way to make syllabus day entertaining. “There is no TA in this course, however,” the man wandered towards where Drew sat, gesturing to him briefly, “I trust Mr. Lipsky here to be of aid to any student who needs it if you ever cannot reach me.”

Drew gave a tense nod at his mentor, and then another in the direction of the room, hoping his ears weren’t as red as they felt. He pushed his glasses up higher on his face, as Bobby snickered beside him and gave his arm a light shove as the professor walked away.

Twenty minutes later, having learned little more than if Dr. Bortel would accept late work (he wouldn’t) and if he would be giving assignments every week (he would), Drew found his eyes closing against his will. Exhaustion combined with the panicked nerves still making his heart thunder inside his chest at sporadic moments seemed to catch up to him all at once.

The next thing he knew, he felt someone kick his shin under the table and his whole body went rigid as he blurted out, “I’m sorry!” Giggles started up from the few tables around him, but the rest of the room hadn’t seemed to notice his nodding off.

“At least you don’t snore,” Bobby mumbled to him with a shrug, as he wiped drool off his cheek. It was of little comfort (though he appreciated the effort) as Dr. Bortel’s gaze turned to him.

Drew gulped. The only time he’d been yelled at by a teacher of any sort had been when he was seven. He’d bitten another child who’d been sitting in the waiting room at the speech therapist's office. He still stood by the fact that the kid had deserved it, but his therapist had screamed and screamed at him until he was crying even more than the boy with teeth marks in his arm.

He resided himself to being yelled at by one of his favorite people in the world, willing away tears already. But then, Dr. Bortel just shook his head, laughing as he said, “I told you, you didn’t need to grade those exams so quickly, Drew. Look at you, you’ve exhausted yourself!”

He shrugged meekly back in response, perfectly content to accept that over shouting.

As the class came to an end, Bortel waved goodbye to the students as they shuffled out past him, giving Drew a pat on the back as he walked by which made Bobby snicker, “Teachers’ pet,” under his breath. Much as he knew he was kidding, it still worried Drew to think others would see him as a suckup. Teachers had always liked him and typically that meant students… well, didn’t. Thankfully nobody else said a word to him if they paid him any mind at all.

Bobby’s arm came to rest on Drew’s shoulder, and he slumped a bit to allow it. “Are you joining the rest of us for lunch, Drew?”

He almost agreed. He almost agreed for the sheer fact that he didn’t want to go back to his apartment and explain himself to Shea. But that same fact was exactly what had him shaking his head and saying, “No, no. I um… I need to talk to my roommate about something, actually. Tomorrow though!”

“We’re all busy tomorrow,” Bobby sighed. “But we’ll be over at your place on Saturday, right? Your… roommate won’t mind?”

Something about the way he hesitated before saying, “roommate” made Drew pause. It almost sounded like he didn’t believe he had one. He dismissed that thought as quickly as it came. He had no reason to disbelieve him. He’d even spoken on the phone with her! Just because she wasn’t paying rent didn’t mean it didn’t count. Not that Bobby knew that, he assumed.

“I’ll ask,” he said. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He hoped so at least. They always got together on Saturdays to watch the newest episode of Captain Constellation and play Hideaways and Hydras.

Worse, he remembered halfway to the bus stop, tearing down three more flyers on his way, was the possibility that she was already gone. He didn’t know, though it had only been a few days, how he was meant to move on if she’d decided she didn’t trust him anymore. If she was gone… He didn’t know what he’d do with himself. They’d never even gotten to get their ice cream…

Running the rest of the way to the bus stop did absolutely nothing to get him back to the apartment any faster, considering he still had to wait for the bus. Of course, he managed to forget that. Some genius he was! He bounced from foot to foot the entire time he waited, at least until an older woman asked him if he “needed to go potty,” which embarrassed him enough to make him sit down and wring his hands until his bus arrived. He all but threw himself down in the back seat, deliberately avoiding eye contact with the old woman.

He moved as fast as he could while still being able to breathe, all the way back to the apartment. Six flights of stairs later, he cautiously tried the door. It was closed now, unlike when he left, but it was still unlocked.

The creak of the door as he pushed it open made Drew cringe. Coming face to face with Shea standing cross-armed and clutching a fistful of the flyers in her hands on the other side of the door made his mouth go drier than the surface of Mars.

“Hello,” he managed, his voice croaking like a frog going through puberty. Ha. If she didn’t hate him he’d have to remember to tell her about that thought. She’d probably think it was funny too… eventually. At the moment she didn’t exactly look ready to laugh at anything. She just thrust the flyers at his chest - more pushing him than anything else - knocking him back a step. Her quirked eyebrow was perhaps the only indication he had that she was giving him the chance to explain himself. “Can I– Can I come in?”

“It’s your apartment,” she muttered, sarcastically gesturing him inside.

“We should change your bandages,” he blurted, pointing at her hands, still bandaged from the small fire the night before. He knew he was jabbering in what he also already knew was a terrible attempt at getting out of the upcoming conversation.

The flyers still clutched in her hand caught fire and fell around their feet in a pile of ashes. She tore the in-tact bandages off her left hand, throwing them at him. “My hands are fine and you know it!” Shea said, in a low voice that he decided was far worse than if she’d yelled at him. “What else do you know?”

Drew squeaked and moved away from her a few steps. “I… I know you aren’t an alien.” Now that he thought of it, he was surprised the idea hadn’t occurred to him before he’d looked her up. “I was only trying to help,” he pleaded, holding his hands up in surrender. Her glare softened, fading just enough for him to risk stepping closer, repeating himself as he reached a hand out toward her.

She stepped away from him as if suddenly he were the one with dangerous superpowers. It made him want to cry even more than the fear of Dr. Bortel yelling at him had. “You know,” she snapped at him like a… like a snapping turtle, “it makes sense that I wouldn’t know how to bring this up but you knew. You knew and didn’t say anything. And here I was planning on telling you the truth like some kind of idiot.”

“I was going to! I was going to tell you! I’m sorry,” he pleaded. The sight of her eyes brimming up with tears - more out of anger, it seemed, than out of sadness - made his own begin to fill up too. He feared his chance to explain had been lost.

At least when she stormed away it was into her bedroom, the door slamming childishly behind her, rather than out of the apartment and out of his life altogether.

#drakgo #drakken #drew lipsky #shego #shea go #fanfiction #drakgo fanfiction #shego x drakken #drakken x shego #Dwelling #chapter fourteen #gofordrakgo #14 pages #4361 words

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grahamstoker · 4 years

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Pranks for the Fun Time || Graham and Maple Leaf

Time: a couple weeks ago Players: Graham, Maple Leaf @thisphoneisbiggerthanme Summary: A vampire meets a pixie in the park. Fae nonsense ensues. Content Warnings: None

The vampire opted to let Frankie and Layla have the house tonight, deciding to venture out for one of Graham’s more secretive hobbies - reading a book he was fond of by the warm light of a lamp post in the park on a bench. He only accepted light FROM lamp posts and nothing else because… well, he wasn’t sure. There was something about sitting in a park in the evening, hearing nothing but nature and being bathed in the welcoming artificial light. He had read this book several times by now but he always came back to it with a certain fondness. He sat on the bench how he sat on his couch at home, relaxed, somewhat splayed with one leg over the arm as though he were royalty and the bench was his throne. One hand held the book while the other absently flickered between turning the page and his thumb returning to his mouth for him to chew on absently. God, he missed the heat of his breath.

One stray sod seed, two stray sod seed, three… On and on Maple Leaf had gone, until she had covered a whole patch of grass. Already, the seedlings were taking root, outcompeting the normal lawn grass. In a few days, it would be a glorious chaos - well, it would be if the apocalypse didn’t come out of the eye in the sun. She had just about prepared to return to her hole under someone’s house with a secret socket for her phone when she spotted a Big Leg, perched on a bench with a book and under the flight. Her tiny body flashing brighter with excitement as she darted over. It had been a couple weeks since she’d left her nest properly to be where the Big Legs were, and now she wanted to find out alllll about him. “Hi!” She yelled, because Big Legs couldn’t hear well. “What’re you reading??”

“Jeeesus!” Graham was startled out of his position, hastily pulling his leg close to him as if a shark just appeared out of the ground to snap at it. His bright blue eyes darted around for a moment, wondering where that voice came from. “Uh…” He couldn’t find anything immediately. Maybe he was finally losing it; his mom always told him that psychosis would take him but he didn’t know it’d be so soon. “Hi?” He asked, not entirely unsure but also none-TOO-sure. “I’m reading Red Dragon,” He stated to the voice that asked, holding the book aloft as if the source of the voice was standing far enough away that he’d need to hold it up for it to be seen. “Whhhyyy?” He lowered the book again, still looking around for the source of the voice.

“Ooh, is it about red dragons? Does it have any pictures? Can I see?” Maple Leaf replied, darting around this guy to get a good look at him, her wings buzzing like a horsefly around him. He was looking around all over like he thought she was some sort of poltergeist. Maple Leaf giggled, waving her arms and pulsing brightly. “I’m over here! I’m not scary, don’t worry! I just want to talk and learn all your deepest darkest desires and um maybe your favourite colour? What kind of Big Leg are you?”

Graham didn’t find the source until she held still long enough, eyes falling on… He sighed. Was this a fairy? Or a pixie? What was the difference? Was he on drugs again? He had to keep track or that sort of thing. The hell was a ‘big leg’? “Okay hold up, lemme answer your questions in order then maybe stick to, like, two at a time,” Graham inhaled. “It’s not about actual dragons insomuch as a painting of a dragon. That’s the only “picture” in the book and it’s not even IN the book, it’s on the COVER of the book,” He replied, keeping a finger on the page as he closed the book to show her the cover. “See?” He kept it closed while he recalled her other questions and comments. “We only just met, doll, so you aren’t entitled to my deepest, darkest desires yet. My favorite color is blue. And normally I’d say ‘just a regular guy’ but since I’m either trippin’ or talking to a… fffairy? Pixie? I’ll be honest with you and say ‘vampire’.” He said the last word quietly, quirking an eyebrow at the little flying creature. “Okay, your turn. Who and what are you?”

“Why would you read a book about a painting of a dragon? Why not just go see some real dragons, if they exist? Or just skip the painting part and read a book about dragons. OR skip the book part and look at a painting of dragons. I don’t know, kinda seems redundant otherwise.” Maple leaf commented sagely, and looked around before perching herself on his knee, glowing brightly. He’d said two questions, but then he said he was a vampire, and Maple Leaf had never met a vampire before! She wanted to fly over to his lips and pull them up to see his teeth, but resisted, for now. “Well, fun fact, I don’t have very much blood in me at all. So, don’t even think it mister. But my favourite colour is sunset pink or rhododendron red. I’m a pixie, and my name is Maple Leaf. Does this mean that someday you’ll tell me your deepest, darkest secret?”

Very chatty, this one. Graham had never met a pixie and if she was the example, then he wasn’t too entirely sure if he wanted to meet others. “It’s a book. The dragon’s a metaphor,” He replied rather simply to her line of questioning. He was paying full attention to her now as she sat on his knee, not even registering her weight. She was so small, so light and fragile and yet… so vivacious. Unafraid. “Duly noted, little lady,” He scoffed. “Sunset pink’s a fun color though so props for that.” He chuckled this time, resisting the urge to bounce his knee lightly to startle her… if she could be. “Maybe. What if my deepest, darkest secret isn’t as deep or dark as you’re hoping?” He asked.

"A metaphor," Maple Leaf replied skeptically, giving him a hard side eye. Why would you have a metaphorical dragon when you could have a real one. Or at least a cockatrice, as a treat. "I'm not little! I'd like you to know that I'm above average height for a pixie! You’re just humongous!” She laughed, like tiny ringing bells. You're just humongous!" She retorted “Oh, I just like knowing secrets. But if your deepest, darkest secrets aren’t dark enough for you we can make you some new ones!"

It was Graham’s turn to laugh, warm and normally disarming but in this case, it was just a natural reaction; he caught her side eye, knowing she didn’t find his answer satisfactory but that was just the nature of the question. “It’s just a saying; I’ll have YOU know that I’m average for someone MY size.” He found himself enjoying the company of the strange little creature. “Oh yeah? Like what? What counts as a ‘dark’ secret to you?” He did bounce his knee very lightly this time as he talked; he was legitimately curious about what a little light like Maple Leaf would think qualified as dark enough that his might not be by comparison..d

“A dark secret?” Maple Leaf tapped her chin thoughtfully, then squealed indignantly as he bounced his knee, jumping off it and hovering. “Hey! That was mean!” She crossed her arms, looking deep and hard into Graham’s pretty eyes. “Are all Big Legs so rude or is it just you? Anyway, a dark secret I have is that I’ve stolen the pollen from 20 bees. Just this week! I really like how it tastes and its funny watching them trying to do the bee signal wibble wobble for ‘watch out! There’s a pixie here’!”

Graham had set his book down fully by this point, keeping his eyes on the pixie with a mischievous smile on his face. “Really?” He said, his eyes widening with feigned surprise and he likened her behaviour with that of a child. He started to entertain the notion of creating a wild story in turn for her dark secret but he actually found himself contemplating what secrets he DID have that were her version of dark. “That’s a pretty good one, not gonna lie…” He thought aloud, tapping his finger against his chin as he bit the inside of his cheek absently. “Wait, you don’t talk to bees? How do you steal their pollen?” He asked, a hint of legitimate curiosity in his voice. Wait, did he care? ...Well, yeah, he supposed a part of him did.

“Still being rude!” Maple Leaf replied, her nose wrinkling in annoyance. “Why would I be able to talk to bees? I know we’re like similar sizes but our societal structures and expressivity of language is vastly different. Can you talk to every Big Leg in the world?” Despite her annoyance, she didn’t mind talking. “Well, first I illusion them a patch of flowers that smells all kinds of bountiful, but only after they’ve already collected pollen. And then I make me look like a flower, and when they try to take my pollen I do a whole switcheroo and take theirs instead. Kinda like this!” And just like that, the bench beneath them began to twist into a befanged, metal monstrosity, the back curving up and over them like a giant gaping maw.

“Sorry!” Graham said rather quietly as he shushed himself for Maple Leaf to continue her explanation on her pollen-theft. Ah, so she used… magic. He wasn’t surprised, why did his mind voice and narration sound surprised? She was a pixie; of course they used magic… right? It seemed like an obvious thing. What was less obvious, however, was how the bench underneath him suddenly looked and felt decidedly less like a bench and more like a creature that could do some damage. The vampire felt his instinct kick in and though he didn’t make a scene out of it, he deftly, unnaturally maneuvered his body around the contorting mass of metal in a fluid motion and took a very generous step away from it, appearing almost as though he were gliding instead. He beheld the magic, not experiencing fear but rather a twisted curiosity and perhaps even a glimmer of entertainment, as though he were a child observing a magic trick. “Whoa!” He exclaimed. “How the hell’d you do THAT?”

Maple Leaf grabbed onto the collar of Graham's collar, and if he listened especially closely he might have heard the tiny "weeeeeee!" Of joy as he pulled her through the air faster than she'd ever gone. Once he was standing she let go, clapping her hands in glee. "It's an illusion!" She chirped, and the bench looked harmless once more. All that creeping metal crumbled into the wind and nothing more, a small personal delight. Maple Leaf grinned up at Graham. "Did I scare you?" Graham heard the noise but had to look around for a moment to find the source, realizing that she had grabbed onto him when he moved and he gave her a small grin. “Scare me? Naaaaah.” He dismissed lightly with a wave. “You surprised me, though,” He admitted, tilting his head at the bench once more. “An illusion, huh? Pretty damn impressive magic trick if I do say so, myself,” He stroked the stubble on his chin. “No wonder you’re so good at stealing from bees; I can’t imagine how they perceive stuff like that.” He quirked an eyebrow. “I think I’d die if I was a bee and got freaked out by something like that.” He laughed.

“Rats! How can I scare you?” Maple Leaf asked earnestly, as if she was asking what kind of cake he might prefer. She let go of the button of his sleeve, buzzing brightly as she darted back up to his face. Not that he’d be able to tell easily, but she blushed under his compliments, flying in an excited figure of eight to show her enthusiasm. “Bees don’t scare too easy, they’re made of tough stuff. Which is why it’s fun to steal their pollen.” She tapped her nose knowingly. “Wait! I forgot to ask! Can I have your name?” “You can’t; I’m an unscareable master,” Graham replied, crossing his arms matter-of-factly as he couldn’t help but smile at her obvious display of excitement. Then the thought occurred to him that they’d been effectively hanging out for what felt like at least twelve minutes now and they didn’t know each others’ names. “Oh, sorry! The name’s Graham,” He announced before motioning with his hand. “And what do I call you?” He asked, finding the way she asked just slightly strange and almost as though there was something… he should’ve known but EH maybe he was just being weird.

“Nope, those are Redcaps, but you are definitely not a Redcap in the slightest!” Maple Leaf said with a hmph, looking him up and down. “Vampires are definitely in the scareable list. But don’t you worry, I’ll figure it out soon enough!” More importantly, he walked right into her trap. She guffawed, clutching her belly and laughing at him. “Well you can call me Graham too because that’s my name now!” She squealed in delight.

The hell was a Redcap. The vampire didn’t have time to contemplate that for long when she suddenly started laughing at him and he cocked his head to the side sharply, the look of puzzlement evident on his face. “Wait, what?” He asked. He paused for a moment, uncrossing his arms and feeling his brow furrow. Wait… wh-- ohhh. “Wait, your name’s Graham?” He asked. “Huh! Small world. I mean, really small world, like pixie-sized that I happened to run into the one pixie with the same name as… Wait.” The smile slid off the vampire’s face. “Wait, that’s… Okay, that’s YOUR name but--” The look of confusion was front and center. “Then… what’s MY name?” He asked.

“HAhahahaHA!” Maple Leaf squealed, looping loops in the night air. Definitely not-Graham looked completely bamboozled, utterly incensed. She laughed until her sides ached, until she could hardly breathe and her face was turning blue. “I took it! I took it! And now you’ll never know your name unless I give it back! Wow, it is so much easier to take names here than it is on the other side of town!”

The vampire was decidedly having a lot less fun now, feeling his expression go from confused to slowly more irritated. Well, THAT wasn't fair. “Wait, you did the what-now?” He asked, opting to cross his arms almost like a child who didn’t get what he wanted. “You stole my name?” He asked, bristling. “How do you even do that?” He had to admit that he wasn’t familiar at all with fae practises… hell, he was still learning about vampires.

“I did! Do you want it back?” Maple Leaf giggled, darting over to perch on his angrily crossed arms. “I stole it because I asked to have your name, and then you gave it to me! That’s how it works. But I can give it back if you like! Oh, you look a little angry, but it’s just a game!” It took a second for the vampire to realize what the pixie was talking about but shortly after he thought about it, he gave a single nod of his head. “Ohhh. So when you said “can I have your name”, you were actually asking if I would GIVE it to you. Like it’s a literal bargaining chip,” He explained, more to himself. “Well that’s pretty sneaky, I gotta admit. I sorta walked into that one.” He uncrossed his arms carefully as she perched on them and one hand rubbed the back of his neck. “I’d… kinda like my name back, yeah. Do all fae do that?” He asked, keeping this exchange in mind for any future encounters he might run into. First rule, read between the lines. Damn fae.

“Yup yup! You vampires sure are gullible!” Maple Leaf crowed, tumbling head over heels along his arms. Although, it was kinda starting to be a let down. If you stole a fae name, then automatically you went into a duel of words and smarts and thinking, all to get the name back. Maybe other cultures just didn’t do that kind of thing. She’d have to test it with other vampires to find out. “Fine, fine, I return your name to you, Graham! I’m Maple Leaf, and it was cool to meet you!” And you pixies are kinda jerks, newly-reappointed Graham thought as he metaphorically snatched his name back from her when she offered it, placing it on his mental desk once more. “I suppose you aren’t the worst, uh… pixie I’ve ever met,” He relinquished with a dismissive shrug, still feeling slightly silly that he walked into such an obvious trap. “BUT yeah, it was kinda cool to meet you, too.” He pointed a finger at her in mock threat. “Next time you steal my name I’mma… I dunno, do SOMETHING mean back to you.” He said, finding that he couldn’t stay exactly angry at the prank or her for that matter. At least she gave his name back.

“Prank wars! Oh, that will be so fun! Now I have to steal your name again, but some other time. It’ll be a surprise!” Maple Leaf gasped, clasping her hands together. Her eyes were welling up with bright tears of excitement, thrilled to have made a new prank friend. Maybe this vampy-guy wasn’t so bad after all! “Prank you some other time, Gram-Grams!” And with that, she darted off into the park, planning the mischief she could do next time. Oh! What about turning his teeth into water balloons? Wait, prank wars? That wasn’t what Graham had in mind when he said that - he was thinking more along the lines of taking a couple of fingers and giving her a firm flick. He started to retaliate when she zoomed off and he was left standing there by himself in the dimly-lit park, hand raised and mouth open as if to make a point. His bright blue eyes followed her as she departed but found himself frowning, going back over to his book on the bench. Gram-Grams? Maybe if someone took his name, next time he’d pick one that couldn’t be turned into as many derogatory, cutesy nicknames.

#x: Maple Leaf #x: Pranks for the Fun Time #wickedswriting #//Maple Leaf's a joy #//and so is Immo

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