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#I’m usually very loose with shadows and lighting. Especially if I am just having fun with it.

ardn631-haydenmiddleton · 11 months

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REFLECTION WRITING

Below is the start to writing the 800 word reflection on my photography work and photo book. A lot of this was taken from the research I’ve done in this blog and it was a really helpful starting point.

ARDN631 PHOTOGRAPHY COMMENTARY

It has been a real joy this semester to get a chance to explore portrait-style photography. I have enjoyed having an excuse to get my friends, family, and myself in front of the camera to capture the essence of someone or myself. It’s something that is typically out of my comfort zone since I usually find taking photos of non-living things to be my strength, and at the beginning, I was awkward at directing living, moving subjects in a shot. With lots of research and exploration of other great portrait photographers and with feedback from my peers, I really believe I expanded my photography skills this semester and found a new love for taking photos of people.

At the beginning, it was hard to come up with an idea for what or who I wanted to take photos of. I think I had a lot more elaborate ideas as to what I could shoot, when really what I found myself enjoying photographing the most was just candid shots of people doing tasks within class and then of my family just around the house. When I knew we were doing a photo book, I wanted to explore something personal to me and did consider fully doing self-portraits as an exploration into myself and who I am, but when it came down to actually taking photos, I was most inspired when taking photos of my best friend Cat. It was really easy taking photos with Cat since they’re someone I’m fully comfortable with, and it was a lot easier to break away from that awkward feeling when taking photos of someone else. Cat is also someone I hang out with a lot anyway, so I was able to come up with an idea for the week, then come over and hang out and work on the ideas I wanted to explore for that photoshoot, and it became a very efficient routine.

So that is why my photo book and photo series are all portraits of Cat and who they are as a person. I wanted to make sure every single portrait in the photo book explained something new or different about them to keep the book interesting for each page or image that is revealed every time you turn the page, and a lot of this was helped by the inspiration I picked up from others.

I think Cat’s room is an extremely important element about them. I love going to Cat’s room because it’s such a vibrant and personality-filled place with all the trinkets, posters, and collections kept all over the place. This is why I wanted to include an image of Cat’s room, especially after looking at Adrienne Salinger’s work and how she captured the rooms of teenagers in the 1990s. It’s not only a glimpse into Cat’s life, but it’s a glimpse into what it's like to be a young adult in 2023, and it's an image I think will continue to get more interesting with age, just like how Adrienne’s work has evolved.

The images where Cat is covered in colourful light were set up with some loose LEDs that were in their room, turning them on and then turning the lights off. Shooting photos in the dark with these bright, colourful lights that cast dramatic shadows onto Cat’s face was a real challenge camera settings-wise, but a good thing to learn, and I’m proud of how the images developed as I continued to learn during the session. These images were inspired by Petra Collins work and her series "24 Hour Psycho," which works with colourful lights, emotions, and how these things interact with each other. For example, a blue light can represent sadness, while a pink light is something more fun and playful. I wanted to explore Cat’s emotional state, or how they feel on the inside, like Petra Collins does. Using pink and blue light is perhaps a bit cliche, but I wanted to make a comment on how Cat shows themselves to the world as a gender-fluid person. Some days they feel more masculine and tell me that putting on makeup can feel a bit like putting on drag, and then other days they feel a lot more feminine. I just think there are so many interesting elements about Cat that they don’t always tell the world about, and I think these images allow an insight into these deeper elements of Cat using the Petra Collins style.

Another influence on my use of colour is Lissy Elle, who focuses on the fuzzy, dream-like elements that photography can capture. Lissy uses bright, in-your-face colours like Petra Collins but also has a diffused coloured lighting style that fills the whole shot and gives some of her shots a colourful hue. I really enjoyed how she explained her art as this capturing of dreams or adolescents, and so I wanted to capture that within my own work with Cat, which is why some shots are done under warm purple light, which wasn’t with the perhaps harsher LEDs I set up but instead just a purple lamp that set the whole scene in this colour. The image chosen in the photo book where I use this technique is the one where Cat is standing just in front of their wardrobe. Their wardrobe worked as a cool backdrop because you can see a lot of Cat’s colourful clothes and the things they like to wear, which is just another element of who Cat is.

Overall, all of these images and shooting styles were done with the style of Olivia Bee in mind, who has plenty of series of images where they’re just candid shots of her friends messing around and doing stuff on film. I was not using a film camera for my photography work, but I did really enjoy the raw, grainy texture of these shots, which made me feel a lot better about having to bump up the ISO while taking photos in the dark, as I think it mimics this natural texture that shooting with film might give. Olivia Bee’s candid shots are really impressive because, although they’re candid, they are still extremely clean and thought-out images, and so as I was working with Cat and capturing just the two of us as we joked around and hung out, I kept this idea of that balance in mind, keeping the shots candid and fun but also keeping things balanced and thinking about the fundamentals of photography like the rule of thirds and angle. Looking at Olivia Bee’s images can make me feel nostalgic for a time I wasn’t even apart of, and that’s an interesting emotion for the work to make me feel. It’s an emotion I hope I can capture with my series of work with Cat as the images age and we look back on them. I hope remembering the fun we had as I took the photos of them makes us feel this warmth of nostalgia.

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daydreamingatnight209 · 3 years

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Okay so this was a passion project that I really wanted to write, I probably won’t do another and I still don’t feel comfortable writing smut for other people so please do not request it!

Minors please do not read or engage with this post as it is for 18+ only!

Also a big thank you to @erin-bo-berin for helping and encouraging me to continue this project!

Feedback is always welcome! ✨💕

“Alpha-Male Bullshit”

Part 1

Azriel x Female Reader - Part 1

Fandom - ACOTAR

Warnings - Violence, sexual themes, 18+ only, minor spoilers for ACOSF, angst and fluff! 💞☁️

———————————————————————

Lucien Vanserra was a terrible flirt; not because he wasn’t good at it, but because he was constantly flirting with me.

In the beginning I went along with it; I was bored and felt lonely. Cassian had Nesta, everyone knew Rhys had Feyre and Nyx their sweet baby boy, Elain kept busy with her garden and I barely saw our spymaster.

I split my time between training and reading in my chambers.

So, what harm could a bit of flirty banter do between friends?

I didn’t think it would do anything, but Lucien is certainly consistent.

I had a rare free day and found myself in a quiet corner of the library ran by the High Priestess ,Clotho.

It was one of my favourite places to be. The noise in my head stopped, all the pressure and responsibility’s for the court just faded away. I am transported to a land far away.

I was halfway through a steamy romance that Nesta had given me a couple of days ago. We stayed up most nights talking about books and how Cassian had made it his mission to try each technique in the book for Nesta’s pleasure. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know what he was doing, Nesta made that very clear but it was certainly good fun. It made me laugh but it also flushed my body with an incredible sadness. These books were about as close of a love life that I had.

I was lost in my head and the fictional visions that I created with the words on the page when I heard a familiar voice. It made me jump slightly and I heard his deep laugh.

“I knew Nesta loved smut, but I didn’t think your innocent little mind liked it...but then again, I’m sure that pretty little mouth isn’t all that innocent is it?”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes and turn to face him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, my dear”

I smirk and snap my book back open.

“Are you hoping to live out some of those scenes in those books of Nesta’s like she now is?”

I don’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. A moment passed and I feel his breath on my neck.

“If so, you know where to find me.” He whispers in my ear, before pressing a nimble kiss on my neck and spinning on his heel to walk away.

I released a breath I didn’t even know I was holding and groaned in frustration.

Placing my bookmark back in between the pages, I rose from the chair and left the comforting walls of the library, waving goodbye to the passing priestesses.

I wander aimlessly around the property, taking in the cool atmosphere. The training ring was empty, or so I thought. As I approached it, I spotted a familiar stature. His shadows swirling around his figure as he went through his training exercises.

I sat on the rocks beside the ring as he comes to a stand-still.

“Are you okay Y/N?” He asks softly.

I smile and rub my eyes.

“Yes, I’m just hiding from Lucien. He’s definitely spending way too much time with Rhys and Cassian. He sounds exactly like them.

But , maybe flirting with him could be fun. No one else pays much attention around here to me anyway”

Wherever Azriel goes in his head, my remark seemed to snap him away from his flyaway thoughts.

His eyes blazed and he took a warrior stance. He chest puffed and looked ready to fly at a moments notice.

“Do you need me to have a word with him?”

I couldn’t help but giggle at his overprotective response.

“No Az, it’s okay. I don’t think he fancies losing his other eye. Thank you anyway”

He just nods and returns back to his exercises.

I take this as my cue to leave.

————————————

Nesta finds me in my room later that evening and informs me that Rhys has planned a family dinner and I am required to attend.

She then prances off to her own chambers.

I rummage through my closet and pick out a gown that had fallen down the back.

It was a deep blue, that sparkled in the correct light. It plunged, exposing more of my breasts than usual and the slit started just passed my thigh, with the material of the dress hugging my body tightly.

Mor had gifted it to me last winter solstice but I hadn’t had a chance to wear it yet. No time like the present, I suppose.

I didn’t have time to style my hair dramatically, so I let my long light brown curls fall loosely down my back.

I fiddled around to find a matching bag and heels before slowly descending down the glass staircase.

All eyes were on me as I entered the dining room. The room was eerily silent.

Panic slowly begins to envelope me.

“It’s not too much is it?” I squeak.

Lucien stands and almost knocks down his chair.

“Absolutely not! My god Y/N I thought the wine would be what loosened my tongue tonight, but it looks like that dress is what’s gonna do it instead.

Unbeknown to me, Azriel’s shadows swamped around, doing their best to keep my modesty protected from Lucien’s lewd comments.

“All bark, no bite Lucien. What a shame” I shoot back and take my place beside Elain.

Azriel was seated across from Elain and did his best to contain his rage against Lucien.

I noticed this sudden shift of tension in the room between the two males but decided that now was not the time to bring it up. Especially not in front of the family.

Elain however didn’t seem to have this incentive and piped up.

“Are you okay, Az?” She asks sweetly. She attempts to take his hand. Azriel lets her hold his hand for a millisecond, before quickly pulling away.

I knew he was insecure about his hands and how they have seen years of battle, yet that wasn’t what bothered me most.

What bothered me most, was hearing my nickname for Azriel fall out of Elain’s mouth so casually.

It wasn’t that I disliked Elain, in fact I was happy for her. She is happy and healthy, was quick to adapt to the ways of Fae and everyone in the court had watched her confidence grow tremendously.

Yes, I was happy for her. Yet every time I caught her talking with Azriel, a wave of jealousy would come over me.

Elain didn’t want Lucien and Azriel didn’t want me, not in that way at least.

Everyone was on their way to a happy ending... everyone but me.

I let out a small cough and continue with the evening. Lucien kept up with his filthy ways and I kept up my responses. Cassian laughed with Rhys and Feyre discussed baby clothes with Nesta.

It felt as time had stopped, as I drunk in moment.

Eventually everyone slid off one by one. Amren and Varian first and soon the rest followed.

Mor invited me to her room so that we could spend some time together. I respectfully declined, desperate to climb into my bed.

——————————

Azriel couldn’t sleep. He stood on the balcony and stared into the distance. It was a clear night, the stars shined brightly above him.

As trained as Azriel was, he was still no match for his High Lord’s stealth.

Not that he would admit it to anymore, but his heart missed a beat when he suddenly heard Rhysand’s voice boom behind him.

“Okay Az, what the hell is going on around here? Seriously I have Elain basically drooling over you, Lucien Vanserra flirting with y/n and she’s flirting BACK, and you’re strung tighter than an Illyrian bow”

Azriel wasn’t ready to admit the truth but if he didn’t soon then he had no idea how the hell he would cope, especially after seeing you at dinner earlier. It took all of his strength to remain seated and not knock Lucien from his seat. His cock had strained against his pants so much that it had become painful. He felt Ferrell and you didn’t have a clue.

So Azriel turned around, folded his wings, and stood straight.

“Y/N is my mate”

It took Rhysand a moment to adjust to what he had just heard.

He clapped his brother on the shoulder and cheered, but his celebration was short lived when he saw the sour look on Azriel’s face.

“Okay ... so why do look like you’ve just been slapped in the face with a fish?”

“Because she’s absolutely oblivious! You’ve seen it yourself, the way she is around Lucien. Just because his mate doesn’t want him doesn’t mean he is entitled to mine!” Azriel explodes and doesn’t give Rhys a chance to respond before he launches himself into the night sky.

He spends the night flying around the city before returning at early dawn.

He is surprised to find Y/N stood outside his bedroom door.

She spins around before he could call her name.

You flash a smile that could bring him to his knees.

“I felt your shadows behind me.” You giggle.

“Anyway, I am only here to tell you that Rhys and Feyre are heading down to the cabin for the night. I said we would look after baby Nyx. Is that okay?”

Azriel tried to focus on what you were saying and not your scent. He just nods in response and as you hop towards him. You fling your arms around him and hug.

Azriel just prayed to the saints that you couldn’t feel his member begging to be released beneath his trousers.

————————————————

Nyx was certainly a handful, he was growing quickly and wanted to explore the world. It didn’t take him long to figure out how to crawl which meant keeping him away from pretty much everything in the house. I was just glad he hadn’t learnt how to use his wings yet.

Eventually he powered down and settled in my lap, he was fed, clean and happy. Meanwhile I learnt that I definitely wasn’t ready for children yet.

“How is he?” Azriel yawned as Nyx’s eyes slowly dropped shut, his thumb in his mouth.

I cradled the small boy in my arms as Azriel sat beside me.

“I will go put him to bed in a moment, he just looks so peaceful” I whispered.

Az just laughed.

“You weren’t saying that before when he was destroying the place”

I roll my eyes and gently lift my body up from the sofa before walking to the nursery.

When I entered the living quarters again, I found Az with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

“Want one?” He asks.

I shrug. “Sure, why not”

We sat in a comfortable silence before I was brave enough to speak up.

“So, are you going to tell me why you have been so uptight lately? Is it work?”

Azriel’s comfortable posture, stiffens and he is back on high alert.

Seeing this, I couldn’t help but feel guilty.

I shouldn’t force him to talk, it’s not like he’d want to open up to me anyway.

I decide to change the subject.

“Is it true that the bigger a wingspan, the bigger the dick?”

I watch as Azriel splutters and does his best not to leak his drink over the cream coloured carpet.

“I erm... what?!”

I laugh at the reaction and start to inch closer to him.

I’m high on liquid courage, no way would I ever do this sober.

“Feyre told me that fae wings are super sensitive”

I wrap my legs over each side and place myself down on his lap. He grips me in place and grunts slightly but doesn’t say anything.

I delicately run two fingers down his right wing, they are soft, almost like velvet, yet they shine when the light is right.

“Nesta even said that some men cum from a single touch... if in the right place” I whisper in his ear, placing small light kisses down his neck as my fingers continue to dance over every individual feather. His hips buck upwards involuntarily, and I smirk.

“Well it was something like that anyways”

I remove myself from his lap to drink from my wine glass. Azriel sat grinding his teeth, showing incredible restraint.

I head over to the kitchen and place the empty dishes and glasses in the sink, staying in just the right places so Az still got a full view.

He suddenly springs up from his own seat and follows me into the kitchen. He corners me and I try to remain stoic.

He picks me up like I weigh nothing and rests his body in between my legs.

He uses one hand to brush my hair out of my face and the other to casually trace patterns on my thigh.

His voice was low, and his shadows danced behind him.

“Rumour has it, the bigger the wingspan the bigger dick, right? Well Rhys likes to claim he has the biggest but one drunken night we measured... I’m forbidden to tell anyone this but… I won” he winks and suddenly pulls away acting so very nonchalant.

“The wing thing, I personally don’t know because apparently I haven’t had the right bed mate for that”

There was no stopping me after that. I hook my feet around his knees and use all my strength to pull his body back to mine.

Our faces crash together as we kiss and our tongues battle for dominance. My hands roam his body as I slip them under his shirt. His hands copy my actions and I couldn’t help but groan into him as he gets familiar.

Eventually we pull away for air and our eyes lock for what felt like forever and a day. This unfamiliar feeling of euphoria rushed over my body, attacking my senses. It attacked every inch of me. It felt as if my soul would burst open for the world to see.

The sudden panic that came straight after snapped me back into reality. I broke away from the male in front of me as I gasped for air. Silent tears ran down my face.

I pushed Azriel away with force and ran from the room.

“I’m sorry, I am so sorry I can’t-“

I ran to my room and collapsed down the back of the door.

What was happening?

———————————————————

PART 2 is on its way!!

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frostedfaves · 4 years

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Repercussions (1)

Masterlist

Pairing: dark!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha meets you on an outing with Wanda and does a little digging.

Warnings: dark themes, cyber and in-person stalking

A/N: happy (almost) Halloween! I wasn’t planning on posting this so soon (especially when I just started another series yesterday) but I am having sooo much fun writing this that I couldn’t wait any longer to start sharing it! I hope you like it as much as I do, and excited to hear everyone’s thoughts!

**also if your user is bolded in the tags it won’t let me tag you!**

Natasha hadn’t expected anything extraordinary to happen today. Then again, one never does.

The day started with Wanda barging into her room that morning, begging Natasha with her best puppy eyes to accompany her on a trip to a local bookstore. It worked, only because she knew the consequences of not going were far worse than the actual trip. She may even find something she likes there.

The aroma of fresh coffee greets them at the door, inviting and just light enough to avoid crowding their senses. Natasha follows quietly behind her excited best friend, carefully looking over every person that crosses her line of sight. The building was smaller and tucked away from the busy parts of the city, so the traffic was lighter than most places.

“Hi! Do you need help finding anything?”

Your voice is light and upbeat as most customer service voices are, with a bit of genuine kindness blended in. When Natasha turns to meet your eyes, your beautiful and expressive eyes, she finds that your gaze and smile reflect your tone. A rare sight for someone in her line of work, and she welcomed it eagerly.

“I’m good, thank you!” came Wanda’s voice as she hurried off to grab the next books in the series she was reading, and you turned your attention to the red haired woman whose eyes raked slowly over your frame.

“I wasn’t looking for anything, but I do like what I see.” Her words washed over you in a chilling way, somehow warming you in the same moment. “Have you worked here for long?”

“A couple months. I haven’t been in New York very long.” You began to fiddle with your fingers, feeling a bit nervous with the unrelenting attention she gave.

“The position suits you.” She smiled as she picked up on your nerves, relaxing her rigid stance a bit. “You’re very beautiful, by the way.”

“Oh! Thank you!” If you weren’t nervous before, you definitely were now, and you were sure it showed in the way your voice squeaked. “Um, you’re beautiful too. Really beautiful.”

She let out a lighthearted chuckle, and the pools of green seemed to brighten as they continued to hold your gaze.

“Thank you. Those words don’t usually stick unless they’re offered from someone who means them.” She stepped closer, close enough for you to catch all the tiny details of those eyes that never seemed to blink. “I’m Natasha.”

You took her waiting hand as you introduced yourself, silently gasping when her grip tightened a bit, her thumb caressing the back of your hand. The room seemed to quiet around you, and you felt almost like a fly caught in a web without the dire consequences. In fact, you wouldn’t mind staying there.

“Excuse me.”

You ripped your hand away, breaking the heavy moment between you as you turned to the elderly woman with your brightest smile.

“What can I help you with?”

Natasha’s eyes followed you as the customer was led to a different corner of the store, turning when she heard Wanda’s footsteps approaching but never looking away from you.

“Okay, I got what I needed.” She held up her bag of books with a grin, frowning as she heard a few of her best friend’s thoughts and sighing when she followed her line of vision. “No.”

“What?” She finally averted her gaze for the first time since she spotted you. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

“You forget I can hear your thoughts--”

“You said you’d stop doing that--”

“--so I know what you’re up to, and I really don’t think you should do that!”

“Wanda…” She stepped toward her with a smile much too sweet for someone like her, placing her hands on Wanda’s shoulders. “You must be mistaken. I’m not up to anything.”

Natasha wasn’t even home five minutes before she was tucked away in her room again, working quickly to hack into the bookstore’s database. You were easy to find, given that there were only a few workers and you were the only one with your name. Your address and phone number was scribbled on paper, as well as your work schedule. She then moved onto social media with your full name.

You weren’t on Facebook or Twitter but she found you on Instagram, grinning at your public page giving her easy access. She scrolled through pictures with friends from your hometown, going to their pages and writing their names down too, and then she spotted a picture of you holding hands with another woman.

It was from a while ago and the only time the woman’s face appeared on your account, so you must have forgotten to delete this one with the others, she assumed with the time gap in the dates between the post before and the post after. The picture was captioned “my love”, and it made Natasha’s blood boil, leading her to go to the page of your past love. As much she despised Brittani Gray for having you in the first place, she was grateful for the loose hold that allowed you to slip away, bringing you to New York to be with someone else.

To be with her.

Natasha ate dinner with the other Avengers while sharing her usual laughs and snarky comments, even helping clean up before retreating once more to her room. She exchanged her t-shirt and jeans for an all black pants and hoodie ensemble, throwing a few things in a small bag that she strapped to her back and quietly leaving the room. She sighed when she opened the door to the stairwell and Wanda stood there, body covered in all black clothing and arms crossed over her chest.

“I know where you’re going.”

“Please stop reading my mind,” Natasha sighed heavily.

“I will, if you let me come with you.” She smiled when Natasha raised a brow curiously. “As your best friend, I deserve to know what’s so special about this girl that has you stalking her after a five minute conversation.”

“Fine, but you need to be quiet and stay out of my way.” She stepped toward Wanda, quickly pulling up her hood and tucking her long hair inside of it. “Come on.”

Within minutes, Natasha and Wanda were hidden in the shadows of the fire escape outside your bedroom window, watching as you went about settling in for the night. Wanda had enough decency and fear of Natasha’s wrath to look away when you began to undress, but Natasha only stared more. The bra and underwear revealed as your outfit was stripped away were simple enough, yet they stirred something inside of her core as if it was expensive lingerie.

“Look at you,” Natasha found herself muttering as she took a picture, smiling at the screen. “You’re perfect.”

She took a few more as you walked around the room, letting out a frustrated huff when you took off your bra underneath your sleep shirt and pulled your arms through the sleeves. Natasha finally prepared herself to leave when your light turned off, and you couldn’t be seen any longer through the sheer curtains. The two Avengers walked back home in a silence that Wanda eventually broke.

“So Joe Goldberg, what’s your plan from here?”

Natasha thought for a moment. In the beginning her mind was so focused on having you all to herself from the moment you spoke, but now the wheels were turning and her lifelong training was kicking in. And a plan was forming.

“Step one is to take her on a date. Step two is to make sure she knows she’s mine.”

Tags: @littlegasps @imnotasuperhero @nat-km-mh @witchxaf @sxphiaswitch @sakurat123 @muted-stoneheart @fayhar

#dark!natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #black widow #black widow x reader #avengers x reader #avengers #avengers fanfic #avengers imagine #the avengers #avengers x you #avengers x fem!reader #marvel x reader #marvel #marvel imagine

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marsbutterfly · 3 years

Note

Hey there! I been really enjoying your written work. I was wondering if you could write a scenario about porco and his s/o 'getting it on ;) maybe a college AU? if not, just ignore it~

Covalent Bonding

WARNING: NSFW

Summary: Porco is struggling to finish his organic chemistry lab report and comes to you for help. The lesson quickly goes off-topic.

Note: First of all thank you SO much for requesting this, we really hope you enjoy it. I wrote the intro and the outro. All of the smut was written by my amazing wife @tsukidrama ALSO the word count on this is around 5.3k so this is a long boi.

tsuki’s note: ok the porno i watched for research purposes while trying to conceptualize this fic started with the lines “wow, i hope no one comes along to fuck me in the ass and jerk my dick off” and then the girl walks in holding a strap on and says “oh hey, i just came here to fuck you in the ass and jerk your dick off.” i did this for you, anon. i accidentally pulled out all the stops for this, and i regret nothing. i had so much fun writing this, and i am now madly in love with Porco also?? everyone always writes him as such an edgy bitch or a headass dom and i’m sitting over here like....... but he is... a soft baby.... who cries during sex, falls in love, and gives kisses...... just sayin

Colab with @tsukidrama 💕

Wattpad Version! | AO3 Version!

“We’ll cover Chapter 23 on Monday.” The professor’s voice echoes through the silent classroom. “Please make sure to submit your lab reports by 11:59 PM on Saturday night. E-mail me if you have any questions.”

Before you finish putting all of your belongings in your backpack, you share a look with Porco, who sits by your right side. He looks just as ready to leave this chemical filled room as you are.

Once you stand up, you feel his hand on your shoulder. As you turn around, he smiles brightly at you.

“Have you done your lab report yet?” Porco asks for the fifth time that week. You let out a burst of laughter. Butterflies soar in your stomach as his cheeks blush lightly, rubbing his neck in embarrassment.

“I did the intro and the outline,” you answer, tilting your head as you place a hand on your hips. “You want help with yours, don’t you?”

He starts laughing and avoiding eye contact with you.

“Well I was going to suggest that we could do it together.” He smiles at you once again, and the butterflies in your stomach now travel through all your body. “But I would accept your help, too.” Even though he tries to look tough, Porco has always been shy, especially when it comes to asking for a favor.

You simply nod at him before grabbing his hand, “Let’s go get to work then!”

The setting sun spills into the large, windowed hallway, casting long shadows against the wall beside it. The two of you clatter down the stairs to the level below your classroom, where all the different labs are located.

After peering through the dark window of a lab door labeled: ORGANIC CHEMISTRY, you punch in the security code that unlocks all of the orgo classrooms and labs (courtesy of your professor). The door unlocks with a small beep and the flash of a green light. Porco takes a few steps ahead of you, turning on the lights and checking to make sure nobody else has claimed the lab as a study space.

You sit down at the lab table farthest from the door, and before you sit you take your laptop and notes out of your backpack. Porco thumps a textbook between the two of you as he sits in the chair beside you. He smiles gratefully at you, a gentle red blush still coloring his face. Once you’re settled down, you frown at him quietly.

His face drops. “What wrong?” he asks, eyes filled with worry. You touch his hand and pull your chair closer to him, close enough for you to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“Much better!” you say, and Porco clutches his chest in relief.

“I thought you were mad at me!” he exclaims, “bitch.” he adds under his breath, but his voice is quiet and gentle, even more so than usual. He shoots you a playful look. The fluorescent lights of the lab makes his hair look blonder than it already is, and you reach up to tuck a strand back into place amongst its slicked-back brothers. You put your free hand on his neck and you notice goosebumps on his arms. A smile on your face, you speak again.

“Where would you like to start?” You look at him and notice he has his thinking expression on, consisting of his lips moving one side to the other and his eyes focused on the ceiling. A few seconds pass before he looks at you.

“Alkanes, alkenes, and alkynes” he says, squeezing your hand. “I still don’t know what the fucking difference is.” You look away, trying to hide your burning, red cheeks from him, but his words still bring a smile to your face.

“Yeah, you better figure that shit out, huh?” you quip jestfully, and exaggerate your squeal as his hands shoot forward to tickle your stomach for your comment.

An hour passes while you two focus on his report. You spent most of that time explaining to him the types of bonds that differentiate aliphatic compounds, and end up just writing the opening paragraph for him. When you flip the textbook to the page that displays a chart that shows differences between the different structures, you can see from the corner of your eye that he very much does not care about the positioning of hydrogens and carbons. He's been staring at you for the past three minutes.

You bite your lower lip gently, though you’re already losing focus as he’s undressing you with his eyes. You take a deep breath and stop typing.

“This isn’t my lab report, you know,” you say, as shifting your body to fully face him. “You could at least grab your note-” But before you could finish your sentence, you feel his lips on yours. It takes you a moment to realize what’s happening but, once you do, you wrap your arms around his neck as he touches your thighs.

“I’m sorry. I really do appreciate you helping me with this, but you look so beautiful tonight.” He says, flustered. He looks at you with stars in his eyes. You tilt your head to the left as you try to hide the smile creeping across your lips. You try to look away but you feel his cold fingers touching your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“You’re ridiculous, Galliard,” you say before closing the space between the two of you once again. You can feel him smiling against your lips. He quickly changes the focus from your lips to your jawline, leaving a trail of wet, gentle kisses as he makes his way down.

A quiet moan involuntarily leaves your throat when you feel his fingers against your skin, slipping underneath your shirt. Your left-hand travels from his neck to his head as you disrupt the perfectly swept-back coif of hair. The smell of his hair gel and cologne mixed with the scent of your own perfume excites you even more.

Suddenly, he removes his lips from your skin. You let out an annoyed whine, and open your eyes to glare at him.

“Is this ok?” he asks, touching your hand. Your annoyances melts into a gentle smile as you lift a hand to touch his face. He snuggles his cheek against your touch.

“Yes, Porco,” you reply, “Of course.”

He nods, the faintest glimpse of a smile visible across his lips before he moves in to kiss you once again. One arm wraps around your waist to pull you closer, his other hand quick to travel from your face to underneath your skirt. He plays with the waistband of your underwear, trying to slip his hands lower. You softly hold his hand in place.

“Wait,” you say, a mischievous smile creeping onto your face, “I have an idea.” Porco wordlessly tilts his head and looks at you, incredulous. He looks confused yet adorable.

“I have something. From last time,” you continue, pulling away to dig in your backpack. You toss aside a notebook and a pencil case before you find the drawstring bag you’re looking for. You pull it out by the strings.

“Ta-da!” you say, presenting him with the bag. His eyes go wide with realization.

“Shit,” he says under his breath, “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

You nod, accidentally smiling a little too brightly.

Porco chuckles nervously, a dark blush spreading across his cheeks. “Here? In the lab?” he asks.

You nod. “Here. In the lab.”

He looks at you, then at the bag, and then at the door and the closed blinds covering the windows. His eyes come back to you, and again to the bag, then to finally lock with yours. His face is burning even redder now, but he nods.

“Okay, let’s do it,” he agrees, “I trust you.”

Excitement stirs deep in your gut. You pull open the bag and take out its contents to place them on the lab table. It thuds lightly against the table, bright pink textured silicone standing out against the dark wood. From its well-defined head to its base, the dildo sits about six inches long. A metal ring holds it in place against a black nylon harness, with another inch or so of silicon balls underneath. A small, half-empty bottle of lube clatters next to it along with a couple of brightly colored condoms you snagged from the free bowl in front of your RA’s door.

Porco looks away, nervously scratching his neck as you pick up the harness.

“Come on,” you tease, sticking your leg through the maze of straps and buckles, and then the other. You pull it all the way up, securing it at your hips underneath your skirt, which tents around the pink phallus betwixt your legs. “Now… do I need to tell you to bend over?”

He shakes his head and shoots you an eager look, quickly unbuckling his belt and undoing his zipper. His jeans hang loosely around his hips as he rests his forearms against the lab table, stretching out and arching his back, ass on display.

You admire that shit for a moment before you press yourself against him from behind. You kiss his cheek, and softly brush your lips against the outer shell of his ear, relishing the shiver you feel travel down his spine.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he whispers, grinding his ass into your hips. You giggle, bucking your hips into him playfully as you kiss his cheek once more.

Your hands rest gently on his hips as you slip your fingers into the belt loops of his jeans. Once they’re hooked around your fingers, you gently pull them over his ass. He doesn’t even give you time to get it halfway down before he reaches down with one arm to pull down his boxers as well. The giggles come back to you as you help him free himself of clothing.

“Don’t laugh,” Porco whines, covering his eyes with his hand, “it’s embarrassing.”

“You’re just cute,” you assure him, “I’m not making fun.” The cap on the bottle of lube pops open with a snap, and you pour a generous amount of it on two of your fingers. You take a step closer to him, setting the lube down on the table as one of your arms snakes under his shirt to wrap around his chest. The other slides down his spine, over his tailbone to trace the curve of his ass. Porco’s breath hitches in his throat when your fingers reach their destination, softly prodding at the entrance.

“Ready?” you ask, speaking softly in his ear. He nods vigorously, breathing hard.

“Please,” he says. So you give him what he wants, and slowly push in your slicked fingers.

Porco just gasps in response, his head dropping below his shoulders. He isn’t nearly as tense as he was the first few times you did this, and your fingers easily sink to the second knuckle. You gently move them in and out. With your other hand, you gently trace your thumb against the soft skin above his solid pectoral muscles. Gently, you plant a kiss on his shoulder.

“Are you okay?” you ask, rubbing his chest.

He turns his head towards you, his face flushed. “Totally fine,” he says breathlessly, and you feel him opening his legs wider to accommodate you.

You press your cheek against his shoulder, shifting your weight to a more comfortable position. Porco tilts his head to look at you. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at you with wide eyes. You move your fingers inside of him, trying to find the angles he likes. You press against something you find promising, and he confirms it with a sharp intake of breath.

You thrust deliberately and carefully, and once he starts to get more into it, you begin to scissor your fingers ever so slightly. Porco gasps, and gently rocks back against you. His eyes slip closed, his lip parted and his blush darkening in his cheeks and spreading down onto his neck.

“Y-you can put another one in,” he mutters, so quietly that you can barely hear him.

“Hmm?”

Porco grunts in frustration. “You know exactly what I said, you asshole!”

You can’t help but smile as you oblige his request. You slow your pace as you ease in the third finger, but the combination of lube and his enthusiasm makes it a short-lived adjustment. He grinds into your hand, and you tilt your fingers to again find that sweet spot inside that elicited the little gasps and moans he was trying so hard to muffle. You soon begin to move more freely, thrusting nearly all the way inside. Your fingertips twitch inside of him, and to your absolute delight, he lets out the sweetest and most delicate moan, though he tries to muffle it with his fingers. His shoulder blades jut into the air as he pulls his own hair, hips squirming.

“Fuck,” he says into his hands, “fuck, you’ve got to give me more.”

“What do you want, Galliard?” you ask, though you’re fairly confident that you know the answer.

“Damn it, put it in!” he exclaims, still muffled. “Fuck me, Y/N...”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” you say in a tantalizing manner, smiling cheerfully as you reposition yourself behind him. You squirt a generous amount of lube into your strap on, careful to coat the length entirely. Your hands lay gently against his hips, lining yourself up with him before you use one hand to guide the head of the pink silicone dildo into place.

“Okay,” you say, partly to ready yourself, and partly (mostly) to ready him. Porco whines in anticipation, and you don’t deny him. He spreads his legs just a little wider to lower himself, and you rise up on your toes to meet him.

You push your hips forward slowly, making sure to listen for signs of discomfort. Porco moans, this one poorly muffled and loud. One of his hands slaps against the table for support.

“Don’t stop,” he says, his breath hitching in his throat, “please, don’t stop.”

No discomfort, then. You continue on.

Your fingers tighten their grip against his hips, digging into them for leverage as you thrust your hips. Despite the fact that you aren’t quite as tall as he is, or you aren’t as practiced in your thrusts as he is when he fucks you, you like to think that you’re good at what you do - based on the low moans and intermittent gasps and whines, Porco certainly seems to be having a good time. After all, he let you fuck him again. And in the lab, at that.

Porco shifts positions, and you notice one of his hands has disappeared in between his legs. You notice pressure building between your own, but ignore it in favor of grabbing the bottle of lube. The cap clicks open, and you pull your hips back just long enough to squirt a little bit onto the silicone dick before you push it back in. Another haphazard squirt into your own hand, and you reach around his body, nudging aside his hand to replace it with your own.

“Some for you, and some for me,” you say, snorting at your own joke. Porco just moans in response to your touch, biting his knuckles.

Your hand wanders up from his hips, fingers wandering up to brace against the muscles on his back, through the shirt (but better than nothing). Still wandering, your fingers rake through his hair from the back, twisting the blonde locks hard enough to tug, but not painfully. Porco’s shoulders slump, his arms and head both flat against the table top.

You let go of his hair, raking your nails down his back until you dig your fingers back into his hips. You pull out slightly, readjusting your foot stance for a better angle and shifting so that you can better reach around to stroke his cock.

When you push back in with the new angle, Porco lets out another exclamation of pleasure, much louder this time than any of his previous vocalizations. Warmth pools between your thighs at the sound, but you can’t help but get a little bit nervous at the idea of actually being caught.

“Shh,” you hiss. Between his (admittedly, wonderful) noises, the slapping of your thighs and the creak of the wooden lab table, you’re pretty sure that anyone who walked within 10 feet of the door would know exactly what was going on behind it.

Porco mumbles something unintelligible, and he doesn’t make any attempt to clarify. You quicken your hips’ pace while your hand stays tight around his cock. You rub your thumb over the tip gently before stroking down the entire length. The lube is slippery, and it makes you work to keep your grasp - your grip tightens as it slides almost entirely out of your hand, and Proco loudly groans again at the increased pressure.

“Shh,” you reiterate, more forcefully this time.

Porco groans, lifting his head to look at you. “Oh… You shut the fuck up.”

“Ooh, sassy. Do you talk to your mother with that mouth?” you chide, lightly smacking his ass with your free hand.

“Do not talk about my mother right now,” he says, voice strained.

“Mm,” you agree. Your hand cups around his ass before you allow your fingers to drift up the curve of his back.

His cock twitches, and you again rub your thumb around it’s head before you go back to pumping along the shaft, twisting your hand the way that you know he likes.

“Oh,” Porco whimpers. His cock pulses in your hand, and you stroke him hard and fast as you feel the rest of his body going rigid. “Oh fuck.”

His back arches as he cries out, shuddering beneath you as his cock spills hot cum over your hand. You slow your hips’ pace and rub his back soothingly. You press your cheek against his back, the closest you can get to him.

“I got you,” you say over and over again as he twitches below you. “I got you.” Another rope of cum drips down your hand. Where his arm overlaps yours, he holds you to his body tightly. You notice that he’s still shaking, so you continue to rub his back.

After a few seconds of heavy breathing, you raise your hips and pull the dildo out slowly and carefully.

You touch Porco’s back softly and hug his shoulders from behind. “You okay?” you ask softly.

He nods, turning his head to face you. His face is flushed and sweaty, his normally impeccable hair skewed out of place in every direction. He looks at you with glazed-over eyes the size of the moon. You lean in to kiss him.

Porco pushes himself up from the table to cup your face with his hands, kissing you back deeply, with passion. You smile as he kisses you.

“What’s so funny?”

You nuzzle the tips of your noses together. “I’m not laughing, I just love you.”

He pulls you in for another kiss, and this time, you can feel him smiling too.

The two of you stay like that for a moment - kissing, and of course, Porco’s hands (predictably) end up wandering underneath your shirt. As he explores the expanse of skin beneath, you become acutely aware of the way he’s pressing his leg between yours. Your breath hitches as he nudges the strap on harness up in a way that a strap brushes right up against your clit. His hand finds your breast, and circles your nipple with his thumb.

“Again? Already?” you ask, bemused, but still very willing to be convinced.

“It wouldn’t be fair,” he pouts, still thumbing over your nipple torturously, “You got to fuck me.”

“Well, you’re the one who’s scared of getting caught!” you exclaim, and gasp at the sensation.

He takes a moment to think, and his hand moves back down to your waist. “I would rather be caught fucking you than be caught with you fucking me.”

You laugh while you shrug your shoulders, then loosen the straps from around your hips. The harness falls, but you catch it on one of your ankles and toss it on the table near your bag. The pink silicone dick points upwards, the shaft glistening with lube.

“Okay,” you agree, slipping your underwear off and tossing it the same way next to the strap on. “You can fuck me.”

Porco’s lips curl into a smirk you know all too well. You prop your elbows up on the lab table, sticking your ass out in the same position you fucked him in.

“No, no. Turn around,” he tells you, “I want to see your face.”

Your fingers lightly cover your mouth in embarrassment. “Awww, Porco. You love me…” you tease.

He blushes and looks off to the side. “Shut up. Of course I love you.”

“I love you too,” you remind him soothingly, stepping into his grasp. His arms snake around your waist, and you rise up on your toes to kiss him. It doesn’t take long before his hands wander to slip underneath your already hiked-up skirt.

You flatten your hand against his chest, and as his fingers brush against the apex of your thighs, your fingers curl, and take a fistful of his shirt with them as you gasp. He kisses your cheek, and makes his way down the side of your neck. You squirm against him, slapping your hand against the table blindly until your fingers feel that familiar crinkle of a condom wrapper, and you pull away from him with a huff, and then yank his shirt.

The two of you stumble backwards into the counters at the back of the classroom, with you guiding him. You spin him around so that his ass is backed up against the counter.

“Get up,” you say, releasing your hold on him and gesturing.

Porco laughs as he looks behind himself, then uses his arms to boost himself up to sit on the countertop. He slides a box of microscope slides closer to the scope they were meant for.

“We would be so fucked if we broke those,” he says.

You look at him hungrily as you tear into the serrated plastic edge of the condom wrapper. “You’re gonna get so fucked anyway.”

He smiles before lunging to grab you beneath the arms, tugging you up on the counter with him. You laugh and kick your legs as you scramble to balance yourself on the smooth linoleum.

“Technically, you already did fuck me.”

“Yeah, and now I’m gonna fuck you again.”

Both of you burst into laughter as you straddle his lap. You throw the condom wrapper off to the side, and focus on rolling the condom itself down Porco’s cock. Once your hand reaches its base, you lift your hips to position yourself above it, but Porco’s hand touches your wrist to stop you before you have the chance to lower yourself down.

You look up at him expectantly, only to be pulled into another kiss. Immediately, you forget what you were doing as you feel yourself being wrapped up in his arms, his smell, his lips. His hands wander up your body, flattening against your stomach and cupping your breasts. You shudder as his thumb circles around your nipple again, and you instinctively grind your hips into his. When Porco finally breaks the kiss, he reaches between you to line himself up.

Some kind of noise rushes out of your throat when he finally guides your hips down, and you finally get the gut-punch you had been aching for as you let your knees slide apart further to take him in. Thighs trembling, you brace yourself against his shoulders for support until you can’t go any further. He guides your hips back up again, and then again until you find the strength to move on your own.

Once you’ve established a rhythm, Porco kisses you again, sloppily this time. You grind your hips down, and he groans into you.

“Mmphh,” he mumbles into your lips, “you’re so fucking sexy.”

As you bounce up and down, you swivel your hips in tight circles. Porco keeps one hand on your waist and lifts the other to grasp your breast, twisting the nipple just enough to make your eyes roll back into your head.

“Tell me more about it,” you tell him, voice cracking. You double down on your efforts, bouncing faster and now squeezing down around his cock.

Porco digs his fingers into your skin, and bucks his hips up to meet yours. “You feel so good. If I hadn’t — fuck,” he chokes as you bounce down particularly hard, “—if I hadn’t just come, you’d already have me in pieces.”

Another bounce and purposeful grind of your hips and his head drops forward with a whimper. You smirk, though you know he can tell you’re coming unraveled, too.

“I can get you there again.”

Now that he’s worked up again, that beautiful flush has come back to stain his cheeks. You feel yourself losing purchase as you move against each other, but you don’t care.

“You sure as shit will if you keep going like that.” Porco gasps, thrusting up into you hard, and you couldn’t control the noise that comes out of your throat if you tried.

The both of you are breathing heavily, moving against each other with an increasing desperation as you both get closer to finishing. Porco’s hands are back at your waist, gripping so hard that you fear it may bruise, but this only encourages you. Your arms snake around his neck, and you cling to him as you press your forehead to his. Your fingers rake up into his hair, pulling gently and further knocking it out of place as you wrap your fingers in the long strands on top.

You whimper as you feel the pressure inside of you building, every stroke inside you stirring up more and more inside of you. Your body moves on its own against him as you feel yourself reaching the edge. Everything from the sweat sticking against your skin, to the way he pulls your body into his like you’re all he needs, excites you. You love the way you’re completely wrapped up in him, with his touch against your skin and his smell in your nose and his cock bottomed out in you, pulls you over the edge.

He kisses you as you come, muffling the moan that rips itself from your throat. He wraps his arms around you tight, though he doesn’t slow his pace. You do your best to keep your legs open for him as your orgasm hits you. You crumple into him, toes curling as he thrusts up hard into your oversensitive core.

Within seconds, Porco buries his head into the crook of your neck, letting out a choked groan. His cock twitches inside of you as he comes for the second time that evening. You stroke his hair, gently kissing his temples as he finishes. His arms tighten around you, and you rest your head atop his.

You stay like this for a minute or two, enjoying each other’s presence as you wait for your legs to stop shaking. Once strength returns to your body, you reluctantly move your hands onto his chest for support as you push yourself up, shifting your right leg to the other side of the counter, you feel his dick leaving the warmth of your body as both of you let out one final moan.

As your feet hit the floor, you watch Porco quietly struggling to get the condom off and a gentle giggle escapes you.

He meets your eyes and you see his blush darken.

“The lube is making this harder than it should be.” He says quietly. You bite your lip, holding in a laugh. Hopping off of the counter, you walk towards your backpack and look around the inside for a few seconds before finding a small towel.

“Porco.” You call his name before throwing the cloth in his direction. A smile never leaves his lips as he grabs it midair.

“You really came prepared, didn’t you?” He says. You simply shrug your shoulders before flashing him a smile of your own.

“Of course, you never know when you’ll get to peg the boy you’re desperately in love with.” You say as you focus on fixing your own clothes.

He stays quiet for a few seconds before murmuring something underneath his breath. “Huh?” is all you say, trying to get Porco to repeat himself.

“You’ve never said you were desperately in love with me before,” he says as he wraps the (finally) removed condom in a piece of paper he took from his own notebook, “or that you were in love with me.”

You feel your cheeks burn as you look away, trying to avoid his gaze. “I thought it was obvious. We say ‘I love you’ all the time.”

Once his pants are back on, he quietly walks towards you before reaching for your hand. His cold fingers are soft and gentle as he pulls you in for a hug.

“I don’t know, it feels different for some reason,” he says softly.

You nuzzle your face against the side of his neck while wrapping your hands around his back. A sense of calm washes over you.

“But I’m in love with you too,” he whispers, and twirls a strand of your hair around his finger. You lift your head to press your lips to his. He kisses you like you’re the only two people in the world, and his smile against your lips makes your heart skip a beat.

After a few seconds, he pulls away and looks around the lab. On the counter, can see the perfect print of his ass cheeks in lube. He shakes his head and reaches for the towel yet again.

“We better clean this place up a bit,” he observes, and you nod in agreement.

While Porco focuses on making sure there is no lube (or cum) left on any surfaces, you put the dildo back in its bag, along with your study materials.

It takes a few minutes, but soon enough the room looks exactly like you found it. All you need to do is put Porco’s laptop away when suddenly you two are reminded of the reason you went into the lab in the first place.

“Shit, my report!” He says as he covers his mouth with his hand. You slap your face, and just one look at him tells you that your work isn’t over yet tonight.

“Let’s go to the library so that we won’t get distracted again.” you tell him, “and we’re going in a communal area because if we get a study room we’re gonna end up fucking again.” You grab your backpack and walk towards the door, the blonde-haired boy following closely behind, carrying his laptop in one of his hands.

“Aww, would that be so bad?” Porco teases.

“It would be bad for your chem grade.”

Neither of you say anything as you descend the final flight of stairs, but as you are about to leave the building, you feel him lacing his fingers with yours. A blush creeps over your cheeks as you walk right next to him, making sure that, not even for a second, your hands will drift apart.

Porco has been here for you ever since you enrolled in college, rooting for you and taking care of you. In your head, you make a promise to yourself to never let him go. Not only because he’s the perfect man for you, but also because there’s nothing you love more than the expression on his face while you fuck him in the ass.

One more look at him, and you turn ahead to face the lights of the street ahead of you, getting lost in your thoughts as you walk towards the library.

You appreciate all the time you spend with him and deep down, you pray that this lab report will take even longer than you think it will, all so you can stay close to him for as long as you can.

#porco galliard #porco galliard x reader #reader #aot x reader #snk x reader #attack on titan x reader #aot fanfic #snk fanfic #shingeki no kyojin x reader #aot smut #aot x y/n #aot x you #snk x y/n #snk x you #porco x reader #snk fanfiction #aot fanfiction

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hornime · 3 years

Text

hq as my discovery weekly | part one

warnings: this is completely sfw, combo of fluff and angst

characters included: kenma, akaashi, oikawa, suna, koganegawa, ushijima, bokuto, kuroo, hinata, kita, terushima, iwaizumi, osamu, kageyama, sakusa

a/n: this was a random idea i thought of but i think it’ll be really cute haha. maybe you guys’ll find some new songs in the process! totally encourage anyone to use this idea if they want cus this was super fun to write!

playing... one through fifteen / sixteen through thirty

↪ “cotton candy lemonade" by blu detiger: kenma kozume

i've been up too long, something's wrong / watch the rising sun / turning all my nights to days

i've been on my own, come find me now / i'm lonely to the bone / but I don't feel so low when you're around / let's run away from home

you'll bе my kaleidoscope, my color in this life / watching thе world fade away

kenma is not the most extroverted and he’s in his head a lot, so he’s someone that might not always see the ‘color’ in things that exist around him. but when it comes to you, well, you’re someone that makes him look up from his screen a little longer than usual.

↪ “love affair” by umi: akaashi keiji

don't overthink this is love / maybe it's just a crush

i hope what I feel is enough / maybe this is just lies

i wanna know how to feel, what to feel, what's right / i never know / 'cause when it gets real, I just run away / and hide from you

akaashi gets anxiety. he used to be certain about a lot of things—his intelligence, his skill, his happiness, but most important to him was his feelings for you. he’s overthinking again, he knows it, but he’s getting an uncontrollable itch that maybe this is all in his head; he doesn’t love you, he just think he does. but when you’re in his arms, breathing even and eyes fluttered shut, he remembers what you always told him: it doesn’t matter what he knows, it matters what he feels. and he feels like the luckiest man alive.

↪ “coke” by iii addicts, danice: oikawa tooru

come closer, i been eyeing you from way over / so it's time i come for some closure

had to let her know that you could lick this / shake it up, it's gonna probably gon' bust

why, tell me why / why am i not satisfied / every time i cross that line / i feel it, i feel it

oikawa feels like tantalus: a man constantly reaching for a goal just out of reach, straining his muscles and screaming his voice hoarse just for a glimpse of an unattainable destiny. he’s desperate to get ahead, and while he may be running at top speed at all times, the finish line doesn’t seem to be getting any closer. his worst fear is that, some time he’ll slow his pace and look back and realize he hasn’t gotten very far at all.

↪ “baby powder” by jenevieve: suna rintaro

i'll put up with you babe / there's somethings I won't take / baby don't feel me false / yeah that turns me off

you're making me so high now / you're everything I'd ever want / you're keeping me so dry now / you're everything I'd never want uh

plastic on the floor but it ain't for me / ima go up to the place that i'd rather be

suna is straightforward. he won’t deal with your bullshit, and he learns that you won’t deal with his either, which makes you so appealing. when he starts letting more and more of you in, he feels you slipping through his fingers. you wanted to be friends, so you treat him as one. he doesn’t remember when he started wanting more.

↪ “chandelier (instrumental version)” by paquin: koganegawa kanji

instrumental so no lyrics lol

koganegawa is bubbly. he’s a bouncer: he bounces between social circles, bounces colors behind his eyes, and bounces back after adversity. he’s an amiable guy, and it’s landed him plenty of friends and opportunities, but best of all, it’s landed him you.

↪ “l-over” by u.s. girls: ushijima wakatoshi

my lover has no heart / magic moving blood around that body / he's cool to the touch / i don't see him much / but when I do, he does nothing for me

can you imagine trying to get / some satisfaction out of a stone?

spare me any talk of your future life / i don't know what I'll do without you

ushijima is stubborn. he’s deadset on achieving his goals for the future, and if you can’t work with them, you better work around them. you’re tired of how he grounds you; you thought it was a blessing at first, having a guy that knew what he wanted and would always act as a constant in your life, but you’ve started to see that he’s not a lighthouse anymore, he’s an anchor. he’s an anchor that’s chaining you to the ocean floor and will drown you if you, even for a second, stop kicking your legs to stay afloat.

↪ “magic!” by リアムMAZE1981: bokuto koutarou

and when you smile at me that way / well you can warm the coldest day / it's magic

and all i have to do is think of you / to make the music start to play / then i dance down the street / and the people I meet stop and say hey hey

and when you want me you just clap your hands / and I'll be with you right away / then we'll float on a breeze / while the leaves in the trees softly say hey hey / magic ways, my friend / you love the girl with magic ways and it's true / i might as well give in

bokuto is bright. he tramps around the world with the light of the sun illuminating his face. there is nothing in the universe that could ever drag him down, especially not with you around. you’ve cast some kind of spell on him, he’s sure of it, because your very presence makes him certain that he’s immortal. he must be, because when he’s with you, he’s withstanding the heat of a thousand suns that erases the darkness in every shadow, corner, and crevice of his life.

↪ “i hope that u think of me” by pity party (girls club): kuroo tetsuro

i hope that you dream of me baby / nightmares are what dreams are baby i-i-i / i think I'm fallin' out of love

you tell me that it's easy to be / you tell me that it's easy to be with me but you lie-i-i / why do you lie all the time?

kuroo is focused. he takes note of everything when he’s working on a task, down to dotting the ‘i’s and crossing the ‘t’s. he often finds himself with tunnel vision, unable to think of anything but the current responsibility at the top of his every-growing to-do list. somewhere along the way, he lost track of you—must’ve loosened his grip on your hand and your fingers fell through empty space. he’d look for you, back in the void, but he’s busy. he keeps moving, unaware that you’ve turned back, walking in the opposite direction as him to find the life before him that you barely remember.

↪ “the leanover” by life without buildings: hinata shoyo

kiss me, break my mind, close the door / black steel, break my mind, close the door

if i lose you in the street / i say, i say, i say, i say, i say, i say / wassup, wassup with you? / wassup with your friends?

hinata is unfazed. he knows that, when things go bad, there’ll always be something there to right them. so when your paths diverge—maybe your schedules don’t work out, your dates get canceled, your nights home become more and more sparse—he’s not worried. not one bit. because at the end of the night, he knows that you’ll always find your way back to one another, and you’ll always greet him with open arms. and he’ll always do the same.

↪ “ladyfingers - edit” by funding secured: kita shinsuke

instrumental so no lyrics lol

kita is polished. he works hard during the day to be with you at night, dancing in little circles in the small kitchen of your shared home. he looks at you with fondness and appreciation, thanking his stars a million times over for granting him with someone like you. he’s a tree, stable in the harshest of gales, but even trees like to sway with the wind sometimes.

↪ “black madonna” by cage the elephant: terushima yuuji

makes no difference here, so let's be real / black madonna, my black flower / nowhere left to run, nowhere left to hide / you're not havin' fun, i think that you should ride

climb so high, don't hear a sound / don't you forget what goes around, comes around / climb so high, tell me how to feel

call me when you're ready to be real / black madonna, my hallelujah

terushima is hedonistic. he’s never concerned himself with thoughts of the future, or of the past, or of anything, really. all he can think about is making each moment as willing to be lived as possible. you, on the other hand, are practical, too practical in his opinion, and he wants you to let loose, lighten up a little bit. maybe in the long run, it won’t be the best idea to let him take you by the hand and on a midnight adventure, but you haven’t thought that far ahead yet. guess he’s already rubbing off on you.

↪ “mother nature’s bitch” by okay kaya: iwaizumi hajime

everybody / please give a warm welcome to / to this current mood

here i am / easy to please / here i am / okay with it

here i am / desperate for attention / here i am / being mother nature's bitch

iwaizumi is hardworking. he does the best he can with everything he tries; sometimes that amounts to something and sometimes it doesn’t. most times it doesn’t fulfill his expectations, as high as they are. when you’re around, his borderline hatred for himself disappears. when you’re there to tell him how great he’s doing, the tension in his shoulders dissipates.

↪ “smithereens” by rasharn powell, ab001: miya osamu

found my power / and my brethren / in a tussle with the world itself

see if I’m david, you’re goliath / there’s some power in defiance / put my heart in a slingshot / we been cycling away for days

searching for freedom always / likeness of an orgasm been had / empty with a peace that just don’t last / petite mort, then born again

osamu is pioneering. he opened a small business and eventually branched out, managing chains of his restaurant across the nation. it may not be a flashy job, but it’s a solid one, and a draining one. there are days of back-to-back shifts, afternoons overwhelming catering orders, and nights spent sleeping over on a cot near the kitchen. when he dreams, curled up with the smell of onigri still lingering in the air, he can only think of ‘what if’ he’d chosen another path, a path with a more obvious end, a more obvious definition of glory. but he still wakes up at dawn, conquering his own corner of the sky, knowing that his life, while it may be small, is not insignificant.

↪ “must be” by lou phelps: kageyama tobio

must be the henny on the ice / must be the diamonds that I buy / might be the shit that I write / whatever a n**** do and say, that's what I like

i'm on the cloud as i walk the front door / that's a boost, that's true, that's loo

yeah, um, i'mma need my space / 'cause you's a bum-bum, can't be standing next to me, uh / forgive me for my sins / don't tell me this is wrong if it feels right

kageyama is cocky. he’s good at what he does, amazing, actually, and he sure as hell knows it. he’s surrounded by people that make him better, people that he makes better, and he can’t think of a place he’d rather be. he’s on his way to carve his way into the moon and he’s not going to tolerate anyone that wants to keep him on earth.

↪ “jealous” by eyedress: sakusa kiyoomi

you could have anyone you want / why would you want to be with me? / you know, I'm nothing special

don't tell me about your problems / if you're not trying to solve them / don't ask me for my help

sakusa is independent. he’s not one to see himself as part of someone else’s orbit, opting to act like a random rock, floating in space with no origin and no destination. he’s worried that, if he gets too close to you, he’ll end up getting drawn in by your gravity and either crash land or burn up. neither seems appealing, and the idea of a safe encounter hasn’t even crossed his mind, so he’s going to keep moving on an endless trek towards the stars.

#haikyuu!!#haikyu #hq #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #kenma #akaashi #oikawa #suna #koganegawa #ushijima #bokuto #kuroo #hinata

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nevertherose · 3 years

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One Hundred Seconds to Midnight: Chapters 1-8

"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..."

Hello, Tumblr fanders, it has been a while since I've poked around in here...mostly because, I've been writing another story!

Do you like Sanders Sides? Do you like Doctor Who? Do you like the idea of the Sides playing Doctor Who characters? If so, this story was written especially for you.

I found that the process of cross-posting Mahogany and Teakwood across three platforms, one chapter at a time, involved a lot of me spending too many hours squinting at html code. Not especially fun. This time around, I've only been posting on AO3 and Wattpad.

But I wanted it to exist here as well.

So! Today I'm going to post the first half (in two posts, because apparently Tumblr has a post size limit, who knew?), all the chapters that are up so far. Then, when the whole story is up on the other platforms, I'll post the other half.

Of course, you could head to either AO3 or Wattpad, if you want to read as the chapters go up.

But if you're like me, and like to read stories in nice, big, juicy chunks...here you go:

One Hundred Seconds to Midnight

Chapter 1- The Eleventh Hour

“Who are you?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m still cooking.”

Midnight.

The witching hour.

Or was that 3AM? Roman wondered. No, that’s the devil’s hour…damn it, Virgil! You had to get them all mixed up!

It was nearly midnight on the Imagination’s border.

Moonlight, pearlescent and brighter than it could ever shine in the real world, streamed feather-light through the tall windows on Roman’s side of the Dream Palace. It made patterns of light and shadow over the black marble floors, made nighttime caricatures of the white ivory statues that lined the corridor.

Roman’s heeled boots echoed in the silence; Logan’s dress shoes, in comparison, were whisper-quiet.

Logan himself had been uncharacteristically quiet since they entered this place, Roman noted, glancing back. Normally by now the logical Side would have asked a million questions, made a million plans, or be several bullet points into a lecture about palace construction or the history of measurement units or some other nerdy, obscure subject.

And Roman would either pretend to be annoyed, or would interject witty counterpoints to make Logan stop and bluster and…

But not tonight.

Maybe he’s nervous about being here, Roman told himself, smoothing a hand over his red sash. He’s only pointed out a million times that Logic and the Imagination are anathema to one another. Maybe I should have planned something else…

Or maybe he’s just annoyed at you for dragging him out of bed in the literal middle of the night, a more insidious inner voice whispered. When you know he likes to keep a consistent sleep schedule.

Roman pressed his lips together, lifted his chin…he might be a mere facet of a single personality, but he was also a Prince, and Princes do not listen to inner demons. However, he also looked back for the dozenth time to make sure Logan was actually still following.

That was the only reason Roman kept looking back.

It had nothing to do with the way the translucent moonlight caught the other Side’s dark, immaculately kept hair, or glinted off his glasses.

In the real world, of course, and whenever they manifested near their Source, the Sides all had precisely the same face and body as Thomas. But deep inside the mind, where physical appearance was an illusion anyway, the Sides exercised much more control.

Thomas remained their base template, but each Side also tended to portray himself with features that Thomas associated with their core function. Like Patton’s fluffy curls and childlike freckles, or Virgil’s anxious, ever-changing eyeshadow, or Remus’s abominable comic-book villain mustache.

Like Deceit’s…no, Janus’s very real scales.

Damn that snake. Why did I have think of him now?

Hopefully the lying bananaconda had better things to do than pop up and spoil things tonight. Because tonight, Roman was finally fulfilling a longtime promise to Logan, and taking him on a grand adventure.

The thought made his heart flutter in anticipation, and he looked back again.

Logan within the mindscape was leaner than Thomas, an inch or two taller, and his neatly trimmed hair and intelligent eyes were almost black in the low light. His face was narrow and intense, the nose more aquiline, and he had a habit of standing straighter than any of the rest of them.

(A habit which constantly showed off his trim waist and chest muscles…not that Roman paid any attention to that…)

Roman, by contrast, was a bit shorter, but his shoulders were broad and he was more muscular, due to all the questing and sword fighting he did here in the Imagination. He wore his hair in longish disarray that paired devastatingly with his clean, square jawline; hair that could be turned loose and wild on quests, or pulled neatly back as befitted royalty. His hands were strong; with long, artistic fingers, as skilled at wielding pens and paintbrushes as they were at wielding swords.

He liked to think he was handsome.

He was also painfully aware of how little it mattered when a certain someone…ehem…never seemed to notice.

“Roman, I confess to still being a bit lost as to the purpose of this journey,” Logan said at last, breaking the high-ceilinged silence. “You said you were taking us on a…’lark’? If so, why are we wandering around the Dream Palace?”

“LARP,” Roman corrected, flashing him a smile. “L-A-R-P. It stands for live action role play, Specs.”

Logan’s nose wrinkled at the words “role play”, and Roman’s stomach lurched. He hates it, he hates the very idea of it, you haven’t even started yet and you’ve already failed…

“Oh, don’t make the scrunchy face!” he added, a bit louder than necessary, and waved a hand. “At least wait until you’ve seen it.”

Roman had only been planning this for weeks.

“You know, when you promised to take me on one of your ‘adventures’,” Logan said, making finger quotes. “I was not expecting to be roused from bed in the middle of the night.”

“That’s because this isn’t your average adventure.” Roman gestured around them. “I constructed a special dreamscape to get all the details right, and we can only use the Dream Palace when Thomas is asleep.” He turned and dared a wink. “Only the best for you, my detail-oriented friend.”

Logan adjusted his glasses.

“Let it be known that I am indulging your antics right now because you have, on occasion, had some good ideas. You will, in turn, have to indulge my skepticism.”

“I have no idea what you just said, but I’m gonna pretend it was a compliment,” Roman said with a wink, which Logan rolled his eyes at.

“Ah ha, here we are!”

Roman stopped at a set of iconic blue doors, nearly vibrating in excitement as he waited for Logan to recognize them.

The nerd did not disappoint.

“Roman…” Logan murmured, stepping forward to touch the white PULL TO OPEN sign. “They look just like the doors to the TARDIS. The attention to detail is exquisite. But why?”

“Because I’m taking you on a Doctor Who LARP!” Roman exclaimed, flapping his hands. “All we have to do is step through, and the Imagination will make us Doctor and companion, and whisk us away through all of time and space!”

Logan’s face was a mixture of confusion and curiosity. “Again…why?”

“Because it will be fun?” Roman bit his lip, looking at his toes. “I…I know you aren’t into swords and sorcery and dragon-witches and whatnot. I wanted this to be something you might actually enjoy.”

Logan’s brow furrowed, as it often did when he tried to process something that didn’t fit neatly into his graphed, notated, logical worldview.

Usually, it was an emotion.

“But won’t us enacting such an intense scenario at this time of night negatively affect Thomas’s sleep?” Logan asked.

“That’s the genius of adventuring in the Dream Palace,” Roman explained. “You can do hyperreal, immersive stuff, and if Thomas does happen to remember anything, he’ll just think he had a weird dream. The worst that could happen is he might post about it on Twitter.”

“Hmm. I can see you’ve thought this through. I am…flattered that you went to all the trouble,” Logan said in a quiet voice.

Roman had to bite back an ecstatic giggle.

Not…not because of the way his nerves skittered below his skin when his gaze caught Logan’s black eyes and soft expression. No, Roman was merely…excited! That someone like Logan appreciated his hard work!

It wasn’t like he was trying to impress anyone, like some middle school boy with, you know, a crush or whatever. For the last, well…two years.

…and then some.

Ugh. There was little point in denying his feelings; he’d only accidentally summon Janus and his oily smirk, and if that happened, Roman would most certainly die of embarrassment and that was not a lie, thank you very much.

The truth was, ever since Thomas had placed that jar of Crofters into Logan’s hands and inspired him to sing…not just rap, or begrudgingly harmonize, but actually sing…Roman had fallen, and fallen hard.

How could he not?

Logan’s words and ideas had always challenged him, pushed him to be smarter, sharper, better, just to keep up. Logan was the grounding anchor to his sails, the clarity to his excess. It used to infuriate Roman, the way he and Logan always came at problems from opposite sides and fought, sometimes bitterly, over the best way to meet in the middle.

But now?

Now Roman relished the way they traded words in a good fight, like blades in the hands of expert swordsmen. Logan, despite his dislike for anything fanciful, was a natural wordsmith…and Roman was a great lover of poetry. Even better, it seemed like Logan was also starting to enjoy their verbal sparring matches…

And then these last few months had happened.

The Decision, and Deceit, and the way that snake had let Remus out of the shadows to wreck havoc, and then the disastrous wedding itself…and Roman knew that Logan, through all of it, had been feeling pushed aside.

Goodness knew the logical Side hadn’t deserved to be shoved to the back of a courtroom, or relegated to a pixel-y shadow of himself before being removed from the discussion entirely. Worse, in both of those scenarios, Roman had either done nothing…or actively made things worse.

Roman knew he was guilty of letting his mouth run wild in his zeal to solve Thomas’s dilemmas…or in desperately hiding his true feelings. He knew his nicknames often came with barbs, his insults sometimes hit too close to home, that he often ignored or dismissed Logan’s cool, much-needed perspective.

He knew he needed to be better.

I’ll make it up to him tonight, Roman told himself as he laid a hand on the rough wooden blue doors and glanced back at Logan. The logical Side nodded, giving Roman a tiny burst of confidence.

He’ll get to play his favorite character and be his best nerdy self. This is going to be great!

Roman took a breath, and shoved open the TARDIS doors.

Chapter 2- Human Nature

“It’s all becoming clear now. The Doctor is doing the things you’d like to be doing.”

The blaring of a dozen sirens burst in Logan’s ears.

He was yanked across the threshold, Roman’s hand practically a vice around his wrist. Logan inhaled the sharp scent of metal and warm electronics, and a million figurative lights went off in his brain.

Being the physical incarnation of Logic, this wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar sensation.

The TARDIS shuddered…wait, TARDIS? We’re actually on the TARDIS?…under impact. Lights flashed; reds and greens over an ambiance of steely blue-gray, and Logan knew exactly what to do.

He shook free of Roman’s grip and strode to the center console…console, how do I know this is a console?…flipping several switches and turning the green dial to precisely 3.56 degrees to offset the radiation sheer from the M-class star they’d just spun past.

Because naturally they happened to be careening through an asteroid field.

The time rotor rose and dipped, Gallifreyan symbols whirling overhead; Logan adjusted shields and dodged rocks, striding confidently from station to station. He guided his TARDIS around the last large asteroid, one that easily could have smashed his beloved ship to bits, and then they were clear.

The TARDIS chimed reassuringly under his hands, relieved to be in empty space again.

Roman screamed.

The sound echoed off the metallic walls, causing Logan to whip around and nearly lose his balance.

“What happened?” he said sharply, leaving the console. The creative Side stood near the railing, staring down at himself in obvious dismay. “What’s wrong?”

“Look at me, Logan!” Roman said shrilly and gesturing at his body. “Just look!”

Logan examined his fellow Side. There were no obvious injuries he could see, no blood, no bruising, nothing that would merit a scream. There was just Roman, unfairly handsome as always.

(He still wasn’t sure how Roman managed that feat when they all literally, at least some of the time, had the same face.)

“I…don’t see a problem?” Logan asked slowly.

“I meant, look at what I’m wearing, Calculator Watch,” Roman snarled, and turned to yell nonsensically at the ceiling. “Am I a joke to you? When I said I wanted to be a companion, this is not what I meant!”

Logan focused on Roman’s clothing, which had shifted rather drastically since passing through those doors. His normal princely attire was replaced by a denim cutoff skirt, overalls, pink leggings, and a tight pink blouse that clung to his muscular chest and arms...

“I look ridiculous, don’t I?” Roman murmured, scuffing a combat boot against the metal grated floor. The motion drew Logan’s gaze again to the way the cutoffs hugged his hips and wow, that skirt was really short, wasn’t it?

And those tights, the way they accentuated Roman’s legs...

Logan frowned, his face feeling unusually warm. Why did he keep noticing these things? Of course Roman was more fit than the rest of them.

Perhaps it was simply that Logan didn’t usually see the evidence of it so…plainly.

Stop, Logan told himself sharply. You might be gay and allosexual, but that is no excuse to be disrespectful.

He cleared his throat.

“If I may, Roman?” he said, approaching, and made a closer examination of Roman’s outfit.

“I gather from your earlier ranting that you instructed the Imagination to cast you as one of the Doctor’s companions for the duration of this scenario?”

“Well, yeah,” Roman admitted, “but I was thinking someone like Jamie McCrimmon, or Rory Williams, or maybe even Jack Harkness!”

“You know there is some debate over whether Jack Harkness would be considered a proper ‘companion’, as he was never full time on the TARDIS,” Logan argued absently, still eying Roman’s ensemble.

It was attractive but also familiar; he just couldn’t quite place it…

“Neither was Clara Oswald at first, but nobody had a problem handing her that label from the start!” Roman folded his arms and Logan had to look away because wow, short sleeves and arms…

“Just because she was a girl and the writers obviously intended for her to be a love interest—”

“A girl, of course!” Logan snapped his fingers. “Roman, you are a companion. Specifically, you are Rose Tyler.”

“What?” Roman frowned, smoothing the overalls across his middle. “I…Hmm. You might actually be right.”

“Of course I am right.”

The creative Side scoffed at that, but continued to frown.

“I think it’s a good choice,” Logan added. “Rose is arguably one of the most beloved companions in new Who; bold, kind, and intelligent in her own way. She was pivotal to the Ninth, Tenth, and arguably the War Doctor’s character arcs.”

He laid a hand on Roman’s shoulder. (To convey reassurance, of course. Not because he suddenly wanted to touch…)

“Hers are not the worst shoes you could be given to fill,” Logan said, “idiomatically speaking.”

“Only you would drop a word like ‘idiomatically’ in everyday conversation,” Roman grumbled, but some of the spark returned to his caramel eyes.

“But look at you!” Roman said in a brighter voice, gesturing. “All proper and Doctor-ish. At least the Imagination let you keep your tie, or, whatever that thing is around your neck.”

Logan glanced down at himself for the first time.

His sensible polo and jeans had become a clean-cut black suit, with a warm grey waistcoat, a crisp white undershirt, and a silver pocket watch. A navy cravat was knotted around his throat.

His knee-length suit jacket was also black, with a striking cerulean lining.

He retrieved a slender, metallic something from the jacket’s inner pocket: of course, the Doctor’s signature sonic screwdriver. Specifically, the Tenth Doctor’s screwdriver.

Logan chuckled, remembering all the times he’d ranted to Roman about how impractical and flashy Eleven’s screwdriver became, and don’t even get him started on Twelve’s, it was practically a lightsaber…

“Interesting,” he murmured, stretching his arms to turn in a slow circle, letting the jacket flare. “Fashionably, I appear to be a cross between the Eighth and Twelfth Doctors, which I appreciate, as they are the two most sensible dressers of the bunch. And by the way, Roman, this is a called a cravat, not a tie…”

He’d lifted hands to his neck but the words died on his tongue.

Roman had summoned a mirror and was, quite literally, checking himself out. He swayed his hips, tilted one toward and then away from the mirror, pouted, did a tongue smile, and…and Logan realized he had been watching for more than a socially acceptable length of time.

He swallowed hard and cleared his throat again. But he was saved from having to speak by a loud crackling at the center console.

Both Sides rushed over, Logan seizing the TV screen and pulling it down. Gray static skittered over the polished surface. He flipped two switches and turned a dial, trying to zero in on the signal.

“I meant to ask earlier…how do you know what to do?” Roman asked, tilting his head. “You were piloting before I think you even realized we were on a TARDIS in the first place.”

Logan froze in the middle of winding one of the cranks.

“I…I really do not know.” In fact, the more he thought about it, the less sense any of the controls made. “Now that you’ve drawn my attention to it, you are correct: rationally, I should not know the function of any of these…gizmos.” He gestured at the crank he’d been winding.

“Yet somehow my hands just…know.”

Roman leaned casually onto the console.

“When I built this LARP, I gave the Imagination quite a bit of leeway in how it wanted to construct our characters,” he said. “I’m thinking it took things a step further than costume changes, like making me the companion it thinks I most resemble instead of the companion I wanted to be.”

Roman bit his lip as though troubled, then clearly shook himself out of it.

“And it must have imparted some of the Doctor’s knowledge upon me.” Logan added, not sure how he felt about the Imagination having such a direct influence over his mind. He supposed if it didn’t get too invasive, and was confined to this one night, he could deal with it.

It had proven useful so far, after all.

Roman shot Logan a fierce grin.

“Indeed! So engage that big Doctor brain and let’s see who’s trying to call us. Allons-y, adventure awaits!”

“You know ‘allons-y’ is my line, right?” Logan said dryly.

He had to use his screwdriver on the screen before the picture came clear. The stream of static acquired the cadence of a voice…and then a disturbingly familiar face stared back at his own, looking equally shocked.

Roman, for the second time since entering the TARDIS, let out a bloodcurdling scream.

Chapter 3- The Witch’s Familiar

“If you’re going to take my stick, do me the courtesy of actually killing me. Teamwork is all about respect.”

Janus had just settled into his favorite chair with a mug of chamomile tea and a political science book when he was yanked…rather rudely, he might add…onto the deck of a spaceship.

He sighed, and dismissed his drink.

When one lived in the same mindspace as the literal embodiment of chaos, one unfortunately learned to expect such interruptions.

“REMUS!” he roared, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Did I not specifically ask to be LEFT ALONE tonight?”

Silence.

Deeply annoyed now, Janus took a moment to look around himself. This was not a normal spaceship; no windows, for one, and it was laid out in levels around a translucent column at the very center. His mismatched eyes followed the center rotor up and down, his mind almost placing it…

Something clumsily rose up from the deck with a clatter, causing Janus to summon his crook with a yell.

Only…the object that dropped into his hand wasn’t smooth wood, but a slender metal instrument just barely longer than his hand. A…sonic screwdriver? What the actual heck?

Well. It was what he had.

“Get back!” He pointed the instrument at the…figure…who still slowly climbed to its feet. It was an android or robot of some sort; humanoid, and the same kind of weirdly familiar as the ship.

“Janus?” the robot said, tilting its head.

Janus froze, all the scales standing up on his body. That was…that was Patton’s voice. Flat, mechanical, but unmistakable.

After all, Patton was the only Side who consistently called Janus by name.

“Patton?” Janus whispered.

“Oh, that was so weird-feeling! Thank goodness I’m not all by myself,” Robot-Patton said, putting a hand over his…well, where his heart should have been…in obvious relief. “But why are we both suddenly on the TARDIS?”

Janus drew in a sharp breath.

Of course, he should have recognized the stupid time rotor immediately. He’d never admit it to any of them, but he was as much of a Doctor Who nerd as Logan or Roman, sometimes going so far as to spy on them when they argued over episodes together.

To learn their arguing styles, of course.

Not because he had any desire to join those discussions.

And now, looking at Patton with a sinking feeling in his stomach, Janus deduced exactly what he was: a Mondasian Cyberman. They were older and cruder in design than the reboot versions…no wonder he hadn’t put a finger on it right away.

That wasn’t really the issue.

“REMUS!” Janus shouted again, more angrily this time. Bad enough his pleasant evening of solitude had been interrupted by…whatever this was. But putting the sweetest, most emotional Side into a canonically unemotional shell, a robot?

That was cruel. That was insulting.

It was too far, even for Remus.

“Janus, is everything okay?” Patton asked, coming closer. Janus shivered at the sound of that warm voice coming from a blank metallic face with empty eyes.

“Do you…feel all right?” Janus said in a hesitant voice.

“I’m a little chilly, but otherwise I’m in ship shape!” the other quipped, giggling. “Get it? Cause we’re on a ship?”

Is it…is it possible that he doesn’t know?

“Hilarious,” Janus deadpanned, but inside his thoughts spun.

He sensed they were in a dream construct within the Imagination, which meant this had to be Remus’s doing. Remus, who reveled in gore, despair, disturbing imagery, angst, and who was in charge of Thomas’s nightmares.

Remus could…and would, given the chance…recreate the experience of being a Cyberman down to the Last. Grim. Detail.

Maybe he hadn’t meant to ensnare Patton specifically to fill this role…Remus didn’t generally pull other Sides in for nightmares, come to think of it…but meanwhile, Janus didn’t want to find out what this might do to Patton’s head.

Worse, it was becoming clear that Patton was somehow oblivious to the state of his own body; he’d used his metallic hands to clutch at his metallic chest and found nothing wrong with either. He couldn’t hear the electronic rasp in his own voice, or the heavy clanging of his steps on the grated floor.

Should Janus say something?

Would Patton believe him if he did?

Ever since Thomas’s near mental breakdown after the disastrous wedding, Patton and Janus had orbited around each other in a state of tenuous truce. They talked now, sometimes, and those talks didn’t always end in arguments. Patton began to leave space for him by Thomas’s blinds when he was called up, and he…and by extension Thomas…occasionally actually sought his input.

But Janus, well.

Janus was still a liar.

The others still called him Deceit, either by accident (Logan) or out of spite (Virgil). Then there was Roman, who invented a colorful, wounding ego-jab for him every day, and Remus, whose fond nicknames tended to double as sex jokes.

Having no other real allies in the mindscape, Janus really, really didn’t want to screw up his tenuous alliance with Patton. Why sabotage his figurative “seat at the table” over one of Remus’s stupid nightmares?

Patton would assume Janus was slipping back into his old ways, lying just because he could, and Janus would never be able to prove otherwise. And later Patton would make that sour, pinched face he always made when he was disappointed, the one that made Janus want to crawl into a hole…

So.

Best to keep his observations close to the chest, for now.

“Do you have any idea what we’re doing here?” Janus asked, striding to the center console. True to dream logic, the controls made no sense and simultaneously made perfect sense.

Patton shrugged; a strange, clanky motion of his shoulders.

Janus sighed. “Although Remus has dragged me into dreams before, even he generally understands the concept of consent.” He casually flapped a hand. “And he always leaves you ‘light sides’ alone.”

“Honestly, this doesn’t feel like a nightmare to me,” Patton said, nearly making Janus choke. The Cyberman clanked over to stand by the console.

“It’s too clean,” Patton added. “Roman let me glimpse Remus’s side of the Imagination once, not long after he showed himself to Thomas, and it was…”

Patton trailed off.

“Fragmented? Chaotic? Disturbing?” Janus supplied.

“Sure, we’ll go with that,” Patton said quietly. “This,” he waved a hand around, “feels more like Roman’s work.”

“I suppose you would know.” Janus ran a thoughtful thumb over his face, tracing the ridge that ran from the corner of his mouth to his ear.

“And I would almost have to agree,” he added slowly. “If this was a nightmare, surely something ghastly would have happened by now. But my being pulled into one of Roman’s creations makes even less sense. He literally cannot stand me.”

“Maybe this is one of those dreams Thomas has sometimes after binge watching a show?” Patton suggested. “When there’s enough material in short term memory that the twins don’t get much input? Did Thomas binge a season of Doctor Who yesterday or something?”

And to think the others still view you as stupid, or slow-witted.

Janus bit back a smile.

“It’s a good theory, Patton, but no,” he said. “Thomas hasn’t really binged on much of anything lately.”

Patton ducked his head.

“You don’t…you don’t have to rub it in, you know,” he said lowly, the metallic rasp grating on Janus’s ears. “You and Logan have both made it pretty clear that I’ve been too strict with Thomas’s time.”

Janus fought to keep his expression neutral, but his stomach twisted.

Damn it.

Leave it to Patton to find guilt where none was meant. Even if Janus claimed he hadn’t meant it like that, Patton would probably not believe him.

Patton tilted his metal head as he examined Janus’s face.

“Did you know you have a mustache now? And a little goatee?”

“I have a what?” Janus felt at his face and groaned, his gloved fingers tugging at hair that most certainly did not belong on his face; with the scales, it probably looked hideous.

His entire outfit had altered in subtle ways, he realized. His usual plum tunic and trousers were now a brown suit and waistcoat ensemble, crossed with yellow pinstripes, with a black collared undershirt. A brown, knee-length suit jacket replaced his caplet, with subtle gold trimming. His yellow gloves were unchanged, thank goodness, and his hat…?

His hands flew up to his head and found something perched over his hair, sitting at an angle. Janus yanked down a screen at the console and stared. His beloved bowler had shrunk into a tiny, flat, rakish thing with a wide brim, festooned with a cluster of yellow rosebuds and black beads.

“What on earth, Remus?” he grumbled, turning his head from side to side. Well, if he had to be honest, pinstripes and a hatinator weren’t a terrible look.

“Well, if we’re on a TARDIS, I guess you’re supposed to be the Doctor,” Patton pointed out. “Which would make me your companion.”

Janus stroked his goatee and examined their surroundings in more detail. But am I a Doctor? he wondered. And if so, which one?

And whose TARDIS is this?

Because while it was clear they were on a TARDIS…what other class of spaceship had a time rotor?…he wasn’t almost certain this was not the TARDIS.

Every corner of the Doctor’s ship, no matter which face it belonged to, tended to overflow with bright, shiny, eclectic whimsy. By contrast, this one was plain, stark, with exposed metal beams and sharp angles.

Too dark, too full of shadows.

An awful suspicion rose up in his mind.

He crossed to one of the bookshelves, ignoring Patton’s soft inquiry, and his jaw clenched. There was the Necronomicon, shelved between the Liber Inducens in Evangelium Aeternum and The Black Scrolls of Rassilon, Book of Vile and its Black Appendix, The Ambuehl Lores and the Insidium of Astrolabus.

Janus finally looked at the sonic device he’d been holding all this time; seeing now that it wasn’t a screwdriver at all, and thanked every god he knew that he hadn’t tried to use it on Patton earlier.

It was a sonic laser.

Once again, even in a stupid, nonsensical dream, Janus had been cast as the villain.

His fist had collided with the bookshelf before he even realized he was moving, books falling to the floor. He punched it again, and again, until a cool rigid hand closed around his wrist and yanked him back.

“Janus, Janus, stop!” Patton yelled in his ear.

Janus wrenched his arm away and stalked back to the console, running gloved fingers over his scales, pushing them up and smoothing them down. The familiar sensation grounded him.

“You were right, Patton,” he threw over his shoulder. “This is definitely one of Roman’s dreams, and he definitely fucking hates me.”

Patton’s heavy footsteps clattered behind him.

“Language. And how do you know that,” he asked. “…Doctor?”

Janus whirled, lips curled in a snarl.

“I am not the Doctor, Patton, and we are not on the TARDIS.” He spread his arms to encompass them both, gesturing to the dimly lit spaceship. “Look around. Look at me!”

He turned, slowly, and eyed his mustached visage in the dark view screen.

“Clearly, I am the Master.”

Chapter 4- Nightmare in Silver

“You think he knows what he’s doing?”

“I’m not sure I’d go that far.”

Patton rested his arms against the console and sighed.

Once again, someone I care about is upset, and I don’t know what to do. I guess I should be used to it by now.

It didn’t help that it was so cold in this TARDIS. He folded his arms around his middle, which felt strange and heavy, to combat the chill that seemed to have settled deep in his bones.

Janus stalked past again, grumbling to himself.

“Of course the Prince would pull me into one of his little ‘adventures’ without my consent. He probably needed an antagonist. And naturally the slippery snake would have been the first person to come to mind!”

Patton opened his mouth…though he had no idea what he was going to say…but Janus drowned him out.

“Come on, Roman!” he shouted, throwing his yellow-clad hands up. “You’ve had your fun. Yes, I’m evil, I’m the villain, I’m the bad guy, blah blah. Let’s have our epic confrontation or whatever nonsense you have planned, as I would very much like to get back to my reading sometime tonight.”

Silence.

Patton didn’t know what Janus was expecting.

“Look, maybe we should just play along for now?” Patton said aloud, wincing when Janus turned his murderous expression on him. The deceptive Side had such deep, cutting golden eyes, the human one so much darker than the other…cynical eyes that were, ironically, almost impossible to lie to.

They’d see straight through it.

“It takes a liar to know a liar.”

The glare quickly softened, though, which in Patton’s opinion said a lot about how far Janus had come.

“And how do you propossse we ‘play along’?” Janus said, hissing his s’s in frustration.

“Well, we’ve kinda decided this is Roman’s dream, right? And since we’re in his part of the Imagination, we know he won’t let anything bad happen to us…”

Patton trailed off at Janus’s pained expression, reminded of just how badly Janus and Roman’s last encounter had gone.

“What are you, a middle school librarian?”

“Thank god you don’t have a mustache.”

And I just stood there and did nothing…no, I can’t dwell on that right now. Patton shook himself out of the memory.

It was surprisingly easy; even his emotions felt a little heavy and muted. He supposed he wasn’t used to being in a dreamscape; unlike Roman, who played in them all the time.

I know Roman, Patton reasoned. He might hold a grudge for a while, but he wouldn’t actually be out to hurt Janus.

Right?

“So, if we’re on a time ship, on some kind of adventure leading up to a confrontation like you said, the first thing we’d have to do is figure out where we need to go,” Patton finished, shrugging.

Janus pursed his lips…which looked downright weird with a mustache and goatee, almost making Patton giggle…and began pushing buttons on the console.

“You are definitely incorrect, Patton,” he said, pulling up another screen and flipping a few switches. “If I have been cast as the villain in this ridiculous charade, that means Roman is likely prancing around as the Doctor right now, on the proper TARDIS. Which, as the Doctor’s nemesis, I should be able to contact…ha!”

The screen burst into static.

“Doctor, oh Doctor, do you read me?” Janus crooned, and if Patton hadn’t known just how angry he was in that moment…well, he would have never known.

Janus had tucked it away entirely, in half a second's time.

That’s the scary thing about him, Patton realized uneasily. He’s smart, nearly as smart as Logan. Smart enough to run circles around me, that’s for sure. And he’s easily as good an actor as Roman.

Those attributes, combined with his naturally manipulative nature, made it difficult to trust him.

Patton was trying.

He’d been trying since the wedding, and well, since everything else that had happened. (Patton still cringed when Thomas encountered even a picture of a frog.) He’d done a lot of thinking and growing that day (in more ways than one!), and he’d come to a disturbing, but inevitable conclusion.

Janus wasn’t evil.

He never had been.

Just like Virgil had never been evil. Mean, sure; and sarcastic, and spiteful…but at his core, Virgil had wanted what was best for Thomas.

They all did.

And then there was the uncomfortable corollary to that: Patton, despite his best efforts, despite his core Purpose…Patton wasn’t entirely and automatically good.

Two weeks ago, Janus had proven beyond a doubt that Thomas needed him…ruthlessly, cuttingly, but no one could say he hadn’t made his point. It had been Patton who’d inadvertently pushed Thomas to the brink of a breakdown, and Janus who had to pull them all back.

Despite Patton’s unease, and the little voice in his head telling him that Deceit couldn’t be trusted, could never truly be trusted because it was in his nature to deceive…Patton remembered how they’d pushed Virgil so hard he decided to duck out, and how much of a tragedy that could have been if they hadn’t all intervened to bring him back.

With a pang of guilt, he pictured Thomas lying on the floor, crushed under the metaphorical weight of everything Patton needed him to do to keep from being a bad person…

He would not make those mistakes again.

If Virgil could learn to work with them instead of against them, so could Janus. If Patton could learn to recognize when his own Purpose did more harm than good, so could Janus.

Patton had to believe that.

He’d made too many mistakes lately to believe otherwise.

The screen in Janus’s hands cleared to reveal…

“What? Logan??” Janus exclaimed, as a scream echoed somewhere in the background.

“D—Janus?” Logan countered, then looked over his shoulder. “Roman, for the love of Archimedes, will you stop shrieking? I cannot hear.”

The screaming cut off and Roman’s fuming face squished into the frame with Logan.

“Deceit! I should have known you would show up to ruin this!” he managed to shout before Logan shoved him away.

“Ruin…I’m sorry, what?” Janus glanced at Patton, looking honestly confused. “Is he roleplaying right now? We assumed this scenario was Roman’s creation.”

Onscreen, Logan placed his whole hand against Roman’s mouth to prevent him from interrupting.

“It is. But to my understanding, it was only supposed to involve myself and Roman, and…wait. You said ’we’.” Logan peered around. “Who else is with you?”

Patton started to wave, but his view was blocked by Janus bending close to the screen to whisper something. Suspicion flared in Patton’s stomach; old, familiar, but after the talk he’d just given himself, he purposefully pushed it down.

I won’t assume he’s being shifty unless he actually gives me a reason to.

Lifting his chin, he crept forward until he was next to Janus’s shoulder.

“Hey, Logan,” he said brightly, waving.

“Ah…hello, Patton,” Logan squeaked after a moment, his eyes still wide.

“Wait, Patton’s there? With the snake?” Roman’s voice yelled from the background, and then there was Roman’s face again.

“Patton?” Roman said, narrowing his eyes. “But why are you—?”

Both faces disappeared for a moment as Logan yanked Roman out of frame. Patton thought he heard a rapid, hushed conversation. He glanced at Janus, who only shrugged, looking at puzzled as Patton felt.

Roman’s face reappeared, solemn and deeply annoyed.

“Patton,” he said, and hesitated. “D—Janus. You two…well, you’re not supposed to be here.”

“Very reassuring,” Janus quipped.

“This was only supposed to be a two-person adventure: Doctor plus companion. I have no idea why the Imagination brought you both in as well; I certainly didn’t tell it to.”

“Aw, that’s okay, kiddo,” Patton started gently. “It’s not your fault—”

“Oh, sweetie.” Janus folded his arms. “I’m sorry, but that’s bull. Putting me in the Master’s shoes? Are we seriously going to pretend the Side who unashamedly hates me had nothing to do with that?”

“I didn’t!” Roman argued, his voice going high. “You really think I wanted you here, in any capacity?”

“Deceit…er, Janus, you are being unnecessarily antagonistic, and as such, unhelpful,” Logan cut in with his low, reassuring voice. “But Roman, it might behoove us to consider the role of subconscious influence. You may not have intended to pull the others in, and yet here they are.”

Roman looked at Logan, aghast, and Patton almost flinched at the raw hurt in his caramel eyes. The creative Side backed out of frame.

“So you’re on his side, too,” his voice said quietly. “Is that how it is?”

“I am not on anyone’s side,” Logan argued, raising his hands. “We are all currently in this situation together, and as such—”

Whatever he’d been about to say was cut off by another garbled transmission, taking over the screen and blocking out Logan’s face with crackly, purple static. A gray, snarling face flashed out of the haze, making Patton shriek in surprise and even Janus took a step back.

Then it was gone, dissolving back to static…and the sound of someone laughing filled the connection.

“Hellooooo, nurse,” a familiar sing-song voice crooned. “Did you miss me?”

Chapter 5- The Long Game

“You can’t just read the guide book, you’ve got to throw yourself in. Eat the food, use the wrong verbs, get charged double and end up kissing complete strangers. Or is that just me?”

Logan sighed.

He knew that voice; they all did. Even Thomas, unfortunately.

“Remus,” Roman hissed.

The mustached Side filled the screen, grinning madly. “Boo!”

“Get out of my scenario,” Roman said, his eyes flashing. “If you know what’s good for you.”

“Your scenario?” Remus echoed, faux-outrage in his expression. “Yours? The Dream Palace is my domain, too, brother, whether you like it or not.” He leaned closer, letting his nostrils and a single radioactive green eye fill the screen. “Did you really think you could keep me out?”

Roman made a sound of disgust deep in his throat.

“Am I to assume, then, that you are responsible for bringing in the other Sides?” Logan asked, careful to keep his voice even. Remus thrived on getting a rise out of people.

“Of course he is!” Roman snapped, throwing up his hands. “He loves to ruin things, especially my things.”

“Now why would having the others here ruin anything, brother?” Remus asked in a sickly sweet voice, propping his head on his hand. “Unless you intended for this nighttime romp between you and Logan to be private?”

Roman sputtered and glanced at Logan, red-faced, as Remus giggled.

“It was meant to be so, yes,” Logan supplied, unsure why Remus would find that funny…or why Roman would find it embarrassing.

“As amusing as this all is—” Janus’s crooning voice cut through the speaker.

“Great. You’re still here, snake?” Roman snarked, his arms folded around himself.

“We’re all listening, kiddo,” Patton’s metallic voice said.

Roman’s lips always curl into a pout when he is angry, Logan thought, eyeing him without turning his head, and he gets a little wrinkle between his eyebrows. Why…why am I noticing such things all of a sudden?

Maybe it was the stress, or the unfamiliar environment.

Or maybe it was the Rose Tyler outfit.

That skirt ought to be illegal.

Logan deliberately focused on the screen, his cheeks warm.

“So this is kinda new,” Patton went on, “all of us actually talking—”

“If Remus is responsible,” Janus cut in again, “then perhaps he would be so kind as to explain the objective of this late night group therapy session?”

Despite the biting sarcasm, Logan did appreciate Janus’s insistence that they get to the point, even if it did mean talking over Patton…

Speaking of, why would Remus have paired Patton with Janus?

Surely he should have grouped Patton with Logan and Roman, and put Virgil with Janus? Or…maybe not, given how Virgil hisses if Janus so much as enters the same room.

Ugh. Interpersonal drama. Logan was thoroughly sick of trying to keep track of who carried a grudge against whom, especially when it seemed to change from day to day.

And on top of that, why would Remus make Patton a Cyberman? None of these decisions make any sense…

“Right?” Roman agreed softly next to him, and Logan realized he’d said that last bit out loud.

“If anything, I should have been the unfeeling killer robot,” Logan murmured.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Specs.” Roman shot him a strange look, both warm and troubled. “And frankly I don’t give a stinky rat’s ass about my stinky rat brother’s sick thought process. What I want to know is why Deceit doesn’t want us to mention it around Patton?”

Logan, who was still mentally stuck on rodents and donkeys…Roman’s metaphors were always something else…shook his head slightly.

“There’s no logical way Patton is unaware of his condition,” Logan pointed out. “So I can only guess he wishes to protect Patton’s feelings on the matter, by not allowing us to talk about it in front of him.” He shrugged when Roman’s frown deepened. “Those two have been getting along much better these last few weeks.”

“I think you’re giving the snake too much credit,” Roman muttered. “Even after he impersonated you, Logan? C’mon. It has to be something else.”

Logan bit back a sigh.

He doesn’t understand, he thought guiltily. Because he doesn’t know what really happened…

“This is unacceptable, Deceit,” Logan snapped, flinging the crook away from his body. “I was in the middle of a discussion—”

“He won’t listen to you,” Deceit had said, and there was no sarcasm or snark in his voice.

“Patton asked for my opinion!”

“And he dismissed you from the conversation the moment that opinion went against his preconceived notions!” Deceit snapped back.

Silence.

Logan could hear the others still talking, out in the real world…without him…as the misty dregs of subconscious curled around their feet.

“You tricked him.” Logan folded his arms. “He was scared and off balance and you gave him an out.”

“I didn’t make him take it!”

Deceit sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Logan. You know he is wrong on this. You know what this is doing to Thomas. His unquestioning, black-and-white, juvenile morality; it’s not working anymore. Thomas needs to grow up, and Patton is not letting him.”

Logan bit his lip.

“Logan.” Deceit moved closer, dismissing his crook into mist and setting both gloved hands on Logan’s shoulders. Logan stiffened.

“Logic. Please. I am…no good at this.” Deceit dropped his head, his hat obscuring his eyes. “I operate through deceit because that is the only way I can make them acknowledge me.”

“They don’t acknowledge you because you operate through deceit,” Logan pointed out.

“A perfect catch 22.” Deceit let out a bitter laugh. “But a snake cannot change its scales and I don’t…I have tried everything I know. I cannot fix this from the shadows. I am out of ideas.”

A strange thought entered Logan’s mind.

“You care. You care what happens to Thomas.”

Deceit looked up, his mismatched eyes glittering with stinging intensity. “I am the literal representation of selfishness. Why the hell else would I go to all this trouble if I didn’t care?”

“Well…” Logan trailed off, troubled.

He’d let the others get to him, he realized in that moment. He’d let Roman get to him, with his talk of evil and Dark Sides and how they were always trying to tempt Thomas off the right path.

But…they were all part of Thomas, even the so-called “dark sides”.

Of course they wanted what was best for him…well, what Remus wanted at any given moment was debatable…even if they didn’t always go about it in the healthiest of ways.

Deceit had laughed then, high pitched and bitter.

“Really? Really? Even you think so low of me?”

“You are manipulating me right now.” Logan frowned. “You are using my concern for Thomas to make me trust you.”

“Yes! I am!” Deceit got in his face, fangs flashing. “I am a manipulative bastard because that is the lens through which my Source perceives me. But that doesn’t matter because you, Logic; you see through me, always have. And you know perfectly well that logically, any objection you have to my personality or my methods does not change the fact that I. Am. Right.”

He punctuated each word with a poke to Logan’s chest.

“Deceit—” Logan started.

“Janus.”

“What?”

Deceit sighed. “My name. My…real name. It’s Janus.”

Logan blinked. He knew the mythology, of course: Janus, keeper of doorways and thresholds, looking simultaneously to the past and future. Two faces. Seeing things from every angle.

Self-preservation.

“It suits you,” Logan said quietly.

Tension bled out of Janus’s shoulders, a stiffness Logan hadn’t even realized was there until it was gone.

“Thank you.”

“Why am I here…Janus?” Logan asked, glancing away. “What do you need from me?”

Janus looked at him intently.

“Let me speak to them as you.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, and Janus sighed, waving a hand.

“I know, I know, more deceit, more lies, but—”

“No, it’s…” Logan pressed his lips together. “You already pointed it out. They don’t listen to me, either.”

The bitter twist that accompanied those words was becoming an all too familiar sensation in Logan’s chest.

Janus snorted.

“Oh, they do. Eventually. They heeded your advice on how to deal with Remus.”

Logan shrugged uncomfortably.

“Look,” Janus added, “honest people know how to tell the truth, but liars…” he smirked, not especially nicely. “We know how to wield the truth to accomplish an end. I can pull Thomas and the others out of this rut, but they have to be receptive to my tugging on the reins.”

Logan pursed his lips.

“You won’t fool them. If you recall, you tried to impersonate me once already and barely lasted two minutes.”

“I didn’t have your blessing.”

Janus fixed Logan with his intense mismatched eyes again, and held out a hand.

Logan stared at it, torn.

This was Deceit, the master liar: Thomas’s entire capacity for deception condensed into a single, snake-faced Side. How could Logan possibly trust him to not make things worse, after all the falsehoods, the impersonations, how he’d manipulated them all in one way or another to get his way?

But…as much as Logan, personally, didn’t understand why that callback had been so important to Thomas…he could not dismiss the fallout Thomas had suffered as a result of missing it. The decision to attend the wedding had turned out to be a bad one.

Patton had been wrong to insist upon it over Janus’s objections, and over Roman’s.

Those were just the facts.

Janus sighed.

“I’ll unmask myself when an opportunity arises, if that would help,” he offered, and to Logan’s shock, slowly tugged off a glove. “I won’t…I won’t let it go on as long as it did with Patton.”

He offered his now bare hand to Logan again.

Out in the real world, Logan could hear Patton’s increasingly desperate and ridiculous responses to Thomas’s and Roman’s questions, and winced. Janus did the same.

“Please,” was all he said.

Logan sighed…it really couldn’t get any worse, could it?…and shook Janus’s hand.

In his TARDIS, Logan let out the sigh he was holding back.

He might have personal, concrete evidence that Janus wasn’t evil, but he also knew Janus had wounded Roman, badly, that day. The creative Side was simply not currently capable of viewing any situation involving Janus with any sort of objectivity.

Passionate, sensitive people like Roman tended to have an unfortunate habit of hanging onto grudges.

As Logic, Logan needed to remember that.

“Oh, all right,” Remus said, his voice crackling over the connection. “Since you’re all here—”

“Actually, Remus, we’re not all here,” Patton’s voice pointed out. “You all know perfectly well who we’re missing; we’ve done this before.”

Logan’s eyes widened. “‘Where is Anxiety?’” he quoted.

“You mean Tickle Me Emo isn’t with one of you?” Remus asked, looking delighted. “Oh dear, oh dear. Is he lost?”

“I mean, TARDISes are huge,” Roman pointed out. “He could be somewhere on one of our ships.” His voice dropped again. “I’ll bet Deceit stashed him away, because we all know how he hates Virgil.”

“Excuse you,” Janus’s voice interrupted, annoyed. “It is Virgil who hates me, not the other way around.”

“Let’s both scan our ships,” Logan suggested, hoping to head off an argument. Honestly, if Roman and Janus didn’t stop picking fights with one another, he was going to lose his marbles.

The scans pulled up nothing.

“Oh well,” Remus said with a shrug. “Guess the emo gets to miss out.”

Janus grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “lucky”.

“All right, here’s what’s going to happen.” Remus leaned close to the screen. “I’ve crash landed on a lovely snowbound planet that’s crawling with psychotic tin cans who like to roll around yelling ‘exterminate’.”

“Daleks? A snowbound planet, so not Skarro, but where else…” Logan narrowed his eyes.

“He’s on the Dalek asylum,” Roman said lowly. “That was one of the episodes I had in mind when I plotted this adventure.”

“Very good, brother.” Remus clapped his hands. “And up there in orbit is a ship full of people who’d really like to blow up the whole planet. Oh, woe is me, whatever shall I—”

“Save it,” Roman snapped. “You’d probably enjoy getting blown up.”

“Hmm, true.” Remus’s green eyes sharpened. “Think of the mess! Little bits of intestines floating through space, long pink ropey—”

“Or?” Logan interjected, before Remus gave Patton nightmares.

“Or you have to come rescue me!” Remus’s teeth flashed as he grinned. “Because otherwise it’s nighty-night for me and all the other aliens in the asylum.”

There was a beat of silence.

“As terrible as that sounds,” Janus drawled, sounding anything but worried, “given that none of this is real, and at least one of us would very much rather not be here at all…why exactly should your plight concern us?”

Logan secretly agreed, but felt his stomach clench when he glanced at Roman’s troubled face. None of this was real…right? Would something concretely bad happen to Remus if the planet he inhabited was blown up?

Surely not.

This was only a dream. Perhaps, then, Roman was merely upset that his twin had usurped his adventure for the night?

“Also.” Remus buffed his fingernails. “You should know that the Imagination will only release us if we complete the objective. In other words,” and he sneered, purple-shadowed eyes glittering, “we’re all stuck in this scenario until we’re all reunited.”

Remus giggled as Logan exchanged a shocked look with Roman.

“I don’t believe you. This was my dream,” Roman said darkly. “And I’ve just about had enough of all this!”

He stepped back and snapped his fingers with a flourish. Frowning, he did it again, and again, his face growing paler with each try.

“Roman, what—” Logan started.

“I can’t end it,” Roman whispered, still snapping. “He’s right. He’s…he’s sealed off the dream’s boundaries somehow. Remus!”

This he roared at the screen.

“Keeping Thomas trapped in a dream state is going too far, Remus!” he yelled. “I don’t care what kind of demented game you want to play with us, but we don’t bring Thomas into it.”

“Oh, you think I created an unbreakable dreamscape?” Remus snapped. “You let the Imagination have too much reign, my dear brother, and now neither of us have the power to end the dream ourselves. I estimate we have about ten hours before Thomas wakes up.”

For a moment, all Logan could hear was the soft whoosh of the time rotor, and Roman’s shallow, angry breathing at his shoulder.

“So I suggest you all pilot your ships to these coordinates,” Remus added, and a series of numbers and strange symbols flashed up on one of the smaller console screens. “And get started.”

The main screen blipped, and Remus’s face was replaced by an expressionless Cyberman and a snake-faced Side who looked extremely pale under his scales.

“Well,” Logan stated. “This is a problem.”

Chapter 6- Asylum of the Daleks

“You’re going to fire me at a planet? That’s your plan? I get fired at a planet and expected to fix it?”

“In fairness, that is slightly your M.O.”

“Don’t be fair to the Daleks when they’re firing me at a planet.”

The familiar wheeze of the TARDIS materializing filled Roman’s ears as he waited by the doors. Logan joined him a moment later.

“Ready?” he asked, smoothing a hand over his cravat.

He looks good as the Doctor, Roman thought, eying the slimming black and navy, the graceful arc that hand made as it adjusted a pair of glasses…

He shook himself out of his distraction. “Let’s do this, nerd.”

Logan opened the doors and the two stepped out…not onto the asylum, but onto a spaceship. Shiny copper terraces lined the vast walls in curving rows, leading the eye up to a domed ceiling with a clear view of black, star-studded space. Like a huge amphitheater, or stadium. Even Roman had to admit, the Imagination had really outdone itself on the realism.

Of course, given that the ship was filled with hundreds upon hundreds of Daleks calling for violence…realism wasn’t exactly comforting at the moment.

“Surprise, surprise, I don’t see my stupid brother,” Roman commented over the dull roar of the crowd.

“No. But I recognize where we are.” Logan waved a hand. “You were right about Remus’s location; this ship is from the episode ‘Asylum of the Daleks’, in Season 7. If we are following the basic plotline, Remus is likely somewhere down on the planet below, and we will be sent to him in due course. However…I am curious as to why all the other aliens are here.”

Roman looked around again, seeing that Logan was right. Daleks formed the majority of the crowd, but he also spotted Zygons, Sontarans, Silurians, other Cybermen, Ice Warriors…and quite a few aliens from older seasons he couldn’t remember the names of.

(Logan probably could.)

A second TARDIS materialized near their familiar blue box: plain, gray; a squat column of a ship. Janus emerged first, a silver instrument gripped in one gloved hand, followed by an old-school Cyberman…Patton. Roman frowned. Seeing that metal…being…and having to remember it was actually his friend was going to be difficult now that there wasn’t a screen separating them.

“Nice work, Roman,” Janus said, sidling up next to him and faux-clapping his hands. “A ship full of aliens who want us dead; always an excellent starting point for an adventure.”

“This is how the episode starts, Mr. Oh-I’m-Such-an-Expert-in-Doctor-Who,” Roman retorted. “Accuracy is important.”

“But this isn’t accurate,” Logan pointed out. “There should only be Daleks here.”

Roman folded his arms, stung.

Damn Logan and his damned need to be right all the time.

“I…well, I didn’t model this adventure after just one particular episode,” Roman admitted. “I wanted it to be a challenge, and it wouldn’t be if Logan and I already knew the ending. So no, I can’t exactly explain why all the other aliens are here, okay?”

Logan sighed.

“I was not criticizing you, Roman,” he said in a gentler voice. “As this has apparently become as much Remus’s and the Imagination’s handiwork as it is yours, it would be unreasonable to expect you to know what comes next.”

“THE DOCTOR AND THE MASTER WILL APPROACH THE SUPREME DALEK,” a grating robotic voice boomed across the ship, making them all whip around. A large white Dalek with an antenna on its shell loomed on a raised stage near the center of the amphitheater.

“They were expecting me, too?” Janus raised an eyebrow. “Interesting.”

The lights on the Dalek’s head flashed as it spoke again.

“THE DOCTOR AND THE MASTER WILL APPROACH WITH THEIR COMPANIONS.”

The four Sides exchanged a glance, and weaved through the assembled Daleks to the raised stage. The White Supreme Dalek was not the only occupant; it was flanked by an Ice Warrior, an Emojibot (which made Patton giggle), and…

“Look, a Janus,” Roman chortled, nudging the snake-faced Side in the ribs and pointing out the two-faced alien.

“You are all nerds and my logo is a two-headed snake,” Janus complained, rolling his eyes. “I literally do not know how all of you missed that obvious clue to my name.”

“DOCTOR,” the White Dalek said as they climbed the dais. “MASTER. WHAT DO YOU KNOW OF THE DALEK ASYLUM?”

“I’m just impressed my rat-faced brother wasn’t lying about his location,” Roman grumbled, and sputtered when Logan placed a hand over his mouth.

“According to legend,” Logan said, “you have a dumping ground, a planet where you lock up all the Daleks that go wrong.”

“The battle-scarred, the insane. The ones even you can’t control,” Janus clarified. His voice dropped to a hiss. “No wonder they ssstuck Remus there.”

Roman covered his mouth to keep from snorting.

The snake would not make him laugh.

“CORRECT.” The Dalek pushed a button and a hole opened in the middle of the floor. A snow-covered planet lay below them, pristine from this high up.

“Ooh, that’s,” Patton started, and let out a metallic gulp. “That’s quite a drop. Do we, ah, have to go down the same way? Cause I remember that part, and—”

“How many Daleks are down there?” Logan asked.

“A COUNT HAS NOT BEEN MADE,” the white Dalek said.

“Millions, certainly,” a new voice chimed in. The tall, robed, dark-skinned Janus stepped forward, their front face addressing them. “But they will not be your only concern. The population of the planet consists of more than just Daleks.”

Roman exchanged a suspicious glance with Logan. This wasn’t in the episode. This is new.

“What do you mean?” Janus, their Janus, asked.

The alien Janus turned to a nearby monitor, pulling up some information. The backward-facing face continued to address them.

“Some time ago, the Daleks began noticing a curious phenomenon,” they said. “Random people, from all different races and species, started turning up on various planets in this quadrant of space, including the asylum. No ships, no technology, and no knowledge of how they’d gotten there. At first the imprisoned Daleks on the asylum simply killed them off as they appeared—”

Patton visibly winced, even with his metal body, and Logan’s eyes grew flinty.

“—but the new arrivals eventually became too many to exterminate,” the alien Janus went on, unconcerned. “By now we suspect the planet has a population of over a billion, far too many for its automated systems to handle.”

They turned their forward face to the four again.

“THE ASYLUM IS COMPROMISED,” the Dalek Supreme proclaimed. “IT MUST BE CLEANSED.”

“Hang on, you’re still going to blow the whole planet up?” Roman protested. “A billion people?”

“To be fair, that is what they did in the original episode,” Logan pointed out quietly.

“But that was just Daleks!”

Janus rolled his eyes. “Ah, so genocide is fine when it’s only the evil aliens getting blown up?”

“You know, somehow I’m not surprised to hear you defending the bad guys!” Roman snapped.

“That is enough!” Patton snapped in his robotic voice, stepping between them and raising both his hands. Laser pistols popped out of both of them, making both Roman and Janus step back in alarm.

After a tense moment, Patton lowered his arms again; the guns clicked and vanished into their casings.

“Uh, sorry kiddos, I don’t know what came over me,” he said in a sheepish, more Patton-y voice. “Can we please not fight? It…it kinda makes me feel weird and jittery when you do.”

Roman stared at Patton’s blank Cyberman face and armored Cyberman body and swallowed, hard.

Their Patton would never deliberately aim a gun at anyone, let alone his family. But Cybermen were created to eliminate…or rather, delete…anyone who got in their way.

Did Patton even realize what he’d almost done?

What would happen, if and when he was forced to confront the reality of his body in this realm? What if he didn’t figure it out until he accidentally did something terrible? It wouldn’t be real, of course, but to Patton…that wouldn’t matter.

If his Cyberman programming forced or tricked him into hurting someone, the guilt of it would devastate him.

All I wanted to do was take Logan on an adventure, Roman thought bitterly. A fun little dream adventure where he could play one of his heroes. Was that too much to ask, Imagination?

He folded his arms and glared around the Dalek ship, anywhere but at his fellow Sides.

Whatever the hell this has turned into, I want no part of it anymore.

“In order for us to destroy the planet, we will need you to disable the planet’s forcefield—” The alien Janus started, but Logan held up a finger.

“Excuse you,” he said sharply. “We have not agreed to do anything, least of all help you murder a billion people whose only crime is to have accidentally turned up in your prison. Have you even attempted to solve that mystery?"

"And why do you care what happens down there?" Roman added, sneering. "If the insane Daleks are armed—”

“DALEKS ARE ALWAYS ARMED,” the white Dalek proclaimed.

“—then why can’t they defend themselves?” Logan finished, shooting Roman a questioning glance.

Roman huffed, and looked away.

“At first they did,” the Janus explained. “But as I said, the automated systems cannot keep up with the influx. Wars are being fought over food and other resources as we speak. A starliner crashed on the surface mere days ago, and—”

“Ah,” Logan said slowly. “You’re afraid, with all the shifting alliances and new activity, that the mad Daleks will escape in the confusion.”

“We do not know who or what is behind the influx,” the Janus said. “But eventually, they will start coming with ships, or they will build them on the surface, or reach out to those who could attempt a rescue.”

“‘If sssomeone can get in, everything can get out’,” their Janus quoted darkly.

The other Janus nodded. “Even the Daleks agree, their mad brethren cannot be allowed to escape. We, of this assembly—”

They waved to the assembled crowd of aliens, who observed in eerie silence.

“—have decided that one planet must be sacrificed for the greater good of the universe.”

Roman slowly and deliberately drew his sword (which the Imagination had kindly left as part of his outfit). It rasped as it emerged, the sound hair-raising in the sudden lull.

Instantly every Dalek gunstick and alien weapon on the ship was primed and pointed at the four Sides.

“And if we refuse?” Roman said evenly.

“THE DOCTOR AND THE MASTER WILL COOPERATE,” the Supreme Dalek warned, its lights flashing balefully.

“COOPERATE! COOPERATE!” the cry was echoed by the other Daleks, filling the ship with a cacophony of robot voices.

The alien Janus shrugged, spreading their hands.

“You don’t really have a choice. If you want to live, that is.”

“Is that so.”

Roman tensed and sprang at the white Dalek, not giving himself time to think. He dodged a blast from its gunstick and leaped, bringing his sword down hard. This being the Imagination, the katana cut through the Dalek’s metal armor like butter, and it clattered to the deck in two pieces.

There was a shocked silence…but no retaliation.

“Well?” Roman shouted, spreading his arms and turning in a slow circle. “This is me, not cooperating. What are you waiting for? Are you really going to shoot us?”

If they all died on this spaceship…the worst that would happen is they’d be kicked from the Imagination, and that was what they wanted, anyway.

“Roman,” Logan warned quietly, pointing.

Roman looked.

The white Dalek’s shell was…laughing?

“Oh, Roman,” Remus’s crackly voice emerged from the fallen Dalek’s casing. “Roman, Roman, Roman. My poor brave brother who thinks he can solve all his problems with steel and bravado. Did you really think it would be that easy?”

Each word bit like sandpaper against Roman’s ears.

He growled, and stalked to the Dalek’s top half, snatching it up and quickly locating a tiny speaker.

“C’mon, Remus. End this stupid charade,” he said quietly, holding the casing to his face so he could speak quietly. “You’ve had your fun at my expense. Go back to your pile of severed limbs and gloat if you must, but end this. For Patton’s sake, if nothing else.”

“I’ve already told you, it’s out of my hands,” Remus responded; typically, annoyingly casual. “If you want to end the game, you have to come down here and find me.”

Roman exhaled, resting his head against the cold, bumpy metal for a moment. His eyes burned, but he was Prince; he wouldn’t cry, not here.

“Why must you make everything difficult?”

“Roman, in all seriousness,” Remus’s voice dropped. “I didn’t know you were taking Logan on a date tonight—”

“It’s not a date,” Roman hissed, glancing at the other Sides…one in particular.

“The Imagination brought me into this without asking, just like it pulled the others in,” Remus went on. “I am aware of what has to happen, but I did not cause this.”

“You’re lying,” Roman said tonelessly.

Remus’s whiny voice grew hard.

“I don’t lie, and you despise that about me. You hide so much shit from yourself that it baffles you when I refuse to do the same.”

“Look,” Remus added when Roman didn’t respond. “The Imagination is clearly trying to get our attention. Sure, it usually goes through one of us first, but it doesn’t have to. When it comes down to it, Thomas’s mind answers only to Thomas. ”

“How are you so sure?” Roman frowned.

Was Remus seriously suggesting the Imagination they both oversaw had gone rogue somehow?

“Because I don’t curate my side as meticulously as you do, brother.” Remus chuckled. “I listen. I let the Imagination do as she pleases, free from all those pesky ethics and morals and other boring boxes you always force her into, so that our sweet Thomas doesn’t fear the contents of his own head.”

“You expect me to believe that you know what’s going on because,” Roman let every ounce of disdain seep into his voice, “the Imagination talks to you, and not me…because you don’t make her behave?”

“You should try letting her loose sometimes,” Remus drawled, “or you’ll end up with a cane up your butt like Nerdy Wolverine over there.”

“Don’t call him that,” Roman spat.

“What you so-called ‘light sides’ always get wrong,” Remus went on, “is that the juicy stuff, the gruesome and grim, the ‘bad’ thoughts that filter up from the subconscious; they can’t all be locked away and ignored.” His voice dropped ominously. “Repression can be very bad indeed, you know.”

Roman’s reasonable nature knew that his brother, despite his infuriating attitude, was actually making some good points. Thomas had been dealing with a lot lately; the tension in the mindspace felt like a ticking clock, counting down to the next disaster.

But at that moment, Roman had no desire to humor his twin.

All he wanted to do was lock himself into his own room in the Dream Palace and spend the rest of the night writing sad poetry about love, or listing his mistakes to himself until he fell asleep.

“I just wanted to show Logan a good time,” he said aloud.

“And oh dear, apparently you couldn’t even manage that correctly,” Remus said, implacably. “So maybe you should use this opportunity to get your head out of your poopy ass, and reevaluate yourself.”

Roman slammed the Dalek shell against the floor.

It cracked upon impact, the wiring inside sparking and finally flickering down to darkness. He ran his hands through his hair, reminded, once again, why he hated talking to his brother.

Like looking in a funhouse mirror…

“Roman…” Patton sidled up behind him, laying a cold hand on his back. Roman shoved the metal arm away and stalked back to the others.

“Let’s just get this done,” he said in a low voice.

“You will need these,” the alien Janus said, pushing a button on a nearby console. A translucent vertical tube rose from a gap in the floor, holding three bulky black bracelets.

“Ah yes, I remember this,” Logan said, striding forward and taking a bracelet.

“They will prevent—” the Janus started.

“The nano cloud from converting us into Dalek puppets, yes?” Logan interrupted, snapping the bracelet onto his wrist and handing another to Roman.

The nerd is getting into this, Roman thought as he put it on. I guess that’s something.

“The cloud is only active in certain areas of the asylum,” the Janus warned them again. “And those change as different factions seize control of different areas and weaponize them.”

Patton hesitantly raised a hand.

“Um, Mx. Alien, I can’t help but notice that there are only three bracelets, and four of us?”

Logan frowned. “But Patton, why would you—?”

“I’m sure it’s because I’m part snake, Patton,” Janus interrupted smoothly, swooping in to grab the last bracelet and snapping it onto Patton’s arm.

Roman exchanged an alarmed look with Logan; that was the last bit of confirmation he needed. Patton really was unaware that he was a Cyberman.

But why on earth would Janus go to such lengths to keep him in the dark about it? Even leaving aside the fact that Patton was a walking weapon; being a machine, he didn’t need protection from the nano cloud at all.

Whereas Janus…probably did.

But when Roman opened his mouth, Janus shot him a look full of daggers and promises of pain, and shook his head. Roman rolled his eyes and mentally washed his hands of the situation.

Typical Deceit. Protecting his lies.

At least Patton would be twice-protected. If the snake wanted to risk his life for a lie, let him.

“The gravity beam will convey you close to the crashed starliner,” the alien Janus said, and then there were Dalek blasters being shoved into their backs, propelling them toward the hole in the floor.

“Oi,” Roman protested, “get your freaky little eggbeater appendages away from me, you AAAAHHHH!”

There was a push, and they were falling.

Chapter 7- Oxygen

“Look at this. Classic design. Pressure seals. Hinges. None of that ‘shuk shuk’ nonsense.”

“Space doors are supposed to go shuk shuk.”

“Are you gonna be like this all day?”

Janus was done.

He sat up with a groan, brushing snow from his jacket and vest, making sure his hat and gloves were still in place. Everything ached. Bad enough he never wanted to be part this stupid dream game in the first place; now he was probably going to literally turn into a Dalek.

All because the Imagination is being a dick and Patton doesn’t know he’s a killer robot.

Wind gusted around him, making Janus glad that the Master, like the Doctor, usually preferred long sleeves and a coat. He stood, turning in a slow circle as he took in the lay of the land. Nothing but snow and rocks; true to the episode, still.

The gravity beam had split into four as it hurled them at the planet, but Janus was reasonably sure at least one of the others had landed nearby.

He hoped it was Patton.

Not because he was concerned or anything. It was just that either of the others would be absolutely insufferable company, that’s all.

“Janus!” a metallic voice called, and Janus breathed a sigh of relief.

Patton’s Cyberman body clattered awkwardly down a nearby snowbank, sliding the last few feet to land in a heap.

“It is all kinds of chilly down here.” Patton stood, and waved rather nonsensically. “Hullo there, Janus, so ice to see you.”

Janus rolled his eyes. (He would deny to his dying day that the corner of his mouth twitched at the ridiculous pun.)

“If this scenario is consistent with its source material,” he said, gesturing to the closest ridge, “there should be an escape pod from that crashed ship nearby. Come on.”

He set off across the snow, Patton following in his wake.

“Say, what do snowmen call their offspring?”

Janus exhaled carefully. Hoo, boy, maybe Logan wouldn’t have been so bad…

“I haven’t the faintest.”

“Chill-dren!” Patton chortled at Janus’s grimace. “What did one snowman say to another?”

“St. Genesius spare me,” Janus grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What, pray tell, did one snowman say to another?”

“‘Do you smell carrots?’”

Janus quickly covered his mouth.

“You smiled,” Patton crooned.

“I most certainly did not.”

“Okay, okay, one more.” Patton scurried ahead and turned around, so that he was walking backwards. “Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?” Janus said flatly.

“Snow.” Patton hooked his thumbs into the metal rim at waist, like one might on a pair of pants. Janus swallowed and looked away.

“Snow who?”

“Snow laughing matter, Janus, I don’t know why you’re smiling.”

Janus snorted before he could hide it, and cleared his throat.

“I am not smiling, how dare you.”

“That’s twice now!” Patton cackled, the sound coming out all distorted. “Admit it.”

“I refuse,” Janus said, drawing himself up. “You won’t make a liar out of….”

Liar.

He felt the joke fall flat and cringed. Even though Patton’s metal face couldn’t react, those metal shoulders visibly stiffened.

Too soon.

Liar.

Too much history between them.

Besides, you are a liar, his mind whispered. Lies of omission are still lies, Deceit, and you’re doing that right now.

Janus gritted his teeth. They topped a ridge; the expected escaped pod lay half-buried near another ridge, across a flat stretch of snow. The two Sides glanced at each other and continued their journey in silence.

Patton seemed disinclined to continue his little pun war.

Janus badly wanted to say he hadn’t minded the punning, but truthfully, keeping silent was easier. Patton’s baffling ignorance over the state of his own “flesh” was starting to wear on Janus’s conscience. He knew the longer he kept it secret, the worse the fallout would be when Patton finally learned the truth.

The urge to come clean was an unfamiliar one for him, and extremely uncomfortable.

Ironic, the master liar, conflicted about maintaining a lie.

The old him would have laughed, but…the old him hadn’t heard the sincerity in Patton’s voice, when he’d spoken Janus’s true name aloud for the first time. The old him had assumed Thomas would reject him forever…because of Patton.

And then, with Janus still smarting from the sting of Roman’s mockery, Patton had said his name.

Patton had trusted him to take care of Thomas in his stead, when the moral Side knew he had failed at it. The memory still made all Janus’s scales tingle and his heart beat a little sideways.

The new him…this him…couldn’t find it in his small, shriveled, but very much present heart to risk pushing Patton away.

They reached the pod.

Muffled shouts and something that sounded like blaster fire filtered up from inside, making them exchange another glance.

Janus set a hand on the ice-crusted latch.

“Remember, we’ll have to fight our way through a bunch of dead Dalek puppets,” he reminded Patton.

“That’s a lot of noise for just a few puppets,” Patton said softly. “That canonically shouldn’t even be awake yet.”

“I know, and that is strange,” Janus agreed. “Maybe someone got here before us. But we won’t know exactly what to expect until we get down there.”

Patton sighed, a cloud of frost puffing out of his small, rectangular mouth.

Janus pushed the latch, popped his head in, and was met with a scene of utter chaos.

About six or seven human-Dalek puppets, with stalks sticking out of their heads and blasters sticking out of their hands, were locked in a fire fight with a horde of robotic humanoids that looked like they came from the Fourth Doctor’s era, if Janus remembered correctly. Round, bulky shoulders and faces that looked like metal sunbursts.

Both puppets and robots were using the seats as cover, blaster fire zinging back and forth and exploding against the walls in little showers of sparks. Janus and Patton would be directly in the blast zone when they jumped down, a little closer to the robot side.

“Well, someone definitely got here before us,” Janus muttered.

He withdrew his head and studied Patton. Honestly, with his metal body he’d be in far less danger, and those guns in his arms would actually be useful in this situation…but telling Patton he was a walking weapon, now, would definitely not go over well.

“The hatch down into the asylum should be in the cockpit of this thing,” he informed Patton. “There’s a lot of blaster fire, though, so—”

“—don’t get cold feet and hesitate?” Patton finished.

Something in Janus’s heart twisted…something he didn’t dare examine too closely.

“Say, Patton,” he said softly, looking away.

“Yes?”

“What did the hat say to the scarf?”

Patton turned his black Cyberman eyes on Janus.

“What?”

“‘You hang around, and I’ll go a-head’.” Janus let a smirk curl his lips.

Patton was silent for a moment, but then he began to giggle, covering his mouth.

Janus pulled out his sonic laser.

He dropped into the pod with a swing of his legs, catching one of the robots in its metal chest. It fell with a screech, careening into another of its kind, but by then Janus had gained his feet and ducked behind a seat. Patton clattered down behind, with less grace and far more noise…and a random Tivolian tumbled in directly after him.

Patton caught the rodent-faced alien with a startled shout, immediately dropping them again when they screamed and struggled. Janus blinked; where the hell did they come from?

The Tivolian tumbled across the pod’s floor, only making it a few feet before getting cut down with blaster bolts. Janus saw Patton cry out, and caught the Side before he could leap out and draw more hostile fire.

“It’s too late!” he shouted over the noise.

“I should have hung on!” Patton, if he’d had a proper face, would probably be in tears. He hated death. “I don’t know why they were so scared of me!”

Janus could answer that…

“I’m more curious about where they came from,” he said instead, frowning. “They surely weren’t up on the surface with us. It’s like they just teleported in, but Tivolians don’t teleport. They don’t have the technology—”

A blaster bolt exploded across the top of the seat they were hiding behind, showering them in sparks and forcing them both to duck.

“Janus!” Patton snapped. “We need to get out of here!”

“Right.” Janus brandished his sonic. “We’ll just have to run for it.”

He leaped out, activating his weapon, and discovered that a sonic laser had a very satisfying range and kickback. Forget the Doctor’s screwdriver, he thought, blasting a Dalek puppet aside and ducking another gun blast. I wonder if the Imagination will let me keep this…

A cold, dead hand seized the collar of his jacket, yanking him back.

Then there was a yell, a clatter, and Janus turned in time to see Patton blast a puppet with a fire extinguisher. The moral Side chuckled at Janus’s shocked expression.

“I’ve seen this episode too, you know,” he pointed out.

Janus huffed.

The two dodged and fought their way to the cockpit; Janus used his laser to seal the door behind them. For a moment they simply stood there, catching their breath.

(Well, Janus caught his. Did Patton even breathe, in that form?)

“Unauthorized personnel may not enter the cockpit.” Remus’s high-pitched voice came over the speaker system. “Unless it’s an actual pit full of cocks, in which case, where’s my invitation?”

Janus was going to need something a lot stronger than tea, once they finally got out of this mess.

“Remus, for god’s sake,” he grumbled.

“God has nothing to do with my cock, but if that’s how you want to roll…” One of the cockpit screens flickered to life, and there was Remus in all his ruffly, sparkly, mustached glory. Clara’s warm, messy cove spread out behind him, reds and yellows clashing horribly with the green of his sash.

Janus moved so that his chest and shoulders blocked the screen, to prevent Remus from catching sight of Patton. If Remus saw Patton as a Cyberman, Janus would never be able to convince him to keep his mouth shut.

“All right then, where do we find you?” Janus said. “And where did the others land? Not to mention our dear missing ball of anxiety.” He leaned forward, putting on his trademark smirk. “Come on, Re. You must know. One Other to another, you can tell me.”

“Aww, Jan Jan,” Remus crooned, also leaning forward. “You care.”

“I most certainly do not!” Janus sputtered, and cleared his throat. “Patton was worried about Virgil, that’s all.”

“I was?” Patton asked from the other side of the space. “I mean, of course I am, but—”

“But surely you can at least tell us why this scenario isn’t playing out quite like the episode it comes from,” Janus interjected smoothly. He didn’t want Remus to notice the metallic quality of Patton’s voice.

“Sorry to disappoint, but I’ve already told you everything that I know.” Remus shrugged. “Roman really did give the Imagination too much freedom.”

Janus frowned.

“Then how do you know the scenario will end when we find you?”

“I actually don’t! Isn’t it great?” Remus crowed, clapping his hands. “I love stories where anything could happen. We could all get vaporized, or have our flesh eaten by—”

“Remus, focus.” Janus pitched the bridge of his nose. “So, given what we know of this particular episode, you’re assuming that our main tasks are to come get you, and to drop the forcefield on the planet so the Daleks can blow it up.”

“That’s the idea, Double Dee!”

Behind him, Janus heard Patton make a weird, choked noise, and grimaced.

“By the way, Roman and Logan are already inside the asylum.” Remus grinned, the whites of his eyes flashing. “So if you want to catch up, you’d better scute those scaly asscheeks along. Check the floor for a breach; that will be your way out. A breach, ha! Like a butth—”

Janus pointed his laser and fired on the screen, cutting the transmission and sending sparks flying all over the cockpit. An awkward silence fell in which he turned to face Patton, who of course wore no visible expression.

This, and all the reasons for it, annoyed him further.

“I swear if you ask one question about scutes or scales,” he warned, holding up a finger.

“I wasn’t…going to.” Patton held up his hands. “Logan kind of taught us how to tune out the more, er, naughty things Remus says. But I am wondering,” he added hesitantly. “Are you…feeling okay?”

“Fabulous. Peachy,” Janus said flatly, kneeling to feel around on the floor. “Fantastic, allons-y, geronimo, what have you.”

“It’s just, you seem a little angry,” Patton went on. “And you remember, that’s, that’s the first step in being converted. Maybe you should wear the bracelet for a while? We can trade on and off…”

Patton’s fingers went to his wrist, but Janus stopped him with a gloved hand on top.

Tell him, an inner voice whispered. Tell him now, before this gets any more awkward.

“That’s sweet of you, but no, I’m merely frustrated,” Janus admitted. “I would very much like to get out of here, so I can return to the pleasant evening I was having before all thisss.”

He gestured irritatedly around them.

Patton joined him on the floor and together they found a person-sized hole, with a rope ladder hanging down.

“Hey, Janus,” Patton murmured, as they were about to start the long climb down. “Can I ask you something?”

“Why do I have a feeling you’re going to ask no matter what I say?” Janus said wryly.

“Do you remember when that puppet attacked you in the main part of the ship, and I fought it off with the fire extinguisher?” Patton ducked his head.

Janus raised an eyebrow.

“They hesitated, when they saw me.” Patton’s unnaturally black eyes met Janus’s. “That’s why I had time to grab the extinguisher.”

Janus swallowed, his heart starting to pound.

“Well, I’m sure they aren’t used to anyone fighting back—”

“No, they hesitated like…like I scared them or something,” Patton pressed. “It was weird, Janus. Please. If there’s something you need to tell me…you know you can.”

Janus’s mouth compressed into a flat line and he looked away, bitterness welling up inside him.

“Can I, Patton?” he asked softly, holding up a gloved hand. A yellow indictment of everything he was. “Can I really?”

Patton sighed, long and deep.

“Touché.”

Chapter 8- Extremis

“Something’s coming. And I’m blind. How can I see them when I’m lost in the dark?”

Logan awoke to someone shaking him.

He opened his eyes to an expanse of blurry blobs and color splotches, and Roman’s sharp, frantic face very close to his. His eyes have amber flecks, his brain noted inanely. But why is he clear when nothing else is…?

Roman threw his head back and exhaled in obvious relief when Logan groaned, blinking rapidly to clear his vision.

“Singing chimeras, Specs, I was starting to worry.”

Logan sat up and touched his bare face. Ah, there’s the problem.

“Where are my glasses?”

Roman was quiet.

Logan leaned closer to the other Side, squinting. Bad eyesight was such an annoyance. If only Thomas’s developing brain hadn’t decided early on that “smart and logical” also meant “stereotypically nerdy”, and pigeonholed his own sense of Logic into actually requiring corrective eyewear.

“Roman?” Logan tried again.

“Um. About that.”

Roman bit his lip, and handed over a smashed set of frames. Logan’s stomach sank as he examined them; the lenses were shattered beyond repair.

“I found them next to you like that, when I woke up,” Roman explained. “I’ve been trying to summon another pair, but for some reason the Imagination won’t let me!”

Logan pushed down a growing sense of dread, that he’d have to navigate the rest of this adventure half-blind.

“My glasses getting broken is obviously not your fault. We did fall down a rather deep hole,” he pointed out. “But what do you mean, the Imagination isn’t letting you?”

“I mean it’s not letting me!” Roman threw up his hands. “I could summon things on the TARDIS just fine, but now…” He sighed. “I am Creativity, right?”

Logan tilted his head and frowned.

“Is that…Roman, that is a nonsensical question. Of course you are.”

“So summoning a tiny object in my own dream scenario should be easy.” Roman hung his head.

“How long have you been trying?”

“Twenty minutes, maybe?” Roman shrugged, still not looking at him. “All that time, and yet still I fail.”

Logan resisted the urge to point out that twenty minutes should be long enough to realize a thing might be outside of one’s control, and to start brainstorming other options.

Stubborn fool.

“Maybe it’s just as well we picked the wedding over the callback,” Roman added darkly, an uncharacteristic glower twisting his face. “When Thomas’s Creativity apparently can’t even control his own dreams.”

Oh…this isn’t about glasses at all, is it? Logan swallowed around an achy sensation in his chest; the one he always got when something was wrong and Roman made that face and he just…needed to fix it.

Native English speakers have a passive vocabulary of around forty thousand words, he thought, frustrated. So why, in situations like this, am I constantly struggling to find the right thing to say?

The resigned set to Roman’s jaw prompted Logan to try.

“Your inability to summon things may not be your doing,” Logan said, laying a hand on Roman’s knee. “Perhaps the Imagination is attempting to impose a sense of realism on this adventure.”

“Realism,” Roman echoed flatly. “In Doctor Who.”

Logan huffed. “You must admit, summoning objects out of thin air does defy even time-traveling alien logic.”

Roman’s face twitched in the tiniest of smiles. “So why did it work before, Teach?”

“Maybe it only worked on the TARDIS because the ship already defies every known rule of physics.” Logan shrugged. “I admit I cannot possibly intuit the inner workings of the Imagination; I can only theorize from what I have observed thus far.”

Roman chuckled softly to himself, and bumped Logan’s shoulder.

“Aww, Nerd, I’m touched. You’re trying to logic me into feeling better.”

“Is it…working?” Logan asked.

“Kind of?” An unreadable expression flitted over Roman’s face. “At least one of us is still grounded in reality.”

“Where else could one possibly be grounded?”

Roman laughed outright at this.

“Oh, Logan. Never change, okay?”

He stood up, and pulled Logan to his feet as well.

“Where are we?” Logan asked, squinting.

He could tell they were in some large, open space; all blacks and browns and dull grays. Blurry domes of copper were scattered amongst what could be bits of fallen scaffolding or machinery.

Logan was also hyperaware of Roman’s warm arm pressed against his, and his own hand clasped tightly within the Prince’s larger grip. With everything else blurry, physical sensations were all the more distracting.

“Don’t panic, okay?” Roman started.

Logan scoffed.

“You are fortunate that I am not Virgil,” he commented wryly. “Because starting a sentence like that would almost certainly have caused him to panic.”

“Well, it’s just, do you remember that scene in the Dalek asylum episode where Rory wakes up in the hanger full of dead Daleks who turn out to be not actually dead?” Roman said in a rush. “Because…yeah.”

Oh. Logan swallowed.

“So, I am guessing that those copper domes are actually Daleks?” he said softly.

Roman snorted.

“Copper domes? Jeesh, your eyesight sucks.”

“I am aware,” Logan said flatly. “Which means you will have to guide us out. If I remember correctly, as long as we are quiet and don’t kick any pipes on the ground, we won’t wake them up.”

Roman let go of Logan’s hand… and replaced it with an arm wrapped around his waist. Logan only held back a squeak because it would have been extremely undignified.

“Hey, relax, I got you, Specs.” Roman’s breath ghosted over Logan’s ear. The Prince’s shorter stature allowed him to fit snugly against Logan’s side; if Roman turned his head, he could comfortably tuck his face into the crook of Logan’s neck.

Not…not that Logan imagined him doing any such thing.

Roman drew his sword with a metallic rasp, prompting Logan to pull out his screwdriver, and they set off across the floor.

It was a strange, vulnerable sensation, Logan thought, being this close to another, being forced to rely on him for direction…or maybe it was just that Roman’s Rose Tyler outfit left so much more skin on display than his usual royal attire…

To be fair, Roman’s bare arms and short skirt and leggings were the only non-blurry things in Logan’s line of sight at the moment.

“You know, I am not sure how much good a sword will do against a Dalek now,” Logan said dryly (to distract himself). “Since it would seem that the Imagination is now attempting to be realistic.”

“It’ll be a lot more useful than a screwdriver,” Roman retorted. “Honestly, the War Doctor had a point. The later seasons really do start to treat the sonic like a weapon, and it looks ridiculous. There’s an oily-looking puddle to your left.”

They dodged around it.

“The sonic screwdriver is an ingenious, multipurpose tool,” Logan argued. “Fitting for a character who is, at heart, a pacifist. In the right hands, it most certainly could serve as a weapon. For example one could scramble a Cyberman’s circuits, short out fuses, or calculate the precise amount of blunt force needed to take down an enemy.” Logan waved the hand with the screwdriver around them. “All things that a sword could not accomplish.”

“Sure,” Roman drawled, leading them around one of the still, silent Daleks, “but you don’t point a sonic at an oncoming Dalek and expect to survive. Even the Doctor had more sense than to try that. At least a sword could cut off its blaster arm.”

“We don’t know how strong Dalek amor is down here,” Logan pointed out. “You could end up breaking your sword and then where would we be?”

“Better off than we’d be while you assembled a cabinet at them!”

Logan’s foot collided with a metallic something that made an awful CLANG and went skittering across the floor. Roman pulled them up short, his face going pale.

All around them, round blue lights began to flicker on, one by one.

“I kicked the pipe, didn’t I?” Logan said, his heart starting to pound.

“You kicked the pipe,” Roman confirmed in a sick voice.

“EGGS…!” a crackly Dalek voice next to them stuttered, making them jump. “EG-EG-EG-EGGS…!” Its twin lights flashed erratically as it spoke.

“Roman,” Logan started.

“‘Eggs, you may laugh and that’s great…’” Roman sang in a wavering voice. “‘Your smiles are what make my day’…”

The Dalek rolled toward them creakily. “EEEEEGGS!”

Logan’s breathing sped up. Another Dalek rolled in from the other side, causing him to stumble. All around them, mechanical creaks and groans and a chorus of digitized voices rose up…

“EG…EG-EGGS…TERM…”

“Roman, I believe we need to run.” Logan could see the Dalek almost clearly now, its eyestalk glowing, its gunstick rising up.

“…IN…ATE…”

Blurry, flashing lights closed in.

“‘My self-worth’s fragile like an egg,’” Roman sang. The hand gripping Logan’s middle tightened painfully. “‘When it breaks it’s tough to put together again…’”

“EX…TERM…IN…ATE!”

“Roman!” Logan shouted. “Get us out of here!”

“EXTERMINATE!”

A blaster bolt warbled past and exploded over their heads.

Roman shuddered and seemed to snap out of it, seizing Logan’s arm and pulling him so hard he nearly fell. Logan staggered, hanging onto Roman’s hand for dear life as they ran, and ran, and blaster bolts burst at their feet and shattered around them.

“This way, boys and boys,” Remus’s voice sing-singed across the room. Roman yanked them hard in that direction.

“REMUS!” Roman shouted as they ran, and Logan was impressed he had the breath for it. “Remus, you better open that door like you’re supposed to or we are DEAD!”

“Oh, keep your pants on, brother,” Remus snarked, sounding a little closer. “Although maybe Logan would prefer that you didn’t—”

Whatever else he said wasn’t audible over a hanger full of jabbering Daleks and firing blasters.

They reached a wall and Roman shoved Logan down.

“Straight ahead, crawl. Go, go, go!” he said, turning and brandishing his sword.

Bless that Prince and his stupid, stupid bravery.

Logan went, nearly tripping over his coat as he crawled under the barely lifted hatch door. Once he was past the threshold Roman flung himself under and through, knocking into Logan and sending them both sliding across the floor.

There was a hiss and a heavy thud that Logan hoped was the door shutting behind them, and finally, blessed silence. They both leaned against the wall for a moment, catching their breath.

Roman thunked his head back.

“Jesus Christ Superstar,” he muttered.

“Your welcome.”

Remus’s voice crackled through the hallway. Roman growled and sat up straighter, looking around as if his brother would magically appear.

“I did just save your lives,” Remus added. From the direction of the sound, Logan guessed he was talking through a speaker somewhere on the far wall.

“Yeah, and I’m still gonna whip your butt when this is all over,” Roman groused.

“Oooh, do I get to choose the instrument?”

Roman sputtered, but Logan grabbed his arm before he could yell back.

“You know he just likes to get under your skin,” he murmured, and raised his voice. “Thank you for opening the door, Remus. We are grateful for your help.”

There was a silence on the other end, with a quality that Logan would have described as shocked.

“Well. You two lovebirds better move along,” Remus drawled finally, shrill as ever. “Before the Silurian army shows up.”

“Excuse me, the WHAT?” Logan exclaimed.

No answer.

“Remus!” Roman clambered to his feet and helped Logan up.

Nothing.

Except now that Logan was listening for it, he definitely heard approaching footsteps and murmuring, heavily-accented voices. And they were getting closer.

“That dick,” Roman grumbled through gritted teeth.

“To be fair, I think he is trying to help,” Logan pointed out. “In his own way.”

“Don’t be fair to my brother when he’s just led us out of the frying pan and into the fire.”

“We are neither in a pan nor on fire, Roman; I have never understood that saying—”

The lights dimmed and flashed an eerie purple; Roman silenced him with a hand over his mouth. There was a voice…not Remus’s, not alien, not like anything Logan had ever heard. It chanted something, over and over again, before fading out.

The lights flared back to normal.

Logan waited, counting Roman’s shallow breaths against his neck.

Nothing.

“What was that?” he asked softly.

“Beats the hell out of me,” Roman responded. “But I guess that’s our cue to go. Stay close, Mr. Magoo.”

Logan grumbled, but allowed Roman to recapture his hand and lead them in the opposite direction of the approaching footsteps…which had resumed the moment the purple light vanished.

Next time Roman asked him to come on an adventure, he was bringing a spare set of glasses.

9 notes · View notes

angst-fairygodmother · 4 years

Note

Scenario 18 and/or dialogue 23with Nathan and the Misfits crew might be fun?

A/N: I think I had a little too much fun with this one... Also if anyone wants recommendations for creepy carnival/circus music to add ambiance check the tags for my listening-list. Word Count: 4032 Content Warnings: death, murder, death threats, attempted murder, implied threat of sexual violence (very implied)

“Ugh,” you groaned, leaning on the railing outside the community center. “How long is that going to be there?”

The others looked to where you were gesturing to the bright colorful tents and flagpoles being set up on the far end of the park.

“The carnival is going to be in town for a week,” Simon said, shrugging. “It’s not so bad, although it does mean a lot more people around.”

“Yeah, but it’s a carnival. There’s halls of mirrors and kettle corn and candy floss,” Nathan listed off, sounding more excited than he usually let you all see. “And clowns!”

“I hate clowns,” you said with a shudder.

“Don’t act like you do,” Curtis muttered, casting a glance over at Nathan and rolling his eyes.

You glared before turning your attention to your boyfriend, who had decided to take up his usual antics and was hanging over the rail by his knees (and one hand which he tried to hide) like he was trying to be a trapeze artist and hassling Kelly, who kept threatening to push him over into the lake.

“Nathan Young, this lake is worse than the Bog of Eternal Stench, and if you end up in it, I’m not shagging you for a week,” you called over.

He shot up instantly, almost losing his balance in his scramble to get not only off the rail but as far from it as he could, as if the water could reach up and drag him in. Suddenly his attention was caught by a poster on the nearby column and he wandered over to it. Curious, you all followed, leaning around to read the bright purple page.

‘Raven Brothers’ Carnival and Sideshow! Now hiring local performers with unique talents to be featured in our show!’

“We should totally do it,” Nathan said. “I mean with our powers, we’ll be a hit.”

“Mine’s not exactly one I want to be showing off,” Alisha pointed out, flinching at the thought, “so I’ll pass.”

“Fair point, what about the rest of us?” Nathan looked around the group, none of you particularly keen on the idea of using your powers like cheap tricks, especially not so close to home where you were sure to be seen by loved ones and neighbors.

“No,” Simon said, shaking his head determinedly. “It’s not right. We shouldn’t abuse our powers like that.”

Well, it wasn’t quite the voice of reason you were hoping for, but it was close, so you half-heartedly agreed.

“Well I’m going to anyway. It says ‘cash paid.’” Nathan snapped, trying to play off his hurt that you had all sided against him off as nonchalance.

“Nathan…” you sighed, curling your fingers around his bicep, only to be shrugged off as he stormed in the direction of the carnival.

“It’ll be fine...right?” you asked the others, a bit fearfully. No one answered you, Kelly and Alisha casting you sympathetic glances and Curtis shrugging before all four of them turned back to gather their things and carry on with work for the day.

“The Playhouse?” Nathan read the sign above the red structure that had been erected with surprising speed given how sturdy it looked. “Kinky.”

He had followed the signs, and then the crowd of freaks, here so that he could audition. But now that he was here...he fidgeted, running a hand through his unruly hair.

He wasn’t nervous exactly, he told himself, trying to maintain his bravado even as an internal monologue. He just wished Y/N was here, to give him a kiss for luck. Not that he needed luck when he had charm and natural talent. He just liked the excuse to kiss her. Yeah, that was it.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the little black door open and strode into the dim, velvet-lined interior. He had to admit, it was spookier than he expected a carnival to be, but maybe that was just because it wasn’t all done up and lit yet.

“Hello,” an airy voice called to him. “Are you here for the auditions?”

His eyes fell to the small, dark haired woman at the front of the room, sitting in front of a raised stage. She had a clipboard in her hands and a very glittery tophat perched off-kilter on her head. “I’m the Head Floozy, I run all the stage performances and the carousel.” She offered him a brilliant grin.

He frowned, puzzled by her title, especially given that she certainly wasn’t dressed like a floozy in her loose jeans and bulky turtleneck sweater. Not that he would have noticed if she was. Because he had Y/N and would never look elsewhere when she was right there. But she wasn’t right there…

He shook his head, pulling his thoughts back to the woman who now raised her eyebrows questioningly at him.

“Oh, yeah. I am,” he answered, once again trying to play up the bravado.

“Great! I love how many young people are still performers at heart! What’s your name and your talent so I can add you to my list.”

“Nathan. Nathan Young,” he smirked. “And I’m immortal.”

“Sorry what?”

“I’m immortal. I’ve got this weird power from a freak storm and now whenever I die, I just come back to life. It’s great!”

She stared at him for a moment. “Well then, Nathan Nathan Young,” her voice held a hint of something dangerous under its lightness. “You just moved up to the first slot. Why don’t you hope up there on that stage and show me what you’ve got.”

“Oh…” he hadn’t thought about the fact that they’d want a demonstration. Too late now… “Well, of course! But I need some way to die first.”

“That won’t be a problem. You just hope on up and I’ll take care of the rest.”

Nathan climbed onto the stage. The woman pulled a wicked looking knife out of seemingly nowhere. She pulled her arm back and Nathan felt a jolt of regret, and pain as the knife embedded itself in his gut.

He sank to his knees with a wheezing groan.

A few moments later he woke with a gasp, his eyes flying open to find the Head Floozy standing over him, the knife (still covered in his blood) in her hand.

“Welcome back,” she chirped, a bright grin on her painted lips.

She reached her free hand out to offer him help up. He decided not to take it, and her eyes narrowed but the smile never disappeared.

“You are definitely in. But, Nathan Nathan Young, do you have any friends with cool talents like yours?”

“Sure. My mate Kelly can read minds, and the weird kid, Barry, can make himself invisible. And my girlfriend…” he trailed off, your disapproving frown flashing across his mind.

“Whatever her power is, you can surprise me with it later,” the Floozy waved her hand dismissively.

“What?” He frowned.

She locked eyes with him, her face growing serious. “Bring them to me.” The command sounded nothing like her normal voice.

Nathan’s eyes went glassy for a moment and he found himself unable to resist, not wanting to even, before the world came back into focus.

“What was that?” he asked, having not heard what the woman said after asking if anyone else had powers.

“Oh nothing!” That bubbly trill was going to get annoying fast, he thought. “Just be sure you’re here first thing tomorrow for rehearsal. We don’t have much time before the Grand Opening!”

After Nathan left the room, the Floozy turned to a man who had been watching from the shadows.

“This will be the Greatest Show Ever!” she exclaimed.

“Yes, a trick like that is sure to bring in the crowds,” he replied. “It might let us be stable for a while, not worry about it.”

A few days later, things were still tense between you and Nathan, and the others had convinced you that you should all go to the carnival, to support him and also just have some fun. It would be nice to have a change from just drinking at the bar or sitting around eating bad pizza for a change.

“I just want to state again for the record that I hate this, and if a clown comes at me, I’m punching first and asking questions never,” you protested weakly as the group strolled up to the ticket line. “And if it goes all Something Wicked This Way Comes, I will say I told you so.”

Even you had to admit that, all lit up in rainbow lights, with pennants fluttering in the breeze, and tasty smells and cheerful music floating out, the carnival did look pretty inviting.

“Five with Nathan Young?” Alisha asked the ticket attendant pleasantly.

The heavily face-painted man in the booth smiled. “Right this way. VIP treatment for all of you. These wristbands will let you skip the lines and get you a free funnel cake!” He ushered each of you over and you reached your hand over the counter to have the blue paper bracelet taped on.

“And which one of you is the girlfriend?”

You raised your hand meekly.

“Ooh, good taste Mr. Young has!” the man exclaimed. “Come with me, young lady. Nathan has a special treat for you.”

“Eugh, gross,” Curtis muttered and the ticket attendant gave him a funny look before an exaggerated look of shock crossed his face.

“Oh, no! I didn’t mean it like that! Although I’ve only known him a week and I’d say he probably had it on his mind while arranging this…”

You flushed hotly.

“Let’s just...stop talking,” you pleaded. “You guys go ahead, I’ll catch up with you for funnel cakes later.”

The ticket attendant slapped a little cardboard sign on his booth to let the crowds know he’d be back later and led you away, winding confusingly through the crowds.

“So where are we going?” you asked.

He shook his head. “I promised not to tell.”

Eventually, you were brought to a stop near the base of the ferris wheel. “Wait here.”

You nodded and the attendant disappeared, melting into the sea of people around almost as if he’d never been there. The minutes dragged on. You tapped your foot impatiently. If you were going to be here, you wanted to at least get to explore the show, not wait around for your chronically late boyfriend.

Suddenly a hand tapped you on the shoulder and you jumped, spinning around angrily, only to find laughing green eyes staring down at you, peeking out from behind a potted flower.

“Nathan! Don’t scare me like that!” you shouted. You probably would have slapped him on the shoulder if it didn’t threaten to make him drop the plant.

“I was gonna do a bouquet, but I thought you might like something alive more,” he explained, holding it out for him. You took it, carefully, noticing that the clay was painted the exact shade of his eyes and had both your initials painted on it.

“That’s sweet, Nathan,” you sighed, instantly forgiving him. “Although I don’t know what I’m going to do with a marigold all night…”

“Ye can keep in my dressin room and then we’ll get it at the end o’ the night.”

“Is this just an excuse to get me back to your dressing room for a quick shag?”

“No! I would never!” he pressed a hand to his chest in mock horror. “Unless ye wanted to…Actually I was gonna take you on a romantic ferris wheel ride but it took me longer t’ get here then it was s’posed to. So I gotta get back for the show...you’re comin right?”

“I don’t know Nathan…” you bit your lip apologetically. “You know I hate watching you die…”

“Please?” he whined, giving you those irresistible puppy dog eyes. “I need my best girl…”

“I had better be your only girl,” you said warningly before sighing. “Alright, fine. Lead the way.”

There was something strange going on. You were sure of it. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled as the lights in the theater dropped to signal the beginning of the show. And as much as you wanted it to be, it wasn’t just because carnivals creeped you out as a rule.

You couldn’t shake the feeling, even as you tried to enjoy the performances. And then your powers twinged and you looked down to see the marigold, balanced on your lap because you hadn’t had time to stash it before finding your seat, was wilting rapidly before your very eyes.

The MC - a short, frighteningly pale woman with very little clothing and a very glittery top hat - came out on stage to announce the next act in her high, breathy voice that sounded better suited for a sex hotline. The clapping audience sounded smaller than it had in the beginning. The man came out, juggling a collection of fruits. You glanced at the person beside you and had to clap a hand over your mouth to stifle a scream. He was mummified!

You scrambled out of your seat, dropping the marigold corpse. The shattering of the pot against the laminated wood floor drew more eyes than you would have liked, but fewer than there should have been in the crowd. In particular, there was a man, dressed all in black, with a cold, cruel stare watching you now from the shadows at the edge of the stage. A shiver ran down your spine.

“Get her.” The MC called out in a voice that radiated power.

Everyone in the room moved toward you. Several performers came out from the wings, moving toward you. A familiar curly head appeared among them, moving toward you. Ice filled your veins and your stomach dropped like lead.

You ran.

You were panting and out of breath, cheeks stained with tears and desperate by the time you collided with the others, all standing around a bucket of kettle corn and watching a fire dancer.

“Oh thank god,” you cried, not caring that you had crashed directly into Curtis who had caught you in confusion and was staring.

“Y/N?” Kelly asked, confusion making her accent thicker. “Wot the fock happened to you.”

“Mummified...at the sideshow....evil...Nathan...mind control...have to…” you gasped, trying to explain around terror and exertion and your own heavy dose of confusion.

“Slow down, I can’t understand ya.”

You took a few deep breaths and finally pulled away from Curtis, who shrugged when you tried to apologize. You explained what you had seen and they all stared.

“I think having the plant with me saved my life, like my power used it to take the draining effect instead of me,” you concluded, sort of proud of it and sort of hoping you were wrong and imagining the whole ordeal.

“We have to save Nathan,” Simon stated matter-of-factly. “And stop the carnival from killing more people.”

“There could be more of them though. Everyone here could have powers and be in on it,” Alisha pointed out. “We should just go to the police.”

“Like they’ll believe us? They’ll book us all on suspicion for drugs,” Curtis countered, earning a dirty look from his ex-girlfriend.

“I’m with Simon. We have to try at least,” you said eventually.

The five of you settled on a plan and headed back to the Playhouse, not noticing the extra figure following in the shadows behind.

The crowd was gone when you arrived and the building was dark.

“Shit, they must be scattered looking for ya,” Kelly whispered, all of you hiding just in case.

“Well then maybe we should let them find me,” you gritted your teeth, suggesting a new plan which involved you being bait for a trap.

Running back to the entrance, you spoke to the friendly ticket attendant again, finding out that the two people you described were The Floozy and Lloyd Raven, the two people who basically ran the show.

“Great. Does this PA system broadcast to the whole carnival ground?”

“Yeah, why?” he asked.

“I need to borrow it.” Before he could say anything you grabbed the microphone, pressing the little button to activate it.

“This is a message for The Floozy and Lloyd,” you called, hearing your voice echo tinnily over the speakers everywhere, cutting off the bouncy music. “Give me back my fuckin boyfriend or else!”

Then you thanked the attendant and made for the wide main lane. Nearby you spotted your friends in the shadows of a booth and took up your position. Alisha pointed to the booth, calling your attention not to the dart game, but the array of prizes: marigolds, succulents, peace lilies, and tiny philodendrons. You smirked. It might be their carnival, but you had a perfect counter to their home field advantage.

A few moments later, the pair came strolling out of the crowd, Nathan walking placidly and stiffly between them.

“Hello there,” the man, Lloyd, purred, tipping his purple velvet hat to you as they stopped, right at the perfect spot.

“A fucking goatee?” you asked. “Really? Why not just wear a sign that says ‘I’m a villain’?”

“I don’t think you have much room to criticize my appearance dear. At least I have fashion, and the sense not to try threatening someone while wearing denim or ripped tights.”

“Let Nathan go.” You glared at them, reaching your powers out.

“But he’s ever so pretty,” the Floozy chirruped. “And would be so much fun to play with. Hey Lloyd, what if you fed off the immortal boy instead of the crowd?”

“I could sustain myself forever, and I just might. But it does so lack panache.”

Kelly looked ready to leap out at the Floozy. Curtis and Alisha were watching you for a sign that you needed them. Simon was nowhere in sight.

“Let. Him. Go. Now.”

“Oh fine,” Lloyd sighed dramatically, turning his head to the Floozy. “You know what to do dear.”

Her smile practically dripped venom as she leaned down to whisper something in Nathan’s ear. He started walking toward you, still stiff and glassy-eyed. You swallowed nervously, taking a step back. He increased his pace, running at you, hands outstretched, and definitely not for a hug.

And then suddenly he jerked to a stop in seemingly midair. You nodded in thanks to Simon, or where you approximated he was.

The grating sound of ‘Entry of the Gladiators’ blared over the speakers.

“Fucking cliche,” you muttered, just as the first strands of trailing vine wrapped around the Floozy’s ankle.

From there it was quick work to launch your attack, every little plant rising up to attack the two, subduing them and leaving them suspended upside down. Somehow their hats stayed on and irrationally it made you hate them more.

“Release him, and everyone else from your stupid mind control,” you ordered once more.

The rest of your friends had joined you by your sides, including a now-visible Simon who was still holding back Nathan, with aid of Kelly, to keep him from trying to throttle you.

“No,” she hissed.

“You know, we’ve figured out that when people die, it stops their power,” Alisha pointed out. You all whipped your heads around to stare, not expecting that suggestion to come from her of all people.

“I can handle that,” an unknown voice said.

“Who the fuck said that?” Curtis snapped, looking around.

Meanwhile you absently shook the pair around by their binding vines, determined to knock at least one hat off without actually touching it.

“Me,” the firedancer from earlier said, stepping forward. “They killed my sister at their last show, so I hunted them down here. I would have introduced myself earlier, but you didn’t really give me a chance.”

Maybe after we’re done here you can heat things up with him, you suggested internally to Kelly, noticing the way her eyes roamed over the stranger.

She rolled her eyes at you, smiling.

“I was just going to use my power to smother them, but if you want to have a go, be my guest,” you said, gesturing invitingly to them.

You watched a ball of flame flicker in his hand.

“Oh!” you cried out, surprised that he had a power too.

Simon looked nervous, probably about the number of powers gathered in one place.

“Hey, you should use that talent to cause a tragic accident over at the Playhouse,” you said, off-handedly, hoping he would pick up on the suggestion of using a fire to cover up a mass murder.

He flashed you a smirk. “I like the way you think. But first, them. If you care about those greens, you might want to withdraw.”

“Nah they’re...actually wait, I really wanna do something first.”

“This’s for threatening Nathan,” you growled. “And don’t think I don’t know what you meant.”

You narrowed your eyes, honing all your focus in on the Floozy. You whipped her up, high into the air and dropped her quickly down, jerking short just before she smacked into the ground. The stupid hat finally tumbled off her hair as she cried out in pain from the whiplash you had most definitely caused.

You grinned victoriously, and maybe a little manically if the looks the others gave you was any judge.

“Go ahead, I’m satisfied now.”

A few moments later, as the bodies burned, Nathan finally slumped, nearly knocking Simon to the ground as he became dead weight. Then he stirred.

“Where am I? What happened?” he asked, looking wildly around.

“Still at the carnival. You were mind controlled,” Simon explained, helping him right himself.

“It’s a long story,” Kelly added.

“Y/N! Are you alright?” he asked, hurrying over to you and cupping your cheeks between his graceful hands.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said. “How do you always end up the damsel in distress?”

He shrugged and flashed you a flirtatious smirk. “It’s because I’m so goddamn beautiful.”

“Hate to break up the party, but you should go so I can torch this place,” the firedancer said.

You all nodded, making your way to the entrance.

“Hey wait, where is everybody?” Nathan asked.

“I got them evacuated before we set our trap. The second time,” Curtis said, nonchalant.

“But not the people at the show?” you asked.

He shrugged. “I didn’t go back that far. You know how it is.”

Later, the six of you, plus one firedancer (Andrew he was apparently called) lounged against the rail, passing around a joint and watching the flames of the carnival lick at the night sky, reflecting beautifully in the lake. The fire department would be there soon, and until then, Andrew assured you, it wouldn’t spread past the farthest tents. All in all, it wasn’t a bad end to the night.

“Hey, Y/N, can I talk to ya?” Nathan asked, pulling you aside.

“Are you alright Nathan?” you asked, concerned that the mind control had some lingering effect.

“Hm? Yeah. I just...tonight was s’posed to be special and I fucked that up,” he started, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “But I wanted you to know anyway, I think I’m in love with you.”

“What?! Nathan, tonight has been a mess. You tried to kill me!” You cried incredulously.

“That wasn’t my fault! You said yourself I was mind controlled,” he whined guiltily, dropping his voice as the others looked over curiously. “And it’s still how I feel…”

You sighed. It was no fun giving him a hard time if it made him actually feel bad.

“I love you too, you idiot,” you said, threading your arms around his neck and idly toying with a curl.

He grinned a wide, dopey grin. “I knew it. I mean I am pretty irresistible.”

You rolled your eyes. Before you could say anything though, his lips were on yours and he had pressed you back against the brick wall. You moaned softly into the kiss as your tongues battled for dominance, and all your witty comebacks were forgotten.

“By the way,” you said when he finally pulled back, reluctantly, for air. “I told you so. Carnivals. are. always. evil.”

#Listening List: Something Wicked This Way Comes - Vernian Process. Circus Apocalyse - Vermillion Lies. Entry of the Gladiators.#I basically just had those three on loop #also Uncle Raven's Super Happy Funtime Carnival (album)#Nathan Young x reader #horror prompts #Halloween prompts #Misfits fic #I LOVE creepy carnivals so...#that's why I went so hard on this fic #and basically wrote a whole ass episode #also I had a lot of fun dropping references to various other medias and things

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some-cookie-crumbz · 4 years

Note

Pidge and Keith, Hogwarts au, strangers to lovers, “are you sure this is legal”.

So I had to do some research for this one because, admittedly, my familiarity with Harry Potter is actually kinda limited! Hopefully this fic is still a good one, though!

It was an accident.

He’d been half asleep when the rapping on the window of his room started up. It had taken him a second to realize that he wasn’t dreaming and that there was, in fact, a shadowy figure looming outside his window. He had seized up his wand from his bedside table, ready to unleash the full fury of his patronus, before a flicker of light came from the shadow, the flicker of blue and bronze fabric just visible in the pale glow of what had to be a wand. “Lance, come on! We’re running out of time!” A quiet voice hissed before the window rattled again.

He pushed himself out of bed, walked over, and threw his window open. “What?” he seethed back, pointing at them with his wand.

The other jerked back with a startled squawk, hovering backwards slightly on their broom, before they cocked their head and shifted closer again. “You’re not Lance,” they said, bright amber eyes glinting in a mix of surprise and offense. As if they were somehow put off by him not being who they expected.

“No, I’m not,” he said back flatly, slowly lowering his wand. He titled his head as he looked the Ravenclaw student up and down, decked out in their full robes and uniform still. “As far as I’m aware, he was studying with some girl in Hufflepuff. But he still hasn’t come back.”

Their eye twitched slightly. “Seriously? I told him when we were meeting up before dinner!” they growled, throwing their arms up. They then reached back down and quickly grabbed their broomstick again when it wobbled and swayed under them. They looked back up at him and titled their head again, lower lip jutting out slightly. “You’re Keith Kogane, right?”

He blinked a bit in surprise before narrowing his eyes again. “We aren’t even in the same House. How do you know my name?”

Their eyes sparked with delight, a mischievous grin turning up on their lips. “I have my way of knowing things,” they drawled out. Then, they indicated the forest with a nod of their head. “Any interest in joining me for a late night fly? Maybe see if we can see some real nocturnal rarities?”

“I don’t even know your name,” he scoffed, turning with the intent of going back to bed.

“I’m Katie, but everyone calls me Pidge. There, now you know who I am! You in or what?” He stopped and turned to stare at her over his shoulder. He had heard of Pidge before; they said she was an absolutely feral cretin with a disciplinary list that would make the proudest pranksters flush. She was said to be an outcast even in her own House, which was strange to think about. After all, he’d never heard of a Ravenclaw that was too eccentric to get along with the other Ravenclaws, at the very least. “I know what they say about you, you know. About how you’re a real short-fuse, how you don’t belong here, how you’re madder than a hatter.” He glared harder but her smile didn’t falter in the slightest.

“Let me guess; you think having a loose canon like me around would be fun, right?” he sneered back at her.

“Not at all; I just figured it’d be nice to invite you since, you know, I kinda work you up for nothing if you don’t come along. I think the rumors are funny. Especially the people spreading them around like gospel. It’s funny how the people that say that kind of stuff are the ones that don’t try half as hard. Don’t you think so, Keith?”

Yup, this girl was definitely an strange pigeon. But... He couldn’t find himself mind as much as he probably should. He paused to look at her skeptically. “And what do you know about how hard I try?”

“I told you before; I have my ways of knowing things,” she hummed again, blinking expectantly at him.

He took a deep breath before nodding. “Okay, fine. Give me two seconds to just get dressed," he said.

She flashed him a huge grin that screamed she knew he’d end up agreeing. He took the time to get dressed in his usual school robes, swiped his broom up and headed back to the window. She pulls back and to the side a bit so he can get properly settled in the air on his broom. Once she deems him ready, she took off towards the Forbidden Forest.

He was quick to follow after her. “What are you even looking to accomplish?” he asked as he leveled out beside her.

“There’s a mother griffin and her chicks hiding in the forest!” she said happily. It was then he noticed two sacks tied to the end of her broom, close to the bristles. One of them seemed to be empty while the other was a bit fatter with goods. “I think I know where they’re at, so I want to see if I can get some research done on them! Not a whole lot is known about griffin family dynamics, you know? So I thought ‘Oh, well, that could be a fun little bit of learning to gain!’, you know?”

He blinked in surprise. He hadn’t been expecting that kind of reasoning, or how enthusiastic she was about it. He perked up as she banked off to the left then frowned. “But, wait, why were you talking Lance with you? That guy spends most of his time sleeping in class,”

“It was a trade because he wanted a picture of him holding one of the chicks. Said it would help him with girls or something,” she snorted.

“A trade? What did you get him to do in order to owe him a solid?”

Her cheeky grin widened before reaching back into one of her bags and pulling out a few Wildfire Whiz-bangs from inside. She waggled them in the open air between them. “A little something to distract Professor Iverson and the others. It would be really unfortunate if they came snooping around to make sure everyone was asleep and realized we were missing, after all,” she chimed. She led him over towards the tower where the professors slept. “You know a fire spell to light these suckers up?”

He started at the fireworks. Shiro was going to be furious with him once he found out what he was doing. It had been a good few weeks since Keith had done anything that warranted locking him up in the Hell that was detention. Just three hours of trying to do boring busy work while Iverson prattled on about applying himself and squandering his potential. “Will they know it was us?” he asked, but he was already reaching for his wand in the sleeve of his robe.

“As long as we spread these out a little bit to keep them distracted, no way. And even if they did find out, I’d take the fall for it alone,” she shrugged before offering one to him. She flew beside the building, carefully peering inside. They could see Iverson poised inside, reading a book, with his back to the window. She moved carefully to push it open just far enough to allow the firework to be shoved through.

Keith lit it, tossed it, and they both had to rush away to keep from cackling at the shrieks of their professor once the firework started to do its thing. They deposited the other few quietly enough and both fell into hysterical laughter once they were far enough away to be safe. Amber eyes lit up and stared at him with delight and warmth, something he wasn’t really used to. Most of the other students - regardless of house - had nothing but contempt and irritation to offer him. The only person who had ever been particularly kind to him at Hogwarts was Shiro and part of him got the sinking suspicion that was more from a position of pity.

But there was no pity in Pidge’s eyes. Nothing but amusement and excitement about what they were still to do. He decided that he liked her, strange as she was. He could see himself getting comfortable hanging around an odd Ravenclaw like her.

Plus, the griffin chicks were absolutely adorable.

#crumbles grumbles #Keidge #Kidge #Peith #Kidgemas #my fics #I've seen like half the movies #And I took the official sorting quiz - Hufflepuffle yo! - BUT #I had to consult Professor Google for some help with this one #And that's also why this is a bit on the shorter side for fics #I'm sorry for that

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moongazer606 · 4 years

Text

Who Are You Calling Old? Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 1914

Warnings: alcohol consumption

Summary: Part two!! It’s been a few weeks, but you finally have another run-in with Bucky at the bar.

Part One

Tags: @palaiasaurus64 @thenewlarislynn @calspalkira

In an effort to not feel like a stalker, you decided to actively avoid looking up Bucky Barnes online. You didn’t want to see any paparazzi photos of him and the other Avengers, you didn’t want to know which small country they had saved now, or what restaurants they were visiting or what clothes they were seen buying. You just wanted Bucky to be the cute guy you had maybe kind of flirted with at the bar a few weeks ago.

You hadn’t seen him, or Captain America, at the bar since. A small part of you missed him. Or at least missed being able to glance over at him as you played darts with your friends. He was easy on the eyes, that’s for sure. You supposed if you did happen to look him up, you’d find some explanation for his absence. Maybe the Avengers had moved back down to New York City, or maybe he was in Europe somewhere. However, no matter how tempted you were, you never did look him up.

Every so often Jess would catch you scanning the bar for the man and tease you. None of your other friends really knew about your interaction with the celebrity. It had only been a brief encounter really, yet somehow, almost a month later you were still thinking about him.

It was just another Friday night. You and your friends had already been here for a few hours and you were many drinks in. Your cheeks were flushed and you were laughing a little too hard at everyone’s jokes. You were standing with your friends, your gin and tonic in one hand, and a dart in the other. You had just thrown your first two darts and were lining up to take your last shot.

Just as you released the dart, Jess leaned in and whispered in your ear, “Don’t look now but someone is checking you out from the bar.”

Before the dart had even met its mark, you whipped around to look for him. Your eyes landed on him almost immediately. He was sitting on the same stool at the bar, though this time he was turned to face the dartboards, his elbows back on the bartop.

“I told you not to look!” Jess hissed.

You were too busy smiling at Bucky to notice Jess now. You turned around briefly to check that your last dart had hit center before announcing you were going for another drink. You heard Jess suggest that maybe you had had enough to drink, but you just kept walking.

Bucky’s eyes were on you the whole way as you focused very hard on not tripping in the heels you were wearing. While you walked you realized that he had his hair pulled back tonight with the barest hint of 5 o’clock shadow. No matter what, you’d find him attractive, you thought. Especially because with his hair back it gave you an even better view of those steel blue eyes. When you got to the bar, you hopped up on the stool next to him and he turned to face the bartop.

“What’s a girl gotta do to buy you a drink?” you asked with a grin.

“And here I was going to buy you one,” he smiled back, crooked and boyish.

You scoffed jokingly. “So old fashioned. This is the 21st century you know, old man.”

“Do men in the 21st century usually buy drinks for girls who haven’t introduced themselves first?” You could see him smiling into his glass as he took a sip of the clear liquid.

“Might I point out you haven’t introduced yourself either? In fact, the first time you spoke to me you were making fun of my drink order.”

He turned his body slightly to face you, and held out his hand for you to shake. “I’m James Barnes, but my friends call me Bucky.”

“I know,“ you smirked, putting your hand in his. His hand absolutely dwarfed yours, somehow making you feel even smaller next to the super soldier.

“And yet I still don’t know your name.”

You thought about teasing him some more, but decided to just introduce yourself instead. He gave your hand a solid shake, repeating your name out loud. You liked the way it sounded in his deep timbre.

At that moment, Max finally made his way over to the pair of you. It took your alcohol muddled mind a moment to realize you still had your hand in Bucky’s. You quickly snatched it away and turned to smile at Max.

“Another gin and tonic, please,” Bucky ordered. You were about to protest when he nodded his head towards you, continuing, “And for the lady?”

“I think it’s time I switched to water, Max. Thank you.”

As soon as Max was out of ear shot you turned back to Bucky, giving him a shit eating grin as you leaned your chin on your fist. He looked at you before facing forward again. “What, doll?”

“I thought only old people drank gin these days,” you mimicked his words from the night you met.

Before he could answer, Jess came up to you. You could tell she was trying to remain perfectly casual in Bucky’s presence, her eyes darting to him every so often, as she told you they were all going to head out. “You’ll be okay, right?”

“Max is bringing me a water as we speak, I’ll be just fine, Jess.” You saw her eyes dart to Bucky again. “Bucky, this is Jess. Jess, this is Bucky,” you quickly introduced.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Bucky told her as they shook hands. You noted that their handshake was significantly shorter than the one you had shared.

For a moment you thought Jess was going to say something more to him but instead she turned back to you, gave you a quick hug, and went to rejoin the rest of your friends where they waited near the door. You raised your hand in farewell before they all filed out.

When you turned back around, you noticed that Max had brought your drinks. You took a few large gulps of your water before spinning in the stool so you were fully facing Bucky. “So?” you prompted.

“Still on me about the gin?” he questioned taking a sip of it.You nodded your head with a grin. “I know you know who I am now. Which means you also know I wasn’t lying when I said I was old and didn’t look it- unlike some people.”

“You have to admit it tastes better than a scotch and soda though, right?”

“It sure does,” he winked, raising his class to you. You gently bumped your water glass against his, before you both drained their contents. When he called Max over you thought he was going to order another round, but instead he paid both his tab and yours.

“I was supposed to be buying you a drink!” you protested.

“Maybe next time, doll,” he assured you, tossing a few extra bills on the bartop for good measure. You raised your eyebrows at the prospect of a “next time”. “Let’s get you home.”

“I live just down the road,” you told him as you both stood from the stools.

“Let me walk you. It’s late.”

He gave you a crooked smile that you couldn’t help but return with a nod. As you both made your way to the door, he gently guided you with a hand at the small of your back. Once outside, he pulled his hand away, but stayed close beside you. He was close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off of him and part of you wished he’d touch you again. Between the water and the cool night air, your head was starting to clear a bit.

Even in your heels you had to tilt your head up to look at him. You could see him scanning the surrounding area as you walked in a comfortable silence. At this time of night there was no one else around. You had never felt unsafe walking home from the bar, but it was nice to have the security of a hulking super soldier next to you.

Your apartment, which was above a place that claimed to buy and sell gold, was only a few blocks from Shade’s, and you were there faster than you wanted to be. You stopped in front of the door that led up to your apartment, and turned to face Bucky.

“Thank you for walking me back.”

As you looked up at him now, alone on the empty street, the only light came from a nearby streetlamp and a neon sign in the shop window. You became hyper-aware of just how alone the two of you were now, and just how quiet the street was after the bustle of the bar. You could hear Bucky’s shoes scrape on the pavement as he took a hesitant step towards you.

He reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and then left his hand there to cup your jaw. Without thinking you took a step forward, closing the distance between you. You placed your hands on his broad shoulders to steady yourself as he brought his lips down to yours. The kiss was gentle and soft, like he was afraid of breaking you. He pulled back after just a moment, those steel blue eyes meeting yours. Your eyes flicked down to his lips before making eye contact once more.

That seemed to be the only que he needed before leaning back in for another kiss. He seemed more sure of himself now, your lips moving together in perfect sync. He wrapped his arms securely around your waist as you clung to his shoulders. This time when he pulled away you were both breathless and grinning. You rested your foreheads together as you tried to catch your breath.

“I’ve been thinking about doing that for weeks,” you admittedly shyly, your voice barely above a whisper.

You felt more than heard him chuckle. “Yeah, me too, doll.”

After a few more moments you let go of each other so you could fish your keys out of your purse.

“I’d invite you up, but I don’t think your old fashioned sensibilities would allow it,” you joked as your shaking hands managed to unlock the door. You turned back to face him.

“I’ve got work in the morning anyway, but maybe we can grab dinner sometime this week?” he asked, a little bashful. “I’ll even let you pay if you want.”

Having a sudden thought, you reached your hand back into your purse, pulling out a Sharpie. You held your hand out expectantly to him. He looked a bit confused before placing his hand in yours. As neat as you could, you scrawled your number on his forearm. “Call me sometime and we’ll set it up.”

He gave your hand a squeeze before releasing it. “Alright. Well goodnight, doll.”

“Goodnight, Bucky.” You leaned forward and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

With a grin, he shoved his hands into his pockets and turned to walk back in the direction of the bar. When he was about a block away he turned and raised a hand in farewell. You did the same before finally going inside. You were still grinning like an idiot as you climbed into bed and fell asleep.

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thenameisel · 3 years

Text

(It's been years since I wrote, but this game, well, gave the inspiration to do so again. So if it's a little long, and I tend to write on mobile... so forgive me. :) )

The Titan walked along the pebbled shoreline, an orange thermos in hand. It was a particularly large thermos, of the kind one uses to carry enough beverage of choice for multiple people. But in the Titan's hand it looked perfectly normal. An oversized thermos in an oversized hand.

A Ghost glittering golden floated sedately along side, occasionally pausing to scan a particularly interesting pebble.

The sun had not quite yet set, however thick clouds threatening rain obscured the little light remaining, making for quite a dreary evening.

Ahead, a half dozen Fallen bickered over a collection of washed up junk, looking for anything salvageable. Each in turn looked up from their work, eyeing the newcomer warily. Their movements were fluid, but jumpy. A weird bobbing grace. Suddenly, all heads come up in unison, many hands reaching for almost as many weapons.

The Titan snorted a short laugh as the Ghost vanished. "We're not interested in your junk. Just let us pass."

Either the Fallen didn't understand, or, more likely, had no reason to trust the statement. After all, what Guardian would walk past a group of humanity's foes without beating them to a pulp? One of them took a step forward, lifting a lance into an aggressive position. The Titan sighed, shrugged in mild disappointment and looked around for a flatish rock. Finding one, a hand came up in a classic 'one moment' gesture, and the thermos was placed on the rock with the utmost care.

As the Titan stood upright, the massive hands started to spark with Arc energy.

"Allrighty. Let's do this."

Further along, up in a nook on a bluff, a Hunter lay in wait for prey. There had been a tip off about a smuggling ring making a trade somewhere in this area, and a master of shadows had been sent to intercept it. Once in the area, a suspicious beacon had led to a particular stretch of beach, and an inlet hidden by tall rock walls, with plenty of nooks someone could hide in.

One such had proven particularly useful. It was a good perch, well up above the small sheltered area, just enough space to lay prone. Dressed all in dark colors, the figure was almost invisible in the fading light. A matte black Ghost rested beside, a single eye as intent on the empty beach below as the Hunter's two. Rifle in hand, the pair lay in wait for something to happen. When it did, it most certainly wasn't what they were expecting.

"Those Fallen down the beach are making noise again." The Ghost whispered. "Something's got them mad."

"Think it's the smugglers?"

"Maybe."

So they settled in to wait again, but the noise got loud enough that the two could pick out distinct words. "No, not the smugglers." The Ghost said disappointed. "Their clamering about killing someone."

The Hunter groaned, face in the dirt. "Ok. I guess we should go see what's going on. If someone needs help..." The statement remained unfinished.

A soft glow emitted from the Ghost as it gained height, and the Hunter stretched muscles sore from laying in wait. Suddenly the noise from the Fallen was punctured by the crack of Arc energy, and the outline of the inlet's entrance was lit with blue light. The noise of Fallen gunfire returned the assault.

"Damn it. That's going to warn off the smugglers."

"Oh look on the bright side!" The Ghost chipped in cheerfully.

"And what would that be?"

"I think I know who that is!"

Another groan and the Hunter, head shaking, jumped out of the nook to the beach below. The Ghost chirped happily and followed. There had been the beginnings of a smile on the Guardian's face after all. They may have lost their intended prey, but one of another kind had just blundered into their sights.

The Titan continued down the shoreline, thermos in hand. Behind, a half dozen Fallen lay, a few barely clinging to life. The remains of the Arc onslaught sparked among the scrap.

"There's an inlet up around the next bluff" the Ghost said, popping back into reality, "I'm picking up a faint beacon. It's not one of ours."

"Oh?" The Titan said, "That sounds interesting. Shall we take a peek?"

The Ghost made a simple affirmative sounding tone, then paused. After a moment a second, slightly more complex and happier sounding tone was emitted, before vanishing in a flurry of sparks.

The Titan chuckled quietly. That Ghost tended to be a somber fellow, and that was practically joy. So something was definitely up.

The bluff ahead jutted almost out into the water, only a narrow band of large rockfall skirted it with just enough pebble shore to pass. Good spot for an ambush. Not that something like an ambush was concerning to a Titan. But it wasn't to be, and the way was uneventful. However, there had been a distinct feeling of being watched. But that wasn't a bother either.

Round the corner, and into the deeper gloom of the inlet. A few strides in and visibility was getting very poor. The Titan methodically peered into the shadows, though there really wasn't much use, as the day was ending and the black of night was coming fast. An oversized hand was raised, palm up, requesting some additional light.

Before the Ghost could materialize however, a shadow detached itself from the bluff wall, launching itself at the hulking form.

The shadow hit broadside full force, but the Titan's stance held. Bellowing, one hand desperately clinging to the thermos, the other pulling at the dark form, which had worked up to the wide shoulders.

"WATCH MY TEA!" The voice thundered through the inlet, echoing across the walls, disturbing sleeping birds, loosing rocks and who knows what else.

"Well stop thrashing about!" The Hunter said, now balanced in a squat. Dark gloved hands quickly worked around the edges of the Titan's helm, trying to find the latch.

There was a shout of triumph, which quickly became holler of shock as a massive hand came up, managed to grab a good fist full of cloak, and pull the Hunter from the perch.

"Enough of that!" The Titan held the Hunter in the air at arm's length. Legs came up however and wrapped around the large arm. A wriggle, and the Hunter dropped free, but cloak-less.

With a grunt the Titan tossed the dark fabric towards the triumphant shadow.

At some point their Ghosts had materialized, circling the pair. The golden one's eye rippled in humor as it surveyed the scene. The black one made cheerful burbling noises while circling what was apparently old friends.

"Allright allright." The Hunter laughed "I'll get you next time. But seriously, what is with the tea? I have never seen you out of the Tower without your helmet. You refuse to take it off! And yet, you always bring tea!"

"It's for after."

"Leave it in your jumpship!"

The Titan thought for a moment, studying the thermos, as if looking for damage. "Perhaps."

"You're ridiculous. You know that right? Ridiculous."

"Am I?"

There was pause, then a moment of realization, and a large hand produced from a belt pouch a fist sized paper wrapped package and tossed it to the slender form.

The pair were illuminated solely now by their Ghosts. On odd match, one small, slender and graceful, the other large, hulking and intimidating. One in shades of black, the other tan and navy. The Hunter unwrapped the package partially.

"OooOooH. Sweet! You know I love these things!" Inside was a popular street food from the Tower. A deep fried bun filled with herbs and cheese. It was a food that was cheap and traveled well. The fact they were high calorie helped too, what with the running around Guardians did.

"So." The Hunter said, finding a low rock to sit on, and removing a blackened matte helmet. However the face stayed hidden in the shadow of the hood. "What you been up to lately?"

The Titan looked around for a suitable seat, and finding none, shrugged and went to sit right on the ground. The movement wasn't the slightest bit graceful, especially not in all that armor. It was a little better than collapsing, complete with an expected curse. A suitable flat rock was found within reach for the thermos.

"Well. The usual mostly. But, oh boy, do I have a story for you!"

"Oh?" The word came out around chewing.

It had become tradition between the pair for the Titan to 'happen' to have the Hunter's favorite snack handy. It started a few years back, the then already veteran shadow had taken an odd liking to the hulking new light, and much enjoyed stealing parts of meals to get an outburst.

Sometimes, instead of outright theft the Hunter would swap out the contents of Titan's lunch for a box of crayons. That always got a good rise and threats in return. Eventually, the Titan's laid back nature won out, and instead there were often extra buns tucked away to keep the Hunter at bay. Turns out a well fed shadow causes less grief!

"Well. I was in the Tower last week when we had that crazy snow storm. I was waiting on a scouting party to return. You know how it is sometimes. I was doing my part, guarding the walls, and bored out of my mind. So bored I would have happily run a Rumble. And you know I hate those." Massive hands idly stacked pebbles. "So bored that when we saw a notice for a new Crucible event we jumped on it."

"A new one?" The Hunter leaned forward, interested.

"Yea! This one was called 'Removal'"

"'Two four person teams compete for the fastest time.' it said." The golden Ghost chimed in. "'Why not?' we thought, 'might be fun? Might be a variation of Control?'"

The Hunter chuckled. The Titan took over the telling again.

"So, we grabbed a couple more Titans, those two big Exos, I think you've met them, and somehow along the way we managed to gain a Warlock. Not really sure. I tried looking for you but I think you were off somewhere that day. Anyway, we march up to the main courtyard, and there's already a good collection of people who must have heard about the new event. Both Guardians and lightless. So we shouldered our way through the crowd."

"Of course you did."

"Well we were didn't want to be the last to try this 'Removal'! Anyway. We get through the crowd, somehow kept the Warlock with us too, and there we are the four of us in front of Lord Shaxx, and besides us another four, a Titan, two Hunters and a Warlock. Now Lord Shaxx is standing there, hands on hips pleased as punch."

The Titan paused for dramatic effect, "'GOOD TO SEE SO MANY TURN UP FOR THIS NEW TRIAL!'" The Titan boomed, imitating the Crucible handler's exuberant speech. "'ALWAYS GOOD TO SEE SOME ENTHUSIASM! AND I THINK WE HAVE OUR FIRST COMBATANTS!'"

The Hunter laughed again at the apt impression, dusted crumbs off and waited for the Titan to continue.

"Lord Shaxx looks us over. 'REMOVAL IS ABOUT CLEARING AN AREA. WORKING AS A TEAM QUICKLY AND EFFICIENTLY AS POSSIBLE.' Then he hands me, no joke, a darkness damned SNOW SHOVEL. I think he's kidding. Maybe he's lost it. He proceeds to hand snow shovels out to the others. All the time going 'ONE FOR YOU, ONE FOR YOU.' I'm just staring at mine, and at Lord Shaxx, confused out of my mind."

"And you fell for it."

"...What?"

The Hunter's head shook back and forth. "You fell for it. He tried that a couple years back with another big storm. Back before your Ghost found you."

The Titan's shoulders sank in disappointment that the storey wasn't new.

"Continue!" The Hunter urged, seeing the dejection. "How did it go? I still want to hear this!"

"Uh well…" another pause as the Titan gathered enthusiasm again.

"Well. Once we all had shovels, one of the Hunters threatened our Warlock with it. That was pretty funny. But I stepped between them and the Hunter stopped right quick.

Lord Shaxx sent us off to two of the larger jumpship landing terraces on the wall. You know the ones, big parking areas. Now I think ours was quite a bit bigger, but was higher then the other team's, which was right beside and below us, and I think they had more drifting. So I guess Lord Shaxx thought it fair. There were the usual extra Ghosts watching, no doubt streaming this…. Match."

At this point the pebble stack had become a small wall.

"So?" The Hunter asked, leaning forward. "Who won?"

"Neither." The Titan grumbled. "It started out well enough! We three Titans were clearing snow, quick as we can, just barreling through it. The Warlock helped here and there, but was mostly doing that thing where they heal you. Turns out it works just as good on sore muscles as bullet wounds. Unfortunately though the other team's Titan was a Sunbreaker. Apparently melting the snow was a viable tactic. And somehow is getting through the snow faster than we are!"

"Those Exos…." The Hunter asked, "They're big, but Sentinels right?"

"Yea. Totally useless in that situation. My Arc too. But we keep shoveling. But they keep out pacing us. Then the Warlock has a bright idea. Sounds good at first, so we go for it. Instead of piling the snow neatly we start chucking our snow onto their terrace. Oh boy that made them mad. Especially when the three of us heaved a large bank over and buried the same Hunter that threatened our Warlock earlier. That felt so good."

The pair laughed. "Unfortunately it went downhill from there. Lord Shaxx had already warned us a few times that we were… bending the rules. But as we stood there laughing at the Hunter, a flaming hand shot out of the snow bank and well…. I was the only one who never heard the gunshot."

"No… it came to that?" The Hunter asked, hanging on the Titan's words.

"It certainly did." The golden Ghost chirped. "I put my Titan's head back together just in time to witness it devolve into a fist fight."

"Lord Shaxx was so mad!" The Titan declared. "So mad. He's yelling at us over the loudspeaker, demanding we stop. Threatening to come in person. But, well, you know how it can be once the blood is pumping. I'm honestly not sure which of us jumped down first.

The Warlock pulls out a bow, starts firing on the opposing team, aiming for whoever's pointed a gun at us. I grab the Hunter who shot me, who's still stuck in the snow bank. I turn for a throw off the tower and my head slams right into the Sunbreaker's fist. That makes me drop the Hunter and we start pounding each other.

Pretty sure I broke a nose and who knows what else right through the helmet. Caved it in pretty bad. Still standing, still returning blows though. Suddenly hands that even I find big pull us apart.

'ENOUGH OF THIS FOOLISHNESS!' Lord Shaxx is bellowing. 'THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE AN EXERCISE IN COOPERATION!'

We're just standing there, Ghosts patching us up and he's lecturing us about not being so quick to blows, teamwork, and something and something else. I honestly can't recall a lot of the rant, my head was still swimming from first being brought back, then the fist fight. But I was maybe a little tiny bit sorry. The goal was to clear snow. Nothing else… but then again we weren't told fighting was off the table. I still say that Hunter started it by threatening our Warlock at the beginning."

"So then what?" The Hunter asked, putting the helmet back on. "Did he run any more 'Removal' matches?"

"Oh no. No way. After a good 10 minutes of lecture Zavala himself arrived. Started lecturing Lord Shaxx about his ideas. Said if he ever made mundane labor a competition again, he'd take the Crucible away from him. You'd think that would shut him up. Oh boy an argument started and to be honest, we took our leave then and there. Didn't matter, we all got stuck with snow clearing duty for the rest of the week anyway."

The Hunter chuckled, standing up. "That's kind of what happened last time. Zavala banned it, guess Lord Shaxx didn't take the order to heart."

"Where you headed next?" The shadow asked, playfully patting the massive forms helmet. Even sitting, the Titan's head came up to the smaller one's chest. "I've lost my prey for the night, you got any I can tag along for?"

"Oh definitely!" The Titan said happily, standing up and rolling shoulders before retrieving the thermos. "There's been reports of hive activity nearby. I was sent to scout it out. Maybe cause some damage. I bet with your help the two of us could clear it right out!"

"That works for me! Lead on!"

One large figure was seen leaving the inlet. The armor was tan and navy, holding a large orange thermos, barely visible in the small amount of light a glittering golden Ghost provided.

An odd matte black shadow, much smaller than it should be and sporting a cloak, flickered along the bluff wall not quite in time with the figure.

Every once and a while the golden Ghost would stop and sink to scan an interesting pebble. And every once and a while a Ghost shaped shadow that seemed to glow ever so slightly would dart ahead or lag behind, making the ever so quietest happy chirps.

#fiction #fanfic #destiny 2 #titan #hunter #my writing #oh its been TOO long #yea i dont know formatting #too bad #ghost

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patton-pending-123 · 4 years

Text

The Music, the Moon, and my Love

Genre: Romantic fluff

Ships: Romantic Demus, platonic Anxceit, platonic Dukexiety

Word Count: 1431 (somehow?? This was supposed to be a shorter story but I got carried away??)

Trigger Warnings: Remus, Deceit, sympathetic sides (idk that’s all I can think of. Tell me if I’m missing anything)

Authors Note: I’m sorry that there isn’t a cut like where it says “Keep Reading”. I post on mobile and idk if you can do that on mobile. If you can, please lmk!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dark sides weren’t necessarily welcome in the light side of the mindscape. They did have their own part of it, which had everything they wanted, but it got lonely sometimes. Ever since Virgil left, it had been quiet, which is odd, considering that he was the quietest of all the dark sides. But there would often be the echo of music in the hallways, the distant sound of laughter, or sometimes even the soft voices of movie characters from the television. Not to mention that the light sides had much better food, since Deceit and Remus weren’t the best cooks.

The dark sides didn’t go to the light side of the mindscape often; usually only if they were invited. However, after much begging, Remus was able to convince Deceit to at least go check out the place. Deceit knew Remus just wanted to steal some of the others’ deodorant, but he decided to let him have some fun.

The dark duo silently made their way through the hallways, trying their best not to wake any of the sides. It was about two in the morning, and they knew that even Virgil would be asleep at that point. Once they got to the living room, Remus flashed an energetic smile to his friend and quickly and silently went to one of the bedrooms. Deceit, alone in the dark room and with nothing better to do, sat down on the couch to wait for Remus. As he was waiting, however, something shiny caught his eye. When he got up and approached the object on the table, he found that it was a CD that was labeled “Ballroom Music” in marker, probably Roman’s doing. Picking the disc up carefully, Deceit traced his gloved finger around the outer edge of the disc.

Deceit perked up at an idea he’d thought of. It was risky, for it could wake up another side, but they weren’t in this part of the mindscape very often, so he concluded that he would risk getting caught. Looking around the room, he found the radio and placed the CD in carefully. When it began playing, Deceit fiddled with the volume dial so it would be loud enough to hear, but quiet enough as to not disturb anyone. Just as the music started, Remus came trotting down the stairs, a wide grin stretched across his face and arms full of different types of deodorant. Deceit took the containers from Remus’s arms and set them on the table. He then took Remus’s hand.

“Remus, I want to do something with you,” Deceit said softly, “ I know that you’re very hyper right now, but could you try to calm down for just ten minutes?”

The dark prince looked up at him curiously, hesitated for a second, but slowly nodded his head. He didn’t know what to expect from Deceit, but he was at least certain it was going to be great.

Deceit, still loosely holding Remus’s hand, led him into the living room. The music played softly behind them as Deceit positioned Remus’s free hand onto his shoulder and his own hand on Remus’s waist.

“Just follow my lead, okay?” Deceit have a soft smile when he looked at the other.

“Okay!” Remus whisper-shouted in return.

The two started swaying along to the music, syncing their steps perfectly. Deceit had assumed that Remus didn’t know how to dance, but the way he was so natural at it was impossible to ignore. Remus would glance down at his feet from time to time, but mostly would look out the window at the night sky. It was obvious that Remus was flustered by the situation. Deceit, however, couldn’t take his eyes off of the one before him. Yes, Remus was insane and demented at times, but he knew how he could be so comforting and reassuring when he knew that something was wrong. He actually trusted someone when it came to Deceit, and he was so grateful for it.

After some time, when the music softened, Remus seemed to ease into the flow of their movements. He stopped looking at his feet, he would sometimes return a glance into Deceit’s eyes, and was much less tense. They could both see, even in the darkest of the night, that they were both blushing. Once again, nothing changed for a few minutes. Remus eventually leaned his head into the other’s chest. Deceit smiled, happy to see Remus simply stopping for a moment and enjoying himself. They danced until the song ended, and once it did, neither side let go of the other. They stood in the shadowed living room, moonlight streaming in from the windows, in each other’s arms.

Deceit didn’t know how much time passed before he found that Remus was nearly asleep leaning against him. He readjusted his hands and slowly maneuvered them both onto the couch. When they sat, Remus remained in Deceit’s arms. Deceit looked down at the duke before him, who was snuggling into his chest. He could already hear Remus’s soft breaths, indicating he’d already fallen asleep. Deceit took off his hat and gloves.

“I love you…” Deceit mumbled sleepily. And only a second later, both of them were sound asleep on the couch.

Virgil smiled at the sight of his old family so peaceful and happy. Earlier, had awoken when he heard the music from downstairs. Assuming that Roman was playing soft music because he couldn’t fall asleep, Virgil silently walked down the stairs and, to his surprise, saw Deceit and Remus dancing in the living room. It was truly beautiful, seeing that they were still happy, even without Virgil being there. When he left them, he was scared how they would cope without him there. But after seeing them sleepily swaying around the room, he knew they were okay. He decided to watch, amazed at how calm Remus was. It was something Virgil had never seen, and he loved it. Once the couple fell asleep on the couch, Virgil walked back upstairs, grabbed one of his blankets from his room, and returned to the living room. He cautiously wrapped the blanket around the two, smiling. They were all finally happy together. Virgil stepped back, and with one last glance, he climbed back up the stairs and to his room.

Deceit and Remus knew the blanket was Virgil’s. Deceit made it for him as a Christmas present many years ago, after all. When Deceit awoke, it was morning, and the rest of the sides were having breakfast at the kitchen table.

“Well, look who's finally awake!” Patton piped. The smell of freshly cooked bacon and buttermilk pancakes filled the air.

“Yes, I too am surprised that you slept for this long,” Logan added, “The time is 10:37, if you need to know.”

Deceit got up from the couch to see the usual breakfast scene when all the sides are there: Patton had made pancakes shaped like everyone’s logos, Roman and Remus were playfully arguing about something, and Logan and Virgil seemed to have been having a conversation before he woke up.

“Thanks, Lo. What’s for breakfast?”

“Pancakes!” Patton said cheerily while placing down a plate of snake-shaped on the table in front of an empty chair. Deceit smiled and sat in the chair. The normal discussions resumed, but Deceit and Virgil caught eyes. Virgil gave a sad smile, while mouthing the words “I’m sorry” from across the table. Deceit smiled back. “I’m sorry too, V”, he mouthed.

After breakfast, Remus and Deceit volunteered to clean up the plates. Once everyone left to their rooms, there was silence. Deceit noticed Remus was slightly more relaxed than when they first went to the light side of the mindscape last night, but he didn’t have much time to think about it before his thoughts were interrupted.

“I love you too, Dee.” Deceit was startled at the voice. He looked up to see Remus standing across the table wholesomely smiling at him. “You told me you loved me last night, but you fell asleep before I could respond.”

Deceit was surprised that Remus was still awake after all that and could still hear him, but didn’t think much of it. He smiled back.

“C’mon, if we put these dishes away fast enough, I’ll let you have a stick of my deodorant.” Deceit said. Remus, delighted by the offer, quickly rushed to the kitchen with a pile of plates.

They loved each other so much, no matter how crazy they could both be. They were both happy.

Especially Remus. He got lots of deodorant.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fluff #demus #ts demus #ts #ts sanders sides #intruceit #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic dark sides #sympathetic deceit #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #sanders sides fanfiction

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queen-scribbles · 4 years

Text

Taking Initiative

Sooooooo this was fun to write ;D Another technically sfw one. Technically.

...I think.

---

It proved much easier than expected to get the time alone they wanted after Belsavis. All it took was what some might consider a tiny abuse of power on Jorgan’s part when they stopped on Nar Shaddaa to refuel. ‘Mandatory downtime’ he called it as he effectively kicked the rest of Havoc off the ship.

‘Ridiculously overdue’ is what Keme would have called it, and she bit back an expectant grin as she finished cleaning her blaster carbine and stowed it where it belonged. “Turning them loose on Nar Shaddaa? You sure that’s a good idea?”

Jorgan shrugged as he closed the various weapons racks. “Way I see it, the only real risk is Vik remembering what he liked about this place and not coming back. Some R and R will do them all some good.” He leaned against the nearest gun locker and smirked at her. “And I figured some time alone would do us some good.”

“You did, huh?” She let out that grin as she mirrored his pose in the doorway. “I like a man who takes initiative-”

The armory wasn’t big, and he crossed it in two strides to pin her against the wall with a kiss. His fingers dug into her hair, hers curled around the lapels of his vest, and both pulled in an instinctive gasping breath when they parted.

“How’s that for initiative?” Jorgan murmured, voice so low it was almost a growl.

“Very promising,” Keme breathed with an even wider grin, her hands creeping higher on his collar to yank him in for another. This kiss likewise broke with a harsh breath, their chests heaving and hearts pounding mere centimeters from each other. Much as she was enjoying their current position, the heat building in her chest galvanized her to maintain one hand’s grip on his collar and kiss him to pull along with her as she shifted off the door frame and backed toward her cabin.

This time the low sound rumbling in his throat was definitely a growl.

They skirted the holoterminal, his vest and her belt dropping to the floor in the process, but walking backwards had Keme’s aim off and she backed into the wall next to her door rather than through the doorway. She growled impatiently at finding it closed and groped for the door controls. Shucked her jacket as the door hissed open, tossing the garment away without a care where it landed. Pivoted around the edge of the doorway, pushed off it as Jorgan’s hands slid under her shirt.

His fingers settled over the scar just above her hip, and while she didn’t flinch, there was just the barest catch to her breath and movements as she tugged at the clasp for his belt, the thought pressing in. He’s going to see...

Faint as the reaction was, he still noticed, and huffed a laugh that ghosted past her ear. “Told you you should’ve stayed in the bacta tank a little longer,” he murmured, shifting his hand away from her souvenir of Belsavis.

She shook her head and rested her temple against his jaw. “That one’s not a problem,” she whispered, which was mostly true. The ugly scar was still a little tender and was definitely not going to fade any more on its own, but it wasn’t enough to stop this. The other ones, though...

He started to ask, but his hand’s new position left it resting directly over one of the older scars, and he stilled. A moment passed before, “Already seen ‘em,” rumbled into her hair around a soft kiss.

Keme gave a small smile--slightly bitter, because he couldn’t see it--and pressed a light kiss to his jaw. “Not all of them.” Most, maybe, especially after that fight with the Gamorrean, but not all. Time to change that. She kissed his jawline again, then stepped back just enough to strip off her shirt.

Jorgan’s hands tightened fractionally on her hips as his ice-blue gaze ran over the full extent of the narrow ridges interspersed with the dark stripes that already patterned her fur. Shoulders to waist, front and back, deliberately cut to end slightly further in than the actual stripes. He gave her a wordless look and pressed a lingering kiss to the highest scar on her right shoulder.

Keme backed into the door frame for support again, eyes sliding closed as she let out a groan that bordered on a purr and her hands curled into fists so tight she could feel her nails indenting her palms.

Jorgan caught her eye when he straightened. “They don’t bother-”

“I didn’t think they would,” she cut him off, the words hitching as he mirrored the kiss on her left shoulder. “I’m not so much self-conscious about them as I hate the reactions from most people when they learn where they came from.”

He met her gaze, head tilted in curiosity, but didn’t push. Clearly, initiative for how much--if any--she shared was hers for the taking--or leaving.

It made her love him even more.

Drawing a deep breath, still uneven from their nearness, Keme gently rested her hands at his elbows and steered them to sit on the edge of her bed. She left her hands where they were, thumbs rubbing light circles against his arms as she dove in.

“I grew up a slave.” For most people that would be enough, and all they got. But Aric Jorgan was not most people. Not to her. “Born into it, actually. My parents were owned by Seven Brothers, a Rattataki-run syndicate almost no one’s heard of because they propped up the Hutt they used to work for as a figurehead so they could operate in the shadows. Name a vice, they deal in it. My parents worked in one of the mine processing centers for their front business; hard work, but not brutal enough to prevent starting... starting a family.”

Jorgan shifted when her voice caught and Keme slid her hands down to clasp with his as she continued.

“They had me. Then twins, girl and a boy, little over a year later. ‘Nother boy few years after that. Chronic runaways, the lot of us.” She snorted. “Dunno what they expected from Cathar slaves, really. My first real try was when I was nine, with my dad on his fourth. We got caught before we even made it off-planet, I got these” --she freed a hand to run her thumb along one of the scars that hooked back from the corners of her mouth--”and he got sold. Second time I was fourteen and it was with my sister. She went down fighting when they caught us, took one of the founding Brothers with her. Me... They decided there were better ways to make an example of me than as a corpse. Put the dead brother’s wife in charge of punishing me, and she made sure I knew how much she enjoyed herself as she killed my mother and brothers.”

He pulled a sharp breath, but she squeezed his hands before he could say anything.

“That was just the start; the payment for her husband. For running away... she made a show of informing me I was a troublemaker, always had been. Some might think I always would be; there’s that saying about nexu not being able to change their stripes. However, she'd never believed that saying was true.”

This time Jorgan slipped a hand free, running it down from her shoulder through the curve of her hip, his thumb brushing over the meticulous scarred ‘stripes’ between the natural ones. A shiver rippled down her spine as if following his touch.

“My third try was two years later, from the cage where they kept me, first chance I got. Actually made it this time. The Republic picked me up after the ship I’d stolen ran out of fuel, and well,” she gestured at the cabin. “Here I am.” It hadn’t been as easy as all that, but she didn’t want to spend more time on her past than she had to. Especially when they had the ship to themselves and the intensity in Jorgan’s eyes was doing things to her.

His hand lingered on her hip, thumb rubbing back and forth along one of her actual stripes, and he was quiet for a long moment. “Exactly what reaction do you usually get that makes you flinch at the thought?”

“Pity,” Keme said with a sigh. “People see the scars, and whether or not they hear I was a slave I get pitying looks and their body language screams ‘oh you poor thing’. I hate it.”

“I would, too,” Jorgan muttered. He withdrew his hand to curl around hers again. “For the record, that’s not what I think.”

She cocked her head and waited for him to elaborate.

“They don’t say ‘poor thing’ to me. They say you made it through a hell doing its best to crush the fire out of you. That you survived. And that’s incredible and admirable more than anything els-”

She kissed him, leaning so far into it she started to push up on her knees, let it linger until her lungs burned before resting her forehead against his as a breathless “Thank you,” whisked past her lips.

Jorgan chuckled, ran his thumbs over her knuckles before letting go of her hands to brace against the bed. “I aim to please, boss.” The mirth faded into sincerity. “And I meant it, Keme.”

He’d never used her name before, and her breath caught sharp at the way he said it, gentle and warm and strong, and she cupped his jaw with both hands to kiss him again.

They almost toppled backwards, but he shifted to keep them upright. She scooted forward to straddle his lap, and his arm curled around her waist to pull her close as this kiss kept going, repeatedly half-broken for air, but never fully interrupted until Jorgan leaned back to pull his shirt off.

Keme barely registered when the black tank top tangled and pooled around his wrist as that hand braced against the bed again. Her attention was caught by the scar across his chest, lower left ribs to right armpit, ugly and ragged-edged, especially in the middle. She couldn’t stop the soft gasp, or instinctive brush of her fingertips along the edges until she was halfway down. “What...?”

“Too close to an artillery misfire,” Jorgan said, covering her hand with his. “Not as bad as it looks, I got treated by a medic who was barely more than an intern, so it scarred worse than it might’ve.” He smirked and shifted their hands slightly to the side so she could feel his heart pounding under her palm. “ Way I see it, I didn’t wind up dead, so who cares if it’s not pretty.”

Keme laughed softly. “The things we suffer in the line of duty...”

He snorted a chuckle in response. “And yet, somehow, the permanent reminder some idiot on my own side didn’t know how to calculate a damn targeting algorithm counts as a mark of bravery.” He pressed his hand closer over hers. “Which means yours should, too. Even more than this does.”

Her fingers curled slightly. “Why?”

“This was friendly fire, wrong place, wrong time, an accident. These” --He shook his hand free of his shirt and cupped her cheek, thumb tracing along the scar. “All of them, aren’t cause for pity. They say you’re tough as hell for surviving what you did, Keme.”

Her heart did a somersault, and she felt his speed up under her hand as she pressed closer to whisper, “Say it again.”

He chuckled and kissed the hollow of her throat. “You’re tough as hell.”

“No.” She paused a moment, bit her lip as she reached back to nudge off her boots. “The other part.”

She could feel his grin against the curve of her neck. “Keme?”

Heat flared in the pit of her stomach and she gave a soft growl as she tipped his chin up for an insistent, greedy kiss. “Again, Aric,” she mumbled against his lips.

His growl was louder, verging on a purr, as his hand slid up the back of her head to tangle in her hair. “Keme.”

She exhaled a shaky breath and scraped her teeth over his lower lip before claiming another kiss that finally unbalanced them to fall back on the bed with a laugh.

-o-

They traded off kissing each others’ scars--there were plenty to choose from on both parts-- which led eventually to kissing everywhere. Jorgan didn’t even flinch when he found the brand on her hip; seven-point star over a chevron burned into her skin. (It took a few tries, but Keme managed not to flinch when her toes brushed the cold metal that was his left calf now; a forever reminder she’d almost lost him.)

It was, by the end of it, a thoroughly good use of their time. After all, there was no telling how long the alone-ness would last. And once gone, it would likely be a very long while before they got more, given the state of the galaxy.

“Well,” Keme laughed, grinning contentedly up at the ceiling as she tried to catch her breath. “That was...”

“Productive?” Stars, he sounded smug. She rolled her eyes and lazily swung her closer arm to smack his chest. He caught it and kissed the back of her hand.

“I was gonna go with relaxing,” she retorted as her toes curled. “But we can use your word.”

He chuckled and kissed the back of her wrist. “Both are good, I think.” Kissed just below her elbow. “Fun works, too.”

She snorted a shaky laugh. “Oh, there’s a lot of words for how good that was, Aric.” The next kiss fell halfway up her bicep and she bit her lip. “Mmh... despite my near-derailment via summarized tragic backstory.”

“Hey.” He kissed her shoulder. “I wanted time for the two of us. While this was what I had in mind--and worth it, by the way--if we’d wound up talking, that would have been good, too.” Kissed the juncture of shoulder and neck. “It’s you I wanted, whatever form that took.”

She turned her head and met him for the kiss she knew was coming, rolled with him when he pulled back so her chin rested on his chest. “Mm, good answer.” She kissed the center of his chest and lightly ran her fingers along the lower half of the scar. “You’ll have to abuse your authority to empty the ship so we can do this again sometime, Captain.”

He smirked in response to her teasing tone. “Oh, no, no, no.” He sat up, pulling her with him, and cupped one hand around the back of her head for another kiss. “Next time’s your turn, Major.”

She giggled against his mouth and kissed him again. “Deal.”

Jorgan leaned fractionally into the kiss before pulling away and sliding out of bed.

“Hey.” Keme grabbed his wrist to halt his progress. “Where’re you going?”

He shot her an amused look. “I need my clothes,Keme.”

“I don’t recall saying you could leave,” she commented, the faux-reprimand undermined by a snicker as she playfully tugged his arm.

Jorgan chuckled and braced one knee against the edge of the bed as he leaned back in. “Apologies, sir,” he drawled, tucking her hair behind her ear. He leaned his forehead against hers. “Permission to locate my clothes, sir? I don’t imagine we have too much longer before Dorne, at least, has had her fill of ‘relaxing’ and we’re not alone anymore. Sir.”

“Permission granted,” Keme sighed with only partially faked reluctance as she let him go. “Though if I know Elara half as well as I think I do--if she knows me half as well as I think she does--she’s well aware the likely motivation behind their ‘mandatory downtime’ and she’ll take her sweet time getting back.” She tented her knees and rested her chin atop them as she watched him crisscross her cabin for various pieces of his wardrobe. “Don’t think she’s the one we need to worry about.”

“Yeah?” He shimmied into his pants, dropped hers--and her bra--on the foot of the bed. “Who is the one to worry about? And where the blazes is my shirt?”

Keme laughed and dug the shirt out from the tangled sheets. “Here.” She tossed it to him. “And my credits are on Vik running into someone who wants to kill him and figuring the ship is safe turf.” She reached for the clothes he’d found and followed his example getting dressed. There, at least, he had a point. They had to be reaching the final dregs of their time alone. “Next time we’ll have to figure a way to guarantee a nice long stretch of privacy that’ll end on our terms,” she sighed as she stood up, toes curling against the cold metal floor. “Maybe somewhere with a real bed. And carpet.”

He tugged her back by her hips until she hit his chest and kissed her shoulder. “I like the way you think. Keme.”

She bit her lip and tilted her head back for a kiss despite the awkward angle. “Glad you approve. Aric. Can’t make you take all the initiative when it comes to dates.”

He chuckled and kissed the top of her head before letting her go. “Seems fair.”

They finished putting themselves back together and had just moved in the direction of finding menial and innocuous things to do when the holo beeped an alert the hanger elevator was in use. They paused en route to the armory to check.

“Looks like we had good timing,” Jorgan deadpanned.

Keme snorted a laugh as she tapped on the camera feed. “And like we were both wrong. Though I can’t really say I’m surprised,” she conceded, watching Forex trundle across the hanger toward the ship ramp. “Can’t be much to entertain him when he’s not allowed to shoot Imps.”

She heard the snicker Jorgan tried to bite off as he looked over her head. “True.” He squeezed her shoulder and ducked into the armory. Keme tapped off the cameras and followed suit. At least Forex was the least likely to get nosy about how they’d spent their downtime.

By the time the Thunderclap’s door slid open to admit the droid, Jorgan was busy with ammo inventory and Keme was perched cross-legged atop one of the shorter gun lockers working on her datapad.

“Hey, Forex,” she called at the first clanging steps toward the main cabin.

“Greetings, Major, Captain,” Forex replied enthusiastically, making his way toward his usual spot in the briefing room. “I hope you found the downtime as enjoyable as the rest of us, despite remaining shipboard.”

Keme cleared her throat, shared an amused look with Jorgan. “Yeah, it was, um, productive.”

“And relaxing,” Jorgan chipped in. She nudged his shoulder with her foot and got a smirk in reply.

“Excellent!” the droid effused, completely missing everything outside the words. “It only benefits the Republic for its top soldiers to be better prepared for action.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Keme called after him, shooting a wink at Jorgan. “We’ll have to make sure we do it again sometime.”

And they would, she promised herself as her company distracted her from her datawork approximately every ten seconds, whatever initiative she had to take to make it happen.

Preferably soon.

#queens fic #kementari rand #aric jorgan #keme/jorgan #otp: got your back #(yaya there's an otp tag now)#god i love them so much #this was SO FUN

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michelles-garden-of-evil · 3 years

Text

Episode 40 Review: In Which Matt Calls Out Jean Paul (Redux)

{ YouTube: 1 | 2 | 3 }

{ Full Synopses/Recaps: Debby Graham | Bryan Gruszka }

Welcome back to my Garden of Evil, the blog where I review and affectionately snark on Canada’s own all-American TV series, Strange Paradise. To my shock, Danny Horn of Dark Shadows Every Day (who introduced me to this delightfully crazy soap with his far more critical reviews) is back to posting more frequently than I do, which isn’t really relevant to this post save that I would not have expected it a year ago. (But then, there are many, many things that happened over this past year that I did not expect.) I would have posted this one sooner, but some urgent matters came up last week and I had to postpone.

Four episodes have passed since eccentric billionaire Jean Paul Desmond’s disastrous failed séance to contact his beloved late wife Erica. Medium and Conjure Woman Vangie Abbott has recovered from her injury, she and Raxl have tried (unsuccessfully) to decode the message in the sand writing box, and now Jean Paul insists on holding another séance! The other characters are trying to figure out how and why the ceremony was disrupted: most accuse Jean Paul of trying to murder them with the falling chandelier, while Vangie announces during the opening recap that she suspects the Reverend Matt Dawson of being a disruptive influence because of his disbelief in voodoo. Now sparks fly once again as another argument erupts between the Reverend and Jean Paul at an emergency meeting in the Great Hall.

Now, let’s begin.

We open with Jean Paul’s first tape recorder journal entry in a while, which is an exposition device that I had been missing mostly because I like mooning over Colin Fox while listening to his gorgeous voice:

Jean Paul: "Erica, my sweet wife, until the day comes when science can restore you to me, can release you from the cryonic suspension colder than ice, as cold as my empty life, I will continue trying to contact you through a séance. You must know the great effort I am making to protect you! But was the evil of Jacques Eloi des Mondes enough to prevent us from making contact at the séance that failed? Erica, believe me! I fought him with all my strength! I held him at bay, but he could not have got through unaided! These people in this house, Erica, I have been thinking about them: are they in consort with the Devil? Which one prevented me from hearing your sweet voice again, my Erica? Which one? If I knew-"

Caught him reading the Teleprompter! (That happens a lot in this episode, by the way.) Also, have I ever mentioned how much I love the lighting in his monitor room?

He stops recording when he sees Holly on the monitor, searching once again for that sweet secret passage in the crypt that she overheard the Reverend mention several episodes ago. Freaking out again over the possibility of danger to Erica’s cryonics capsule, he rushes down to the Great Hall and declares an emergency meeting:

Jean Paul shouting at his detained guests.

"Reverend Dawson, Mr. Stanton, I'm beginning to realize that you have not fully grasped my ruling!" Jean Paul shouts in his most pompous tone. "Now, to each and every one of you, this is most important, and how important it is you will all find out!"

Matt having a scared. I don’t usually find Dan MacDonald cute, but I think he is in this shot.

Quito guarding Holly as she hides in the crypt.

"EVERYBODY!” the Master of Maljardin shouts. “EVERYONE WITHIN THE SOUND OF MY VOICE!" [Line flub? His wording is odd.] "EVERYONE! COME TO THE GREAT HALL! DO YOU HEAR ME? EVERYONE IN THIS HOUSE! THIS IS JEAN PAUL DESMOND CALLING! COME TO THE GREAT HALL AT ONCE! YOU TOO, HOLLY MARSHALL! NOW, ONCE AND FOR ALL, YOU WILL ALL GET THE MESSAGE!"

Jean Paul’s crazy eyes in this scene indicate that he means business.

Everyone gathers in the Great Hall, save Holly and Quito (who are hiding in the basement), Dan Forrest (who is probably in the tub), and Raxl (who isn’t there because Cosette Lee had the day off). Dr. Alison Carr is particularly annoyed, because she could be spending this time researching how to resurrect Erica, but instead is stuck listening to her brother-in-law’s latest hissy fit. Oddly enough, even though Jean Paul acts like a complete ass in this episode, Fox-C looks even more stunning than usual. I can’t explain why, but to me he looks especially handsome during Weeks 8 through 11 of the show. That certain je ne sais quoi of his just comes out particularly strongly during this period.

Jean Paul is so angry that you can see his jaw tensing.

Of all the detained guests in the room, he chooses to pick a fight with Matt, because that worked out so well for him five episodes ago. Elizabeth finds this highly amusing and comments with one of her best lines:

Elizabeth: "It seems to be your opportunity to entertain, Reverend. May I suggest Song of Solomon?"

Jean Paul doesn’t laugh, despite it being arguably the funniest joke anyone other than Jacques has made so far. I, too, want to hear Matt read from the Song of Solomon. Perhaps he has recorded a sermon about it for his album:

Matt’s album, You Can’t Fake Fruit, featuring his sermon “Wherever God Builds a House of Prayer, the Devil Builds a Chapel There” and selections from the Song of Solomon.

I’m not going to recap or quote their entire fight blow by blow, because I just don’t feel like it--and besides, these kinds of overly dramatic yelling matches are more fun to watch for yourself. However, I will note some highlights:

Matt suspects Jean Paul of murdering Dr. Menkin because of how soon he died after Erica. “Who can say how he died?” he asks as a rhetorical question before proclaiming overconfidently, “There, your control over this island begins to disintegrate!”

He also continues to oppose the notion that the Devil caused any of the events on the island, including the chandelier falling: “The chandelier falls, and it’s blamed on the Devil. And you accept these...superstitious reactions of a few, which are driving all of us beyond the bounds of reason!”

There’s a lot of focus on Holly, as you might expect, given that she‘s been searching in the crypt and also given Matt’s obsession with her. I’m glad he’s trying to protect her from Jean Paul now, even though I will always ship him with his right hand.

Alison stands up to Jean Paul and leaves in the middle of the argument. Good for her! Of course, after she leaves, Jean Paul has to passive-aggressively announce to everyone else that she will regret it.

Vangie tells Jean Paul and Matt that “when a devil works through a man, what he does is not an accident,” referring to the time that Dan allegedly damaged the cryocapsule. Jean Paul latches onto this idea, which Matt objects to because he believes it’s a ploy to turn everyone on the island against each other. So Jean Paul accuses Matt next of evil, which is not a question that most people will answer honestly. Ask Jacques if he’s evil and he will openly admit to it; ask someone like Elizabeth, on the other hand, and she will deny it.

Matt being what the kids today would call “a mood.”

Vangie on Matt: “Because he is a man of the cloth--a religious man--he made the contact [with Erica], but because of his disbelief in the spirits, the chain was weakened, the contact breaks. I would say that whenever the Devil is loose, anything or anyone can be his tool.”

I would say that Jean Paul in this episode is a tool, albeit a very handsome one.

Even his anger can’t disguise his cuteness.

Jean Paul ends the argument by threatening to punish Holly for invading the crypt. “Now you will see what happens to those who intrude on Erica’s resting place,” he tells the others and Elizabeth responds with this interesting, cryptic line:

So she approves of Jean Paul’s anger at her “impossible” daughter, but she doesn’t want him to punish her? Also note that she is eerily calm when she delivers this line.

In the next scene, Jean Paul gives Holly some serious mixed messages along the lines of the time my grandfather (with whom I used to live) told me “don’t worry about it” when he noticed my cat scratching at my bedroom door, then threw a fit over the (barely) damaged carpet a few hours later. I moved out of his house two and a half years ago but, up until recently, I got nervous any time anyone told me not to worry about something, because he’d often say things like “don’t worry about it” and “take it easy” shortly before he lost his temper over the very same things he told me not to worry about. In a similar vein, Jean Paul first tells Holly to “go ahead” into the crypt, only to then start ranting about how he thinks that some people on the island want the cryocapsule to break down and want to tell the authorities about what he’s doing on Maljardin.

“Now, what were you looking for, Miss Marshall?” he asks her menacingly after his rant.

“I wouldn’t touch that!” she replies, referring to the capsule. “I want you to bring your wife back to life!”

“Then what were you here for!”

“Looking for a way out!” She turns away from him, clutching her head. “Trying to get away from all this. I can’t stand it anymore!”

“I am going to have to make an example of you,” Jean Paul threatens.

“I was only looking for a secret door,” she protests, then explains how he (actually Jacques) led her down there to show him where she thought the secret passage was three episodes ago.

Before he can respond to her, Alison comes rushing down to the crypt to tell him about the notes of Dr. Menkin’s that Jacques left in her lab in Episode 38, which cover part of the previously missing six-week period of his experiments:

Sure, Jacques *might* answer, but only if he feels like it.

Jean Paul tells Alison, “guard these [notes] with your life,” and the episode ends, which means it’s time to discuss the Lost Episode summary. Normally, I do so in either the introduction or at a point in the episode where a plot point was changed, but here the events of the original episode differed so much from those of the final aired version that I decided to discuss them after my recap.

The Lost Episode 40

To begin, here is the summary for the original Episode 40:

Source: The Plain Dealer (November 7, 1969), p. 72.

So the second séance originally took place in this episode and involved a conflict between two spirits. But who? We know for certain the identity of one of these spirits, courtesy of these summaries for Episodes 41 and 42, respectively:

Source: Ibid, p. 84.

Source: Ibid., p. 88.

A slightly longer version of the latter summary from The Fitchburg Sentinel names this priestess Tarasca, the same figure who appeared in a puff of smoke in the original Episode 35 and whose existence apparently threatens Alison’s life. While most summaries of the original Episode 44 (including the one in The Plain Dealer) mention hallucinations, this one from The Minneapolis Star (November 13, 1969) specifically mentions that the hallucination took place at the séance:

Holly searches for the secret passageway when her sleeping mother re-lives the happenings at the séance.

So we know the identity of one of the fighting spirits from the second séance, but who is the other? This summary for Episode 38 states that Jacques promised Vangie that he wouldn’t interfere a second time, but can we really rely on him to keep his promises? (I believe that he most likely summoned Tarasca to mess with the second séance on his behalf while technically not getting involved in it himself.) Still, even considering Jacques’ lack of trustworthiness, it would make more sense for the other spirit to be Erica, given that the whole purpose of both séances is to contact her.

Curiously, another thing we know about the second séance is that Matt took part in it, because Vangie told him that Holly would be in danger if he refused. I know I called the summary for last episode boring, but hearing the way Vangie talks about him in this episode has made me rethink my previous dismissal of its importance. If Vangie demanded that Matt attend the second séance, that means that she must not have considered Matt a disruptive influence in the original, or at least not enough to exclude him.

Who else attended the séance? At the very least, Vangie, Matt, Jean Paul and Elizabeth, but logically Raxl and Quito as well because of their involvement in the Conjure Faith. Alison may also have attended, but I doubt it because (1) Vangie prefers séances with either five or seven participants including the spirit and (2) Alison is getting increasingly fed up with Jean Paul and may have refused to take part.

The mention of Holly being in danger also raises an additional question: which spirit was threatening her, Erica or Tarasca? For my attempt to answer that question--which would contain some spoilers if I included it here--you will have to wait for a future analysis.

Coming up next: The Bad Subtitle Special for Week 8, followed by a very special essay comparing Strange Paradise to the H. P. Lovecraft novella The Case of Charles Dexter Ward and its 1963 film adaptation The Haunted Palace. After that, a review of Episode 41.

{<- Previous: Episode 39 || Next: Episode 41 ->}

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ask-ethari-anything · 4 years

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I am BLOWN AWAY that a) no one has asked for and b) you haven't yet told your wedding story. We should fix this. Go! *waits, eagerly, chin on hands*

No no no, don’t ask Runaan, he won’t tell it right. This story takes a while, and I needed to be in the right frame of mind for it, but I’m here now. Sitting comfy? Here we go.

The day dawned bright–for the Silvergrove–and I woke up for a moment, unsure where I was. One of the many Moonshadow wedding traditions is to spend your last night before your wedding in the place that represents what you’ll bring to your marriage. For me, that was my workshop. My gifts had already kept Runaan safe, my skills made him more efficient. I knew that was going to be my role in our union. So I slept on the floor by my forge, nice and toasty.

Tiadrin was my heartguard all night–she parked herself outside my door and stayed awake with a sword in her hand. Sometimes Moonshadows test the heartguards by trying to sneak up on them to see if they’re actually awake, because what’s a Moonshadow ritual without the occasional sanctioned prank? But Tiadrin chased everyone away and never even woke me up.

She and about a dozen other Moonshadows made me the biggest breakfast I’ve ever seen. Moonberry syrup on everything! And Tiadrin cracking dirty jokes that set everyone giggling, but only when I’d just taken a bite of my breakfast! She did it on purpose that way, I know she did. That evil grin of hers… I don’t usually blush, but she got me very blushy that morning.

When I was stuffed to the gills, they helped me get all fripped up in my Moonshadow finery. Shimmering white trousers under a floor-length, split-sided white tunic covered in embroidered runes full of love and good fortune. I felt so pretty. And kind of badass. The tailor managed to make my shoulders look even wider than they are–enchantments everywhere, you know–and I got to wear my pretty white slippers for the first time. I got my turquoise hornflowers attached and the mantle hooked into my doublet so I’d look all swoopy walking down the stairs. All the silver rings I’d made, with all their swirlies and gems, winked on my fingers and my ears. Tiadrin even coaxed a few beaded braids into my hair and tucked in a couple of dark lovebird feathers. Lastly, several of them brushed some glittery mothdust on my cheeks so I’d be especially gleamy in the light.

When she was done prettying me up, Tiadrin looked me up and down and teared up a bit. “Runaan’s going to be speechless,” she told me.

“Don’t worry. He always finds other ways to express himself,” I replied.

Apparently saying that on your wedding day is hilarious. Cue more blushing from me!

When the time came, my friends escorted me out and down the long winding staircase, with Tiadrin taking me by the hand and leading the way, and honey, let me tell you, I could hear the gasps from the elves down below. The whole village had crammed itself around the edges of the pool and up above the stone steps across the way, all in their own finery. But I only had eyes for Runaan.

He stood below by the pool, watching me like a hawk as I came around the curve of the stairs. Dressed very like me, but with darker hints in the embroidery on his tunic, and the hornflowers he wore were deep purple. I couldn’t help it–I blew him a light little kiss from my fingertips. I may have sparked it with a bit of moon magic because I was so excited! The way he reacted, you’d think I was some hero of myth deigning to look his way for the barest second. He practically fangirled! Made me feel very loved.

Tiadrin made sure I didn’t fall off the stairs, and she led me to Runaan, who had his own heartguard in Lain. The two of them joined our hands for us and stepped back, and Runaan and I just stared and stared and smiled and smiled. With Runaan, you can have a whole conversation with silent expressions, and boy did we have one then. He was nervous and excited and relieved and exhausted and so ready to be married to me. I wanted to hold him close and never let go. But our day was just starting.

We promenaded together around the ritual pool three times while the village sang a traditional wedding song for us. Then Lain and Tiadrin wrapped our right wrists with pieces of white ribbon, Once the Binding of the Hands was complete, we led everyone up to the village green where there was a lot more room for the actual ceremony. Runaan squeezed my hand tight as we walked side by side, and his palm was damp and hot. I squeezed back even harder and nudged his shoulder. “I’ve got you, Runaan. Now and always.”

Moon help me, the look on his face. Like he couldn’t quite believe it, but it was exactly what he needed to hear. He hovered somewhere between grinning like an idiot and crying with overwhelming love. “Still up for marrying me, then?” he asked.

“Only because your horns are so cute.”

“I grew them special, just for you.”

“Such dedication! I’ll be sure to admire them thoroughly every morning, along with the rest of you.”

At that, Runaan blushed hard. Wedding days are so much fun.

The village council gathered around us in a circle, holding hands, while Runaan and I held each other’s hands in the middle. They asked us the ritual questions in turn until we’d gone all the way around. I knew my answers, of course. But seeing Runaan stare deeply into my eyes and recite the ways he would care for me for the rest of my life… hoo, that went straight to my soul, and my hands were the ones that got hot. He got a little misty when I answered the question about the ways I’d love Runaan, and my answer went on about putting my gifts in his hands so he could perform his duty and serve his people. I could’ve said lots of things there, but I knew that answer would please him most.

The final question was this, chanted by the whole council at once: “You’ve spoken your intent. Runaan, Ethari, how will you show us that you have chosen each other as your beloved match and bonded your hearts together, forsaking all others and holding to these new-made promises, in life, in death, and in the balance thereof?”

Runaan and I turned to our heartguards then, and Lain and Tiadrin stepped into the circle, each bearing a soft pillow with a pair of horn cuffs on it. Runaan slid his pointy cuffs with the turquoise gems onto my horns, and I slid my swirly cuffs onto his. Moon above, he looked so handsome properly cuffed. I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest!

And then we kissed. We joined our right hands together, the bindings glowed white, and we totally made out in front of the whole village.

Lain and Tiadrin shouted the loudest, but the whole village lost their minds and tossed handfuls of flower petals around us. In the middle of a blue-and-white floral rain, I got to pull my husband into my arms and kiss him for the very first time. I know I was happycrying first, but Runaan let his feelings pool in his eyes, too.

And way before we were ready to let go of each other, the big drums started across the green. Lain and Tiadrin dragged us over for dancing, and we stood in the center of several concentric rings of elven pairs and danced our first wedding dance together. It’s still one of my favorite things to do with Runaan, that exact dance.

We danced the morning away, ate lunch, and danced some more. I danced with just about everyone in the Silvergrove! So did Runaan, but he vastly preferred to dance with me instead. After lunch, the games and stories came out, and everyone relaxed for a while on the grass. Lain gave a long and rambling speech about how Runaan had been too flustered to tell me how much he loved me and needed some friendly assistance. Tiadrin’s speech was far more, ah, direct, and her comments on the speed and content of our courtship left Runaan moonberry red amid teasing laughter. I held his hand tightly and whispered, “Don’t worry. I’ll fix you right up tonight and we’ll really give them something to talk about.”

Well, that didn’t help with his blushing, but he looked me right in the eye and said, “We’d better leave the window open so they can quote me properly.”

We giggled so hard, with our foreheads pressed together and our fingers interlaced, stealing kisses like the lovestruck fools we were. I told you wedding days are fun.

The sun set and the full Moon finally rose, and we danced and danced some more. Things get pretty wild when everyone shifts into full Moonshadow form and dances after a few glasses of moonberry wine. Flowers and bracelets and shoes tossed everywhere. Some of the couples disappeared into the shadows. Runaan and I tossed our mantles aside and really upped our dancing game. His hair came loose and swirled around us, and I lost my hornflowers to a spiraling dip that left me dizzy and gasping in Runaan’s arms.

There’s a fun tradition where the wedded couple tries their best to sneak away from their own wedding at the end without getting spotted. It’s very Moonshadow, and it hardly ever works. But Runaan was determined to get away with it, and he enlisted Lain and Tiadrin to help us. Around midnight, everyone paused for refreshments and stood chatting excitedly. Runaan and I stood together in plain sight and murmured to each other, seeming like we weren’t going anywhere, until people stopped watching us to see if we were sneaking off. Then Lain and Tiadrin picked up our mantles–and my hornflowers–from the other side of the green, put them on, and darted along the treeline just long enough to catch someone’s eye. The moment the cry went up that the newlyweds were trying to slip off together, Runaan and I held hands and dashed in the other direction. I was trying not to giggle, but Runaan was very focused and didn’t make a single sound.

We got away clean, of course. Runaan’s plans never fail. Once we reached the tree house, I pulled off my white slippers, and Runaan’s–totally stained green with dancing on the grass–and set them carefully aside. Wedding slippers are a sign of good luck if they’ve been well danced in.

And then we started a different dance. We did leave the window open, and I helped Runaan with some very memorable quotes for anyone listening in. Couldn’t let the village wonder if we’d made it home safely together, could I?

Because we were home. Together. And we always will be. Runaan is my home and my heart. I knew that, way before my wedding day. But I loved, so much, sharing the moment when I changed my life to let Runaan into it, fully and completely. Moonshadow weddings are an absolute delight, and mine is one of my favorite memories of all.

#ask ethari #runaari wedding #moonshadow weddings #ethari's wedding story #story time #runaan x ethari #elf husbands

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pendragyn · 4 years

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Setting Things To Rights

(inspired by @flashfictionfridayofficial ‘s #53 prompt “Come Back”. Went well over the limit lol but thank you for the inspiration after a very long dry spell.)

“Setting Things To Rights” by Pendragyn

2666 words, posted June 22, 2020 on AO3

Good Omens (TV & Book); Adam Young, Deirdre Young, Agnes Nutter, Dog;

The night after the almost apocalypse, Adam Young gets a visit from the ghost of Agnes Nutter, and she helps him sort out a few worrisome loose ends left over from the world not ending.

“Come back. Please.”

Adam stared down at his best friends in the whole universe, sure his heart was breaking as they turned and ran away. He knew then he’d messed up bad, maybe beyond fixing. He tried to call them back, to beg even, but no sound would come and he closed his eyes against the sting of tears. Come back! Please! he wanted to say, pressing his hands to his tear-dampened face. I’m sorry!

You don’t need them. You can have new friends. Better friends. All you have to do is show us the way.

A low growl and a familiar waft of doggy breath as a wet tongue lapped at his cheek had Adam opening his eyes, and he hugged Dog tightly in relief. “Oh Dog! I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispered hoarsely, smiling when Dog licked him again. “I am sorry, you know that, don’t you?”

Dog whined and licked him again in answer.

“Thanks boy.” Adam let out a much heavier sigh and rubbed at his eyes when tears threatened again. The dream had been so real, too real, more memory than dream, and frightening in ways he didn’t want to think about. It hurt, knowing he’d hurt his friends so bad they’d stopped being his friends. And even though they’d forgiven him in the end, would they ever really trust him again? Especially when he could still do what he’d done? Would he trust someone who had done that to him?

In the silence there were two faint but distinct knocks that Adam heard clear as a bell. Dog’s ears perked up and Adam blinked and they both looked around the room for a source of the noise. There wasn’t much light but it was more than enough to show that nothing was out of place.

Still, Adam found himself saying, “Who’s there?”

A faint glimmering form stepped through the door. It was an old woman, dressed in really old clothes. “I’ve awaited a long while for this meeting, Adam Young.” She bowed at him a faint smile on her lips. “I be Agnes Nutter, witch. And ghost.”

Adam stared at her with wide eyes. Dog was staring just as intently but seemed disinclined to bark or growl, which put Adam at ease. “You’re a ghost witch? A real one? Not… not something I made up?”

“Real as rain. Anathema be my many times over great granddaughter. I wrote the book she told ye about.”

They watched one another for a moment before Adam asked, “Why are you here?”

“Same reason I’ve done most things in me life and afterlife; to ensure the world isn’t destroyed by the whims of beings who care naught for it.” Agnes glided to the bed and sat. “That’s why I’ve come to ye, young Adam. The story be not ended yet, and ye still have time to set things to rights.” She folded her hands in her lap and said bluntly, “I wrote that book to ensure all would be where they needed to be, to stop the world ending, young Adam, because I saw what would become of ye and the world otherwise.”

Adam shivered and Dog whined, pressing close to offer him comfort. “There were… whispers,” he admitted, his arm curled around Dog to give himself comfort. “Telling me to do things, bad things.” He thought of the nightmare that had just awoken him. “I think they’re still here.”

“Aye. They will never leave ye be, not as long as ye remain a vessel for the devil’s power.”

Adam rubbed at his damp face with a corner of his blanket and frowned at her. “What do you mean? I did like the angels said and it worked. It changed things, didn’t it?”

“Aye, true enough, ye are no longer bound to the one who bid himself thy ‘father’. But ye still have the power given to ye, to change the whole world. It rests in ye, waiting to be called on, wanting to be called on, and as long as it be there, ye are naught but a plump juicy apple, ripe for the picking. Ye must use the power afore our foes regroup enough to try to bend ye to their will.” She waited a beat while he just gaped at her and asked, “What wish thee, young Adam?”

“I… I don’t know. I’m just a kid! I don’t want to be picked on, and I don’t want to be in charge of changing the world!”

“Aye, ‘tis most unfair to put the weight of the world upon the shoulders of just one person,” said Agnes, looking down sadly at her partially transparent hands. “I often wished that there had been another way, but try as I might I could find no way to spare Anathema. I can do naught now but do my best to make it up to her.” She sighed and looked back up at him. “But ye, young Adam, ye don’t have to bear this burden alone. Ye can ask for help.”

“I can?” he said, thinking of Anathema and all the things she wanted to make better, but some inner voice pulled him up short before he could do something rash, for probably the first time in his life. “But how will I know if they’re telling me the right things? That they’re telling me the truth?”

“‘Tis a hard question to answer. There be many who would use such power for greedy or hateful reasons, those be easy to weed out. But the ones who mean well, but be wrongheaded, well… Anathema believes much of what she told ye, so to her, it was the truth.”

“Oh.” He rubbed at his head, his mind feeling a little too full with all the things he was having to think about, though it wasn’t nearly as bad as how it had felt at the airbase. He never again wanted to feel that… awake was the only word he could think of to describe the feeling. He’d be able to see and feel and sense so much and he shuddered and put the memory out of his thoughts. “So how will I know who to trust?”

“That answer will have to come from within ye. Who do ye trust now? Some people unthinkingly break trust all the time, do they not? Do wrong though they know it be wrong. Leave messes for others to make right. Ye know that well enough, Adam Young,” Agnes said pointedly.

Adam sank lower and lower as she spoke. “But nobody gets hurt… usually.” She just gave a disbelieving hum. He couldn’t help but think of how he’d treated Pepper and Brian and Wensley and Dog. How willing he’d been to leave his friends and family behind while under the influence of the voices.

But his friends had done the right things even when he hadn’t. He knew without a shadow of a doubt he could trust them no matter what. “Does… does it need to be just one person?” he asked.

“It can be as many or as few as ye wish,” Agnes answered. “So long as they be willing, of course. Ye must ask, not demand.”

He considered her words, and who else he trusted to do the right thing, petting Dog as he did so. A thought struck him and he asked, “Can I give the power to someone else? Will the voices start bothering them? Will it make them into a target?”

“If ye give them enough to be seen as a threat or a prize, yes,” she warned. “Especially if they can not fend for themselves against those who would seek to do them harm.”

Adam flopped back onto his pillow with a grunt. “Ugh! Why’s it got to be so complicated? Why can’t I just keep the magic and have fun and stuff?”

“Fun?” she echoed in an eldritch sepulchral tone that seemed to come from the bottom of a well. “Fun, was it, knowing all the people in your town and the world would soon be dead? And making slaves of your friends, fun was that?” Adam shot up, a denial on his lips, but the knowing look in her glowing eyes had him flinching away. “This power was bestowed upon ye to rend the world in twain, to bring it asunder, to destroy all hope and joy. Is that, as ye call it, ‘fun’?”

“No! I don’t want that!”

“No?” The eldritch glow and tone vanished. “Pleased be to hear it. But sorry does naught for that which was broken beyond repair nor does it console the families of those missing and dead.”

“Dead?!” Adam’s stomach clenched at the word. “But—” I didn’t mean to, seemed beyond inadequate. And it was a lie, because he had meant to at the time, under the influence of the voices.

“Aye, as dead as I be. Did ye think those eaten by the kraken were not real people? With lives and hopes and families to feed? And those pulled into your fantasies of Atlantis, and aliens, and listeners in tunnels? How art they to return home, if they even can?”

“B-but Anathema was the one who gave me those magazines—” He knew it was the wrong thing to say even as he said it and Agnes just canted her head and stared at him, a little bit of the eldritch glow returning to her eyes. “I-I knew some of them probably weren’t really real. Pepper an’ Wensley an’ Brian said as much but… I wanted them to be.”

“So ye wished them into being.” He nodded. “There were worse things ye could have wished for. That they wanted ye to wish for.”

He shuddered and nodded again, thinking of the visions he’d had when it was at its worst. “Yeah. Oh, is that, that’s why— you wanted to give me other things to wish for. Better things.”

She gave him a proud smile. “Clever boy. Aye. If ye had truly gone down that path, ye would have used up all the power in the wishing. Instead ye have a chance to put things right.” She held open her hand when Dog crept close enough to sniff at her and scritched behind his ear when he crept a little closer yet. “Ye spoke of angels, telling ye what to do. What did they say?”

The memories of what had happened in that odd bit of time where still vividly sharp in Adam’s mind. He could almost smell the thunderstorm and bonfire scent of the sand again, and hear the susurrous of their feathers as they’d flexed their wings. “They said it was good I was human, and a kid. And that reality would do what I wanted it to. And that they’d help me, no matter what.”

“They wanted to kill ye,” she said matter-of-factly and Adam gave her a sharp look which she answered with another small smile. “But ye trusted them anyway. Why?”

Unlike the odd time in the desert, all the things leading up to that and after were already becoming a little hazy and dreamlike. Somehow he’d been able to see the two people inside the one body, and had certainly heard them yelling about killing him. But had also seen the fear and grief beneath the surface, and far more than they’d probably wanted anyone to see. “They… they were just trying to save the world. From me and everything else. Even though they knew it would probably… get them in a lot of trouble.” He didn’t want to say what he really meant; that it would get them killed.

“It has,” she murmured. “They shall be tried and executed in the morning.”

“What? No!” Adam protested. “That’s not fair! They were trying to save the world! They were doing the right thing and they shouldn’t die because of it!”

“They disobeyed, broke the oaths they made to Heaven and Hell—”

“No!” Adam wiped furiously at the tears running down his face. “No, I don’t care, they’re angels, and angels can’t die. It’s Heaven and Hell who should be in trouble, not them!” He sniffled hard as a glimmer of an idea formed in his mind. He stared hard at Agnes. “They said reality would do what I wanted, and it did. You said I have a chance to fix things.”

She nodded solemnly. “Aye, I did.”

“So do I how fix it? How do I fix everything that got messed up because of me?” He put his arm around Dog when he whimpered anxiously. “Help me, please?”

Agnes gave him a broad beaming smile. “I thought ye’d never ask.”

∞

“Wait! Don’t go!”

Warm soft arms and the comforting scent of his mother curled around Adam and he felt her brush the hair from his face and press a kiss to his forehead. “Shh, Adam, shh, I haven’t gone anywhere. It was just a bad dream.”

“Mum?” Adam mumbled, opening his eyes. It was a surprise to see his room bathed in sunlight and his mum smiling down on him. Last he remembered was Agnes saying she had to go and that she was proud of him. Was it just a dream? Had it all been a dream? he wondered, relieved to think he hadn’t hurt his friends but disappointed that magic wasn’t real.

“Morning, sleepy head,” she smiled.

He smiled back and shifted, happy to feel Dog curled up beside him, but the happiness vanished when he remembered that Dog wasn’t supposed to be inside. “Uh… naughty Dog, how’d you get in—“

“That will be enough of that, mister,” Deirdre said, running her hand over Adam’s hair again, trying to not let out the smile his antics almost always inspired. “I know full well you’ve been sneaking him in here since that first night. His hair was all over everything and I could see his tail wagging from under the bed, but I didn’t want to spoil your fun.”

The little thrill he’d been nurturing, at getting away with something illicit, fizzled with the realization that he hadn’t actually gotten away with anything. “Oh.”

She frowned and shook her head. “Your father and I considered taking Dog away after the worry you caused us yesterday. What in the world made you go to the airbase?”

Not a dream, he realized, the disappointed relief morphing into a tumble of confused emotions he couldn’t sort out. “I dunno.”

She let out a sigh, as though she’d expected that answer. “Alright. Well, it’s time for you to get up. You’ve got a long day of tidying ahead of you.” She chuckled and leaned over to gave him a hug when he sighed. “Terrible I know, but you need to think about the consequences of your actions Adam. You could’ve been hurt, or gotten Wensley or the others hurt.”

“Sorry.” He’d sighed out of habit at the reminder of his punishment but snaked his arms around her neck and hugged her tightly. “I love you.”

Deirdre smiled. “I love you too, but that won’t get you out of being grounded, mister. Now up you get, breakfast’s almost ready.” She playfully tweaked his nose and scritched Dog behind his ear just where he liked it before leaving him to get dressed.

Adam flopped back onto his pillow and started petting Dog as he stared up at the ceiling, his thoughts whirling around. Magic’s really real! And so are witches and wizards and ghosts and, and maybe aliens? Agnes didn’t actually say. And demons and angels… He rolled over and looked out at the garden. I hope what I did was enough to fix things. I feel different anyway.

He was going to get to be just a kid, at least for a little while according to Agnes. Then he and Pepper and Brian and Wensley were going to get to learn magic with their new friends! And he was perfectly happy with that.

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