#1) he had a severe fear of water after the entire incident that didn’t go away for years (yeah doesn’t fit with the storyline but its an hc)

[theoakleafpancake]

Crowley Meratyn was the first person Halt traveled with since his departure from Dun Kilty. And sure, while the Ranger was a welcome relief and perhaps annoyingly cheerful distraction from the memories, it took him a while to feel at peace.

The first night, Crowley had suggested they sleep in shifts. And of course the Ranger had taken the first shift. Halt, of course, had demurred, not wanting to cause unrest, and he had indeed turned his back to his new companion, but he didn’t sleep.

He didn’t trust this Crowley, plain and simple. There was almost a glimmer of Ferris from their younger years. Back when the responsibilities of the throne had been a fleeting whisper, back when their parents had left them to the care of their nurses and tutors. Back when he could laugh and smile and not worry about the future. Ferris had been happy, then. And so had Halt.

And then over time, things had changed. His brother had kept the front everywhere else, but when they were alone, he was distant and cold. Halt knew himself to be a fool for not seeing it sooner, or perhaps he had simply been willing to turn a blind eye. After all, Ferris was his brother. His friend, his confidant. He would never betray his kingdom, let alone his own blood.

Halt had learned that lesson the hard way. And he was determined to catch Crowley’s facade the moment he saw one slip up. He would not be taken in this time.

He would not be betrayed a second time.

[theclockinthesky]

Monkees Headcannons Master Doc

Here is a horrible collection of Monkees Headcannons created by myself and @rock--lobster

They are categorized so if there is a particular Monkee/other you would like to learn our headcannons of, please look at your own discretion. Enjoy!

Categories:

The guys

The Torker

Daddy issues Nesmith

Skilletface

Gayvy Jones

Monkee wives/girlfriends/the 400/etc.

Friends (?)

The Guys

They hide their drugs inside Mr. Schneider

The guys had to invent new days of the week after Mike developed an irrational fear of Fridays

They have a framed poster or print or whatever in the apartment that says “smoke it, snort it, shoot it, screw it: you’ve got one body you’ve got to use it” in the style of a live laugh love sign complete with flowers and cursive font

There is a body hidden under the floor of the rainbow room

After the salad incident, the Monkees were banned from eating in public as a group. This is because they fully traumatized several people around them

The apartment is haunted but so much weird shit goes on there anyway that no one notices

The Monkeemen do not have powers, they are a shared delusion caused by drugs and mental illness

When they are bored backstage or in the Meat Locker, they will recreate entire episodes of Gilligan’s Island

To make more money, the guys rent out the Monkeemobile as a getaway car. Sometimes they make Peter hide in the back, naked, to make sure the car is returned

They thought the pad had a rat problem, but the alleged rat was revealed to be Davy when they found him stuck in a glue trap

33 1/3 was an elaborate ploy to hypnotize all its viewers into still liking the Monkees through its seizure inducing visuals, but this did not work because no one watched it

Whenever the guys go out for food, Davy always has to pretend to be the child to eat free. This usually works, except one time when Davy was smoking and the waitress was creeped out by him hitting on her

The Torker

Peter became allergic to bees after Mike decided he wanted to become a beekeeper and 45 bees ended up stinging Peter’s face

Peter once bought a singular gun because he thought that by doing that it would end gun violence. Davy murdered three people the next day

Peter hides under the Monkeemobile when it rains because Micky told him that the “rain monsters” will come and get him if he doesn’t

Peter’s cooking has given everyone food poisoning at least once but they all refuse to cook instead of him because “a man’s place is not the kitchen”

Peter punched Davy that time because he (Peter) had been wearing clothes for too long and the sensory issues were causing him to act up

None of Peter’s socks match because he does not buy them, he just keeps the ones he finds at his house after his parties

One time Peter was drinking ice water or something and an ice cube slid down his throat and he started choking and he didn’t tell anyone he stood there not being able to breathe pretending to be on fire until the ice cube melted enough that it could slide down his gullet. He does not drink ice water anymore

After the “Mascara Incident” Peter wasn’t allowed within 20ft of Jimi Hendrix

Peter brought 3 girls back to the pad every night for a year before the guys noticed. Micky was proud of Peter and bought him the “orgy organizer” pin as a treat

Peter believed in the easter bunny until Micky served rabbit for dinner on Easter, surrounded by Easter eggs and chocolate

Peter is not allowed near candles while unsupervised because once he semi-successfully tried to eat one (it was lit) because it smelled good

Peter cries so easily because his tear ducts are underdeveloped. This is his greatest shame

Sometimes they put Peter on a leash they call “the Peter leash” so he doesn’t run away to buy harps or plan orgies or whatever

Peter once ran away to join the circus but got lost and ended up in Massachusetts, naked, with no recollection of how he got there

When not filming, Peter would go sit in the Meat Locker, naked, until one day one of the guys walked in on him there and “wanted to rip out his eyes”

Peter once found Micky’s secret (?) acid stash and sold it on the street for $25. When Micky found out, he locked Peter in the Meat Locker until Micky had the chance to consume an equal amount of acid to make up for the loss of his beloved stash

Peter once ordered so much brown rice from a sketchy booth on the side of the road that his entire orgy mansion was filled so he had to invite Micky over for brown rice but forgot to tell him that he (Peter) would be naked the whole time

Peter entered a Peter Tork lookalike contest and lost to Stephen Stills

Peter does not like doing drag because the wigs remind him of his impending receding hairline, and because when he’s in drag and he looks in the mirror he sees one of the 400

Peter has an irrational fear of ducks and has panic attacks when near them, so to keep him in line, everyone on set carried rubber ducks they can take out and torment him with

During his time living in a dumpster, Peter befriended several rats and has trained them to roll joints for him. He is planning to get one of them under Mike’s hat to see if he can get a ratatouille situation going

Peter is in charge of making lemonade for the guys. One problem: he does not know what a lemon is

Peter has to be fed via IV because he yapped too much about Eastern philosophy at the dinner table and the guys got sick of it and now tape his mouth shut every meal

Peter can’t go down the spiral staircase in the pad because he is scared of swirls, so Mike built him a pulley system baby carrier thing so he can still go up and downstairs

Peter cries when houseguests have to leave. Because of this, everyone who visits cannot leave

When the Monkees went to Paris, Peter got stuck on top of the Eiffel Tower and a crane had to get him down. He now has a severe fear of anything with a point

Peter can do a really good impression of Donald Duck having a temper tantrum because that is what he spent his entire time in jail learning how to do

Peter collects buttons, as an offering to “the button man,” a 7ft tall humanoid figure who may or may not be made of buttons, that Peter is convinced exists

Peter is a professional nudist

Peter cannot comprehend the existence of pink lemonade because “there aren’t any pink lemons”

Peter gets weird childhood flashbacks when he hears ice-cream truck music. The last time he heard it, he had to be locked in a fridge for 3 days until he stopped shaking

Peter keeps a collection of used condoms under his bed

Peter once wrote and recorded a song about his never-ending drug-fueled orgies but the others did not let him release it because it was “suicide-fuel”

Peter has a side hustle painting pictures of doors. He’s only sold one and it was used as kindling but he is convinced his career will take off

Peter has an obsession with naked mole rats because they, like him, are always nude

Peter grows daffodils to hide the fact that he is also growing weed. It doubles as a bioweapon because he collects pollen from the flowers and launches it at people who have severe pollen allergies

Peter does not know how to use a toaster so he microwaves bread instead

The Peter Tork Orgy Mansion should be classified as a biohazard or national monument. Probably both

Peter can only fall asleep when the time is a palindrome, gives off purple vibes, or is exactly 4:20

Peter is not allowed to use chopsticks after he nearly poked his eyes out the last time

Peter started a nudist colony at the pad and had the state of California declare that the beach behind the pad is a nude beach

Peter goes dumpster diving to look for wigs to hide his receding hairline

Peter can swallow swords. This talent comes in handy sometimes (he topped) ™️

Peter is banned form Some Little Out of the Way Place That Nobody Goes Northside, Eastside, and Westside brances because his clothing was giving him sensory issues and he had to remove them immediately, in public, in the dining room of the restaurants. Three mothers screamed and 7 children passed out

When the power goes out, one might expect Peter to be afraid but in fact he loves it because he can sit naked in the living room of the pad and none of the others will know

Peter can’t count. This sucks when he is trying to figure out how many women he has slept with

Peter is incapable of opening child proof lids and often resorts to tearing the bottles open with his teeth

Peter has at least one extra toe on his left foot, he named it Dweezil II and it was so disturbing that Micky tried to DIY amputate it. He was unsuccessful, but luckily during his homeless era, while passed out drunk, it was chewed off by David Crosby’s dog

Sunset Sam in the Cruisin music video was supposed to be played by peter (hence the red speedo) but Peter was too busy teaching/being homeless so tragically Sam was recast

Peter has fallen into the fish tank at the bass pro shop pyramid at least once

Peter occasionally has to be shackled into bed at night (or alternatively duct taped into his pyjamas) because he will try and sleep nude, which the others find problematic when they have to share a room/bed with him

Peter can actually sing really good, he just chooses not to

Peter writes philosophical essays every night before going to bed, just after creating his insane orgy guest lists

Daddy Issues Nesmith

Mike doesn’t fuck with sand

Mike tried to start a second band but he couldn’t find anyone to join it because he cheated on Phyllis with all their partners

Mike attempted to learn karate but dislocated his hip when karate chopping a cinder block

Mike was severely verbally abused by his 1st grade PE teacher for being skinny and now cannot look at running shoes the same way

Mike is secretly coquette. He actually wears a little pink bow under his green hat but vehemently denies it to anyone who asks him. It’s his prized possession (the bow, not the hat)

Mike contracted leprosy from eating armadillo in Texas

Mike saw Brokeback Mountain in theaters and cried so hard he threw up on the person sitting in front of him

Mike has his dogs trained to attack Peter and Don Kirshner on sight

Mike likes to go snowboarding but only when there is no snow

Mike thought Davy was 7ft tall for 3 years until he realized that Davy was actually short and not just on his knees the whole time

Mike crashed the Monkeemobile because he wasn’t paying attention to the road and instead was looking at a billboard for Campbell’s soup

Mike is unable to make spaghetti because the uncooked noodles remind him of how skinny he is, and he gets too self-conscious to cook them properly

Mike calls his grandparents something really weird like beepo and meemaw and gets bullied severely for it

In 1970, Mike tried to take up taxidermy to make some extra money but the results were so horrifying no one would buy it, and he was haunted by the ghosts of the animals he taxidermied

Mike will sometimes catch flies out of midair and eat them as a snack. He calls this going “toad mode.” Phyllis hates when he does this

Mike cannot say “rubber chicken” after a traumatic experience with a clown car

Mike spent way too much money on motorcycles to the point where he had to sell all of Christian’s toy because “toys are temporary, the bike life is forever”

When Mike spots ingrown hairs (like on arms or whatever) he will rip them out with his teeth. This is fine when he’s doing it to himself, but once he did it to John Lennon and that was kind of weird

Mike hides drugs under his hat and knows no one will look under there because its never been washed and people don’t want to touch all that

One of the reasons cited on Mike’s divorce papers was “he won’t stop busting it down sexual style with other women and possibly Peter”

Mike sings to pasta to make it boil faster. He has found that the song “Little Girls” by Oingo Boingo makes the noodles cook the fastest

Mike died for like 3 minutes back when he had tonsil surgery and Peter made a gravestone out of plaster to commemorate his death. They celebrate on that day every year.

Mike likes to visit mental hospitals to visit “his people.” He goes so often that the people who work there think he is a patient and just let him do his thing

Mike attempted to join a bike gang but they beat him up violently. He didn’t leave the house for 3 weeks in fear of them

Mike confuses Stephen Stills and Peter Tork because of his severe blindness in his right eye

Mike likes to bully the skinny kids at the playground to give them the same trauma he had as a kid

Mike once brought home a srtay kitten becayse he felt bad for it but soon realuzed it was actually a possum

At his wedding, instead of saying “till death do us part” Mike said “till shit do us fart, I ain’t taking that much responsibility”

If left unattended around them, Mike will consune a dangerous amount of pretzels. His body cannot deal with theamount of sodium he will ingest in one sitting and start shutting dowm. One time he hate too many and Davy had to drive him to the vet (they cannot afford a human doctor)

Mike has been planning to murder his mom since the day she invented Liquid Paper just so he can have her money

Mike is so American that he thinks all other countries are conspiracy theories made up by Big ‘Merica

Mike has one of those front facing baby carriers that go over the chest for Nelson (the stuffed koala). He has never once carried one of his actual children in it

Mike regularly wears the Princess Gwen outfit around the house and on set. He will refuse to do what is asked of him while wearing it and claim “royalty is above such trivial tasks”. Bob Rafelson burns the wig and dress in 1968 and after profusely sobbing, Mike rolls the ashes into a noint (nez joint) and smoked it

If it is too windy, Mike has to be tied down becaue too strong a gust of wind could easily blow him away. Phyllis would sometimes lock him out of the house and hope he would get swept away forever

Mike quit the band for 3 days, claiming that “seeing Peter naked in the Meat Locker was enough to make a grown man cry”. He rejoined after Peter hosted an apology orgy in his name

Mike once went to the zoo and got locked in the giraffe cage when the zookeeper mistook him for one

Mike drank gasoline thinking it was expired wine

Mike can yodel and does so to get the others attention

Mike force-feeds Davy when he goes on “hunger strikes” because the food isn’t British enough. Because of this, Davy ended up eating a spoon when Mike got angry and just shoved it down his throat

Mike is addicted to gambling. He once bet Peter in a game of blackjack and lost him to Stephen Stills

Mike is sexually attracted to cars

Mike was cast in David Cronenberg’s Crash (1996), but his sexual attraction to the cars was too aggressive and creepy, even by Cronenberg standards, so he had to be edited out

Any time Peter is unable to cook (due to being kidnapped or catatonically stoned or predisposed at an orgy etc.) Mike has to do it, and the only things he is able to make are those horrible 1950s housewife recipes that somehow involve a whole ham and lime jello

Mike tries to go fishing in the ocean but he does not have a fishing rod, only a really long piece of grass with a fork tied onto it and carrots as bait

Mike does not have a drivers lisence and just decides to drive and hope he doesn’t get caught despite going 40 km/h over every limit

Skilletface

Micky once tried to build his own space station to contact a new alien race but ended up contacting his neighbors and selling them acid

Micky lost his virginity in a Detroit crack house

Micky once had an out of body experience with an alien from the planet Greezeg but the guys didn’t believe him because of his severe schizophrenia

Micky’s wives keep leaving him because he will not stop doing his James Cagney impression in bed

Micky is actually short for Michard

Once Micky got really high and wanted to see if the skilletface thing was true and put a raw egg on his face and laid out in the sun to see if it would cook. He got salmonella poisoning

Micky dresses up as an old lady to get free food at a retirement home. The staff know he is lying but feel bad for him and let him get away with it because they think he has facial paralysis

Micky gets botox every month to keep his chin in place

Micky had to be really careful when running around because his legs are too skinny and could easily snap, and Mike has told him that if that happens, he will personally put him down like a horse

If Micky was alive in the right era he would have been one of those warrior cat kids that roleplayed hyper realistic violence cat death during recess

At least half of Micky’s wardrobe consists of tear away pants “just in case”

Micky went to Woodstock and claimed to be Janis Joplin’s brother to get VIP entry. A security guard caught them together and said he “had a feeling he [Micky] was incestuous”

Micky believes that he is a long lost son of an alien god and had been trying for years to try and prove it. He got close once but was stopped by the guys when he ended up in a walk in freezer, screaming “I NEED TO BURN THE PISS COUCH”

In 1967, while tripping on acid and drunk out of his mind, Micky got a BBL and has been hiding it from the public ever since because he knows it is too powerful

Micky likes bird watching but the birds like watching Micky more

Micky was forcibly given a rabies shot after doing his werewolf impression one too any times

Micky has a habit of running full speed into glass doors because he cannot see that they are there if he forgets to put contacts in

Micky visits cemetaries in his free time because he likes to “connect with the deceased”

Micky wears the Mrs. Arcadian outfit when the guys are not at the pad. This is fine but one time Davy walked in on him having a tea party by himself and never let him down for it

Micky is digging an underground tunnel system under the pad that only he is allowed to use

Micky tried to buy the state of California so he could legally drop acid everywhere. He was put on the FBI watchlist (again) immediately after

Micky has gloves with claws on them (bought by Davy) so it isn’t as weird when he tries to scratch up the furniture in the pad

Micky drinks red 40 straight from the bottle

Micky can recite the entirety of cats the musical from memory, as well as do all the choreography. Sometimes he does this after a show as an encore. No one wants him to though

Sometime Micky would get really high and wander onto film sets, and people were too scared of him to ask him to leave. This is how he ended up in Night of the Strangler. He thought it was just a really intense episode of the Monkees

Micky preformed an experimental brain surgery on Peter to try and stop him from thinking. It failed

Micky had to have an exorcism after he ate Mike’s wool hat and then promptly threw it up onto Davy’s head

Micky might have a tapeworm but we cannot know for sure

Scientists and doctors around the world are stumped as to how Micky is still alive after the amount of drugs and alcohol he consumed in the 60s-70s

Micky wrote Goin’ Down about the time he and Ringo Starr almost drowned in the Tork Pool

Micky bites

Micky attempted to build a robot but just ended up making a giant metal ball that he ended up throwing at the others. Davy needed surgery after a piece fell off the ball and impaled him

Micky one ate a butterfly to see if it tasted like butter. It did not

Micky only eats the cores of apples to “always keep ‘em guessing”

Micky was arrested for narcotics possession and spent 1 month in jail when the others realized he was missing and not just sleeping it off the whole time

Micky was once kidnapped by a drug cartel for failing to pay for all his acid. He was returned after he wouldn’t stop yapping the lyrics to “Goin’ Down”

Micky sleeps on his head kind of like doing a headstand and it freak out the others so much that they moved his bed in front of the door at the pad so if robbers come in they will be scared away

Micky once sprayed a whole can of Febreze in his mouth because he thought it was a new way to drink juice

Micky’s baldness was caused by the amount of non body safe glitter he had stashed up there during his glam rock era. It just deteriorated every strand up there over the course of several years

Micky once thought he was communicating with aliens, and had invented an entire alien language, but in reality he was suffering the effects of a gas leak in his home

Micky once jumped from the upstairs of the pad to see if his new “flying potion” (acid) would work. It didn’t and he needed severe surgery afterwards

Micky has a weird addiction to candle wax and cannot be left in the same room as candles because he will start eating it

Micky has a dependency on acid to the point where he had to get a tattoo of the word so he can “always be near his one true love”

Gayvy Jones

Davy is scared of the colour purple after Peter forced him to eat a homemade “grimace shake” which was just a purple pillow, some iced tea, and 3 purple carrots

Davy dies after eating soup that was spiked with cyanide by Stephen Stills. David Crosby flies the Monkees’ plane at his “fly in funeral” (Micky’s request) until he gives up because he “doesn’t fuck with these bitches (the birds)”

Davy was the one who started the fire at the Montreux Casino in 1971 but wanted to remain anonymous because he was there to meet an underage girl

Davy went to jail for 3 days when he was 18 for “failing to stop at a red light” even though he didn’t have a car

Davy has killed several people and takes their teeth so they cannot be identified via dental records. He keeps the teeth in his maracas

Davy once saw an ad for “height improvement surgery” and went to get it but it was botched and that’s why he looks like that

Davy once tried to be a ballerina but tripped and fell into a sewer on the day of the audition

Davy once tried to break up a fight between Micky and a tree. He failed and the tree won

Davy started a pile file with the guys beds in middle of the pad because he was cold one day. The fire continued for 5 weeks until the others realized they had no beds and had been sleeping on the ground the whole time

Davy has a water beetle hair infestation

Davy is missing at least one toe because of a horse related incident (bitten off ??)

Davy once dislocated his entire jaw eating one of those really big jaw breaker candies and no one helped him until hours later. They all thought his mouth was open because he was really excited

Davy dated Princess Gwen for one month before realizing she was Mike in drag

The sparkles Davy gets in his eyes is actually his astigmatism acting up

Davy was mistaken for a child the first time he went to a grocery store in America and now refuses to join the other when they go shopping

Davy does not own a single shirt. He seals from the other guy’s because he like to “let his moobs breathe”

Davy was nearly carried off by a bat the last time he went camping

Davy accidentally ordered 35 flats of canned beans through the mail. For the next 3 months all they ate were beans

Davy strictly dates girls over 6 ft. All other women he is spotted with are actually 6ft but they don’t like him so they walk on their knees

Davy uses entire bottles of Febreeze brand air freshener as cologne. Everyone hates it but he continues to do it because he thinks women like it. They do not.

Davy wears high heels not because he is insecure about being short, but because he is convinced being short is a sin because “the shorter you are the closer your heart is to the devil”

Davy has ringworm

Davy really has an Australian accent but hides it because he doesn’t want the others to know that he comes from a family of criminals

Davy can make really realistic horse birthing noises and no one has asked him why or how because they are afraid to know the answer

While filming the war scene in Head (1968), Davy got trench foot and now has panic attacks anytime he sees feet

Along with Zilch, Davy owns a company that sells glove/sock combination footwear called “glocks”

Davy is actually a chupacapra

Davy recites the entirety of Hamlet’s “to be or not to be” soliloquoy every morning during breakfast to “get him into the right mindset”

Davy has to be locked in the pad when he “smells girls nearby” because the guys cannot afford to help him pay more child support

Davy actually had his dick cast by Cynthia Plaster Caster but was ashamed of its size and had her swear an oath to never reveal that it happened

Davy somersaults down the spiral staircase in the pad

As a “new growth method” developed by Micky, Davy has to be forcibly held under water for 5 minuted each day. This treatment has not worked yet, but Micky is hopeful; Davy on the other hand is not

Davy sometimes wishes he was a horse

Davy has an emotional support horse named neighbelline. All the emotional support he gets comes from taking out his angry by verbally abusing it. He often threatens to send it to the glue factory

Davy is obsessed with Japanese clown jazz and one day hopes to record an entire album of it

Monkee wives / girlfriends/ The 400 / Etc.

Phyllis and Nurit once both showed up to a part Mike was at and he faked a heart attack so he could leave and they wouldn’t interact

Susan Pike is not a real person, but an elaborate publicity stunt set up by Davy’s PR team gone horribly wrong

Mike invited Phyllis to live with the guys at the pad. She refused because Davy gave off creepy uncle vibes and refused to wear clothes

Davy recites the entirety of Repo! The Genetic Opera when he is bored and forces Peter to put raw pizza dough on his face to recreate the character of Pavi so Davy can “get in the right mood”

Friends (?)

The guys invited Frank Zappa over for a sleepover after he came to visit them one day. Frank let traumatized by Davy’s collection of shower drain hair

Mr. Babbit increases the boy’s rent each month by $25 because of “suspected homosexual activities” but they don’t realize until it hits $1 million a month

Mr. Babbit can “always smell when a queer is near” and wants to drive the Monkees out of the neighborhood because he doesn’t want them sullying his reputation as a landlord

Cynthia cut her hand on purpose to get out of fully plaster casting Peter because he would not stop yapping about philosophy throughout the entire process and she could not think of an excuse to leave

Stephen Stills sleeps in the closet in the pad when he comes over. He once spent 3 weeks locked in there getting a slice of pizza each day when Micky was conducting a “science experiment”

Danny Elfman, of Oingo Boingo fame, wrote the song Little Girls when he found out how old Phyllis was

Rob Roy Fingerhead was killed by an oncoming 18 wheeler that swerved into his lane, he failed to notice because he was texting and driving

Every member of CSNY was present for the birth of Hallie Luia, which took place in David Crosby’s basement. Stephen delivered the baby

Coco is secretly the leader of an underground rooster fighting ring. She has a prized fighting rooster named Gustavo that has never lost a fight, and has taken at least one human life

Bob Rafelson has threatened to kill the Monkees several times if they don’t get their shit together, but this does not work because they do not fear death, they welcome its warm embrace over the hell that is the set they are working on

Frank Zappa wrote the song Valley Girl about Micky Dolenz

Frank Zappa was kept in Micky’s secret tunnels under the pad for 2 days while Mike went around as him, trying to start a demonstration because of “the treatment of crazy minded Texans in Californian society”

Mr. Babbit hosts an illegal fight club in the boys apartment while they are away on their wacky adventures. One day they came back early and he made them participate

John Lennon invited Mike to the threesome he had with Yoko and Andy Warhol but tragically Mike did not attend because he “draws the line at cheating on his wife with British men” and he was concerned there would not be any milk for him to drink while there

Stephen Stills cried after Peter had his teeth fixed because “they couldn’t be teeth twins anymore :(“

[shushiyuii]

Atlantic Runaways (Part 1)

I’m feeling a bit unmotivated today and sicky, ill do as much as i can today so in case i can’t upload much take this fic i made a while ago.

Also future parts of this au will contain noms! So just be aware of that!

Warnings: Mistreatment (Take this warning seriously please)

Words: 1.8k

When Wilbur was a young Mer, he enjoyed swimming around in the open waters, living with his pod and learning new things. But that wasn’t easy nowadays living within a cramped tank, especially being forced to perform. He was captured several years ago now, he was a full adult now, being raised in what he could barely call his home.

So many people mistreated him here, not to mention the lack of food, he was almost always starving but over the years you get used to that sort of thing, all that matters really is if you do well during your performances you get more food, and he hates it here. He really hates these humans, they’re pitiful.

He hates the crowds and how they applause after doing a single flip, his trainer seems to agree on that. He always scowls whenever he hears those cheers, but it wasn’t like he’s on Wilbur’s good side, he was just as bad as the people who watched his suffering.

He was one of the ones who caused his suffering. Treating as if he were any less than him, paying no kindness or compassion, the lack of food, if he performed one-trick incorrectly, he would not get any dinner, he hated this place.

Back in the ocean, things were so much easier, so much more space, freedom, family and everything. Now he sat at the bottom of the tank, his cave barely fitting half of his body, his hunger craved food, sometimes he even thought of eating humans but if he wanted any chance of escape, it would probably be best not to do so.

He sighed; he couldn’t even see the stars anymore as he was moved to indoors, only going outside for outdoor performances. It just led to even less space, this place for Wilbur was hell, they didn’t even know he resembled a human, being sentient and able to speak.

Meanwhile, with TommyInnit, he was having the best moments of his life. He had recently finished a course on Marine biology and was now on his to becoming an intern for L’manburgs most famous water park!

He would be able to work with sea creatures! He could study them, communicate and understand them! He had applied for the position a while ago and well got accepted!

“Dear Tommy Danger Kraken Innit,

We are happy to announce that you are now a part of the team! Welcome to L’manburg Water Park! With your help, we’ll rescue all sorts of sea creatures, learn new things about them and even perform with them! We hope you’re as excited as we are!

Please come to the park on Monday morning, once you arrive at the receptionist desk, state your name and we’ll show you around the park and how everything works! We hope to see you soon! – Staff”.

Tommy was so excited he yelled at the top of his lungs! Jumping with joy! He would finally accomplish his dream! He could work with sea animals! He was so excited to tell Tubbo! He immediately ran over to his phone to call him.

Once the phone picked up there was groaning on the other side, he had woken up Tubbo. “Pft, Did I wake you, Big man?”. He groaned in response to that, “What do you want, Toms?”. “Well~,” he said dragging out the ‘L’, “I’ve got big news, Big man! I got accepted for the internship!”.

Tubbo woke up at the fact, gasping in excitement “Really man?! Oh, that’s great! I’m so happy for you, man!”.  Tubbo exclaimed. “When do you start?”. “Next Monday, actually! I’m really looking forward to it!”.

The next couple of days went by quickly, and then Tommy’s alarm went off, he rushed downstairs and ate his breakfast as fast as possible. His dad was surprised with how excited he was, insisting that they go immediately, pushing him out the door, it was the most excited he’s seen Tommy in ages, it made him happy.

He soon arrived at the park, he tried to walk calmly towards the reception, but he practically sprinted towards the reception. Many people were lined up to visit the park, but he walked right past them, gaining multiple stares. The busy receptionist looked towards Tommy, smiled sweetly and asked, “How may I help you?”.

“Hey I’m Tommy! I’m here for the internship”. “OH! Of course!”. The receptionist got up from their desk and went towards a draw and pulled out a couple of things, some papers and a wet suit. “Here’s your suit! If the size needs adjustments, please let us know! Just head behind here” They gestured to some doors,

“Just head straight away and at the second turn, the third door to the left will take you to the office where our boss will speak to you!”. He smiled and thanked the receptionist.

He took the receptionist’s directions and knocked on the office door, “Come in!” said a voice on the other side. He entered and there sat a man who looked like he meant business, with his dark brown hair and horns. “I’m Schlatt, nice to meet ya’ Kid!”. He smiled; something seemed a little off about this man, but he seemed friendly enough.

He waved back, “Have a seat”. There the two conversed about the details, safety, rules and regulations of the job. He also had to sign some papers to make the job official but now he was officially an intern! And according to this one paper, he was going to be trained under a person by the name of $*&^£, and he was going to be working with a Mer named Wilbur.

From the details of Wilbur, he was quite the large Mer, being just about over 30 ft in length. He also had a record of being docile when being worked with but wasn’t the friendliest Mer but wasn’t the most dangerous either as he hasn’t had a track record of incidents.

When asked about it, they had said “Oh, Wilbur needs some experience, and every other trainer is currently really busy with their Mers, the only ones available were those two”.

Despite that fact, he was still excited! He was going to be working with a Mer and that was a rare opportunity! He got changed into the suit and went out into the training area. There sat the trainer, he looked shady with his hair and face unkempt, covered in dirt and the strange smell. He looked very strange, with the fact that he was also smoking a cigar which probably wasn’t allowed on the job.

“Ah, you must be the newbie.”. It sounded grumpy, like his face with a scowl but it immediately changed to a cheery and upbeat attitude. “Nice to meet you Kiddo! Name’s $%^&£ and I’m pretty sure you know how to work with Mer right?”. He nodded; he had taken a Marine Biology course.

“Good, I’ll show you the Mer you’ll be working with”. They walked towards the pool, despite Wilbur’s size, it looked quite small to fit a Mer as big as Wilbur. The man then dipped his hand into the water and made a couple of splashing movements. Tommy looked towards the water, and something worked within it. A chirp could be heard in response as water splashed as Wilbur surfaced.

“Wilbur, this is the newbie I told you about, be nice”. To which he left them to be alone, and by that, he left the room entirely. He was trusting a teenager with a dangerous creature, the thought of being alone with a Mer was exciting but all the scarier with how dangerous Mer could be.

After a brief moment of silence, the Mer made eye contact with Tommy, he looked to be scowling in somewhat disgust, not only that but unhappy. “Hey there! I’m Tommy!” he tried his best to smile but the look on Wilbur’s face somewhat scared him. The Mer made a low warning growl with his fins flared and dove back into the water, not even wanting to bother with Tommy.

Tommy stood still for a second in fear but a couple of minutes later nothing besides the stillness of the water, nothing had happened. It appeared Wilbur just went back to his den. He tried calling back Wilbur, but nothing worked. And this went on for days, Wilbur only coming out for training for his upcoming performance or food.

Tommy didn’t like the look of things, his excitement for working there slowly leaving him, every day was just hoping Wilbur would communicate with him, didn’t Mers tend to bond with humans?

 Wilbur found this new human that was around, very annoying. Every day the human would try to touch or talk to him, and he wanted nothing to do with it, every time he was called, he’d just ignore it. Why should he have to communicate with something that wasn’t necessary? He’s never known this human in his life and all humans were all the same, selfish.

 It was finally performance day; he would finally get to perform with Wilbur maybe it was a chance he could bond with him! That wasn’t how the day went, it was amazing! But he just sat around keeping watch on things, he just had to feed Wilbur the occasional treat as %&*£! Did all the work. He knew he couldn’t be too mad, but he thought it would be more exciting than this.

After the show, $%*£! seemed quite pissed off with how Wilbur performed today, but Wilbur did amazing! Why was he yelling at him? Was it not up to standard? But that wasn’t quite the case, £$%!$ smelt like alcohol and his words were slurred and movements clumsily made. Wilbur seemed to notice this himself and was quite pissed off himself.

“WHY CAN’T YOU JUST DO YOUR STUPID JOB YOU STUPID FISH!?”. He then slapped Wilbur in the face, Wilbur raised a claw to where he was hit but didn’t seem too affected by it. Wilbur growled in response, his face in a predatory look but he did not attempt to attack the man.

Tommy was shocked, to say the least, not only that but pissed off. Tommy always had an urge to protect, even those he wasn’t close to, but he’d still protect people who needed it.

“Hey! Who are you to hit him like that?! He didn’t do shit to you!” He yelled. £$%!* looked to Tommy with a face of pure rage, Tommy had badly pissed him off.

Wilbur dove back into the water as the two argued, it was a back-and-forth heated argument. Which eventually lead to the man trying to punch Tommy. Tommy evaded it but then he the man, made a different move, he pushed Tommy into the water.

Water filled Tommy’s lungs, the water dragging him into its depths, he tried swimming back upward but every try he couldn’t swim back up and he continued to sink. As he kept trying, a ‘swoosh’ sound filled his ears and the water moved. In his vision was Wilbur coming towards him as he lost conciseness.

[eliemo]

The Incident- Part 1

Summary: Sometimes, it’s dangerously easy to spiral. 

TWs: Panic attacks, mentions of past abuse, some blood

Part Two

Masterpost

“Virgil!”

He didn’t even know what he’d done to warrant so much fury and disgust in the scream. It was enough to block out all rational thought, ice cold panic and fear overwhelming despite its awful familiarity. 

He didn’t even get a chance to apologize before he was hit, the hand swinging forward and finding purchase against his cheek, striking hard enough to send him stumbling backwards, throbbing pain shooting through his skull. 

“God, you idiot! How are you this stupid?” 

Virgil tried to get away, confusion and terror crashing down until he couldn’t breathe, chest and throat too tight to get out any of the desperate pleas and apologies on his tongue. 

He couldn’t even make out who was talking, where exactly they were, how many people he’d made angry this time. 

There was a hand in his hair, grabbing, twisting and yanking him forward, ignoring his cries as it threw him into the cold, hard floor. 

“Please,” he choked out, his voice agonizingly small, too weak to hear. “Pl-please I'm sorry, I’m sorry--”

“Just shut up! This is why we have to keep doing this to you! Because you’re too stupid to understand how to do anything right!” 

There was another slap when he tried to raise his head, somehow worse than the first, and he felt something sharp dig into his arm, vision clearing just enough for him to make out the pile of glass shards he’d been shoved into. 

“All you do is hurt Thomas, and we have to do this to clean up your stupid mess! Imagine what the light sides would do if they learned just how useless you are!” 

The voice was furious, cold and mocking, each cruel word accompanied by another merciless strike, the pain quickly becoming unbearable, Virgil left to curl in on himself with the glass digging into his skin. 

And then, in a sudden twist of warped reality, the pain vanished and Virgil found himself curled up in the blankets of his own bed, trembling violently and drenched in sweat. 

But the ache from the beating still lingered, nothing more than fading phantom pain, but it made his heart twist with emotions he didn’t quite know how to identify. 

It had been a while since he’d had a nightmare that vivid, when the pain and panic bled into the real world, leaving him weak and terrified.

He’d worked up the courage to go to Logan about his recurring nightmares a couple of weeks ago, and the two of them had worked out several techniques to at least reduce the frequency of the dreams. 

It worked, to an extent, but it couldn’t get rid of them completely. He’d just gotten unlucky tonight. 

He shuddered, pushing himself up just enough to glance at the clock, collapsing back down with a groan. It was barely four in the morning- no one would be up for at least another three hours and there was no way he was waking someone up over a stupid dream. 

It wasn’t even anything particularly upsetting. Nothing he hadn’t handled before. Just a cruel reminder of a memory he’d lived through so many times before, vile words he’d heard too many times to count. 

It was fine. He just...he just needed to get a hold of himself, take a few deep breaths and stop crying. 

But it was no use. Not when he was alone, hunkered down in the dark, no prying eyes or pitying stares forcing him to hold back. 

The first sob broke from his chest, cruel, biting words still ringing in his ears, scream after scream always directed at him, always angry, and the dam broke. 

Virgil buried himself under his blanket and pressed his face into his pillow, hoping beyond hope it was enough to muffle the pathetic, wrenching sobs he couldn’t help to hold back. 

The last thing he needed was someone hearing him. He didn’t want them to see that after everything they’d done, all the “progress” they thought he was making, he was still just as broken as he was when they’d started. That a simple dream could revert him back to a trembling, terrified mess. 

It was stupid. He was safe now and he knew that. He hadn’t deserved it and he was...working on believing that. 

But it wasn’t going to happen again. That was what mattered. He had his family now- his family who had shown him over and over again that he had no reason to be afraid, so there was no reason his stupid brain should be getting this worked up over a bad dream. 

It wasn’t even a particularly bad memory in comparison. It was fairly routine for how things had been back then. 

He might have ended up crying himself back to sleep, or he may have simply zoned out without realizing, his head too fuzzy to know for sure. Either way, by the time sunlight began to filter through his window, Virgil was shaky and exhausted, the room tilting dangerously when he raised his head off the soaked pillow. 

He thought he heard distant voices from out in the hallway, but it was impossible to make anything out over the pounding of his own head. 

He needed coffee. And, if he was feeling brave enough, maybe a hug. 

Virgil forced himself out of bed, legs a bit unsteady as he landed on the carpet and shuffled to the bathroom, content with the idea of throwing icy water in his face and hastily putting on some eyeshadow to cover up the fact that he’d been crying. 

He must not have done a very good job, because as soon as he made his way into the kitchen, wrapped up in his hoodie to hide the fading tremors, Patton looked up from brewing the coffee with gentle concern. 

“Morning, kiddo,” he said, smiling past the worry. “How’d ya sleep?” 

“Fine, I guess.”

Patton frowned but didn’t push, instead stepping aside to allow Virgil access to the coffee pot, an easy, early morning silence filling the kitchen as the moral side began gathering things together for breakfast. 

Virgil found himself holding his breath as he got his mug out of the cabinet, silently pleading for his hands to stop shaking. He couldn’t handle dropping anything right now. He knew it would be ok if he did, knew Patton wouldn’t be angry, but…

“Imagine what the light sides would do if they learned just how useless you are!” 

He squeezed his eyes shut, setting his mug on the counter and willing himself to just calm down. 

They knew. They knew him, knew what had happened to him, and they...they loved him. For some unfathomable reason, they loved him. 

They wouldn’t hurt him. He didn’t have to worry. It was over, it was over, it was--

“Kiddo?” 

Virgil’s eyes flew open, Patton’s voice pulling him from his spiral, and he realized with a start that he had stopped breathing entirely. 

“Sorry,” he said automatically, and then immediately flinched back. He was supposed to stop doing that, they’d told him to stop apologizing and he could never seem to listen. “S-sorry, I just...I- do you think you could...I mean, you don’t have to but I was just--” 

“Virgil,” Patton cut him off, moving slowly as he rested a hand on Virgil’s arm. “What do you need?” 

It was stupid. It was beyond stupid especially considering this was Patton. He should just be able to ask, but he’d been extra needy lately and he wanted them to think he was doing better- and what if they thought he was being annoying-- 

Virgil took a breath, shutting down his own anxious thoughts. Nightmares made him extra paranoid. 

“Could I just...h-have a hug?” 

“Oh, honey.” Patton’s features instantly softened, worry morphing to a mixture of sadness and relief, and before Virgil could even blink he was being pulled into the familiar comfort of warm arms. “Of course, baby. You don’t have to be afraid to ask.” 

And Virgil was absolutely not going to start crying again. It was barely seven in the morning, he wasn’t going to do that to Patton, he put the moral side through too much as it was. 

But then Patton’s hand was cupping the back of his neck, idly running his fingers through Virgil’s hair, and there was absolutely no holding back the pathetic choking sound as he desperately tried to force back the sobs building up in his chest. 

“I’m here,” he said, Patton’s voice barely above a whisper. “I’m right here, honey. What’s going on?” 

“Nothing,” he muttered, quickly realizing that wouldn’t cut it. “Just...had a long night. It’s fine.” 

“Nightmare?” 

He thought about denying it, feeling ridiculously stupid and childish, but there really wasn’t a point. Patton wouldn’t ridicule him, and he’d already lost what little composure he had. 

But he didn’t entirely trust his own voice right now, not wanting to break down completely in the middle of the kitchen, so he just nodded against Patton’s shirt. 

The other side pulled away slightly, hands still gently clutching Virgil’s shoulders, and the anxious side warily met his warm gaze. 

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” Patton said, the furthest thing from judgmental or annoyed. “You wanna talk about it?” 

And he didn’t. At all. Because it wasn’t just a stupid dream- it was a memory. It had happened, many many times before, and talking about it would just make it more vivid in his mind. He just wanted to forget. 

“Nothing to talk about,” he mumbled instead. “Just...same old stupid stuff.”

“It’s not stupid,” Patton said, but mercifully didn’t push. “You look exhausted...how about we set you up on the couch with a blanket until breakfast?” 

Virgil nodded again, allowing Patton to carefully take his hand and guide him into the living room and onto the couch. A part of him wished he could have just stayed wrapped in the hug for the rest of the morning, but he knew it was a selfish request. Everyone had things to do today, Virgil included. 

Besides, the weight of the blanket around his shoulders was nice, and the quiet, mindless noise of the television created a welcome distraction from his thoughts. 

Logan came down the stairs just a few moments later, looking a bit more disheveled than usual, offering Virgil a quick and quiet greeting before disappearing into the kitchen, probably in search of coffee. 

Roman followed soon after, still dressed in his pajamas with his hair a mess. Virgil expected him to follow Logan straight into the kitchen like he did every morning, so it was a bit of a surprise when the Prince was suddenly standing in front of the couch. 

“Scoot over, J-Delightful.” 

Virgil blinked, momentarily frozen. “What?” 

“It’s early and I’m cold,” Roman complained. “So scoot over or I’m commandeering your lap.” 

Virgil decided not to mention that he really wouldn't mind the latter option, instead moving over just enough for Roman to fit, making sure there was enough room for both of them under the blanket. 

Apparently making room on the couch didn’t even matter, because in mere seconds Roman was completely sprawled out, somehow ending up with his head in Virgil’s lap and doing a very poor job of pretending to be asleep. 

Virgil didn’t know if he was still visibly distressed from his dream and obviously in need of physical contact, or if Roman just had impeccable timing. 

Either way, he didn’t exactly have any plans to move. 

The rest of the morning passed relatively peacefully. Logan had been up late working on scheduling and had woken with a headache, so the volume was kept low, the conversation quiet and lighthearted. 

It also, thankfully, kept a majority of the attention off of Virgil, although he was certain nothing could stop the worried glances Patton kept throwing his way. Worried glances that were entirely unnecessary. 

Yeah, he’d had a bad night and an unfortunately vivid dream. But that didn’t mean he needed to be watched over like he was about to break at any second. 

But no one put him on the spot, no one asked any questions, like they knew he could shatter under too much attention right now.

 It was just a stupid dream, already rapidly fading. He was safe. 

And then Roman dropped a glass on the floor. 

It didn’t even break, just cracked a bit along the side, but the sudden noise was enough to shock the room into sudden silence.  

Virgil jumped, guilt and fear instinctually curling up in his gut despite the fact that he hadn’t even done anything. And he knew- he knew that even if he had it wouldn’t be a problem. 

But then Logan was sighing, shoulders tense like he was angry, whirling around to face the Prince’s sheepish smile. 

“Dammit, Roman,” he snapped, unexpectedly curt. “Can’t you be more careful?” 

Roman blinked, momentarily frozen where he was bent over to pick up the fallen cup, for once clearly at a loss for a retort. 

“Language please,” Patton spoke up, and Virgil wanted to shrink away from the nervous glance he sent. “Let’s be a bit more gentle, ok? Roman didn’t mean to- there’s no reason to get angry over an accident. Right?” 

Logan seemed to notice his mistake before Patton even finished, straightening up and flashing Virgil an apologetic look before turning back to Princey. 

“I...apologize, Roman,” he said carefully. “Genuinely. I am not angry, I simply...am still nursing a bad headache and lost my temper for a moment.” 

Roman had already gotten over his shock it seemed, picking up the glass and fixing the crack with a wave of his hand, offering Logan an easy smile. 

“Don’t sweat it, Teach,” he said. “I should’ve been more careful. I think the dishes are balanced all weird.” 

“Well, we will...have to look into fixing that when we have time.” 

The easy silence was back, just for a moment as Roman filled the now intact cup with orange juice and made his way back to the kitchen table. 

“You don’t have to do that, Logan,” Virgil muttered, staring intently down at his eggs and toast. “You don’t...I’m fine.” 

“I know,” Logan said earnestly. “But whether or not you are in the room, Virgil, anger is not an appropriate reaction. You can be a...welcome reminder of that. So...thank you.” 

And Virgil had absolutely no idea what to say to that, but Patton was smiling and Roman looked relieved, so he managed a tiny nod and a timid smile of his own before turning back to his breakfast.  

It was a...surprisingly nice thought, he realized, and one he hadn’t really ever allowed himself to consider. That he could possibly be helping them even half as much as they helped him. 

He couldn’t really wrap his head around how being a pathetic mess all the time could possibly be of benefit to anyone, but...but Logan didn’t just say things for the hell of it. 

Things should have been fine after that. 

Virgil’s hands had thankfully stopped shaking by the time they cleared the table and washed the dishes, a hot shower helping clear the last of the fog from his mind. 

By mid afternoon Roman had disappeared into the imagination with colorful goodbyes and promises to return with stories for days, and Patton had teamed up with Virgil to convince Logan to let himself nap for at least a few hours. 

As much as Logan needed the rest, Virgil couldn’t help the tight, anxious feeling that curled around his chest when Patton was summoned to assist Thomas, likely to be gone for the next few hours at least. 

That left Virgil alone in a far too quiet mindscape, left to his own devices for a late lunch. He wasn’t particularly good at cooking, not to mention how stressed it made him when doing it on his own, but he didn’t want to risk the moral side’s disappointment at finding out he hadn’t bothered to eat again. 

(Patton had discovered Virgil’s habit of skipping meals fairly early on, looking strangely horrified when the anxious side explained he wasn’t used to have multiple meals a day, usually just sneaking snacks at convenient times)

But he was fairly sure he could manage putting together a sandwich without messing up too horribly. And maybe, if it turned out, he could leave something in the fridge for Logan in case the other side woke up before dinner. 

He should have been paying closer attention. That was his job, after all. He was anxiety, he needed to search for every possible threat, every way something could go wrong, every way to prevent everything from falling apart.

But he wasn’t even thinking, even after what had happened this morning, letting his tired mind wander as he opened the cabinet and reached for a glass. 

It should have been fine. He never would have been able to be near anything glass if his grip wasn’t steady, always plagued with too many paranoid thoughts. 

His fingers had just brushed the glass when there was a sudden thud from upstairs. Nothing out of the ordinary- probably just Roman returning from his realm or Logan waking up- but of course it made Virgil flinch and jump backwards, knocking over a second cup as he moved, both plummeting to the ground too fast for him to even try and react. 

The shelf was higher than the one Roman had reached for, and in the blink of an eye both cups had shattered, the deafening crash leaving behind a sea of glass shards littering the kitchen floor. 

For a horrifying moment, Virgil couldn’t move. Everything had gone cold, silent, his eyes glued to the scattered glass, briefly wondering if this was all just another cruel dream. 

 “You’re too stupid to understand how to do anything right!” 

The voice snapped him out of his daze, old memories and almost forgotten panic rushing back all at once, screams and threats and disgust being hurled mercilessly… 

It had been an accident. Just a stupid mistake. It was ok, right? They told him it would always be ok. They told him…

“How are you this stupid?” 

He flinched, digging his nails into his hands as he felt himself begin to tremble. He’d made so many mistakes. Too many. And he’d never actually broken anything before. 

He wasn’t Creativity, he couldn’t just snap his fingers and put it all back together. He’d made a mess. He’d ruined everything and someone was going to be mad, someone would end up...end up…

Virgil dropped to his knees, forcing his shaking hands to move, working to gather all the glass into a pile. He didn’t have time to find a broom. If he cleaned it up quickly, covered up his mistake well enough, then maybe they would never find out. He could get away with it. 

It was risky. He’d tried it before, and lying about mistakes always led to something worse. But he had to try. He couldn’t...he couldn’t go through any punishments right now. 

“God, you idiot!” 

There was so much glass. How had no one heard the crash? 

“You break everything you touch, don’t you see that?” 

He ruined it. He ruined it again. They were right, he couldn’t do anything correctly. He’d been safe, he’d been trying so hard to be good, and look what he’d done. 

“Useless!” 

“God, you’re pathetic, Virgil.” 

“All you do is hurt Thomas! Why shouldn’t we hurt you too?” 

The voices overpowered his own labored breathing, drowned out the rest of the world, memory after memory replaying over and over again, hatred and fear trying to choke him. 

But it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered. All he needed to do was clean up the glass, make sure it looked like he had never stepped foot anywhere near the kitchen, and then he would be safe. They wouldn’t have to hurt him. 

Virgil wasn’t even sure who he was afraid of at this point. 

It took longer than it should have since his hands were shaking so badly, but he didn’t stop, gathering up as much of the shards as he could into his hands and dumping them into the trash can, ignoring the way the glass cut his skin, slicing open his palms. 

He could worry about that later. He could barely feel the pain underneath his rising panic, and it would be nothing compared to what would happen if he was caught. 

He didn’t stop, fumbling blindly for the remaining shards, stopping only to wipe the floor with his sleeves when his blood started to drip onto the tiles. He refused to let himself cry, even as his vision blurred, knowing the noise would only attract attention. 

It was taking too long. He was too slow, and any second now someone would walk in and see what he’d done, what he was trying to hide. 

But then...then he couldn’t feel any more glass, just smooth, ice cold tile beneath now blood soaked fingers, and something close to relief wormed its way up to the surface, past the panic and the pain. 

The stinging in his hands had increased to a fiery agony at this point, the pain pulsing and stabbing like tiny knives, blood flowing down his arms and soaking into his hoodie, but it didn’t matter. His mess was gone. He could get away with this. 

Now if only he could stop shaking like a coward and find a place to lie low. 

Virgil covered his hands with his sleeves (the last thing he wanted was to get his blood everywhere) and used the counter to drag himself to unsteady feet. 

He couldn’t panic, couldn’t let it all set in. Not yet. Not until he was safe. 

There were sounds coming from the living room, and Virgil quickly stuffed his hands in his pockets, biting back a hiss of pain and quickly making his way out the door. 

Patton was in the living room fiddling with the tv remote, and Virgil suddenly realized he had no idea how long he’d spent cleaning up the kitchen. 

Had someone noticed he wasn’t around? Had anyone been close enough to hear? Did they suspect something? Did someone already know? 

“Hey, kiddo!” Patton greeted, cheery and welcoming as ever, but Virgil felt something freeze in his chest, ice cold fear wrapping around his heart and squeezing-- 

“H-hey, Pat.” He couldn’t panic. Not now. He couldn’t hurt Thomas, couldn’t let them see how weak he still was. He could hold out. 

“Logan’s feeling better, but he’s already gone back to work,” Patton continued, tossing the remote on the couch and sitting down. “I’m gonna start dinner in about an hour, that alright with you?” 

Virgil blinked, hearing the blood squelch beneath his fingers as he twisted his hands into fists, desperately trying to keep himself from shaking. 

He knew. Patton knew. There was no way he didn’t, no way he wasn’t already angry. He was just waiting to see if Virgil would lie so the punishment could be worse. 

He needed to get out, get away, get as far away as possible and hide until he wasn’t angry anymore-- 

“Actually I, uh, I’m not feeling great,” he forced himself to say, hoping it was believable. “I don’t think I’m...I’m gonna be hungry. I might just go lay down.” 

“Oh, sweetie I’m sorry.” He moved to stand, stopping when Virgil couldn’t hide how his shoulders tensed. “Do you...need anything?” 

Virgil was already moving towards the stairs, shaking his head, ignoring the strange look Patton was watching him with. The pain in his hands was growing unbearable and it was getting harder and harder to breathe, memories of pain and yelling he suddenly couldn’t convince himself wasn’t coming. 

“I’m good,” he said. “I-I’m fine, I’ll just be in my room.” 

And then he was gone, stumbling up the stairs before Patton could say anything else, breaths now coming in shallow, trembling gasps. 

His hoodie pockets were soaked by now, hands sticky and soaked and somehow still bleeding, but right now he needed to figure out where he could go to be out of everyone's way, stay hidden until the anger faded and his punishment lessened. 

Roman was apparently still gone and Logan’s door was closed, but Virgil could hear the faint sound of muffled music coming from inside the logical side’s room, carefully sneaking past without a sound. 

He made it to his own bedroom, pausing outside his door with a shaky hand hovering above the doorknob, blood still coating his fingers. 

What was he thinking? He’d had too many failed attempts at hiding in his room, yelling and banging outside his door, their fury overwhelming as he was grabbed and dragged away from his bed…

He backed away from the door, glancing back down the hall to make sure he hadn’t been seen, making his way to the closet at the end of the hall. 

“Did you really think you could hide?” 

Virgil pulled the door open, wincing at the audible creak, and ducked inside, squeezing his eyes shut as he locked himself in the near total darkness. 

“You’re such a little coward! God, you pathetic waste of space!” 

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe- they were choking him, screaming and grabbing for him, all of them furious--

But...they weren’t. They weren’t upset with him. Not yet, anyway. Logan, Roman, and Patton wouldn’t...even if they were angry it wouldn’t be anywhere near as bad as it used to be. 

Right? 

They’d hated him once before. They’d all lashed out, reprimanded him for doing something wrong. But they said they wouldn’t. They’d promised. They’d said he...that he…

He was up against the wall now, pressed tight into the tiny closet’s corner, feeling lightheaded and far away as he fell into hyperventilating, chest aching and screaming for air, the pain momentarily overshadowing the cuts on his hand. 

“Anxiety!” 

“Trying to hide only makes it worse, you know.” 

Virgil didn’t remember sinking to the floor, but suddenly he was curled up in the dark closet, panic and fear taking their hold, sobs finally breaking free, his aching body wracked with violent tremors. 

“Will you shut up?” 

Virgil flinched, despite there being nothing but his own twisted memories, biting down on his sleeves to try to muffle his sobs. 

He jolted at the sudden pressure on his hands, the pain from a particularly deep cut flaring to life, and for just a terrifying second the world seemed to tilt. 

He curled up into as tight of a ball as he could, head buried under his hood, sobbing and shaking in the corner of the closet.

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

Habanero

You're a good girl, well behaved.

Absolutely not the type to rail random guys in nightclubs.

Until you are.

Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Aizawa x Reader, Present Mic x Reader, a sprinkling of Erasermic and eventual polyamorous Erasermic x Reader

Rating: Explicit, Minors BE GONE

Trigger Warnings: None in this chapter.

AO3: Here | Want to support me? I have a Kofi

Chapter: 12/16 (all chapters)

Stain’s capture radically changed the atmosphere in the school, for students and adults alike. Luckily, your suspicions about the case proved correct and no one was expelled, though that wasn’t to say Midoriya, Todoroki and Iida got away scot free.

Iida was, for obvious reasons, the most apologetic of the three. He bowed his head so many times and so passionately that you worried he would give himself a concussion. He apologised for being untruthful and pushing away the help offered to him, seeming to expect disappointment and anger from you or Shouta. If anything, the lack of it hit him harder.

Iida, Midoriya and Todoroki weren’t the only ones affected by the incident. Students you had never seen before dropped into your office, some terrified by the footage they had seen and others conflicted.

A particular video began to circulate the web after the incident, one that detailed Stain’s background and ideology. It didn’t seem to matter how many times it was taken down or blocked, for within minutes it would appear elsewhere. It went without saying that almost every student in UA saw it eventually, as well as the vast majority of the faculty staff.

Everyone had an opinion and something to say, yourself included. You chatted about it at the izakaya as well as the staff lounge and then again during the recording of Support Mic.

Even after public interest died down, when Stain’s name no longer appeared on the news and fewer people came to your office to talk through their anxieties, the atmosphere at UA remained tense. Summer vacation loomed over the horizon and with it the end of term examinations.

As was the case with most people, you were especially curious of 1-A. They had experienced so much in such a short period of time that it was difficult not to be even slightly protective of them. With Nezu’s approval, you attended their physical exams, watching wide eyed at each match.

Your intrigue didn’t only stretch to the students. This was your first chance to truly see your colleagues at work and you could barely hide your excitement, chewing at your thumbnail and twirling the pen in your hand, wincing whenever anyone hit concrete or landed on their face. Recovery Girl seemed to find your fascination amusing, though wasn't annoyed, instead chuckling under her breath whenever you gasped or jumped in your seat.

You watched in awe as Shouta jumped from rooftop to rooftop as easily as he climbed stairs; as Ectoplasm duplicated himself over and over; as Cementoss completely transformed the area around him. You felt incredibly small, the reality of having pro heroes for coworkers never quite so clear as then.

That wasn’t the only realisation you had.

You watched as Shouta moved, remembering how it had felt when he fucked you against a bathroom sink. When Hizashi stepped out to activate his quirk, you couldn’t tear your eyes from his throat, remembering how he had moaned into your mouth when he came. Even now, you could still feel Shouta’s hands against your hips; the vibrations of Hizashi’s mouth against yours.

You were ruined now in terms of standards. You’d slept with heroes and nothing else would satisfy you.

Hizashi had stayed true to his word, saying nothing of what had happened between you the night of the Hosu incident. He flirted as he always did, though it never went any further from there. In many respects, you were grateful for it. Not only would it be far, far more suspicious to other people if he suddenly stopped joking around about how cute you were, but the impact of the reset would almost certainly hit harder. On a surface level nothing had changed between you at all.

You winced when he finally activated his quirk and bellowed across the forest. You didn't have any sound, but could see the trees buckling and shedding their leaves from the impact.

You watched as Jirou and Kouda sheltered in the trees, Jirou’s ears bleeding and Kouda trembling in fear, feeling incredibly conflicted. You wanted them to do their best and show how resourceful they could be, but you didn’t want Hizashi to go too hard on them either.

Several students had gathered in Recovery Girl’s makeshift office and watched each new development with just as much interest as you. Each had opinions on potential strategies, though Kouda’s eventual plan of action took everyone by surprise.

He placed his hands flat on the ground and began to speak, which you initially believed to be him panicking as before. However, moments later, the ground at Hizashi’s feet grew deformed and cracked, a seemingly endless number of bugs flooding out from between the gaps.

You clapped a hand over your mouth, skin prickling at the idea alone. Recovery Girl had little sympathy, tutting and shaking her head as if he had tripped over his own feet.

“Honestly,” she said as her desk phone began to ring. “A teacher of this school…”

“I’ll go and check in on him,” you said, getting to your feet and dusting nonexistent crumbs from your lap.

~~~~

Much like the students, the teachers had a makeshift waiting room outside of the examination areas. You jumped back the moment you opened the door, a sea of beetles, centipedes and spiders scurrying through the gap and towards freedom.

It took you all of two seconds to find Hizashi. All you had to do was follow the layers of discarded clothing. You picked up his jacket and gloves from the middle of the room and his shirt and boots from a little further in, wincing at the layers of bugs still contained within. You tipped his boots upside down at the outside door, giving them a few forceful taps that released several beetles. You gave his jacket and gloves a good shake, turning both inside out to double check for any intruders.

Then, and only then, did you return to the waiting room, draping his jacket and gloves across one of the chairs and setting his boots underneath.

The adjacent room was an infirmary of sorts, with several beds and a privacy curtain and you squirmed as even more bugs scuttled through the open door.

Hizashi had dumped the rest of his clothes in the middle of the room and disappeared behind the curtain, running a tap and whimpering every few seconds.

“H-Hizashi?”

He switched off the water at the sound of your voice and mumbled something you couldn’t quite understand.

“Are you okay?”

You stepped closer to the shield, dodging a line of ants.

“My b-”

“Hizashi?”

He poked his head through the shield, white as a sheet and hair soaking wet, though still sticking up in places.

“Boxers,” he said, so quietly that you could barely hear him. ”They’re in my boxers...”

“O-oh,” you said, blushing with both second hand embarrassment and discomfort. You squeezed your thighs together before you could stop. “I’ll try and find you some clothes, just wait a moment…”

You glanced around the room, leaning over to rummage through every cupboard and set of drawers. In the end, all you could find that was likely to fit him was a set of sweatpants and swimming trunks, as well as an oversized UA branded hoodie.

“Here you go,” you said, slipping them over the top of the screen. “Try these on.”

You were leaning over to salvage the remainder of Mic’s clothes when Shouta walked through the door, immediately rolling his eyes when he realised what you were up to. You glanced up at him, t-shirt in hand, scanning his body without meaning to. Now that you’d seen him swinging from rooftops, goggles only emphasising the sharpness of his jawline, it was difficult to think of anything else.

You didn’t notice that he stared back, taking in the way you had tucked a few loose strands of hair behind your ear; the way your blouse loosened around your neck as you bent over and teased a glimpse of your collarbones.

“I…” You said, realising you were staring at him. “I…”

“You came to observe us, then?”

“Yes,” you said, grabbing Hizashi’s shirt and folding it over your arm. “I uh… you were great. Oh! The students too! You were all great!”

You told yourself Shouta had encouraged you to pursue Hizashi. He had taken a step back and you should respect it.

Even so, you still couldn’t stop feeling flustered when you saw him, thinking of the kisses you had almost shared.

In retrospect, you wished you had gone after him while emotions still ran high. You wished you had asked him why he was pushing you away. What was it that had changed between you? Had you been misinterpreting his feelings all of this time?

No.

You remembered how sad he had looked. You definitely weren’t imagining that.

An awkward silence had broken out between you and you searched your brain for something -anything- to say. Shouta seemed to have had the same idea, for he reached out to you. You wondered if he was going to pull you into an embrace, but instead he scooped up a spider from the shirt you were holding, allowing it to crawl across his palm.

“Sho,” Hizashi called, “are you there?”

Shouta sighed at that and stepped towards the shield.

“Who else would be here sounding just like me?”

“So mean!”

“Anyway,” said Shouta, shooting you a knowing look, “I’ve got a present for you.”

“A present? For me! Really?”

Hizashi sounded genuinely excited, which only made your moment of realisation even worse.

Surely he wouldn’t?

Surely not.

Shouta pulled the curtain back, though, and activated his quirk. You didn’t see what happened next, but Hizashi’s screams were enough for you to make an educated guess.

“What are you doing?! Get that thing away from me!”

“It’s irrational for you to be scared. Look, it’s far more afraid of you.”

Even without the use of his quirk, Hizashi’s screams were loud. You weren’t entirely sure what Shouta did next, only that a half naked Hizashi threw himself through the curtain to escape. He was in too much of a panic to pay attention to his surroundings and crashed into the first thing to block his path, which unfortunately happened to be you. The pair of you collapsed to the floor, you landing flat on your back against the tiles, Hizashi face first on top of you, one hand either side of your head.

“O-w,” you muttered, having hit your elbow and the back of your head on the way down.

Hizashi winced, looking down to see what it was that had tripped him and blushing a furious shade of scarlet when he saw it was you.

Naturally, that was the precise moment Nemuri walked inside, mopping her brow on her sleeve.

“Well, well,” she said, closing the door behind her. “And they call me the R-Rated Hero.”

Only then did you realise the suggestiveness of your position, both you and Hizashi frantically untangling yourselves and getting back up onto your feet.

“H-h-h-how was the exam?”

“Yeah,” said Shouta, stepping out from behind the curtain, spider still in his hand. “What happened with Mineta and Sero?”

“Oh that,” said Nemuri, grinning and folding her arms. “I lost.”

At that, the room fell silent, all of you trying and failing to digest her words. All of you had crossed paths with Sero and Mineta at one point or another and, while Sero was certainly a capable hero, it was common knowledge that Mineta had a weakness for women.

In the end, Hizashi was the one to break the silence.

“You’re shitting us, right?”

“No joke,” said Nemuri, looking incredibly happy about it. “I lost.”

“Give me a play by play,” said Shouta, setting the spider down on a nearby shelf. “I want to know what happened.”

“You could have just watched, you know,” said Nemuri, before smirking and glancing at you and Hizashi. “Unless you found something more interesting.”

Your stomach churned at the implication, even though you knew for a fact that it had all been completely innocent.

“It wasn’t like that,” said Shouta. “So are you going to tell me or do I have to go and watch the tapes?”

At that, Nemuri sighed and described the exam, how Sero had passed out only a matter of minutes in, leaving Mineta to fend for himself. You barely paid attention, mind wandering.

Nemuri didn’t know you’d slept with both Shouta and Hizashi. She’d been making a joke and nothing more. Even so, you couldn’t help but imagine what it might be like if those experiences overlapped: Hizashi burying himself inside of you while Shouta pushed a vibrator against your clit; Shouta fucking you under a blacklight while Hizashi stole the moans from your lips.

You didn’t realise how obscene your thoughts had gotten nor how much you had stopped paying attention until Nemuri clapped a hand to your forehead.

“You okay, (Name)? You’re really warm.”

“I’m fine!” you squeaked, knowing you probably didn’t sound at all convincing. “Actually...I was just thinking...once exams are over, I want to treat everyone to dinner!”

You had taken Akira’s ring to the jewellery store a couple of days earlier, eyes still popping from your head at the number of digits. You spent most of the night wondering what on earth you would do with it. Your bills were cheap, you had a good salary. You didn’t need that sort of money.

In the end, you split the money in half, keeping some for yourself and donating the rest to a number of charities. You had already arranged to go to a cocktail bar with your girlfriends, but wanted to treat your work friends too. They had, after all, come to your rescue in a number of ways.

“You don’t have to do that,” said Hizashi, “we can just go out to dinner anyway!”

“I know, I know...it’s just,” you shrugged, “I sold the engagement ring and well...it only seems fair.”

Shouta glanced from you to Nemuri to Hizashi, scratching the back of his neck. He clearly had questions, but didn’t ask any of them.

“What about sushi? A new place opened up on Pink Street and I’ve been wanting to try it,” you said.

“Oooh, I’ve heard so much about that restaurant,” said Nemuri. “Their rolls melt in your mouth...”

“I haven’t been for sushi in so long,” sighed Hizashi.

“I guess that settles it,” you said, turning to Shouta. “How about you?”

“I’ll pass,” he said, “places like that are too fancy for me.”

“Aw, c’mon Eraser,” said Hizashi. “It’s the end of term, enjoy yourself.”

“They have fancy tuna,” you said. “Even if you don’t stay, you can take some home for Sushi.”

He paused to consider it, glancing from Nemuri to Hizashi and finally you, colour rising in his cheeks at your hopeful smile.

“Fine,” he said, “but I’m not staying long.”

~~~~

That night, for the first time since his recovery, Shouta stayed home instead of patrolling the streets. He had downloaded copies of the matches onto his laptop and made himself comfy on the couch to watch them, making mental notes of every move and decision.

He wanted to go over the strengths and weaknesses of his students ahead of the upcoming training camp and autumn term, though his mind wandered. He kept coming back to the moment Hizashi had fallen through the curtain and landed on you.

He had had suspicions that something had happened between the pair of you ever since the night of the Hosu incident. You had both arrived at the same time, which didn’t make a lot of sense given where you lived. You would catch different trains and arrive at different stations. Perhaps the most incriminating detail of all was the scent that lingered about you both; the same tangerine and orange blossom scent that he remembered from Hizashi’s visits during his recovery. Shouta’s own simple bath products had offended him on a personal level and he brought several bottles from his own collection on subsequent nights.

Shouta remembered turning his nose up at the perfumey scent and layers of bubbles, neither of which belonged in his otherwise simple home. That said, when Hizashi left one of the bottles behind, he didn’t give it back, often reaching for it and inhaling the sweet scent. It was the scent he caught on Hizashi whenever he got close enough, and he didn’t know what to think when he smelled it on both of you.

It wasn’t completely out of the realms of possibility that it was a coincidence, that both of you happened to have used the same product on the same night and bumped into one another outside of the school, but he knew it was unlikely. The simplest explanation was usually the right one, even if he didn’t necessarily want to accept it.

He didn’t know why it bothered him so much. He had told you to pursue Hizashi; he didn’t have the right to feel betrayed when you did. Even so, something had stirred within him when you and Hizashi arrived together, something he had managed to seal away until Hizashi fell through the curtain. He couldn’t stop thinking about it now; thinking about the pair of you in far less innocent circumstances.

His stomach churned whenever he thought about your naked bodies; about the pair of you sharing kisses and secrets. He hated it and he didn’t know why. Hizashi would be the perfect boyfriend and you the perfect wife. It made sense for the pair of you to get together. Hizashi was into marriage and holding hands in public; you had books on the meaning of flowers and pancake moulds shaped like bunnies. He didn’t belong in either scenario any more than he had belonged in the group hug you, Nemuri and Hizashi shared.

He groaned and scratched his hair, turning over onto his side and reloading the video he had been watching. He didn’t want to think about this anymore. It was giving him a headache.

He stared at the screen, watching as Kaminari and Mina sprinted through empty streets, Nezu not far behind. He made it only about five minutes before his eyelids began to droop. He was still getting used to the limits of his quirk and had a feeling he’d overused it in his match against Yaoyorozu and Todoroki.

Shouta stretched back, resting an arm on the arm of the couch and laying his head down on the crook of his elbow.

He’d rest his eyes for a moment and just listen.

He listened out for the racket of crumbling buildings, drifting to sleep before he could stop himself.

When he opened his eyes, he was in someone else’s bedroom, sunlight shining through the windows and bathing his skin in golden light. He was flat on his back and on top of the bedcovers, head resting on sweet smelling pillows.

He realised he was naked and that he wasn’t alone.

Giggles broke out from further down the bed and he looked down, peering through his spread legs and into two smiling faces. You and Hizashi were laid on your front and as naked as he was, laughing at the lurid blush that had broken out across his face.

“Go on...get on with it,” he said, eying his own hard cock.

You turned to Hizashi with a smile.

“Should we?”

“I don’t know,” said Hizashi, “he’s been such a grump lately.”

“All the more reason to cheer him up!”

“Oh, just as expected of you, (Name),” said Hizashi, kissing you on the lips, “so considerate!”

Shouta groaned, watching as he kissed you again with more than a hint of tongue. The wet sound your lips made whenever you broke contact was almost too much for him to bear. You stole glances at him as you ended the kiss, knowing the effect you were having on him.

He gasped as the pair of you ran your tongues over his cock, taking turns at the tip. It was overwhelming and he bucked his hips into your touches, not sure which detail to focus on first. Should he listen to the popping sounds whenever one of you sucked his tip? Should he sigh in pleasure at the gentle way the pair of you ran your hands over the inside of his thighs? Should he choke in desperation at the feel of your combined saliva dribbling down his cock?

This was too much.

Hizashi took hold of his dick and pumped it so quickly that he could do nothing else but grip the bedsheets and shake, watching as the pair of you kissed again. You leaned over to spit on the tip of his cock and Hizashi jerked him faster, the wet sound shaking him to his core.

“I think he’s close,” you said, watching as Shouta arched his back, gripping the bed with both hands. “Should we let him?”

“I’m not sure,” said Hizashi in a tone of mock severity. “I don’t think he’s ready yet.”

You both looked at him, taking in his half sitting position and rasping breaths.

“Fffuck,” he hissed, holding himself taught, “both of you.”

You both laughed at that and Hizashi let go of his dick, making way for you to take it into your mouth, bobbing your head as you took more and more of it in. Hizashi stroked his fingers through your hair and cooed at how cute you were, Shouta squeezing his eyes shut and gasping for air. He was close to the point of no return and the vibrations against his dick as you moaned didn’t help.

He couldn’t breathe; his breaths were short and sharp, his heart raced and his dick almost unbearably tight. You pulled away just in time for him to whine and flop back against the bed, cumming all over his--

He woke up, bleary eyed and sweaty, taking in the dark room and abandoned laptop, the hard couch under him.

“Shit,” he said, reaching for the waistband of his boxers and grimacing at the knowledge that he hadn’t dreamt the part where he came everywhere.

He got to his feet and waddled to the bathroom, cursing both at the mess and twitching of his cock. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a wet dream. Had it been high school? Whatever the case, he felt dirty.

He kicked off his boxers and climbed into the bathtub, trying and failing to distract himself from the waves of pleasure still rushing through his body.

He turned on the cold tap, both to bring himself back to earth and wash away the evidence. He rarely remembered his dreams, but this one wouldn’t leave him.

“Shit,” he said, rubbing his temples and willing away the mental image of you and Hizashi trailing your tongues over his dick. “Shiiiiiit.”

He sank down into the bath and sucked in a deep breath as the cold water touched his skin. He closed his eyes, orgasm fading and lucidity setting in. For the first time in weeks, he felt clear headed.

He scowled, no longer focusing on Hizashi falling on top of you, but the part that came soon after and bothered him just as much.

Engagement ring?

~~~~

“I don’t believe you.”

Nemuri sat back to sip her beer, looking across the crowded restaurant.

“I’m telling you,” said Hizashi, “she’s the one!”

With the end of term came the promised sushi dinner; you, Nemuri, Hizashi and a reluctant Shouta all at one table.

Only after you and Shouta got up for another round of drinks did Hizashi drop the bombshell he had been sitting on for weeks: that you were the woman from Ego . To say Nemuri was skeptical was an understatement.

“(Name)? That (Name)?”

She pointed across the room and towards the bar, where you and Shouta were ordering drinks.

“She had the dress , Nemuri!”

Nemuri held her beer to her chest, watching as you ordered your drink and bowed several times to the bartender.

“Let’s assume I believe you,” she said, tilting the bottle towards him. “What were you doing in her bedroom in the first place?”

Hizashi hadn’t mentioned the fact that you’d slept together and he broke out in goosebumps at getting even remotely close to caught.

“I-I walked her home and my hair tie broke. Nothing happened!”

It wasn’t a lie. That really was why he’d been in your room. Nemuri had known him for long enough, though, to pick up when he wasn’t telling the whole truth.

“You slept with her, didn’t you?”

“I,” Hizashi realised he’d raised his voice and leaned across the table to speak in hushed tones. “No, why would you think that?”

“You’re a terrible liar. Besides, she told me you did.”

“She what ?”

Hizashi clapped both hands over his mouth, not meaning to shriek as loud as he did. Nemuri flinched at the sudden loud noise, rubbing a finger over her ear.

“She...she really told you?”

He remembered his own words that night, his promise not to say anything unless you did. He hadn’t expected you to say anything, much less so quickly, and for a second he wondered if he had you all wrong, only to notice Nemuri’s shit eating grin.

“She didn’t tell me anything,” she said, taking a satisfied sip of beer. “You just now, though? You told me everything .”

“Nemuri, promise me you won’t say anything about this! I didn’t mean to, I just...it just happened.”

“What, did you trip and land dick first?”

“No!” Hizashi buried his face in his hands. “No, it wasn’t like that. I only meant to cheer her up a little, but there she was...all beautiful and sad and sweet and lonely...like a love song.”

Nemuri didn’t say a word and he lifted his head, watching the way she stroked her finger through the condensation on her beer bottle.

“Hizashi,” she said, “I don’t know how we got here, but somehow you’re the Shinohara.”

Hizashi buried his face in his hands again, remembering Shinohara’s lurid blushes and trembling hands.

“I don’t want to be the Shinohara,” he wailed into his hands. “I don’t want any of this!”

Nemuri reached out to pat his head, beer forgotten and all of the mirth gone from her face. She remembered a different time and a different trio: a different story of unrequited love.

She wondered what Shirakumo would have said about all of this.

Knowing him, he’d find a way to fall in love with you as well.

“Listen,” she said, patting his head, “let’s assume (Name) really is the girl from Ego .”

“But she-”

“Let’s assume she is.”

“But she is the-eeek!”

Nemuri had picked up her beer and rested it on his head, sending a surge of cold through his scalp.

“Listen to me,” she said. “You don’t have to feel guilty about pursuing either of them.”

Hizashi didn’t miss her wording. They could be his. He didn’t need to feel guilty about pursuing either of them. He had never mentioned having any kind of feelings for Shouta to her. He’d never mentioned them to anyone.

“How long have you known?”

Had he really been that obvious?

“I asked you a while ago if you remembered Shinohara,” said Nemuri.

“You did...and I do!”

“No,” she sighed. “No, you don’t.”

She lifted the bottle from his head to take a sip, remembering the way she, Hizashi and Shirakumo had crouched against the wall in the neighbouring classroom to eavesdrop; the way Shirakumo had reached into her lap without looking to help himself to the chips she’d brought. She remembered the tension in everyone’s bodies as Aizawa began to speak.

Neither Hizashi nor Shirakumo had ever looked so relieved as the moment he turned her down.

“Hizashi,” she said. “Do you want to date one of them, or do you want them to date each other? Which one is it?”

He stayed silent, knowing that the true answer was neither of those things. He wanted both of them in every way it was possible to want anyone. He wanted to be greedy, wanted to be selfish, wanted to forget how it felt to be lonely.

“I want to do the right thing.”

Nemuri sighed and scratched her chin.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It...I…” Hizashi rested his head on the table. “It doesn’t matter what I want. I just want them to be happy.”

“In that case, I know what we have to do next,” she said. “1-A are going to summer camp next week and I was supposed to be chaperoning the girls. I could...hypothetically...be unable to go.”

Hizashi looked up at her and nodded, as visibly sad as a wilting sunflower.

“I guess that’s the plan, then,” she said. “Now don’t forget to smile!”

He didn’t get the chance to ask why, for you and Shouta returned with drinks at that very moment and the transformation was instantaneous.

“Heyyyy, what took you guys so long,” he cried out, practically bouncing back up with an enormous grin plastered across his face, “we thought you got lost!”

“Not quite,” you said, with a giggle. “I couldn’t decide what drink to get.”

“Ahhh, indecision,” said Nemuri, with a knowing smile. “Sounds familiar.”

You sat back down at the table, Shouta not far behind.

“So,” you said, “what were you guys talking about?”

~~~~~

FIVE MINUTES EARLIER

From the moment you stepped inside of the sushi bar, Shouta had made it quite clear he didn’t intend to stay. Even so, you had been there for well over an hour and, while he had poked and prodded at his food and stayed quiet, he hadn’t made any attempt to leave. He had even offered to help you carry the next round of drinks and you were finding it difficult to hide your joy.

He didn’t say much even then, but you didn’t mind it, losing yourself in the numerous options on the cocktail menu.

When he did speak, it took you by surprise.

“Back then. What did you mean?”

You recalled the last conversation you had had at the table, about what you planned to get up to now that your schedule was all but clear. You had mentioned going to Yamanashi to pick peaches and wondered what part of that might have confused him.

“The...the fruit farm?”

“No,” he sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Do you like peaches?”

“I told you, it doesn’t matter.”

“Okay,” you said, wondering what it was he meant to ask you, not noticing the way his eyeline skirted across your bare ring finger.

The pair of you fell into silence again, watching as the bartender put together your drinks.

“I do,” said Shouta at last.

“Hmm?”

“Peaches. I like them.”

“Oh! In that case I’ll bring back a souvenir!”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“But I want to!”

Shouta sighed and rubbed his temples and you wondered if you’d said the wrong thing.

You wondered what it was he had meant to ask you and clasped your hands together.

“Shouta.”

“Yes?”

You took a deep breath, the question dying on your lips.

“What about cherries?”

~~~~~

A/N: RIP EVERYONE READING THIS FOR THE FIRST TIME. THE NEXT CHAPTER IS A DOOZY

[floorbe]

Rock Lee x Reader “Thorns of a Lotus”

Warning(s): Hanahaki Disease, angst, fluff (at the end), angst with a happy ending, cursing

Summary: Okay, yeah, you have a crush on Rock Lee. But he likes Sakura, so you ignore it. What’s the worst that could happen?

Pairing(s): romantic Rock Lee x Reader

Word count: 5,739

~

It all starts with you feeling congested. It’s not obvious, really, like how nobody pays attention to a slightly stuffed nose. And it doesn’t bother you at first, so you don’t mind it. Except now it’s been weeks and you’ve slowly gotten more congested. You didn’t notice it at first, it had been moving so slowly that it just felt normal, until someone points out how much you’ve been clearing your throat lately. It makes you stop for a moment, but you just convince yourself you’re coming down with a cold. You don’t start to worry until today.

You wake up congested, as you always seem to be lately. You stretch and get out of bed, starting your daily routine. While eating your breakfast, you clear your throat softly and ponder what to do for the day. After contemplating between being lazy or actually training, (being lazy sounded so nice right now... but what would your Sensei think if you lazed around?) you begrudgingly decide to go to the training grounds. You don’t have any missions today, so you figure you’ll get a head start on some training methods you’d recently picked up. 

When you get there, you find Rock Lee. You aren’t surprised, it seemed like Lee was always training, even when he wasn’t at the training grounds. You almost turn around to find a different spot, you don’t want to bother him, but he notices you. He energetically greets you, waving you over, inviting you to join him in his training. You ignore the way your heart jumps, and you clear your throat before walking over to join him, smiling widely. Had you gotten more congested, or was that just you?

“Good morning Y/N! How are you on this beautiful morning?” Lee beams at you, placing his hands on his hips.

“I’m good, Lee! How are you?” You hold back from clearing your throat again, rolling your shoulders back. 

“I am well, thank you for asking!” Lee swings one of his arms in front of him, stretching it out. “Would you like to spar with me?” You nod, raising your arms above your head to stretch before starting. You spend a couple of minutes stretching and warming up before Lee springs up, hopping between feet and asking if you’re ready to start.

“I’m ready! Let’s go!” You exclaim, and almost immediately Lee lunges towards you, leg flying up to kick you in the jaw. You let out a shriek of surprise, throwing your body into a back bend in order to avoid him. You quickly flip over, dragging your feet to flip yourself around before launching yourself at Lee’s still airborne body. He grunts as your fist hits his side, swiveling to jab at you. You duck your head to avoid his fist, jumping away from him. Lee lands easily on his feet, turning to face you with his hand raised. You move into an offensive stance, eyes flickering around him, ready to attack if necessary. 

Your sparring match continues on for a couple of minutes, mostly composed of Lee trying to kick you and you just barely moving out of the way. You’ve landed enough hits on him to see him falter, and him you. You raise your wrist to wipe away the blood oozing from your nose, panting heavily. Lee suddenly sprints towards you, and you can see him begin to form a lunge to spring himself upwards. Preparing yourself for possibly his hurricane attack, he surprises you by suddenly ducking and lunging towards you, punching you straight in the chest. 

The air in your lungs leaves you as you’re hurtled backwards, and in a vain attempt to stabilize yourself your hand shoots out to grab Lee’s wrist, pulling him down with you. You land on your back with a thud, releasing Lee’s wrist and groaning quietly at the spikes of pain throughout your body. You hear Lee let out a small shout and open your eyes just as his hands slam on the ground on either side of your head. Lee’s face stops inches from your own. Your eyes widen as you realize that you’d just forced Lee into pinning you to the ground. Lee is pinning you to the ground. Lee is- wow, okay. It’s suddenly very hard to breathe.

Your face feels like it’s on fire as you stare up into Lee’s eyes, both of you breathing heavily. It feels like minutes go by as Lee stares at you in surprise, eyebrows furrowing slightly as his eyes flick around your face. If you had any coherent thoughts right now, they would be: 1. Lee is pinning you to the ground. 2. Geez, how long has it been since you’ve both been here? It feels like it’s been a long time. 3. Why does Lee look so confused? 4. Man, you’re so flustered it feels like you can’t breathe. Like it actually feels like you can’t b-

Your hand suddenly flies up to cover your mouth as you let loose a spurt of harsh coughs. Lee seems to finally snap out of his thoughts, realizing fully the situation you’re both in. He springs off of you, kneeling next to you as you cough violently into your hand. God, what is in your throat? It feels like something is stuck in there. 

“Are you okay?! Oh my gosh, I am so sorry! I hit you too hard! Please, forgive me!” Lee cries, arms flailing wildly as he tries to think of a way to help you. He settles on rubbing your back as you sit up, shaking you head at him to try and dismiss his apologies. Unfortunately, his hand rubbing your back only sets loose more coughs, and he retracts his hand, biting his lip in fear. 

Your coughs slowly die down, leaving you breathing heavily with the distinct feeling of something in your throat. You clear your throat, trying to dislodge whatever is making you so uncomfortable, but it doesn’t seem to help. Your breathing finally evens, and Lee cautiously moves to sit next to you, “Are you alright?” 

You turn to look at him, giving him a small smile, voice coming out a little hoarse, “Yeah. I’ve been congested lately, so maybe you hitting my chest just set it off or something.” 

Lee furrows his brows once again, “I am not sure, Y/N. Those coughs sounded very painful. I do not think my punch was strong enough to provoke that.” You shakily stand, Lee’s hands hovering near you to catch you if you fall. 

You shrug your shoulders, “It’s probably nothing, Lee. A combination between a cold I’m developing and the sparring.” Lee doesn’t look convinced, but before he can say anything else you cut him off. “I think I’m gonna head back for a little bit of rest, actually. I’m still a little shaky.” 

Lee nods, approving of your choice, “I will walk you back to insure you make it home safely!” 

-

“I think you should see a medical ninja for a check up, at least,” Lee insists, “if it turns out to be something severe, you could be bedridden for months!” You nearly groan. Lee has been pestering you about seeking help the entire walk back. As annoyed as you are, it makes your heart flutter how concerned he seems to be about you. Your hand moves to rub your throat as you clear it again. 

“Really, Lee. I think I just need some water, then I’ll be-” you’re cut off when Lee suddenly snaps his head forward, a pink blush hinting at his cheeks. You look at him confusedly, and follow his gaze to see Sakura. Of course. Where Lee had just been concerned over you, you suddenly cease to exist when Sakura is around. Just like always.

Lee rushes over to Sakura as you stifle another cough. “Sakura! You look positively radiant today!” Lee compliments her. Great. Now you have to listen to him ask her out in his “youthful metaphors” and try to ignore how your heart stings. Just like you always do. 

“Oh, thank you, Lee!” Sakura thanks him, smiling. Lee’s blush darkens, spouting out more compliments to her. A pit forms in your stomach as you listen to him babble praises to her. Your chest constricts with a sudden suppressed cough, and you breathe in deeply trying to hold it in, but it only causes it to harshly force itself from you. Your hand covers your mouth as you feel whatever was in your throat finally come out. You pull your hand away to find... a flower petal? What the hell? 

“Y/N, are you okay?” You hear Sakura ask you, and you quickly crush the petal in your fist, moving it down to your side, turning to them with a smile. You really don’t want to talk to them for much longer, and showing them this petal will only force you to converse with them and painfully endure more of Lee’s blatant pining. (You wish he would pine over you like that, you think, but immediately banish the thought.)

“Yeah,” you say hoarsely, clearing your throat before continuing, “I’m just a bit congested.”

“Ah! Actually, Sakura, you are a medical ninja! Y/N, you sh-”

“It’s fine, Lee,” you cut him off, smile becoming more forced, “Just a cough.” You take a deep breath, holding back another cough, “I’m actually going to head home now, I’ll see you guys later.” You turn and walk away, not waiting for their response. Once you’re far enough away from them, you cautiously open up your hand again. Why the hell did you cough up a flower petal? Maybe you swallowed one during training? You sigh, shaking your head with a small cough before shoving the petal in your pocket and continuing home.

-

Okay, maybe this isn’t just a cough. It’s been a few weeks since the first petal incident. You’d convinced yourself that you had just accidentally swallowed a petal somehow, I mean, what else could it have been? But your coughs only grew worse as days went on. You started coughing up more flower petals. It started getting harder to breathe, too, and your strength was slowly draining from you. While weeks ago you were able to stay active most of the day, you could barely take a twenty minutes of training before needing to rest. 

Your friends were getting concerned. You had stopped showing up to most hang outs with them, and when you did you either left soon or looked sick the whole time. You couldn’t train with them without needing to stop soon after. The most concerned, you think, is Lee, who’s seen your coughing fits first hand the most. You’ve realized that they seem to trigger whenever Lee is around. You doubt it’s Lee himself, you have no clue what type of illness would cause you to get sick around one specific person (unless you’re allergic to Lee?). Plus, he’s been hanging around you a lot more lately, now that you think of it. It’s likely just coincidence; obviously if he’s hanging out with you the most he’ll see them the most.

He continuously pesters you about going to see a medical ninja, get a check up, anything, please, he will even come with you if you’re scared, and you know you should at this point. It’s only getting worse, and you assume it’s only going to get worse as time goes on. While you’ve managed to keep the petals a secret from everyone by coughing into tissues or into your hand, there’s only so much you can hide. If you keep coughing up more and more (the amount seems to be increasing, which is really scaring you) eventually you won’t be able to hide it, no matter how many tissues you have with you. 

The final crack in your decision to go to the hospital is when you’re sitting at home, and suddenly you can’t breathe, more than usual. You choke, pounding on your chest to try and force the petals blocking your airway. You manage to dislodge them rather easily, thankfully, and cough up nine (yes, nine) bloody petals. You freak out, the petals have never been bloody before, and you’ve never coughed up so many. You struggle to stand up, stumbling to the door, still panting lightly. You quickly make your way to the hospital, ignoring the worried looks from the people around you. 

In a stroke of luck, the only friend you run into on the way is Hinata, who gladly helps you to the hospital after seeing how panicked you look. As you walk in and Hinata quietly explains that she thinks you need help right away, (you tried to tell them but ended up coughing again. You try and thank Hinata with your eyes, and she seems to get it, because she smiles at you) and the nurse quickly ushers you to a nearby room. Hinata seems to read your mind again, as she promises not to tell anyone about this, but asks softly to please tell everyone if it’s a huge problem. You don’t get to respond as you’re pushed further down the hallway, her face vanishing from view as you enter the hospital room and are helped onto the bed. 

A doctor comes in rather quickly, asking you what the problem is. You go to answer her but end up hacking, clutching your chest as a few bloody petals flutter onto the bedsheets. You hear the doctor gasp, rushing over to inspect the petals. “What-? Did you accidentally swallow a flower?” You shake your head, explaining how you’ve been coughing these up for weeks, now. You’re sure you haven’t swallowed any flowers. She picks up the petals and places them in a bag, placing them on the table before grabbing her stethoscope to hear your breathing.

“It sounds like something is blocking your airway,” she murmurs, moving the cold metal along your chest, “Are there still more petals in there?” She seems to be asking herself more than you. “I’ve never seen something like this before... Excuse me for a moment, I’m going to go get a second opinion.” She leaves the room and you’re left sitting there in silence. She had never seen this before. What is this? Are you going to die? As you’re starting to panic, the doctor comes back with another doctor. 

The new doctor comes over to inspect you, looking at the plastic bag on the table. She, too, feels around your chest and makes the same comments. “I’ve- I’ve never even heard of something like this!” And off they go, to find yet another doctor. And then he comes in, and rinse repeat, off to find another doctor. Your panic is slowly rising with each new doctor and nurse that enters the room, each one just as bewildered as the last. Has no one really ever heard of something like this? Are you the first one? Oh, God, are they going to name this disease after you?! 

“Maybe we should get Lady Hokage,” one finally suggests, “if anyone in the village knows what this is, it would be her.” They all murmur in agreement, and one rushes off to go find her. You sigh as they all slowly file out of the room, giving you sympathetic smiles in hopes of comforting you in some way. You’re, again, left alone in this cold hospital room with nothing but your thoughts. A lone petal flutters out of your mouth, and you nearly start crying. You hadn’t even felt that one come up, that’s how normal this had become to you. How much longer were you going to have to go through this? Are you going to suffocate because of these stupid little-

“Y/N,” Tsunade calls out, entering the room, “How are you feeling?”

“Not good,” you mumble, unshed tears still in your eyes. One drips down your face as Tsunade holds up the bag with the collected pieces, murmuring to herself, “These look like lotus petals...” Her eyes widen slightly, moving towards you to feel your chest with her hands. “It feels like there are flowers all throughout your lungs...” 

“C-can you get them out?” you ask shakily.

“If you have what I think you have, then yes. There are two ways you can get these flowers out,” Tsunade says, leaning back and crossing her arms. “First, let me explain what I think.” 

“O-okay.” 

“What you have is called Hanahaki Disease. It’s written in old medical ninja practice books, but since there’s been no cases within the last few hundred years, it was written off as a myth. It’s the only disease I’ve ever heard of that involves flowers in this way.” 

“W-what does that mean? I grow flowers in my lungs?”

“Yes, the patient grows flowers in their lungs in response to unrequited romantic feelings.”

Unrequited romantic feelings? A picture of Lee flashes in your mind and you frown.

“It starts with a few petals, but slowly grows more and suffocates the patient more over the course of months, sometimes years. Eventually the patient is coughing up full flowers, and if not treated, it’s fatal.”

Your heart jumps at the word fatal. 

“The flowers often relate to the patients love interest in some way, causing the disease to kill the patient quicker if the flowers have dangerous elements, such as thorns. Lucky for you, you seem to be coughing up lotuses, which don’t have anything.”

The lotus of Konoha blooms twice! Of course. What a sick irony. Lee, one of the people you couldn’t imagine ever intentionally hurting you, is now indirectly killing you. With the thought of Lee, you start up coughing once again, and suddenly the reason why you seemed to have fits around him the most is clear. Obviously being around Lee would make it worse.

Tsunade rubs your back soothingly as your hacking dies down, “H-how do I get rid of them?” 

“Well, you confess to whoever your unrequited feelings are for-” okay, that seems painful but bearable in the long run, “-and if they return the feelings, the flowers will disappear.” You take a moment, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath as tears fill your eyes again. Of course. It was never easy, was it? Tsunade rubs your back again as sobs shake your form. Lee likes Sakura, not you, and that’s pretty damn clear from every single interaction they’ve had compared to how Lee acts when he’s talking to you. 

“Hey, hold on. There’s a second option,” she reminds you, and you wipe your tears away as you turn to look at her hopefully. “The second option is a surgery, I would have to open up your lungs and remove the flowers directly. The only permanent consequence of this option is losing feelings for whoever the cause of the disease is forever, and possibly problems with your lungs.” So you’d lose feelings for Lee forever? A pang of sorrow shoots through you, but you shove it down. Losing feelings for Lee is better than death, you harshly remind yourself. You could handle that, and you could handle lung problems if it meant living. 

“I-I’ll do the surgery.” 

“Are you sure? You don’t want to try confessing before-?”

“I already know they don’t feel the same.” Tsunade pauses, blinking in surprise before a solemn look crosses her face. She nods.

“I understand. It’ll take me at least a day to research the disease again to safely perform the procedure with the least physical repercussions; since I thought it was a myth, I didn’t look much into it...” You nod. “Are you able to stand? Since you’re not coughing up full flowers yet, you should be okay to go home, however...” 

You somewhat shakily stand taking a moment to regain your balance. “I’ll be fine going home. I can still walk, and I’m alright when they aren’t around. As long as I avoid them until you’re ready I should be fine.” 

Tsunade nods warily, “Alright. But if you start throwing up full flowers, come to me immediately. We’ll need to start the procedure as soon as possible.” You nod and make your way out of the hospital room. 

Just as you’re exiting the hospital, you run into Naruto. “Huh? Y/N? What are you doing coming out of the hospital?” he asks, rubbing the back of his head. “Did you finally take our advice and get a check up?” When you nod, Naruto’s face turns more serious, “Is it anything bad?” You hesitate, considering telling him. It would be nice to talk to someone... but if you told him chances are he’d tell everyone else. You decide against it. You’re going to get surgery to fix it soon, anyways, so there’s no need to worry anyone. 

“No, nothing bad. Just a really bad cold,” you weakly chuckle, and his face lights up. “What are you doing here, anyway, Naruto?” 

“Oh, I’m looking for Grandma Tsunade. Shizune told me she would be here,” he shrugs. “I’m glad it’s nothing bad, Y/N! Everyone will be relieved to hear it, y’know!” You smile and nod, bidding him goodbye as you continue your walk home. 

You try to avoid any routes you know your friends are likely to be on, you don’t want to risk running into Lee, even if the chances are low. He’s usually training right now. You clear your throat softly and turn your thoughts away from him. You instead enjoy the bustling scenery of the village, laughing quietly at the kids around you playing ninja. It takes a bit longer than usual, but you finally reach your home. 

Unlocking the door, you quickly enter and shut it, sighing. You’re exhausted. When aren’t you exhausted anymore? You trudge to your bedroom, flopping onto your suddenly overly comfortable bed and drifting off almost immediately.

-

Someone is knocking on your door. No, someone is pounding on your door. You groan, rubbing your eyes as you try to roll out of bed. How long were you out? It’s still bright out, so maybe a couple of hours? You grumble as you make your way to the living room, “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!” You have no idea who would be knocking on your door. It’s rare anyone ever comes to your home without you expecting them. Yawning, you swing open the door to see... Lee. Fuck. 

“Ah! Hello, Y/N!” You cough. “I apologize for showing up unannounced, however Naruto has told me the good news!” Good news... you don’t remember any good news. Your mind can’t keep up, and it’s not helping that your throat is slowly constricting. He must see the confusion on your face, because he explains, “Your illness is nothing but a bad cold! I am relieved. I was very worried about you!” A few more coughs force their way out. You struggle to keep your eyes on him, and he must take your obviously weakened look as nothing but a part of the supposed cold.

“Once I heard it was nothing but a cold, I-” he pauses, bringing out a thermos from behind his back that you hadn’t noticed he was hiding before. He holds it out to you, a distinct blush forming on his cheeks, “I made soup for you!” Wow. That’s... that’s adorable. The blush on his cheeks (he had never blushed around you before, not without Sakura there), coupled with the fact that he went out of his way to make you soup... your heart flutters. 

Unfortunately, Lee had unknowingly triggered the final stage of your ailment by doing this. You suddenly start violently hacking, collapsing onto your knees. The petals you were holding in your mouth before fall onto the ground. Lee frantically kneels beside you, talking about something you can’t understand. Everything is suddenly blurry, and he sounds distant. You feel like you’re coughing up something huge, something so huge that it’s blocking your airway completely. You can’t breathe at all, desperately pounding on your chest. You’re heaving, tears falling from your eyes as your throat stretches painfully. 

Then, Lee puts his hand on your back to try and soothe your violent heaving, and it causes the most forceful cough you’ve ever had. Whatever is in your throat inches its way into your mouth, allowing you only small amounts of air. You cry harder as your throat is rubbed raw from how painful it is. With one last heave, the object falls onto the floor beneath you. Dripping with blood is a fully bloomed lotus. 

Lee is still talking, the the tone of his voice is noticeably panicked, but you still can’t quite make out his words. “Hospital,” you croak before slumping forward, passing out. 

-

Your throat and chest have never been in more pain. You open your eyes only to immediately shut them, the bright light too much of a contrast to adjust to quickly. You blink a few more times before you begin to make out what’s around you. You’re back in a hospital room. Looking out the window, it’s still light outside. How long had you been out this time? It doesn’t seem like much time has passed. 

Hearing approaching footsteps, you turn to the door to see Lee entering with a cup of what you assume is water. He’s looking at the cup, eyebrows furrowed, and he only looks at you after he’s turned back around from closing the door. Meeting your gaze, he gasps and nearly drops the cup rushing over to you. He places the cup down on the desk beside you, gently grasping your shoulder in relief, “Y/N! You are awake! How are you-”

You interrupt him by coughing yet again, yanking your shoulder away from him harshly. His face contorts into a hurt expression, and guilt fills you. Coughing harder, you turn away. Lee’s gaze turns solemn, but there’s something else in his expression you can’t pick out. “Lady Hokage told me about your condition. And your decision,” he says quietly, handing you the cup of, you were right, water. You take a sip as he tries to find the right words, “Why... Why did you not try confess to your loved one? There is a chance this could have been avoided.” 

“I know they don’t feel that way about me,” you shrug numbly, suppressing a cough, “So it wouldn’t really matter.” 

“But how do you know?” Lee asks, a hint of anger in his voice, “Forgive me, I do not understand. If they do feel the same, you would not be suffering in this hospital room right now! To not even try to save yourself before resorting to a more severe method that could leave physical repercussions is-!” His voice had been slowly gaining volume, tears glossing over his eyes as he became more passionate. 

“They like someone else,” you cut him off, pausing to cough again. “They’ve always had feelings for someone else and they’ve made that quite clear.” 

“But you did not try! There would be no harm in trying, even if they do like someone else!” Lee insists. He really didn’t get it, did he? 

“Lee, please, just drop it-”

“No! I am sorry, but I cannot drop this! I refuse to allow you to put yourself in a more dangerous position where there is a possible solution that is painless-”

“It’s you.” 

Lee cuts off abruptly. You stare down at your lap, clearing your throat softly. You place the cup back on the desk. If he was just going to keep pestering you, you’d rather get it over with. The reason you could go on with the surgery in the first place is because no one knew, no one would pester or judge you for choosing not to confess.

“W-what?” Lee whispers.

“You. It’s you,” you restate. Maybe they would’ve been right, after all, but you figured you could just spare yourself the humiliation. There were other options, so why do it when you knew it wasn’t going to work? It would just waste time you didn’t exactly have. Confessing to Lee could’ve also triggered the next stage in the ailment if he didn’t reciprocate. In your eyes, the surgery was safer in multiple ways. Or maybe that’s just what you’re telling yourself.

“Me? It is-” you look up at him to see something click in his head. “A lotus,” he realizes. You nod weakly. 

“See? It wouldn’t have mattered, you like Sakura. Everyone knows you-” you’re interrupted by Lee throwing himself at you, wrapping his arms around you tightly, laughing. You let out a noise of surprise, feeling a violent cough start to form.

“Y/N, you do not understand! I like you, too!” he pulls away, grinning at you with the darkest blush you’ve ever seen on him. You feel your throat clear a little. 

“Huh? But- Sakura?” 

Lee shakes his head happily. “It is true, I liked Sakura for a long time. However, I realized recently how strongly I feel about you! And how long I have unknowingly felt this way! That is-” he pauses, seemingly bashful, “That is why I brought you that soup. I was going to confess to you after you felt better, and soup would allow you to recover quickly!” 

You feel the weight in your chest lift almost instantly, a grin spreading across your face. You take a deep breath, feeling how light and empty you feel, tears welling in your eyes. You take one of his hands in yours, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. He gives you a flustered smile before remembering the situation, “The flowers! Y/N, are they-?” You nod, letting out a laugh. 

“They’re gone! Everything feels clear!” Lee pulls you in for another tight hug, laughing happily. There are tears falling down both of your faces as you clutch the other. Wiping his tears, Lee leans back from the hug, looking at you bashfully, averting his gaze as he opens his mouth and closes it again. You tilt your head in confusion, “Lee? What’s wrong?”

Lee taps his fingers together, stuttering, “W-would it be alright if I k-kissed you?” Your blush worsens, but you smile and cup his cheek with your hand. He shivers slightly and leans into your palm, looking at you hopefully. You nod, and he grins, letting out a small excited laugh (the cutest laugh you have ever heard from him, honestly). 

His hand comes up to shakily cup your cheek, leaning forward and closing his eyes. You meet him halfway, pressing your lips together and letting your free hand’s fingers run through his hair. Your lips move against each other, a little sloppily, but you couldn’t be happier. Lee tentatively places his hand on your hip, drawing you closer, to which you gladly oblige. His lips are soft against your own, and his hair is just a silky as it looks. You feel a swarm of affection fill you, making you smile into the kiss. Pulling away, you lean your forehead against his, grinning widely. He slowly opens his eyes, a dazed look on his face, and grins dopily at you. Your heart flutters, quickly pecking his lips and laughing as his chase after yours. 

Before he can connect your lips together again, someone clears their throat from the doorway. Lee nearly jumps away from you in surprise, turning to look at the doorway. It’s Tsunade, staring at you two with an amused look on her face and a raised eyebrow. “I’m guessing you don’t need the surgery anymore?” she asks, smiling as she starts to peel off her gloves. You shake your head, embarrassed, apologizing for troubling her. “It’s fine,” she reassures, “Better this than surgery.” Lee takes your hand in his as you agree, and you shoot him a smile, squeezing his hand. “You’re free to leave, with the disease gone you should be back at almost full strength, save for maybe a sore throat.”

You nod, thanking her again, making her wave her hand at you dismissively. As she exits, you swear you see her hand a smug Shizune something? You don’t have time to ponder on it, as you’re suddenly lifted into Lee’s arms, letting out a surprised shout. “I will take you home, my flower!” He seems to realize the connotations behind the nickname, “Er, perhaps not my flower... my sun! My star! My youth! My moon on a lightless street!” 

You laugh as he spins around with you in his arms excitedly. “I think flower is fine,” you smile, tucking your head into the crook of his neck, “It’ll overpower any bad connotations with flowers we have.” Lee tightens his grip on you, beginning to walk out the door. 

“My flower it is, then,” he says quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Your smile widens, nuzzling your nose into his neck and sighing. 

As he walks out of the hospital room, you you still in his arms, you realize something, “Hey, Lee?”

“Yes?”

“You said you recently found out you liked me, right? When did you realize?”

“O-oh, well,” Lee stutters a bit, shifting you around in his arms, “Do you remember a few weeks ago when we were training, and I knocked you down? You pulled me down with you and I ended up pinning you to the ground.”

Oh, geez, right. You could never forget that moment. “Oh, y-yeah, I remember that.” 

“Well, it was right then! My heart suddenly swelled, and I got very embarrassed! I realized that those are not usual feelings one would have for a friend, they are romantic! And then I realized had actually felt this way for a long time! It just took that push to make me understand,” he explains passionately. 

You hum in response, “Good thing I pulled you down, then, huh?” Lee chuckles and nods, continuing to carrying you outside the hospital. You laugh quietly, “Lee, you know I can walk, right? My strength is almost back to normal.” 

You see Lee nod his head, “Yes! However, if it is alright with you, I enjoy carrying you!” 

“More than alright,” you affirm, placing a soft kiss against his neck and laughing when he jumps. The steady rocking of Lee’s walking soothes you into a sleepy state. Closing your eyes, you drift off, content knowing that the path ahead of you is filled to the brim with happiness. 

[olivinesea]

Off Souls, pt. 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

a/n: As promised. I truly don’t know what I’m doing you guys, so wish me luck and I hope you enjoy it. I’m having fun in any case. ~3.6k

Hotch makes a mistake.

Back out in the world everything seemed sweeter. It was nearly spring and the trees had started to blossom. Both of them felt an almost frantic sense of optimism. Emily, giddy and still a little lightheaded, walked close to Hotch as they made their way back to campus. They made plans for the rest of the afternoon: they would camp out in Hotch’s common room watching Planet Earth (a compromise—Hotch vetoed Saw but Emily insisted she needed to see some sort of carnage and flat out refused to entertain any suggestions involving cartoons), they’d order pizza and Hotch promised to make “the special hot chocolate” that just involved mixing the packet with milk instead of water.

They had just gotten back onto campus and were turning to take the route to their dorm. Intensely bickering over pizza toppings, they didn’t notice the man step into their path.

“Emily?”

She stopped short, immediately recognizing the voice. Hotch stopped next to her, alert. He looked between Emily’s stunned expression and the stranger in front of them.

“Hello there,” the man’s voice was friendly. “It’s been a while.”

Emily didn’t say anything but couldn’t look away either. This was exactly what she had hoped to avoid. She tried to think of a way out of this, anything to get them out of this moment.

“Do I know you?” Hotch asked the man, not liking the way he had moved in so close.

He turned his cold eyes to Hotch for a moment and smirked, turning back to Emily. “What? Too embarrassed to introduce me to your boyfriend?”

Emily’s mouth opened and closed, not managing to create any sound.

“We’re not—“ Hotch stopped and looked at Emily again. He could feel her shaking, her fear unmistakable. He snapped his eyes back to the other man, who looked at him indifferently.

“No? She can be a little difficult.” He smiled viciously at Emily. “Although, maybe you’re just not her type.” He casually reached forward to run a finger down the curve of her cheek. He didn’t make it halfway to her jaw before Hotch swung at him. He stumbled backward, surprised. He glanced at Emily, who hadn’t moved, and looked back at Hotch who was pale with fury.

“I wouldn’t,” the man said mildly. “She isn’t worth it, believe me.”

Hotch was on top of him in less than a breath. The second hit knocked him down entirely, his head hit the ground so hard it recoiled. The man fought back, throwing his fists wildly, catching Hotch across the cheekbone. It didn’t slow him down. Hotch was bigger and far, far angrier. All the rage he’d been holding back easily broke through any rational thought. He knelt across the other man’s chest and swung at him relentlessly. He was completely unaware of the way people started to gather around them, of the way the other man grew more and more still, no longer struggling against him. He couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t see past the brightness of his hatred.

There was a tug on his shoulder as he pulled his arm back to slam his fist into the other man’s face again. His elbow connected with something soft. He turned to see Emily doubled over and gasping. She clutched at her abdomen, trying to catch her breath. Abruptly aware of the rest of the world, he looked around at the horrified faces of the crowd. He looked down at his hands, knuckles split and covered in blood. He gagged, close to throwing up at the smell, so sharp and familiar. He scrambled up and put a hand on Emily’s back. He bent over to try to see her face. She was breathing okay again but still squeezing tightly around her middle. He could see that she was close to tears.

“It hurts,” she whispered.

His heart broke. He spent years and years trying to change, trying to get away from this. Still, here he is again, losing control and hurting the only person he cared about. For what? He sent a nervous glance to the body on the ground, horribly still. This wouldn’t fix anything. It had been selfish. He had realized exactly who the man was and instead of thinking, he let his temper snap. And now Emily was hurt. He had hurt her. His thoughts were racing now, all the functionality he had lost to single-minded revenge returned. He knew he should stay, should make sure the other man got help and own up to his crime. But he needed to get Emily home safely first. That had been the original plan and he clung to the shredded remains of it like it might save him somehow.

“Come on,” he said as gently as he could, “let’s get back.”

She nodded and managed to stand mostly upright. She deliberately did not look at Hotch’s hands or the destruction he’d caused. Her mind was having a hard time grasping a complete thought.

She had been frightened by the way his face had hardened, all evidence of the person she knew replaced with a stony ruthlessness. She grew more worried as his strikes took on an almost rhythmic quality, like he wasn’t aware of the harm he was causing anymore. That was when she was able to break out of her immobility, to call his name and, when that hadn’t worked, try to grab hold of him, physically hold him back. That hadn’t worked well for her either. What had been a hardly noticeable dull ache in her abdomen had become sharp and painful. The first violent stab had taken her breath away. She leaned over, hoping that by applying pressure she could get the muscles to calm down, to stop trying to rip her apart from the inside out. It wasn’t really working.

At least Hotch was back with her, his sanity returned. He was hovering over her nervously, unsure how to help, mortified that he had caused this. She let him guide her through the thickening crowd. Some people were on their phones, some people were talking quietly to each other, no one tried to stop them. He might not be overcome with fury at the moment but they had all seen what he could do, how he had transformed. They might whisper that it was wrong of him to leave and embellish their stories later, claiming they had tried to confront him, but no one was going to step in Aaron Hotchner’s path right then.

They made it back to the dorm without further incident. The ride up the elevator silent and thankfully empty. When they got to their floor, he hesitated.

“Do you still want to come to my room?”

She shook her head. “I think I just need to lie down for a bit,” she said through clenched teeth. It was taking everything she had not to collapse onto the floor.

He did his best not to show his disappointment. He reminded himself that this was about her and not what he wanted. He would have done better to remember that earlier as well. He knew he would pay for that one way or another but he wanted to make sure she was okay. She was all that mattered. So he led her to her room and helped her take off her shoes. He found some water for her to take the pain medication with and made sure to refill it. He shut her curtains even though the sun would be going down soon anyway.

She laid down on her side, hugging a pillow to her chest, eyes heavy. She appreciated what he was doing, trying to take care of her. But she really wished he would leave. There was too much in her mind and she needed to turn everything off for awhile. The pain in her stomach was severe and all she could focus on.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asked, trying to sound neutral.

“No, I’m okay.”

He nodded but wasn’t sure that she was telling the truth. Her face twisted in pain and she looked unnaturally pale.

“It’s okay Aaron, I promise. I’ll—I’ll call you later. When I wake up. I just…” her words were getting more and more stilted, her breaths shorter.

“Okay, you can call me if you need anything. I can bring you food later.” He found himself still unwilling to leave her.

She waved her hand at him and curled more tightly around the pillow.

He flipped off the light as he closed the door, followed out by a muffled “thank you.” Once she was out of sight, he understood why he had been so reluctant to leave. Without her to take care of, he had nothing to think about but the blood covering his hands and the terrible mistake he’d just made. He walked back to his room, unable to think about anything but the memory of the flashing anger compelling him to drive his fists into the other man’s face and chest, again and again.

He deserved it, a part of him reasoned as he rinsed his hands under the faucet. The warm water stung the places where his skin had split and his knuckles were swollen at the joints. He didn’t disagree with that. If Emily’s rapist was run over by a bus and then slowly eaten alive by vultures, he couldn’t see anything wrong with that. The man deserved no mercy. No, the problem was that he had lost control of himself. He had let the violence inside him get out and he hated himself for it. It proved his inability to escape the past he always tried to deny. Every day he tried to make different choices than his father but he was still wholly capable of the same kind of brutality he had been taught. No matter how much he worked to change it, inside him was something hard and dangerous.

He cleaned up his hands as best he could. The skin under his left eye was puffy and red where he had been hit. He pressed on it with his fingertips, frowning as the skin turned white under the pressure then filled back in bright red when he let go. It would turn into a dark bruise that would mark him as a fighter for weeks.

Unsure what to do with himself he tried to catch up on some classwork. He had been so focused on Emily he had let some things start to get away from him. After staring at his laptop for an hour though, he gave up. He tried texting her to see if she was up and wanting company but didn’t get a response.

He paced the hallways where he ran into another kid who lived on their floor. He thought maybe his name was Darren. Unable to avoid it, he stopped to chat. They exchanged some empty information about the day. Hotch hoped to extract himself quickly by being as bland as possible.

“Did you hear about the guy who got his ass beat out on the lawn?”

Hotch shrugged warily while the other guy stared openly at his cheek.

“They say the guy who did it just walked away like nothing happened.”

Hotch still didn’t respond, increasingly self-conscious.

“They’re looking for him. The guy he beat up is in the hospital, half dead. No doubt he’s gonna press charges once they figure out who did it.”

“That’s, uh, that’s pretty wild.” He knew this lie wasn’t going to last long but he hadn’t figured out what he was going to do yet. He needed more time. He needed to make sure Emily was okay before anything happened to him.

“Most excitement we’ve had all year.”

Hotch made a non-committal sound, trying to think of a polite way to end this conversation. “Sorry, I really have to go. My friend is sick and I need to check on her.”

Maybe-Darren waved him off, unconcerned. The guy was odd and if he wasn’t so quiet, so studious, it would be easy to believe he was the culprit. He always looked angry and rarely spoke to anyone besides the loud girl he hung around with. Maybe-Darren considered it for a brief moment as he walked to the elevators. If the Hotch kid was the other fighter, he certainly did not see any reason to get involved. You never knew when a guy like that was going to snap (or snap again) and he liked his face the way it was.

Hotch retreated to his common area. Too anxious to be in his room but too nervous to go outside and potentially run into someone who could identify him. He knew it was only a matter of time before a decision was made for him regarding the attack. There wasn’t much hope of him coming out of that in a good position. He knew he deserved whatever he had coming to him but he still felt regretful about Emily. They had only just mended their relationship and now he was probably going to have to leave her on her own again. He hoped she would forgive him.

Thinking about her, he checked his phone again but no messages had come through. He sighed, frustrated at his ineffectualness. There had to be something better he could be doing. Suddenly he remembered the heating pad he had stored under his sweaters. He’d been attached to that thing growing up; the only comfort he could ever count on. Since coming to school he had felt a little embarrassed pulling it out in front of the other guys in his dorm. So it had lived in his drawer untouched for awhile. He was sure it would be useful to Emily, even if she didn’t want him there he could do this for her. He pulled it out and headed towards her end of the building.

The floor was quiet, most people out at dinner or still studying. When he got to her dorm, he found the door ajar and the lights on. He knocked lightly before pushing it open only to be faced with an empty bed. He turned slowly to look around the girls’ common area, as if she might be hiding behind some piece of furniture. He pulled out his phone and tried to call her but he could hear her phone buzzing amidst the blankets on her bed. He dug around and found it, seeing that all of his messages that afternoon had been left unopened. Concerned now, he dropped phone and heating pad on the unmade bed and left the room to look for her.

As he passed the bathroom he heard the shower running. He wavered for a moment— prominent among the strict rules he followed was one prohibiting him from entering the women’s restroom. His worry outweighed his propriety and he pushed the door open slightly.

“Emily?” he called. “You in there?”

There was no response besides the sound of running water and steam escaping through the opened door.

“I’m gonna come in there for a second. Just tell me if you want me to stay out.”

Still no response. He felt his heart picking up speed, dire scenarios starting to flash through his mind.

The curtain was pulled across the last shower stall, water pooling slightly beneath it.

“Emily?” he called again. He heard a sniffle. “Hey, are you okay?”

After a long pause he finally got a response.

“I’m fine.”

He could hear from the shake in her voice she was anything but fine.

“I’m worried about you, Em.” He closed his eyes, trying to figure out what the right thing to do was. “Please, let me help. What can I do?”

This was met with more silence.

He had just opened his mouth to try to convince her to come out when thin fingers appeared near the bottom of the curtain. They pulled it open slightly and he could see her, thankfully still clothed in shorts and a tank top, sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest, one arm wrapped tightly around them. Her hair hung around her face in dripping chunks and her eyes were tired.

“Sit with me?”

He looked at her doubtfully. “How about you get out first?” he countered. “I brought—“

“Please? I just want to stay here a little longer.”

He ran his hand through his hair, making it stand up. He thought about all the reasons he did not want to sit in a shower in a women’s restroom. But he couldn’t say no. He sighed as he kicked off his shoes and pulled his shirt over his head.

“I’m not getting naked.”

“What a shame,” she said dryly.

He blushed as he undid his pants. He still couldn’t figure out how she was so nonchalant about undressing. But he powered through the discomfort and took a deep breath before stepping into the shower.

She had edged over to make room for him. He slid down the wall, folding his long legs in to fit the space. Once the initial distaste of being unexpectedly wet wore off, he could see how this could be soothing. She leaned against him and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He tilted his head back so water wouldn’t drip into his eyes and mouth. They sat like that quietly for several minutes.

“You scared me,” she admitted, tracing his injured hand with her finger.

“I know. I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have—“

“I wish I could have done it myself.”

He paused, unsure how to respond. “It was wrong of me.”

“He deserved it. I was thinking about how happy I would be if he died.” Then, “Do you think that makes me a bad person?”

“No. Thinking things doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“But you think you’re a bad person.” Her statement, so simple, drove right into his heart and made his breath catch.

“Well, I’ve done bad things, so, that’s…that’s how that works.” She tucked her head against his shoulder. “Is it bad if you were protecting someone else?”

“It was more than that,” he said, refusing to let himself off the hook.

She sighed. “I don’t think you’re bad. I think you made a mistake. Mistakes don’t make you a bad person either.”

He didn’t say anything to this and they sat in silence again. The water ran down their bare legs and collected around their feet. He could feel the temperature starting to cool and goosebumps began to form on his arms.

“Can we get out now?”

She ignored him for a moment, staring at her toes, lost in thought. He shifted and she looked over at him. Impulsively, she kissed him on the cheek before rolling up to her feet and turning off the water. He was a little dazed by the action and was slower to stand. She briskly opened the curtain and stepped out of the shower, unfazed by the wet clothes clinging to her. She stripped before toweling off and, deeply embarrassed, he stared hard at the floor while he shivered.

“Here,” was all the warning she gave before launching the towel at him. He barely caught it before it fell on the wet ground. His eyes went wide when he realized she had nothing on now and was relieved when she walked out of the bathroom. He dried off as best he could and got dressed before following her to her room. When he got there she looked at him with a raised eyebrow, holding up the heating pad gingerly.

“It’s a heating pad,” he sounded defensive.

“I know what it is. Why do you have one?”

He shrugged. “It comes in handy.”

“Hmm. Ok.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “I can take it back to my room.”

“No, no. It’s mine now. You brought it to me.”

“That’s what I thought.”

They smiled at each other and he thought about how fucking lucky he was.

“Want to watch something?”

“Sure, whatever you want.” He regretted it immediately.

She grinned. “Whatever I want?”

“Please don’t pick something that’s going to give me nightmares,” he groaned.

She looked wicked as she patted the bed next to her. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

He climbed into the narrow bed as she pulled out her laptop and started discussing possibilities. He didn’t really listen, he wasn’t planning on paying attention anyway. The shower was more relaxing that he could have hoped and he found himself thoroughly exhausted by the day. He hummed in agreement whenever it seemed like she was waiting for input and finally she pulled something up. He was asleep before they made it ten minutes into the movie.

He didn’t wake up until much later. She’d fallen asleep too, the closed laptop had slid down between her and the wall. He could feel the warmth from the heating pad wrapped around her middle and smiled. He found his phone to check the time and saw it was already 5:30 am. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept for that long. He yawned as he slid out of the bed, careful not to wake Emily. He carried his shoes in his hand as he walked down the hall back to his room. He was startled to find several people in uniform occupying his common room. They all turned to look at him when he walked in.

“Aaron Hotchner?”

“Yes?” Any lingering sleepiness vanished and part of him was tempted to turn and run. Run back to the warmth he had just left, hide beneath that soft sea of blankets indefinitely.

“We’ve been looking for you.”

~Part 5~

[natamoko]

UNEARTHED by @nakamoto

for @11thsense (3.7K)

(There is a reason why Aidonsvalley stands alone, makes its own decisions, attracts and denies, takes and leaves. There is a reason why it has a heart of its own.)

On the door of the Church of St. Agnes, a page was stamped: “1 PETER 2:4-6 — As you come to him, the living Stone - rejected by humans but chosen by God and precious to him - you also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. For in Scripture it says: See, I lay a stone in Zion, a chosen and precious cornerstone, and the one who trusts in him will never be put to shame.”

A crimson thumbprint was displayed alongside the words, and Raheem didn’t know whether to take it as some extremely obvious omen or something that should be ignored. He shrugged and went on his way. He had things to do. Nothing necessary, of course.

Aidonsvalley attracted a healthy amount of tourists due to its strange nature. The sun appeared at dawn and left at dusk just like it did everywhere else in the world. Everything worked as it should, but evidently something was amiss. The land chose what it acquired and what it discarded. It chose what it claimed and what it dismissed. And if you did everything right, (and you had to—those who didn’t could never die, those who didn’t would wander and lead a life of toil forever) then the land embraced you warmly enough and you would never get to leave. Raheem had been claimed not too long ago. Partially because of his transformation when he was fifteen, partially for a reason he had not yet understood. That knowledge was long overdue.

Aidonsvalley loved the supernatural, he knew that much.

Despite the wonders it did for the town’s tourism, he couldn’t help but mess with the newcomers everytime they arrived. They marvelled at the aging billboards (“Look, honey, this is the ‘56 ad! From the D’Arcy era; you know I love my beverage trivia—”) and the churches at every corner, more churches than convenience stores. They usually arrived in the evening times when it was cooler, because that was when the neon electronic advertisements would light up. No one ever donated their used dreams, but they sure loved staring at it.

Raheem, from a folding chair situated near a rhododendron bush, noted that these particular tourists looked alike, but not so much that you could mistake them for siblings. They were both wiry and tall, limp blonde hair; one was pulled back in almost identical ponytails, while the other was closely and badly shaven. Diligently poring over the maps in their hands.

The couple peered at the statue before them—Edmund Aidon, the founder of the town. His image was said to be greatly exaggerated, as his biceps were larger than what seemed humanly possible, and his canines were unusually blunt. Still, he looked important, so tourists adored him.

The woman, the one with a fascination for old Coca Cola television advertisements, tapped lightly against Aidon’s thigh. Her partner asked, “Isn’t it magnificent?”

“I’m not too sure,” she said, giving it another light knock before straightening and snapping a photo. “Smile, Edmund Aidon. 1834 to 1911. Timor dei in terra. I think that’s his own personal motto, or maybe something for the town. You studied Latin in school, Geoff, what does that say?”

“All I got was ‘terra’,” he said with a shrug, “Land. And are you okay? Why are you obsessed with that thing?”

Raheem had never offered the statue anything other than a sidewards glance. The tourists in the area generally camped near the lake, hoping to catch sight of the legendary local siren (or something close to that—there wasn’t a word to accurately describe her). Or sometimes they lingered near one of the many churches, over-analysing the scripts hung to the doorposts or trying to catch a word or two from one of the sermons. A rumour had started spreading amongst the tourists a while ago of demons being summoned in church, the house of God being used as a cover. As a demon himself, Raheem knew that was untrue. But its unlikeliness didn’t stop the persistent, eager tourists.

If they were going to remain here, poking at the statue and conversing, they should spend some money on him and make themselves useful. Raheem continued listening to their conversation, considering whether he should use his influence. But unfortunately, he wasn’t really in the mood to make them both walk off the pier, hand in hand, and become April’s supper, or cause them to develop a sudden intense fascination with his father’s restaurant.

The woman turned to her partner. Raheem could see her face from here, all sunburned skin and worry in her eyes. She scratched at her crooked nose and gave the statue one last tap. “I don’t know. It feels hollow, almost. Forgive me for this, but slightly corrugated, even.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” ‘Geoff’ said, not even bothering to check for himself. Idiot. “The guide says it’s made of marble. Marble doesn’t echo.”

“This does.” She sighed and stood up. “Whatever. We should head to the hotel now. I’m starving.”

• • •

It started with Alex losing sleep. Then his jaw would begin to grind against itself while he was both sleeping and awake. His eyes would redden and become sore, the skin on the tips of his fingers would begin ache before breaking and bleed in preparation of what would happen next.

It did not matter whether he was indoors or out, visible to the moon or hidden, awake or asleep. It was an inevitable part of his life. There would be a chanting in his head (run run run), the urge to find someone and pull them apart. Then there would be prey underneath his fingernails and between his teeth, blood would taste more like fear than copper, and the ground would move beneath his feet so quickly it would hear but beneath him. When the sun would rise he would become still and straighten and look eastwards, then shortly find himself waking on the forest floor. That was routine.

This moon was particularly awful. Coffee severely worsened things, made the readjusting of bones so much more painful, and he had been drinking it no less than ten hours ago in order to stay awake and supervise his younger sister’s recent dressmaking project. His parents were not pleased with him being left in charge, especially since the moon was so close, but there had been no one else.

Alex picked a piece of bone from between his teeth, imagining it came from his father’s femur or his mother’s skull. They were the more harmless Aidonsvalley folk—or, at least, the sort that believed themselves to be harmless when they were just weak—and he despised them for it. They were related to him but were not his family.

He suddenly felt around for his glasses’ case. He was not especially helpless without them, but they were the key to looking relatively normal. Only a select few people knew who he was. His moon-addled mind had concluded that his glasses were the key to stopping the residents of Aidonsvalley from looking too closely at him and figuring out exactly what was wrong.

Alex gave up and struggled to his feet, holding a tree for support. Within the forest stood an oak, with the beginnings of a treehouse balanced atop it.

He grinned. It’ll never be finished. Aidonsvalley chose what to keep and what to throw away, and buildings would never be included in the former. The most recent home that hadn’t been destroyed by the town had been built in the mid-twentieth century. It was just another strange part of the town that Alex was simply not particularly interested in solving. However he did like to reminisce about Anita Darlington’s attempt to build a windmill when Alex was younger. She was his aging neighbour, and spent an entire season constructing her windmill, which stood next to her vegetable garden.

It was struck by lightning less than an hour after it’s completion. Alex had been riding his bicycle next to her house when the incident occurred. He still remembered the flash in the sky moving downwards, his hammering heart, the smell of burning wood. He remembered the fright in his chest and Umi’s terrified face. He remembered how pleasant of a day it had been beforehand: warm, but not overbearingly so. Not a single rain-cloud had been sighted.

•••

“I’m telling you,” Raheem insisted, his hand holding onto Umi’s upper arm. “I’ve never seen someone stare at it for so long. You have a good eye—”

“So do you,” said Umi. He gave the statue a gentle knock and frowned. “It feels cheap. Too light. It’s almost like sandpaper. I’ve felt something like this before.”

A week had passed since the incident with the tourists, and Raheem had spent it scamming them by selling useless trinkets and completely fake stories about the origin of the town’s strangeness. He usually undertook little projects throughout the year, but it was summer and he deserved somewhat of a break. The ancient Coca Cola bottle he found buried in his garden and had subsequently sold to the blonde, observant woman would support his expensive lifestyle for at least a week at most.

If Raheem scraped the top layer of the soil in his garden, he could find enough things to set up his own museum. It was not a phenomena exclusive to him, and additionally, no one knew where all those things came from originally. Once, when uprooting weeds, one of the townsfolk, Amara, had discovered that her front garden was soaked in blood, not water. That explained why she couldn’t grow anything more demanding than cress.

Kel took Umi’s hand. He had sort of forced himself into this boring excuse of an adventure, but Raheem didn’t mind because he didn’t mind Kel. He was quite fond of anyone who sought out an entertaining experience.

“Never knew a tourist would work you up this much,” said Kel cheerfully, before pointing to a mark behind Edmund Aidon’s knee. “Hey, what’s this?”

“Looks like a square,” said Umi, leaning forward to see it clearer. “How did you spot this anyway?”

“Not sure,” answered Kel, despite obviously knowing that the mark had shifted itself, working up towards their line of sight so it could be seen. Those sort of things were ignored here. Everything had a life, and its own motives and ambitions. “In my opinion, it looks like a jackhammer, a bit. If you turn your head and squint.”

“No it does not,” said Raheem, annoyed. “It’s a cradle.”

Yes, it did appear to be a cradle the longer he looked at it. The thin bars grew clearer. Somehow he could tell it was wooden. But something about it all wasn’t right—it didn’t look like something carved into the statue. Rather, something that had been a part of it ever since it was constructed. Aidonsvalley didn’t have a symbol, official or unofficial. Something strange was certainly going on. Raheem wasn’t sure if he wanted to dig deeper.

“This is odd,” remarked Umi. “This is the only thing that survives Aidon—no other records as far as I know, and there’s something carved here. Should we look into it?”

“Maybe,” said Kel. “This isn’t very strange for this town, but it’ll be fun to investigate. But where? The library won’t be much help. They don’t keep records there.”

The only library in Aidonsvalley was this stuffy building from the early twentieth century that held absolutely nothing of value. Investigative material couldn’t be brought in for some reason or the other. It was all rejected in some form. The town archives had to be kept elsewhere because of it. As a demonstration of this fact, once, the mayor's niece Stephanie Murray attempted to trace the nearby lake’s history. Her paper had promptly burst into flames, and she decided to complete her project in a café maybe an hour or two away from the town. Really, the only thing the library had going for it was its complete Toni Morrison collection.

“They keep the town’s archive in the church on main street,” said Umi. “You know the one: St. Agnes. Apparently there’s a cellar underneath the altar, but I can’t be too sure.” He turned to Raheem, expressionless. Unsure. “Look, if you can find a way to get in, I’ll help you out. You know I’m not too certain.”

“I know,” replied Raheem brightly. “Doubting Thomas. Do you even think there’s something strange afoot?”

“Well there’s always something going on here,” said Umi, affronted. “If we get caught, it’s your fault. I’ll get Alex in on this as well, it’ll make things easier, I think.” Pause. “Do you want to get ice-cream with us?”

He waved a dismissive hand and turned back to Aidon. “Sure. Go ahead, I just need to check something.”

The two waved—Umi visibly confused but still sure in his own decision, Kel apprehensive and glancing around—and made their way to the nearby parlour.

Raheem placed his hand flat against the statue. Something shifted beneath his touch, he heard a faint noise like a beating drum, and he frowned.

Half an hour later on the other side of town, Alex stood at the lakeside. The lake beside Aidonsvalley (still technically within the town but somewhat shoved to the side) was the subject of many rumours. The tourists all cleared out before the sun had fully set, interested in what apparently went down beside the lake, but still in possession of some sense of self-preservation. Unfortunately, Alex did not have the aforementioned sense of self-preservation.

The only harm that could possibly befall him was if he lost his balance and fell down into the lake. There were pointed rocks below, carefully sharpened at dawn and at dusk, and if he pierced any part of his body, he most certainly would not survive that experience.

There was someone standing on the jetty above the lake. Alex recognised him as one of the Fallow brothers, three siblings from a family of mechanics. They handled the people who “washed up at the town’s shores,” fixed their cars, cleared their memories and sent them away. He was a high school student. Perfectly average. Nearly unnoticed. Graduating this fall.

And April was also below him, treading the water. Her hair floated on the surface. Alex averted his gaze, half out of respect and half to avoid her hypnotic technique. But he still saw her from the corner of his eyes, saw the way she unhinged her jaw and said the Fallow boy’s name: Matthew, in a voice she didn’t possess.

The boy moved closer to the ledge. He crouched and peered through the water. April’s power was clouding the air, turning it green. Matthew moved slowly, as if he were running through a lime cloud as if in a trance. Or a dream. Then he called for his mother and April responded in kind. He, foolishly, reached for the water, looking at her face and seeing his late mother instead of what she truly was. April grabbed his wrist and pulled.

He toppled over easily, and didn’t struggle until April sank her teeth into his neck. He flailed desperately and cried out from under the water. His movements slowed with every second until he finally fell still.

April emerged from the lake a moment later, her upper half collapsing on the ledge. She looked up at Alex and grinned. “It’s rude to watch a siren eat, you know.”

“Really?”

“No,” she said, “But it is an indicator that you’re the main entrée.” Her smile widened. “Kidding, I love you.”

Alex continued to watch the water. “He wasn’t claimed, you know. He can’t die until he gets things right. I’d expect to find him in the sewers. Or in the church.”

“Why’d you think I chose him?” April questioned. 

They stared at each other for a moment before Alex reminded her of the time he saved her from these ‘low-quality’ whalers, as he dubbed it. She owed him, she even said that earlier. Then he told her that he needed her help breaking into her uncle’s church. Her hand shot out so fast, tightening around his earlobe, that he shouted and wobbled perilously on the edge.

“Idiot,” she chastised, “Why’d you wanna do that?”

April had this unfortunate habit of being constantly hesitant. It was not a con, for sure, but it certainly hindered any interesting activities Alex thought up. This was the wrong time to be careful, he reckoned, because if there was a mystery surrounding Aidonsvalley, then it was bound to be serious. She should know this.

“Something weird is happening,” said Alex, separating her fingers from around his ear and trying to keep his tone light. If he appeared to be desperate, she might decline just to fuck with him. “Raheem told me.”

“Raheem is a compulsive liar.”

“Not to me.”

He belatedly realised that it was the wrong thing to say.

“No,” April answered with a grin. “Not to you.”

Sensing a serious change of subject, Alex quickly arranged himself to a sitting position further up on the ledge. He balanced his chin against his palm and gave her a long look. She raised her brows in turn.

“Do you not have the stomach for this, April?”

“Of course I have the stomach for this,” she snapped. “I’m just careful, unlike you lot.” She paused. “I’ll help you plan your little heist, but don’t tell me what it’s for.” Despite herself, April grinned at him. “If that happens, I’ll get really interested. Things will all go down from there.”

•••

Raheem sat on the stone steps of St. Agnes, a book in hand. It was in French, a language he didn’t recall ever learning, but he could understand it perfectly. Strange. Even stranger was the fact that he could not walk past the altar for some reason, so Alex and Umi were the ones who had to retrieve the appropriate town records. Raheem was not pleased. He started this adventure, but had been forced to play whistleblower instead.

“How annoying,” he said as his phone began to ring.

“Found something about the town’s origins,” said Umi, breathing hard. From a distance, Raheem heard Alex laugh. “None about Edmund Aidon himself, though. I’m beginning to doubt his existence.”

“Tell me more. Is it interesting?”

A sharp inhale. “Oh, very.”

And it went like this:

The Preston’s were a family known for their hatred for supernatural creatures and how they exercised the aforementioned hatred. Once they were a few generations into the family practice of murder, several other families joined together with them to help achieve their shared goals. They called themselves The Cradle. Soon enough a town was founded for the five thousand or so members, and its name was unpronounceable.

About a century after the town’s creation, someone received word of a counterattack. In just a matter of days, vampires, werewolves and other supernaturals would band together and burn the town to the ground. Fearing something a little worse than death, the townsfolk hypocritically sought out a method to save them. They selected a random person in the town and made them live forever. The exact method, Umi stated, was not stated. Then the other townsfolk transformed themselves into the town—they knocked down the church and all the homes and created new walls out of their own flesh. The altar was made of bone. They drained the lake and replaced it with their own blood. The grass and the trees were fertilised with people, and the person they left behind was meant to bring them back once the danger had been averted, but they didn’t.

With a chill creeping down his spine, Raheem noted that the person might still be in Aidonsvalley. He glanced around in worry for a moment, as if the person might just be standing at his shoulder. Thankfully no such thing existed, but something else attracted his attention.

A porcelain statue near the church’s pillar, of a mother holding its child. It could be mistaken for Mary and the baby Jesus, but its features were hauntingly realistic and unlike the usual paintings of the Madonna and child. Beneath the porcelain was flesh, presumably. Raheem stared at the child holding his mother’s finger, sat in her lap, and felt a feeling both strong and indescribable.

“So presumably Aidon came across an already furnished yet empty town, then re-established it,” said Raheem, “But if that’s the case, wouldn’t there be anything about him? It’s like he just sprouted here.”

Things in this town tended to do that, he reminded himself. He was used to everything here. The tourist had described the statue in a strange manner. Slightly corrugated. That could mean skin, but it was hollow—

“There’s a chance that he was the person left behind,” said Umi slowly, “and no one ever thought to write it down since he’s a constant. You wouldn’t take note of the colour of the sky everyday? It’s either blue, red and sometimes black. We know that.”

They both hung up after Umi agreed to finish up shortly. Kel joined Raheem on the steps, very carefully not meeting his eyes. Perhaps the blue colour was too bright for this time at night, Raheem told himself.

The more Kel touched a stone step with his fingertips, the more it wore away until it revealed a portion of a face. Grey-skinned, open-mouthed, expression trapped somewhere between terror and exhilaration. The person’s eyes, fixed skywards, slowly lolled down to look directly at Kel. If its mouth was visible, Raheem would have received confirmation that it was smiling.

That was two incidents now, he stated privately as his heart jumped. The first was the cradle appearing just as Kel drew near, the second was the face.

When Umi and Alex returned and led the other two away, the stone replaced itself and the face was safely hidden away. As the four followed the path they had followed for well over a decade, Raheem distinctively felt like he was being watched. Perhaps it had always been this way, but now that he knew that Aidonsvalley was a real, living, breathing town, he felt it strongly.

There was one thing he knew for sure, though. When he would eventually sit in his living room, surrounded by relatives that were not family, and press his head against the wall, he would hear breathing. A deep inhale and exhale. It makes the whole world shake, but he’s the only one who feels it. He’s one of the only people that knows this town is made of living stone.

[writerwhowritesao3]

Director's Commentary on Talk To A Green Tree?

Oh hai!! Director’s Commentary under the cut ‘cause it’s a lengthy one, love. 

I wanted to write this story because I wanted to explore the relationship between Billy and Susan. I wrote about their relationship somewhat in my first story, Jump In The Fire, but that wasn’t the main purpose or focus of that fic; the main focus of Jump In The Fire was the beginning of Billy’s relationship with Steve (jumping in at the Harringrove angle) and also setting up friendship relationships between Billy, Nancy, and Jonathan—and, of course, also to “fix” Billy’s relationship with Max. 

In Jump in the Fire, I wanted to make it clear that Billy’s relationship with Susan isn’t contentious or bitter—if anything, they have a good-to-okay relationship. Billy has trouble letting Susan in and has very conflicting feelings about her, and understandably so. He’s traumatized and hurt from the fact that his biological mother, Sandra, outright abandoned him with his abusive father when he was ten; he has major trust issues and a fear of abandonment stemming from that. 

Still, Billy does like Susan. Loves her, when you get down to it. It would be hard not to like a woman who’s been a maternal figure in your life since you were 11/12. But Billy feels conflicted about his feelings towards Susan for three main reasons:

1) He’s not over his own mother’s abandonment

In all honesty, Susan being concerned about Billy's wellbeing didn't come as much of a surprise. In the four-and-a-half years that she and Neil had been married, Susan had taken her role as Billy's stepmother very seriously. At points, even bordering on "replacement mother" territory. If Billy was being truthful with himself, he didn't hate Susan. Hell, he may have even admitted to liking her. And if Billy was feeling extra introspective, he would have admitted that the only thing that compelled him to keep Susan at arm's length was that he still wasn't over the fact that his own mother abandoned him. (Jump in the Fire, chapter 4)

2) He’s angry that Susan doesn’t stop Neil from abusing him (although he acknowledges that it really isn’t her fault...and as mentioned in another chapter, she doesn’t know how bad Neil gets when she’s not home)

Of course, there was also the lingering and maybe-unreasonable resentment that Susan was unable to stop her husband from beating him. But in all fairness, his own mom couldn't do that either. (Jump in the Fire, chapter 4)

2) He’s afraid to acknowledge his feelings because he’s afraid that one day, Susan will leave Neil—and Billy—, taking Max with her. 

The other great thing about his dad not being home was that the mood around the house was a lot lighter. It wasn't anything overt or obvious, it was just the general atmosphere. Billy wasn't as tense; even a little more jokey with Max and Susan. He and Max didn't have to watch their language as much. Even Susan seemed just slightly happier and more relaxed when it was just the three of them in the house.

Billy noticed it. He'd been noticing it for years. And it scared the shit out of him. (Jump in the Fire, chapter 11)

There’s also another reason for Billy’s conflicting feelings: he thinks that accepting Susan as a mom or mother figure would be a betrayal to Sandra (who he has not spoken to since he was 10...)

"Sounds good," Billy smiled softly. "I'm gonna go to bed."

"Yeah, you should," Susan said. "It's late. 'Night, honey."

"'Night, Mom," Billy said as he turned around to head to his room.

He didn't realize what he had said until he was halfway down the hall. Didn't realize that the word "mom" had slipped out of his mouth so effortlessly. He didn't know if Susan had caught the slip. Couldn't bring himself to look back to see if she had noticed it or even heard it. Couldn't help but wonder if, on the chance Susan had caught it, she minded. Or if she resented it because she wasn't his mom. Or if she didn't care either way. Unable to stop his mind from going there, Billy wondered how his actual mother would feel about him calling another woman "mom."

Billy went to sleep that night with the terrible feeling that he committed some horrible, irreparable betrayal. (Jump in the Fire, chapter 11)

Chapter 12 of Jump in the Fire is the first time I wrote anything from Susan’s perspective. In those sections, I wanted to make it clear that Susan not only loves Billy and considers him to be her son, but that she has absolutely no intention of abandoning him. Susan is an adult woman and so she has the insight and emotional maturity to understand why Billy has a hard time fully trusting her and letting himself relax around her. 

I also wanted to make it clear that although Susan knows that Neil hits Billy, she doesn’t actually know the full extent of it. She has her suspicions, and that’s absolutely part of the reason why she chooses to stay married to Neil: she does not want to leave Billy alone with him. 

ANYWAY

I’m writing Talk to a Green Tree to further explore the mother-son relationship between Billy and Susan because I didn’t focus closely enough on it in Jump in the Fire. The fic is written in both Susan and Billy’s perspectives.

The first three chapters of Talk to a Green Tree are about events/ moments that occur pre-Hawkins and the last three chapters are about events/moments that happen when they’re living in Hawkins. 

The focus on two of the chapters are actually mentioned in Chapter 5 of Jump in the Fire. 

The first chapter takes place during the first year of their new family. As mentioned in the chapter, Billy gets horribly sick when he’s 12 years old, and Susan takes a week off of work to stay home with him and take care of him. 

(spoilers if you guys give a shit lol) The next chapter to be published (Chapter three) takes place the summer before they move to Hawkins, when Billy is 15 (almost 16). The chapter is about Billy being drugged and raped at a party and how the next morning, he lets himself be (almost) completely vulnerable with Susan. 

...with the anger came guilt—guilt at feeling angry at Susan because, fuck, she did not deserve that. When he was twelve years old, about seven months after Susan and Neil had said their vows, a severe flu had gone around Billy's school; Billy had caught it. Susan had taken a week off of work to stay home with him. She had kept him hydrated, made him soup, rubbed his back when he threw up. Even helped him into the bath when his 103º fever broke and he felt clammy and sweaty and weak from the illness.

And then, of course, there was the incident in June, a week before Neil broke Billy's collarbone. When Neil was on a weekend trip with his work buddies and Billy had gone to a college party he had no business going to. Had gone to a party and came home at two in the morning, blasted out of his mind despite only drinking one beer. Had spent the entire next day going from curled up and shivering in bed to kneeling on the bathroom floor with his head in the toilet. He had stuffed his blood-stained underwear to the bottom of his trashcan, double-bagged it, and tossed it into the neighbors' trash bin that night.

Susan had taken care of him as best she could with the very limited information that she had. Had given him water and held his hair back, even when he was just dry heaving. Had fucking held him when he cried and cried and couldn't stop.

"Did something happen at the party?" Susan asked softly, rubbing circles onto Billy's back. He shuddered and nodded into her tear-soaked neck. He was practically in her lap. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," Billy gasped out. He took a few shaky breaths. Tried to get his tears under control. Failed. "Please don't tell my dad," he begged.

"I won't, sweetheart, I won't," she soothed. She stroked his hair. He cried harder. "I got you, honey, you're okay."

She kept her word and she never pushed him to tell her what happened. She never even brought it up again. (Jump in the Fire, chapter 5)

That chapter is honestly tricky to write. The first part is in Billy’s perspective and actually goes into exactly what happened to him and the second part is in Susan’s perspective, starting with being woken up at 2AM because a sorority girl brings a very out-of-it Billy back home, going into her being pissed off that Billy a) lied about where he was going and b) seems to have gotten so shit-faced that he’s violently ill the next morning...and then having the horrible realization that Billy is probably not just hungover and then having the awful, instinctual feeling that Something Happened to him. 

ANYWAY

I guess at its core, Talk to a Green Tree is about the formation and evolution of a blended family that’s affected by domestic violence and trauma. And it’s about Susan really doing her best to be a good mom to Billy...and about Billy eventually being able to trust Susan and acknowledge to himself that even though Susan isn’t his mother, she is his mom in every way that counts. 

This was very fucking rambly haha.

[feather-dancer]

Trollhunters Fanfic Recommendations - Part 2

My original fanfic recommend post seems to have exploded in notes which is a little bewildering if I’m honest. Since then I’ve stumbled over more I have enjoyed thanks to a couple other recc posts doing the rounds, a few I forgot to list and new ones that have appeared on AO3

Want to see the original recommendations post? You can find it here!

General Trollhunters

Love, we hold on together - Jilaire post Season 3 and very cute and fluffy.

Young Atlas - Season 1 finale with Jim and wandering into the unknown to do the right thing.

Hope (or something a little bit like it) - A take on what it was like for Dictatious  when he was pulled into the Darklands when Gunmar was sealed away.

Partners - Season 1 finale with Toby’s thoughts of his bestie going off without him.

Family - Season 1 AARRRGGHH thoughts and everything he’d do for his current and newly adopted family.

Family History In The Context of the Parallel Development of a Relationship as Told Through a Trollmarket Dwelling - Just as it says on the tin.

Under the Sun — Part One: The White Rabbit  - Oh what wonders could Otto have seen and done long before we met him in the modern day? Learning he hates the cold and snow, for one, and someone seriously needs to get him glasses pronto.

The Devil and the deep blue sea - A retrospective on Walter Strickler/Stricklander and missed chances.

Talking About Teenage Angst: For Dummies! - Steli fic with Coach being wonderful and things going rather pear shaped one night.

Sticky Notes - Another Steli fic, this one is very cute fluff with post-its.

~~~

Stricklake

We'll Meet Again - I think the actual summary sums it up better than I can: Perhaps there is no such thing as love at first sight, but what about second or third or fourth or…?

The Festival of Nauna - It’s time for a Troll festival post Season 3 and naturally Not!Enrique “helps” things along in regards to Strickler and Barbara’s still strained relationship. Also contains Strickler who likely has lasting fears of being summoned by gnomes and good old changeling banter.

Fallout - Jim for a time saw Strickler as a father figure he never had, it turns out however he might have been closer to the truth than either had realised. Secrets don’t stay so forever though, be they true parentage or the slight issue of somebody not being human.

Like for Like, Echo for Echo - IT TURNS OUT An Amorous Attack (The hilarious Draal reporting in to Jim) fic had a sequel and I had no idea! We heard from the troll what happened but it’s not quite the same as hearing from the actual culprits.

misc. trollhunters prompts -  Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, who knows what you’ll find! Also includes Rebecoming which is an AU that makes me yell in good ways. Then Organised Knowledge made me yell even more.

Stricklake: Stones Through A Lake - Stricklake prompts! Contains fluff, angst and all that good stuff.

almost (you) me - In Unbecoming, what if Strickler had glimpses of a life he could have had if things had just happened a little differently?

The Strawberry Shortcake Chronicles - A collection from the fluffy to uh higher rated? Following the long relationship of Walter Strickler and Barbara Lake through it’s ups, the downs, the dawning realisation of falling for someone and of scenarios that are just adorable to behold. And then Strickler fucks up.

Good Morning Arcadia Oaks! - Put it under this section as two of these ARE actually Stricklake which are incredibly fluffy and delightful and the other one is AARRRGGHH having a job and I love them very much. The newest one is god please let this idiot teach again I need it in my life.

~~~

Alternate Universes

Eventide - An absolutely DELIGHTFUL Gang!AU. Fear the renegade teenagers, they WILL break into your house and make you toast.

Eclipsing Daylight - Jim has spent 6 months in the Darklands instead of two weeks before his rescue and brings a whole lot of trauma, emotional baggage and nightmares home with him. This is the fic that made me feel less bad about Ghost!AU as he’s severely put through the wringer here. Heeding the content warnings is a must.

Lasting Repercussions - His fellow Trollhunters were a bit too late rescuing Jim in the Darklands and the Decimaar blade did... something to him before Gunmar was punched away. With visions and thoughts distinctly not his own Jim has an extra thing on his plate he didn’t ask for but perhaps it could also be turned into an advantage.

A Fantastic Upheaval - Barbara meets her unexpected basement lodger and nothing short of sheer shenanigans ensue.

Works in Progress - Three unlikely friends meet one by one in a hospital, none of them are okay but maybe, just maybe, they can help each other on the road to recovery.

My Only Sunshine  - What if Jim was trolled as a five year old thanks to a (Presumed) magical bath bomb? By luck he turns back into a human but only while the sun is up which leads to both mother and son scrabbling to deal with this awful situation while also trying desperately to keep anybody uncovering their secret lest the worst happens to Jim. Expect to feel emotions, a lot of them, and just wanting things to start going their way. “Jim loses track of time” has never been so ominous.

In the Dead of Night - What if Bular survived? It turns out accidentally adopting a child called Trisha, terrible decision making involving pans on fire, a very confused Otto and the show that must still must go on.

Fire Agate - Toby makes the decision to be trolled like Jim so his new extended family won’t have to see him age and wither as a human. Comes with feels, so many many feels.

Whispers Within - Did you want a slice of life fic with a gay Uhl who gets a monster boyfriend? Well even if you didn’t you can have one anyway as it is DELIGHTFUL. The school actually has more staff, there’s a toilet garden, family drama and such damn good LGBT+ rep! 

Text Ya Later, Trollhunter - A text/group chat fic that tangented due to what we knew at the time into utter delightful chaos. “I see you smiling through ur window u tiny fiend!” has yet to stop being hilarious and I recommend this fic if you just want sheer silliness that led me to binging the entire thing until about 2am.

The Time That Is Given To Us - Please heed the summary and warnings of this before you read. Steve gets up, goes to school, has practice, heads off home, dies. Wakes up and it was just a bad dream right? But the deaths keep happening and along with the phantoms of his previous injuries following him as closely as his killer, he remembers everything. His only hope seems to be some little things are happening differently, slowly but sure...

~~

The self indulgent section

Listen it’s the second recc post, I think it’s now socially acceptable to plug my own two fics way way down here :p

Masks We Wear, Lies We Share - Strickler centric and set before the days Jim Lake Jr. was one of his students we follow the grand ups, downs and general craziness of being a changeling in a human world balancing two lives and the existence of your brethren on the same knife. Then one day you get a goblin making a nest in your hidden office as this is your life now. Contains Ocs that deserve good things, Nomura glad to be back in a warmer climate and soon to come, Otto relating a worrisome auction house incident

It can deal with uncomfortable themes, warnings can be found in the chapter summary when relevant.

-

Ghosts he left behind (Ghost!AU) - After “A House Divided”, we saw Jim manage to stumble home newly changed in the dead of night before collapsing moments after breaking the threshold. However, what if he never made it home after crawling out the waters that changed him?

First chapter follows Jim only, second chapter (To come) follows the rest of Team Trollhunters as they desperately try to figure out what happened to Jim and in turn find the boy who is succumbing to an increasingly distraught state alone. Second chapter also contains Stricklake because I can.

Please remember to check the tags.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Nothing VII

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Angst Characters: Gordon Tracy, Virgil Tracy, Scott Tracy

The seventh and final part for my answer to @gumnut-logic‘s SensorySunday: See challenge. Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Well, this has been an adventure, with a lot of screaming readers to say the least (I love you all!).  Thanks for all the response, and hopefully I’ll be back soon with the next sense to start you off all over again!

Gordon cut through the water effortlessly, striking out length after length of the pool for his morning swim.  It had been a month since that awful, awful day, and the signs were still ever-present.

John was still down on Earth.  Usually, John would be finding any excuse to go back up to his beloved space station after a matter of hours – and he had many arguments stored up for the benefit of zero gravity on broken bones.  Gordon knew that because he’d heard them all before, after previous incidents.  This time, John was suffering his least favourite force (and crutches) in silence.  Gordon could understand that – none of them really wanted to leave the island, now. Missions were always met with the slightest reluctance before he and Virgil traipsed their way to Thunderbird Two and wherever in the world needed them.  Thunderbird One hadn’t been used at all.

Thunderbird Three was still out of operation.  The damage from her ill-advised hurtle home during a cyclone had been severe, and not only was the rocket herself still being partially rebuilt, but the scaffolding surrounding the round house told the rest of the story.  They’d made a start on the repairs, but none of their hearts had been in it.  Not right now.

Not when Alan was still too quiet, blaming himself for something that hadn’t been his fault – that none of them could have done anything about.  John was spending a lot of time with Alan, connecting to him in a way Gordon couldn’t, because it was all space this and space that.  When it came to space, Gordon was the last Tracy to talk to.

He slapped his hand against the edge of the pool, bringing his lengths to an end for the moment.  He had another task to do, now.

“Special delivery!” Virgil declared as bare feet dipped into the pool beside him.  He grinned up, meeting his older brother’s eyes.

“For me?” he asked playfully, heaving himself up to rest crossed arms on the poolside.  “Aw, you shouldn’t have.”

Virgil laughed and backed away, booted feet making their familiar noise as he traipsed over tiles towards the kitchen.  Gordon didn’t bother to watch him go, his attention still on the brother getting his feet wet.

When Scott had finally opened his eyes, a couple of hours after Gordon had abandoned his Thunderbird’s maintenance half-done and dragged him and the mobile equipment keeping him alive into the waiting medical bay, their relief at seeing blue eyes had quickly turned to horror when it became apparent that just because they were open, it didn’t mean he was seeing them.

Gordon saw those blank eyes in his nightmares, and he knew he wasn’t the only one.  They hadn’t known how long Scott had been without oxygen for, but they all knew the possible effects of hypoxia.  Blank, unseeing eyes terrified them, until Grandma had the presence of mind to check his reactions.

They’d never been happier to see pupils react.  Scott was still in there, somewhere.  They just needed to find him again, and find him they had.  In true Scott Tracy style, there was no keeping their biggest brother down for long, and true consciousness had returned to him in a matter of hours.

Not that that meant everything was fine.  Scott didn’t remember what had happened – more than that, he had no memory of the entire week leading up to the accident – but he’d developed a phobia of the dark. Not that Scott wanted to refer to it as such, but they’d all been in earshot when the lights went out for that first night and the heart monitor screamed.  The problem wasn’t the dark, Scott insisted once they’d all stampeded back in and turned the lights back on, it was not being able to see.  Apparently there was a difference; the rest of them didn’t see it, but they let Scott win that debate without comment and made sure there was always at least one light on in every room by the time dusk set in.

Gordon suspected he wouldn’t be going back into space any time soon, even after Thunderbird Three and her silo were repaired.

“Come on in,” he invited his brother, gesturing to the pool.  Scott was in swimming trunks and ready for his first dip since the accident – a broken rib from John’s desperate resuscitation had put pay to any strenuous exercise, and it was still a week or so before Virgil and Grandma would even consider letting him back on light duty.

He still wasn’t allowed to swim, but Gordon was a firm believer in the healing power of water, and Virgil had conceded that floating was acceptable.  John had pointed out that he’d done a lot of floating in space before being rescued, and that Scott might have an issue with that as well as the dark.  Scott, in true Scott fashion, had immediately bristled at the implication and demanded to be allowed in the water, so here they were.

Despite his earlier fire, Scott was hesitating slightly and Gordon suspected it wasn’t due to residual pain from his ribs, no matter what he was trying to pretend.  He rested a hand on his big brother’s ankle and waited, watching his chest rise and fall as Scott convinced himself that the water was safe.  In only swimming shorts, Scott’s scars were on display – they all had them, and Scott was no exception.  Privately, Gordon thought it was wrong that hypoxia didn’t leave physical scars, and nor did a broken rib.  There was a story on Scott’s skin, but it didn’t reflect the time he came closest to leaving them, unlike Gordon’s own road map.  Instead, the scars were in their minds.  All different ones, from the different aspects they’d seen.

Eventually, Scott allowed himself slid in slowly.  It was shallow at this end – Gordon had stopped here specifically for that reason.  Even he and Alan could stand up with their heads above the water here, and when Scott’s feet hit the bottom his shoulders were still dry.

How to float was ingrained in all of them; Gordon had ensured that personally during their training with him for water rescues.  With only Gordon as witness – Virgil was long gone, and the rest of the family had been subtly poked and prodded away from the pool before Scott had even arrived – Scott slowly let the water take his weight.  Very slowly, with the same hesitance he’d had getting into the water in the first place.

Gordon stayed close by, and when it became apparent that Scott wasn’t at all comfortable letting the water take his weight – as John had feared – he reached out and caught him, as though he was teaching him to float for the first time.

“I got you, Scooter,” he grinned as Scott looked at him with grateful eyes, taking a deep breath and lifting his last foot from the bottom.  Apparently no matter how unsure he was, he still trusted Gordon impeccably.  Gordon refused let him down.

“Scooter?” Scott asked after a moment, once he was settled with Gordon’s hands gently pressing against his back despite the fact that it was the water doing all the work, and the aquanaut stiffened.  It had just slipped out without thinking, a teasing reassurance like… like Dad used to do. He hadn’t called Scott Scooter in years.  “Been a while since I heard that.”

There was something off about his voice.  Gordon didn’t know what, couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was the sinking feeling that he’d just put his foot in something.  Nice one, Gordon, you idiot.  Scott was frowning, raising a hand to rub at his forehead.  Gordon had to duck to avoid an elbow to the face.

“I feel like I had a question about that,” Scott mused after a moment, letting his hand fall back into the water with a small splash and a sigh.  “But it’s gone.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Gordon said, wanting to wipe the melancholy look off of Scott’s face and hurrying to change the subject even as he continued to mentally scold himself for the slip.  “How’s the water?”

It worked.

“Wet,” Scott said dryly, turning his head slightly towards him with a small grin.  It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.  “Warm.”

He hadn’t seemed to have noticed that one hand was no longer touching him, Gordon kicked back until he was floating, too, and slid his arm under Scott’s shoulders, holding him loosely.

“So are you,” he retorted, and Scott laughed.  It was a reassuring sound, one they hadn’t heard anywhere near enough of recently.  Out of the corner of his eye, Gordon saw movement – most likely a trio of brothers watching from the kitchen – but he ignored it. This was his domain, and his time with Scott.  The fourth out of five meant he’d always had to share the attention of his eldest brother and right now he didn’t want to.

A month ago, he’d thought he was going to lose his biggest brother.  He hadn’t, but it had been far, far too close for his liking, and his grip tightened just a little, pulling their sides flush together as they floated in the shallow end of the pool.  Scott was home, and Scott was recovering.

Scott was safe.

Fin

[jasiper]

golden

fine line series 1/12

you’re so golden

i’m out of my head

i know that you’re scared

because hearts get broken

A golden state of mind. That’s the California dream, isn’t it? The place where dreams come true, where fleeting thoughts can transform into a tangible reality. The place where the sun never seems to set. The place where nobody is sad—and if someone is sad, there are the means to not feel sad anymore.

Piper’s life seemed to begin—and end—in the golden state. Her dad was living the golden life, making money and walking the red carpets and flashing his pearly whites on the big screen. When she went to the store, his face was plastered on every other magazine cover. He was what the famous people called a California dream. He made something out of nothing. His daughter? Well, she was trying.

But even trying is a generous word for her. California is the place where her dad found his career but lost Piper in the frenzy of the media. This was the place she felt the most alone. This is the place she found herself in the backseat of a police cruiser. This is the place she appeared in court. This is the place where her dad told her she shouldn’t be. She found herself forced across state lines and as she stared over the desert, she saw that Nevada had golden sunsets. Just like California. Only there was no water to reflect the light—only miles and miles of dry land and broken dreams and white walls where bad kids like her resided. But Piper wasn’t a bad kid. She just couldn’t find a place in the golden state.

Dreams came true in California. Only her dream didn’t.

Most people found heartbreak later on in life. Piper felt her first heartbreak as a kid. She should have been tucked into bed by her dad after a bedtime story with a kiss on the forehead. She fell asleep alone, clutching a teddy bear to her chest because her dad was off shooting another movie. Dance recitals meant that she looked out at the audience without a familiar face in sight. She never attended a daddy/daughter dance. Her first heartbreak was due to her own father’s negligence. She promised herself that no one would ever hurt her the way her dad did.

As Piper expected, she didn’t experience a golden state of mind in California. She felt that anticipated bliss in the middle of the winter in New York.

After a whirlwind December, everything Piper thought she knew turned out to be false. Her entire world flipped upside down. It took her the whole month of January to learn the ropes of being half-god. Turns out, there are a lot of things to be taught when your mother is the Greek goddess of love, including how to fight with a dagger, how to detect monsters, and how to come to terms with the fact that an evil earth entity is waking up. Maybe Piper would never achieve the California dream her dad was living; how could she? Everything she ever knew was a lie. Even if she had believed in God or whatever before all of this, she isn’t sure she’d be able to handle the real truth well.

If not for Leo, Piper probably wouldn’t survive this. Not with her life in jeopardy. Not with the knowledge of being a charmspeaker. And certainly not with the fact that her boyfriend wasn’t really her boyfriend at all.

It seems shallow, even to Piper. Her dad almost died and she almost died and the world almost ended but the Mist incident was—and still is—the lowest blow in this entire mess. The closest thing to a golden state of mind was just a hallucination, an illusion, a dream. So ironic since her mom is Aphrodite; shouldn’t her one success be in the romance department?

It took two months for them to kiss (for real this time). It happened so fast, it felt like a dream. Piper was being her usual nervous self, fiddling with her own fingers and she was babbling away and suddenly Jason leaned in to kiss her. The warm feeling in her stomach didn’t go away for a whole week after the kiss. She was smiling like an idiot even while training. Leo gave her shit for her grin and Annabeth rolled her eyes, but she didn’t care. The boy she liked kissed her after everything she endured—Jason didn’t have to like her after the Mist gave her fake memories.

But Piper stopped smiling when reality sank in. Sure, she and Jason were now exclusive, but when did things ever go right for demigods? She heard of the tragedy of her late older sister, Silena, and her boyfriend Beckendorf. Things ended horribly for them. She looked to her new friend, Annabeth, and her tired grey eyes, defeated from dead ends in the search to find her missing boyfriend. There were picture frames lining the walls of the Big House. Half of the faces were strangers to her even though the picture was recent, and although Chiron would never say it, she knew they were dead. How many people really achieved a happy ending here? Camp Half-Blood was the self-proclaimed safe place for Greek demigods, but she felt like she was walking on a gravesite.

And even if Piper somehow were to beat the odds and live through this war, love was never kind. Anyone could see that, not just a daughter of Aphrodite. She grew up in Hollywood’s backyard—she saw the headlines reporting that celebrity couples were divorcing. Love, as powerful as it is, is cruel. It’s ruthless and even has gods at its mercy. Her mother is feared for a reason.

If her own father had the ability to break her heart, what was stopping Jason from doing the same thing?

The walls go up. Piper feels like a child again, staring at her darkened bedroom wall, wishing more than anything that she could live her life without fear.

Unlike her past, someone recognizes that her walls are up.

It must have been hours upon hours of sparring. A sidestep, a parry, a kick to the dummy’s chest. When the dummy fell, Piper would wipe her sweaty forehead, take a breath, pick up the dummy, and start again. A mindless, tedious routine. Anything to get the image of her bedroom wall out of her mind. Anything to chase away the irrational fear dormant in her chest. 

By the time she kicks down the dummy again, she looks up mid-forehead wipe and sees Jason. He stands about five feet away, frustratingly dashing in his black tank top with the sleeves cut off. His sword hangs from the sheath on his hip and by the look of his own sweaty brow, Piper can only guess he had been training as well. When he runs his fingers through his hair—which is glistening in the sun, may she add—she can see his tattoo, forever a reminder of the Mist.

“You’ve been out here for a while,” Jason finally says after several moments of silence.

Piper sheaths her knife. When she finally allows her body to relax, she notices how her arms feel like jello. She’s more exhausted than she thought. “Not too long. I’m still a little shaky on my technique,” she answers, voice hoarse.

Jason bends down and grabs her water bottle. He extends an arm and she gratefully takes it, taking a swig. As she’s drinking, he says gently, “Pipes, you’ve been out here for hours. Annabeth was ready to drag you away from the dummy herself, but I didn’t think you’d appreciate that when you’re so, uh, on edge.”

On edge? Am I on edge? Piper wants to ask, but she can see Jason’s concern even though he tries to hide it. There’s that crease between his eyebrows that develops when he’s worried. She saw it when she broke her ankle and got hypothermia. She doesn’t like how he’s worried. He shouldn’t be worried, right?

“I’m fine,” Piper replies, though she doesn’t sound so sure.

The crease only deepens between his eyes. “Really? Fine?”

Piper’s knuckles are white around her water bottle. Jason’s looking at her with a concerned, almost bewildered expression. This should comfort her; someone with the intention of breaking her heart shouldn’t be this worried about her, right?

But Jason is a good person. Break him down to his soul and that’s what he is: a good person. He’s the kind of guy who offers up half of his sandwich if someone forgot to pack lunch. He’s the kind of guy who holds the door open for a crowd of people even if they’re ten feet away. He’s also the kind of guy who jumps into the Grand Canyon for a complete stranger.

What’s stopping a good person from realizing he made a mistake and leaving and unintentionally breaking Piper’s heart anyway?

“Pipes?” Jason’s voice snaps her out of her reverie. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to be sick.”

“I’m fine,” is her instant reply. Her voice wobbles and she winces because she does not sound fine. Jason’s look of concern grows more apparent and she clears her throat to try speaking again. “Really. Just… Wow, I am so tired. You’re right, I’ve been out here for a while and I’m tired and probably dehydrated—”

“Piper—”

Piper sidesteps away as Jason moves forward. She turns so she’s walking backward, careful not to turn her back on him to assure him she’s alright. “I really need to shower and probably lay down. I’m fine, really, I am, I just—”

Her ankle snags on something on the ground as she backpedals. She tries to balance her weight a moment too late, her body too exhausted to keep herself upright. She braces herself for impact as she trips ungracefully—pun not intended— over the mysterious object on the ground.

Before she can hit the ground, a hand wraps around her wrist and tugs her forward. The momentum of the pull sends her flying and she crashes into a warm, firm body. It takes her a few seconds to realize she’s in Jason’s arms, his hands gripping her biceps. She turns her head to see that she dripped over the dummy she had been sparring with a few minutes ago.

“Piper,” Jason begins slowly, worry laced in his words, “what is going on?”

The worry in his voice isn’t enough to free Piper from her fear. She looks into his eyes and irrationally sees the end to a very recent relationship and it’s all too much to handle. It’s dumb, it’s irrational, it’s flat-out stupid to think about nonexistent relationship problems with her perfectly kind boyfriend when she’s probably destined to die from Mother Nature herself but here she is, in Jason’s arms, and it’s all too much.

Piper pushes her perfectly good boyfriend away and tries to ignore the hurt flashing to his eyes. “I’m sorry, I have to—I can’t—”

A crowd has formed. The volleyball game between some Apollo and Athena kids has come to a complete standstill. Annabeth is in her usual spot for this time of the afternoon, perched in front of her cabin, a book in her hands, and even from several yards away Piper can see those disappointed grey eyes. The only thing making this situation less embarrassing is the fact that Leo isn’t there; he’s busy with his siblings working on the Argo II. If Leo had to see Piper like this…

“Pipes?” Jason makes one last attempt. “What’s going on? Talk to me. Please.”

“I can’t, Jason,” Piper manages, voice shaky, and the edges of her vision blur together as tears prick her eyes. “I can’t.”

It takes all of her willpower not to sprint back to her cabin. She lowers her head and tries to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest—the same sinking feeling she felt when she boarded a plane to Nevada—as she walks away.

***

“You’re going to have to talk to him, you know.”

“I know I do. I just… can’t right now.”

“You already missed dinner last night. And breakfast this morning. Are you really going to let your embarrassment keep you from eating and talking to Jason?”

Piper risks a look at Annabeth from under the pillow she has covering her face. Although Annabeth’s voice is a bit condescending, there’s no hiding the worry on her friend’s face.

“I just don’t understand, Piper,” Annabeth continues. “You chased after him for two months, hoping he’d like you back and within two weeks you’re, what, pushing him away?”

“It’s not that simple,” Piper protests, burying her face deeper into her pillow and rolling on her side to face away from Annabeth. “I’m not trying to do this.”

“You’re not trying to stop it from happening,” Annabeth says softly. “You’ve had every chance to go talk to him since yesterday and you’ve locked yourself in your cabin. You won’t even talk to Leo.”

“Leo won’t understand this.”

Annabeth’s hand, calloused from hours of training, rests on Piper’s arm. It moves down to rub her back. Annabeth isn’t one for physical comfort but she must sense Piper needs it. “Why won’t Leo understand? He’s your best friend, isn’t he?”

“Leo’s never been in a relationship,” Piper mumbles, her voice mumbled by her pillowcase. “I’m sure if I tell Leo how I feel, he’ll look at me like I’m crazy.”

“You’re pushing away the guy of your dreams. You are a little crazy,” Annabeth weakly teases.

Piper lowers her pillow and stares at the cabin wall. She stares at the picture of her and her dad in front of her face and her chest tightens. “Maybe he’s not the guy of my dreams.”

“You literally called him that after he kissed you for the first time.”

“Yeah, well, I was stupid and I wasn’t thinking straight,” Piper retorts. “I’m fifteen. What do I know about love?”

Annabeth sighs. “You’re the daughter of Aphrodite. I feel out of my element here. I’m not one for relationship advice.”

Piper chews on her bottom lip. She wonders if Annabeth would understand her crazy, irrational fear of Jason breaking her heart. If her dad, the person who raised her, could break her heart, what was stopping Jason from doing the same? Good guy or not, he has a history he still doesn’t remember, a family of Roman soldiers across the country who might change his mind. The uncertainty of her relationship—and her life—had been eating away at her sanity for weeks.

Before Piper could come up with a response to Annabeth’s comment, a knock sounds from the door. Annabeth calls out, “Who is it?”

“Uh.” Piper sits up because she recognizes that voice. “It’s me, uh, Jason.”

Annabeth looks over at Piper, eyebrows raised. Piper shrugs so Annabeth asks, “What do you need?”

“I know Piper’s in there,” Jason says through the door. “I need to talk to her. Piper? Can I please talk to you? Alone?”

“We’re not allowed to be alone in a cabin together,” is Piper’s pathetic reply.

Jason sighs. “Okay, then we don’t have to—”

Annabeth stands and quickly crosses the room despite Piper’s noise of protest. She opens the door, revealing a crestfallen Jason, and says, “I’ll keep watch. You guys need to work out whatever’s up, I don’t really know what’s up, but if we’re going to go on a quest in a few weeks, we can’t have miscommunication. Got it?”

“Understood,” Jason replies obediently.

“Piper?” Annabeth’s grey eyes flash.

“Yes,” Piper mumbles, still clutching her pillow to her chest.

“Perfect. I’ll be right outside. Yell if you need me.” Annabeth sends Piper one last stop being a baby look and shuts the door behind her.

A long silence follows the door closing behind Annabeth. Jason stands just inside the cabin, staring down at his feet, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Piper’s heart races inside her chest and she grips the pillow like a lifeline.

I just don’t understand, Piper, Annabeth’s voice echoes in Piper’s head. You chased after him for two months, hoping he’d like you back and within two weeks you’re, what, pushing him away?

“You can sit down, if you want,” Piper offers softly. Jason lifts his head and she pats the bed mattress beneath her. “I promise I won’t bite. Or yell. Or push you off.”

Jason cracks a smile and he chuckles. “Promise?”

“I promise. Come here.”

Jason finally walks over and sits on the edge of her bed. He turns his body to face her and for a moment, he studies her face. Her heart races and she wonders what he’s thinking. Although she’s getting better at reading his face, sometimes it’s impossible to know what he could be thinking.

“What… happened yesterday?” Jason asks quietly. “I noticed something was wrong a few days ago, but I didn’t… I just thought you were a little down, which is totally understandable. But yesterday you really worried me. Did I do something wrong?”

It takes Piper a few seconds to realize Jason blames himself. She blinks and rapidly shakes her head. “What? No, no, of course not. You haven’t done anything wrong. I mean it. If you did, I would tell you.”

“Are you sure?” Suddenly Jason isn’t the son of Jupiter, or Zeus, or whatever. He’s not the guy who fought the king of the giants with a piece of scrap wood. He’s not the guy who jumped into the Grand Canyon to save her. He’s a scared, insecure fifteen-year-old boy who looks worried about messing up.

If only he knew the only one messing up was her.

“Jason.” Piper pushes away the pillow and scoots closer to him. She takes his hands into his, threading her fingers through hers. She looks up to meet his eyes and she sees the fear. She has to swallow her embarrassment from yesterday’s blowup as she says, “You are… perfect. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I feel like I have,” Jason whispers. “You’ve been so distant. So quiet. I thought you were overwhelmed with the upcoming quest and the fear and everything because I’m scared, too. But yesterday it seemed like you were distant from me and me only.”

Her stomach twists into knots. The hurt in his voice is so evident and it’s her fault. Her irrational fears have forced a perfectly good guy, a guy who likes her, to doubt himself. Some girlfriend she is.

“I’m… scared,” Piper breathes. Jason leans in closer, staring at her with such an intense gaze that she forces herself to look away. “I didn’t realize how scared I was until we got together.”

“Scared?” Jason asks. “Scared of… me?”

“No,” Piper assures him. She squeezes his fingers and he brings their intertwined hands up to kiss her knuckles as he sighs out a breath of relief. “Scared of… this.”

“This?” Jason keeps her knuckles against his lips. “Our relationship?”

As Piper hears it out loud, she realizes how stupid she’s being. She nods miserably, staring at her knees. “Scared of trusting someone this much.”

“Is it me? Or just in general?” Jason asks. His voice is so kind and understanding that it makes Piper want to cry.

“In general… and a little bit of you,” Piper admits. “I know that Hera’s meddling wasn’t your fault, but the Mist really messed me up.”

Jason kisses her fingertips this time. “Gods, I know. It would mess anyone up. I am still so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. The Mist and my dad and the whole demigod thing… It was a lot to swallow at once, you know? That and all of my baggage.”

“Baggage?” Jason sounds confused.

“You know. The relationship with my dad. Not having a mom.”

“Oh.” Jason tightens his grip on her hand. “Yeah. Not having a mom… sucks.”

Piper realizes how insensitive she sounds—she has a mom. Sure, Aphrodite is a goddess, but she’s still alive. She’s there in her own weird, annoying, immortal way. But Jason… His mom was abusive and she gave him away when he was a toddler and now she’s dead. At least Piper had her dad, which is more than what Jason could say; Jason has never met Zeus and judging by the tallies tattooed on his arm, his dad has had more than enough time to pop in and say hi. If Piper has it bad, Jason has it worse.

“It’s… so stupid and it’s unfair of me to be taking it out on you,” Piper continues. “But I thought I knew you and then it was all the trick of the Mist. I’m still getting to know you. And trust me, I like what I know. I really, really do. But my own dad broke my heart, Jason. He neglected me for years, thinking he was providing for us. He was gone for days and weeks at a time. He missed every dance recital, every parent-teacher conference. He didn’t see me graduate from middle school. He didn’t come to my first soccer game. My dad missed everything. I know it sounds so unfair because I had a dad, I had a pretty normal life and you didn’t, but my dad… I was a kid and he broke my heart. My own dad did that. If the person who raised me could do that much damage, what’s stopping any other person from doing the same thing? Is something wrong with me? Are you going to wake up one day and realize I’m not the person you want and leave?”

Jason is quiet for a long time after she finishes speaking. Her heart hammers uncomfortably in her throat and she’s afraid that she just drove him away. He probably sees the fifty shades of crazy she is and doesn’t want a part of that—who would want this? A BMW stealing girl who got sent to court for wanting attention? Someone who is pushing away a perfectly good person just because her dad wasn’t around? If he wants to run for the hills, she wouldn’t be able to blame him.

“My mom’s name was Beryl,” Jason says softly. “She was an actress. Hollywood’s starlet. Attracted Zeus himself not once, but twice. And when he left, she lost it. Drowned herself in every bottle she could get her hands on. I don’t remember this, but Thalia says she raised me. She was a kid and making my bottles and changing my diapers. I wouldn’t want anyone to be raised the way I was, but then to make matters worse, my mom abandoned me in the forest? She left a two-year-old in the forest with a wolf goddess to fend for himself. I didn’t even know any of this until a few weeks ago. I… I didn’t even know my mom broke my heart until recently, and I’m so angry about it.”

Piper’s chest tightens. “Jason, I’m so sorry.”

“No. I’m sorry. I’m so upset and I don’t even remember this woman. You know your dad. Your dad has recently hurt you, Pipes. You have a right to be upset. You have a right to be afraid of me. I don’t think I get that right because I hardly even know who I am.”

“I don’t accept that,” Piper argues. “You can be upset over something you don’t remember. Your mom changed your whole life. She forced you away from your sister. I’d be angry, too. I’d be furious. You’re allowed to be furious and you’re allowed to be afraid of me, too.”

Jason’s eyes are frustratingly soft when he whispers, “But I’m not afraid.”

“How?” Piper murmurs. She leans in even closer and when she does so, Jason raises one hand to cup her cheek. “How are you not terrified that I’m going to break your heart like your mom broke yours?”

“Pipes, even if you did break my heart, I’m sure I’d deserve it,” Jason says. “I was a baby then. My mom was a drunk. What she did… It wasn’t okay. That was neglect. I look at you and I’m not scared. I trust you with every cell in my body. You… you trusted me when I was just an illusion. You kept trusting me when you found out I was a Roman. You keep trusting me. You trust that I’m going to lead us to defeat Gaea and keep us alive. How could someone like you be someone I’m scared of?”

Piper’s heart skips a beat and she stares at him, a lump forming in her throat. “We might die.”

“You’re right, we might.”

“Gaea… she’s capable of killing us.”

“Yep. She is.”

“Aren’t you terrified?”

Without skipping a beat, Jason nods. “I am. But I look at you and it doesn’t seem so scary.”

It’s like falling all over again. She stares into his deep blue eyes and it’s a slow tug, a warm feeling pooling in her stomach, and she’s back at the Grand Canyon; he saved her from a death fall. He’s holding her upright, keeping her from hitting the ground. This boy in front of her is not her father. Even if he wanted to, she’s convinced he couldn’t break her heart. He could try and he’d never intentionally hurt her.

When Piper leans in, Jason meets her halfway. She kisses him softly, his warm hand cupping her cheek and his fingers burying themselves in her hair. His lips taste like strawberries and he smells of Old Spice. She melts against his lips and pulls him closer. He complies, both of his hands on her cheeks, soft and warm and comforting.

By the time they pull away, Jason’s cheeks are red and Piper’s breathless. He presses her forehead to hers and for a moment, they just look at each other.

“Next time you feel this way, can you please tell me?” Jason murmurs. “I’m pretty dumb and I can’t read your mind, even though I wish I could. I know years of abandonment aren’t going to be healed by a talk with me, but I want to help. I want you to know I’m here and I’m not going to leave you, Pipes.”

Piper feels her lips curl up in a tiny smile. “Thank you. You handled my crazy and that’s something I never asked you to do.”

“You’re not crazy, but you’re welcome.” Jason kisses her forehead. “Waking up on that bus… I felt so alone. I didn’t know who I was, and I’m still learning. But you… took control of my fears and you made me less afraid. You make me feel like me if who I am is the person I was before I woke up.”

“I don’t know who that person is either, but if you’re anything like who you used to be, I know I trust you,” Piper whispers. She pulls him in for another soft kiss. “I know you’re probably busy, but I haven’t eaten all day so I am starving. Can we head to lunch before going to Bunker Nine?”

Jason smiles and nods. “Anything for you.” He stands up and offers her his hand, which she takes. “Maybe we can take some strawberries before lunch. Sound like a plan?”

Beaming, Piper presses herself against his side. “You read my mind. Let’s go.”

And as they step out into the daylight, Piper can’t help but admire how the sun makes everything golden.

[coneygoil]

The Home We Built Together, part 38

Two young Vikings. An arranged marriage. Hiccup always wanted to win the girl of his dreams, but not like this. Now he and Astrid must learn to live together and maybe one day, learn to love…

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9| Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 | Part 28 | Part 29 | Part 30 | Part 31 | Interlude | Part 32 | Part 33 | Part 34 | Part 35 | Part 36 | Part 37

“Hiccup.”

Hiccup peered down from his perch on Toothless’ back at the tiny figure on the land far below waving furiously at him. The figure called again, distant at first until the sound drifted up to meet him. Hiccup’s brow furrowed. Sound had never echoed like that up into the air before. What felt like a hand clamped down on his shoulder, dragging him off Toothless. Hiccup yelped Toothless’ name, arms reaching for his dragon as he watched helplessly as Toothless tumbled down along with him.

“HICCUP!”

He jerked out of sleep, eyes popping open and wildly flicking about. Blonde hair and bright blues eyes filled his frame of vision. He paused, staring into those eyes.

“Hey,” Astrid said, softly. The caress of her knuckles soothed across his cheek. “Where were you?”

He turned his head, nuzzling her knuckles, thankful for her presence. “In a really crazy dream.”

“Are you okay?” Astrid asked, her hand retreating into her lap.

“Yeah.”

Hiccup sat up, rubbing the sleep from his face. They’d spent the past three late nights training the other teens to become dragon riders. Hiccup wanted to ease into the training, and Fishlegs seemed to be the least likely to cause chaos. Aside from Fishlegs’ barely restrained shrieks, he did remarkably well. Hiccup had crafted a simple saddle for each rider to start off with. Fishlegs had white-knuckled the saddle so hard, he left imprints of his fingernails in the leather. He’d finally eased after several minutes of his Gronckle – which Fishlegs named Meatlug -- hovering and gently buzzing over the boundaries of the cove.

The following nights weren’t as uneventful. As soon as the twins’ rear ends planted in their saddles, they spurred their Hideous Zippleback to zoom off. Astrid and Hiccup found them zig-zagging through the sky, hooting and hollering – Hiccup’s fear hitting Fahrenheit at the thought of all the attention they were most likely attracting. They barely got the twins attention to follow them toward the cove so Hiccup could pick up Toothless. After the wild training session and one tree blown to fiery bits on a neighboring island, the twins dubbed their dragon heads Barf and Belch.

Snotlout walked into the training session as if he was the greatest dragon expert known to the Archipelago. He sauntered up to his Monstrous Nightmare and commanded the Nightmare to bow for him to mount. The Nightmare eyed Snotlout as if he was the dumbest sack of rocks on Berk. He snatched Snotlout in his pointy teeth – in which Snotlout yelped so loud it felt it echoed through the entire island (another fear-cringing moment for Hiccup) – and tossed Snotlout onto his neck. The Nightmare blew a puff of hot breath at him before following Stormfly through the tunnel. The only other incident that night was the Nightmare heating Snotlout’s butt when he got too cocky. Hiccup was right. The Nightmare would definitely keep his cousin’s ego in check. Snotlout dubbed his Nightmare – Hookfang – because his dragon needed a “kicka** name”.

Other than the few attention-drawing incidents that thankfully didn’t draw attention as far as they were aware, the training sessions went well. Every teen had bonded with their dragon and Hiccup could see the friendships growing. Slowly, very slowly, the knots in Hiccup’s stomach began to unwind.

Hiccup scanned Astrid. She wore her daily clothes. Her skin glistened from a light sweat from most likely a morning jog. “Sorry I overslept and didn’t have breakfast waiting for you.”

“It’s not like you don’t have a good excuse.”

“You were out as late as I was.”

Astrid rolled her eyes. “This isn’t a competition, Hiccup.” She grabbed his hand, giving him a hearty yank. “Now, get up. We have dragon training with Gobber.”

“Why isn’t that over with yet?” Hiccup whined as he let Astrid drag him to his feet.

“It’s over when the Chief declares it over,” she tossed a green tunic his way and a pair of pants that slapped Hiccup in the face, “and since the Chief has returned—"

Hiccup froze, clothes hanging haphazardly on his arms. His stomach bottomed out at the realization that hadn’t hit him yet. “My dad will be watching today.”

Astrid immediately appeared in front of him and cupped his shoulders. She caught his line of sight. “Focus on me, Hiccup.” His distant stare finally snapped to her. “We’ll get through this, and when your dad sees how well the training has been going, he’ll declare it over and we can move on.”

She took the clothes from him, laying them on the bed. Before Hiccup noticed what she was doing, a shiver ran over his skin as Astrid hauled his nightshirt over his head – leaving Hiccup in only his undershorts. She reached over for his tunic and offered it to him. “Get dressed.”

***

Today, they would battle the Monstrous Nightmare. The group had barely trained with the Nightmare in the ring. Their first session with him led to Snotlout flailing around the arena franticly searching for water to put out his flaming rear end. But, that was before he’d made friends with the Nightmare that he called Hookfang.

Hiccup and Astrid had trained Hookfang in a choreographed fight as they had all the other arena dragons. He knew cues that they would give him to perform certain attack moves. They’d informed the other teens of these moves. They knew what to look for, and hopefully they wouldn’t do anything dumb to counteract those silent commands.

The helmet his father bestowed to him perched heavy atop Hiccup’s head. He’d grudgingly brought it with him. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the gift, but it had been given to him under false pretenses. It felt like a beacon on top of his head of the blatant lie he carried – a lie that could easily be spilled out at any given moment.

“We’ll get through this,” Astrid reassured as they paused in the tunnel of the arena. The other teens had gone on into the ring. She tucked her fingertips under his chin for him to look her in the eyes. “We have so far.” She left a quick peck of encouragement on his lips before gliding confidently into the arena as if she owned it.

Hiccup watched his wife – his strong, courageous wife – and breathed in from the bottom of his lungs. He walked in, a great deal slower and uncertain as if the burden on his shoulder was weighting him down. He scanned the viewing area where a small crowd of Berkians were gathering. His gaze caught on the massive figure of his father. Even from the height above, Stoick was a pillar that could not be ignored. His eyes followed Hiccup, and Hiccup awkwardly waved to his father, who nodded back in firm greeting. Hiccup tore away from the viewing stand to peer around at his comrades -- their various weapons ready in hand.

Gobber hobbled to the crank and within a few revolutions, the cage door burst open. Hiccup jumped back not expecting such an outburst. Hookfang towered over them, fire licking upon his gelled skin. A dark cloud of smoke huffed from his nostrils, wafting through the arena. His glowing yellow eyes blazed as bright as his fire.

Hiccup’s mouth unhinged in slow motion. Hookfang resembled nothing of the dragon that melted into a chin scratch just the other day. The teens slammed their palms over their ears at the roar that reverberated off the stone walls. Hiccup nearly jumped out of his skin at the pull of his elbow.

“Hiccup,” Snotlout hissed through gritted teeth, “what’s wrong with my dragon? This isn’t part of the plan!”

Both cousins leapt out of the way as Hookfang barreled right at them -- Snotlout’s screechy yelp embarrassingly loud.

“I don’t know,” Hiccup kept his voice hushed enough that it didn’t carry, “maybe the crowd is spooking him, or maybe us holding weapons?”

It was obvious that Hookfang was extremely agitated, but he hadn’t in the past minute tried to attack any of them with flames or gnashing of teeth. He simply rushed around the arena circle, squawking and panicked.

“Hiccup, what’ll we do?” Astrid asked, having made an appearance on his other side. “If he keeps going like this, we may have to actually fight him.”

Astrid’s resolve to the problem hit like a stone in Hiccup’s stomach. Fighting Hookfang was the last resort and he wanted to give the dragon every chance before it came down to that.

“Let me try.”

Hiccup set his narrow shoulders. His chest contracted deeply as he sucked in and moved forward. Hookfang was slowing his gyration around the arena. Hiccup threw up his hands in a non-threatening fashion, catching Hookfang’s attention. The Nightmare slid to a halt, his pupils narrowed to slits.

“Hey, big guy,” Hiccup ventured, trying to keep his voice low and calm. “You know me. Hiccup. What’s wrong?”

Hookfang’s heated breath huffed over Hiccup causing an instant sweat. Hiccup chanced a step forward. He knew this whole scene was drawing attention to his ‘method of madness’ as Gobber referred to it, but he’d risk it to steer Hookfang back where they needed him to be to play out the choreographed fight.

Hiccup slid another step forward. Hookfang whined, remaining still as Hiccup reached his hand out toward him. As soon as Hiccup touched his jaw, Hookfang snarled out. Before Hiccup even knew what was going on, his back slammed to the floor, knocking the breath out of him. His helmet clattered some distance away.

“Hiccup!” he heard Astrid cry from somewhere around him. His whole view was Hookfang’s glowing eyes and pointy teeth and--

“Stay back!” Hiccup commanded. The sound of feet shuffled toward him stopped in their tracks. “Hookfang, you’re gonna have to trust me. Okay, big guy? Please don’t bite my arm off. I’d hate to lose a limb.”

Hiccup shoved his arm into Hookfang’s mouth, trying his best to not get snagged by the long, protruding teeth. He grabbed hold the loose tooth stabbing into Hookfang’s lower gums and jerked it out in one fluid motion. Hookfang reared backwards, yelping, and then suddenly stopped. He stared at Hiccup, the black slits of his eyes widening. He looked himself again. He wiggled his bottom jaw testing if the pain, he now obviously was in, was gone.

Hiccup knew they couldn’t afford any time to regroup. They had to keep up the charade or get caught. He gave the signal to Hookfang and the dragon proceeded right away into the actions he’d been taught to pretend his way through a fight. Hiccup met Astrid eyes and she knew exactly what to do. The rest of the teens – in their own ragtag way -- followed her lead. In a matter of a couple minutes, Hookfang was being cornered back into his cage. Gobber throw the crank and the cage door shut with a loud bang.

“Yeah! We did it!” Snotlout yelled in Hiccup’s ear as he came barreling against him.

Hiccup nearly lost his footing from his cousin’s impact. He elbowed Snotlout and nodded down to his hand to reveal a tooth as long as his hand and then some. “Looks like a dropped tooth was the culprit. Since he’s your dragon, this belongs to you.”

Snotlout grinned from ear to ear. He gripped the tooth as if it were the greatest prize ever bestowed on the earth. “This is totally going around my neck!” he proclaimed, and Hiccup guessed his cousin meant as a necklace.

Hiccup pitched forward at the breath knocked out of him. He glared at the smirk his wife carried on her lips. He accepted his helmet back from her that just assaulted his stomach. “Best dragon trainer in the Archipelago,” she said, proudly.

Hiccup couldn’t help but smile at her acclaim. His gaze dared to seek his father. Stoick remained planted in his seat, bent over his lap and stroking his beard --appearing more in the manner of a Norse god in contemplative thought than a mortal man of Midgard. Gobber gabbled on at him. Hiccup wondered what the blacksmith was ringing in his father’s ear. Stoick was absorbing it with the utmost seriousness.

Hiccup swallowed hard and his stomach churned uncomfortably at what criticism to expect from his father.

Tags:  @martabm90​ @chiefhiccstrid @drchee5e

[dibleopard-writes]

Training Montage

Ao3 (recommended)

Description: Anakin was the Chosen One and therefore the best padawan anyone could ask for, especially Master Obi-Wan. He was so good, in fact, that he had plenty of time for shenanigans or, as he privately referred to them, Shenanakins. Force, he was clever. Several snippets from the training of Anakin Skywalker. Author’s Note: Fanfiction, in 2020? It's more likely than you think. I'm working on several Star Wars projects right now, and here's one that is far less structured with far less need for in depth planning. Original Upload Date: 2020-08-27 Fandom: Star Wars Prequels (post TPM, pre AotC) Characters: Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, various side characters Rating: Gen (or T for language) Warnings: Swearing, Canon-typical Violence Word Count: 6490

Chapter 1 of ??

Chapter 1: Moles? In My Mine? It's More Likely Than You Think.

At the age of five, Anakin resolved to never be the kind of moody teenager spacers complained about. At the age of twelve, he decided that not only was that naive of him, but that he would get a head start and be moody right that second.

This change of heart was mostly due to Obi-Wan, who was refusing to take any missions offworld with him even though Anakin got his own lightsaber a whole three weeks ago and was therefore completely qualified.

“Having a lightsaber doesn’t help diplomacy, Padawan,” said Obi-Wan, completely missing the point.

“So don’t choose diplomatic missions! I bet there are hundreds of pirates hanging around… I don’t know, Batuu.”

“Batuu has smugglers, not pirates, Anakin–”

“– And?! We can arrest smugglers–”

“– And anyway, it would be irresponsible of me to take a padawan as young as yourself into a confrontation like that.”

“I’m not nine anymore! I’m not some dumb initiate, I can handle pirates.” If he was the first in his classes to fight pirates, he’d be able to hold it over them for ages. Even Iepa would have to respect him, smug son of a–

“I was still an initiate when I was your age.”

“Well I’m sorry you sucked, but that doesn’t mean I can’t go on missions.”

By this point, Master Obi-Wan had his head in his hands, almost hiding the beard he was trying to grow in order to look more authoritative. Anakin didn’t think he’d respect him any more with a beard than without, but it did make him look less like a clueless teenager so maybe he could fool the senior padawans.

“Look, if I took you offworld, not only could you get hurt or cause a diplomatic incident, but Master Windu would be on my back about it.”

Anakin muttered, “I could take him.”

“What was that?”

“I said you wouldn’t be able to shake him.” Anakin believed both statements emphatically. Sure, Mace Windu was the Master of the Order and invented an entire lightsaber form, but Anakin was the Chosen One, which basically made him the best. That being said, if Master Windu put his mind to it, he could be annoyingly stubborn in his pursuit of wrong-doers.

“My point exactly, and if he decided I was irresponsible – which I would be – we’d both be Temple-bound for months.”

“Oh, so you get to leave and I don’t?”

“Yes, but I’m sure you noticed I haven’t left because I’ve been too busy looking after you.”

“And what an amazing job you’ve been doing.”

“Watch your tone, young one.”

“Tell me, Master, do you remember any of my allergies?”

“Allergies?” Obi-Wan stopped for a second, with a look of genuine concern and guilt working its way over his face as he failed to recall information that Anakin had never given him.

“Yeah, I’m allergic to you and your banthashit!”

“Language, Padawan!” There was something resembling anger in Obi-Wan’s glare, but to acknowledge that would be sacrilege and also a suggestion that Anakin cared, which he didn’t. To prove this, he stormed into his room and used the Force to slam the pneumatic door as pneumatic doors rarely do.

Force, Obi-Wan could be insufferable sometimes.

...

After an hour of staring at the ceiling, Anakin came to the decision that the only real resolution to this conflict was running away and being a Jedi without Obi-Wan to bring him down. 

Fortunately, he had spent the last two years building his very own ship and had already put it through an entire test run without anything breaking. Between his technical expertise and thorough testing, the ship was probably the best in the entire Temple hangar.

First though, putting his stealth skills through their paces in order to get there. One doesn’t survive nine years of slavery without knowing how to move silently. The swoosh of the door may have been a bad start, but his slow navigation of the common room more than made up for it. Sure, Obi-Wan was in his own room, probably, like, crying over getting owned so hard, but if Anakin had made even the slightest mistake, he would have come running and demanded a ridiculous amount of meditation on respecting others. The stakes could not have been higher.

He crept out of their rooms and into the corridor, shushing the mouse droid that seemed to regard him judgmentally despite its lack of eyes. From there, it was a simple matter of carrying himself with unquestionable confidence along a convoluted path to the hangar. He passed a few senior padawans with dead eyes and piles of holopads in their arms without raising suspicion. Man, was he good at this.

The hangar was probably the best place in the Temple. Warm Temple stone met flame retarding durasteel in a way that shouldn’t have worked as well as it did. Several decade-old speeders lined up against one wall next to a small fleet of cargo ships and fighters. All of them were horrendously out of date and well worn in the way that a lot of the Temple’s technology was. When Anakin asked why the Jedi insisted on having such terrible tech, Obi-Wan had said something vague about budget and not being materialistic. It was unconvincing at best and Anakin had really shown the whole Order up with his latest project.

After his no-doubt legendary podracer was left on Tatooine, Anakin had taken all of six months to set his sights on building a starfighter that could take him to every system in the galaxy. Obi-Wan, relieved to find a hobby that would promote focus, had pulled some strings and Anakin had aimed akk-dog eyes at the Temple mechanics that he had been tailing for months until they let him at the skeleton of an old Delta-7. Aethersprites never came with their own hyperspace engines, but he could work with that. Annoyingly, the sublight engines in the hangar were nothing like the ones on a podracer so he had to spend a humiliating few weeks with an old mechanic to get them installed and working. On the positive side, there was an astromech droid fitted directly into the ship that could give him diagnostics and occasionally a mechanically-themed joke. The jokes were hit-or-miss but the droid was good.

Two years of sterling work had made the Delta the best ship in the Temple, and it could far outpace any of the speeders in Coruscant’s skylanes. Now, as he made his way ever-so-innocently towards it, he couldn’t help but admire the way the smooth paint looked among the chipped facades of the rest.

R4-P3 chirped a greeting as he hopped in and prepped the starter engines.

“Hi, P3, fancy going on a trip?”

“THERE WERE TWENTY-SEVEN TRAFFIC CODE VIOLATIONS DURING THE PREVIOUS FLIGHT.”

“Me too, buddy. See if you can find one of those hyperspace rings lying around here.” Ignition was smooth. Vertical repulsors engaged. Landing gear retracted. So far, his plan was flawless. A blip appeared on his screen, indicating the nearest hyperspace ring. Latching onto the ring was not something he had ever practiced before, so he assumed the strange rattling noise was normal.

As he ascended, chatter buzzed into the comm system.

“What’s that P3?”

The chatter cleared into actual sentences as P3 adjusted the frequency.

“-ing is not fitted properly. Repeat, Aethersprite Delta-7 please identify yourself-” Anakin flicked it off. Trust traffic control to kill his flow.

“PLEASE KEEP TO DESIGNATED SKYLANES,” bleated P3, taking up the burden instead. Anakin dodged a passing CorSec speeder.

“Will do,” he lied, “While I find one, you wanna do the hyperspace calculations?”

“DESTINATION?”

“Uh…” He hadn’t thought that far. Tatooine was probably weeks away, Naboo had way too much water just lying about– Where else had he been? Oh, that’s right: nowhere, because Obi-Wan didn’t care about him. “Batuu?” He could probably beat up a few smugglers in the name of justice before the Jedi caught wind of it. Talk about selfless heroism.

He hit the upper flight levels and powered through into the mesosphere. Considering the thin air at this altitude, there was a lot of turbulence. The shaking was beginning to make his arm buzz and it became a disproportionate effort to keep the control-stick level.

“LIGHTSPEED CALCULATIONS COMPLETE,” announced P3.

“Great, just in time,” replied Anakin, flicking some switches, at least three of which were relevant, “I’ll just make the jump now.”

As he pulled the jump ignition, P3 began screaming and the rattling grew louder. The pinprick stars became needle-thin lines became the whirl of blue and white he hadn’t seen since the last journey from Naboo. On that trip, the pilots hadn’t let him in the cockpit during the initial jump, so this would probably have been way better if not for the awful clatter of the hyperdrive and the eventual tear of engines sputtering out of commission. Maybe that was why he had never seen anyone make jumps in-atmosphere. Or perhaps the issue was related to the ring’s latching mechanism. Really, it was anyone’s guess.

P3’s wails had become spluttering, staticky sobs, which was honestly a poor display in a droid with no fear subprogram. The ring flew off the Aethersprite, plunging it back into normal space with a roar.

“Well that sucked,” Anakin said indignantly. His flying had been flawless, too!

P3, between choked bleeps, lit up the speedometer – the hyperspace ring was no longer pushing them beyond the light limit but neither had any reverse-thrusters been engaged, leaving them at a healthy constant speed of only-just-slower-than-light, which was probably fine – and the scanner – there was a planet about thirty light-seconds in front of them, which was probably less fine at their current speed.

“Okay, so it still sucks,” Anakin amended.

He slammed on the brakes and almost blacked out as G-force slammed on him in return. Rude. His old pod-racer never had this issue. He tried easing their deceleration more slowly, which involved less blacking out but also made slowing to pedestrian speeds before hitting the planet somewhat less feasible.

No matter; Anakin was an expert pilot and even more skilled at having incredible luck. This would be easy.

Within twenty seconds, they hit nature’s drag chute: the atmosphere. P3 tried to draw Anakin’s attention to their steep angle and high speed as if these weren’t things that Anakin already knew. They did seem more relevant when the entire ship��s hull flew alight, however, so he attempted to shallow out their descent. 

The control-stick was uncooperative and everything began to shake as he tugged it as far back as he could. How was he supposed to pilot if the ship refused to do what he wanted it to do? 

After five long seconds, the heat died and they plunged into a cloud bank. Everything past the tips of the Aethersprite’s wings was obscured by a white thicker than Obi-Wan’s skull, which was impressive if disorienting. He felt the control-stick hit full lock and a few of the many warning indicators seemed appeased.

Another five seconds, and P3 stopped screaming about their speed and started screaming about their altitude. The clouds remained steadfast.

“I’ve made an executive decision,” declared Anakin, “As captain of this ship, I say we attempt what we in the industry call a ‘terrain-assisted braking maneuver’.”

P3 did not respond particularly coherently, which Anakin chose to interpret as a vote of confidence. It did wonders for his self-esteem.

In a blink, the clouds vanished and a deep green forest appeared. P3 squeaked. Anakin grimaced. His hand was losing all sensation from gripping the control-stick so tightly, still in full lock, but their downwards momentum still overpowered the thrusters even as the Delta’s nose finally rose above the horizon. He gunned the accelerator away from the surface and his body felt heavier than the ship itself.

The ship jolted as it made contact with the treetops. Anakin switched to reverse-thrusters as the nose once again pitched downwards. Slugshot snaps crackled around them as trees snapped against the ship. He scrunched his eyes closed and braced.

Soil and splinters erupted as they collided with the ground. Anakin lurched painfully into his safety straps. P3’s voice cut off. The grinding of earth against hull slowed them to a stop and Anakin fell back against his seat.

Smoldering wiring filled the cockpit with an awful acidic smell so he tugged his straps off and pushed his way out after only a second of shaky breathing. Anakin was nothing if not practical.

“Do you think it’s gonna blow up?” he asked P3 from a safe distance. P3 seemed not to appreciate the thought but ran cursory diagnostics anyway.

As he waited, Anakin looked behind the ship and saw the gaping furrow they had left in the ground. Further away, a clumsy cut ran through the trees and a couple of wisps of smoke trailed lazily into the milk-blue sky.

All in all, an impeccable landing. The forest had looked well dull before anyway, and now it had a sick scar. You’re welcome, forest.

P3 decided that nothing was about to explode, but that the ship was fully inoperational, even if Anakin just wanted to take it on a spin to the nearest mountain range. He acquiesced that the assessment seemed about right, but also loudly proclaimed that P3 was a killjoy and a coward. P3 didn’t seem to care. Anakin kicked a clod of earth in defiance.

The ground was covered in small, stiff leaves from the pointy-looking trees around them. They were waxy little spits that more resembled star stripes than anything useful for photosynthesis.  As he knelt to pick some up, he realised that the entire forest smelt like them – a fresh, emerald sort of smell. They were pretty incredible, for leaves; Anakin had certainly never seen anything like them. He shoved some in a belt pouch.

Now that he was looking at the ground, he noticed wooden, grenade-like things peppered amongst the leaf litter. This forest kept on getting more and more curious. Unfortunately, none of them would fit in his pouches. Jedi really needed some good pockets that could fit any important scientific discoveries in them. It was a severe oversight, in Anakin’s humble opinion.

Something rustled abruptly, snapping Anakin out of his Jedi-like contemplations, seed-pod still in hand. He scanned the surrounding thickets. Plants, plants, leaves, plants, thorny plants…

Claws!

A blur of red flew at his face and he stumbled backwards, tripping over a bush. Batting the wild beast away from his face, he felt himself fall further than anticipated through the undergrowth into empty air. For a suspended moment, all he could see was blue sky and grey rockface. Then his back collided with something that promptly gave way and let him fall onto solid stone.

Perfect.

...

Obi-Wan Kenobi was walking at an unpanicked pace through the halls of the Jedi Temple and casually inspecting child-sized nooks and crannies in a manner completely befitting of a master who knew exactly where his padawan was. He had been doing this for half an hour and wasn’t shaking in the slightest.

He was just doing a routine inspection of the gap between a bronzium statue and a wall when Master Windu walked past, stopped, watched Obi-Wan innocently test the screws on a ventilation covering, and said, “Knight Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan sprang upright. “Master Windu.”

“Have you lost your padawan?” Was he really that obvious? No, that couldn’t be it; Master Windu was just unusually perceptive. Perhaps shatter-points were giving him away – nowhere was it written that they didn’t highlight underperforming masters. Even so, it was probably wise not to confirm anything. The last thing Obi-Wan needed was a council member judging his guardianship skills.

“Oh no, not at all. I know exactly where he is.”

Master Windu’s expression was as flat as Anakin’s heart rate would be once this was over. Shatter-points were dirty snitches.

“Thank you for your concern, Master,” added Obi-Wan, respectfully.

Master Windu looked at him dead in the eye for a solid five seconds. Obi-Wan had seen him level a similar look at Qui-Gon several times in the past, and found it unnerving to now be the target. However, Qui-Gon’s experiences taught him that it was best to ride these looks out like a bad spice trip, i.e. with as little motion as possible. How either of them knew what a bad spice trip felt like was irrelevant.

The five seconds were up, only having been slightly uncomfortably stretched, and Master Windu blinked.

“Well,” he said, dryly, “Good luck with your endeavours, Knight Kenobi, whatever they may be.” With one spare glance to the ventilation covering, he continued down the corridor.

Obi-Wan was not naive enough to think himself completely free of suspicion but he was hopeful that nothing would come of it until he could thrust Anakin by the shoulders into Master Windu’s personal space and say ‘See? I have him right here!’ in a serene and Jedi-like manner as if he had nothing to prove. Of course, he would like to prove his capabilities anyway. Just as soon as Anakin was present…

He closed his eyes and fumbled for the Master-Padawan bond that connected him to Anakin. It wasn’t usually strong enough to get much other than vague impressions from, but now it seemed to be stretched thinner than usual, only telling him that Anakin was alive. That was a relief to know, to an extent, but also concerning since there was so little to point him in the right direction. He poked the bond and felt nothing.

Why had he taken on a padawan? Padawans get into fights and then run off and make you worry and then the Council finds out and then you have to try and justify it all and – 

Obi-Wan sighed. Running a hand over his beard, he peered down the hallway that Master Windu had taken. Empty. He could probably make it to the comms centre without any more councilmembers calling him out.

Probably. He was hopeful.

...

“Hilari? Is that you?” 

Anakin looked up from what appeared to be a now-dismantled porch tarp and saw an old man opening the door to its attached house, carved into rock. A tooka was watching him from behind the man’s legs. It meowed indignantly.

“I’ve told you, the awning isn’t designed for tookas.”

“Myaeeh,” complained Hilari.

Anakin, frazzled from both of his unplanned descents and shocked out of his irritation, opened his mouth to apologise because yes, Obi-Wan he is capable of apologising when a middle-aged twi’lek woman materialised.

“Wohrin, what– Oh! Who’s your young friend?”

“You’ve met Hilari before, Mahj–”

“No, the young man covered in your porch. Blond?” 

The man, Wohrin, gave Mahj’s left lek an exasperated look. His eyes were pale the same way Blind Man Mikah’s had been in the bookmaker’s in Mos Espa.

“Mahj,” he said slowly, “I don’t know what colour your hair is, let alone that of whoever it is you’re referring to.”

Mahj shook her head. “I don’t have hair, Wohrin.”

“What?!”

Another twi’lek, who could have been anywhere between fifteen and thirty years old by Anakin’s poor judgement, appeared in order to chip in:

“Yeah, she lost all of her hair when the sky turned red!”

Anakin squinted at the sky… no, it was definitely still blue. Wohrin looked equally confused, which was somewhat reassuring. Somewhat.

“Keht!” snapped Mahj, “Stop lying to people! And no, Wohrin, you know I’m twi’lek; of course I don’t have hair.”

“Twi’leks don’t… Why am I only just learning this? Was no one going to tell me–”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Anakin effectively drew the growing crowd’s attention back to himself. That felt better. Wohrin blinked, only now registering that the crash hadn’t been his tooka after all. “I was in the woods and something jumped out at me and I fell through your… thing.”

“Oh, well,” huffed Wohrin, “Easily done I suppose.”

Anakin clambered to his feet and hopped away from the mess, feeling only slightly guilty.

“Hey what’s with the weird rat-tail, kid?” came a voice from the crowd.

Anakin fixed the human who had asked with a patronising look. He found such looks were incredibly effective when used by children – especially those younglings he was stuck in aurebesh lessons with three years ago. Kriffing infuriating.

“It’s not a rat-tail, it’s a braid. And it shows that I’m a padawan.”

“A what-a-wan?”

“Oh, I know what they are,” chimed another bystander, “One of them beat up my cousin on Alsakan. They’re like really small Jedi.”

“You mean an apprentice?”

“Yeah, only I don’t think they do carving work.”

“Not all apprentices learn stonemasonry, genius.”

Another crowd member interrupted: “Hey, cadaban, have you come to help with the beast?”

That triggered a fervour in the onlookers, all snapping their attention back to him with loud expectation.

“... The what?” Anakin wasn’t sure he liked the way this conversation was going.

“The beast!” exclaimed the crowd.

“It’s massive–”

“–Taller than me–”

“–Big claws–”

“–In the quarry–”

“–The mine–”

“–Tentacles–”

“–Blue–”

“–Hang on, I thought it was red–”

“–It’s invisible–!”

“–No, it’s not, it’s–”

“–Firebreathing!”

“Hey, hey, hey,” shouted Anakin over the clamour, “Has anyone here actually seen it?” Everyone turned to a tall ovissian, who flinched. “What does it look like?”

“Uh, I didn’t see much of it, just– um, mostly heard crashes and saw– saw rocks falling from the ceiling in the mines. But when I caught a glimpse, it sort of looked all–” He made a vague and thoroughly unhelpful gesture which may have indicated size. Or maybe temperament. “–Y’know?”

Anakin definitely did not know, but he wasn’t about to admit that to the congregation. “Yeah, yeah, of course,” he said instead. The ovissian sighed with relief. “And what exactly do you need me to do about it?”

One exasperated person shouted from the back. “Kill it of course!” 

“Or at least move it out of the mines,” offered Mahj.

“Yeah, we need the mines or our economy will go to chisk!”

“The entire economy?” Anakin couldn’t imagine mines being quite that important when there was a massive forest right… Huh, it was higher up than he remembered. Right up a stone cliff, the one Wohrin’s home was carved out of.

“The entire economy! We’re a mining town, stone-masons and blacksmiths. Why else would build our houses in a quarry?”

This was the first Anakin had heard of ‘quarries’. Really, the whole trip so far had been quite the broadening of his horizons. He didn’t know why Obi-Wan didn’t take him off-world sooner, he was always promoting this kind of thing. Peculiar. 

That being said, this whole beast business was not what he had been anticipating and the idea of facing an invisible, firebreathing, tentacled monster on his own was suddenly way more terrifying than the plan of facing a horde of smugglers had been. What if it was like the krayt dragons of Tatooine, wild with impersonal ferocity and an appetite for small humans? That would be an incredibly anticlimactic end for the Chosen One; he was fully anticipating his death to be in a great ball of flame, Obi-Wan watching heartbroken as his awesome and flawless apprentice fulfils his destiny. That would be cool. Dying alone in a mine in the middle of nowhere would not be.

“Um… You know, beasts aren’t really my department. And… I don’t have my beast-removal equipment with me right now.” Airtight excuse. Foolproof.

“You’re just scared!” exclaimed someone who nobody asked.

“He’s not even a proper Jedi yet,” added someone else, “There’s no way he could take that thing on by himself, I bet he doesn’t even have a laser-sword!”

“Now, hold on–” All thoughts of avoiding the beast flew out of the metaphorical window. “I never said I wouldn’t do it! I have my lightsaber right here:”

The crowd stepped back as it ignited in his hand. Yeah, that’s right, he wasn’t some dumb initiate and this was his chance to prove it.

...

The comms centre had several private rooms for important calls and conferences. It also had better hardware than the commlinks Jedi took into the field.

Obi-Wan had plugged his own commlink into a rarely-used port in the console and tried to call Anakin. As he had expected, there was no answer. With the right tinkering of the console’s receiver, however, the target signal had been traced to a sparsely populated planet barely a minute up the Corellian Run. Kaidestal.

He fought the urge to slam his head against the console. If there was a licence for padawan ownership, his would be revoked any time now. Truly, he was having a fantastic day.

He wondered how Anakin had even got offplanet and then wondered why he was wondering. At this point, it was suffice to say, ‘Shit’s fucked’ and move on.

After a few moments of meditative breathing, he straightened up, unplugged his commlink, and whisked out of the comms centre. Knowing Anakin, there was little time before something disproportionately drastic happened. Force, what did he do to end up in this position?

Master Plo Koon was easy enough to locate, happening to be beside the bronzium statue Obi-Wan had been inspecting earlier. He watched as Obi-Wan covered the awkwardly long stretch of corridor in order to get within civil conversation range.

“Master Koon, I am taking a short trip to Kaidestal. I shall be back by nightfall.” He gave no reasons, the man of mystery that he was, and Plo didn’t seem to mind. Plo was one of the gentlest councilmembers and therefore the best one to inform of unannounced, unauthorised trips to obscure planets. Perhaps that was exploitative of him. Perhaps his padawan shouldn’t run away.

(Plo was one of the first to hear Mace’s gossip regarding Skywalker’s potential disappearance and therefore knew damn well what Obi-Wan was doing. Plo was not, however, a snitch. Besides, he liked Kenobi – the man had an excellent taste in drinks.)

Master Koon nodded slowly, “That seems reasonable. I’ve heard they do good stone carvings there.”

“Quite,” said Obi-Wan, impatiently – no, Jedi weren’t impatient. He was merely preoccupied.

“There’s a G8 light freighter in the hangar that you can use.” Plo shifted as if to move, but it was really more of an invitation to leave.

“Thank you, Master Koon.” Not at all in the headspace to overstay his welcome, Obi-Wan began to head towards the hangar.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for, young one!” Plo called after him.

“Me too,” muttered Obi-Wan under his breath. He wasn’t that young; he was twenty-eight. He was, however, too young to be dealing with feral padawans that made him feel twice his age. Why did he ever pick up Anakin, anyway?

...

The mouth of the mine was carved into the wall at the bottom of the quarry. It was darker than a Tatooinian night and he was being pushed into it by a gaggle of villagers who didn’t seem to notice his apprehension. While this was ideal for the maintenance of his reputation, it also made things move far more quickly than he had wanted.

No matter. He was a Jedi and Jedi faced terrifying monsters head on.

“This beast is gonna wish he never saw me,” he said, bravely, “Coward. Absolute… kriffin’…  clown.”

“What are you doing?”

“Old Jedi trick, it’s called psychological warfare. That beast is no match for Anakin kriffing Skywalker.”

“Is the swearing necessary for psychological warfare?” asked one of the group. “It’s just I brought my daughter along…”

A roar emanated from the mine ahead, echoing terribly. The tall ovissian, now wearing his head miner’s helmet, was shaking more than the nine-year-old behind him. She was delighted by the mine monster and had spent much of the walk loudly exclaiming that she wanted it to eat the entire goddamn quarry. No one else appeared to share her enthusiasm.

“Well,” said the head miner, sounding awfully authoritative, “I think you’ll be able to find your way from here. We need to go. For… health and safety reasons. Yeah, this crowd, in this passageway? Major fire hazard. Need to clear it. I’ll take care of that, you take care of–” Another roar erupted, punctuated by a thud and the sound of rocks falling. “– That.”

Anakin was unimpressed. “Ugh, do you have to have such an aversion to being cool?” He turned to see the group’s response but found the passageway empty. He rolled his eyes. Teenagehood would suit him well, he decided.

Slowly, he took his new lightsaber off his belt. It kind of sucked that his excellent craftsmanship was impossible to see in the gloom. Alone, in the dark, with no eyes on him, he could admit that quite a few things were looking decidedly uncool right now, but Force if he didn’t want to prove Obi-Wan wrong.

He tracked the sporadic tremors to their source, which was conveniently down the single, unbranching passageway in this section of mine. Still, it required a great amount of skill and a lesser man would have walked into five support beams, which was way more than Anakin’s three. He was a credit to the Jedi Order, really, even if they couldn’t see it.

Speaking of, the mine had grown far darker the further he walked until he couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face. The Force was being unhelpful, merely suggesting ‘forward’, which was a no-brainer. His issue was all of the obstacles involved with ‘forwards’. If only he had packed a light.

Hang on.

Oh, Anakin Skywalker was a genius. Lateral thinking and creative problem-solving had always been his strong point, as currently being demonstrated.

His lightsaber ignited with a kzhhh. Its electric-blue glow lit his maniacal grin in harsh clarity. It also revealed the glinting eyes of something big. The grin dropped from his face as he took five steps backwards.

The passageway had opened into a small cavern without him noticing and the beast barely fit into it. Colours were difficult to make out in eerie saber-light, but its fur appeared as black as the mines, matte with dust. Large tentacles stretched out from its nose, blindly groping the walls and ceiling of the cavern as if trying to judge the environment. Massive, shovelling paws held claws almost as long as Anakin was tall. In short, it resembled a mole.

This meant that, theoretically, Anakin was at an advantage since he was decidedly not blind and had only been known to resemble a mole some of the time.

The beast was also more clumsy than Anakin, knocking support beams left and right. Luckily, none had completely shattered but, judging by their splintering fractures, it was only a matter of time. Time limits were very dramatic; this would be a worthy first mission.

Anakin waved his lightsaber in the vague direction of the mole. It was unbothered. He frowned, put out, and then poked one of its claws. Suddenly, the beast was very bothered. Its nose went from snuffling around to being thrust in Anakin’s face. Apparently it had his scent. Obi-Wan would have blamed it on Anakin’s infrequent use of the shower. Anakin would have responded that he grew up in the desert and then accused him of not caring about wasting water on trivial matters. This would put a glint of annoyance in Obi-Wan’s eyes and Anakin would count it as a victory.

The mole exploited his distraction, dishonourable as it was, yanking him off the ground with a thick face-tentacle and shaking him irritably. He tried hitting the disgustingly writhing mass with the hilt of his lightsaber – ineffective. Then he slashed it with the blade and got catapulted into a wall. His vision failed and the back of his head killed, but he was quickly grabbed by the ankle and dragged across the floor. Massive, sharp claws came swinging at him. This was not good.

Quick, what would Obi-Wan do?

“Hey, you suck!” he shouted, voice wobbling as he dove out of the way of another slash, “No one likes you! You should just stop and go away!”

The mole monster may also have been deaf since it only continued its previous level of violence despite the scathing insults. He dodged a claw, jumping into a swinging tentacle which smashed him into a support beam. Splinters pierced his robes, digging into his right arm as it collided with the beam. His lightsaber flew from his hand and he fell to the ground, spinning to narrowly avoid landing on the hurt arm. All light in the cavern vanished as his saber-blade extinguished.

All of a sudden, the lightsaber argument from that morning felt like a moot point. A lot of things were looking very moot now, in the dark. 

He could hear the shuffle of tentacles searching the floor and the scratching of claws against stone. The mole was snuffling loudly around for him. His arm hurt.

Fighting the urge to curl up by the wall, he slowly climbed to his feet and looked the monster dead where he thought its eye could be. Warm air huffed in his face, blowing his braid back. Everything was still for a moment and then a tentacle whipped around his knees and flipped him upside down into the air. He definitely did not yelp.

The sound of a lightsaber igniting came from the tunnel, then pounding footsteps and then Obi-Wan ran in, illuminating the cavern walls around him. Something intangible yanked Anakin out of the mole’s grasp and into Obi-Wan’s arms. 

Anakin struggled to escape the strong left arm that wrapped across his torso, efficiently immobilising him. “Hey, I had it under control, you know.” He gave up, reaching his good hand out and calling his lightsaber back to it. “Still do, actually.”

“Sure,” replied Obi-Wan, not letting go even as a tentacle lunged at him. He jumped backwards, slashing the support beam that Anakin had dented. They dove into the tunnel as the cavern rumbled. The mole roared back. There was a terrible creaking of splintering wood and then the cavern ceiling fell in. Dust and rock made the air thick.

Quiet.

Anakin looked up at Obi-Wan from where he was pressed against his chest and saw a strangled sort of sorrow.

“Poor thing,” croaked Obi-Wan. Then he looked at Anakin with a clenched jaw. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of those. I could have studied it.”

It was almost enough to make Anakin apologise.

...

Obi-Wan dragged his padawan by his collar until they reached the mine’s entrance. The villagers who had pointed him inside were crowded around and erupted into cheers as soon as they stepped into the light.

One elbowed the head miner playfully. “Told you he was the madawan’s Jedi.”

“Shut up,” said the ovissian, who then raised his voice above the chattering. “Thank you, Master Jedi, for your assistance. Uh, what exactly is the status of the, uh…”

“It’s dead,” Obi-Wan replied, bluntly, “And I’m afraid you may also need to reinforce the tunnel’s structural integrity. I apologise on behalf of my padawan –”

“Hey!”

“Of course, he will also apologise himself.”

Their eyes met in a match of wills. Anakin sighed, just loud enough for Obi-Wan to hear, and acquiesced.

“My sincere apologies,” he muttered, bowing shallowly. Obi-Wan had definitely taught him better manners than this; the child was just showing him up. Ungrateful womp-rat.

Fortunately, the villagers weren’t versed in bows and didn’t seem invested in apologies. Most were preoccupied by the mine and the new lack of angry mole. Small blessings, perhaps.

...

After manhandling the still-hot wreck of Anakin’s Aethersprite into the freighter Obi-Wan had brought and flying the brief trip back to the Temple, Obi-Wan was reaching the end of his patience. He left the ships with the hangar’s mechanics and dragged Anakin away from any chance of helping them. Their trip to the Halls of Healing were brief – the healers were efficient in removing the splinters and wrapping Anakin’s arm in bacta-soaked bandages. He only complained about half as much as he usually did.

They marched double-time to their rooms and Obi-Wan locked the door behind him; he could not cope with Anakin sneaking out at night.

“Master?” The voice was small. Obi-Wan tried not to let his ire show in his look. Perhaps if Anakin was squinting it would work. He was not. Instead he was holding out a hand full of pine needles and another with several small pinecones. “While I was on that planet, I found these for you to study. I’ve never seen them before; they could be revolutionary.”

Obi-Wan sighed, not having the heart to tell him that pine trees were fairly common throughout the galaxy. Anakin dropped his revolutionary finds into his hands, having to scrape off some of the pine needles that stuck.

“Thank you, Padawan. That was very thoughtful of you.”

“There were some bigger ones of these,” he added, pointing to the pinecones, “but I couldn’t fit them in my belt and some of the wildlife tried to fight me for them.”

“A squirrel?”

“I dunno, I didn’t see it very well. It was kinda fast. Reminded me of you, a bit.”

“How so?”

“Red,” said Anakin, nodding to Obi-Wan’s head, “And it didn’t like me picking up things off the floor.”

Obi-Wan huffed. “As long as you weren’t trying to eat pinecones.”

“Is that what they’re called?”

“Yes. Although I suppose I’d have to… study them. To make sure.”

Anakin’s face lit up. “Wizard.”

Obi-Wan’s annoyance was almost forgotten. Not quite. He was still a responsible Jedi master, no matter what the Council speculated.

There was a knock on the door. Obi-Wan looked at Anakin, who grimaced back. He opened it with very little hesitation.

“Knight Kenobi.” Speak of a Sith…

“Master Windu,” said Obi-Wan, far more brightly than he was feeling.

“Have you located your padawan?”

“Of course; he’s right here, Master.” He pulled Anakin out from behind his legs. Anakin attempted a winning smile, but nerves appeared to crumple it slightly. He had always been intimidated by Master Windu – first impressions were a force to be reckoned with. “I knew exactly where he was.” It was technically true, if you were selective about your timeframe.

Master Windu gave Anakin one of his signature piercing gazes, the kind that seems to expose one’s every weakness and warn against them. Anakin seemed to get the message. Hopefully he would keep it for at least a week before he inevitably threw it out.

“If that’s the case, I won’t need to launch a search party. Good night, Kenobi.”

“May the Force be with you, Master Windu.”

After Master Windu had left and Anakin had gone to bed still shaken from the encounter, Obi-Wan contemplated ditching the Temple and his wayward padawan for Bail Organa’s whiskey collection. Alderaan always made the best whiskey…

...

Art by me, @dib-leo-pard​

[seerow]

She broke the first rule of the internet: Never read the comments. 

The People of the Stars

Lantern Year 6 for Draco Vita:

Estel was gone, and in truth Undomiel wasn’t sure he could pick up the pieces. The Settlement reassured him, the Tyrant promoted him, but he was nothing like her. He didn’t have that same passion, the same drive, the inherent need that Estel displayed. He wasn’t convinced he could lead and it showed. The other hunters regarded him, but each listened and followed his orders to varying degrees. Fang was especially rebellious. He constantly pushed and argued, his thoughts consumed on destroying their enemies. Eventually to make peace Undomiel made an arrangement with Fang. To hunt down Talon’s killer. To avenge Fang’s brother at long last. 

They gathered their weapons. They readied their packs and medicine. The territories of the forest were forbidden, the monsters that dwelled there unknown, yet they had to take that risk. Because to remain as they were wasn’t working. The Tyrant did nothing to dissuade or propagate their decision. If they were to grow they would do so by their own terms. 

Hunt Phase:

May who Hunted had learned much from her sister. Although she hadn’t her love of flora, she had learned from her to respect the power of botanical remedies and potions. She carried with her a scythe to procure herbs and plant matter, and knew a spot for the hunters to gather berries and rest and if they were lucky, craft some healing ointments. 

The survivors stop in a clearing and bed down for the night. Suddenly Undomiel is grabbed by a spindly creature that attempts to drag him away. The others wake with a start and managed to stave off the creature without incident. The rest of the night passes without further incident. 

While journeying through the forest the Hunters come upon a creaky carriage. The carriage is carved on every side with lurid faces, and a massive, twitching eye adorns the front, the door a waiting, open mouth. Out of a small window, a gnarled hand beckoned them closer. The Hunters wary of strangers continue on. 

Battle With the Quarry: (Spidicules level 1)

Finding the lair of a Spidicules is far more difficult than they first thought. For such a massive beast it remains entirely illusive, nestled in the safety of its webs. Fang seemed to know the way, and when they entered the lair of one of these creatures the others were left awed and shocked. 

The creature known as Spidicules was far larger than they had first anticipated. Its sinister design evoked a primal fear as its legs shifted to lift its large round body. Something resembling a human face managed a smile across the creature’s features accompanied by dozens of eyes. 

Fang did not care, he did not wait. Moving in without an order, he charged for the monster, hungry to exact the vengeance he believed he was owed. Undomiel gaped at his ally’s rush and called for them to strike. Hoping against hope this would settle Fang’s unease once and for all. 

All good children know to hide when they hear the signs of the knocking ghost. A rapping outside your hovel, a laugh like dried leaves blowing over ground, the shadow of a familiar face disappearing around a corner. 

All bad children that dare go outside when it comes around will be snapped up, never to be seen again. 

They moved as Estel had taught them. Approaching the monster together, each covering the other. Before Spidicules knew what was happening Undomiel’s axe cleaved several of its legs, it pulled back pained and taken aback by the hunters. Fang moved next smashing one of its eyes with a well-timed blow. Then it retreated far beyond their reach, but before it left small spiderlings came pouring from the webbing all around them attempting to surround the hunters. Undomiel narrowly dodged the fangs of a spiderling before stamping it into the dirt. The Hunters knew then, the Spidicules was the prey. 

Spidicules was a far easier killer than any anticipated. Maybe it was because the monster was weak or inexperienced. Perhaps their years of hunting had honed them. Either way, the beast stood no chance. No quarter was given, no mercy extended it was butchered before it could even really begin to defend itself. 

They carved the creature up and began to prepare for their return. Suddenly May shrieked capturing the everyone’s attention. Fang watched as she was pulled into the canopy of the forest and vanished. He moved faster than the others rushing headlong toward the nearest tree scrambling up to give chase. Undomiel barely grabbed Fang about the waist to pull him back. Rushing off alone is a death sentence. Fang screamed in horrible rage clawing at the air after May. Undomiel gave the order to pack up, they would return for May when they could. It was far too dangerous to linger. 

Settlement:

It seemed the revenge of Spidicules wouldn’t end there. The settlement one day woke to find everything and everyone inexplicably covered in a blanket of thick silk. This proven to be surprisingly beneficial as Altera Lumina had developed ways of using the silk. 

ITS ALREADY HERE

There is a story about a darkness so dense and so deep that anyone who saw it was drawn into its inky depths. The story tells of a vast ocean in the depths of the darkness from which no shore is ever visible. Its murky waters teem with the vegetation of a horrible sort: grasping roots and waving, slimy leaves with razor-sharp thorns.

Swimming among the dark water jungles is a squirming shadow of writhing tentacles. Its horror is such a burden on the minds of miserable trespassers that they cannot recall what they have seen. A chilling dread without form, the terror of its approach can be felt so intensely that it cannot be committed to memory.

When she emerged from the dark water pool, she was shivering, desperately trying to speak as she choked on black water. Her pleading eyes desperately searched their faces, until they suddenly widened with horror as she looked out into the emptiness. Bitter, black tears rolled down her defeated face. She was too late. 

She fell slack at their feet, her lifeless body twisting and exploding in a shower of black ichor and red gore. Where did she come from? What did she give her life to tell them? The feeling of dread that followed her to the settlement would not lift.

The body was taken back to Altera Lumina, there the Tyrant looked over the strange human but did little more than scoff. He spoke of the White Speakers, a group he knew little of but the stranger apparently belonged to them.

~~So I know things look bad, but honestly the People of the Stars are starting to gain traction and steam. May isn’t dead, she can be recovered and I was absolutely planning on dealing with Spidicules again this next lantern year. We also have began to see the first inklings of Slenderman. Who knows when the settlement will have to deal with him but until then good luck Draco Vita!~~

[and-then-there-were-n0ne]

After famine, humanity’s second great enemy was plagues and infectious diseases. Bustling cities linked by a ceaseless stream of merchants, officials and pilgrims were both the bedrock of human civilisation and an ideal breeding ground for pathogens. People consequently lived their lives in ancient Athens or medieval Florence knowing that they might fall ill and die next week, or that an epidemic might suddenly erupt and destroy their entire family in one swoop.

The most famous such outbreak, the so-called Black Death, began in the 1330s, somewhere in east or central Asia, when the flea-dwelling bacterium Yersinia pestis started infecting humans bitten by the fleas. From there, riding on an army of rats and fleas, the plague quickly spread all over Asia, Europe and North Africa, taking less than twenty years to reach the shores of the Atlantic Ocean. Between 75 million and 200 million people died – more than a quarter of the population of Eurasia. In England, four out of ten people died, and the population dropped from a pre-plague high of 3.7 million people to a post-plague low of 2.2 million. The city of Florence lost 50,000 of its 100,000 inhabitants.

The authorities were completely helpless in the face of the calamity. Except for organising mass prayers and processions, they had no idea how to stop the spread of the epidemic – let alone cure it. Until the modern era, humans blamed diseases on bad air, malicious demons and angry gods, and did not suspect the existence of bacteria and viruses. People readily believed in angels and fairies, but they could not imagine that a tiny flea or a single drop of water might contain an entire armada of deadly predators.

The Black Death was not a singular event, nor even the worst plague in history. More disastrous epidemics struck America, Australia and the Pacific Islands following the arrival of the first Europeans. Unbeknown to the explorers and settlers, they brought with them new infectious diseases against which the natives had no immunity. Up to 90 percent of the local populations died as a result.

On 5 March 1520 a small Spanish flotilla left the island of Cuba on its way to Mexico. The ships carried 900 Spanish soldiers along with horses, firearms and a few African slaves. One of the slaves, Francisco de Eguía, carried on his person a far deadlier cargo. Francisco didn’t know it, but somewhere among his trillions of cells a biological time bomb was ticking: the smallpox virus. After Francisco landed in Mexico the virus began to multiply exponentially within his body, eventually bursting out all over his skin in a terrible rash. The feverish Francisco was taken to bed in the house of a Native American family in the town of Cempoallan. He infected the family members, who infected the neighbours. Within ten days Cempoallan became a graveyard. Refugees spread the disease from Cempoallan to the nearby towns. As town after town succumbed to the plague, new waves of terrified refugees carried the disease throughout Mexico and beyond.

The Mayas in the Yucatán Peninsula believed that three evil gods – Ekpetz, Uzannkak and Sojakak – were flying from village to village at night, infecting people with the disease. The Aztecs blamed it on the gods Tezcatlipoca and Xipe, or perhaps on the black magic of the white people. Priests and doctors were consulted. They advised prayers, cold baths, rubbing the body with bitumen and smearing squashed black beetles on the sores. Nothing helped. Tens of thousands of corpses lay rotting in the streets, without anyone daring to approach and bury them. Entire families perished within a few days, and the authorities ordered that the houses were to be collapsed on top of the bodies. In some settlements half the population died.

In September 1520 the plague had reached the Valley of Mexico, and in October it entered the gates of the Aztec capital, Tenochtitlan – a magnificent metropolis of 250,000 people. Within two months at least a third of the population perished, including the Aztec emperor Cuitláhuac. Whereas in March 1520, when the Spanish fleet arrived, Mexico was home to 22 million people, by December only 14 million were still alive. Smallpox was only the first blow. While the new Spanish masters were busy enriching themselves and exploiting the natives, deadly waves of flu, measles and other infectious diseases struck Mexico one after the other, until in 1580 its population was down to less than 2 million.

Two centuries later, on 18 January 1778, the British explorer Captain James Cook reached Hawaii. The Hawaiian islands were densely populated by half a million people, who lived in complete isolation from both Europe and America, and consequently had never been exposed to European and American diseases. Captain Cook and his men introduced the first flu, tuberculosis and syphilis pathogens to Hawaii. Subsequent European visitors added typhoid and smallpox. By 1853, only 70,000 survivors remained in Hawaii.

Epidemics continued to kill tens of millions of people well into the twentieth century. In January 1918 soldiers in the trenches of northern France began dying in their thousands from a particularly virulent strain of flu, nicknamed ‘the Spanish Flu’. The front line was the end point of the most efficient global supply network the world had hitherto seen. Men and munitions were pouring in from Britain, the USA, India and Australia. Oil was sent from the Middle East, grain and beef from Argentina, rubber from Malaya and copper from Congo. In exchange, they all got Spanish Flu. Within a few months, about half a billion people – a third of the global population – came down with the virus. In India it killed 5 percent of the population (15 million people). On the island of Tahiti, 14 percent died. On Samoa, 20 percent. In the copper mines of the Congo one out of five labourers perished. Altogether the pandemic killed between 50 million and 100 million people in less than a year. The First World War killed 40 million from 1914 to 1918.

Alongside such epidemical tsunamis that struck humankind every few decades, people also faced smaller but more regular waves of infectious diseases, which killed millions every year. Children who lacked immunity were particularly susceptible to them, hence they are often called ‘childhood diseases’. Until the early twentieth century, about a third of children died before reaching adulthood from a combination of malnutrition and disease.

During the last century humankind became ever more vulnerable to epidemics, due to a combination of growing populations and better transport. A modern metropolis such as Tokyo or Kinshasa offers pathogens far richer hunting grounds than medieval Florence or 1520 Tenochtitlan, and the global transport network is today even more efficient than in 1918. A Spanish virus can make its way to Congo or Tahiti in less than twenty-four hours. We should therefore have expected to live in an epidemiological hell, with one deadly plague after another.

However, both the incidence and impact of epidemics have gone down dramatically in the last few decades. In particular, global child mortality is at an all-time low: less than 5 per cent of children die before reaching adulthood. In the developed world the rate is less than 1 per cent.11 This miracle is due to the unprecedented achievements of twentieth-century medicine, which has provided us with vaccinations, antibiotics, improved hygiene and a much better medical infrastructure.

For example, a global campaign of smallpox vaccination was so successful that in 1979 the World Health Organization declared that humanity had won, and that smallpox had been completely eradicated. It was the first epidemic humans had ever managed to wipe off the face of the earth. In 1967 smallpox had still infected 15 million people and killed 2 million of them, but in 2014 not a single person was either infected or killed by smallpox. The victory has been so complete that today the WHO has stopped vaccinating humans against smallpox.

Every few years we are alarmed by the outbreak of some potential new plague, such as SARS in 2002/3, bird flu in 2005, swine flu in 2009/10 and Ebola in 2014. Yet thanks to efficient counter-measures these incidents have so far resulted in a comparatively small number of victims. SARS, for example, initially raised fears of a new Black Death, but eventually ended with the death of less than 1,000 people worldwide. The Ebola outbreak in West Africa seemed at first to spiral out of control, and on 26 September 2014 the WHO described it as ‘the most severe public health emergency seen in modern times’. Nevertheless, by early 2015 the epidemic had been reined in, and in January 2016 the WHO declared it over. It infected 30,000 people (killing 11,000 of them), caused massive economic damage throughout West Africa, and sent shockwaves of anxiety across the world; but it did not spread beyond West Africa, and its death toll was nowhere near the scale of the Spanish Flu or the Mexican smallpox epidemic.

Even the tragedy of AIDS, seemingly the greatest medical failure of the last few decades, can be seen as a sign of progress. Since its first major outbreak in the early 1980s, more than 30 million people have died of AIDS, and tens of millions more have suffered debilitating physical and psychological damage. It was hard to understand and treat the new epidemic, because AIDS is a uniquely devious disease. Whereas a human infected with the smallpox virus dies within a few days, an HIV-positive patient may seem perfectly healthy for weeks and months, yet go on infecting others unknowingly. In addition, the HIV virus itself does not kill. Rather, it destroys the immune system, thereby exposing the patient to numerous other diseases. It is these secondary diseases that actually kill AIDS victims. Consequently, when AIDS began to spread, it was especially difficult to understand what was happening. When two patients were admitted to a New York hospital in 1981, one ostensibly dying from pneumonia and the other from cancer, it was not at all evident that both were in fact victims of the HIV virus, which may have infected them months or even years previously.

However, despite these difficulties, after the medical community became aware of the mysterious new plague, it took scientists just two years to identify it, understand how the virus spreads and suggest effective ways to slow down the epidemic. Within another ten years new medicines turned AIDS from a death sentence into a chronic condition (at least for those wealthy enough to afford the treatment). Just think what would have happened if AIDS had erupted in 1581 rather than 1981. In all likelihood, nobody back then would have figured out what caused the epidemic, how it moved from person to person, or how it could be halted (let alone cured). Under such conditions, AIDS might have killed a much larger proportion of the human race, equalling and perhaps even surpassing the Black Death.

Despite the horrendous toll AIDS has taken, and despite the millions killed each year by long-established infectious diseases such as malaria, epidemics are a far smaller threat to human health today than in previous millennia. The vast majority of people die from non-infectious illnesses such as cancer and heart disease, or simply from old age. (Incidentally cancer and heart disease are of course not new illnesses – they go back to antiquity. In previous eras, however, relatively few people lived long enough to die from them.)

Many fear that this is only a temporary victory, and that some unknown cousin of the Black Death is waiting just around the corner. No one can guarantee that plagues won’t make a comeback, but there are good reasons to think that in the arms race between doctors and germs, doctors run faster. New infectious diseases appear mainly as a result of chance mutations in pathogen genomes. These mutations allow the pathogens to jump from animals to humans, to overcome the human immune system, or to resist medicines such as antibiotics. Today such mutations probably occur and disseminate faster than in the past, due to human impact on the environment. Yet in the race against medicine, pathogens ultimately depend on the blind hand of fortune.

Doctors, in contrast, count on more than mere luck. Though science owes a huge debt to serendipity, doctors don’t just throw different chemicals into test tubes, hoping to chance upon some new medicine. With each passing year doctors accumulate more and better knowledge, which they use in order to design more effective medicines and treatments. Consequently, though in 2050 we will undoubtedly face much more resilient germs, medicine in 2050 will likely be able to deal with them more efficiently than today.

In 2015 doctors announced the discovery of a completely new type of antibiotic – teixobactin – to which bacteria have no resistance as yet. Some scholars believe teixobactin may prove to be a game-changer in the fight against highly resistant germs. Scientists are also developing revolutionary new treatments that work in radically different ways to any previous medicine. For example, some research labs are already home to nano-robots, that may one day navigate through our bloodstream, identify illnesses and kill pathogens and cancerous cells. Microorganisms may have 4 billion years of cumulative experience fighting organic enemies, but they have exactly zero experience fighting bionic predators, and would therefore find it doubly difficult to evolve effective defences.

So while we cannot be certain that some new Ebola outbreak or an unknown flu strain won’t sweep across the globe and kill millions, we will not regard it as an inevitable natural calamity. Rather, we will see it as an inexcusable human failure and demand the heads of those responsible. When in late summer 2014 it seemed for a few terrifying weeks that Ebola was gaining the upper hand over the global health authorities, investigative committees were hastily set up. An initial report published on 18 October 2014 criticised the World Health Organization for its unsatisfactory reaction to the outbreak, blaming the epidemic on corruption and inefficiency in the WHO’s African branch. Further criticism was levelled at the international community as a whole for not responding quickly and forcefully enough. Such criticism assumes that humankind has the knowledge and tools to prevent plagues, and if an epidemic nevertheless gets out of control, it is due to human incompetence rather than divine anger.

So in the struggle against natural calamities such as AIDS and Ebola, the scales are tipping in humanity’s favour. But what about the dangers inherent in human nature itself? Biotechnology enables us to defeat bacteria and viruses, but it simultaneously turns humans themselves into an unprecedented threat. The same tools that enable doctors to quickly identify and cure new illnesses may also enable armies and terrorists to engineer even more terrible diseases and doomsday pathogens. It is therefore likely that major epidemics will continue to endanger humankind in the future only if humankind itself creates them, in the service of some ruthless ideology. The era when humankind stood helpless before natural epidemics is probably over. But we may come to miss it.

-  Yuval Noah Harari, Invisible Armadas in Homo Deus: A Brief History of Tomorrow