#because hot take but actually the state of being a boring normal human is far from flat and dull

[thebottomfromhell]

I was wondering if you could do some headcanons for the upper moons realizing they’ve fallen for a human! My preference is for a male reader, but you can leave gn, no problem. What do you think is most likely to happen to the human? To die? Get eaten?! Forced to become a demon? All in peace?!

Ok, I will try to stuck as close to canon as I can in this one, since I can sense the direction this is meant to take. I will say now, this post is a reminder of what an Uppermoon is.

I always make reader to be the one making the first move, to be lovable for the Uppermons for them to actually fall in love in a stable state or the ideal state they will be able to handdle this freaks. I will also try to make it a bit funny in what is possible.

Uppermoons reaction of falling in love with Human Male Reader

Warnings: Manga spoilers, Reader's death, Cannibalism, Yandere behavior, Mentioned torture, Non consented body modifications, Coerced body modification (becoming a demon), Implied non-con sexual content, Predatory animalistic behavior, Münchausen syndrome, Vore elements (it's not kinky, but some of theses guys do consume you), Implied child abuse, Every damn of this mf are their own warnings.

Gyutaro (ft Daki):

It takes Gyutaro a while for him to realize what exactly he feels, but the second he has the slightlest idea, he is afraid.

Not of being attracted to a man, of course, 'Is normal for men to lust after other men, ne. Just look at the actors and servants in the threater. Ne. Recently they hide it a lot more, for some reason." 💀

He doesn't like liking a human, of all things. It's scary, a weakness both demons and slayers alike might abuse.

That and the fact that he is very insecure, how could you love him back? He isn't even trying, what is you decide to abuse it too? That is the closest thing he knows he could get to being with you. He is not stupid, or clueless at least, he knows he can't say "no" to the ones he cares about. (Daki, himself and Daki. And now you.)

He starts a hot and could routine, going from avoiding you completely to yeatning and searching your company. He hates it, he starts to resent you for ir. Why must you have this amount of power over him.

He also protects you. Makes sure you are ok. He will most of the time be like a shadow, not getting close or risking you getting too far.

The dynamic becomes unhealthy, obssesive, Daki also starts to resent you for it. And it's visible, she insults you, destroys your things, and even tried to harm you several. Gyutaro is the one to protect you from her.

"I HATE YOU! YOU HAVE RUINED MY ONII-CHAN! HE DESERVES BETTER THAN A PATHETIC HUMAN!"

Unless you make a move on him or reject directly, you can expect this to last until one of you die. The thing is, while is hard not to notice what Gyutaro is doing, you can easily live and get away with this. You have the protection of Uppermoon 6 in exchange of your mere presence. He doesn't force more than that on you.

Gyokko:

Gyokko figures what he wants from you almost instantly, even before fully knowing how he feels exactly.

5 weeks, give or take. That's the most you can realistically get.

He doesn't care you are a man, of course not, if he wants you why would that matter? His taste, what he defines by beauty, is his own law. Men can be beautiful, and humans can be art.

Gyokko is going to be "nice" at first, he will show you his pots, bring you eyes, hands and skin from his victims, try to teach you the right path of art.

You are a man, men can learn art, erudites are artists. You can learn, as hopeless as it seems.

Anger him once- lose a foot in his mouthes. Then the same leg to the knee, then the thigh.... you only have so much to fail. And you will. Gyokko is meant to neither get bored or tired, because as a human you just can't understand the beauty of mutating a human body against it's will, painfully and messy into a new final product. Just a shadow of a the humanity left.

Now, once you have no legs, you have two choices. Die. Or beg. Beg for hin to let you understand, to make something sublime out you.... beg and he will.

You will be awake, he will carefully, almost lovingly, open your chest, take out your heart, maybe take a bite, and he will bleed into the wounds.

Become a demon for him, to him, all his.

Hantengu:

At the slightlest possibility of falling in love with you he cowers away.

Hantengu? Hantengu? Where did he go? What do you mean you haven't seen him in 3 months? >:v

He will come back, he will always come back and grab you. He will scratch you and sob, and sob and sob-

He has never been interested in men before, he had several wives in life, but not men. Men were always scary, strong and big, he was scary once too. He is scary now, but he still feels so scared. He touches your arms, shoulders, legs, all too masculine to be soft and comforting.

He will dissapear and come back to that routine, sometimes you wake up at night with him over you, crying.

Sometimes he is scared of you, sometimes he is scared for you. You can't talk or reason to him. You try, but you are a human. He doesn't have to listen to you. You are beloved, you are food, you are big, you are handsome, you are useless, you are mortal, you are nice, you are-

He can't deal with it. He genuinely tried. He tried and failed. He needs to get rid of you, you are too much. He is so sorry, he sobs, so sorry about this. Over you at night, you were sleeping the second he stabs you chest with a knife. Once, twice, thrice, and more, more, more. And he is so sorry-

S O R R Y

Sekido:

Run....

No, really, run. He realized after a while and he is NOT happy about them. "WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO ME YOU PIECE OF SHIT?!"

You still have a chance to survive, but you must run. He must calm down and you need to get away from him before that. He will realize it's nobody's fault, but until then he will attack. Get Karaku, that is your best bet.

He doesn't care you are a man, but the fact a puny and frail human makes his hesrt beat faster, face heat up, and invade his mind to the point he is always coming for you.... he hates it, it irritates him. He is just so angry.

If you survived this part, probably with the help of the other clones, who would see it as a waste you dying right now (specially Karaku, he would do anything to annoy Sekido), he will talk to you.

"You will die. I want to spend more time with you, and that means you will die. I will get angry and kill you." He will, unless you turn into a demon, he has thought about it. That is your choice.

You might actually have a... stable relationship, if you accept. Sekido will hold you through all the process as he bleeds into a bite he himself did in your shoulder, taking a bite before forcing you to fade into something else.

He is not planning to let you go now that you are his.

Karaku:

He already knew he lusted you the first night, nothing new. You take that as a chance of survival, for YEARS [you are living a lot more as a human than anyone else].

He both takes you and let you take him, sometimes he is very insistent. "C'mon, don't bore me. Have fun with me or I might get rid of ya."

He also openly flirts with you, not csring for your gender, gets you gifts, kisses you, takes care of you. He makes sure to be worth the while. He is careful, you always feel pleasure with him, even when you don't want to.

"You are so handsome, so good for me~ yes, you are a very good boy. I want to be like this with you forever."

It takes him years, he realizes it's not normal lust, there is more. He wants more. He should have already getting bored of you, but he didn't. He never will.

For the first time he actually hurts you during sex, he bites your neck to the point you bleed, moaning against the taste, you get tired from the effort and blood loss. Everything gets numb, heavy, and you close your eyes as you are deep within him

You will open them without any memories, just a new, hungry and bloodthirsty body. And him offering himself to a new you.

Urogi:

Urogi doesn't want to hurt you, that is good.

Urogi wants to play with you and have your constant attention... that is not so good. Because he will hurt you.

He scratches, bites, pushes you around, forces you to run as he chases through the sky. How are you supposed to last in anything against him. But again, he doesn't want to hurt you, so he doesn't get angry of this.

He more often than not licks the blood and the wounds he caused, then cuddles into your lap. Smell your masculine scent from your scrotch when he uses your legs as a pillow and from your neck when he sits on them, he likes being over you.

But again, Urogi is meant to get bored of your limits while playing with you. You were actually already expecting it the night he decides to make a drastic move.

That night be hasically bit your wrist off, tasting your flesh, moaning as he enjoys the taste. You don't get to run away again, too tired and hurt, as he finishes the meal before forcing his own flesh in your mouth.

If you have trouble biting, the he will bite a part off and chew it for you before feeding you mouth to mouth, force both blood and tissue into your throat with his tongue.

You will become a demon you you can both play more.

Aizetsu:

"It's so sad, pitiful, that I'm attracted to you. A human of all things." ..... that was hurtful.

You made his heart beat slightly and gave him a knot on his throat. His honest thought was "WHY a human?" Something that he is meant to lose, no matter what. That is so sad.

He pities himself more than he pities you, but that doesn't stop him from keeping you around. He is gentle and soft, if it wasn't because of his nature it would almost be endearing. You talk, you walk together, sometimes he even holds you.

He doesn't mind that you are a man, but he can't take the thought of you leaving him. He makes sure to be pitiful around you, to manipulate you into letting him take advantage that you are weak in every sense. Soon, you are the one cuddling and comforting.

He kills you at the first problem to arise, Sekido using you to threat him into "becoming more useful". Better know than waiting to become even more attached, that will only make it sadder. He is so sad already, but he wants to evade being too miserable.

He will kiss your first, thank you for everything, let you have your last words and last wish. Then he will make it fast, painless.

He will kiss your corpse again before making himself a memorial for you. So sad.

Nakime:

DENIAL IS A RIVER IN EGYPT-

She is in love with a MAN? Like... a man?(PTSD of dead husband. She killed him.)

I'm sorry, you have at most an hour left to live, she is not dealing with so much. (Ok, let's be real, she might actually kill you, so just give her space.)

[Only one that actually reacts to your gender, like... why a man?]

She is as chill as she can be, so as long as you don't look at talk to her, look at her and evade her the best you can she will just let you be.

You being a man is an annoyance, even if that is the first though of you, it's easy to get over. You being a human... she is very loyal to Muzan (she doesn't count him as a man, he's god to demons, ofc), she would never put you over him.

She will actually talk the issue to you once she is ready, make the offer. Let you become a demon. She will transform you herself if you accept, if not then the will just throw you out her realm.

You will never hear a whisper of her again, she won't kill you herself, not waisting her time and effort in you. Her husband didn't deserve it, and she is seeing you like that too.

You should be able to live your own life as long as you don't ever cross any interdimentional door again. If you do...

Dead end.

Akaza:

Slow burn what slow burn? He falls fast and hard, too fast and hard for his own liking. So what if you are a man? He was never picky.

"BECOME A DEMON SO WE CAN BE TOGETHER FOR ETERNITY!!" Dude, chill! You both just met an hour ago! He is obssesed. Too obssesed.

Akaza will hurt you, will show you how weak you are, tease of how you could be more. He wants you, he wants you a lot, too much for his own good. It pains him.

He will bring you to the brink of death, while not really trying to kill you. Similar to a cat with a mouse. He will let you in the brink of death once and let you heal, sometimes even heal you himself (talk about Münchausen syndrome). He will do it again, and again, and again.

If you don't accept from all the torture, the now broken and useless limbs and bones, senses wrecked, constant pain in your body and a giant exhaustion after all the times he had his ways with you.

He even starts taking care of you, Akaza cleans the house since you can't even stand anymore, he cooks and learns your favorite recipes, he washes your clothes, takes you out to walks at night in his back, gets money (you don't know how and you are too scared to ask), he nurses you,

He won't turn you unless you consent to it, even if every day it looks less like a choice and more like the only way to get out. Sometime you wish he didn't make you have to choose.

If you never become a demon he will keep you like this until you die of... pain? Age? Exhaustion? Who knows? But you will die with the responsible of your state tending your wounds.

Douma:

Ok, listen, whatever you do, don't make any sudden movement, your situation is pretty delicate. There is still a chance of getting out alive NO, THAT'S A LIE, JUST PANIC AS MUCH AS YOU WANT, YOU'RE DEAD

Douma thinks he is feeling hunger around you as he craves and lust for you💀💀 he also thinks you're funny and dummy.. Like hell he can name whatever he is feeling but IT'S NOT SAFE

He wants you around, but he is always sure you will try to leave like Kotoha did. This has already happen once. Does he regrets his actions? Is he even able to regret besides sometimes wishing she was still around?

You are nothing like her. You are not even a "her", so he doesn't even understand why he compares you both so much. But he sees it. You will try to leave, no matter how nice, how kind, how generous, how serving he is with you. You will leave if he doesn't do something about it.

Transform you into a demon? So you could actually get the power you would need to run away? It would only take one Uppermoon meeting and you would be gone by the time he was back home. He is not dumb enough to think anyone would help him find you.

He eats you, taking his time with you. He will start hugging and kissing you, not caring if you want it or not. He will first bite you mouth so you can talk, can't ask for help if someone hears you scream (his followers would take his words over your, how would they take some non-intelligent screams over his voice then?)

Then he would rip your legs so you can't run, before eating him in front of you, praising the taste, kissing you to share it, commenting on hiw your skin and tissue feel in his mouth. After the legs, he waits for you to "calm down" (you are actually dying, losing blood) before finsihing without any rush.

He would keep talking to you even after your heart stopped beating. Be as gently as he can. Once he finishes, he will be satisfied. Not only his stomach is full, but you will be forever inside him. Lovely.

Kokushibou:

.... he barely realizes.

This is a married widow samurai, his priority is his sword to surpass his long dead brother

But he likes, he thinks you're handsome. Attractive. Not that he would ever try to put it into words. (Someone tell this guy that no, not EVERY man is attracted to other men but marries a woman they don't even like because of obligation. That some people are ACTUALLY attracted to their opposite gender and spouse.)

[His wife though he was gay once he heard Michikatsu left her and their children to follow another man. Like bitch, did he even explain they were brothers?]

But again, beside just looking at you, does he even care? Does he even have anything in his heart besides this desire, this craving, this greed for power? To be more powerful than his own little brother? To take the place he was promised as the warrior, the gentleman of the gentry, that he was so afraid Yoriichi would take away?

It's never about you, even when he is with you. He will stay with you in silence, sometimes watch you from the distance, but it's never about you.

It's about himself. It's always about himself. You are only a pleasure that, like those days he visited his little brother, so lonely and weird, a freak that barely reacted to anything in his cage, (are those his thoughts or just the resentment inside him? Is it even real or Muzan somehow made it worse?) will fade away, and he will hate those moments and you.

You are a human, you are meant to die. He likes you, so he will keep you around, but nothing else. Kokushibou loves you know, and he will hate you in 100 years more, once you are gone. Simple as that.

He will cry and hate you the second your corpse touches the ground. Like Yoriichi did.

#demon slayer #kny #upper moons #kny x reader #karaku #urogi #gyutaro #sekido #aizetsu #hantengu #gyokko #nakime #douma #akaza #kokushibou #this is royally fucked up #i had fun making this #top reader

[krystalites]

wayv members reacting to you pecking their lips to shut them up

anon requested: kk! First ask on the way~ WayV reaction to their s/o pecking their lips while they talk to shut them up?

genre: crack (?), tiny bit angst, fluff, soft members

word count: 1,6k

a/n: I would like to apologize for probably making you wait for so long. I never actually got the notification and for some reason I never checked my inbox.. Also, my first reaction ever! Yay! I hope you guys like this since English is not my first-language, and I'm still learning. Enjoy!

⌜ kun ⌟

"and them not listening to me just annoyed me more-"

Kun had been ranting about his members for what felt like forever now. No offense to him, you loved hearing his angelic voice and could listen to it for hours but you had been very boyfriend starved lately. All you wanted to do was to cuddle your adorable boyfriend. Though, you just let him rant because you knew he needed it sometimes. He kept talking for a bit more and it went actually well. But all of sudden, you just felt like you couldn't wait anymore.

"So I snapped and-"

Kun's eyes widened as you cupped his face and pecked his lips. He smiled when you pulled away and wrapped his arms around your face, nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck. He placed a gentle, barely-there kiss on your neck. He inhaled your scent heavily, taking as much as he can. Kun lived for moments like this and they were his favorites out of all the moments he shared with you.

"You could've told me you were bored!" he scolded you jokingly.

⌜ ten ⌟

You really thought it would be a great idea to cook with your boyfriend but all he did was sitting on the counter as you did all the job. He was making these weird vegetable puns he found on the internet. Even though they were funny, you had been listening to this for almost an hour now.

"Hey, babe?" Oh, you heard this kind of babe before. The kind of babe he uses to tease you.

"No puns Chi, no puns." To give a threatening aura, you slowly raised the wooden spoon that you were using to stir the haricot beans in the pot. Ten chuckled and put his hands up as if he was surrendering.

"I swear it's not a pun." You could sense the mischievous tone in his voice, yet you decided to ignore it.

"I just wanted to say that you’re a wonderful human bean-" His joke was cut off by your lips on his. When you quickly pulled away and continued stirring, he smiled at himself. He was feeling something that he felt for the first time in his life. He sure kept making puns just so you could keep shutting him up with your lips.

⌜ winwin ⌟

Sicheng was very excited about WayV's comeback. He had been talking about the M/V, the outfits, the choreography, the song for days. Right now, you were in the living room, as he kept talking about the comeback while you were trying to get his attention. You kept cutting his words off but he never actually heard you, despite sitting right in front of you.

"-oh and the choreography is so cool! It matches the whole aesthetic perfectly."

"Sicheng I broke your favorite mug."

"The outfits are kind of revealing but I wanna step out of my comfort zone so I really like them!"

"I burned the stuff in our memory box."

"Everyone else looks very good too!"

"Sicheng I'm breaking up with you."

That's it, you thought.

"They wanna dye my hair but I don't know if I want my hair to be dyed-" He was cut off by your lips, which were gone barely a second later. Sicheng opened and closed his mouth a few times, obviously wanting to say something but not being able to say it.

"I think I got a bit too excited," he finally managed to say and mumbled, "Can I get another one though?"

⌜ lucas ⌟

You rubbed your eyes and leaned over to your phone resting on your nightstand. With a little click on the power button and the overly bright screen, you read 02.38 am. Yukhei was obviously still in-game with the dreamies, as you could hear him yelling in the room right next to you. With a groan, you got up and slipped your shirt on. You were sleeping topless since it was summer and very hot, but his camera could be on when you entered the room. You walked to his room, not even bothering to knock since his door was wide open. If you're going to yell at two in the morning, at least shut the door you thought. Entering the room, you saw Yukhei furiously clicking on his mouse and keyboard. You walked up to him as he kept yelling at the dreamies over his microphone.

"Donghyuck he's right on your le-" He suddenly stopped clicking, trying to process what the hell just happened. You had bent his head backward and pecked his lips, then left casually as if you didn't just cause him to blush. He quickly gathered his thoughts and mumbled a quick excuse and apology to the dreamies. Turning his computer off and running to your shared room, all he could do was thinking of you two cuddling and kissing, giggling like a high school girl at the thought of that.

⌜ xiaojun ⌟

You and Xiaojun started dating a few weeks ago, so your relationship was still very fresh. Being an idol and living with 6 other males sure gave him a lot to talk about. His talkative nature didn't really help with that. You guys were on another date, at your house. You were making popcorn for your movie night since you guys couldn't go out risking Xiaojun's career just like that. Xiaojun was helping you by preparing some drinks he saw on YouTube a few days ago.

"Then Ten threw his slipper to Yukhei for calling him a garden dwarf!" You laughed and glanced at him. He looked so happy telling you about the guys. As if he was telling you about his family, which you were sure it was at this point. You were having a great time, but Xiaojun had a curfew that he was supposed to not pass. Even though you knew it wasn't intentional, he kept talking and stopping what he was doing to show you what happened with his gestures. You thought maybe if you waited 10 minutes, he would just stop. But of course, he didn't. After thinking of a nice way to cut him off, you finally thought of something.

"Ten chased Yukhei around the dorm like tha-" You pecked his lips, pulled away, and smiled.

"I love hearing you talk Junnie, but I really want to watch this movie before your curfew ends."

He snapped out of the little shock state he was in and quickly began to stir the drinks, which he was supposed to do 10 minutes ago. While stirring, he giggled and shook his head. The fact that the first kiss you two shared being an 'i will kiss you to shut you up' kind of kiss made his heart do backflips and it definitely was something he could never forget.

⌜ hendery ⌟

Hendery was teasing you for losing a game of Mario Kart. Pretty normal, right? Yeah, if only that didn't happen two days ago. This was his third day of endlessly teasing you. At first, you laughed it off. He rarely ever beat you, so you didn't want to pop his happy bubble. It's the third day, and you were visibly annoyed. You sometimes beat him at the stuff he's very great too, but you never actually took it this far.

You guys were sitting in the living room, just chilling while you watched some weird tv show, where the contestants were married couples and competed for a car. A couple you had been supporting was a few points ahead, whereas Hendery's team was losing. He sighed and faked a pout.

"They're losing like you playing Mario Kart." after his comment, he smirked and turned to you. "Get it? Cause you lo-"

Eyes wide, blinking rapidly he was looking at you. You went back to watching the show like you didn't just smash your lips against his harshly. He gulped and quickly turned to tv, pulling his hood up to hide the furious blush making its way up to his ears from his neck and face.

⌜ yangyang ⌟

"Yang, please don't cry... It breaks my heart to see you like this." You put your hand on his cheek but he harshly tugged it away.

"No! They're right. I'm useless. I can't believe I actually called myself an idol on that interview just before my voice cracked when they asked me to sing. I couldn't even dance properly to the song they gave me! My manager had every right to call me names!"

You shook your head and cupped his face, making him look at your face with his glossy eyes and red nose. He was so innocent, so pure and those 'managers' were doing nothing but ruining his confidence. Weren't they supposed to help them improve and keep them motivated? Then what was all of this?

"Yang, don't say stuff like that about yourself ever again. You are the most talented person I've ever known. Every artist, scratch that, every human has a bad day where their body doesn't feel like dancing or singing or doing something in general. You can't blame yourself because of that. What actually matters is you holding your head up high and showing them what you've got in there. You always have other performances to prove yourself.

But, that didn't seem to work on your beautiful boyfriend. He just shook his head side to side, mumbling little "no's"

"No, I should just go back to where I came from the way they told me t-" Not letting him finish that sentence, you put your lips on his. You two stood like that until you ran out of breath, eyes closed with his hands over yours that were cupping his face. When you pulled away, he let a few tears spill. Wiping them off with the back of his hands, he just pushed you on your back on the bed you were sitting on. He rested his head on your stomach and tried to fall asleep with his eyes closed. Even though you guys didn't talk about it, you knew he was feeling better about himself. And he did. He had you on his side, after all.

#nct reactions #wayv reactions #wayv x reader #wayv imagines #wayv kun #wayv ten #wayv winwin #wayv lucas #wayv xiaojun #wayv hendery #wayv yangyang #wayv angst #wayv fluff #wayv crack #wayv drabbles #wayv scenarios #kun #ten #winwin #lucas #xiaojun #hendery #yangyang #kpop #nct x reader #wayv fic

[127-mile]

DANS LES CATACOMBES | IN THE CATACOMBS. the sign above the door was written in french. it read: ARRÊTE! C’EST ICI L’EMPIRE DE LA MORT. - paul aertker, brainwashed.

PAIRING: Hanse x gender neutral reader.

GENRE: Established relationship, horror, angst.

WARNINGS: Mention of bones, drugs and alcohol, non-explicit mention of cults, blood and human sacrifices, mention of deaths, of the use of a ouija board and voices.

PLOT: You thought a walk in the catacombs would be a nice date, but how wrong you were.

WORD COUNT: 1.5k.

A/N: This is part of the Legends never die, the untold stories collab hosted by @nayuyeons. The tags are a lot scarier than the fic.

“At the end of the 18th century, major health problems linked to the city’s cemeteries led to the decision to transfer their contents underground. The Parisian authorities chose an easily accessible site, then located outside the capital: the old quarries de la Tombe-Issoire, under the plain of Montrouge. The first evacuations took place from 1785 to 1787 and affected the most important cemetery in Paris, the Saints-Innocents.”

“The bones, previously left loose, are carefully organized in the walls, on the model of quarrymen’s hagues. On the front, the rows of shins alternate with those of skulls, while behind the facings pile up the remaining bones, often very fragmented by the consequences of their fall.”

“There are 6 million skeletons stored in the catacombs ossuary, which is about 3 times more than Parisians! The Municipal Ossuary of the Catacombs is one of the largest ossuaries in the world.” (i translated these parts from the catacombs website back from my doyoung catacombs fic, i just used them again)

You barely hear the guide's voice, far too busy trying to ignore Hanse's lips on the back of your neck, his hot breath against your skin, and his hands gripping your waist. Several times you have tried to push him away, but the lack of movement does nothing other than to prompt him to stay glued to your back.

"That's not what we're here for." you whisper as you step on his foot hard enough to make him wince.

"I'm bored, I already know everything he's telling us." he responds by letting his arms fall to his sides.

You know, he knows it, you were next to him on the plane when he was reading the catacombs website. But it is an obligatory passage before the special visit begins.

Because yes, it is not a visit like the others.

Normally, the Paris Catacombs tour happens during the day, when the sun is high in the sky, and only the accessible and secure parts are visited, but today is a special day.

The tour takes place at night, and what will be visited will be the caves where strange events are said to have happened.

"Do you think the rumors are true?" he asks in a low voice, he refuses to be heard by the guide, he prefers you answering him, rather than hearing the boring and slow voice of the man who has been doing this for far too long.

"Some people were traumatized by the caves, but they were also drunk and on drugs, so I don't know how much we can believe the rumors."

And the events happened more than fifteen years ago, so water has flowed under the bridges, and who knows if the rumors haven't changed over time.

He nods, and finally the guide starts moving so you take his hand in yours and you follow the group.

"Are we allowed to use professional equipment?" someone asks, and you hear the guide chuckle.

"I do not advise you to do it, the caves are very unstable, we do not want interference, or too strong waves to cause the caves to collapse on us. That would be sad, especially because you signed a waiver that   forbid you from suing us."

Always read the waiver before signing it, you think, looking around. The man stops in a first cave, and he clears his throat. You have the impression that a mere burst of voice could bring the place down. Everything echoes, even your breathing.

“Apparently in the 1980s a cult found a way to get to the catacombs to perform sacrifices. You would like me to tell you that these were animal sacrifices, but no. Authorities found remains of humans that have been drained of their blood right in the middle of this cave."

Looking over the shoulder of the person in front of you, you notice a dark stain on the floor, but it's not strong enough evidence to prove that it happened. It could be a wet stain, or some idiot spilling something on the ground years ago without the guide seeing it.

"Do you have something that has been proven? Because we are wasting our time."

Your eyes widen when you hear Hanse's voice. He really isn't the most patient person when it comes to a guided tour. You suddenly remember when you went through the most haunted museum in the United States, he practically pushed the guide aside to make the tour himself.

You don't blame him, you don't even get mad, it actually makes your heart beat a little faster.

"If you wanted to get to the good stuff immediately you should have entered illegally." the guide responds by continuing the tour.

About twenty minutes pass, the guide tells more stories as strange and impossible as the other. Hanse is getting more and more annoyed, you can feel it by the way he squeezes your hand every time he enters a new part of the catacombs.

"There are loads of haunted places in Paris, why did you choose the catacombs?" he mumbles, and you shrug your shoulders.

"Maybe because you've always wanted to visit them?"

"And here we are in the last cave. This one is dedicated to our impatient young man in the back of the line."

If Hanse had less restraint, he would certainly be insulting the guide, but instead he steps further into the cave. "Come on, surprise us with another made-up story."

"This one is not made up." he says in a firm voice, and Hanse throws his head back laughing. His laugh hits against the walls, and the echo makes you shiver in an unpleasant way.

"So you admit that the others are made up? What are you willing to do to make money." he answers, and you wonder if the guide will hit him when he clenches his fists.

"You gave me your money to hear these stories, so shut up and let the others enjoy."

"Come on baby, let him do his job." you whisper as you take his arm, your head resting against his shoulder.

“In the early 2000s, a bunch of teens decided to enter the catacombs illegally, and they got lost. Unfortunately, when they were found they were already dead. Since then, the people wandering too far away in the catacombs, or people who come to renovate say they hear voices."

Everyone is silent, even Hanse, which is strange.

"A video was found, a video that was never allowed to be shown to the public in an attempt to trace the identities of these people, but the police were allowed to watch it, and informations were leaked."

"In this video you can see the teens running, presumably being chased by someone. Or rather, by something."

Whether this story is true, or made up, your eyes widen, it's crazy.

"Some people can still hear the teens calling for help, screaming and crying because of the thing chasing them."

There is silence in the cave, and you look around, frowning. You don't know if it's because of the story, or some trick played by your mind, but it feels like you are hearing a claw all around you. As if someone was scratching one of the walls.

"Do you hear that?" you ask near Hanse's ear who nods his head.

“People, so called paranormal professionals came with a ouija board. And by wanting to talk to the teenagers, they called something more powerful, something even worse than what caused the teens' deaths."

Your blood freezes when you hear a sudden cry. The scream is so loud, and so close to your ear that you are sure if you turn around you will see someone behind you screaming their lungs out, but there is no one there. You do not feel any presence behind you, and even Hanse who is looking around, does not react.

"What was that?" you ask, panicked.

"One of the teenagers. They want to get out. They are tired of being locked up in the catacombs. And I understand them. It's hard to always be here, to have to listen to the cries of the grieving souls without being able to go out."

A new scream is heard, and this time, you have no choice but to put your hands against your ears to muffle the noise that could make you cry because of how loud and so full of pain it is.

"Stop it, make it stop, please!" someone exclaims.

If you are paralyzed, Hanse seems unable to stay still, he is ready to pounce on the guide who is scaring everyone. Who is scaring you, you, whose heart hasn't even raced in the most haunted places you've visited in the past three years.

"It's okay, we got it, you know how to tell stories, and you know how to scare us, now bring us back to the surface!" he growls, and the other tourists seem to agree with him.

Except that..

Except that when you turn in the direction of the guide, he is gone.

#victon #victon imagines #victon scenarios #hanse imagines #hanse scenarios

[obae-me]

You Are My Gift

Happy Birthday to our beautiful money boy! This is a small fic based on his birthday event, talking about what happens after his party, I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 2282

Warning: Mentions of Alcohol 

Unbelievable. It was his special day. His. And somehow after having a bit too much to drink, his precious human had wandered off. The birthday celebration was still on in full swing; even Lucifer was feeling a bit tipsy, telling Mammon--again--how much he loved him. Mammon didn’t mind the attention, but when his older brother got personal, he hated the annoying emotions in his chest. Satan and Asmo were both handling their drinks well, just a bit drunker than Lucifer, each of them deep in a giggly discussion that the second-born didn’t have the wherewithal to pay attention to. Levi and Belphie were the lightweights of the family, completely wasted. Levi had been muttering slurred words to no one in particular about how much he hated this new show he was watching. Belphie passed out a while ago, and Mammon wasn’t sure if it was due to the alcohol or the fact that he had skipped his afternoon nap to join the party. His twin, Beel, was nowhere to be found. Simeon and Luke never drank, being as uptight as angels typically were, but they were each enjoying some sort of sparkling fruity juice, making sure those who were drunk were pacing themselves and drinking water. Solomon was speaking to Barbatos, both of them practically sober, each of their eyes twinkling with specks of mischief. Diavolo seemed to be having the time of his life, pestering Lucifer to no end, and enjoying the frivolities that came with birthday parties with a loud boisterous laugh. And Mammon himself, well, for once, he wasn’t that drunk, he actually wanted to remember this whole thing for tomorrow. Sure, his head was tingly, he felt fantastic, and his feet wouldn’t walk as straight as was normal, but he could think fairly clearly. Right now, what was on his mind was, where in the world is MC?

He checked the kitchen first, seeing as how it was the nearest room to the dining hall. No MC, only Beel, finally found, who was raiding the cupboards for extra snacks. His excuse was that the alcohol was giving him the munchies, even though Beel held his alcohol so well, he had barely been tipsy once in his life. Mammon left him be, heading to the next logical choice, MC’s bedroom. He was so well acquainted with the direction of their room, he could walk there with his eyes closed. In fact, in a passing thought, he realised he probably spent more time in their room than his own. He opened the familiar door, convinced he’d see their face, but it was empty.

Memories flooded through his mind. Times of countless days where he’d open this very door to see his human greet him with a smile. Didn’t matter what it was for. Movie night? He fondly recalls staying up way too late with them, watching whatever they wanted. They’d giggle at his commentary and open emotions. If the movie scared him, he might accidently jump and cling to their side. They’d pat his head and make him feel safe. If he cried, they’d hand him some tissues and let him be emotional, making sure he felt better afterwards. Hiding from Lucifer? It had worked the first few times, after all, why would he want to be in a human’s room? Now, of course it doesn’t work, it’s the first place Lucifer checks. Once, he had hidden under MC’s bed and the human lied for him. It didn’t end well for them obviously, but after they endured the lecture together, they found themselves laughing about it. Bored? He’d go to their room and they’d find something to do. Excited? They never downgraded his accomplishments and eagerness. Upset? They’d not shoo him away, they’d invite him in, letting him talk about it no matter what it was. They’d ensure he knew his feelings were valid. No matter what, no matter the reason, he’d always wind up right here. Right by their side in any situation.

Irritated MC wasn’t where they should be, he wandered the house for a while. He should be at his own party, he should be among his family who, for once, was celebrating him. But it wasn’t nearly the same without MC around. Nothing he did anymore was. Somehow, this human enhanced every aspect of his life. He walked a little bit into the wall at the thought of them. Maybe he drank a bit more than he thought.

He was about to walk clear past his own bedroom when he noticed light peeking out from under the doorframe, some soft music gracing his ears. The melody sounded somber. He quickly opened his own door. The lights were dim. He had to scan the room a bit before he saw them. MC was sitting on the floor, back propped up against the wall, a glass in their hand with more drink left in it. Their cheeks were red, and they hadn’t even noticed he had entered yet. The music was coming from their D.D.D. a vastly different tune than what was playing at his party.

“MC!” He called, relieved to have found them, but upset they had left him and the group behind.

They snapped their head up at him, a grin curling their lips. “Mammy! Mamo. Mamoooooney.” He could tell they were wasted. Demonus didn’t have an affect on humans, so Lucifer took it upon himself to find a similarly strong human replacement. Maybe it had been too strong, and Mammon had half a mind to chew his older brother out for making his human wind up like this.

He felt his face grow hot at the nicknames, but he shook his head, using a finger to adjust his glasses. With his hands on his hips, he confronted them. “Why’d you leave the party, eh? We’re supposed to be celebrating me, you know! This kinda stuff doesn’t happen everyday!” They looked confused, like his question didn’t make sense. Instead of an answer, they went to take another sip. Mammon found himself taking the glass from their hands, placing it on a shelf. “I think you’ve had enough, huh? And when that’s coming from me, you know it’s serious.” He bent down, grabbing them by the arm to get them to their wobbly feet. They latched onto him, tightly, leaving him incredibly flustered.

“You’re being such an adult, where’s the real Mammon, what did you do to him?”

Again his chest fluttered, and he gritted his teeth. “Hey! I’ve always been an adult! I’m thousands of years older than you, ya know!” They giggled as he settled them down on his bed, detaching them from his body. They swayed a little as they sat still, and Mammon found himself shaking his head. “Look at this sorry state you’ve gotten yourself into, forcing me to be responsible, on my birthday no less!” His eyes almost twitched at their disheveled clothing, revealing some of their left shoulder and a bit of their collarbone. Adjusting their clothes to cover them back up, he found it hard to breathe.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me?” MC’s breath was hot, the mixed smell of his cake and their adult beverages wafting in the air. He blinked to realise he was close, much closer than he had intended to their body. Just a few more inches and their noses would be touching. His eyes flickered over their lips before reeling back and rubbing his own chest. His heart was almost painfully beating.

“Ask you what?”

“Ask me what I got you for your birthday.” MC swayed a bit more, and with his arms extended as far as they would go, he held them up by the shoulders. Then he thought about what they had said. He didn’t even think of the fact that the only one who had yet to bring him a gift was the one he cared about the most. Just them being there, giving him the letters, their smile, their support, the way he treated them--not just today--but all days that he was important, that had been enough.

“You...got me a gift?” He perked up a little, shifting around on his feet. MC chuckled some more, a sweet smile on their face, leaning to their side more so Mammon had no choice but to tighten his grip and straighten them.

“Course I did, it’s your special day.” On those last two words they attempted to touch the tip of his nose with their finger, but they ended up missing, touching his mouth instead. When their arms dropped, he bit his lower lip to keep his emotions at bay. “Wanna see it?”

“I-I-I mean, it’s my birthday, I deserve a gift! So...yes.” He covered up his true feelings with selfish desire like he so often did. MC rummaged through their pockets and handed him another envelope, addressed in the same fashion as the rest of them during this whole event. He let go of them temporarily to open it, sitting by their side on the bed so they could lean into him for support. It was labeled For Your Gift. Opening the envelope, he found it was devoid of a letter, containing a small key inside. He raised an eyebrow.

“It opens something in this room,” MC hinted, mumbling hazily against his arm.

“Ah, that’s why you squirreled your way in here huh?” Nerves in his body tingled with excitement. He scanned his room for anything that seemed out of the ordinary. Then his gaze snagged upon a little treasure chest on his nightstand. It was as wide as a good-sized book but half as tall. It was a dark black color with a silver lock and hinges. A golden bow was wrapped around it. How he had missed it before was a mystery, but he suddenly felt giddy, looking at MC with a goofy grin before crawling over his bed to get to it. He snatched it and placed it in his lap. MC followed him, collapsing face-first a few times on the mattress before they reached him, sitting opposite from him to better watch his expression. Their legs touched, threatening to intertwine, but Mammon hardly noticed. With the matching silver key, he opened the lock, lifting the lid to look inside.

His expression flattened, but not because he was disappointed, but because he had to process what he was looking at. Inside the box was what could only be described as memories. Train tickets, four of them, all stapled together, the ones from the trip to London. A shiny rock MC had found, one that they said reminded them of Mammon. A necklace, one Mammon had stolen to pawn off only to discover that it was a convincing fake, but ultimately worthless. He and MC had worked hard in trying to prank one of the brothers to buy it anyway, only for him to give it to MC to keep. Pictures from that time they had borrowed Satan’s camera to have an at-home photo shoot. One of Lucifer’s feathers from the time they had a contest to see who could get one plucked from his wings first. A cheap prize from that cursed Devildom Claw machine, one they had spent more money than trying to get than was actually worth. Trinkets, goodies, random knick-knacks, all these physical reminders from all the good times they had spent together. A tiny note was tapped to the underside of the lid. It read, For When You Want To Remember Me.

MC’s hand touched his knee, worried. “Do...you not like it?”

Drops of water suddenly fell onto all his little treasures, and as he blinked, Mammon realised he started to cry. His breath hitched as he observed the many contents of the box once more. Swimming in his head were all the memories. Thoughts of him and MC together, every event they shared. He placed the box off to the side of him, hesitating for just a second before pulling MC into his arms, burying his face into their shoulder as he cried.

MC stiffened, sobering up just slightly from the shock of his reaction. “Mammon, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong, I just…” He snaked his arm up around their back so he could place his hand on the back of their head. He never wanted to let them go, he could stay in this moment forever and be happy for eternity. “You gave me you, MC.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind...thank you, that’s what I meant to say.” It was hard for him to explain in words. That box was filled with MC, essentially. Every connection to them he ever needed was in their gift. He held them tighter, hoping that maybe they were drunk enough to forget tomorrow how much he sobbed into them, how softly he was holding them. MC mimicked his actions and buried their hand in his hair. He let out a soft sigh, trying not to melt into them as his tears started to dry.

“Happy birthday, Mammon,” They leaned their whole body into him, the alcoholic influences letting them share more than they typically would’ve intended. “I wished there was more I could’ve given you. You’re so so special to me. I can’t afford anything fancy or designer, though I know that’s what you would’ve preferred. I’d give you the entire world if I could. The three worlds!”

Mammon shifted so his face was in the crook of their neck, feeling MC’s head settle against his own. “MC...listen...this is perfect, and even if you didn’t get me anything, I wouldn't have cared. Everything you’ve done today is enough. Everything you do is enough. You yourself are a gift to me enough.”

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me mammon #obey me mammon x mc

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia Ch.3

WARNING DECEPTIONS OF A PANIC ATTACK

I understand seeing others go through this can sometimes cause panic or anxiety attacks in some and with the use of some imagery I've used I'd feel better if I gave a fair warning that there is a detailed panic attack early on.

,,,,,,,,,,

Whoever said eight hours of sleep was the right amount for humans has never met an insomniac who just spent the last six days and five nights awake. You hoped that fucker is in hell burning for his sins, he probably has more of them that you don't know of. But with bleary eyes looking at your phone you can barely make out that it's just a little past six in the morning. This is backed up by the slimmers of light shinning through the blanket you put over the window last night. Briefly the thought of keeping it up today passes through your mind as you try to curl into an even tighter blanket cocoon.

Stretching out your legs and toes you let your muscles melt into mush in the warmth and comfort of your bed. Closing your eyes and burying your head back into the pillow, you might not be able to go to sleep but resting is nice too. You're so relaxed it almost feels as if all your limbs are floating and you feel the buzz of energy come surging back through you, you hum along with it nuzzling into the pillows.

'Your car was broken into.' the thought flashes through your mind and has you jolting up right.

Chest heaving slightly as frantic eyes dance along the room that hasn't changed since the night before. The buzzing energy from just a few moments before turns into an icy feeling flowing in your veins. It chills you to your core and you've noticed the tremors in your arms causing you to tremble. There's a sick feeling that bubbles up your throat, as you feel the phantoms of tens of hands grabbing at your arms and torso. They move erratically all over and their grips are suffocating, there's a lump in your throat that you have trouble swallowing down.

Bringing a hand up to your throat you jab your thumb right above or right at where your larynx would be. The slight pain from the pressure helps ease the lump away and you're able to get out a few frantic breaths. You hardly notice the wetness on your face from the few tears slipping free from your eyes.

'Gross, gross, gross, gross.' is the only message that rings clear in your mind as you're assaulted by these phantom hands.

You're aware this is a panic attack, but it does little to calm you down. Putting more pressure on your throat and using your feet to propel you back into the mattress. Vaguely you're aware that tiring your body out should calm you or maybe it's the release of an emotional fit that calms you, you aren't sure which and you don't really care at the moment. So flailing your legs you let your feet forcefully slip off of their purchase as you push your muscles to their full extent with force. It doesn't take long before you can't feel your limbs and are gasping for breath.

The phantoms are gone, no longer touching you as they please, and while the lump still sits at the bottom of your throat making it hurt to swallow and breathe around you can begin to feel calm. Actually it's the numbness that takes over you, not a sense of calm. The sense of an empty shell broken from its exertion. One thing's for sure you can't take your car today. If you had a panic attack just by thinking of your car you don't want to risk actually getting behind the wheel.

Everything feels tense, the muscles in your legs are starting to ache and you're pretty sure you'll have a bruise at the base of your throat.  You check your phone with shaky hands to see it's now seven twelve. If you get up now and leave you think you can probably make it into town by eight forty giving you time to grab something from the Dunkin' on the corner across from the shop. Or you could call out, Nate would totally understand. But just the thought of being alone today sends a chill down your spine and the feeling of those phantom hands start creeping their way back into your personal space.

“I'm going to work!” jumping up and out of the bed, away from the grubby grabby specters.

Running around the room you throw on a pair of black shorts, unusual for you to wear at work but if you're walking you'll have to deal, sweaty jeans are uncomfortable and joggers aren't very cohesive to a work environment. Deciding on a binder made from a breathable swimsuit material for the same reason, sweaty bra is too uncomfortable and bra-less isn't really something you're comfortable with. Grabbing the first shirt you find, it's a black tee with the words “The only man for me is Mothman” printed on it surrounded by little white stars and a chibi lil mothamn.

Looking at your outfit altogether cheers you up. It's casual but cute, not to mention these shorts do a lot for your thighs and butt. But, there's no time to dwell on how handsome you are, you need to grab food and get out the door like ten minutes ago! Grabbing a mask printed with the word 'No' dead center and your headphones you leave your room. With the thought of grabbing Dunkin' before work you settle on a Pedialyte Pop to hold you over during your walk, nausea shouldn't hit you right away anyway. Checking your door was locked, thrice, you started your trek to town.

Most people would complain about having to walk or hike while wearing a mask, often times saying it was hard to breathe under the fabric. But you'd say they just didn't have the right size mask for their face shape. You'd run into a few masks that hadn't been the right shape or size throughout the years but you're thankful that your first three had been perfect. Had they been too big or small you probably wouldn't have fallen in love with wearing masks, they were so comfy and let you interact with people without your voice getting stuck in your throat.

You'd taken to wearing them after high school when you'd taken a job of watching an elderly hospice patient's corgi while her family worked on moving to Virginia and closer to her. Anytime you and little Russel went to visit her you'd had to wear a mask, so instead of wearing the disposables you'd bought a set of three reusable ones.

After noting the change in behavior she mentioned your Autism, she'd been a retired social worker and saw the signs when she met you and after spending nearly 40 hours a week together for half a year she was certain you somehow fell through the cracks. It was a shock to you when she threw out the off handed comment but after stating who your pediatrician was, she was sent into a fit of laughter.

“Anya is a dear and a great surgeon, but I think the cultural barrier has stopped her from diagnosing children for years.” she had said all the while wheezing through the oxygen mask, eyes crinkling in amusement.

She'd sat you down with a list of books to look into and written out all your symptoms, she said if you ever wanted to get tested having the list of symptoms would be more helpful than straight up asking for a diagnosis. Some doctors were too by the book back in the 40s so Autism has rarely been studied in depth. Only in the last decade or so has a movement gained momentum to spread not only a wider awareness of the disorder but also acceptance for it. But to a doctor it would seem like you were grasping for attention at least to anyone who spent less time with you than she had. But without at least six thousand dollars to spend on a piece of paper that confirms what you already know you'll just have to stick to coping by using methods you read about from forums and blogs made by people with Autism rather than their parents or someone who's “very close” to them. And like Mary Anne said before she died, “just because you don't have a diagnosis doesn't mean your symptoms aren't there.”. A statment that reassures you from time to time, when you think you must be faking it for attention. And that somehow you managed to fake tics your whole life.

Snapping out of your memories because you could hardly tell your mask was on, and has been for the past forty minutes or so since you'd finished your pop. It wasn't too hot at the moment and like the previous day Kepler's climate has no humidity whatsoever, a huge change from the coast. Checking the time again on your phone you see the clear white numbers stating boldly that it is eight o' nine. You don't feel any closer to town but figure that's normal when all you've seen is the old over grown road. You feel you should have seen the road leading to town by now,  you hope you see it soon or else you'd really over estimated how long it would take to get to town, then you'd be hella late and sweaty. With the way you still had signal to the spotify you doubt you've even made it far enough to reach the dead zone.

Sighing you look down as you walk hoping to maybe find a rock to kick, walking's really boring when there's nothing to explore and you're on a time crunch. A loud honk takes you out of your head and you startle looking up. Doesn't take more than a second before you see a car stopped in the middle of the road in front of you. It's well taken care of for sure but not necessarily new or anything, you don't know too much about cars other than it looks like a black Camry no wait that's the Hyundai symbol. Some type of sedan then.

The back window on your side of the car rolls down and a man leans out and calls to you, you don't hear him at first. Slipping your headphones down to hang around your neck he repeats himself, “Do ya need a ride?” He has a southern accent on the thicker side, not abnormal for West Virginia but you can tell it's not the same dialect, probably from further down. The man has blonde hair styled in that fluffy swooped faux hawk that a lot of gamers had back in 2017/2018. He's got slight thin stubble along his jaw, not quiet five o'clock shadow so he probably has trouble growing facial hair. His eyes are that hazel color everyone wishes they could have, the kinda that had the orangish yellow glow about them. He looks like a fuck boy.

You're nearly ready to point at your mask in an indication of 'no I don't know you creep' when you catch sight of the driver. A boy around your age maybe who looks apathetic, that's not what catches your eye everyone looses the will to live at some point. What draws your attention is the mask he's wearing on his face. He could potentially be like you, or maybe he's just sick and being considerate, or he could have allergies. Whatever the case may be you can't honestly be considering getting into a car with two random men just because one wears a face mask. Hell for all you know they've orchestrated this situation, they could've been watching you analyzing your every move to know that breaking into your car would send you into a state of panic where you wouldn't use your car the next day or two, then you'd be out in the open to kidnap on your walk to town where you couldn't call for help due to being in the dead zone. Why else would they be this far along the old dirt road?

“Ah...miss?” the southern drawl brings you out of your inner ramblings, and the words cause you to bristle.

“I'm not a woman.” you say calmly but firmly.

“Oh, ah sorry sir.” you can't help but huff a laugh at the quick apology, your eyes catch movement through the window. Oh they have a dog with them, a rottweiler at that. Cool kidnappers with a dog, who's wearing a vest how...wait dog in vest oh he must be a service dog. Cool not kidnappers then, just strangers, nice. Seemingly trans allys, slight common ground with the driver, and a service dog it might be safe to engage...or at least humor these men.

“It's fine, I'm They/Them for the record.” You say approaching the car, you make your way to the man leaning out of the window, somehow the presence of a service dog puts you more at ease, especially when the dog only spares you a single glance before his attention's back on the driver, who's not even pretending to pay attention to the two of you. His leg is bouncing up and down, it's not rhythmic and no one's paying attention even as it shakes the car. Probably has ADHD, your dad does that all the time when he's at a stop light, it's a subconscious movement he even does it in waiting rooms or anywhere where he has to sit still really.

“Oh, well sorry 'bout that Mx.” the man in the window stresses the “Mx” but not in the typical fuck boy way, more like he was reinforcing it to himself. “We just saw you walkin' and wanted to see if ya' needed a ride anywhere.” he says.

“If you're going to town, I'd appreciate one, but I wouldn't want to be a bother.” his smile brightens at this but you notice it doesn't reach his eyes, probably just being polite.

“Sure thing, hop on in.” He moves to slide back but you've already opened the passenger door and slid into the seat. Effectively snapping the driver out of whatever haze he was in to look at you, he looks back at his friend with confusion.

“Hi” you say to the driver who gives his own wary 'hey' in response as you buckle yourself in. The driver looked even more apathetic up close, dark eye bags under his eyes that were such a deep brown you couldn't see his pupil he also had that fluffy brown e-boy hair. Not the frizzy hair marketing itself as fluffy but the type that's genuinely fluffy looking forming soft waves in his hair.

If they are kidnappers they're really bad at it, especially if all you have to do to stun them is sit up front in a seat that has the second most control in the car and can escape quicker if the need arises. However, glancing back at the dog you notice his attention's still on the driver, it would be really dumb if a kidnapper brought their service dog with them to do a kidnapping so you're reassured that it's just two southern boys driving through Kepler. And they happened to spot a “damsel” in distress, so they came to the rescue.

“Oh, don't mind Connor he won't bother you. He's here for Toby right now.” The man in the back says and you see the man beside you grip the steering wheel tighter. You nod in response and feel a tickle at the base of your skull, you'll try holding back the tic to not freak the two out.

Just as “Toby” is about to put the car in drive, a bark is heard from the back seat. A frustrated sigh leaves Toby as his hand leaves the gear shift, scowl clear even on his masked face. You guess Toby needs Connor to let him know when he's safe to drive, it's rude to ask about these things but you can't help but guess why that'd be the case.

Another bark leaves Connor right as your head snaps to the right moving back to place, then right, right, up, and right before cracking violently.

“There we go.” you verbalize.

Toby's looking at you in what you can only guess is shock, not the worst reaction you've had to your tics, meanwhile you notice Brian's looking to Connor who's looking directly at you now. Then his head whips around to Toby and he barks, like clockwork Toby's shoulders jerk forwards and his hands jolt up. Connor looks back at you and gives a bark, your head jerks three times cracking your neck two of those times. Connor's gaze is still on you and you know he'll be in an ongoing ping pong game between you and Toby if you keep triggering each other's tics the entire drive, if you'd even be able to get to that point.

“I'm fine, thank you.” you said looking at Connor while holding the sides of your head, trying to as your friend Emonie once said 'keep the bobble head away'.

Thankfully Connor must have had a training course similar to ones you've helped with because he looks away from you and focuses on Toby, who he gives several barks to. Following those barks Toby pops his knuckles and makes a 'mrrwo' sound, sort of imitating a cat, before his head jerks sharply into his knee that jerked up at the same time. You cringe at the sight knowing that must have hurt, hands still firmly pushing your head you see Connor settle down in the back, still on alert but laying down as if to say the muscle spasms have passed. You won't risk removing your hands, you still need a ride into town and this whole situation's put you behind to where you won't make it if you walk now.

“pfft...” you look back to the blonde and he looks ready to burst with laughter from what he just watched. Heat creeping up your face you turn and look away, sure the situation's funny but you don't know these two men and honestly you just feel so embarrassed right now. Especially with last night's incident at the mini mart still fresh in your memory.

“Will you fucking shut up!” Toby barks out, and the blonde tries harder to suppress his laughing fit. Toby glares at his friend before turning his attention back to the road, hand on the gear shift he waits for an alert before putting the car in drive and doing a U-turn back to town.

It's been a while since you've been a passenger in a car, you actually get to take the time to relax and enjoy the passing scenery as Toby drives. He's a surprisingly good driver, most guys his age are speed demons and always want to see how fast they can get away with driving. Toby on the other hand is abiding by the limit even on this open stretch of road with no other cars. But you guess it comes with the territory of needing a service dog to be able to drive, have to abide by the rules. The drive's quiet, you take it as a good thing that the men aren't trying to question or get to know you. If they were kidnappers or up to something nefarious surely they'd be trying to distract you right now with endless chatter to let your guard down. Especially if they'd been watching you and knew what a total chattering encyclopedia you could be when given the right topic. You're gazing out into the window seeing the sign of the town get closer finally when the thought hits you.

“So, your name's Toby, is it short for Tobias?” turning to look at the man, he spares a single side glance with his furrowed brows before responding with an uneasy 'Yea'.

“Cool, sorry if that was a weird question. Tobias is like the best name I've ever heard but I've only met three Tobiases, including you. Could I call you Tobias or do you prefer Toby?”

“I don't really care.” gotta love apathy.

“Cool, cool. Thanks for the ride Tobias!” you chirp out.

“Hey, forgetin' that I'm the one who offered the ride?” The man in the backseat speaks up.

“No, you just never gave me your name. You said Connor's” and ear twitch is all you get such a good boy, “and you said Tobias'. Never mentioned your own.”

“It's Brian, sugar.” you were correct, this man is a fuck boy.

“Yikes, that's gross.”that was a reflex and it was now Toby's turn to laugh at his friend. The man didn't even hide his snickers even had his shoulders bouncing up and down, you think you even caught a mumbled “I won't hesitate bitch”. Meanwhile Brian sat stunned, guess he was used to people finding his nicknames more endearing, meaning he probably meant nothing by it and it was probably the southern accent but it just made you think of the senior men who'd hit on you back before you moved out here.

“Yea don't call me 'sugar', anyway, I'm YN, it's nice to meet you three.”  Toby just nods as his laughter dies down a clucking sound resonates from his throat, Brian however goes right back to his friendly persona with a 'good to meet ya.' Again it's slightly off, it doesn't feel like he's trying to be polite...it feels like...you can't put your finger on it but it's familiar. Like when you fake a conversation with Nate or your mother on the days where exhaustion is nearly killing you, but Brian doesn't seem tired or sluggish.

The rest of the drive is relatively quiet as you direct Toby how to maneuver the streets and he parks in the parking lot of Dunkin'. While you were getting out you'd asked the men if you could get them anything from Dunkin' as a thank you for driving you. Brian tried to decline but Toby spoke over him with what “they” wanted.

“Ok cool, can Connor have a pup cup?” unsure if service dogs could have treats while working.

Sparing a glance to the good boy in question Toby shrugged “Yea, he's due for a break any-anyway.” he ends with popping his knuckles. You assume Connor only alerts motor tics when Toby is driving or about to start driving, since that tic didn't get clocked.

You repeat the order to the cashier once inside. You also get a frozen caramel coffee and an iced caramel coffee for you and Nate along with a box of donuts to pick from for the day. When she hands you everything you're able to balance Toby's order on top of your box and your drinks in the other hand. Walking out with the help of the next man coming in, nodding thanks as you pass him, you see Toby leaning against his car with Connor sitting next to him, no vest on.

It's terrifying how well trained Connor is, because the dog you left in the car barely paid you any mind. While this hyper pup's tail is wagging at just the sight of you, his paws lifting slightly in a tiny dance as you get closer. But he doesn't dare move from his sit, looking up at Toby for cues and looking at you who holds his treat.  Had you not worn a mask for so long you may have missed the smile Toby gave Connor as he pat the dog's head. The slight crinkles around the edges were a dead give away though. With a quick snap Connor is released from whatever command he'd been held by and runs up to you once you're five feet from them.

Drooling mouth opening and closing in an odd mute bark for a dog this size. You take note of the fact that while he's jumping excitedly and pawing the air he hasn't laid a single paw on you. Whoever trained him knew what they were doing that's for sure. Looking up to Toby you hold the one hand outstretched for him to take his items, a tray with Connor's pup cup and his iced coffee, and a white baggie with three donuts, strawberry glazed, maple glazed, and an apple fritter.

Once he's taken his items you balance your drinks on top of the box. Connor's attention hasn't moved from you even through the exchange. You're a little confused by the pup's antics but he probably thinks he can get a donut off you.

“Sorry bubbie, your dad's got your treat not me.” that dopey little face tilts to the left not understanding you aren't the treat giver at this time. You laugh letting him smell the hand that had the coffee in it so maybe he'd understand you didn't have his treat. He excitedly sniffs you, and gives you a few licks before sitting back right in front of you with a blur of a tail behind him. Such a silly boy, he deserves some chin scritches.

“He's smart, told him you'd give 'im this.” Toby says holding out the pup cup to you, as you bend at an awkward angle balancing food in one hand while scratching his dog with the other.

Connor's a little disappointed when his pets stop but jumps to all fours when he sees the pup cup. His tail is wagging so fast you'd be afraid his butt will fall off, if that was a thing that could happen. You go to put the cup in front of him but Toby stops you.

“Hold on, Connor sit.” As soon as his name was called his bottom was on the ground. “You already know his release word so when you want him to take it just say the release.” He says offhandedly while placing the bag in the passengers seat and his drink in the cup holder. You can hear murmured arguing from inside the car, but choose to ignore it. These guys clearly aren't kidnappers, and if they were it's so stupid to kidnap you in broad day light after you just made a purchase and with literally a street in between you and your work, where your boss is waiting for you.

Placing the cup in front of Connor you didn't think it was possible for him to get any more excited but his tail is now undetectable by the human eye. He looks from his treat to you, back, and back to you. Toby said you already knew the release, and there's only one thing you've said to Connor throughout the trip.

“Thank you.” it's immediate, for such a well mannered service dog on and off duty this pup has no table manners. There is whip cream everywhere it's on the ground, his paws, even behind his head. How on earth did he manage that? This must be Connor's only character flaw because Toby is back with what you can only assume are all the napkins he had received in the donut bag, and service vest under his arm.

Once the pup cup was utterly decimated Connor sat happily, butt wiggling, as his dad wiped the rest of the whip cream off of him. Showing the pup the huge glob he had behind his ear only had him licking it off the napkin before licking his dad's face.

“Wrong.” Toby called, a little bummed the pup calmed down a bit but his tail was still going. Toby paused before he slipped the vest back on Connor. Head jerking back twice he looked over to you.

“You wanna say 'bye'?” you perked at the question, if you had a tail of your own it'd probably be wagging just as fast as Connor's.

Do you want to pet a dog, what kind of question was that? Of course you fucking do. Yea you might be late to work but petting a dog is always worth it. Setting your breakfast and coffee on the hood of the car you bent down with Toby to Connor's level.

If that dog could talk he'd tell everyone you gave the best ear scratches, sure you may have smooshed his wrinkly face a ton. But you were so nice and was that baby coos, ah he loves you new best friend. Connor jumped up when you started cooing and gave you a ton of kisses to the face. You couldn't stop laughing and the repetitive motion triggered a tic. Thankfully your mask was on so Toby couldn't see you tongue poke out repeatedly as you said “bleh” in between giggles.

“Wrong.” he says gently pushing the drooling pup away. Shaking the spit off his hand before scratching the pup under the chin, right where the bottom of his ear met his jaw. The pup instantly melted calming into his handlers touch. With his dog now calm he whistles and Connor is standing up straight, Toby slips the vest over his head and secures it. Connor the puppy has turned back into Connor the good boy working pup.

Grabbing your stuff from the hood of the car you turn to Toby and Connor, “Thanks again for the ride, and for letting me pet your dog.”

You're met with a simple shrug, not much phases Toby you've noticed. Aside from his tics that is.

“See ya later Tobias!” with that you're on your way to cross the street legally, and by that you totally jay walked out into traffic in front of the sheriff. You may have jay walked in front of the sheriff, but he didn't do anything so you're fine.

#A cure for insomnia #proxies x reader #proxies #ticci tobyx reader #ticcitoby #ticci toby #timothy wright #timothy wright x reader #brian thomas x reader #brian thomas #masky x reader #masky x hoodie #masky #hoodie #creepypasta fanfic

[anarchy-and-piglins]

Somehow Technoblade had managed the spectacular achievement of becoming the odd one out in an entire community made up of rare and strange beings.

The fact that all the other residents were non-humans happened to be what made him different though. Wilbur had told him the history of the commune, how their town was founded with the direct purpose of being a safe place for mobs and hybrids to live in peace, secluded from the humans who hunted them, enslaved them, or would otherwise harm them. Their location was kept secret, hidden from most by enchantments, and they were almost completely self-sufficient in the way they were run in terms of food and stuff.

Only occasionally would somebody wander out to another village, to trade or just to seek a little adventure for themselves. Phil especially was prone to do this – a traveler at heart, his Elytrian nature – and he was the one who had found Technoblade in a rather... compromising position.

If by compromising you could mean having an arrow sticking out your back.

People didn't like Technoblade. And Technoblade generally didn't like people, but he liked it even less when they chased him out of their villages with their bows drawn. Phil had been kind enough to remove the projectile. Technoblade had bravely said it didn't hurt but then secretly dug his blunt nails into the palms of his hands hard enough to leave white indents. Then Phil had insisted on taking him home to get a proper look at the wound and clean it up.

Not all of the other residents were thrilled with Technoblade's presence at first, scared it could compromise their location. A lot of their tunes had changed when they found out other humans were the cause of his injury, even more so when Techno revealed this was hardly an isolated incident. People didn't like Technoblade at all.

(Most humans had little tolerance for that which they did not understand. And according to them, Technoblade was weird and very hard to understand. Techno understood himself perfectly fine, he always thought they were the weird ones.)

So he stayed and overall things worked out great. There were only minor issues caused by the 'only human around' thing. Their pub was a good example. A few of the others in the commune could simply fly or teleport, and those that couldn't had no problems either since they could rely on inhuman stamina to make the climb tolerable. Techno had a hundred rungs of a ladder he needed to brave with his pitiful human physique if he wanted to get up there. Same thing for Phil's ridiculously high-up birdhouse.

And then one day he got sick.

It was probably his own fault. Last night when it was storming he'd been coming home from mining and gotten completely soaked out in the rain. A small voice in the back of his mind told him he should probably take his drenched clothes off and get warm and comfortable as soon as he got home – the voice sounded suspiciously like Phil when he lectured Techno about fixing his terrible sleeping schedule and eating more regularly. But he had gotten distracted by putting away the materials he'd mined into his chests and starting to smelt the ore and by the time he noticed he was shivering at how cold it was, his clothes were damp more than wet. He lighted the fire and felt too exhausted to bother getting changed, crawling under the covers as he was - though it didn't completely ward away further trembling.

When he woke up his head hurt and there was this annoying tickle in his chest, feather-light touches against his lungs. The clothes had become sticky and uncomfortable, peeling off his skin. Techno coughed into a fist and set out as normal, intent on resuming his tasks where he left off yesterday.

It would probably go away on its own.

Except the coughing didn't stop. Small bursts of it kept coming up when he needed them least. He was in the middle of one when a voice rang out behind him.

"Techno, are you okay dude?" He must have jumped a solid three feet into the air and for a moment Wilbur only chuckled at his reaction.

"I told you to stop doing that," Techno grumbled, a little too sharply. Just because Wilbur could literally appear out of nowhere didn't mean he had to use that ability to sneak up on him for no reason. Techno coughed again, hiding it in his elbow.

"You did," Wilbur acknowledged with a smirk, but didn't apologize. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look I'm doing, I'm headed to the mines." Techno swung his pickaxe up on his shoulder, kind of almost nearly dropping it in the process with how clumsy his hands were being. Stupid.

"It looks like you were hacking up a lung, really." Wilbur's features softened. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine," Techno responded. He started walking again, knowing Wilbur would have a hard time following him while in corporeal form. Especially in the daytime.

"Are you coming to the pub later? I've got some new plans to unveil, think they'll be sick." Wilbur did make a valiant attempt at following him, though he quickly started falling behind, floating inches above the ground and unable to keep up with Techno's human strides.

"Uh, I'll think about it?" Techno answered evasively. He wasn't looking forward to braving that ladder in his current state. His arms hurt just thinking about it.

Wilbur stopped to call after him. "What do you mean you'll think about it?"

But Techno was far enough gone to be able to pretend not to hear him as he descended down his mineshaft.

Techno liked Niki's hair a lot. He'd even told her so not long after meeting her.

It was long and wavy and a nice shade of pastel pink that reminded him of the sunset. Technoblade would consider growing out his own hair that long if he didn't know it was way too unruly to keep in shape and stay untangled. And if dyeing it wasn't such a chore – one he knew he'd be too lazy to undertake as regularly as he should – he might have dyed it from its boring brown shade into something more interesting.

Niki was glad he was keeping her company while she tended to it, combing through it with what he presumed was a comb made of a seashell. Techno didn't tell her he had only really left the mines early because his lungs were starting to strain from the dust down there, the coughing fits getting closer together with less time in between to let him breathe. He sat on the sandy shore and traced patterns into the sand with one finger while they talked.

Niki was telling him about her builds, and expressing her disappointment over how she couldn't easily show them to her friends. None of them could breathe underwater or deal with the pressure common at the depths Niki lived. But she loved describing them in detail.

She was just explaining the sea glass she was intending to use when Technoblade started coughing again. His lungs expressed their displeasure through a series of sharp pangs that shot up into his neck. The sound he made was wet and disgusting, like there was something liquid rattling around inside his chest. Niki stopped talking to look at him worriedly.

"Are you alright? Techno, what happened?"

He tried to wave her away but it was kind of hard with his body still intent on making it impossible for him to get oxygen. Techno closed his eyes against the blurriness of his vision to concentrate on inhaling slower instead. "M'fine." He could feel the phlegm in his throat.

Niki was pulling herself onto the beach a little, trying to get a closer look at him. "Are you sick?"

"No." Getting up so fast was a bad idea. His head spun and he felt incredibly shaky. Techno ignored it. "No, I'm not. It's fine. I think I'll just head home now."

He started walking away quickly. The afternoon sun felt unbearable suddenly, scorching. Or maybe that was the beginning of a fever.

Niki called after him to wait but confined to the water as she was, it wasn't like she could do anything to stop him. Technoblade walked until he crested the hill, already seeing the shape of the other buildings in the distance. He made it halfway through the grass field and then he felt too drained to continue. Deciding to sit down for a bit, he lay back and closed his eyes.

"Do you think he's dead?"

"I dunno, we should poke him with a stick to find out."

Techno groaned at the sound of loud voices, ringing painfully around his aching head. He cracked his eyes open – not sure when he had even fallen asleep - and tried to blink the three faces hovering above him into focus.

"Oh, I think he's alive. Kind of." That was Ranboo.

"We could still poke him, just to make sure." Tommy.

Which meant the third person had to be Tubbo.

Techno pushed up on his elbows to get into a seated position, hating how difficult it was. His limbs were weak, as if they were made of jelly or some shit. The light fever had escalated into him feeling like his entire body was on fire.

This was not good.

"-chno? Hey, anybody home?" Tubbo was talking to him, waving one hand in front of his face. If his frown was any indication, Techno had been spacing out for a while.

"Hm?" he asked.

"I think there's something wrong with him," Tubbo said to the others.

"I'm fine." Techno tried standing up but fell back onto his ass a moment later when dizziness plowed into him with the force of a boulder. Tommy snorted.

"Yeah, we can tell." He reached out but pulled his hand back as soon as it came into contact with Techno's skin. "Fuck you're almost the same temperature as Jack Manifold. Pretty sure humans aren't supposed to run that hot."

"I'll get Phil," Ranboo offered, teleporting before Techno had a chance to object.

He covered his face with his hands and sighed. This was going to be a thing now and that happened to be the exact opposite of what Technoblade wanted it to be. He just wanted to go home and sleep this off.

"You're not..." Tubbo broke through his thoughts. The boy hesitated, wings vibrating a bit with nervous energy. "You're not like... actually dying are you?"

Techno tried to answer but was interrupted by another coughing fit first. When he was done Tubbo looked even more anxious than before. "Probably not. It's just a cold."

It was definitely not a simple cold. Pneumonia, more likely.

"Oh good."

Techno agreed. Not dying would probably be good, even if he currently felt like death warmed over.

Philza took him to the pub, much to Technoblade's horror.

All his protests and insistence he'd be fine if he was just taken to his house were brushed off easily, especially when Phil took flight with Techno barely able to keep from falling off his back when dark spots took over his vision. If it weren't for Phil's supporting hands keeping him steady he's probably have fallen off.

Normally Techno didn't dislike flying with Phil – despite the other always making some quip about how little Techno weighed for his height. But this time the vertigo was horrible and made him want to puke. Maybe it was fortunate he had skipped breakfast this morning.

They landed on the wooden porch softly, Phil keeping Techno's arm around his shoulder as he put him down to make sure he wouldn't collapse. Techno wasn't about to admit he probably needed that, though he muttered a quick thanks under his breath, which was starting to get more wheezing by the minute. There wasn't an inch of his body that didn't ache.

There were a few beds in the backrooms of the pub, sometimes used for newcomers to temporarily reside. Techno found himself dumped into one, not really caring where Phil went when he left the room. Not when the sheets were so blessedly cool and comfortable. He could have probably fallen back asleep soon if Phil hadn't returned almost instantly.

"I checked with Sneeg, he said this should help a little." Phil sat down on the bed, holding up a cup with the nastiest-looking brown tea inside it Technoblade ever did see. "I'm sorry we don't have any real potions to give you, but he's closest to you in physiology, so I'm hoping this will be enough. We don't exactly have a lot of experience with human illness."

"Did you ask him if it was poisonous?" Techno asked, eyeing the steaming liquid.

"Don't be dramatic." Phil handed him the cup. Techno sighed and downed the herbal tea in one go, suppressing his gag reflex. Medicinal and earthy, it somehow tasted worse than it looked. He didn't think that was possible.

"Great, can I go home now?"

Phil shook his head as he got up again, taking the cup from him. "You're not going anywhere until your fever breaks. You think I flew you all the way up here for fun?"

"Possibly."

Rolling his eyes as he leaves the room, Phil once again came back only a moment later. This time he was holding a bowl of what Techno could only presume was water going by the cloth that was soaking in it. Phil gestured for him to lie down properly and this time Techno obeyed without complaint.

"I think it's best if you stay here for a while," he said while folding the cloth and putting it on Techno's forehead. The coldness of it did feel nice against his pounding headache. "The pub is the best place for us to take turns keeping an eye on you."

"I don't need you guys to keep an eye on me, though. I'm not a child."

"No, you're just a stubborn asshole with pneumonia." Phil drew back a bit, smile faltering. "And also the only human currently living in the commune. We don't have the needed supplies to treat you should this get worse, so I'd rather not take the risk."

And while he did a fair job hiding it, it was undeniably clear Phil was worried.

"Fine, I'll stay." Techno made an effort of showing how annoyed he was by huffing and pulling the blankets over himself. "But can you at least get me a book or something? Won't help much keeping me here if I'll be bored to death."

Phil laughed – light and teasing. Techno liked that a lot more than he did the worry.

"I'll see what I can do."

He spent a solid week in bed.

Much to Phil's relief, Techno's sickness did not get worse. But without proper medicine, it didn't improve as quickly as they would have liked either. He had to get better the old-fashioned way: waiting for his body to fight off the infection on its own.

Most of his time was spent sleeping. Whenever he woke up somebody else was at his bedside, to make sure he could eat and drink. Phil hadn't been kidding when he said they'd take turns. It was almost comforting to know there was always someone watching over him while he slept, though Techno didn't feel the need to say that out loud.

After that first week, he was recovered enough to at least limp out of his room and around the pub. He was too weak to attempt the ladder and any sudden moves were still likely to throw him into a coughing fit that could last several minutes. But he could sit at one of the tables and talk to Niki when she visited.

Or to the others, who all seemed to be coming by a lot more often than was usual.

Wilbur unveiled his plans and talked Techno's ear off about what he was working on. Fundy came all the way to the pub to try and sell him stolen trinkets. Ranboo was always coming around with some new book for him to read, asking him if he liked his previous recommendation.

(None of them visited as often as Tommy though, who always complained about having to be there while fluffing up his wings, yet always stuck around the longest even when Techno told him he'd be fine on his own.)

And with them around, Techno realized that despite being the only human, he had never felt less alone.

#technoblade #origin smp #mcyt #shara writes #human techno my beloved <3 #also sickfic mY BELOVED

[itsoutrageouss]

feel this? ☾ din djarin

ONE SHOT

summary: You’re Dins fairly new travel companion on the crest, and the two of you still have a lot to learn about one another. You have always been bothered by vivid nightmares, something you fail to hide from the punctilious bounty hunter… 

pairing: din djarin x reader

word count: 3,9k

warnings: sleep deprivation/insomnia, angst

A/N: Hi! Just to be clear, this is definitely not to romanticize insomnia or nightmares (I suffer from it myself) it’s simply to show how important contact and feeling safe can be when you feel like this, and uh this is my first ‘official’ piece of writing with din so lmk what you think!

✰✰✰

Din subtly notices the way your energy fades as the days pass. At first he doesn’t think anything of it, you’re human and you get tired of course. But the way your words sometimes slur or don’t totally make sense; the way you blink with slow, heavy eyelids and the way your complexion is pale like porcelain makes him worry. It still isn’t enough for him to comment on it because he respects your boundaries the way that you have shown him you respect his, but he notes himself to keep an eye on you. More than usual, at least. 

You are heading back to Nevarro. All the collected bounties are proudly stocked in the carbonite and the foundling safe asleep. Din hasn’t talked since he threw the last and particularly loquacious quarry on board. You figure he’s exhausted, so you let him be in the cockpit as you go to the hull for occupation. Din has asked you to fix the heat sink and cooling radiator panels that seem to be faulting, so you might as well get to it now. As you make your way up the latter, you suddenly get a rippling flashback to last night.

Crawling up a wall, trying to escape. The images pierce through your mind, but you keep climbing, screwing your eyes shut tightly. Damn nightmares. Not only do they deprive you of a normal sleep schedule (which the kid does not help with), but you spend so much daytime thinking about them too that you are absolutely drained mentally and physically. You keep chanting how it’s gonna pass like it always does, but it doesn’t seem to do it.

There are only two sliding doors between you and The Mandalorian, and you make sure he hears you come up the latter so you don’t startle him somehow, and silently let him know what you’re doing. Hair drapes over your face, so you automatically gather it and tuck it away in less than two seconds; number one skill to have.

You begin to disperse the panels, laying out tools randomly and picking up different screws and components to get to the core problem. Your back is tense and rigid from the work, and you involuntarily feel your hands fumble and sweat as the metal parts slur in your palms, slipping out with loud clings against the silver floor. Another flashback of your hands slipping on the wall’s hot stone hinges in your recent nightmare makes you drop the wrench on your toe. Biting down on your teeth harshly you hold back a growl of pain, managing just to hiss like a Loth-cat. You blink rapidly down at the tools, but they still seem unclear and you can’t really remember their names. Instead of trying to keep going, you shamefully plop yourself onto the floor completely, letting your shoulders almost pop from their sockets in exhaustion. The biting cool metal wall hugs your burning skin, and you press into it impossibly tight to cool off. You keep looking at the parts sprinkled around you to remember what you are doing, but they swirl together and double until your eyes strain so much that you have to close them. Just a few minutes, is your excuse this time.

...

It has been approximately 15 minutes, Din thinks. He knows that you are trying not to disturb him and he appreciates it, because getting used to not only a child but another person on the ship everyday takes some time and space. But for some dumb reason he still finds himself hyper-aware of the fact that you are just pacing around or fixing something, and that makes him restless to get up. The pilot's chair creaks as he drags his tired body out of the cockpit, and he opens the door to where he last heard you going.

It takes him a second to understand what he’s seeing. The panels are open and exposed, different parts and tools scattered on the floor. And in between them you’re sitting against the wall with your eyes closed. You look pale, and your hair is disheveled around your shoulders. Sighing, he admits that he can’t keep avoiding the issue anymore. He stands awkwardly for a few more seconds, debating the best thing to do. He wants to let you sleep, that is his first priority, but he can’t have you sitting on the floor or leaving the panels wide open. So he decides to stand just a little longer as still as an actual beskar statue, and before he can make a better plan you are moving uncomfortably and kicking a few tools accidentally. His head snaps to you as your hands drop the components they were holding. “Fuck” you groan, your neck sore from the position against the wall, heart racing at the stabbing sound of metal against metal. Your eyes are heavy as they drag across the unfinished work on the floor, leading to a pair of boots. You slowly look up to the T of a visor that is burning into your skin.

 “Are you sick?” He asks, before you can open your mouth, which is completely dry. You wipe your forehead with your shirt, scrambling to your knees to continue the work. 

“Nope. Not sick. Just tired” you huff,  waving the tools around to seem casual. “You’re not just tired” he states, sighing your name in frustration when you don’t as much as gaze his way. “You can sleep in the hull if that’s better, '' he tries, still looking down at you with a stiff stance. “S’ not the bed'' you mutter, trying to pick up where you left off. Din doesn’t want to play a guessing game right now, his patience wearing thin over these past few days. So he just leans against the wall, his arms crossed daringly across his beskar covered chest. You feel his visor burn into your side, and you close your eyes instead of rolling them. “It’s just nightmares'' you admit, trying to shrug it off  “It will pass” 

“If that was true you wouldn’t be falling asleep every second there’s silence” that is the longest sentence you’ve heard from him in a while, and it isn’t exactly softly said. You just scoff at him “It’s not your problem Din, it’s mine” you glare at him with a frown, your tired eyes narrowing from his helmet and back down to the panels.  

But he won’t give up so easily now that he’s got you on the hook. He’s still trying to get a taste of how you two communicate together, and his responses aren’t always the best, he knows that. But you also know how hard he’s trying.

“It is my problem because it’s affecting your work” his static voice comes through, still not particularly gentle. This isn’t how he wanted things to go. “Well I’m sorry but I don’t know what you want me to do about it. Right now you’re the one affecting my work Mando” you bite back, your head shielded from his sight by the panels, to your advantage because warm tears are silently prickling the corners of your eyes. He’s silent as usual, standing so still that you think maybe he’s the one sleeping. Until he sighs again in discontentment and leaves. So much for confrontation.

Now he knows, at least. Knows that it isn't him or the ship that causes your sleep deprivation. But you only feel more frustrated with this; You have failed to keep it to yourself and managed to let it interfere with your work, which is the last thing you want. You have to do something about this problem, but how do you just stop nightmares like that? Sleeping in a new place, constantly on new planets with new people is too much ‘new’ and you can’t do much until you finally feel settled in this lovely wreck you call a home now. And you know that this frustration and stress is only going to pile on and infiltrate into your sleepless nights. Almost automatically your hand fists and punches the panel in front of you, feeling the dull ache like lightning from your knuckle to your shoulder, muscles rippling in pain. You are sure Din hears it, and you’re already prepared to say that you dropped the wrench or something, because you just can’t handle more of his disappointed sighs today. Rolling on those 15 minutes of sleep you finish the work hurriedly, now with an injured hand.

…

You are bored as fuck. Din and you haven’t spoken since the incident, just lulling around each other in silence. It’s tense. Usually it’s a comfortable silence you find yourself in, because you know that’s just his typical exterior and way of communicating. But now you know there is a reason why he’s brooding and averting, and the feeling is mutual; It’s easier to let it hang in the air, despite the heavy feeling on your shoulders. 

Your hands roam the food stash, your arms fully swallowed by the cabinet. You’re running low, but there’s still a couple of silver cans left. You haven’t dared to ask Din how far from Nevarro you are, so you just put one can out for him and one for you. He isn’t around, so you place the can between your lips, feeling a sharp pain in your teeth as you bite down on the cool metal. Quickly you drag yourself up the latter, and place the can with a spoon outside the door of the cockpit. Right there on the floor, like a fucking gift or something. You curse at your own feverishness, fingers flexing in a rhythm.

Why are you suddenly so uncomfortable? You don’t even dare to knock on the door anymore. Usually you aren’t scared to confront and push Din’s buttons, almost excited to test the tin-bucket man's limits when you can’t physically see them on his face. You decide to just leave the food there, taking your own can and snuggling into the little bed of yours. It’s crammed into a small storage room that Din has cleared out for you despite your protesting about the floor being fine on it’s own.

Din hears you crawl up the ladder, but then your sounds -that he knows so well- disappears. He can always hear you: the way you breathe, the way your clothes sound when you move, the way you walk and talk. It’s not intentional, but he can probably pick you out of a crowd of a million just by the sound of your existence. 

For a minute he thinks you might’ve fallen asleep again, and he unwillingly turns to leave the cockpit. He almost steps on whatever is in front of the door, eyes darting around with no aim. He picks up the silver can, staring at it for way too long. Are you scared to be in the same room as him? Are you mad? You’re probably mad, he figures. That wasn’t a tool that landed on the floor earlier, he has punched the wall too many times and immediately recognized the sound- as always. 

He guesses you’re asleep by now, the child as well.

…

And you are, but you’re running. In the middle of nothing, but it feels like everything. Dirt, or sand under your feet you can’t tell. Your head is aching with the voice of someone you can’t recognize. They keep telling you to run, chanting it like a curse, so you do. And something is behind you. It’s loud and fierce, and right there. And you’re too scared to crane your neck backwards to catch a glimpse of it. It never seems to get any closer or any further, as you keep running. The wall is there again, the one you have to climb. And it hurts to climb it, it’s too hot and too long and too slippery. Your hair plasters to your glistening neck, your clothes stiff and scratchy as you grab the stones that stick out on the wall. The stones are covered in ridges and holes, the crookedness making it a thousand times harder to get a hold of them. All your senses are sharpened yet everything is blurry and out of reach as you grab the stones in panic. But your hand slips right at the very top. Your feet are aching, and you watch in slow motion as your hand lets go of the last stone. Feel the rush of adrenaline spike as you fall down, down, down.

“Wake up!”

Din’s voice is desperate, even through the helmet's moderations you can vaguely hear it. He was just about to go to bed, and he heard you rustling on your thin mattress. Before he could consider anything you were screaming, loud and terrified. It echoed between the steel walls, and his heart immediately jumped in fear as he pressed the button to the door.

You are writhing on the floor, legs tangled in the blankets, chest heaving and hands grasping for nothing. His hands shake your shoulders roughly, but stops immediately when you open your eyes wide and alarmed, as you snap forward into a sitting position. You pull your knees up, looking like someone that’s just been punched in the gut. Your breaths are erratic between stuttering cries, and Din can barely recognize your otherwise so familiar sound. 

“Hey” Din keeps repeating, trying to make you feel some sort of grounding. His hand is tight on your arm, the other one caressing your back as you feel your shirt rubbing your skin. “Just a bad dream” you hear him assure you. But sound dazes in and out, battling with your heartbeat and the rush of blood. You gulp loudly, your breath evening out slowly in the pitch black cargo room. 

“Feel this?” His voice is a low rumble but calming, and you feel his hand press tighter to your back. You nod, still gasping as not to cry out again. “Focus on that” his hand keeps rubbing your back, rough but not uncomfortably, just enough for you to be unable to focus on much else. And you do as he says, following his commands blindly while still being half asleep. You focus on his hand. The feeling of the cloth against your back. The feeling of his thumb over your spine. You sit like that for a while. You can’t tell what’s what anymore, the silence and darkness warping time and dimension in your brain. What is the wall and what is the bed, what is you and what is him. But you can’t remember much after that. Din says something else, you can only hear the tone in his voice as something like worry or guilt, as your eyes become one with the darkness again. 

…

You don’t wanna leave the storage. It’s too embarrassing considering what happened last night. You get ready, pulling the sheets neatly around your small mattress, sorting out your things. You do everything until you can't possibly procrastinate any longer. The light makes your brain hurt, eyes shutting from the dull ache of it. It’s much later than you thought, or maybe you’re just already on Nevarro. It seems like a sense of time is still missing in your mind.

You quickly find your first excuse of the day; The child. He isn’t asleep, you can hear his small coos, and spot two floppy ears swaying from side to side. “Hey chomp” you mutter, your voice stumbling over itself, being hoarse and weak. He makes the most adorable sound at the sight of you, and your hands envelop and embrace him tightly like you haven’t seen him in ages. 

“Hungry?” 

He shrieks excitedly at that word and you chuckle while roaming through the last bits of food. Before realizing it, you’re standing at the cockpit door again, your brain already working its new everyday routine. And it’s too late to turn around because a little green thumb presses the door open like it always does. “Thanks” you scowl and say through your teeth but the child just gives a high five to your side. Din turns around fast. So fast he might  fall out of the chair, and your feet stutter to a halt at that. His shoulders immediately slouch when he sees you, turning slowly back to the view of blue and white lights. Not at Nevarro yet, then.

You glare at the back of his shiny helmet that reflects the colors in a whirlwind. He doesn’t move his head but he looks relaxed, not rigid like you’d think.  The child coos once more and reaches with small grabby hands for the food “Yeah yeah give me a second chomp” you mutter, whispering almost in fear of your voice cracking or scaring him.

The food is a cream colored goo, and it doesn’t look particularly tasty but the little green womp rat eagerly swallows it down as you lead the spoon to his tiny mouth. “Did I forget to feed you or something?” You ask him, stroking his tiny soft hairs as you scrape the excess food on his face into his mouth. Din watches you carefully, his helmet tilted no more than needed to catch the sight. You’re completely oblivious of his presence, either because you’re tired or because the child is craving all your attention. That’s until Din says your name, softly this time, like you’d break if he said it too loud. You don’t reply, but he sees you straighten your back as a way of letting him know that you aren’t completely ignoring him. 

“I’m,” he pauses, looking for the right words as his hand taps his thigh gently “sorry I got angry at you,” he stutters and goes silent for so long that you think he was done. You part your lips to reply but Din adds a tiny “it’s not your fault” before you’re able to. Your eyes narrow slightly, automatically cradling the child as he begins to sound bored. You can’t muster the way his helmet is observing every single movement you do, “I don’t need pity, Din. It’s okay.” Your voice is exhausted, and your eyes smile so gently that he wouldn't see it if he didn’t look so intensely at them right now. You still feel embarrassed of the way he caught you last night, and you’re trying your hardest to make it seem like nothing, assuring him that everything is okay even though it isn’t. But you can’t fool him, you’ve never been able to.

…

It’s night time again, and you’re only one day from Nevarro. Or so you think, you're in space so you have no way of telling but the day has felt endlessly long, so you decide to put an end to it. The white noise of hyperspace is still somewhere far off as you enter the cargo room. The air is cool despite being the very same for days. You gulp, hands smoothing up and down the side of your thighs as a way to calm yourself. Good thoughts. It’s just the Crest. The Child. Din Djarin. You. Nothing bad about that, quite the opposite actually.

Chanting that in your head, you lie down, feeling your back touch the floor through the thin mat. The only sound you can hear now is your own breathing, deep and shaky as your nails make little crescent moons into the skin of your thighs. You force yourself to shut your eyes, closing the galaxy off for a bit. It’ll be morning soon, is your last thought before giving yourself into the feeling of nothingness.

Din can’t stop thinking about it. How he had said that it bothered him that you were tired, when it clearly is much worse for you. He can’t stop thinking about the way your body shook as he held it, as your voice sounded so weak and estranged when he heard you or the way he held you till you fell asleep. 

So he does the most rational thing his mind can muster, and sit outside your door. As simple as that; no further plan than sitting. His legs stretched out on the floor, his helmet leaning against the wall underneath the button to enter the room, his armor discarded and ungloved hands in his lap. Maybe it was that same protective thing that kicked in whenever anyone even looked at the child, he doesn’t know. But it makes him feel just a little better, so he lets himself lull to sleep right there on the floor. 

That’s until his head bangs against the wall, metal on metal making a piercing sound. You’re screaming again. Or sobbing. Or both. His hand fumbles above his head for the button, and he almost throws himself into the room even before the door opens. Once again his quick reflexes come in handy. You are sitting up again, hunched over with your hands fisting the sheets and your hair draping your face wildly. He reaches out for you, but you violently flinch back at the sudden touch of someone you can’t see.

“It’s me. It’s Din” he assures, his hand suspended mid air, eager to comfort. You want to tell him to leave, that it’s okay but your throat is dry again and you’re too vulnerable to hide the fact that a part of you wants him to stay. A soft touch on your shoulder, so fragile underneath his coarse skin. “Lay down” he whispers.

Din is trying to be intuitive. He’s never been in this situation before but he’s skilled at acting fast and keeping cool so it couldn’t go that bad, could it? The way he sees the pure fear in your dim eyes makes him lose that part of his brain slightly though. You once again do as he says, finding comfort in his deep rumbling voice as you lay down on the messed up sheets again, greeting the suffocating warmth. He closes the door, shielding the two of you from any harm. The ‘mattress’ is barely big enough for you, so he settles on the floor again, right next to you. He stares to the ceiling, listening to your breathing as his head lulls in exhaustion. You hear him sigh again, but this time it doesn’t sound disappointed, more like he was feeling genuinely sorry for you. Your breathing doesn’t calm down the way he hoped.

“Hey” his helmet scrapes the floor as he turns his visor to you. Your throat is bopping and straining no to let out anymore cries, your eyes blinking rapidly in the dark. His hand envelops yours, his electric skin colder than your own. He’s only in his undershirt and pants, stripped as vulnerable as you feel right now. Your hand trembles in his but he grasps it tighter, inducing you to follow as he places it on his chest, pressing down firmly. “Feel this?” He asks again, and the repetitive question makes you feel at ease again. And you nod, not sure if he can see it. But he very much can, and doesn’t let go for a second. You feel the thrumming of his heart, letting it surge through your entire being. It’s beating faster than it should, but still slower than yours. “Focus” he whispers with a voice you have never heard before, so defenseless and tender. You nod again, closing your eyes shut to feel it clearer in your warm palm. Dunk Dunk, Dunk Dunk. The same rhythm in a constant, so alive and so exposed. You forget everything around you. Everything other than Din, as he takes you under his wing, shielding you from the cruel galaxy. “I won’t leave, I promise”

#Mandalorian #The Mandalorian #Din Djarin #Mandalorian one shot #Din Djarin one shot #pedro pascal #pedro pascal one shot #one shot #the mandalorian one shot #Din Djarin imagine #pedro pascal imagine #mandalorian imagine #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian ff #din djarin fic #din djarin fan fiction #din djarin oc #din djarin x reader #star wars #star wars one shot #star wars imagine #mandalorian x reader

[phoebenavarro]

the more things change

rarepair time! I have not known peace since mag117. feat backup archivist martin with beholding powers

the magnus archives, martinelias, 2100 words, warning for dubcon kissing

read on ao3 here

“Jon is in trouble,” Martin says as he bursts into Elias’s office. A few months ago, the concept of doing something so brazenly rude to Elias would have made him freeze on the spot. It’s funny how things change, Martin thinks bitterly, and how things stay the same. He’s still terrified of Elias, although now for completely different reasons.

“Martin,” Elias replies, “Come in. What can I do for you?” He glances up at Martin briefly before returning to his paperwork.

Martin’s brain stutters. He didn’t really think this through, and he didn’t expect Elias to be so nonplussed.

“Jon’s in trouble,” Martin repeats, some of his anxiety chased away by a need to do something slowly creeping back in, “and I’m worried,” he finishes, summoning back the indignation he feels towards Elias at all times lately.

“Did something in particular happen?” Elias asks, “Because ‘worried’ seems to be a constant state of being for you.” He sounds bored, and that makes Martin angry, angry that Elias clearly doesn’t care about Jon’s well-being, and deeper down, angry that Elias doesn’t take him seriously.

Martin scoffs, but he realizes he can’t really explain what actually brought him to Elias’s office. He clenches his jaw.

“I don’t know!” he grits out, “Jon was fine, on the bus in America, then he was at a rest stop and a woman came up to him and forced him into her car.”

That makes Elias look up, and his gaze is even more piercing than normal, like he’s trying to rip through Martin with his eyes.

“How did you know that?” Elias asks, his tone so severe that Martin folds in on himself.

“I-I don’t know!” he squeaks, and he frowns. He realizes he really doesn’t know how he knew that. “I just— I had a feeling, I guess…?” He trails off. Even he knows how weak that sounds.

“I don’t think you did,” Elias says, raising one of his perfect eyebrows at Martin, “You just knew, didn’t you?”

Martin stutters, trying to come up with some explanation, but he realizes that Elias is right. He just knew.

Fuck, Martin just knew. He sinks into the chair across from Elias, stunned. Elias’s face breaks out into a grin. He chuckles quietly.

“See, this is what I like about you, Martin. You don’t lie to yourself. Oh, you may spend all your time lying to everyone else, keeping them at arm’s length because you’re terrified they won’t like you if they get to know the real you, but you’re honest to yourself.”

Martin stares at Elias, thrown off-kilter by being told such intimate things about himself so matter-of-factly. He wonders if that’s how Elias sounded when he did whatever it was he did to Melanie. “W-what?”

Elias leans back in his chair, grinning. “You know, when I asked you to start recording statements, I never expected you to progress quite this quickly.”

Martin’s eyes harden. “Are you saying I have freaky eye powers now? Like Jon?” Of course Elias planned for this, wanted this, and Martin just went along with it. Elias stands and crosses to the other side of the desk, perching on it across from Martin.

“Not quite like Jon, no. Jon is the Archivist. I’m sure your own Becoming will be different.” Elias turns his gaze back to Martin, but this time it feels more appraising. Elias leans forward, and Martin feels cold dread pooling in his gut. “I’m actually quite pleased. This is a promising development.”

“R-right, but what does that actually mean, though?” Martin asks, trying to stay calm and refusing to think of the implications of him being able to just know things. Elias wants to knock him off balance, keep him a stammering mess so he won’t get any answers out of him. “Is this going to keep happening? Will I develop other… abilities?”

“Yes, it will keep happening as you get stronger. As for if you’ll gain more abilities, I don’t know, Martin.” He leans forward. “But I’ll enjoy watching.”

“O-Okay, but what does that mean? Practically? I mean, the Eye’s not giving me these powers out of the goodness of its heart. What do I have to do? Can I stop it?”

Elias smiles at him with an almost unbearable fondness, which Martin has never seen from him before, and it makes Martin uneasy. “I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do to stop it at this point,” he says, and Martin sighs. Figures. “You don’t need to be doing anything you won’t be doing already, just reading statements.”

“Right, as I become less and less human,” Martin spits.

“Being human isn’t everything, Martin. You’re not going to stop being yourself.” Elias’s smile turns cruel. “But maybe you’d like that, to stop worrying about being good and nice all the time. Doesn’t it get exhausting?” Elias asks conspiratorially.

Martin narrows his eyes at him, refusing to rise to the bait. “You knew about my CV the whole time, didn’t you,” Martin says. It’s not a question, but Elias answers anyway.

“Oh, yes,” he chuckles, “It’s why I hired you in the first place. It impressed me, honestly. Such a bald-faced lie, you were so terrified, but you barely even flinched. It was charming, really.”

“Charming,” Martin repeats skeptically.

Elias tsks. “Come now, Martin, I know you don’t think highly of yourself, but is it really so hard to believe that someone would find you charming?”

Martin seriously doubts that anyone has found him charming in his life. Cute, maybe, but charming? No.

“Why…” Martin begins, but he shakes his head, “It doesn’t matter. What about Jon?”

“What about him?”

“Is he in danger?”

“Almost certainly,” Elias smiles, “but he’s survived worse. You’ll just have to trust me.”

Martin starts laughing. “You— you cannot expect me to trust you, after you trapped all of us here, after you let Sasha get killed— for God’s sake, you admitted to murdering two people! And now! I’m getting monster powers because of you.”

Elias rolls his eyes. “Martin. Don’t start lying to yourself now. I gave you the push, but you embraced the Eye on your own.” He places his hand on Martin’s shoulder, his thumb resting against Martin’s neck in a possessive way that makes Martin’s heart skip a beat. “Your need to know more hasn’t been as fervent as Jon’s, but it’s there. You tell yourself it’s to help Jon, but really, it’s all you.”

Martin finds himself unable to move away, despite how much he wants to, almost hypnotized as Elias moves his hand up to cup Martin’s cheek. His breath catches in his throat. He has no idea the last time he was this close to someone, and even on his loneliest nights, he never thought Elias would be the next person to touch him like this.

Martin has no way of knowing if Elias is actually telling the truth, or if he’s just trying to manipulate him. Probably a bit of both, he thinks.

“I just don’t know how you can keep letting Jon get hurt,” Martin says, trying to push on like Elias is not tenderly cradling his face, “I mean, he’s your archivist, whatever that means. I’d think out of all of us, he’s the one you’d care what happens to.”

Elias sighs. “I don’t like it much either, but that’s how these things go. It’s necessary for Jon to grow into his potential.”

“So, what?” Martin stares at Elias defiantly, “You’re just going to leave us in the dark? Let us get killed? Do you care at all?”

Elias strokes Martin’s cheek with his thumb, and Martin shivers. “I am sorry about Sasha,” he says quietly, “I didn’t want that to happen to her.”

And Martin, God help him, believes Elias. Maybe that’s why he still doesn’t pull away when Elias’s other hand comes to rest at Martin’s hip, when he leans in to press his lips to Martin’s. Martin freezes as Elias kisses him, but Elias doesn’t seem bothered that Martin isn’t responding.

“What are you doing,” Martin breathes as Elias pulls away briefly.

“I thought that was obvious,” Elias quips, and he settles into Martin’s lap, straddling him. Martin makes a surprised noise, but he doesn’t push him away.

“Why, then?” Martin asks, looking at Elias warily.

Elias squeezes his hip. “Because you’re mine,” he says with a predatory glint to his eyes. Martin’s blood runs cold, and now he tries to push Elias away, but Elias’s grip on him tightens, and Martin can’t get the leverage he needs. “The others may also be tied to me, but none of them have embraced their roles like you have. It has been truly a pleasure to watch you come into your own over the years.”

Martin looks away, his eyes burning. He thinks about his younger self, when he started at the Institute. He had been absolutely terrified of Elias and the way he seemed to see right through him, but also because he thought Elias was gorgeous. He still does, he supposes, especially with Elias so close to him. They’re so far beyond that now; Martin wishes Elias was just a normal, intimidatingly handsome boss. Elias brushes one of Martin’s curls behind his ear before leaning in to whisper in it.

“Do you want to know what I think? Being trapped working at the Institute doesn’t upset you as much as you think it should. Where else would you go? You’ve worked here your entire adult life, and few places will be as open to your lack of formal qualifications. You want to be angry like Tim, but you’re actually relieved. For the first time, you’re not worried about losing your job. You hate the way reading statements makes you feel, but you love feeling useful. For Jon,” he nibbles on Martin’s earlobe, making Martin gasp, “And for me.”

It’s horrible, but what’s more horrible is how Martin doesn’t want Elias to stop. He doesn’t want Elias to stop touching him; he doesn’t want Elias to stop telling him all the awful things about himself Martin usually buries deep within.

Elias grips Martin’s chin and forces him to look him in his grey eyes. Eyes that are unusually warm, and Martin’s face is so hot that he’s sure Elias can feel it.

“Oh, look at you,” Elias croons, “You’re lovely.” And that is finally too much for Martin; it feels like Elias is mocking him, there’s no way he can be sincere.

“Stop,” Martin says, and it feels far too much like begging for mercy. Elias frowns.

“Alright,” he says, “But I do mean it, you know. You are lovely like this.”

“Get off me,” Martin says, and he tries to make his voice sound as commanding as possible, but it comes out breathy and weak.

“Is that what you want? Really?” Elias asks, idly running his hand up Martin’s flank.

No, Martin’s treacherous brain says, and Martin desperately tries to remind himself that the man sitting in his lap is a murderer. Elias grins like he heard that, and hell, maybe he did; Martin doesn’t know how his powers work. Martin doesn’t know what he wants at this point, clearly, only that the weight of Elias in his lap shouldn’t be as comforting as it is.

Elias presses one more chaste kiss to his lips before climbing off Martin with a contented sigh.

“Well,” he says, “I think this development is worthy of celebration, don’t you?” Martin stares at him, slack-jawed as he continues. “Would you like to get dinner tonight?”

Martin knows he should say no, should tell Elias to fuck off, and he should tell Elias off for kissing him and touching him like that on top of everything else, but. It’s an opportunity to get Elias alone and maybe get some answers out of him for once, and Martin can’t pass that up. He knows that’s giving into the Eye even more, and he can already hear Elias’s smug voice telling him just that, but he can’t keep living like this, constantly in the dark, not knowing what’s going on or if Jon has been kidnapped again. Martin’s going to get a stress ulcer at this rate. And well, if it’s true that there’s no way out of this for him, then at the very least he’s going to use this to help the others as much as he can. (Martin ignores the way he can still feel the ghost of Elias’s lips on his own, or how he doesn’t actually hate that Elias had kissed him.)

Martin shrugs. “Sure, if you’re paying,” he says, and he doesn’t miss the way Elias gives a genuine laugh at that. Elias acting so openly… fond of him will take some getting used to, but as they walk to the restaurant Elias has chosen, Martin finds himself thinking of ways to exploit that affection.

#tma #the magnus archives #martinelias #martin blackwood #elias bouchard #tma fic #mine #my writing #backup archivist martin #don't @ me i just think they're neat

[ghostiewriter]

prologue | tale of a slightly unstable teen hero

Summary: JJ’s life is thrown upside down after a school trip. Now he just decide what to do about his newly found powers and discover just how much his life has changed.

Warnings: contains strong language, a teeny sliver of sexual references, just the three boys being dumbasses? a small smidge of angst (it barely counts) and some fighting, kinda amateur but he’ll learn eventually

Word Count: 8.2K (I’m so sorry)

A/N: ahhh so here’s the prologue! Hope you guys enjoy, it’s a bit of a mess and it wasn’t meant to be this long but oh well! This is just to kinda set up the world, I promise the chapters won’t be this messy! There will be way more Kiara in the next chapter as well, don’t worry! Like I said, this is just a filler chapter! Also this is unedited and I am kinda unwell so lets hope this makes sense :) feel free to leave any feedback!! 

masterlist // taglist // ao3

JJ prided himself in always loving an adventure. A random trip at 3am when one of his buds felt down? Hell yeah! An exploration through the streets of New York when he decided to ditch his Spanish final? Let’s go, dude! A spontaneous road trip with his boys during summer? JJ was down! But this? This just felt like some sick joke.

Admittedly, JJ wasn’t listening in class when the trip was announced. And as Pope liked to remind him every couple of minutes, this whole situation could have been avoided if he had listened in class. But can you blame the guy? A whole day off school to visit some big corporation uptown where he was getting a free lunch—JJ would be stupid to reject that. Yet, JJ should’ve known there would’ve been some catch, some flaw in this trip. And that flaw was that he had to spend the day walking around Cameron Industries, the biggest nerd fest on the East coast.

JJ was bored out of his mind.

Pope was ecstatic beyond belief.

John B was ready to punch JJ in the face if opened his mouth to complain one more time.

“Why call it a trip when all we do is listen to these dudes in lab coats droning on about some weird gene thing? Like c’mon! A trip is meant for relaxing. Where the fuck am I gonna relax around here, huh? The fucking gift shop—“

“Shut up,” John B hissed at the blonde, smacking JJ’s arm for good measure, to which the blond dramatically whined at. “Just please…shut up. You’ve got one more hour until lunch, alright? Don’t ruin this for him.”

JJ huffed as he glanced over at Pope, who was eagerly questioning every scientist they came across. As much as it pained him to agree with John B, he did have a point. There weren’t enough fingers in the world to count the amount of times JJ had dragged Pope into some anxiety-provoking, impulsive situation. The least he could do is suck it up a little and mope silently as they walk through countless fancy labs that probably each cost more than his apartment complex altogether.

“I don’t know why you’re acting so chuff,” JJ huffed, his fingers twisting the rings that adorned his hands—a force of habit when he was uncomfortable and bored. “You usually back me up on this kinda stuff—“ But JJ didn’t need to finish his question. Oh no, because the answer was right there.

JJ smirked as he turned to John B, one eyebrow raised in question. However, his friend seemed much more content staring at Sarah Cameron from where she stood near the front of the group, smiling towards the tour guide like they were close friends. Which they probably were considering they were standing in the building her father owned.

Ward Cameron. Renowned scientist, billionaire and founder of Cameron Industries. A true inspiration. What started as a hopeless experiment in his high school chemistry lab ended up forging Ward Cameron’s path to success in the biggest multibillion-dollar multinational corporation that held the future for chemical engineering. JJ just thought he was some lucky rich kid that had daddy’s money to support his dream.

And it was for that reason that JJ rolled his eyes, nudging his friend out of his daze. “You do know you don’t stand a chance, right?” JJ commented.

Harsh but true. JJ and the rest of the kids that attended this trip went to Midtown High School. True to its name, it was smack bang in the middle of two very different livelihoods. Uptown Queens: home to the kids who live of old money, designer clothes and trust funds. And Downtown Queens: home to working-middle class who would spend the rest of their lives making a sliver of the uptown folks’ wages.

Take a wild guess which area JJ is from.

However, some old dude in the 60s decided to try and bridge the gap between the classes and thus, the school was born. All it did was let each know how much they resented the other. Yet, John B had fallen into the alluded mind-set of that old geezer and set his eyes on Sarah Cameron, the most uptown chick you’ll get. And of course, JJ was there to remind him of that very fact and push him off that imaginary bridge. It was a fool’s hope to combine the uptown and downtown folk; it was a fool’s hope to try and make them get along. It won’t happen now nor ever.

John B flipped him off. JJ only grinned in response.

Nonetheless, that ended up being the most exciting part of the hour. JJ shuffled along at the back of the group, his eyes constantly wandering around the labs. Did he have any clue what any of it was? Hell no, but he was naturally curious and couldn’t help his hands from wandering. Sue him, he was a teenage boy with ADHD and a knack for getting into trouble—he was bound to do something stupid.

His interest in science perked up a bit when he noticed a small enclosure of what looked like completely normal spiders, yet as their tour guide spoke, they were anything but normal.

“Our team have been working on taking the genetic code of three separate species of arachnids and combining them to form a super-spider. One which can survive and reproduce and live as any other would. It is the first step in the future of genetic engineering and modification. With this technology, we could find cures to diseases that were deemed impossible to cure. We could form a stronger, better human race—“

“Isn’t that unethical?” A voice interrupted. Everyone’s head snapped towards the curly-haired girl that stood by Sarah Cameron’s side. JJ knew very little about her—considering this was honestly the first time he had seen her—and he wasn’t complaining…nor was he actually listening to what she was saying. “I mean, won’t this just introduce a future of designer babies and a superiority of the genetically modified over the natural?”

“I understand your concerns,” The tour guide—a young redhead who honestly didn’t look a day over twenty-two but then again, JJ guessed everyone around here was some sort of genius. “But I can assure you there are a number of protocols behind this research that would prevent such a thing from happening.”

“Can you really stop the rich from getting what they want?” Ironic considering she was a rich, uptown chick.

An awkward silence washed over the group before the teacher quickly cleared their throat and directed the tour guide to continue.

JJ—being the foolishly bored teenager he was—made his way over to the unknown girl, standing next to her as they looked at the spiders in the enclosure.

“Poor things.” She sighed sadly. JJ only raised an eyebrow but didn’t question it.

“You know,” He began, his voice smooth and suave—the usual JJ charm he used on girls. “I totally agree with you on all those…ethic…things…” He trailed off, risking a glance towards the girl who only narrowed her eyes at him.

“Really?” She questioned, nodding her head for him to continue.

“Yeah, I mean, save the animals, am I right?” He grinned, nervously scratching the nape of his neck. The girl seemed unamused.

“Uh huh, sure thing, buddy.” She stated before turning to catch up with the group. But JJ’s voice stopped her once again.

“How about I take you out some time? And then you can tell me all about all this ethic stuff.” He proposed, his usual charming smirk on his lips. He was a lady’s man, he knew he was gorgeous and JJ would be a fool if he didn’t use it to his advantage. One small date to charm her before JJ wiggled his way into her bed, then boom—they never have to speak to each other again. Plus, this girl may be one of Sarah Cameron’s wee minions, but JJ didn’t let class get in the way of his ‘love’ life. He just resents the lot of those uptown kids in every other aspect of his life. No harm in fraternizing with the enemy, right? What other people didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. It’s just a little bit of fun.

“Do you even know my name?” She asked him, her arms crossed over her chest. It took a lot of self-control for JJ not to follow the movement. He cleared his throat, leaning one hand against the enclosure.

“Uh…Samantha?”

“Nice try, asshole.” And with that, she turned around to join the group.

JJ stood there, a little dumbfounded by the encounter. He was taken aback not only by the fact she had just rejected him, but with the sass in which she did so. He would be lying if he didn’t say it was a little hot, but he expected it. Uptown kids always thought there were better, superior to the downtown kids.

But JJ didn’t wallow in his rejection for long when he felt a sharp, stinging pain on his hand. He glanced down, seeing a spider on the back of his hand and his instant reaction was to shake it off. “Little shit!” He hissed, looking down at the small bite mark on his skin.

“Hey, dude, you comin’?” He heard John B call out. He glanced around, unable to spot the spider. He shrugged, JJ has had worse than a small spider bite. He’ll survive.

“Yeah, I’m starving, let’s go!”

Little did JJ know that was his last day as a normal, hyperactive teen.

**********

“I’m telling you something is fucking wrong with me!”

Both boys looked at their blond friend with sceptic looks. It was Saturday morning and far too early to deal with JJ nonsense. Especially when they could barely understand what he was going on about. It was around 6am when John B and Pope received a very distressed call from JJ. Neither one was very sure for what reason, all they heard was ‘freaky’ and ‘fuck’ multiple times during the call. But he sounded like he was really going through something so they eventually went over—arriving at JJ’s place at 7:30am. JJ was too on edge to even try and call them out on it.

“Dude, breathe,” Pope muttered, watching JJ run holes in his carpet from how much he was pacing. “Calm down a little—“

“I can’t calm down, Pope!” JJ snapped, looking at his friends who seemed far too calm. “Like I don’t know if I am freaked out or pumped but just—“ He paused, seeing the look of confusion on his friends’ faces. He huffed and pulled his shirt off, looking at them expectedly. They didn’t react.

“JJ, did you really call us down here on SATURDAY MORNING because you have another birthmark that looks like George Clooney because I will literally murder you—“

“No, no!” JJ hissed before pointing down to his abs, and then his arms. Then he began flexing, yet he was met with blank expressions again.

“Dude, as much as I love staring at your abs, what the fuck are we meant to be looking at?” Pope asked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“They are different!”

“They are?”

“They are!”

“Uh…how?”

JJ scoffed, as if it were obvious. “They are more defined!”

“…more defined?”

“Clearly!”

John B let out an unattractive snort, pushing his hair back as he leaned back against the wall, all his worry for his friend now gone. He was honestly concerned it was something important. “What’s next? Is your hair too perfect, J? Need a bag to cover how gorgeous you are?” Pope snickered along with him.

“I mean, I am having a good hair day…” JJ trailed off before shaking his head and turning to the two of them again. “But that isn’t all, okay? It gets freakier!”

Both boys looked at JJ with amusement from their spots on his bed.

JJ rolled his eyes before he stretched his hand out, his palm facing the ceiling with his two middle fingers pressed into his palm. Not even seconds later, a THWAP echoed through the now-silent bedroom.

Both teenagers looked down at the string of substance that just existed their friend’s wrist, completely shell-shocked. It was John B who spoke first, looking away from the white substance on JJ’s bed.

“Is that like…the same as…did you just—“ John B points down to his groin area, only for JJ to grimace.

“Dude, no! EW! I didn’t just jizz from my wrist!”

“It looks like you just did.”

Pope quickly kneeled down next to the bed, hesitantly reaching to touch the stuff, ignoring John B’s comments on how disgusting it was. “It feels like…silk,” He murmured in confusion before pulling his hand away, noticing how it stuck to his skin. “And it’s sticky.”

John B gagged in the back, but JJ ignored him. “It’s like glue, a really strong glue! And then after like twenty minutes, it disappears!” He told Pope as he reached for the scissors to help his sticky situation.

“How did you do that though?” Pope’s mind was reeling with the possibilities, the science behind the completely inhumane thing JJ had just done and he had witnessed with his very own eyes.

“I don’t fucking know!”

“Does it have anything to do with that weird-ass bump on your hand?” John B perked up, nodding towards JJ. All three boys’ gazes shifted to his left hand, where in fact there was a small red bump, no bigger than a grape at most.

“Nah, dude, that’s just from the spider bite yesterday.” JJ answered with a shrug. Pope chocked on the air, looking at JJ like he had three heads.

“I—you mean the fucking GENETICALLY MODIFIED SPIDERS FROM THE LAB?!” JJ winced, trying to shush Pope but there was no avail, this boy was going off on a rant. “Are you stupid? Why didn’t you tell anyone yesterday? JJ, those could’ve been poisonous or had long term effects or—“

“Made you some weird mutant with cool powers.” John B added. He quickly shut up when he received the ‘look’ from Pope.

“We have to tell someone at Cameron Industries.” Pope concluded. JJ was quick to pipe up, taking a few steps away from Pope on instinct.

“What, no way! They are gonna stick me under some fancy microscope or inject me with needles full of…stuff! I’m not going back into that geek galore!” JJ stated. Pope looked like he was ready to open his mouth, and start spouting out arguments as to why JJ should head over to the professional scientists over his weird, overnight mutation. But it was actually John B who came to a more mutual conclusion.

“Or we just do our own tests,” John B shrugged, both boys turning to look at him with fairly discombobulated expressions. “C’mon, Pope is basically a scientist and he is smart enough to figure out whatever the hell is going on with you!”

“I don’t have half the equipment they would have—“ Pope tried to argue.

“Look, we aren’t going to find out anything through a microscope. The best way is just go out there and test what he can do. How hard can it be?” John B grinned.

Pope wanted to argue that it was very hard. Though he had read countless papers on the genetically modified spiders, even he didn’t know enough to do a full conclusive examination on JJ and his new state. He didn’t have half the things he needed, but when he looked over at JJ and saw a much more relaxed—and hopeful—expression on his face from when he had suggested returning to the lab, Pope sighed and shook his head a little.

“Just so you both know, I am going to say, ‘I told you so’ when this goes downhill.”

**********

That is how JJ, Pope and John B found themselves standing on the roof of JJ’s apartment complex, the busy streets of New York oblivious to the scientific discovery that is happening above them. JJ couldn’t tear his eyes off the skyline, finding something about it much more relaxing that the potential of just what his new body could do. He was scared—no, scratch that—he was nervous, anxious if you will. JJ couldn’t lie that a part of him was excited. It felt surreal, like something out of one of those comics he used to nick from the uptown kids. Then again, JJ wasn’t very fond of the idea of being some new scientific discovery. It made him feel like he would end up like one of those poor frogs they had to dissect in biology—poor fuckers.

“Okay, so the spiders were made from three separate species to optimize their physical properties—being able to adapt to new environments, heightened senses to avoid predators, enhanced strength and speed, stronger material to create webs for larger prey—all that jazz. No research has been done on the psychological properties though.” Pope rambled, his hands moving wildly whilst both boys stared at him with clueless expressions.

“Which means?”

“JJ could have some really cool powers but could also be going totally insane,” Pope said with a sheepish shrug. “Like I’m talking full Tasmanian devil mode here—“

“Very reassuring, dude.” JJ stated bluntly. He took it all back, he wasn’t excited. He was terrified now. He glanced down at the small bite on his hand, which was slowly deflating as time passed. JJ wasn’t sure if he was relieved or worried that the second the bite disappeared, it could mean something really bad—like him turning into some massive humanoid arachnid that attacks the city. He shivered at the thought. “Right, let’s just get on with this.”

John B clapped a hand on his back, a small smile on his lips. “You’ll be fine, dude, alright? You’re in good hands.” He tried to reassure JJ. And JJ knew that everything Pope was saying was just to help him understand what was going on too, but he couldn’t help but think there was a small part of Pope that enjoyed using JJ as a lab rat. He was a scientist, could you really blame him?

“Yeah, I know.” He said with a curt nod.

“Let’s try the web again, see how far you can shoot it.” Pope piped up, moving to stand on the other side of JJ. “The average spider can shoot a web to about four feet, but these spiders have the DNA of the Darwin Bark Spiders which can shoot webs up to eighty-two feet. I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you could reach the same, maybe more.” He then gestured for JJ to try it out, pointing towards the building opposite then, which was only around eight feet away, at most.

JJ took a deep breath before extending his hand out, the THWAP sounding clear despite the ongoing traffic down below. Yet, the web barely shot out a couple of inches before landing on the edge of the roof with a disappointing splat.

“Well then…” John B trailed off, all three boys staring at the failed web shot.

“You clearly weren’t trying, just concentrate!” Pope said with a clap of his hands. He only received a blank stare from JJ.

“I was trying, dumbass! It’s harder than it looks. It…feels weird, man. Like a sneeze…from my wrist!” He huffed, but Pope only nudged his shoulder to try again.

JJ sighed and turned to face the opposite building again. He raised his arm, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he tried to imagine the web shooting out and reaching the opposing roof. He tried to imagine more web fluid being shot out his wrist, he tried to imagine like he actually knew what he was doing. Not even a second later, the THWAP sound was heard and suddenly there was a white rope of silk extending from JJ’s hand onto the next roof over.

“Holy shit!”

JJ grabbed the web, giving the web a light tug. He was expecting for the web to break, for his hand to be covered in web fluid. But instead the web remained, strong and sturdy as though it was bolted onto the roof.

“This is crazy, dude.”

He snapped his hand back, watching the web breakaway from his palm and flop, hanging from the brick wall like a pathetic piece of string. “That was cool as fuck,” He murmured as he glanced down at his wrists in shock. He gently ran his thumb over his wrist, a delightful shiver running down his back. It caused him to smile a little, thinking about just how far he could shoot these webs.

“Dude, you could swing around like Tarzan now.” John B snickered. JJ gave him a deadpan look but he couldn’t help himself from glancing down at his wrists again.

“You think?”

“Only one way to find out.” John B grinned.

Pope’s eyes widened slightly as he quickly began to shake his head. “You don’t know if the web is strong enough to hold his weight, he could hurt himself or—“

“You calling me fat?” JJ gasped with a pout, a hand placed over his heart. “You offend me, Pope. Thought you were better than this.”

“If calling you fat will stop you from swinging off a building like an idiot then yes, I am calling you fat.” He hissed.

JJ grinned, his eyes quickly searching around before he noticed a large satellite pole sticking out from one of the nearby buildings. It was a bit further away, but JJ let the pride of his last success get to his head. “I can do it, bud, don’t worry about it.”

“That’s my boy!”

“Don’t encourage him!”

“He can do it!”

“How the fuck do you know that!?”

“Sixth sense, my dude.”

JJ blocked out the bickering, taking a couple of steps back from the edge of the roof. A running start never hurt anyone, right? He rolled his shoulders, stretching his neck from left to right. Never once did he let his gaze shift away from the satellite pole. He crouched down a little, already feeling the adrenaline build up in him. “Diver down, boys.” He grinned before he began sprinting to the edge of the building. As he reached the edge, he pushed himself off and extended his arm out, imagining the web wrapping around the pole and seconds later it did. He held the web tightly in his grip as he felt himself swinging towards the building. Whoops and cheers could be heard, though JJ wasn’t sure if they were coming from him or the boys back on the roof.

“JJ, THE WALL! LOOK OUT!”

But JJ was a little too pumped up to even comprehend what Pope was screaming until he noticed the brick wall getting closer. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’ The words echoed in his head and he tried to think of a way to slow himself down. But it was useless as he found himself colliding with the wall, his eyes clenched shut on impact.

“Oh, fuck.” He groaned, his limbs sprawled out like a starfish. A part of him thought he was dead, that maybe he hit the wall way too hard, he had a lot of momentum after all. But the muffled screams coming from his friends was enough to tell him that he was very much alive. “I’m alive!” He yelled out, slowly beginning to blink his eyes open, finding himself face to face with a brick wall. “What the…” He trailed off when he glanced at his hands, finding them attached to the brick wall.

His heart was pounding when he looked down, seeing that he was attached to the wall, very far up from the ground, with nothing suspending him. His mind was reeling, almost as though he was waiting for himself to fall and his body to meet the ground. But it never happened.

“You’re like an actual fucking spider, dude!” He heard John B yell, as though he was right beside him, which caused him to wince a little. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing them still very far away on that roof.

JJ shook his head and glanced up, seeing the edge of the roof a couple of feet from where he was stuck on the wall. He took a deep breath before slowly removing one hand, and when he was sure he wasn’t going to fall, he moved it up higher. Slowly, JJ found himself scaling the side of the building, his heart beating wildly even as he pulled himself over the edge, both feet finding the solid ground of the roof. He turned back to look at his friends, both of whom looked shocked beyond belief.

“What the hell…” He could hear Pope whisper, which only caused JJ’s eyebrows to furrow in confusion.

“This is a lot more complicated than I thought.” He muttered to himself, only now realising that the bite mark on his hand was long gone.

**********

JJ winced a little as he heard the bell ring, indicating the end of this period and the start of lunch—his favourite subject. Yet, JJ wasn’t exactly jumping out of his seat as usual. It was now Monday and everyone was back at school. JJ, Pope and John B had spent the better use of the whole weekend to run around, using JJ like some lab rat and seeing just what he could and couldn’t do. And JJ was fucking exhausted. The amount of times he had face-planted into a wall was beyond funny and he had learnt the hard way that the more on edge he was, the more sensitive he was…well, to everything. The sound of the chairs screeching against the floor made him cringe, the bright LED lights made him want to cry and the feeling of his sweater against his skin was scratchy and uncomfortable. JJ sure as hell wasn’t hyped for his newly found powers if this is what the rest of his life is going to be like.

The blond sighed to himself as he shoved his stuff into his backpack, swinging it over his shoulder and heading towards the cafeteria once he left the class. He kept his head down, finding the small shuffles of his vans against the floor were helping him from cussing out every single student that bumped into him, making him honestly want to scream and stay six feet away from everyone. He tried to reassure himself that he was half way through the day, that he only had a couple of hours left and then he could preferably go hide in a hole somewhere for the rest of his life. Okay, that is a little dramatic but a dark hole sounded great to JJ right now.

But here’s the thing, JJ is a Maybank. He has the good ol’ Maybank luck, which means even when he feels shit, the universe is out to make his life worse. And the universe sent that in the form of Rafe Cameron and his loyal little minions, Topper Thornton and Kelce Smith. Midtown High’s own version of the Plastics, some may say.

By some, I mean JJ. But hey, don’t judge. He was forced into watch Mean Girls by one of his flings awhile back and he won’t lie, the movie slaps. But that is besides the point.

“Oi, Maybank!”

JJ inwardly groaned at the sound of Rafe’s voice. He would much rather hear nails on a chalkboard than whatever Rafe had to say. JJ wouldn’t consider them bullies, they were simply the top tier of the uptown kids who had some sort of superiority complex. And JJ had no issue on challenging them, it was far too easy to wind up a bunch of rich kids who weren’t used to being called out on their bullshit. And it just stuck. They would say something stupid to try and provoke him, and most of the time JJ’s words were enough for them to leave him alone. He had the satisfaction of punching Rafe in the face a few times, but usually Pope and John B were quick to hold him back. After all, it would backfire on JJ if he got into trouble with an uptown kid.

“What do you want?” JJ huffed out, glancing up at the trio. The sight of the three of them almost brought a smile to his lips. Uptown kids and their need to follow trends, they wore the same outfit in different variations and it honestly made JJ want to laugh. The classic preppy look with their pastel sweaters and tennis shoes, it made JJ want to gag. But he contained his vomit as Rafe spoke up.

“Aw, c’mon, Maybank. That all you got today? A bit pathetic.” Rafe snickered, the other two laughing along with their leader. JJ rolled his eyes. The funniest thing about them was their outfits.

“As much as I’d love to talk to you little pastel powerpuff girls, I have much better things to do in my life,” JJ said with a sarcastic smile on his lips as he side-stepped the trio, attempting to make his way past them. He really didn’t have the patience to deal with them today. He had happily planned to steal food from Pope and take a nap for the hour. But the second he felt Rafe’s hand on his shoulder, he knew that wasn’t going to be happening.

“Watch your mouth, Maybank.” Rafe spat, his hand tightening on JJ’s shoulder. The act made him want to cringe away and rip off his skin. The feeling of his hand on his shoulder, his thumb brushing that little bit of skin near the neckline of his sweater, it made JJ want to gag. It felt horrible. He wanted that feeling gone.

“Piss off, Cameron.” He scoffed, harshly jerking his shoulder so Rafe’s hand would lose its grip but it only tightened. In an act of desperation, JJ did the only thing that seemed reasonable. He shoved Rafe away. Now normally, it would be enough to have Rafe stumble a few steps so JJ can make a quick exit. But JJ just so happened to have forgotten that this wasn’t like every other normal time. He wasn’t normal anymore. So, his shove was much more than a wee push, it was more like completely winding Rafe. JJ couldn’t help but cringe when he heard the sound of Rafe’s body colliding with the lockers before he slumped to the ground, a dent now evident in the lockers from the collision. Topper and Kelce looked at JJ with mixed looks of confusion and fear before rushing to their friend’s aid.

“Oh my god, Rafe!”

JJ’s head snapped to the end of the hallway where he could see Sarah Cameron, but she wasn’t alone. Beside her was the curly haired girl from the trip. His eyes widened a little when his gaze met hers, but he was only met with a glare from the mysterious beauty.

“What’s your problem?” She hissed at JJ as the two girls got closer, now seeing the full effect of what JJ had done. JJ gulped a little, his fingers tapping the side of his legs as he tried to think this through. What could he say, ‘oh sorry, kinda lost control of my new powers, I’ll be a little more careful next time’. Yeah, that wasn’t going to work.

“He started it!” JJ blurted out, only to mentally smack himself at how childish he sounded. “I barely touched him, he was being dramatic!” He added but the looks of uncertainty didn’t reassure him that they bought it. He was in the lion’s den here, a downtown kid surrounded by the privileged. He was never going to win. So, he did the only sane thing any downtown kid would do. He got out of there as quick as he could.

“He could be concussed!” Sarah Cameron spoke up for the first time, a frown on her face as she met JJ’s gaze. He could almost feel the judgement oozing from her.

“Maybe he will finally have some brain cells knocked into him!” And with that, JJ ran out of that hallway and didn’t stop running until he was far away from the school.

**********

“I’m sorry what?”

Following the fiasco on Monday, JJ’s week hadn’t been much better. Most of it was spent avoiding the uptown crew whilst simultaneously keeping a low profile, which is very hard for someone like JJ. He was used to being the class clown, milking any attention he got. Now he felt like he was under house arrest or something, trapped to keep to himself and work out what the hell was happening to him. But true to their commitment of being his best friends, John B and Pope were right there beside him. It had been a long and stressful week but they made it through. It was a little exhausting on them but they had each other to lean on. JJ was just glad he wasn’t alone.

But now, sat in Pope’s bedroom on the Saturday night, looking between the two boys with a very concerned look, JJ wasn’t sure his weekend was going to be any more relaxing. He knew the three of them combined weren’t the best combinations. They probably shared a brain cell between them and even then, it mostly resided with Pope and his weird, random facts. They had come up with some really strange, out-there ideas before—like the time they tried to give John B a perm with household products or when they convinced themselves they could do a road trip in John B’s crappy van. But this was the icing on the cake. This was enough for JJ to confirm that his friends had completely lost their mind.

“Think about it!” John B continued, practically rolling on the balls of his feet in excitement. JJ raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt him. To be honest, JJ wasn’t even sure where to start with how bad of an idea this was. “You have these super cool powers that are totally useless to everyday life, so why not put them to use? You could be like—the next Batman or something!”

“Batman was a rich dude who made gadgets. He doesn’t even have any powers. How the hell would I be like Batman?”

“Okay, bad example,” Pope piped up. “But just think about it. You could make a difference, be a hero!”

“A really badass superhero!” John B added.

JJ looked at them with a frown on his face. This now just seemed like a deranged joke. He was waiting for them to laugh, to say it was just a silly joke and move on with their usual weekend plans. But they didn’t. They continued.

“I mean, we could be a team! The three of us! You’ll go out and do all the crime fighting, Pope can make crazy gadgets and do all the…tech stuff and I can be your guy in the chair, you know?”

“My guy in the chair?”

“Yeah, you know, the guy in the headset…surrounded by screens…telling you where to go when you need extra help and stuff.”

“What?”

“Like Pope would set it up, but I would be the mastermind behind it! Like you’re stuck in a building and can’t find a way out, I would help you find a route. Your guy in the chair!”

JJ only shook his head, pressing his fingers to his temples to try and not completely lose his temper.

“And like every superhero ever, you’ll need a suit. So, I went looking through some stuff and I found my mum’s sewing machine,” Pope fumbled around in his pocket before he pulled out a small bunch of red fabric. He threw it to JJ, which he easily caught. JJ then realised it was like a ski mask, with two small holes for his eyes. “It’s not much but we can work on it, keep your identity secret and everything.”

“Oh, and you’ll need a badass name! I was thinking like Night Monkey, or—“

“—Spiderling!” Pope interrupted with a grin, clearly proud of it. But JJ had enough.

“Can the both of you just shut up!” He snapped, both boys instantly quieting down, looking at JJ with concerned looks. “Okay, are you out of your mind? Me? A superhero? Hate to fucking break it to you but I am not the superhero type guy, alright? I’m not your friendly neighbourhood nice guy helping old ladies cross the street or getting cats out of the tree! I could give zero fucks about the law cause all its there for is rich idiots to manipulate and use to ruin lives of people like us!” JJ cried out to them, letting go of any hope he had on trying to keep his cool.

“People like us don’t become heroes, alright? We are usually the ones that get locked up. And knowing my luck, I will be thrown straight into some loony house, in a straitjacket because of these powers! You guys have to be absolute fools if you think any of this would work.” JJ huffed as he stood up, shoving the mask into his pocket before making his way to the door. “I don’t care about other people, alright? I care about you guys, my mum and most importantly, myself. Why the hell should I risk my life for a world that won’t appreciate it anyways.” Both boys stood there stunned, looking at JJ with wide eyes and parted lips.

“JJ—“

“No, okay? Superheroes are meant for comic books and movies, not real life, alright? Grow up.” And with that, JJ slammed the door as he left the apartment.

JJ scoffed, muttering to himself as he walked through the dark streets of New York, deciding to take the longer route back home. He needed the time to clear his head, grasp his thoughts. He didn’t know what the boys were thinking, he was definitely not fit to be a hero. Were they out of their minds? Give a guy some abnormal powers and suddenly he should be putting on a cape and preaching morals. That wasn’t JJ, that would never be JJ. He was selfish, arrogant at times and beyond prideful. But he was aware. He knew what he was and he knew he didn’t have what it took to be a hero. Pope and John B needed to stop being ignorant and see that.

He rolled his eyes at the thought and continued his way back to his building complex, hands shoved in his pockets with his right-hand clenching around the fabric of the mask. Small puffs escaped his lips as JJ started regretting taking the long way home. It was October and winter was promising to come early, JJ could tell that much by the stinging cold against his cheeks. The cold was just the cherry on top of his bitter mood.

Yet, as JJ continued to make his way home, he could hear the sound of people talking, causing a frown to form on his face. JJ had walked this way many times, especially during the night, and the chance of passing someone down these streets were fairly rare. Maybe the odd one here or there, but a group of people? Definitely not common.

At first, he ignored it. He had gotten used to the heightened senses over the week, being able to hear things from a distance even when he didn’t try. For all he knew, he could be hearing the muttering of some people a few blocks over. So, he ignored it and carried on walking. But then it started getting louder and clearer. JJ felt his whole body go on alert, the hair on his arm standing up, like his body knew something was off. He could feel it in his gut, a horrible realisation that this wasn’t going to be his usual walk home.

It wasn’t until when JJ turned the corner that he realised just what he had walked into. There stood around five men, all wearing masks that covered the lower half of their faces. They were dressed in all black, probably to draw less attention to themselves, but JJ could see the glint of guns in the light of the lampposts shining down on the street. They stood outside a building, three of them seeming to try and block the view of the other two. It was then when JJ’s brain actually caught up with what he was seeing and realised what the building was. A bank. These guys were trying to rob a bank.

Well shit.

The way JJ saw it, he had two options here. He could turn around, pretend he didn’t see anything and let them get on with what they were doing. Chances were they would either get caught by the police or he would see that the bank had been successfully robbed tomorrow morning on the news. Or JJ could do something about it. He quickly grabbed his phone from his pocket, only to see that it was dead. Of course, it was the good ol’ Maybank luck. He shoved it back into his pocket and looked towards the five men.

Then an idea popped into his head. A stupid, insane idea that was nothing short of self-deprecating and downright dumb. It was short of one of the worst ideas he had ever had. JJ had done a lot of weird stuff in his life but this definitely tops it all. And the worst part was that he was going through with it, because as much as he hated it, it was his only choice right now.

“I’m gonna regret this.” JJ huffed to himself as he snatched the mask out of his pocket and pulled it down over his face, adjusting it so he could see through the small holes Pope had made. He let out a breath, shaking his shoulders a little as he tried to pump himself up, get his adrenaline going.

“You got this, it’s not like they have guns or anything,” JJ muttered to himself as he placed his hands on the wall of the building across from the bank, the one he was currently hiding around so the bank robbers wouldn’t see him, before he began to scale the building. I mean, who would expect the enemy coming from above, right?

He stopped around half way up the building, thanks to the heightened senses he was able to still see the criminals clearly. He watched them closely, seeing only the three men that were on lookout where the one with guns. “Oh, let’s hope this works.” He whispered to himself before extending his arm out.

“What the fuck!” One of them called out as his gun was snatched from his hands in the blink of an eye, his two friends following a similar reaction. JJ wasn’t even thinking about where he was throwing the guns, just as long as they were nowhere near these dudes when he confronted them.

He watched them freak out, yelling at each other as they looked around for the culprit to their missing guns. He heard the half-ass threats they used and tried not to snort before he shot a web to one of the lampposts nearby and swung down, landing gracefully at the top of the lamppost.

“Guys, I hate to break it to you but someone lied, bank doesn’t open until tomorrow morning.” JJ called out to them, giving a small shrug. All five heads snapped up to look at him, and the glares he was receiving was enough to tell him that these guys weren’t big jokesters.

“Piss off, kid, this is none of your business.” One of them replied in a blunt, scruffy voice. It honestly made JJ cringe a little.

“You see,” JJ sighed. “I’ve made it my business so…” He trailed off before snapping his wrist, a web shooting out to stick to the head of the closest criminal and with a firm tug, his head hit the pole before he slumped to the ground.

One of the men growled at JJ, clearly not happy about some weird kid interrupting their wee heist. “You had your warning, kid. Come down and play with the adults.” He taunted before JJ noticed the glimmer of something in the light. A knife. Of-fucking-course the gun wasn’t the only weapon they had on them.

“That’s a bit unfair, isn’t it?” He commented, shooting a web to wrap around the criminal’s wrist, prepared to pull it out of his grasp, only for the robber to tug the web instead, sending JJ flying off the lamppost and falling on his ass to the ground. “Fuck!” He hissed as he quickly jumped to his feet.

“Life is unfair,” The criminal muttered before reaching to punch JJ but he easily dodged it. The speed and agility with which he moved with clearly distracting the criminal long enough for JJ to kick him hard enough that sent him stumbling back into the wall. JJ barely had time to process it before he snapped his hand to the left, stopping a fist that was inches away from his face.

“Nice try, asshole.” He huffed before twisting the criminal’s arm before sending a swift punch to his jaw. There was a satisfying pop sound that told JJ he would be preoccupied for at least a couple of minutes.

He then noticed two of the criminals trying to corner him, and he couldn’t help but smirk a little under the mask at just how cliché it seemed. In seconds, JJ has webs shooting out each wrist, attaching to the chests of each men, before yanking the two towards each other. Groans echoed through the empty street as both men collided with each other.

JJ’s head snapped to the side when he heard an angry battle call as he saw the man with the now dislocated jaw running towards him. JJ crouched down a little before he began running towards the criminal, his arms hooking around his knees. He kept running forwards until JJ felt glass smash around him and the two of them fell through. He quickly got up, wincing at the window he had just broken before turning to the criminal and giving him a good smack in the face—he definitely wasn’t holding back with his strength on that one.

JJ began to work fast, not knowing how long each of the criminals would stay dazed and unconscious for. In no time, he had them piled together, a healthy amount of web fluid keeping them tied together. They wouldn’t be going anywhere—at least for twenty minutes. But it was just JJ’s luck that he didn’t have to worry about that time limit because not even seconds after he finished, he heard the sirens and saw the blue lights flashing down the streets.

Police cars began to surround the bank, creating a semi-circle to prevent any possible escape. Officers began to exit their vehicles, guns set and loaded and now aimed towards JJ. “This is NYPD, keep your hands where we can see them!” One officer called out.

“Shit,” JJ muttered to himself as he raised his hands in the air, watching as officers slowly approached the crime scene.

He watched as a look of confusion washed over their faces as they took in the scene: the smashed window, the five tied up men, the weird silky rope that was binding them together and of course, JJ in his crappy mask.

He watched as they evaluated the situation. Watched as they tried to piece it all together before one officer—the badge telling JJ her name was Captain Peterkin—stopped in front of JJ with raised eyebrows. “Did you do this?”

“Sure did, ma’am.”

“Why?” Another officer perked up, JJ could see his badge said Officer Shoupe.

“They were robbing a bank, what did you want me to do? Sit around making daisy chains until you showed up?” JJ immediately defended, glaring as best as he could with the mask on his face.

Peterkin smiled a little before she cleared her throat, JJ’s attention shifting to her. “Then I guess we owe you a great deal of thanks for your work.”

“All in a day’s work, can I leave now? I’m sure the security cameras will give you all the answers you need.” JJ stated as he already began to take a few steps away from the crime scene, walking backwards.

“Can we at least know your name?” Peterkin asked.

JJ looked down at his wrists before he snapped them up, watching as the web attached to nearby building. He looked at Peterkin and couldn’t help grin under his mask as he answered her question before tugging on the web and swinging away into the night.

“Call me Spider-Man.”

Taglist: @alphinias @popcornhook @loveyatopluto @teamnick @peanutbelley @iccyyyybitch @jiara-maybank @donkey-is-my-spirit-animal @carissarose16 @unspokenfaith @largedenominationsplease @jiaaras @homebody-nobody @smileymikey @hvitstark @shaymq7 @hmspogue @falseungodlyhours @aarchiess @rcsales @raeoffuckingsunshine @jjskiaras @parker-holland-osterfield @thesadprose

#jiara #outer banks #obx #jj maybank #kiara carrera #jj maybank x kiara carrera #outer banks fanfiction #jiara fanfiction #obx fic #my fic #spiderman au #marvel #tale of a slightly unstable teen hero

[okay-victoria]

Love of My Second Life: Tanya & Romance

This is both my take on why, despite seeming like the easiest and healthiest relationship to write, TanyaxVisha is up there with TanyaxMary in difficulty level for pulling off successfully, what I’ve seen go wrong in fanfic so far, and what needs to make it/any romance go right.

Where to start, where to start...um, a warning, for obvious reasons I’m going to have to talk about sex.

The Age Difference

This has the joy of being a bit creepy on both ends of the spectrum! Yay.

Visha Being Creepy

Visha is probably 5 - 6 years older than Tanya. While as more mature adults that age difference is relatively negligible, Tanya being 17/18 and Visha being in her early 20s doesn’t make it suddenly a non-issue. If you and a coworker, both in your first job out of college, went to happy hour and you met his/her significant other and they were a senior in high school, would you feel good about that?

The age-of-consent laws in bygone eras may help your case for why in-story characters give a pass to such things, but it doesn’t really help explain it to your readers. Unless I’m missing something, no one is reading this story from 1920s/30s Germany, and so it needs to have the relationship explained in a way that tries to work for modern standards. Additionally, I think people tend to mix up age-of-consent with “people found this generally appropriate”. A 19 year old dating a 59 year old violates no laws in the United States, but that doesn’t mean that most people are going to consider it a loving and healthy relationship without any proof. Even your in-story characters are probably going to have some thoughts.

The final issue, from Visha’s end of the spectrum, is that even when Tanya is aged up to 18+ and has gained some secondary sexual characteristics, she is sometimes still presented as being an “eternal loli” who can be easily be mistaken for someone around 14/15, an age at which girls normally have some secondary sex characteristics, but distinctly immature ones. I imagine this problem stems from two places:

1) Scenes when Tanya’s lolidom is brought up are not the same scenes as the romantic ones, so the problem is not as obvious to the author and

2) Author forgets that “short+small boobs+doesn’t have wrinkles yet” does not actually result in people looking like they are mid-puberty. Without being really creepy, as women age, their breast tissue drops down and to the side, waist/hip/leg ratios change, and the face loses its baby fat, among other things. Writing that references Tanya as looking like a teen comes along with the unfortunate implication that she actually looks like she is still mid-puberty, and Visha...is into that, instead of being someone who is attracted to petite POST pubescent women.

These are all extremely fixable problems. Really, all an author has to do is make Visha acknowledge that it’s weird, and probably try to talk to Tanya about her reservations before she starts trying to seduce her. It’s the handwave that is the issue. For the last/puberty problem, unless there is some reason I probably don’t want to know about that the author only wants to write the relationship if Tanya looks 14, simply describe her as a petite but adult woman, and if you need to use her looking young as a plot point, have her make an effort to adapt her adult characteristics to suit or hope that nobody looks hard enough to tell the difference.

Tanya Being Creepy

While Tanya is physically the junior member of the relationship, mentally, she is the senior, and by a lot. Tanya knows this. While I don’t necessarily think Salaryman is the Earth’s most morally-pure man, I have a high enough opinion of him to think that he was not pursuing college girls when he was like 35. Tanya should also have a moment of thought over this, or the relationship needs to wait until Visha is closer to her late 20s, when she is approaching a similar level of life maturity that Salaryman would have felt was close to his own.

Even if you think that Salaryman’s logical side would have been eroded by his “but I’m a guy, I can’t help it, college girls are hot” side [I’m side-eyeing you], I think it’s very unlikely that living as Tanya, and being on the receiving end of that kind of stuff, wouldn’t make her reconsider her stance on it, at least a little.

I know, I know, Visha’s been to war! She’s not the same as some random college girl in 2020! While this is allowable as a partial justification, because it is true, it ignores a whole lot.

First off, maturity is not a straightforward drive. All parts of you do not mentally mature at the same time. If you want to write early 20s Visha as a mature-enough partner for Tanya, a bit of time needs to be spent on what Visha loses because of it - she never has, and never will, get to be that happy-go-lucky girl. While making fun of young women for being dramatic gossips, obsessing about non-serious things, etc remains a popular sport, thinking that you are doing Visha a favor by taking that time of her life away from her says pretty terrible things about how society values women’s relationships with each other. If you don’t mean for your fanfic to accidentally imply that, it’s something that needs some love & care.

Alternatively, you could write a story in which Visha, while being a competent adult, still gets space to explore her “girly” side. If doing so, you are going to have to make a really strong case for why Tanya is willing to put up with this, as Salaryman does not come off as someone who would judge it a good use of time & effort to be constantly letting his girlfriend rattle off about things he thinks are silly and immature - there’s a lot of other fish in the sea, why not find one that is a competent adult *and* isn’t often talking about things you don’t care about.

The Canonical Setup of Visha & Tanya’s relationship

Opposite Goals

In a nutshell, Tanya is presented as a person that wants to live a safe, boring, and non-notable life, is doing her best to get there, and is constantly failing and being stressed about it because she needs to figure out a new plan. Visha is presented as someone who has major qualms about Tanya as a human being, but has a nigh-worshipful respect for her heroic officer side.

This is a massive, and I mean MASSIVE problem. You absolutely cannot ignore that what makes the characters happy is diametrically opposed to each other. Can you overcome it? Yes, by slowly developing the characters towards a compromise, but you can’t just not acknowledge it and expect me to think this relationship has any hope of leaving both partners happy. Either Tanya never escapes her never-ending stress cycle, or she does, and the entire basis of Visha’s attachment to Tanya disappears.

This can be fixed by: 1) Tanya coming to terms with a new side of herself, one that wants to be that hero. This cannot just be a one-paragraph epiphany. Tanya is shown to hate when she thinks her internal self is being changed by her new experiences and she needs a lot of work to get to a point where she is willing to acknowledge this in herself.

2) Visha has to go through a rocky part where she second-guesses herself - she thought she wanted Tanya, but turns out, Tanya isn’t the person she thought she is? How and why does she decide that she likes the person Tanya has become? This is probably the easier route, but I think runs the risk of having an author have Visha *say* Tanya does all these other good things for her, but never really show it happening.

3) The happiest medium is probably one where Visha *mostly* adapts towards Tanya, so Tanya gets to live a quiet but not too quiet life, and Visha learns to love another side. As Visha is compromising more in this sense, a healthy relationship is going to include Tanya realizing what is happening and deciding to make an effort to appeal to Visha and not just be like “Take me as I am. Or don’t.” and Visha unilaterally decides to accept that.

Why Does Tanya want to be in a relationship with Visha?

Tanya betrays no actual emotional attachment to Visha in the light novels. While you can read in rationalization to the reasons Tanya gives to her actions, she herself does not believe that it is because of an emotional connection.

Canonically, Tanya is portrayed as liking Visha because of how well Visha passes the “usefulness” test. This brings up another MASSIVE problem - does Tanya, in any way, shape, or form, actually like Visha as an individual, or just  her ability to conform to the role Tanya wants her to play?

Look, I don’t need Tanya to be in LOVE with Visha in the way we usually talk about people being in love to believe that Tanya can be in a relationship successfully. I’m fully on board with a portrayal in which Tanya can’t quite summon that level of emotion. However, she needs to like and respect Visha as an individual person, and summon a level of emotion beyond friend with benefits.

IMO, it is really hard to do that without showing Tanya and Visha disagreeing on a major piece of Tanya’s philosophy and Tanya actually listening and responding positively to it, not simply agreeing to disagree because it isn’t worth upsetting her useful sidekick, or whatever. There needs to be character development of both characters - Visha finding it in herself to be comfortable rocking the boat, and Tanya having a compelling enough reason to change something that she has clung to for two lives.

Everyone wants to be a lesbian

While I get it, the Empire is not the exact same as Germany, and yes, I know that Weimar Germany was relatively sexually progressive, it’s really not something that a well-written romance should handwave.

“Weimar Culture” in many ways developed as a result of how WW1 went for Germany. If you have a story where WW1 doesn’t go that way for Germany, gay culture is unlikely to flourish to the same degree.

All that aside, Tanya isn’t someone that is going to easily shrug her shoulders and say “you know, sometimes you need to jeopardize your career for the sake of hot sex/love”. She’s pretty clear on which she prioritizes. A lesbian relationship is not going to help her here, and she’s going to be aware of it. She needs to struggle with that choice.

Visha not struggling to accept herself as a lesbian is also somewhat of an oversight. It’s pretty unlikely that a woman born in her time period would come to terms with that easily. Visha is also never shown being attracted to other women besides Tanya, which carries a weird “I’m only a lesbian for you” vibe that is like a gross parallel of a straight guy wanting a lesbian to be so attracted to him she can’t help it, she wants the D.

And now, we enter the realm of Tanya’s relationship with her identity and sexuality.

Tanya is shown to have mental qualms both about entering a straight or lesbian relationship in her new life. The reasons behind those qualms are not explored at all in the LN, but they should be in a story in which Tanya goes into a relationship.

No matter which path puberty takes her down, there is the issue of Tanya being comfortable having sex as a woman. Even if it is with another woman, it is not going to be particular similar to the way she had sex with women as a man. That type of thing is pretty tied up with our identity. Tanya hates having her internal, I haven’t changed identity threatened, and not being able to give sexual pleasure/needing to receive it differently is the type of thing that is probably going to come along with some emotional reservations on her part.

Again, sexual identity being a part of our overall identity, while Tanya may remain attracted to women, that means her identity is now as a gay person, not a straight person. Given her biases from both growing up in Japan and the state of gay rights in her new life, it would seem atypical that she would consider this a non-issue and it wouldn’t make her question her priorities or the type of person she thought she was.

But...The Sex?

Look, I get it, sometimes you wanna see certain characters bang. We’ve all been there.

While yes, I recognize that many humans make terrible decisions solely in pursuit of sex, and so it’s perfectly realistic to have Tanya and Visha do the same and say that’s why you’re handwaving everything else, it is an extremely lazy storytelling technique, especially since neither character seems likely to go to extremes for it.

Because people focus so much on sex appeal, unfortunately, they use it as a substitute for making a good case for the relationship. Visha/Tanya is so attracted to Tanya/Visha, that now they are willing to undergo character development, because the pulsing loins urge them to. Really?

Do at least some of it first, lay the groundwork for romantic attraction before you slam them with physical attraction. While it often works the opposite direction in real life, that undercuts the romantic side in fictional story-telling.

I also think that because of the focus on their attraction to each other, what ends up missing in all TanyaxVisha fanfics I’ve seen so far is the tension. That makes it boring, I don’t care about it, and the entire reason I don’t care about it is because the choice to handwave the inconvenient facts means there is nothing in the way besides Tanya being a dumbass, which you can only do for so long without it becoming boring.

They are both attracted to each other, and admit it to themselves. Neither sees any real problem with the relationship other than not knowing if the other person likes them, but they aren’t even hung up on it and mostly work on straightforwardly winning the other person.

When in doubt, blame it on The Patriarchy

As far as we know, Tanya isn’t pining for relationship, and never thinks about a romantic relationship from her old life. Combined with other things Tanya says, it is hard to imagine Salaryman ever had a “considering marriage” relationship - more like, he may have felt partnership had some desirable aspects, but probably never was able to compromise on his kind of extreme worldview enough to try to make it work with someone, just figuring he’d find “the one” one day that wasn’t going to make him compromise.

While of course, you should not need to change everything about who you are for a romantic partner to like you, saying “you should like me for me” and then putting in exactly zero effort to do things because you know they are important to your partner, even if they aren’t for you, is not one of the keys to a successful relationship.

While it is not a problem inherent to Tanya & Visha’s relationship like the above sections, it is a problem in all forms of how I’ve seen the relationship written. It fails to answer a fundamental question: WHAT CHANGED?

Why did Tanya want love/a relationship/a wife in this life, and not in her last? If she did want it in her last life, why did she successfully find love/a relationship/a wife in this life, and not in her last?

Unfortunately, skipping the answer to this question implies that nothing changed. The success is then entirely reliant and Visha, and that brings along with it a really ugly answer.

Visha’s professional I’ll-do-anything-for-you is equated to a personal I’ll-do-anything-for-you, and she very much accepts Tanya for who she is, through all the flaws that are definitely there and that presumably no woman in Salaryman’s life was willing to put up with. Tanya doesn’t have to undergo any character development to be capable of making the relationship work.

This has some really, really unfortunate undertones. It is the very reason why even legal-but-large age difference relationships often aren’t healthy, because the older partner, instead of trying to be someone capable of contributing to the life of someone their own age, decides it’s easier to find someone younger who doesn’t know better and is more willing to put up with their bullshit. That, then, turns into a creepy grooming undertone - you make the less experienced partner think this is normal.

It really isn’t normal or good that Visha should have to put up with a relationship in which she never discovers who she wants to be because she’s so caught up Tanya’s idea of how to live your life. That is borderline emotional abuse, I am sure no one intends it to be there, but without giving some serious treatment to character development, unfortunately, it is.

To me, this has some of the worst overtones of the worst types of male fantasy - My Manic Pixie Dream Girl is completely devoted to me, and instead of emotionally adding to her life and/or our relationship, she is completely fine with me substituting being a Strong Heroic Man who occasionally buys her Nice Things. She demands I change nothing of myself and completely agrees with my Logical Man worldview, no matter what she needs to change about herself to get there. She’s hot, and I get to simultaneously be a straight man and have hot lesbian sex. Even better, because she’s a “strong” woman who is capable in her own right, not only am I physically satisfied, but I get the ego boost of “earning” the submission and subordination of a woman who is better than most people, because she knows I’m better than her.

Honestly, the more I think about it, the grosser it gets, so as far as fanfic goes I just try to ignore it and understand that the authors intention wasn’t to bring along all this baggage. However, to truly write a good Tanya x Visha story that gets away from all these unfortunate implications is a big undertaking, and it’s really impossible for it to make for a compelling side-plot that doesn’t get much screentime.

I’m generally fine with handwaving issues for sideplots, but if Tanya is making decisions because of her relationship with Visha that are now affecting the main plot, it really isn’t something that *should* be handwaved.

Thanks for coming to my TED Talk.

#OpEd

[sheliesshattered]

First Christmas, Chapter 1 of 3

Clara/Twelve Last Christmas AU. Latest part in the ongoing series For As Long As We Get, but can be read as a stand-alone. Three chapters, 16,000 words, complete. Episode remix, action/adventure, married banter, angst with a happy ending. Available on AO3 under the same title and username.

--

First Christmas, Chapter 1

“Clara, when I said you could pick anywhere you wanted to go for Christmas Eve, I really had hoped you would choose something a little more scenic,” the Doctor groused as he put the TARDIS into park.

“Oh shush, the north pole will be plenty scenic,” his wife replied, glancing up from shoving her feet into snowboots. She hadn’t changed out of her festive nightgown, just thrown a warm coat overtop, which had created an unusual combination, even by his standards.

“You do realise there isn’t actually a pole at the north pole? Or any proper land for that matter? There’s nothing there, just ice and snow! It isn’t even magnetic north! Why don’t we go to the south pole? At least then we might see penguins.”

“The south pole may indeed have penguins,” she allowed, finally wiggling into her second boot, “but it doesn’t have Santa,” she said, grinning at him.

“The north pole doesn’t have Santa, either,” he pointed out. “Given that Santa Claus is, in fact, entirely imaginary.”

“That’s what you said about Robin Hood,” Clara laughed. “And look how that turned out!”

“For the record, I’m still not convinced about Robin Hood, either.”

“Don’t be such a grinch, Doctor,” she chided him fondly as she started for the TARDIS doors. “It’s Christmas Eve, and I want to see the north pole. We only have to stay a few minutes.”

“Honestly, Clara,” he said, trailing after her, “it’s not like we’re going to stumble across Santa’s Workshop out there.”

“Oh, really?” she said, raising an eyebrow at him. “Then what do you call this?” She threw open both of the TARDIS doors with a flourish, her voice full of such joyful conviction that for half a moment, the Doctor actually thought they might see a life-sized toymakers’ workshop made of candy canes and gingerbread.

Instead, the sight that greeted them was far from scenic, much as he’d predicted. Heavy snowflakes filled the air, half obscuring a drab grey building set immediately opposite the TARDIS, roughly twenty metres away.

“Huh,” Clara said, letting her hands drop from the doors. “I thought you said there wasn’t anything at the north pole?”

He glared at the inexplicable building. “There shouldn’t be,” he replied. “Not in this time period.”

“It looks like some sort of research base,” she said, taking a few steps outside to get a better look, the snow crunching beneath her boots.

“As I said, possibly the least scenic and least romantic spot you could have chosen,” he stated flatly, reluctantly following her out of the TARDIS and closing the doors behind him.

She turned to look at him, walking backwards and grinning mischievously. “Or maybe Santa has just cleverly disguised his shop as a research facility, to keep nosy parkers like us out.”

“If we go in there and find nothing but a load of boring scientists, will you at least let me choose our next destination?” the Doctor sighed.

“Deal,” Clara said, turning to scamper off towards the heavy looking door that led into the research base.

“And if you fall on your face in the snow, we’re going back to Christmas Eve Plan A: hot cocoa by the fireplace in the library!” he called after her.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “You, sir, have forgotten one very important part of Christmas Eve Plan A, and don’t think I didn’t notice!”

“Which is what?” he asked, catching up to her just as she stopped outside the door.

“We agreed to hot cocoa with mini marshmallows,” Clara said, prodding the centre of his chest with one finger. “It’s not really Christmas without marshmallows!”

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “Yes, fine. Hot cocoa with mini marshmallows, beside the fire in the library. Just as soon as you accept the reality that this is not actually Santa’s Workshop.”

“Then why is there mistletoe?” she asked, one eyebrow raised as she directed his attention to the green sprig of vegetation above them.

“Right, because only Santa’s mythical workshop would hang mistletoe in a doorway at Christmas,” he said dryly.

“Oh, just shut up and kiss me,” she said, laughing. She gripped his lapels in each hand and pulled him down to her as she rose up on her toes, meeting him halfway for a quick peck. “Now then,” she said, holding his gaze from only a few inches away, “do you think you can sonic this door open? Because it is really quite cold out here, and I’m dying to know if I’m right about Santa.”

“I can guarantee you’re not right about Santa,” he told her, as she sank back to her normal height and rubbed her arms briskly.

“Doctor,” Clara said, her laughter still evident through her whinging tone, “just open the door already!”

“Yes, boss,” he said, pulling the sonic screwdriver from his pocket and pointing it at the handwheel on the bulkhead door, setting it to spinning. The heavy door creaked as it swung outward slightly, and he shouldered it the rest of the way open, leading the way through. Whatever this misplaced building was, he didn’t trust the look of it one bit.

A frightened yelp from immediately in front of him drew his attention, revealing a young woman crouched on the tile floor of what appeared to be an infirmary. There were four hospital beds lining the wall to his right, their occupants draped head to toe in white sheets.

“We’ve got ghosts!” the woman cried, panic clear in her voice. “Yeah, yeah, it’s a skeleton man and a girl in a nighty,” she went on, as the Doctor spotted the communication device in her ear.

He glanced at Clara, and by unspoken agreement he went left while she went right, splitting up to investigate the room faster. His side of the room contained another empty bed and various other standard issue twenty-first century medical equipment — boring, and decidedly un-Christmassy.

“Doctor,” Clara called, and he glanced over to see her leaning in to examine one of the covered bodies. “What are they?”

“No, no, no! You’re making me think about them!” the woman on the floor said, her eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t make me think about them!”

Moving quickly to join Clara on the other side of the room, he pulled the sonic from his coat pocket again and scanned the figures. “I think we can safely assume they’re not Santa’s elves,” he told her.

In unison, all four bodies slowly sat up, the sheets covering them falling away to reveal human figures with slimy grey alien heads, eerie in their wrongness. Clara darted back a step instinctively, and the Doctor had to suppress the urge to put himself between his wife and the potential threat, knowing she would hardly appreciate his overprotectiveness.

“Just, don’t ask,” the woman told them. “And don’t look. Don’t make me think about them!”

He scanned them again. “Deaf. Blind,” he said, based on the sonic’s readings. “How can they see us? How do they even know that we’re here?”

“They can only see you, yeah, if you see them,” the woman explained. “So just, don’t look, don't even think about them.”

“Oh, telepathic,” the Doctor realised. “They can home in on their own image in someone else's brain. Third-party perception. Mind piracy.” He turned to Clara. “We're being hacked!”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

“The visual input from your optic nerve is being streamed to their brains. Stop broadcasting. Close your eyes,” he told her, waiting until she’d done as he asked to close his eyes as well.

He listened intently, focusing on the sound of slow shuffling footsteps approaching.

“...They’re still coming, aren’t they?” Clara said, a hint of panic working its way into her tone.

“It's because we’re still thinking about them. So long as you retain them as an active memory, they can still home in. Think about something else.”

“How?”

“So here it is, merry Christmas,” the woman on the floor began to sing, slightly out of tune.

“Why is she singing?” Clara asked.

“She’s running interference,” he replied. “She’s trying to distract herself. Three hundred and four minus seventeen.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Plus twenty. Just do it!”

“Why are you quizzing me on maths at a time like this??” Clara demanded.

“You have to think about something else, anything else!”

“Does it have to be maths?”

“First Jane Austen quote that comes to mind!” he said, changing tacks. “Quickly, Clara, our lives may depend on it!”

“Um,” she stuttered anxiously. “‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man—’ What are they doing, Doctor? I can still hear them coming!”

“Because you’re still thinking about them. Don’t think about them, think about that quote!”

He knew he had to clear his mind as well, find something else to fixate on besides the threat slowly approaching. Grabbing hold of the first available thought, he tried to flood his mind with something completely disconnected from this moment. Christmas Eve Plan A, cocoa in the library, and Clara curled up next to him—

“‘—that a single man—’” she started again, her voice shaking with fear.

That was no good, not nearly vivid enough to distract him. Christmas Eve Plan B, then, in their bedroom on the TARDIS—

“‘—in possession of a good fortune—’”

It wouldn’t work to simply think of something else, he realised, not so long as the fear of the creatures remained. They had to do something more, something to clear their minds completely.

“‘—must be in want of a—’”

In one swift movement, the Doctor leaned down, cupped Clara’s face in both hands, and kissed her soundly.

He expected to feel her surprise seep through his fingertips, and he searched for the connection between their minds, but there was nothing, just a jumbled silence that unnerved him even more than the alien threat.

“Right, the time for snogging is over, now’s the time to run!” the stranger called to them, and he broke away from Clara, grabbing her hand and pulling her along behind him as they sprinted towards the far door on the heels of the other woman. The door swished open before they reached it, revealing three more people, each carrying a large gun.

“Go, run, now, now!” one of them called, waving them forward.

“Here they come!” yelled another, his gun pointed towards the ceiling, and the Doctor looked up to see grey carcinoform aliens descending from the rafters, heading straight for them.

The gut wrenching sound of Clara’s scream was cut off by an explosion from behind them, and he whirled around to see the door leading to the outside completely gone, replaced by a gaping hole in the wall. As he watched, a single tangerine rolled through the smoking rubble, followed by a surreal parade of slinkies and toy robots.

“Whoa, whoa boy!” called a voice, and the Doctor blinked hard at the apparition in the snow just beyond the ruined infirmary wall. A stout man wearing a red suit trimmed in white fur was dismounting from a reindeer decked out in jingle bells, like an illustration from a children’s book come to life. Glancing at Clara, he found her staring at the inexplicable man as well, disbelief beginning to shift to joy in the curl of her mouth.

“Well, now. What seems to be the problem?” the man said as he approached through the remnants of the explosion. “This is the north pole. We don’t want any trouble here. Oi, sleepy heads!” he went on, turning to the alien-headed creatures. “It’s Christmas Eve, early to bed.” He clapped his hands and the sleepers obediently turned and shuffled back towards their hospital beds.

“Who the hell are you?” one of the gun-toting women behind the Doctor demanded of the newcomer.

“Take a guess,” the Doctor said acerbically, turning to her. “Go on, push the boat out. Tooth Fairy, maybe? Easter Bunny?”

“No, this is ridiculous,” said the gobby one they’d encountered first. Her puffy gilet helpfully labelled her ‘Shona’. “Am I— am I dreaming??”

Her question jarred a memory loose, and the Doctor realised where he’d seen creatures like this before. “Oh, very good,” he muttered, his mind racing through the implications.

“I need to know exactly who you are, and what’s happening here,” the other woman said as the red-suited man approached her.

“Hello, Ashley,” the apparition of Santa Claus said, nudging the muzzle of her gun out of the way. “Lead scientist on a polar expedition! Oh, that microscope really paid off, didn't it? Now, your mum and dad wanted me to get you a toy one, but sometimes, I take a chance.”

“Who are you?” Ashley demanded. “Why are you dressed like that?”

“Why do you think?” he asked, spreading his arms wide like the answer ought to be self-evident.

“This is mental,” Shona said. “This is totally not happening!”

“I’ve got three words, Shona,” Santa said to her. “Don’t make me use ‘em.”

“What three words?”

“My. Little. Pony,” he said, ticking the words off on his fingers.

“Shut up, you!” Shona shot back.

“Doctor,” Clara said, looking up at him, “what’s going on? He can’t really be—?”

“Of course I am!” the festive dream construct replied before the Doctor could. “Come on now, Clara. You of all people ought to believe in impossible heroes! You said so yourself!”

She gave him a bemused smile. “I didn’t actually think...”

“There’s no time for all that now,” Santa said, waving it away. “We’re in the middle of an invasion!” He whistled, and his reindeer plodded in through the ruined wall, stopping beside him. Reaching into the saddlebags, he produced a large transparent container. Inside, the Doctor recognised the same sort of carcinoform alien that had descended from the ceiling before the explosion — the same sort that were wrapped around the heads of the sleepers in their hospital beds.

“What do you think, Doctor?” he went on, handing him the specimen container. “You seen them before?”

“Once, a long time ago,” the Doctor replied, taking the container and holding it up to get a better look. The creature inside looked dead or dormant, not so much as twitching with the movement.

“The Kantrofarri,” Santa said, echoing the exact word that had been rattling around the Doctor’s mind the last few minutes.

“Colloquially known as the dream crabs,” he explained to Clara.

“Depending on how many of those are already on Earth,” Santa said, “the human race may well have seen its last day. So, are we going to stand around arguing about whether or not I’m real, or are we going to get busy saving Christmas?”

Ashley cast a quick glance at the others. “Whatever the hell this is, we can’t stay here to figure it out — we’ll die of exposure, with that wall gone. Come on, we have a laboratory, down this way,” she said, turning to lead them out of the infirmary.

“What I’d tell you?” the Doctor said quietly to Clara as he fell into step beside her. “Load of boring scientists.”

“Oh, you are loving this, aren’t you?” she smirked up at him. “Middle of an invasion and all you can focus on is how you were right.”

He shrugged easily. “Have to enjoy the little things, now don’t we?”

They followed Ashley into the laboratory, where she and the others divested themselves of their large guns. “Question him,” she said to Shona, with a tilt of her head towards Father Christmas. “Now then,” she went on, turning to the Doctor. “Who are you, and what is that?”

“I’m the Doctor, this is Clara,” he replied, dispensing with the pleasantries as quickly as possible. “And this is what attacked your sleeping friends back in the infirmary,” he added, depositing the specimen container on a nearby table.

“Is it dead?” Clara asked, glancing up at him.

“I don’t know. Possibly.”

“I’m assuming it’s extra-terrestrial,” Ashley said, leaning down to examine the dream crab.

“Oh, definitely,” the Doctor said.

“Then how can you have seen them before?” she asked, straightening back up.

“Guess.”

She pressed her mouth into an unhappy line. “Because you’re extra-terrestrial, too.”

“Do you believe that?” he asked her.

“As a scientist, I have to examine all the evidence, consider all the possibilities. I’m not ruling anything out.”

“Smart,” he said appreciatively.

“If you have seen these before,” Ashley went on, “I need you to tell me everything you know about them.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Why’s it called a dream crab, for a start?”

“Theorise.”

“Because it generates a telepathic field,” she said, naming their most obvious feature.

“And?”

“Alters perception.”

“Meaning?”

Ashley levelled an exasperated look at him. “I seem to be doing all the work here.”

“Meaning we can’t trust anything we see or hear,” Clara supplied, and the Doctor suppressed the proud smile that tried to curve his mouth.

“Go to the window,” he told Ashley.

“Why?”

“Because it gets worse.”

With a skeptical look, Ashley crossed the room to the window, looking out at where the TARDIS stood faintly glowing in the falling snow. “What is that?” she asked.

“That’s how Clara and I got here.”

“In a box?” she said, disbelieving.

“Technically, in a telephone kiosk,” the Doctor said with a grin.

She let out a surprised laugh. “How?”

“Because it’s a spaceship in disguise,” he told her. “You know what the big problem is in telling fantasy and reality apart?”

“What?”

“They’re both ridiculous.”

Ashley cast a glance towards where Shona was questioning Santa Claus in the far corner. “You don’t have to tell me that.”

“So we don’t know what’s real and what isn’t,” Clara said, eyeing Santa as well.

“Exactly,” the Doctor said.

“Are we in danger?” she asked seriously, turning back to him.

“Oh, we are well past danger, Clara. If I’m right, and I usually am—” he ignored Clara’s exasperated little huff, “—then we are dying.”

“Then how do we stay alive?” Ashley asked.

“Oh, I like you,” he said, pointing at her, “straight to the point. I want you to show me how you first encountered those creatures, and what happened to those people in the infirmary. I notice you all wear mini-cams, so I assume that there’s footage?”

“Is it possible I’m about to work with someone who might be a dream?”

“If it helps, so am I,” he smiled at her.

“We have footage on the drives, down in the control room,” she replied, tilting her head towards the hallway that led further into the base. “I’ll see what we can pull up.”

“Ashley,” he called after her as she turned to go, “what’s this polar base for? Why are you all here?”

“It’s a long story,” she said, then continued down the hallway, the other two boring scientists trailing after her.

Clara watched them go, then looked at him. “Do we need to have a rule about snogging during life and death situations?” she asked, eyeing him.

He shrugged. “I’m in favour of it.”

“The rule?”

“The snogging,” he said, grinning. “It worked, didn’t it? I had to flood your mind with random emotion.”

“Random emotion?” she demanded, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe not random,” he allowed, “but better than fear, anyway.”

She studied him for a moment, that skeptical eyebrow still raised. “Stood way over here, no telepathy or anything, and I can tell exactly what you’re thinking. You’re thinking about Christmas Eve Plan B, and don’t even try to deny it.”

“I seem to remember that you weren’t exactly opposed to Plan B.”

She made an equivocal noise, tilting her head to one side. “Not opposed to it, no. But there was a distressing lack of marshmallows in Plan B.”

“And yet a delightful lack of clothing,” he grinned at her.

She pressed her lips together, clearly trying to suppress a smile. “There’s no reason we can’t do both,” she said levelly, “once we’re done with whatever this is, Plan C I suppose. We live in a time machine, it can be Christmas Eve as long as we want.”

“You live in a time machine?” Shona asked in disbelief as she approached, notebook and pen in hand. Behind her, Santa Claus was on his mobile phone, grousing at whatever imagined entity was supposedly on the other end.

“Indeed we do,” Clara said, turning to Shona. “That blue box, right out there,” she went on, gesturing to the TARDIS visible through the window.

“That’s a telephone box,” Shona said skeptically. “One of those old ones, yeah? For phoning the police.”

“A clever disguise,” the Doctor shrugged.

“You’re as bad as Beardy-Weirdy over there,” she said, nodding at Santa. “Don’t make a bit of sense, neither of you.”

“You don’t seem like much of a scientist,” he told her.

“That’s a bit rude,” she shot back, “coming from a magician.”

He caught Clara’s muffled snort of laughter but said to Shona, “Why are you out here? What brought you to the North Pole?”

She shrugged. “Long story, isn’t it?”

Glancing at the notes she’d taken while interrogating Santa, the Doctor said. “You missed a killer question.”

“What?”

“Beardy-Weirdy,” he called.

“Yeah?” Santa replied, angling his mobile away from his face.

“How do you get all the presents in the sleigh?”

He smirked at him. “It’s bigger on the inside.”

Clara coughed to cover her giggle, and the Doctor shot her a sour look.

Ashley came down the hall from the control room. “Doctor,” she called to him, “Bellows has found that footage you wanted to see, come on.”

The Doctor and Clara followed her to the control room, with Shona and Santa Claus trailing behind them. When they entered, they found the third woman, Bellows, stood at a control panel in front of a bank of video monitors. The polar team’s fourth member, Professor Albert, lingered nearby eating a turkey leg.

“Sorry,” he said when he noticed the Doctor’s attention, “starving.”

Ignoring him, he turned away and focused on the monitors displaying footage from four separate cameras recording one event from multiple vantage points. “What am I looking at?” he asked.

“Footage from a week ago,” Bellows replied. “A side expedition from our main mission.”

“What is your main mission?”

“Long story,” she said dismissively, waving it away. “This is in an ice cave directly beneath this base. Now, look at what we found.” The footage focused on a cluster of Kantrofarri hanging from the ceiling of the ice cave, unmoving. “Dormant at first,” Bellows went on.

“Until you looked at them too long,” the Doctor said. “‘Til you thought about them.”

“Exactly.”

He stepped closer to the monitors, trying to get a better look. “Sleeping. Probably been down there for centuries.”

“And it wakes up when you think about it?” Clara asked.

“They can detect their own mental picture in any nearby mind,” he reminded her.

“That’s Bellows’ theory,” Ashley agreed, nodding.

“It’s like it responds to the presence of any data concerning itself,” Bellows said.

“That was always the legend,” the Doctor replied, gaze still fixed on the footage from the ice cave as the initial encounter played out. “You think about a dream crab, a dream crab is coming for you.”

“This is where it gets really nasty,” Albert said around a bite of turkey.

“Only now?” Clara said dryly.

The footage turned to panicked disarray as the cluster of dream crabs descended onto the scientists, the cameras each cutting to static in quick succession.

“Okay, then what?” the Doctor asked, glancing at Bellows.

With a few keystrokes, she pulled up another set of footage, security cameras showing multiple angles on the base’s infirmary, before the explosion, and the Doctor watched as Bellows, Ashley, and the others guided the incapacitated scientists to the hospital beds.

“They’re a bit like facehuggers, aren’t they?” Albert said, still gnawing on his never-ending drumstick.

“Face huggers?” the Doctor asked, turning to him.

“You know, ‘Alien’. The horror movie ‘Alien’,” he replied.

“There’s a horror movie called ‘Alien’?” the Doctor demanded of the room as a whole. “That’s really offensive, no wonder everyone keeps invading you!”

Beside him, Clara snorted and subtly elbowed him in the ribs.

“At first, they just slept,” Bellows said, redirecting his attention to the footage on the monitors. “Couple of days, just lying there.”

“And then they got aggressive?” the Doctor asked.

“If we got close enough, yeah,” Ashley said.

“It would take the dream crab a little while to establish control. Depends how much of the host brain was...” he trailed off, making a face.

“Was what?” Ashley asked, sounding like she didn’t actually want to know.

“...Digested,” the Doctor finished delicately. How long until the rest of them began to suspect what had happened right before the explosion in the infirmary? Hopefully not just yet. It had taken him some time to put together the pieces, after all. He needed them focused on solving the problem, he couldn’t let them descend into panic.

Ashley looked a bit nauseous. “Are they still alive under there?”

“Depends what you’d call ‘alive’,” he replied grimly.

“Are they suffering?” she clarified.

“No. No, no, no. The dream crab induces a dream state. Keeps you happy and relaxed, in a perfectly realised dream world, as you dissolve. Merciful, I suppose.”

“Compared to what?” Albert demanded.

“Compared to that turkey leg you keep eating! Could you rewind for me?” he asked Bellows. “I’d like to see them dormant again. Clara, could you fetch me the dead one?”

“Hmm, maybe I’ll fetch myself a mug of cocoa while I’m at it.”

“My very next suggestion.”

She smirked up at him. “Fair enough.” She squeezed his hand briefly, then turned and headed back to the laboratory.

“That one we have in the lab,” Ashley said, nodding towards the hall Clara had disappeared down, “how sure are you that it’s dead?”

“Not as sure as I’d like to be,” he replied, his eyes still on the monitors. “It looks too much like the cluster your team found in the ice cave.”

“I had the same thought,” she agreed. “We need to handle it with care, then, assume it’s alive until we have absolute proof otherwise. I’ve got the infirmary on lockdown, but the last thing we need is that one waking up and attacking someone in this wing of the base.”

On the screens, the dormant Kantrofarri surged into sudden action, overwhelming the scientists, and the Doctor stiffened, a terrible realisation hitting him.

“What’s wrong?” Ashley asked.

“We’re thinking about it!” he bit out, too frantic to explain himself further. “Clara!”

He spun away from the monitors and dashed down the hallway to the laboratory, the polar team close on his heels, Santa Claus following behind.

“Clara!” he called again, skidding to a stop in the lab. His gaze landed first on the broken specimen container on the floor, and then on Clara’s snowboots peeking out from under the table. With a terrible lurch in his stomach, he dropped to his knees beside her, grabbing for her hand. It was limp in his own, and a quick glance at her face confirmed his fears: the dream crab was wrapped around her head, just like the sleepers in the infirmary.

“Clara,” he said, squeezing her hand, “you’re dreaming— you’re dying. Can you hear me? Clara!”

“We did try to wake the others,” Ashley said. “No stimulus worked.”

“Okay, we kill it,” the Doctor said in a rush, pushing back to his feet. “We find a way to kill it and we get it off of her. How do we kill it?”

“There’s no way to kill it without killing your friend, too,” she replied. “And as a scientist, may I just say, I don’t like the way you’re talking.”

“She’s not just my friend, she’s my wife, so perhaps you can understand why I find that answer unacceptable!” He turned away from her, uninterested in any further input she might have. “Santa, in the infirmary, you told the sleepers to go to bed and they obeyed you.”

“Sorry,” he shrugged, “doesn’t mean I can get that creature off her.”

“No, but you can get back in there unharmed.”

“What? You’re asking Santa for help?” Shona demanded. “He doesn’t exist!”

“And how would you know that?” the Doctor snarled back at her. “How did you become an expert on what does and doesn’t exist?

“Says the man who travels in a time machine disguised as a police box, married to a woman half his age!”

“Shut up!” he said, pointing at her. “Clara has a rule against explaining our marriage to small-minded people for exactly this reason. Kris Kringle, you’re up.”

“I can commit several million housebreaks in one night dressed in a red suit with jingle bells,” Santa said mildly, “of course I can get back into the infirmary.”

“Good. Because there is only one way that I can communicate with Clara, only one way to wake her up. I need you to get one of the dream crabs and bring it back here.”

Santa raised his eyebrows. “You realise what you’re asking?”

“Consider it the extent of my Christmas wishlist. Now go!”

“This is proper mental,” Shona said once Santa had gone. “You’re gonna, what? Put a dream crab on your face and hope for the best?”

“The dream crabs create a shared dream state,” he explained, more to keep his mind occupied than out of any real desire to help her understand. “If I can get in there, I can pull Clara out.”

“Then how come none of the rest of them have been able to wake themselves up?”

“Clara has one advantage they don’t have,” he said, turning to kneel beside her again. “Me!”

It seemed to take an unreasonably long time for Santa to return, but when he finally did, it was with another specimen container in hand. Unlike the last, this Kantrofarri skittered inside its enclosure, tapping at the glass, searching for a victim.

“Go away,” the Doctor told the polar team before they could try to talk him out of his plan. “Go back to the control room and think about something else. I’m not going to risk all of your lives as well.”

“Doctor—” Ashley started anyway.

“Go!” he said, pointing to the exit and leaving no room for argument, and one by one the scientists turned and shuffled out of the room.

“Bring it over here,” he said to Santa as he sat down beside Clara’s still form. “I think I’ve got a better chance at this if I’m in physical contact with Clara.”

“You sure about all this, Doctor?” Santa asked, crouching beside him.

He cast a quick glance down the hallway to make sure none of the others were listening, then said quietly, “I’m sure I’m already dreaming, and have been since the explosion in the infirmary. Which means that you are just a manifestation of my subconscious, or possibly the collective subconsciousnesses of everyone in the polar base.”

“You’re the science-y one, I’m just the jingle bells one,” Santa shrugged, “but that sounds logical to me.”

“Which means you even asking that question is really me asking myself — or an echo of the combined worry of the pudding brains in there,” he said, tilting his head towards the other room.

“Doesn’t mean it’s not worth asking. Are you sure about this, Doctor?” Santa said again. “What if it kills you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” the Doctor replied, shaking his head. “If I can’t get Clara back, none of this matters.”

“You love her that much?”

“Rhetorical question,” he said, arranging himself on the floor beside her and lacing his fingers through hers. “Yes, I love her that much. I’d go to hell if it meant even a chance of getting her back.”

“You may yet, Doctor,” Santa said ruefully, hefting the Kantrofarri. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, Santa.”

“Don’t say I never brought you anything for Christmas,” he sighed as he lowered the dream crab towards the Doctor, and then the world went black.

--

Chapter 2

#Whouffaldi #Twelve/Clara #Clara Oswald/Twelfth Doctor #Clara and the Doctor #Doctor Who #Doctor Who fanfic #available on AO3 under the same title and username #please comment and reblog! #Last Christmas #AUs #First Christmas #For As Long As We Get #my writing

[ghostmartyr]

So if you, like me, have nothing to do but wonder about the state of my inbox, you might rightfully be wondering how I plan to deal with the obscene backlog I have spent so many years failing to deal with.

If you have never wondered that, fear not, that doesn’t exclude you from finding out.

Today we’re just going to go through my entire slew of unanswered asks, and instead of answering them, I am going to provide excuses for why I didn’t do anything with them.

For added fun, several of the asks were in my Drafts.

I will not be cutting out the comments I started to make.

I will no doubt regret this.

Let’s have a time, shall we?

I don’t even know what year this is from. If I remember correctly, I didn’t get back to you because I thought about trying to reason out who would legitimately win, and there were too many points for both sides. I kept intending to come up with a proper answer, then time went by and this got buried.

Though the actual answer is probably “it depends on who gets the main character sticker at the time.”

...

..

.

Well.

I can tell you this is multiple years old.

We, as humans, aren’t equipped for time travel.

I didn’t answer this one because I didn’t feel like it was asking for one, and I’m only reproducing it here because it is really, really funny now.

Two years old. Plus change.

I think the entire reason I never replied to this one is that it cheered me up whenever I scrolled down enough to see it, so thank you.

You know, I entered the link at the time. Really, I did. But then came trying to come up with a comment and what can you really follow that with?

(Click the link.)

Okay then.

I still feel no need to respond to this, so that’s probably why I didn’t to start with.

Historia and literally anyone.

I don’t remember why I didn’t answer this, which usually means some combination of feeling tired and not being in the mood to scroll down to where it was.

Oops.

The thing is, this crosses dangerously close to being a fic idea. Fic ideas take time and effort. You can imagine the absolute dread I felt at having to engage with either concept.

It would have been a lot of fun to do, though. Hats off.

See, again. This is a very interesting concept that requires thought. I can tell you when I received it I was in no mood for anything that required anything of the sort.

I wrote a fic that is possibly never going to see the light of day now where they hang out in a kitchen with hot chocolate together and bond through unstated trauma and Frieda attempting to make things better.

That probably contributed to interfering with imagining how they would actually get along.

Anyway, I ship them slightly in that fic AU. Don’t @ me.

Oh dang. I remember this.

I actually really wanted to answer it, but the problem is that I wanted to come up with a good answer. Every character, tiered by their chances. A full Hunger Games edition of what went down and who killed who.

Then I didn’t.

Anyway, turns out the answer is that no one feels the need to chop of rocking chairs in a hurry, so she’d last a long time!

I didn’t answer this because I try to avoid responding with, “I don’t know.” My secondary answer would probably have been, “By being killed.”

Not that there’s anything wrong with those answers, but unless there’s been a tonal trend in asks, I assume that pithy answers that don’t actually have any meat behind them would not be appreciated.

I would stick to him probably being killed, though. But some signs do point to him being relatively immortal.

Hm.

Hmm.

I don’t know why I didn’t answer this, but I would guess it had something to do with me caring very little about Ymir’s thoughts on anything outside of her little clutch of people. And ongoing trauma of repeated dead/alive Ymir commentary killing off my desire to come up with a good answer.

Sorry?

I... have no idea why I didn’t answer this? Maybe I didn’t see it?

Anyway, yes.

There’s a longer version behind that yes, and I’m sure that might have contributed to never getting around to answering this. ...Assuming a past where I did actually see this one.

I have a confession.

I don’t really like crossovers.

There’s a sliding scale of degree, but that’s basically why this didn’t get a response.

Ah, we’ve landed on a recurring theme.

Sometimes, answers involve me thinking about the entire cast.

The usual consequence of that is I don’t have the energy for that, so nothing ever happens with these.

Oh, this one’s easy.

I had no fucking clue.

No ideas, head empty.

That didn’t seem like a good answer, so here we are, probably around a year later. I still have no clue. If I were forced to write a singing duo AU, I would probably just put some adjectives and nouns into a blender and flip a coin.

Names are hard.

I think I didn’t answer this one because I felt like I’d answered similar asks before. And I’m not really sure when this is from, but it’s possible canon complicated coming up with an answer that wasn’t distressed screeching.

Something something give Connie and Mikasa hugs, not partial about where they get them from.

Apparently not. Oops.

I can’t remember why I didn’t respond to this one. It’s possible the oodles of bad parenting proved too distracting to formulate such a post.

Sometimes I get an ask, and my immediate, gut reaction is, how the fuck should I know?

If I can move past that, the ask is answered.

If I can’t, the ask continues its descent through scroll hell.

I am sorry. There are no answers here.

Yeah, this is just the same as the above, just with I have no idea.

It’d probably be a Madoka Magic deal.

Huh. I don’t remember passing this one over. If I were to guess a timeline, I was probably too bitter over potential post-timeskip looks that I never got to be interested in focusing on the characters lucky enough to get good ones.

Go Connie for being less short, I suppose.

This clearly belonged to something that I was doing, but time has eroded the context, so I am simply left with failure and disappointment on all sides. Sorry.

Aw, we’re getting into the boring part of the inbox now, I think. Not because of the questions; you guys are always great. But I can’t think of a reason why I wouldn’t have answered this, which leads me to think that the reason was I was too tired to put words together.

That’s a boring reason, so maybe I should go into Drafts for the next few...

Yeah, still unfairly prejudiced against crossovers. I am no fun, etc. etc.

I have no memory of it, but I feel like I didn’t answer this because there was no way I could match this kindly anon’s enthusiasm.

You go, random internet person.

You have good ideas.

Oh no.

Uh.

See.

I know exactly why I didn’t answer this one.

I am so sorry, Anon.

I really didn’t care.

I am filled with affection for you because you clearly do, but uh.

...I basically put this on Read.

This has a very simple, ie boring, explanation. Any time someone asks about the cast as a whole, I want to think about the cast as a whole, and that takes a lot more thought than most of the asks I get. Cue putting it off. Cue it getting lost in scroll hell. On and on we go until we end up here.

Anything that opens with kilometers is something that requires more brain power than I have had in the past year.

Also I think I got this during a spoiler week, so I saw it, but I was trying not to look at it, and then it got lost in the post-chapter asks.

That happens a lot.

We might see it more soon.

If I can’t come up with words more than “-shrug-” I try not to answer.

...Good news, though!

The manga did my job for me!

I feel like I answered some variation of this. That might be why I didn’t answer this specific one.

The wiki does a better job keeping track of the timeline than I ever have. I probably didn’t answer this because it would involve trying to remember which volume actually name-dropped a number of weeks or months. Searching for lines I know a character said is pretty easy, but searching out lines I have a vague feeling of someone providing? That tends to hit the frustration button with the force of a truck.

But yeah, if you ever want to know how long something took, the wiki is absolutely your friend. They do good work.

Consider: “What if” questions are hard, and I am lazy.

This is actually one I really did mean to get to, sorry. It’s an interesting thought, and I miss Sasha.

...I clearly did a magnificent job answering your asks, friend.

Prediction asks are hard for me; I feel like I’m throwing darts randomly into the air and the dartboard is still deciding if it’s going to show up. So uh. I guess I just kept putting this off until it didn’t get answered.

This post is going to have so many apologies. Implied and otherwise.

I continue to be the No Fun Police who accidentally-on-purpose avoids crossover commentary.

I feel like I didn’t answer this one entirely because seeing it in my inbox gave me far too much joy to have it lost in a sea of posts.

This is what my inbox was made for.

I have no idea when this was from, but I see your emotions and appreciate them, Anon.

...Did I not see this one?

Hey, Anon who probably doesn’t remember sending this: This is a good ask and deserved some good attention, and I’m sorry I missed my shot at it. Good thoughts.

I didn’t answer this one entirely because I knew I couldn’t match the energy of it, and responding with anything less felt heretical.

That is one hell of a mood, Anon.

This is definitely from the era of, “Can’t think, brain empty.” Sorry about not getting back to you, I just really couldn’t organize my thoughts well enough to come up with an answer.

I feel like I didn’t know what this was continuing from and was too exhausted to ask.

LOOK YOU CAN SEE I WANTED TO ANSWER THIS BECAUSE IT’S A DRAFT.

Too many things, Anon.

I liked so many things about all of that. Trying to turn that enthusiasm into words wasn’t agreeing with me, so I put it in Drafts and told myself one day I’d do the most awesome post detailing everything.

Intentions, huh?

Every time I tried to take a normal screenshot with formatting Tumblr just laughed at me, so that might have been a contributing factor.

Dang, I’m really sorry. This is another one of those cases where I wanted to take my time with a response, and I took too long.

I, uh.

Am guilty of not being too interested in pondering Ymir’s thoughts on Levi or Erwin.

That’s it, that’s the explanation.

Yeah, I just couldn’t come up with an answer here? Or someone else asked? Or several of my friends decided to be annoying about lists on Discord? I don’t even know.

Presumably there could be a list.

There is not.

Honestly, I just couldn’t figure out how to follow that starting sentence up. A thought exercise on Armin, Historia, gender, and themes sounded really interesting, and I put it in Drafts so as not to forget it being interesting.

Then, you know. This post sort of paints the picture.

Ah.

Man, I really was looking forward to putting some proper thought into this. That’s the problem with having so many things I love in one place, I guess. Symbolism? Historia and Ymir? Mikasa? So many good things! Where do I start!

With paralyzing indecision that results in not a lot. Sorry, Anon. This really did light up my day when I got it.

Here’s the thing about me and writing:

I often fail to.

(I love both these ideas, though.)

Yes.

Do I know why I didn’t get around to answering this?

Absolutely not.

But yes, I’d agree with that.

GOOD NEWS!

The manga actually gave us some of them together in the future.

I occasionally giggled over their shared distaste.

It was a good time.

And this is another one I just do not know why I didn’t answer, whoops.

This never got answered because I couldn’t come up with an answer.

Broad questions are scary because they can go just about anywhere and I didn’t know how to handle that level of commitment.

I think I didn’t answer this one, A), because words are hard, and B), because mostly I just wanted to listen to more of your wondering and less of mine.

I probably could have answered this by saying I don’t have any, but that seemed rude, so I didn’t respond to it at all.

Yep.

Frieda is worthy of my time and effort.

Landing this in Drafts instead of my inbox.

Where the lighting makes it more obvious that hope has gone there to die.

I think about it so much too.

I find the answers fundamentally upsetting.

That is probably why I did not provide an answer here.

That is a lot of kids to make up headcanons for.

So I didn’t.

She’s eaten by dogs before she develops a personality.

Since that seemed like the wrong thing to say, I said nothing, and into Drafts this went.

‘I have no earthly clue’ seemed similarly unhelpful.

At this point, we understand that there is no mystery to my backlog.

This one hurts.

-sees the 112 reference-

Wow does it hurt.

As I hope is obvious, I really, really loved this question, and kept meaning to carve out time to work on it specifically. What went sideways was trying to put words to how EMA functions. I knew the feel of what I wanted to express, but every time I tried to write it, it came out wonky.

I’m very sorry I couldn’t do anything for this, because I was thrilled to spend time with it.

I didn’t answer this because Fuck Marley.

It’s nothing against you. At the time, I simply wasn’t in any mood to consider any version of Marley. Even the canon version was too much for me, so giving it my time in a roleswap AU had me hissing.

Roleswaps in general are amazing, and I love them a lot. A dedicated person could make a fantastic one based around Marley and Paradis. I think it would probably be cool af.

But I was so tired of Marley when I got this, I just couldn’t make myself think about it. Sorry. It’s a fun idea.

I didn’t answer this one because I kept trying to extend my response past, “I think he just really likes baseball.”

I think he just really likes baseball.

My feelings on that as a quality answer are derogatory.

Mm. The ones where I actually tried to get something started hurts.

Ultimately, this ask was a larger demand than I could make my brain work through at the time. I made sure to write down the tl;dr version of Sasha’s, because I found that desperately important, and not something that people talk about much, but the additional weight of trying to think of themes for multiple characters made it hard to progress.

Me, looking at the prompts: Hi my brain left me.

Sorry, Anon. Too many gears were moving for me to get a proper feel for what I wanted to do with this one, so I ended up ditching it. ...I was planning to finish it, though. Eventually. See, I even put the quote in the Draft version as a reminder of what I was doing, so I could get back to it right away.

Yeeeeah, this is just one more to the “I will give this wonderful thing all the time it deserves!” pile.

The pile is stored in the Failure Corner.

Perfectionism is the enemy of progress.

You guys really like crossovers.

I love that for you.

-spends two years ignoring you-

I mean, I just didn’t know what to do with the rainbows.

They sure are there.

They sure are pretty.

I sure couldn’t come up with a comment to add.

...I don’t know why I didn’t answer this. Possibly because I think it’s fine? I’m not too attached to it, and spent the whole manga period wanting to watch an anime version instead, then we got an anime version.

I’d guess that my general “meh” feelings interfered with responding here.

No idea why I didn’t answer this.

Yes, and good for you.

I support all thoughts on giving the Reiss kiddos personalities.

I think I didn’t get back to you on this because I wasn’t sure how to encourage you to keep going so I just sat awkwardly on my hands and felt weird about not saying anything.

...Thanks for sharing!

I love how it’s the little things that date these.

Unfortunately, we’re now at the point where 90% of the reason I didn’t answer was because I was too sick to muster up anything approaching enthusiasm.

Or because I’d just finished answering a bunch of chapter-specific things and was burnt out.

This felt pretty self-explanatory to me, so I felt like that gave me permission to ignore it.

Also, it mentions Marley.

I might be slightly petty.

Really though, I think what stopped me from giving a proper answer is that the question of what an author is trying to say throws me off a little. I work better thinking of it in terms of what the story is saying, with the author just happening to be the hands that wrote it all down.

I don’t know. This was probably another case of feeling like I should give this more of my time than I was able.

I couldn’t decide.

That’s it.

That’s the reason.

Everyone needs to give Mikasa a hug.

My blog title for a hug.

-the crossover snake hisses and consumes another-

I am so sorry.

This is fun.

I probably should have just gone with posting and saying so, because I am genuinely charmed by this. I tend to feel like I have to add something to asks to justify the post. That policy maybe didn’t need to be a thing.

I love my anons.

I want that to be clear.

Really, I do.

I especially love their willingness to embrace my crackpot logic.

Still.

Sometimes, the only response one can have to Schrodinger’s Ymir is to ignore its existence, find a pillow, and scream into it for the rest of time.

This replaces typing.

-looks at Armin-

-looks at Eren-

Yeah, don’t know why I didn’t answer this one, either. I blame tiredness? Sorry about that.

I feel like I didn’t answer this one because it felt like work.

This is where I start considering that making this post was a mistake.

I could have just agreed with you and gone about my day.

Probably should have.

Did not.

Another one for that, “had nothing to add so I just left it in a corner, abandoned and unloved,” pile.

There is an apology section at the end, but we’re not there yet.

This one I don’t think I noticed.

Alternatively, I did notice, and wasn’t sure “Yes,” would pass as a good enough answer.

--------------------------------------

Okay, time to really just get into it: I think for the remainder of my inbox, I didn’t answer because physically, I was just too damn exhausted, and I kept waiting for a point in time where I’d feel better. Sorry to put a limit on the personalization, but in the end, that’s all there was to it, and rephrasing it a dozen times will make me crazy.

And here we are.

Well.

Good grief, do you guys even have any clue how much I like all of you?

Obviously there’s a lot of guilt in the above, because I can’t tell you how much I wanted, each time, to give a great answer that would make you thrilled you messaged me. I am so sorry to all of these I didn’t get to. There were days when the alerts in my inbox were the best thing to happen to me, and I never wanted to let any of them go without acknowledgment.

I try to say thank you as often as I can in my responses, because that’s as close as I can get to reminding you all, constantly, that I am grateful for your participation. The only times I don’t say it is when I worry that it’ll look like it’s being done out of habit, not genuine gratitude. Or when I think you might take it the wrong way if I say thanks for a basic conversation. Because you provide me content and make me interested in things I might not normally look twice at.

There are so many instances of people saying hi, and thank you, and wishing everyone well here.

I haven’t been active in the larger fandom in two years, but I have always been so happy that you guys kept dropping by my space anyway.

You are a pleasure and light in my life, no matter how much snark I might throw about.

Thank you all.

#attack on asks #tl;dr #long post

[neerasrealm]

Liu Comes Home

A story about Liu finally getting to talk to his brother again after years of not seeing each other. Mostly fluff with some comfort and a couple swears :)

Word Count: 2213

If you told Liu Woods five years ago he'd be sitting at a table mostly full of inhuman creatures next to his precious younger brother who was burned and scarred beyond recognition, he wouldn't believe you, and would be horrified at the idea of something so horrible happening to his only brother. 

But here he was, hands around a mug of coffee, next to Jeff, who had somehow been burnt completely white years ago and had massive gashes in his cheeks, along with black hair. Though that part didn't unsettle Liu, his brother had always said he wanted black hair instead of brown. Their parents would never let him even touch a bottle of dye though. 

Not that it mattered now- they were dead. Killed four years ago. By Jeff.

"So, Liu," Liu's thoughts were interrupted by the faceless white creature sitting just across from him. The creature was known as Slender, though he'd noticed a few of the people here, including Jeff, called him dad. "Tell us about yourself."

"Oh- well..." Liu looked at his younger brother, who was looking at him eagerly, probably curious and excited to hear about what he'd been doing the past four years. He looked away from Jeff and along the rather large dining table. There were a lot of people here- all of them odd. There was a clown looking man sitting next to Slender, who spoke in the thickest cockney accent Liu had ever heard, and next to him was a grey-skinned...creature, who wore a mask. He definitely wasn't human, that was for sure. There were normal looking ones too though. A small girl in a pink dress, who Jeff and the clown man seemed rather affectionate towards and a blonde boy who looked very pale, but relatively normal- if you ignored his pointy ears. The only name he knew was Toby. A boy who looked like he could only be seventeen. He knew Toby's name because he'd been driving the car Jeff used to kidnap him.

"Well uh- I'm nineteen- twenty in a couple months. Uh-" it'd been a long time since he'd had to open up to someone who wasn't a therapist or job interviewer. He sighed. "Well, you all know I'm Jeff's older brother. I- well after...everything...I was moved to the next city over by a social worker. Got put in foster care and taken in by a really nice family," Liu glanced at Jeff, who was smiling up at him. Probably glad to hear he had been doing okay. "They looked after me until I finished highschool, sent me to therapy and stuff. Then I went to college for a couple semesters...dropped out..." Liu scratched at his neck. "I couldn't really handle it, said I'd go back after a year or two off but- my foster parents insisted I got a job." He leaned back in his chair. 

"You got a second set of parents and they were assholes too?" Jeff spoke up. 

"Yikes." Toby murmured from the end of the table. 

"Eh- you don't need college anyways." The grey-skinned creature commented as he rested his trainers against the edge of the table. Slender shot him a glare that went unnoticed. 

"T-They weren't that bad!" Liu said quickly. "They were really nice, paid for my therapy, encouraged me to be open...I liked them." He smiled reassuringly at Jeff, who relaxed a bit. Liu relaxed too. He knew Jeff could be hot headed when it came to Liu. They were protective of each other- which unfortunately ended in Liu ending up in juvie and Jeff committing a string of murders. Hopefully Jeff wouldn't murder Liu's foster parents. Hopefully. "Anyway, I got a job as a cashier, and promised my parents I'd get an apartment by June this year but....it's July now and uh-" Liu glanced away. "I've kinda been sleeping in shelters and hostels for the past month."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Slender said. Liu sighed and glanced aside with a sad smile.

"It's okay- being kicked out is actually the reason I'm here," he said, brightening up a bit. "I got moved far away from our old house, for my mental health and stuff, but now that I don't have my foster parents keeping me away, I was able to come to the area." He smiled. "I knew Jeff was probably still around, I looked at the news and the stuff and guessed he was behind some of the murders going on- or at least were going on," Liu glanced at Jeff. "Did you stop?" He asked awkwardly. He never thought he'd have to ask his baby brother if he had stopped committing murders but here he was.

"Ehh- yeah," Jeff scratched at his neck and shrugged. "Slender kinda- wouldn't let me. Plus I- feel kinda bad about it now-" Oh, Jeff felt remorse. That was good. "Wait you were looking for me?" Jeff suddenly said. He looked up at Liu in surprise.

"I mean- why wouldn't I be?" Jeff looked stunned. "You're my brother. I needed to make sure you were okay. I was worried about you, I mean-" Liu glanced aside. "I was so scared that you were out there somewhere hurt or- or dead-" he added, his voice soft. Jeff stared up at him sadly. Liu looked at him, then glanced at the rest of the table. He cleared his throat. "Uh- anyway, it worked out!"

He heard Toby laugh at the end of the table. "You're lucky! Me and Jeff were getting snacks for a movie- if the Kroger's weren't closed for construction you would've missed us!" The brown haired boy grinned at him. Toby was- odd- he looked normal enough, but had a huge gash in his left cheek where you could see his teeth in his mouth. He also had a tendency to twitch, Liu had noticed, but he seemed nice. He'd watched him and Jeff talk on the car ride to the mansion Slender and everyone else lived in. They joked a lot, both as reckless and stupid as each other. He made Jeff laugh a lot, which was nice. Really nice.

Slender sipped from his mug of coffee- somehow- Liu wasn't sure how exactly he did that. "Well we're glad to finally meet you Liu," for an eight foot tall creature of nightmares, Slender was very nice. Soft-spoken and kind- almost fatherly. Slender placed down his coffee before saying "I suppose you'd like to get settled into your room around now? It sounds like you could use some rest." 

"M-My room?" 

"Yeah! This place is huge, you could stay!" Jeff piped up. He grinned eagerly at Liu. "You don't have anywhere else to go, right? S-So you could stay here-!" Jeff looked so eager and full of hope- Liu's expression softened and he smiled. 

"...I don't see why not." He replied. Jeff beamed. 

"I'll show you up," Slender said as he stood up. He looked at Liu. "Do you want to take a shower?"

"Uh- yeah that'd be great."

"EJ, get your feet off the table and turn the hot water on for Liu." Slender looked at the grey creature, who groaned in protest. 

"You had it comin'." Liu heard Toby murmur as he left the kitchen, with Jeff behind him. Slender grabbed Liu's overstuffed backpack, lifting it up. 

"Careful- it's heavy-" Liu said. Slender didn't seem to have trouble with it. Liu grabbed his guitar case. He turned to reach for his other instrument, his saxophone, only to realise Jeff already had it. 

"You still play?" The boy asked. Liu smiled and nodded.

"Course I do, what else am I supposed to do with myself?" He replied as they followed Slender up the stairs. "I actually went to college for music too, it was the only major I could think of-" he laughed a bit. "Music history was mandatory, and boring as hell." 

"Eugh- history??" Jeff's disgust made Liu smile. They stopped at the top of the stairs and Jeff pointed to the right. "My room's at the end of the hall." He told him. Liu glanced down the hall and nodded before following after Slender again. 

As Liu passed one of the doors, painted pink with a castle shaped sign on the front, creaked open. He looked over his shoulder and stopped. Staring out at him was a blonde girl with pitch black eyes. Liu smiled nervously. He stopped and turned to her. He raised a hand in greeting. "uhh- hey!" He greeted. Jeff looked over at the girl.

"Oh! Hey Dina. This is Liu, my brother." Jeff smiled at the girl, who glared at him and swiftly shut the door. Jeff glanced at Liu. "She doesn't like me much- but she'll probably like you!" 

Liu nodded and started walking again. "Why doesn't she like you...?" He asked. 

"Oh- uh- says I'm a sinner and stuff- I can't really blame her I mean...I've killed a lot of people, not to mention theft, breaking and entering, some arson-"

"Arson?!" Liu stared at Jeff in horror. After being burnt horribly four years ago you'd think he'd stay away from fire like- forever.

"I was trying to burn the bodies and it- it got outta control..." Jeff looked away embarrassedly. Liu nodded slowly and looked over at Slender, standing patiently outside a room. Liu and Jeff walked over to him and he opened the door, walking inside. Liu stepped in and looked around. The room had simple grey walls and black curtains. 

"I hope you don't mind the state of things- this room is pre-owned, but everything should be in order." Slender said as he set down Liu's backpack. Liu tilted his head, and Jeff nodded towards the wall by the door. There were scratch marks in the wall, and a few red stains that may have been blood. 

"Michael used to live in here- he uh- moved to the basement because he kept waking people up and felt bad," Jeff explained. "You're lucky though! You're next to Helen, and he's really quiet, so you'll sleep pretty good." 

Liu looked at Jeff and nodded slowly. So he still hadn't met everyone, clearly. Vacantly he wondered how many people were in this house. Not that he minded- he liked people. 

"Do you need help unpacking?" Slender asked. Liu set down his guitar case against the wall and shook his head.

"No, I can handle it. I don't have a lot of stuff." He gave Slender a small smile. Slender nodded and left the room. Liu turned around and looked at Jeff, still watching him. "...This seems like a nice place." He said.

"Yeah- yeah it is, Slender is real nice and everyone is fun...I- see pretty much everyone here as a sibling..." Jeff smiled sheepishly, looking at the ground. 

"You're happy?"

"Yeah." Jeff looked up at Liu for a moment. He opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something, then closed it. Liu tilted his head. "...I missed you." His voice was soft and meek, and made Liu remember the bright eyed baby brother he'd grown up with. Jeff had to be almost seventeen now, right? He'd missed seeing his brother grow up- 

"I missed you too, Jeff." Liu stepped forward and rested his hand on Jeff's shoulder. "But I'm glad you're safe- ...I think the part that messed me up most was the idea of you getting hurt- or- or killed."

"I'm sorry." Jeff stared at the ground. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I-I-" 

Liu stared at him in surprise. Jeff was shaking, as was his voice. "Hey- hey bro calm down it's okay-"

Jeff grit his teeth. "No it's not." He replied, anger leaking into his voice. His hands curled into fists. "I-I- I tried to kill you-"

"Jeff-"

"I killed our fucking parents! And you're standing here like I didn't ruin your whole life!" Jeff glared up at him, tears leaking out of his eyes. He had no eyelids, so they just flowed quickly and freely. 

Liu suddenly pulled Jeff into a tight hug, pressing his brother's face into his chest. "Hey, it's alright," he knew what this was. Jeff had always been prone to bursts of anger. His mood could switch in a matter of seconds sometimes. "I'm not mad at you. Mom and dad- they...weren't great, and you were just protecting yourself." That was the detail that haunted Liu the most. His parents- their parents, who had raised Jeff for thirteen whole years pulled a gun on him. They were ready to kill him at the first sign of something being wrong. "I miss them sometimes- but I'd rather you were safe, and happy." 

He heard Jeff sniffle. His arms were tight around Liu, hugging him like he'd vanish into thin air at any moment. Liu patted him, running his hand through Jeff's hair. 

"I'm sorry..." Jeff murmured after a while.

"You're okay- I'm not mad about what you di-"

"Not that, for blowing up on you. Being emotional and shit." 

"Oh." Liu looked down at his brother, who pulled away and rubbed the tears off his face. There was silence for a few moments before Liu spoke up again. "You wanna help me unpack? I got a lotta stuff."

#creepypasta #fanfiction #creepypasta fanfiction #creepypasta fanfic #jeff the killer #liu woods #slenderman #slender mansion #eyeless jack #judge angels #ticci toby

[apex-academy]

Chapter 5: Caring Is a Hazard to Your Health (#21)

The rest of the day is a blur. Some pool. Some Centipede. Some vapid conversations I barely remember as I’m having them. A cooking lesson that’s more lecture on Japanese sauces than actual cooking.

I don’t run into Aidan again. I’m not sure if I want to. Certainly I’m not going to try anything now, but... I don’t know. I don’t know.

I end up in the sauna dangerously late in the day. The only exit is to the bathhouse, which closes at nighttime... Would I be stuck in here overnight if I stayed too long? Punished? I bet I could stay awake. Wonder what happens in the restricted rooms at night. Cleanup and restocking or something. Maybe I should try staying in the kitchen. Eat some coffee beans straight up to keep from falling asleep and see how the heck Monochap sneaks in and out of there.

But for now, I’m just...

“...”

It is kind of pleasant in here. I may be bundled up a bit too much for a sauna, but it’s supposed to be hot anyway, right? As long as I swig plenty of water after this, I should be fine.

“...”

“After this” might need to be “right now,” actually. No use getting too light-headed. Or, well, I don’t mind having fewer thoughts, but I probably shouldn’t be taking health risks. I can worry about nighttime escapades later. I should... attempt to get some sleep.

After a cold shower. I don’t think I’ll be needing a warm bath after this.

...

"Um, hello! Good morning! It is now 7:00, so the off-limits areas have been reopened! I-I hope you all have a nice day…!"

I wake up again. That’s always good.

But when I make my way towards the cafeteria...

“Sounds like some kind of ruckus going on.”

I open the doors, but...

“.....”

No people, less noise. Uh.

I back up into the hallway and try next door. The gym. Sounds like maybe the hubbub is in here instead? Did I miss a summons to an early morning sports tournament?

Is someone...

“........”

No, that has too be too many voices. Right? If someone had been discovered, the jingle would have played...

“......”

It still takes me a minute to open the door.

People are still talking over each other, but I don’t see any bodies on the floor or fists flying.

Knives, maybe. But not fists.

A thud rattles the still-collapsed bleachers behind Kaichi’s shoulder. In true Kaichi fashion, he hardly flinches.

“Woooooow!”

“I’m next, right? I’m next?!”

“No way, dude!”

“That’s right! No one is going next!”

“What?! Nono I’m next!”

“Wh...”

“This is a completely unnecessary risk! Cease at once!”

“Risk? Surely you don’t mean to question my skill.”

“Seems pretty skilled t’ me.”

“.............”

I always manage to forget I should worry much less about these people dying than just being idiots.

Before anyone can notice I’ve joined them, the knife digging into the stands slowly tilts, then falls. Kaichi manages to pull his foot to one side before the blade clatters to the floor.

“Haha, whoopsie! You okay?”

“Looks like I still got—” he tilts his head down to check—”ten toes, s’. Yeah, sure.”

“That—”

“That makes it clear how dangerous this is!”

“Like, nothing happened, though?”

“That was a matter of luck!”

“Fool! You think any part of this is merely a throw of the dice? No divine weapon of mine will harm anyone unless I bid it.”

“Considering how consistently you threaten everyone, I don’t find that comforting!”

“So, anyway, it’s totally my turn, right?”

“It’s no one’s turn!!!”

I walk inside just as he’s about to blow a gasket. The door falling shut behind me is enough to get a little attention.

“I would ask what’s going on, but I think I have a good enough idea.”

“Ah, Kogamino!”

“If you understand, would you mind talking them out of it?”

“I’m afraid I’m having little luck.”

Another thud interrupts before I can say a word. Ichiriki starts laughing.

“Woooow, that one was super close! Ahahaha!”

Standing stiffly, Kaichi cranes his neck just enough to get a good glimpse of the knife now separating his face from his surfboard.

“Nice.”

“There.”

“Now the next wretch may step up.”

“I’m the next wretch!!”

It’s surprisingly hard to jump in and stop something when you can’t fathom why they started in the first place. Are we seriously that bored? Didn’t we just wake up? At least eat before you start throwing crap at each other, geez.

“Nuh-uh! I’m next!”

“How did this even start?”

“Well, like, Yuks was gonna make omelettes this morning? So we all kinda ordered ‘em or whatevs, and, like...”

“...”

“Amid the conversation as we waited, that one saw fit to issue a challenge.”

“I did?”

“And then things happened, and now we’re here!”

He finishes, as if he’s being the most helpful one here.

“I had been assisting with the cooking when I realized everyone had left, so I peeked out to see what had happened...”

“And you were met with a fun surprise, huh.”

“Yeah-huh! It’s super fun!”

“That’s great.”

“Actually, I just came over to see who got the first omelette? Because it’s finished.”

“Ah, first should have been... Riseiin, I believe?”

“Nice. ’m out, then. Later, brahs.”

“I don’t think the rest are far behind, so if you’d like your food warm, you can come back to this later.”

“I suppose that may be for the best...”

“Consider it a mercy to those of you bound to time, hmm?”

And just like that, the party dissembles to go for the door. Tsunyasha walks—like a normal human being—over to the stands to retrieve her mystical-whatever knives. Mahavir stays back, presumably to make sure she doesn’t kill me while we’re still here.

...I really hope Yuki’s almost finished. Maybe I don’t need to follow everyone over all that quickly.

Tsunyasha gets all her knives put away in quick order, but we’re still the last ones out. Mahavir, as usual, spares me from having to open the door.

As we cross into the hallway, I see Monochap opening the doors to the dorm area. Before I can wonder what he’s up to now, Aidan wheels himself out, with an uttered sound that I don’t think is actually a thanks. Upon seeing us, Monochap gives a little wave and a disturbing giggle before fleeing towards the Main Hall.

Aidan seems a little more pleased to see us.

“Good morning! I hope I haven’t missed anything?”

“Nothing worth mentioning.”

“...”

“Has Monochap been opening doors for you?”

The handicap buttons in this place haven’t been working since we woke up here. I hadn’t spared them a second thought, but now we actually have someone in a wheelchair. Guess that’s how it usually goes.

“When necessary.”

“Unfortunately, my student ID was reset to its original settings before they gave it back to me. But whoever did that also added an option to signal Mister Monochaperone for assistance.”

“It isn’t my favorite recourse, and I’m not sure why it’s necessary when it isn’t that difficult to summon him otherwise, but it can be useful.”

“Ah, to have a demon at your beck and call.”

“Quite fitting for a black-hearted sinner like yourself, hmm?”

“Don’t you start this again...!”

Aidan holds up a hand.

“Calm down, Mister Attenborough.”

“Miss Tsunyasha, I appreciate saving your comments for a more private discussion, but I’m afraid they are still highly inappropriate.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion of me, but I fail to see how repeating it does you any good. I cannot take back what I’ve done, so I would prefer to focus on what I can do at the moment, if possible.”

“Oh? Is this a sorely misguided plea for mercy, worm? You think I must gain something from this?”

“It is merely my job to ensure those of your corrupted ilk cannot walk away from their sins freely.”

He’s not doing much walking at the moment, in case you haven’t noticed.

“You call this walking away freely?!”

“Mister Attenborough.”

“.......”

Aidan turns back to Tsunyasha.

“Whether it’s sufficient for your tastes or not, I assure you I have most certainly been punished.”

“I can’t ask you to approve of my sins, as it were, but if you truly care about doing the right thing, your priority should be ensuring the safety of the other people here.”

I only see a flash before there’s a knife at Aidan’s neck.

“Then I should eliminate you now, yes?”

Aidan stares evenly back at her.

“Do you really consider me such a threat? I am incapable of physical combat, I am unarmed, and I would have severe difficulty engineering anything to kill another in this state. No one here has anything to gain from my death.” His gaze strains towards the knife. “This is nothing but a very rude gesture, and I would like you to stop now.”

“Oh? You still think I would follow a worm’s orders?”

“Why don’t you follow this?!”

Mahavir lunges at her. Aidan winces as the knife skirts along his jaw. Tsunyasha hops back an extra pace, and Mahavir tilts dangerously before catching himself on the wall. Huffing, he doesn’t seem able to push himself back up too quickly. I put myself between Tsunyasha and Aidan for good measure.

“So you’re relying on your little guard dogs, are you, whelp? You truly think they’re any match for a Holy Assassin?”

“I’m not a guard dog, you just need to stop?”

“I am not trying to rely on any physical enforcement here—” a pointed look at Mahavir—“nor am I giving you orders. I am merely pointing out that there is much more to being ‘righteous’ than harassing those you deem to be sinners.”

“So you question my judgment, worm?”

Your judgment is nothing if not questionable.

“More like questioning your ‘righteousness,’ or ‘holiness,’ or whatever else you’d like to call it!”

He finally shifts his weight back onto his feet.

“Regardless of who did and didn’t die, at least Doppler has done everything he can to help us!”

“What have you EVER done for anyone else here?!”

“Stir up trouble, mostly.”

“Hmph. Only just now I was providing you ungrateful whelps with entertainment, was I not?”

“And no one died, if I must remind you of that.”

“As a fluke! You easily could have injured Riseiin! It was only a matter of luck that he didn’t have any toes sliced clean off! And I shouldn’t need to tell you even foot injuries have the potential to be lethal!”

“...What did I miss here?”

“We can worry about that later.”

“The potential, certainly.”

“But a far less sure shot than firing a gun into someone’s chest, hmm?”

“But that wasn’t for amusement!”

“And yet it still happened.”

“I truly don’t understand how you could possibly favor that sinner’s actions, but I suppose your wicked ways are just that far beneath me.”

“It’s because you don’t understand that you’re the only threat here!”

“Oh, I’m quite a threat to those who would dare try taint my holy name. Would you like a demonstration, whelp?”

“No one would like any demonstrations!!”

“Of course you wouldn’t.”

“We get your freaking point, okay? You could stab a serious burn victim and a wheelchair-bound child to death with ease if you really wanted to. Congratulations.”

“You want to prove you’re such a great assassin, how about you wait until practically anyone here is in decent physical condition? You’ve held out this long. I’m sure you can handle a little longer. Or is patience suddenly not one of your holy virtues?”

“Hmph.”

“Don’t think for a moment you can understand the essence of a Holy Assassin, fool.”

“Oh, believe me, I don’t.”

She spins the knife once around the gloved part of her finger and sheaths it.

“Very well. I tire of these pitiful negotiations of yours.”

“I’ve a reward waiting for me, anyway.” 

She takes a few steps towards the cafeteria.

“Use this opportunity to think about what awaits you.”

Not an omelette on my end, I’m guessing.

“Any more of this and I assure you, whatever awaits you won’t be a reward.”

“Mahavir. That’s enough.”

“........”

Mahavir stares Tsunyasha down as she walks away. Even when the doors close behind her, he doesn’t turn away.

“......”

I hear a rattle and open my eyes again. Aidan’s started to wheel himself forward.

“Miss Kogamino. Thank you for stepping in.”

“No problem.”

“...”

“I’m halfway surprised you’re not upset about being called a child.”

“Well I don’t appreciate it, but I can understand it was for emphasis.”

“Right.”

He scoots himself closer to Mahavir.

“....................”

“Mister Attenborough?”

“.........”

“...I’m sorry. But she...”

“She can’t just...!”

“I know. She has no right to be making these sorts of threats, but pushing back like that will. Not. Help with her.”

“...........”

“So take a deep breath and come on. We have a meeting to get to.”

“........”

Aidan moves as close to the doors as he can, but Mahavir doesn’t follow yet. Guess it’s not that easy to let it go.

But everyone else is already in the cafeteria, right? No harm leaving him alone to cool down a bit.

I don’t want to think about what could happen if he ran into Tsunyasha again too soon.

[BACK] [NEXT]

#apexplot #apex5 #fanganronpa

[confusedhalfofthetime]

I have a request for like a Dh!Master x reader where Master is a prisoner of this space prison thing and the reader is this officer of the thing. The master teases the reader so much until the reader shoves the master into a closet and do the dirty ~🐄

Hey anon, thanks for the great request! Hope you like how I wrote it.

Warnings: smut

Plot: The Reader is a high-rank officer in a Prison. The Master gets brought in and let’s say things get heated between the two.

It was a quiet day at the prison. Quieter than most, considering it was one of the most secure prisons of the universe. Literally. 

You were proud to be in such a high-rank position. You had worked hard to become an officer, leaving your home planet and your family to pursue a career that wasn't exactly safe. Your parents opposed strongly to your choice at the beginning but they couldn't stop you and as soon as a job was offered to you at the prison of Satellite 22, you had packed your bags and left. 

Fast forward ten years and you were sitting at your desk in your nice office. Your colleagues respected you and you were able to bring in criminals from all around the galaxy. The thrill of the job would never be enough for you.

The knock on your door made you look up from your paperwork. 

-Come in-

Sergeant Manay entered the room with her usual straight posture and professional attire.

-Officer Y/N. He's here- she simply stated and left the door open for you to follow.

You quickly got up from your chair. You had been waiting for this moment a long time. One of the most researched criminals of the whole universe had finally been caught. There were voices about him, of how incredibly dangerous and psychotic he was. You had seen all sorts of things really, nothing surprised you anymore but you had to admit, you were very much curious to see this one. The Master. 

Considering everything you had heard about him, you weren't at all prepared to see that he looked...rather normal.

He was sitting in his jail, head hanging low, a purple jacket on and some hideous socks visible from his dusty shoes. 

Sergeant Manay nodded at you, clearing your doubts. Alright then, you thought. After all, if you had learned one thing from this job, it was that first impressions lie.

-So, you must be the famous Master-

Hearing your voice, the Master slowly raised his head. Inexplicably, his dark eyes made a shiver run down your spine. He seemed to notice, cause a smirk slowly pulled at his lips. 

-You know who I am? I'm flattered- he said straightening his back.

-Impossible not to- you said. -There are warrants for your arrest pretty much all around the universe-

His smile grew wider and his eyes sparkled. He got up and adjusted his jacket.

-What can I say? I'm a wanted man- he chuckled. -Get it? -

You narrowed your eyes. That man looked nothing like a dangerous psychopath. Nonetheless, you dismissed Sergeant Manay with a nod and she left.

-What's your name? - the Master asked, leaning against the bars.

Criminals don't usually ask that. Criminals don't usually ask questions at all. They're too focused on planning their escape and threaten the guards to kill them as soon as they stepped out.

You eyed him suspiciously but answered his question.

-Y/N-

-Pretty name- he smiled. -Say, Y/N, what do you guys do around here for fun? -

You smiled amusedly. -People like me put people like you behind the bars for a very very long time. And people like you...rotten-

The Master looked as amused as you. His grin was starting to make you lose your patience. He wasn't supposed to enjoy this.

-Sounds nice- he said. -And I suppose, you're the one in charge-

-And you're the one who blew up eight planets in a week-

-That's a personal record- he bragged getting his face closer to the bars. 

-Why would you do that? - you asked. You never expected criminals to answer honestly to your questions but you always felt the need to ask why. To commit certain crimes requires a pretty serious reason. It can be either desperation or greed or revenge. 

The Master simply shrugged.

-Why not? -

You blinked, astounded. 

-Because people died -

He rolled his eyes like you were exaggerating.

-You humans, always so sensitive- he said drawing out the s.

Your eyes snapped to his.

-How do you know I'm human? -

-Your name. It's an earth name- he specified. -You're very far away from home-

-You too- you bit back. He wasn't the only one who could play this game.

His eyes darkened.

-I know a lot about you, Master- you said taking a step toward the jail.

-For example? - he challenged. You usually wouldn't have wasted so much of your time on someone like him but you found yourself unable to walk away. You wanted to prove him wrong and wipe that smirk off his face.

-I know you're a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey- you started, your faces getting closer. -I know your home was destroyed and you've been travelling in a TARDIS since then and I know you're responsible for the death of millions- you could feel his warm breath against your face and he looked at you intently. -And I know you're gonna stay here for a long long time- 

The Master scanned your face and remained serious for a while. Then his lips twisted up again. -Oh Y/N, you're being such a flirt- he said narrowing his eyes.

You scoffed and took a step back. 

-Enjoy your stay- you said walking back to your office.

-I certainly will- you heard him say.

The next few weeks proceeded similarly. Every time you walked past his cell, he had a flirty comment for you or a bad joke you really didn't need to hear. Sometimes he sang your name when you walked past him, making you roll your eyes. Some other times you felt like getting inside his jail and kick his ass. He was such a brat but something about him made him interesting in your eyes. Not that you'd ever admit to that. He was a bastard and a criminal. He didn't deserve your attention. Although sometimes he pushed just the right buttons to make you snap. You had a lot of rows and your colleagues told you many times to just drop it. You weren't used to reacting like that to a prisoner and he was beginning to distract you. You caught yourself thinking about him way too often than normal. It didn't help that your office was directly in front of his cell. A few times he caught you staring and he had smiled smugly and sent you a wink. You had turned red and rolled your eyes, feigning annoyance.

During a night shift, while you were walking in the dark corridor to get back to your office, you saw him gripping the bars of his jail.

-Looking good Y/N. Is that a new uniform? -

You summoned all your strength to ignore him and kept walking.

-Oh come on, what's the rush? Are you scared of the big bad Master? -

At those words, you stopped in your track and turned abruptly.

-Why would I be scared of you? - you snapped.

The Master shrugged. -Well, you did say I killed millions of people-

You walked toward him.

-I've been doing this job for a long while and I'm not going to get distracted by some bored, psychotic criminal. You're not worth my time any more than anybody else in here- you spat pointing at him with rage.

-Oh but I am- he said with a velvet voice. -And I'm way more interesting than any of these low-class criminals. And way more handsome, too-

What a pompous snake.

-You're so sure of yourself, you think you're in charge even behind bars. I got news for you, you're not the one in charge, Master-

-Oh, I like how you say my name- he almost moaned, his body so close to the bars you could touch him. -I have to warn you, though, if you keep talking to me like that- his eyes trailed over your body from head to toe. -I'm not gonna be responsible for my actions- 

You kept your eyes on him, forcing yourself not to blush.

Come on, don't be weak!

-I know what you're doing-

-And what am I doing exactly? - he asked resting his forehead against the bars and smiling that wicked smile of his. His hands were particularly distracting, clenching and unclenching around the metal. 

-I just think you look a bit stressed. I'd like to help you out with that- he said, wetting his lips. Your eyes were like glued on them, they looked so soft you couldn't help but wonder what they would taste like.

-Besides- he added. -I always liked a woman in uniform-

-Okay, that's it- 

Your hands quickly fumbled around your belt to get the keys to his cell and you pulled him out gripping his jacket. He had an excited smile on his lips as you led him toward the closest cupboard.

You slammed the door behind you and he laughed.

-Someone's in a rush- 

-Shut up- you said before crushing your lips against his.

He tasted like something bitter-sweet and...blood? 

You had actually bitten him. You pulled away from him and watched as he licked his bleeding lip with dilated pupils. 

The Master saw the hesitation on your face and pulled you in again, his tongue pushing past your lips.

-Don't overthink this- he whispered breathlessly when he pulled away for air. His eyes were so deep and so hungry you didn't even care you were shagging a super dangerous criminal in the closet of the prison you worked for. 

To show him you weren't going to back out of this, you pushed him to make him sit on a chair and you straddled him. The Master looked up at you with his lips parted, placing his hands on your waist.

You kissed him again, your hands in his hair, your hips pushing down on his. He groaned against your lips, opening his mouth even more and you sucked at his bottom lip.

-You're always so confident, so sure of yourself- you said unbuckling his belt as you tried to calm your breath while his was coming out hot and rushed. -Well, Master...who's in charge now? - 

And just like that, you felt your back hit the door, the Master pinning you against it.

-I am- he said, his hand unbuttoning your trousers and slowly getting inside your panties. You threw your head back, feeling his warm fingers grazing at your clit.

-Oh, my God-

-Not quite- he smirked.

-You're such a-ah!-

He had pushed his index inside of you, moving it slowly.

-I like the sounds you make- he said kissing your neck.

You relished in the feeling of his finger pushing further inside you and you gasped as he reached just the right spot.

Your hands clenched around his jacket, pulling him closer against you, feeling his growing erection against your leg. Not wanting to give up control completely, you moved your leg and he moaned against your shoulder. His finger stilled inside you and he soon took it out. You glanced at him in disappointment but he took his cock out of his pants and pushed it inside you. 

You tried not to scream in pleasure at the feeling of his huge member moving in and out, establishing a pace.

-Don't hold back darling- he panted against your ear. -I want everyone to hear you-

You bit your lips hard, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

His thrusts increased in speed and you could feel the heat in the pit of your stomach growing.

-Come on, darling. Come on- he urged you, placing his hand beside your head on the wooden door.

It was all too much: his cock sliding in and out of you and the noises he was making, god, the noises. You were gonna lose it and at that point, you didn't care. You didn't care if the whole prison, hell if the whole galaxy heard you.

When his thumb moved to circle your clit, that's when you gave up. You threw your head back and screamed his name as you came.

That was enough to make him cum too and he gripped your waist tighter as his hips slammed into you frantically. 

The Master rested his forehead against your shoulder, trying to catch his breath.

You could practically see stars under your closed eyelids. You opened them as the Master slid out of you and tucked himself back in his trousers. He looked up at you with a mischievous smile.

-You look divine right now- he said pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. You would have told him he looked like a fucking masterpiece if you could have managed to speak at all.

-Well, it was very nice to meet you Y/N- he said taking a few steps back. -This was fun- he winked. -I hope I'll see you again-

-What...- 

Around him, four walls started to materialize with a strange noise.

-Master?! -

-Goodbye, darling! -

The last thing you heard was his laugh as the walls around him disappeared as quickly as they appeared.

-Y/N? Is...everything alright in there? -

You heard the cleaning lady ask with a hint of embarrassment in her voice. After this, you were totally gonna get fired.

#doctor who #dw #the dock #doctor who requests #the master #the master x reader #sacha dhawan #dhawan!master #dhawan!master x reader #dhawan!master smut #dhawan!master imagine #dh!master #dh!master x reader #dh!master imagine #dh!master smut

[hottestthingalive]

Bluebells (1)

Chapter 1: Seeds

AO3 Link here. 

Chapter 2 here, finally!

Notes: So, to those of you who saw this post about my WIPs which mentioned this having background Roceit and Intruality in later chapters of this story?

...I accidentally became way too invested in the idea of Virgil making fun of Patton’s new boyfriend being called Prince. So you get that now. 

The name of the chapters comes from an interesting fact I learned about bluebell flowers while researching this story: they take at least five years to grow from a seed into a bulb, which they have to be before they flower. The first chapter takes place six or seven years before the events of the main story, so I found it very appropriate. This story should only be three or four chapters long, but who knows -- I have lots of ideas for these boys.

Plot: Logan encounters a strange boy in the woods. His name is Anxiety, and he's hiding in the flowers.

Relationships: budding romance analogical, hinted dukeceit, royality in later chapters, remile in later chapters, platonic DRLAMP

Tw: Cursing, faeries, mention of death, mention of kidnapping, dead parents. (If I missed anything, let me know!)

---

He didn’t understand, and it bothered him to no end. 

Logan first saw the human in May, when the sun stayed long and the moon appeared less. The flowers had started to bloom, the trees green and vibrant, with alternating days of hot sun or torrents of rain. 

The faerie quite liked May. He preferred winter, of course, being Unseelie, but some nights in the spring he could look up at the sky and see every single star, and stars fascinated him to no end. Besides, there was no one telling him to do his job in the warm months (for there was no snow or cold, blustery winds in the time of the Seelie), and without the pestering to summon winter he could be alone. Logan enjoyed his solitude.

That is, he had, until the human child had stumbled into a flowered field in the small section of the forest the Unseelie had managed to mark off for himself. 

The boy (or at least Logan guessed he was a boy; he had never been good with human age or gender. Fey just were, and though Logan had known he was male early on, many didn’t care about such things. It was such a human concept, after all) was carrying a black book in one hand, a knapsack slung over one shoulder. He sat down in the field, and suddenly he was gone, hidden in the bluebells. 

The fey squinted, trying to see the strange mortal in the flowers, but the boy had achieved almost perfect camouflage. 

Logan had never seen him before, not in the forest. Humans rarely dared tread in the woods, for fear of its elven inhabitants. This one was an anomaly, and it was positively fascinating. Especially one so young -- he appeared to be less than Logan’s own age, making him maybe seven or eight. 

This went on for some time. The strange male would appear in the field, plop down among the bluebells, and stay there for some time, while Logan watched from the branches of the trees. When he finally left, Logan would check the place where he sat, searching for a sign as to how this mortal could hide so thoroughly. 

It was on the seventh appearance of the sun that he found something strange: a piece of white parchment, with a sketch of the forest. The detail was quite good for the hand of a child, Logan had to admit, but it wasn’t the quality of the drawing that bothered him. It was the face in one of the trees, undoubtedly his own, with a line of scribbled human glyphs scrawled beside it. They took but a second to translate. 

Just come say hi. 

How had the mortal seen him? It was undoubtedly dangerous, Logan’s instincts told him. Best to abandon the area, warn his court, and allow the Seelie to deal with the small human intruding in the fey woods. Nevermind that the spring and summer fey were notoriously thoughtless, and might kidnap the child. Nevermind that they would likely forget that humans did not live as long as fey, despite (in their early years, at least) growing at the same rate. Nevermind that, eventually, after often forgetting to provide food or care for their pet human, they would throw him out for aging, or keep him till he died. 

No, Logan was to disregard all of that. 

The next day, Logan found himself creeping through the field, inching his way towards the bluebell patch. The faerie found his pride in his magic: he was quite good at it, and so he expertly used the flora to mask his presence. There was no possible way he could be noticed. 

“Hi,” the boy said, looking up and straight into Logan’s eyes. The human’s own irises were green, a deeper green than he would normally expect from a mortal, the color of grass and oak leaves. “Finally! I thought you would never talk to me.”

Well. That wasn’t right. 

“How did you spot me?” he demanded, dumbfounded. He found himself adjusting his black shirt subconsciously, in a state of mild shock. 

“It’s a secret,” the child grinned. “What’s your name?”

How rude, Logan thought.

I shall never speak to him again, the rational part of his brain decided. He probably has magic, and is a danger to me and all others of my kind.

But he’s fascinating, said the uncontrollable, irrational, annoying part of his brain that was always championing silly matters like friendship and personal interests over actually doing his duty, which would logically be to report this at once. And I do occasionally get lonely…

“You may call me Logic,” he heard, realizing a second late that the words had come from his own mouth. “Which is an alias, of course, but it is the only name you shall get.” Logan had gone by the name for years, choosing it just as every other child did, in this world where true names had power. 

“I figured,” the mortal smiled, with his green eyes crinkled and the absence of one of his front teeth distinct. “I’m Anxiety.”

“Why choose ‘Anxiety’?” Logan asks, years later. He receives that same smile, although the adult tooth has long since grown in. 

“Why’d you choose Logic?” the male in front of him asks in turn, and Logan responds by blinking. 

“I don’t believe I know,” he replies. 

“Exactly,” his compatriot shrugs. “It just felt right.” 

“Are you a witch?” he queried weeks later, sitting cross-legged besides Anxiety and holding a book in his hands. 

“A witch?” Anxiety repeated, looking up from his sketchbook. 

“Bluebells are sometimes called harebells, especially in Scotland,” he said, “because witches are supposed to turn into rabbits to hide in the flowers. It is almost impossible to spot you without knowing if you are here; maybe you’re a witch.”

“Last I checked, I can’t turn into a rabbit,” the boy laughed. “Maybe I summoned you, though, by ringing the bluebells.”

“They are not literal bells, Anxiety.”

“My dad used to tell me that if you rang bluebells, faeries would come,” he shrugged. “But if a human hears a bluebell ring, that means someone dear to them will die.”

“You humans have such morbid myths,” he told his mortal companion, looking at the flowers. “A bluebell cannot make a sound, anyways, so if one hears something it would be purely coincidental.” 

“It’s fun to think about though,” said the human beside him, and Logan looked over at Anxiety, who was sprawled on the grass, staring at the clouds in the blue sky. “Hey, that one looks like a cat eating pasta out of a bucket.”

He looked at the cloud in question, and had to admit it did appear so, as odd the image was. “Why do you humans engage in these flights of fantasy?” Logan asked, despite himself. 

“Coping mechanism, probably,” he replied, with the air of a child that, despite their age, knows enough about the world to call themself Anxiety. “Don’t you?”

“The Seelie, perhaps,” Logan sniffed, “but my court is far more realistic in our views than those sparkly fools.”

“Fair enough,” laughed the mortal. 

Logan soon found himself spending the spring and summer with the boy called Anxiety, sitting in the field. Anxiety brought him books written by humans when Logan got bored of fey texts, and in turn, the faerie deigned to ‘show off’ a bit, demonstrating his magic one day by summoning shadows and a storm. He couldn’t deny the fact that he had been quite happy to see Anxiety wasn’t scared at all, instead laughing as the rain fell around them and Logan scrambled to save their things because “We must save the books, Anxiety!” Once everything was stashed in a hollow tree, however, he managed to get a good look at the boy he had started to think of as a friend, and a laugh was shocked out of him. Anxiety’s bangs were plastered to his face, covering his eyes. 

“You look as though a mop has adhered itself to your skull,” Logan informed him, unable to hide his smile. 

“What’s that weird thing you’re doing with your face? Are you okay?” Anxiety asked, sarcasm negated by his own grin. Logan rolled his eyes. He knew he did not smile often, but still -- those levels of cheek were unwarranted. 

He learned Anxiety was ten, older than he would have guessed, and only a month younger than Logan himself. That he loved poetry and sewing and art but didn’t think he was really good at any of them, and would be mocked for these interests. That his parents had died when he was quite young, and he now lived with his elderly grandmother, who let him run off anywhere as long as he was in his bed the next morning. She had homeschooled him for his early years, and would only send him to an official establishment next fall, which told Logan why Anxiety wasn’t with his fellow human children in their brick school during the spring. It also explained why he’d been allowed to enter the fey woods at all, what with the healthy fear the locals had developed of the place. 

In turn, ‘Logic’ had revealed his love for the stars, (which led to Anxiety sneaking out one night to stargaze with him in the bluebell field), how he’d kept a lizard as a pet one summer, but released it at the end because a cold-blooded creature likely wouldn’t survive the winter months, and how he reported directly to the Unseelie ruler, because all fey had a job, young or old. “It’s just the way it is,” he explained. “I have responsibilities to my court, as do all fey children.”

“Bit like child labour, though,” Anxiety pointed out. 

“For humans, maybe,” he conceded, “but we mentally develop much faster.”

“But you live longer, so shouldn’t you get to embrace your childhood before your infinite adulthood?” reasoned the other, watching the ladybug that was clinging to his sleeve. 

“Not infinite,” Logan replied, and Anxiety raised his head in interest. “We live a very long time, to be sure, but all fey die eventually. When we run out of magic, we age and perish.” 

His friend considered that -- and Logan considered the human boy his friend, now. That notion had snuck up on him, it seemed, surreptitiously changing his label of ‘acquaintance’ to one of friendship. 

He didn’t really mind.

Fall came in colored leaves and bursts of chilly wind, of flowers wilting and apples ripening in the trees. Logan attended the passing of the seasons, or the transfer of control, from the Seelie Court to that of the Unseelie at the equinox. It was in the deepest part of the forest, the part that joined the realm of the fey to the human world. 

Logan wasn’t entirely happy about their regained dominion. He should have been, he knew: logic dictated it! With winter, his powers increased, and he gained structure and work he loved. Why would he not be glad?

Well, remarked the treacherous little voice in his head, we can’t spend time with Anxiety in the winter, now can we? 

It was true, he mused as the crown of the fey on the podium shed its vibrant flowers and its green leaves turned red, orange, yellow, and brown. He’d be very busy, for one. Talyn, leader of the Unseelie, had promised him greater responsibility this year. And besides…

The woods were dangerous enough when the Seelie ruled. But Logan’s court had a tendency to be vicious, and they did not attempt to hide their darkness like their flowery counterparts. 

Were Anxiety to be discovered in faerie woods in winter… 

He didn’t want to think about it. 

“Logic!” called a familiar voice, and he turned to see two identical faces waving to him. 

“Prince, Duke,” he nodded. “I trust you are well?”

“Oh, Lolo, don’t be so formal with us,” Prince grinned, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “We’re friends, after all!”

“Or are we making you nervous?” smirked Duke. “No, something else is! You’ve got a secret, don’tcha?”

Logan’s lips thinned. He’d forgotten how alarmingly perceptive the Unseelie half of the brothers could be.

Prince and Duke were oddities among the fey, the children of parents from both courts. Prince was Seelie, Duke Unseelie, but they had remained close even when the courts did their best to seperate them. Now, they had achieved a sort of notoriety. Joan, leader of the Seelie court, was said to be molding Prince for his own role, and Talyn had already offered for the Duke to study under them. He had rejected the offer, saying that he didn’t want the vulnerability of fey leadership, and a faerie called Deceit had been selected instead.

Secretly, Logan suspected Duke’s reservations had less to do with every faerie in both courts knowing his true name (which was a requirement for Talyn and Joan, just as it had been for all fey leaders before them) and more to do with the restrictions being trained by Talyn would put on him. He loved his chaos, after all. 

“I don’t see what my personal affairs have to do with you,” he said, rather coldly. “No offense meant, of course.”

“Oh, Logic, you break our hearts!” Prince cried dramatically, clutching his chest. “How could you say such things to your bestest and oldest friends?”

“Advice’s by far the best of my friends.”

“Oldest friends!” Duke countered.

“I have known Deceit for far longer than either of you.”

Duke colored at the name (could he be any more obvious with his little crush?) and Prince exclaimed, “Friends!”

“...Dubious,” Logan said, turning back towards the proceedings. 

“C’mon, Logie, we both know you’re bored out of your mind having to watch this mind-numbing shit,” Duke told him, grinning. He was missing three teeth. Fey aren’t supposed to lose teeth, the tiny part of his mind that hadn’t given up yet pointed out. “Let’s leave, and then you can tell us all about your little secret.”

“I will not be telling you anything,” he sighed.

But he ought to. He knew that. It was why he had been avoiding Advice lately, who had gotten a little too good at reading people after beginning his job as a healer. It was why after the meeting Logan threw himself into his work, so as not to cause any issues, any reasons for his court to keep an eye on him. It was why he began following Anxiety when the human boy left the forest each day, making sure he couldn’t be taken on his way home. 

Winter came and Logan began to change, as the power of his people’s season grew within him. His features, already pronounced, became sharper, hair longer (more wild, Anxiety said, as he attempted to braid the dark locks), ears, nails, and teeth more pointed. He changed his clothes for winter, of course, wearing a night-blue cloak lined with rabbit fur over his usual dark attire, and grudgingly trading bare feet for boots. Anxiety laughed at him a fair bit, for that (“What’s your problem with shoes?” he had cackled, as Logan sulked besides him) but after he had to switch his sweatshirts for a heavy black parka, the human joined the fey in petulant anger. 

One day, Anxiety asked why fey changed appearances in the winter, gingerly examining Logan’s sharp nails, which bore an uncanny resemblance to claws. Logan replied that they didn’t -- they changed for summer, or Unseelie did at least. His winter form was his true one; the one the human had first encountered was a disguise of sorts, a way to blend in among the Seelie, a defensive relic from when the two breeds of faerie were at war. 

He was afraid, then, looking at Anxiety, that he would flee. Unseelie were always the evil fey in human stories, not the playful tricksters but the monsters in the dark, and this human seemed to know every story, reciting them from memory to Logan as they lay in the field, watching clouds in the sky.

But Anxiety simply hummed quietly, looking up into Logan’s eyes. “Those don’t change,” he said, motioning to them. “Must be pretty easy for the Seelie to recognize, huh?”

“Why would my eyes be easy to recognize?” he asked, blinking. 

“They’re beautiful,” the human shrugged, far too casual, and returned to his study of Logan’s nails. “Hey, maybe I could paint your nails. My friend Morality’s been teaching me how.” 

(And if the tips of the faerie’s pointed ears turned red, his cheeks dusted with a similar colour, Anxiety was kind enough not to mention it.)

He knew it was dangerous, still meeting the human, but Logan still found himself entering the clearing each day, even though the bluebells had all wilted by August and the other flowers followed quickly, even as the grass turned brown. Sometimes, Logan told himself that it was because he wanted to learn from Anxiety, or because he wanted to interact with someone his age, or because he was simply ingrained in his habits. Always a new excuse. Nevermind that the information the human could teach him was nothing compared to his own vast reservoirs of knowledge, that Deceit, Prince, Advice and Duke were all his own age, and two were even of Logan’s court, that he was a faerie, and the fey did not do routines, as creatures of the wild. 

The truth was, he found a certain amount of joy in meeting with someone who seemed to understand Logan’s reluctance to conform to the standards of his court, who was kind and laughed easily and shared stories and secrets and songs without any cost. The truth was that he was just a bit selfish. 

Logan’s selfishness would come back to bite him.

It was fall on the cusp of winter when it happened, a crisp afternoon in early November, and a Wednesday. This meant that Anxiety could only come later in the day, and carted along a backpack holding papers and books and math. As far as Logan could tell, math was a game with numbers with many nuanced rules, that he rather liked and Anxiety hated.

To make sure that the human managed to reach the clearing safely, Logan had begun to meet him on the path that was Anxiety’s way through the forest, using his magic to mask the two of them from the Unseelie patrolling the woods. Anxiety found it funny (he didn’t seem to quite understand the true danger the forest posed him) but a bit irritating, so Logan grudgingly met him halfway down the path instead of at the line of trees that seperated the forest and the town. 

So he sat in the woods, that Wednesday, high up in the branches, and waited, lost in thought. It had been several months since they’d met in the beginning of May, spending time together almost every day. He had expected the human to have run away in fear by now, to have stopped coming into the forest, to have been scared off by the magic or the changing of shapes or simply by the power Logan held. But the aptly named Anxiety (he was scared of so many things, of sharks and snakes and clowns and drowning and dying and blood) wasn’t afraid of Logan at all, it seemed. 

It was nice, not being feared -- even among his own people, he was treated with a healthy amount of caution. Faeries did not trust. They found security in favors, in debts, and even family, like Prince and Duke, eyed each other with suspicion. But the human boy believed so easily, never asking for a favor or a name, giving and never asking for anything in return. It did not match with what Logan knew, of humans or of fey. 

...Anxiety was late. 

He held out for two minutes longer, before he finally stood and darted through the branches, feet finding footholds that should not have held them, moving through the air and ignoring the fact that occasionally he never touched the branches at all. Such was being a faerie. 

Later, he would think back on the moment and thank the forest he had been so lucky. If he had waited a minute longer, had decided to run along the ground instead of in the trees, if he had listened to Anxiety when he rolled his eyes the day before and said “I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me,” when Logan had told him to be careful… 

Logan found his human (sometime in the past months, the human boy had become his. When, he didn’t know, but it had happened so easily, Anxiety sliding into his life with his drawings and poetry and laughter and settling in like he had always belonged. If he believed in things like that, Logan would think it was fate.) standing frozen in the dirt path, eyes glazed and unfocused, books spread around him and backpack lying in the dirt. Unseelie had swarmed him, two of them examining the human in their midst as one -- Deceit, Logan realized in shock -- worked his magic to keep him in a docile trance. 

“Why did he come here?” another faerie asked, one Logan vaguely recognized. From his recollection, he was named Raven. The third he had never met, and seemed a fair bit older than the other two and Logan himself -- Deceit, Raven, and Logan were all young fey, Raven the oldest at maybe fourteen and Deceit almost the same age as Logan himself. This faerie, however, despite appearing to be in their early twenties, had an air of age, and he would guess the mystery individual to be in their hundreds. 

“It doesn’t matter,” the older Unseelie smiled, a grin appearing on their face. “It’s just a human boy. Kill it or take it.”

“He -- He’s our age, Lady Belladonna,” protested Deceit, his brow furrowing. “A child. Shouldn’t we just send him away?”

“Oh, not he,” the apparently female faerie snarled, reaching out to grip Anxiety’s blank face in dark nails. “Humans… humans are beasts. And they call us creatures of the dark! It has no more rights than an animal, age or not. Maturity has never affected the ways of the fey.” 

“But Lady--” Raven protested, looking as disturbed as Deceit, but he never got the chance to finish his sentence. Logan had heard enough. 

Lady Belladonna, whoever she was, had been correct. Maturity had very little to do with fey; age meant time, and a faerie scorned time, even physically. So Logan, young as he was at barely eleven winters (Logan had turned eleven just a few days ago -- Anxiety had given him some of the mechanical pencils he had liked, as well as a decorated case. He had said it was a ‘birthday gift’.), had power, power enough to reach out to the minds of the three fey and push them into sleep. 

He’d always been good at manipulating the brain -- better than even Deceit or Advice. 

The three Unseelie crumpled to the ground, eyes shutting even as they tried to resist, pushing back against his influence. The clearing soon quieted, silent but for the sound of quiet breathing and the wind in the trees.

Logan knew he had succeeded when Anxiety blinked and the haze over his eyes disappeared, Deceit’s control gone. The human gasped, stumbling backwards, and at that moment Logan finally emerged from the branches to pick up the backpack and the books, nodding in greeting.

“Logic?” Anxiety asked, sounding small, staring at the fey slumped around him. “What -- what happened? Are they…”

“Merely sleeping,” he replied, motioning to the rise and fall of Raven’s chest. “They will be alright.” His face hardens. “They deserved worse. What do you remember?”

“All of it, I think. They surprised me, and that one that looks like a snake did something -- I couldn’t move, I couldn’t talk, I couldn’t scream.” He hesitated, staring at the female faerie. “She wanted to kill me?”

“Or take you to our realm,” Logan said, straightening, Anxiety’s backpack in one hand and his books in the other. “Here. I need to make sure they don’t remember this encounter.”

The human took his belongings, watching as Logan crouched by the sleeping fey, touching his fingers to their temples. It took only a few seconds to alter their memories, to make them believe their enchanted sleep to be the result of a backfired spell by the Lady. (He takes special pleasure in placing the blame on her.)

He altered first the memories of Raven, then Belladonna, and then he reached for Deceit.

A yellow-gloved hand reached up to grasp Logan’s wrist. 

“Logic!” Anxiety exclaimed, a fearful squeak, rushing forwards, but Deceit spoke before he could aid him.

“Thank you,” the young Unseelie whispered, eyes forcing themselves open. 

“What?” Logan asked, unable to keep the shock from his voice. Deceit was one of the few faeries that could lie without repercussions, but the thanks seemed genuine. Whether he had become far better at lying than Logan had thought, or… 

“She would have murdered him,” Deceit laughed, a harsh sound. “Probably would have made me do it, a test for Talyn’s protégé. I definitely would have been able to casually murder a kid my age.” Sarcasm practically dripped from his words, before his tone softened. “So, thank you, Logic.”

“You released Anxiety from the spell, didn’t you?” he realized, blinking down at the barely-conscious faerie. “You’re going to get yourself killed, Deceit.”

“Wipe my memories,” he shrugged. “I’ll be fine. But be careful, okay? Belladonna isn’t alone in her views. There’s fey from both courts that are now advocating for violence against humans. Your boyfriend will need to be cautious.”

“He’s not my -- we aren’t -- we are far too young to be courting!” Logan protested, knowing full well his face was as bright as a rose, ears burning. Anxiety was in much the same state, although Deceit simply rolled his eyes.

“Of course you are,” the faerie sighed. “Just… keep an eye out, Logic. This forest has gotten dangerous, as of late.”

His eyes fluttered shut. A few seconds later, his breathing evened. Logan was rather impressed -- Deceit’d held out against the spell for far longer than he would have expected anyone to be able to. Luckily, the strange resistance didn’t carry over when he moved to alter his memories, and soon he stood to face Anxiety. 

“It… It would be understandable if you decided to terminate our friendship,” he finally muttered, unable to meet the human’s green eyes. “You have now seen the truth of my people. We are vicious, and killers, and-”

“And you rescued me,” said Anxiety, voice startlingly calm. “And that other faerie -- Deceit, right? -- he didn’t want to hurt me either. I don’t think you’re vicious, or a killer.”

“Anxiety, you’ll be in danger if you continue visiting me. You could lose your life!” Logan exclaimed, motioning to the fallen faeries around him for emphasis, because the stupid human didn’t understand, didn’t get that he might die or worse!

“That was always going to be true, dummy. We’re in a faerie forest. I’m a human,” Anxiety deadpanned. “C’mon.”

They walked through the woods to the clearing in silence, Logan working his magic to render them invisible to prying eyes, Anxiety staring at the dirt under his sneakers. The forest was still, for once.

The two arrived in their typical spot, standing near where they knew the bluebells would grow again in spring, hearing dead grass crinkle underneath their feet. The human set down his belongings, and hesitated, suddenly still.

“Are you alright?” Logan asked, glancing over. Anxiety was staring at the ground again, arms wrapped around himself in a sort of makeshift hug, bangs covering his eyes. 

“I… You saved my life, Logic,” the other said, voice choked, and there were glistening tears streaming down his pale cheeks. “I would have died.”

Logan had never been good at feelings. He’d be the first to admit so -- they were Prince or Advice’s department. Still, he found himself moving forwards, pulling Anxiety into a hug, ignoring the tears wetting his cloak as he did his best to replicate what he’d seen Advice do for distressed fey. 

“I don’t want to die,” he heard, whispered into his shoulder. “I don’t want to die, L.”

“I won’t let you,” promised Logan, and heard from his own mouth, before he could even think about saying it, “I’ll protect your life with mine, if it comes to that.”

Anxiety let out a laugh at that, his grip tightening. “Well, that’s not very fair. You’re not allowed to die either, okay? I’ll protect you too.”

Logan had a response on the tip of his tongue (“You’re a human, how would you preserve my lifespan in any way?”) but a searing pain through his left eye interrupted him, and nothing more than a gasp of agony escaped the faerie. They seperated, Anxiety clutching the right side of his face. 

The feeling disappeared as quickly as it had manifested, and Logan immediately looked up, searching for their attacker, and instead found the human’s previously green eyes. 

The right one was a bright, shining purple. 

Anxiety’s mouth was open wide. “Logic, your eye--” he began, before reaching into his bag and fumbling for his communicator square. (Phone, he called it. Logan did not quite understand, but avoided touching it anyways -- it appeared to be made of metal, and he would not risk contact with iron.) He turned it on, before switching to a screen that reflected both of their faces. 

Logan had only ever looked at his reflection to ensure his presentability. He knew his eyes were different from those of humans, of course; Anxiety’s had circles of green around a black center, set on a white background, but Logan did not have those divisions. Color spread across the whole surface, lacking in whites, pupil, and iris. “Your eyes look like the night sky,” Anxiety had told him once, and he supposed the human was correct -- normally, they were a dark purplish blue color, with pinpricks of pale light across the surface. Still, he hadn’t understood why Anxiety had seemed so fascinated. (“Is it accurate?” the human had questioned. “Is the placement of the stars right?” Logan had eventually flushed red as the other tried to find constellations in his eyes, Anxiety had noticed and retreated, and that had been the end of that. He’d never brought it up again.)

But now his left eye was crossed with a pattern of greenish blue, like the aurora borealis in the Unseelie realm that his parents had taken him to see when he was very small, vibrant against the indigo background.

“What happened?” Anxiety asked, staring at himself on the screen of the phone, reaching up as if to touch the purple ring, ensuring it was truly there. “How -- why -- what happened?”

“I don’t know,” Logan said slowly, staring at his newly heterochromatic eyes. 

Perhaps this is the price of befriending and saving a human, he thought to himself, meeting Anxiety’s panicked eyes with his own. Perhaps it is a curse, or a punishment from the gods. A physical marking of my shame, of forgetting to take a name, a favor, a price, as is my nature. 

“It’s okay,” Anxiety said, reaching out to take Logan’s hand and squeezing it gently. “It’s okay, L. We’ll figure it out. Besides, it looks cool as heck, right?”

“...That it does,” he nodded after a beat, returning the gesture, a wan smile stretching his lips despite the situation.

“Let’s… Let’s not worry about it for now,” suggested the human. “We’ve got better things to do, right?”

“Definitely. We had best get started on that math homework.”

Anxiety let out a laugh at that. “Ew. How about we just cloudwatch for now?”

They sat in the empty field, where their flowers would grow again come spring, and watched white fluff form in the blue sky through mismatched eyes. He glanced over at Anxiety, who smiled and reached out with his hand. The faerie took it. 

If this new coloring is a curse, it’s worth it, decided Logan, flashing a smile at his boy of the bluebells before returning his gaze to the sky. 

At first, the change took getting used to. Fey whispered Logan had made a deal with the forest, had become vain and done it cosmetically, had been cursed. Humans said much the same about Anxiety. As time passed, however, and the colors didn’t change, those inside and outside the forest learned to accept the change. No one questioned it anymore, and eventually the two learned to forget the day in the clearing, to pass it off as a spell gone wrong in Logan’s case and an eye injury in Anxiety’s.

Neither of them found an explanation for it either, but it soon became apparent they didn’t need to. They had each other.

That was what mattered.

#analogical #ts virgil #ts logan #virgil sanders #logan sanders #implied dukeceit #sanders sides #ts roman #roman sanders #princey #ts remus #remus sanders #janus sanders #ts deceit #ts patton #patton sanders #fae #fae au #fey #seelie #unseelie #faerie au #tw cursing #tw mentions of death #tw mentions of kidnapping #bluebells