It’s 5:24 in the morning. University of Kent, Canterbury, England.
A Monday, the fourth of May. On the desk is a cold cup of coffee, next to it a lukewarm cup of coffee, each half-drunk half-forgotten.
Lily Evans sits at the desk — sits at her desk — eyes blood-shot red with the lack of sleep. She doesn’t realise but except for the two three-minute coffee breaks, she has not stopped looking at her computer screen for fourteen hours.
It's an important distinction, that it’s her desk. That it’s her name on the door and her work on the computer, and her hard-won research grant that fuels her PhD. So sleep deprivation? It has nothing on Lily. Nothing as small as an all-nighter could get her to stop. Nothing as insignificant as—
The lights in Lily’s office flicker, once, twice, then shut off completely for exactly nine seconds.
She shrieks.
Not because of the sudden all-consuming darkness she’s been plunged into, but because of what the completeness of it means: along with the lights, the computer shuts down, too.
The screen is blank. The LEDs that shine from the inside of her custom build PC have stopped casting aurora borealis-like lights across the back wall of the office.
After the nine seconds the coffee machine on indicator comes back first, a blink of red in the vastness of nothing.
Lily turns her work computer off three times a year, for department-mandated updates. Otherwise, her semi-kind-of-not-really working function chugs away day or night, workdays, weekends, bank holidays, religious holidays, always. An unscheduled break is out of the question.
The computer turns back on — mechanic grinding whirs of the fans first, the whoosh of water in the cooling system, then the login screen.
Her hands shake as she types in the ever-so-complicated password.
There is no change in the code. It’s backed up (in triplicate) to various secure cloud services anyway, but despite that Lily always fears losing progress.
Not that there has been much. Despite the stipulations of her PhD funding, Lily has not made lasting changes to the program in a couple months. Sure, there has been experiments, and research, and at one point, in a fit of mad desperation, she even installed an AI agent to sort out the gaps in her code, but even that resulted in a vague unhelpful message I am not sure what you are trying to achieve.
Lily knows exactly what she’s trying to achieve. She’s had to explain it in her PhD proposal, and defence of the proposal, and multiple times to her advisor who gets it but also doesn’t.
Lily is calculating the mass and time of the universe. Or rather: Lily is calculating how much more mass and time is left for the universe.
She clicks through the files, checking that everything is where it should be, refreshing the UI just to double-triple check.
It’s a simple UI. There is only one component there, and there only ever has been. A big red number zero.
The number, now, is 1.
***
It’s 5:24 in the morning, Richmond Park, London, England.
Father Regulus Black, of New English Church of Providence and Misery, is practicing his sermon.
Be wary all you who do not see the End, for when the End comes all will be explained. Look into the eyes of that to your right, and that to your left, and see... and see...
Father Regulus Black is meticulous — in every aspect of his life. His clothes are pressed, his hair is neat, his sermons are well researched and written in such a way to always rouse emotions in his flock.
He always looks where he’s walking.
It’s a beautiful day. Father Regulus is enjoying the very early morning sunlight just waking up, and how it reflects off the dew on new leaves of a tree next to the crossing.
He doesn’t think he makes any noise when, first, the mass of a white van reverses into him, then when his body and head make dull, heavy contact with the street.
A light explodes behind his eyes, blinding the view of rough tarmac. He blinks against it — thinks he blinks against it — but it makes no difference. The light is there, eyes open or shut.
PAIN IS NOT AT ALL AS DESCRIBED, something inside of his head says.
The van driver doesn’t attempt to lift him up, and for that Regulus is grateful. The situation is already undignified enough without being manhandled off to the pavement.
“Are you alright, mate?” The driver asks, hovering awkwardly over him. “I was barely making 5 miles an hour; didn’t see you step out onto the road. Didn’t you notice the van?”
WE ARE WELL a Voice which isn’t his responds out of Regulus’ mouth as he contemplates the possible minor-ready-to-turn-major injuries. Slight damage to the spinal cord could turn deadly if he turns his head.
YOU ARE FINE, the Voice in his head says. I WOULD NOT HAVE CHOSEN A VESSEL SO FRAIL.
He sits up. Turns toward the driver. Doesn’t become instantly paralysed – a relief.
“I’m fine,” he answers, in his own voice. “Sorry about the inconvenience.”
It’s five minutes of painful social interaction while the driver tries to convince him to go to a hospital just in case while also making sure Regulus knows the fault is solely his own. They part ways awkwardly, goodbye-thens and misjudged see you laters.
WE ARE IN A HURRY, REGULUS the Voice says both inside of his head and out of his mouth once they’re alone.
The human brain is a remarkable thing. Faced with the unexplainable, the mind creates a series of coping mechanisms (largely summed up as denial). Yes — there is a Voice both in and out of Regulus’ head, coming out from his vocal cords, that isn’t his, and yes — the apparently autonomous entity has taken control of at least some of his faculties, but Regulus wasn’t about to panic about it.
IF YOUR SERMON IS ABOUT THE END OF TIMES, the Voice says, YOU SHOULD SPEAK ABOUT THE FIRES OF DAMNATION.
Regulus thinks that maybe he should have gone to the hospital after all.
***
It’s 5:24 in the morning, University of Kent, Kent, Ohio, United States.
Two men: one tall, one taller, stand in the middle of a road, a campus map open between them.
They are completely, utterly silent, but somehow they communicate. The tongue of the shorter one darts out to, maybe, wet his lip. It looks like he’s tasting the air.
☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️
NEXT PART
new fic! Im so excited for this one and I hope you are too
it’s an idea Ive had in my mind for years and have written about 10k of as original fic but pivoting it to this is so much more fun and so satisfying.
we have pandalily, we have wolfstar, we have jegulus.
we don’t have a title (the original title is “A Priest, a Demon, and a Physicist walk into the Apocalypse” but Thats a bit unwieldy)
Hi hi hi before anything else, this fic was inspired by the last picture on this post by @dilemmaart !
I love Demi's art and still can't believe we're mutuals, and it just inspired me a lot to get out of years long writer's block, but I hope you guys enjoy this fic!
Edit: I forgot to mention that this took me a while to write due to anxiety of ai, usual adhd distractions and the occasional writer's block. Also because I haven't written a fic in a long time, so this is my first one in probably years, so I'm a bit rusty. I really do hope you enjoy!
She was still half asleep when she stepped outside into the cool foggy night after the TARDIS had landed, her pink curls a mess after being buried under her thick blankets. He had always had bad timing. Had a tendency to show up at the worst possible times somehow. The whole "gone for a year" fiasco with Rose could be easily remembered in moments like this as she fixed her jacket around her form. For a Time Lord, his timing was just shitty.
She crossed her arms, fighting back a yawn as the TARDIS door opened and he stepped out, stopping the moment he saw her. Then that infuriating smile of his started to grow on his face, a type of smugness that seemed to never leave his form the moment he laid eyes on her. "Ah, there you are. Just the mutant I've been looking for; aren't you a sight for sore eyes, Stark?" He hummed as he leaned against the doorway, a warmth filling his gaze as he met her gold eyes. He missed those eyes. Missed those short pink curls, missed the way she pouted when she was tired. He missed…everything about her. Even if it was just a short week for her, it was longer for him. Time travel always made it difficult when it came to long distance…whatever they were.
The Doctor cleared his throat, one hand fiddling with his sonic while the other scratched at the back of his neck as he glanced away when he realized he was staring too hard. "Anyways, I was in the solar system around this time frame and I just thought I'd stop by, see how you doing and…maybe…pick you up?" He started as he glanced back at her, twin hearts fluttering at the yawn that escaped her lips as she pushed her glasses back in place on her nose. Stars above, he wanted to just pick her up and steal her away all over again. He let out a breath as his cheeks grew warm, a flash of determination flickering in his eyes as he tosses his sonic in the air, catching it easily before pressing the button, causing a familiar buzz to fill the air between them as he smiled down at her. He held it up to her, so the blue light washed over her features. "So what do you say, Kore? Fancy a trip in the TARDIS?"
She stared up at him with half lidded eyes, pouting slightly as a huff escaped her lips. "Do you have any idea what time it is, Doc?" His smile faltered for a moment, shifting awkwardly on his feet as she stared him down. "Uhhh, 10 o clock?" He asked with a shrug. He was caught off guard by her annoyed and tired tone as he lowered his sonic, thumb shifting from its button. "It's 3 am-" "Shit." His eyes squeezed shut as he flinched, like her response was a smack to the arm. He didn't mean to come here this late at night. "I thought I came early for once." His eyes snapped open when he heard a snort from her, head picking up to see her roll her eyes. "Doctor, the day you're early or properly on time, will be the day the TARDIS stops throwing a fit when you mess with her wiring." She sighed as she stepped closer to him, one hand reaching up to poke him on the nose. A small smirk tugged at her lips seeing him recoil with an taken back expression at the poke. "That was one time!" He huffed, shoving his sonic in his coat, pouting in a way that just made her smirk grow. His eyes darted to the side as he crossed his arms, looking more like a pouting toddler who was caught with his hand in the cookie tin than an all powerful Time Lord.
Kore sighed, patting him on the arm as she shifted past him through the door, pink curls brushing against his coat sleeve. For a second he thought she was just going to walk past and go find a spot to sleep in if she didn't go to her own room on the TARDIS. He was ready for her to say "maybe tomorrow." Then there was a tug at his tie, making him stumble after her. His eyes widened as he was pulled inside and she glanced up at him over the shoulder. "Well? Where are we going? Think I can steal you for a cuddle while we're on our way?" Kore asked with a flutter of her lashes that made his hearts stop for a split second.
A big smile tugged at his lips as he straightened up, his tie slipping from her fingers as he shifted to corner her against the console. "I'm sure I can arrange something to do during our trip there. Gotta keep you comfy and entertained don't we?" He muttered softly as one hand reached past her to press a button, the doors closing quickly as the TARDIS hums louder. "Allonsy, my Little Storm."
“I don’t see the problem,” says James Potter, Lily’s PhD advisor.
James often doesn’t see the problem. Almost as often as he sees solutions. He’s young, for someone at this career stage, and Lily has had some mishaps and missteps along the way so she’s a bit older than the usual student. They’re both 35 and it took Lily a while to get used to this. Deferring to him when she’s in fact older than him by those insignificant two months.
But James is brilliant, and clever, and he doesn’t see a problem.
She jabs at the screen again. The 1% that should be a great big zero.
“Your PhD depends on this working, yes?” James asks.
Lily nods.
“And its working?”
She nods again.
James takes a long sip of his green post-run Gatorade. It’s 7:42 in the morning. He’s still wearing his neon shorts and neon shoes and indecently cut tank top that he’s sweated through.
On a normal day, James does his run, cleans up in the decontamination shower in the applied physics department and eats a disgustingly healthy breakfast. His routine is pleasantly predictable.
Today, Lily stood outside the front door waiting to drag him down to her office. He made jabs about spiders laying in wait for their victims.
“I made no changes,” Lily says. “It shouldn’t be working.”
“The computer restarted, right?” There is a cheeky little infuriating smile on the corner of James’ mouth.
“Oh, don’t give me that,” she snaps. “I restart as per the mandated updates. It never made any difference before.”
A small shrug. James drinks more Gatorade. He smells like sweat and synthetic electrolytes, and Lily doesn’t like it. It’s overwhelming in her small office.
“Don’t shrug at me,” she tells him off. She often tells him off.
“Lily, you have calculated one percent of infinity,” he says and smiles so wide it’s like she got her doctor title already. “Celebrate! This is a good thing. You know full well — and I know you don’t like it, but it’s true — that a lot of what we do is happy accidents and successful errors.”
Lily picks up a cup at random from her desk, and drinks cold leftover coffee. She tries another one, and it’s marginally warmer, so it will do.
“You need to leave the office,” James says, nose scrunched up in distaste in her direction. “Go home, take a wash, and go to sleep.”
Lily must make a face because he adds: “it’s nice outside. You look even paler than normally. Some vitamins and some sunlight will do you good.”
There is a laptop on Lily’s kitchen table that mirrors the screen of her work computer. Technically not allowed, but nobody has noticed yet. She must małe it obvious that she’s thinking about it — her face often betrays her thoughts.
“Don’t you even think of using that laptop of yours,” James says, because of course he somehow knows all about it, “or I’ll come and unplug it.”
“It has a backup generator,” Lily tells him just to come out on top, but reluctantly agrees.
***
In London, Regulus thinks he’s finally, finally, lost his mind.
YOU ARE AS SANE AS YOU WERE LAST NIGHT, OR THE NIGHT BEFORE says a Voice inside of his head. It doesn’t sound like any other voice Regulus has ever heard. It’s like… it’s not like anything. It’s incomparable. It’s a Voice that’s singular and coherent, but it’s also a hundred thousand voices merged together into a cacophony.
A choir of conflicting registers.
ALTHOUGH YOUR FAMILY’S DEFINITION OF SANE IS… DIVERGENT TO THE USUAL
“I resent that,” he answers.
NO, YOU DON’T, the Voice says, this time aloud, using Regulus’ mouth to formulate the words. I CAN READ WHAT YOU REALLY THINK, AND YOU KNOW THAT I AM RIGHT
Regulus is good at not arguing when he wants to argue. Years of practice in biting his tongue, a lesson he’s learnt in childhood that became a habit in the years since. He knows not to argue when it’s unreasonable to, when the entity he argues against is not one to be convinced otherwise — his teachers, his mother when angry, a Voice that’s more than likely a hallucination of his own brain.
YOU CAN ARGUE WITH ME the Voice says, and it sounds giddy. I LOVE TO ARGUE
Must have happened when he hit his head. The van knocked some part of his reasoning loose. Maybe some valve keeping the madness in check got damaged and it all spilled out all over his ability to keep his mind straight.
Some fears must inevitably come true, he supposes.
NOT THE VAN I’M AFRAID. MORE OF A GREAT COSMIC INCONVENIENCE, AND YOU WON THE LOTTERY. ITS TIME TO SAVE THE WORLD, REGULUS
Regulus wonders, idly, why the world needed saving.
IT’S COMING TO AN END
“The world is ending?”
MOST DEFINITELY SO. UNFORTUNATELY, YES
Regulus considers this. If the world was ending, then Voices speaking from his mouth were probably the least of his worries. This, too, could of course be a part of the madness: he always has been prone to melodramatic fits on fancy, or so at least his mother used to say.
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
YES REGULUS. YOU, AND EVERYONE ELSE.
*********
so is Regulus crazy? Who is the Voice? Is James ever going to get his shower? Will I ever come up with a title?
